#i get a coffee and yes i still think twice about putting creamer in it and whipped cream on top but its easier

[caffeinatedopossum]

Anyway just an update, I kept going and the ed recovery is actually recovery-ing now 👍

[borderline-reorder]

I am just having the worst fucking day.

So, I live on the upper level of my parents house. We converted it into an apartment as best we could but like, I don’t have a real kitchen with an oven and a sink. The bathroom is through a room that isn’t mine. And the sound carries from downstairs to upstairs when my parents talk. I have been slowly but surely declining over the past two years that I have lived here and I am getting unstable again like self harm unstable. I haven’t done it yet, but I am THIS fucking close.

So. That’s the context.

This morning I wake up and go to make a cup of coffee. Step out for a smoke and come back in to grab my coffee and sit down and read the news. The coffee cup is barely full. I try again. I try again. Each time I try I have to empty it in the bathroom sink in the room that is not mine. Because I don’t have a fucking kitchen sink. And nothing works. I do cleansing rinses, I clean the whole damn thing, nothing works. I am upset. I can’t afford a new coffee machine. But then I see it: the descale button is blinking. So, I order the solution. Delivery Friday. Ugh. Okay.

So I text my mom and ask her if I can use her coffee maker and she says yes. I hate doing this because it makes me feel like I am 16 instead of a 30 year old grown ass woman. But I suck it up and feel shitty about myself for living with my parents and do it and get my coffee.

The day continues. I write to my pen pal. My mood briefly improves. I can handle going down there once or twice a day for coffee. Just until Friday. I repeat it to myself like a mantra. Just until Friday.

Today is Wednesday. My nieces come over on Wednesdays. I love my nieces, but I don’t like kids. Kids are loud. I have PTSD. These things mix poorly. So, every Wednesday they are loud and I have a panic attack and have to take a benzo and lay down. For two years I have been doing this weekly. I usually go down and say hi and play with them for a little bit because I do love them and want them to like me, and then leave when it becomes too much.

The nieces are over and I would like a cup of decaf and to say hi real quick. I text my mom. She says sure. I guess she told them? I don’t know the details. Anyway, I put the creamer in my favorite mug and get the k cup and put it in my pocket. I use the interior stairs. I open the door at the bottom and step out and say hello I am here. The nieces jump out at me screaming. I scream and start crying. Loud noises and being startled are a PTSD trigger. I mumble bye and go upstairs slamming the door. Maybe I shouldn’t have slammed it, but the panic attack was starting. I toss the creamer in the bathroom sink in the room that isn’t mine. I throw the coffee pod back in the box in the kitchen that is fake. I set my mug, thankful I didn’t drop it, down beside the coffee machine. I begin to lose my shit. Crying, shouting at my cats to leave me alone. One of them tried to jump up on me and I pushed her off. I cried harder because I felt so awful about doing that.

Somehow I get back to the bathroom and take two Ativan so that the panic attack will stop. I go back to my studio and curl up on the couch and relay events to my best friend, crying and shaking and very very upset. The kids are over and I’m not supposed to smoke when the kids are over. Turns out I don’t give a fuck when I’m triggered by them. So I go outside, still no decaf, hide around the corner so they don’t see me, and have a smoke. It helped. I hate this.

I go back to my studio and my mom is texting me. The kids feel bad. They should. I should feel bad for thinking that. I do. I cry harder. I want to move. But I would need help with rent because I don’t get enough disability to cover it on my own. I feel trapped. I get panic attacks once a week. I text my best friend and cry for hours. Literally hours until it stopped.

I text my mom that I need to move out. I explain why as much as I am able. It’s not healthy for me to be here anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. I want to hurt myself most days and only haven’t because I don’t have the stuff.

I order the stuff on Amazon.

It arrives on Friday.

I continue my text to my mom. I need to move out. Here are some places I found. They look safe. They are close by. I like being close by but this is too much and I am unstable now. I need to be stable. I am rapidly declining. I need to move out.

Mom says she is okay with that. Big sigh of relief. The first good thing all day. I no longer feel trapped. Now I can plan and the end is in sight.

She brings me four of my favorite drink because she feels bad that I am having a hard time. She is a good mom. I am very lucky. I take the drink and have one.

Later we go out for more drinks. My car is in the shop so I cant go on my own. We talk about me moving. She is all for it. I tell her the research I did. I have lived in this apartment complex before and it was good. It was a mistake to move out. I want to go back. I will feel safe there.

At this point I have 6 drinks. She offers to Instacart order the descaling solution so that I can try it tonight. I think she feels bad that I am so upset. She is nice to me. I agree.

I keep crying on and off. The solution arrives at 8:30pm. I use it immediately. I follow the instructions. I make a cup of decaf and… nothing. It is broken. I need a new coffee machine.

I start crying again. I take two more Ativan and tell mom thanks but it is just broken. She offers to get me a new coffee machine. Usually I would feel guilty, like overwhelming guilt, but I just want one thing to go right so I agree. I go downstairs. I pick it out. I Instacart it. Delivery by 11pm. I thank my mom and tell her I love and appreciate her.

I go upstairs and wait. The coffee machine arrives. I set it up. It works. I get a cup of decaf.

I still want to hurt myself. I still feel like crying. But I have a coffee machine that works and I am moving sometime this summer and that is progress.

I feel positive that I will hurt myself between now and then but whatever. I’ll try not to. I just can’t do this anymore.

[boy-in-a-flower-crown]

notable people from my seven months of working the graveyard shift

- the regular who came in every day before 5 am to buy at least two lottery tickets and two scratch tickets

   - on one occasion he came in while I was mopping the floor and he couldn't see me and i yelled "hi!" and he responded with "i wish I was"

- the surprisingly well dressed but still very exasperated man who came in at about three am asking for coffee creamer

- the 34 year old 5 foot tall woman who came in wearing hello kitty PJs at 4:45 in the morning and was incredulous that i asked her for ID when she asked to buy cigs

- the man with a smoker's voice who purchased four dollars worth of gas entirely with quarters

- the man who came in without a mask, ordered an extra large coffee, and when I started saying "because you're not wearing a mask i will have to dispense the beverage for you", he cut me off after "mask" and said "oh yeah I'm so sorry dude! i just had the most passionate kiss with someone..." while putting up a bandana. his credit card declined on $2.30 and he then ran away looking for cash. he never came back.

- the man with a heavy russian accent who was very upset that we didn't carry whole coffee beans

- the customer on skip the dishes that ordered five bottles of pepsi, a litre of milk and a bag of wine gums at 1 in the morning

- the person who left a mostly empty tub of Betty Crocker french vanilla frosting open and with a spoon on the counter

- the woman who came in at 1:30am asking to use the bathroom and when I told her no pubic access she said, verbatim, "I'm gonna take his head between my thighs, or what's left of them because I'm a skinny little chicken, and I'm gonna pop it off." no i don't know who "he" is

- the man who came in quite literally strutting at 4:30 am saying "cinnamon buns" over and over

- the kid who told me "have a good evening" at 5:30am

- the woman who asked me for cigs and rolled her eyes when I ID'd her, said "I'm 30 years old", and walked out. that's when I noticed that not only was she in her pyjamas, but she was also wearing slippers. like, in the house with a housecoat, bright pink and fuzzy kind of slippers

- the man who had to be at least in his 40s who was using what appeared to be a spiderman themed velcro clasped wallet

- the man who practically begged me to get the store to order more cinnamon buns

- the man who asked "where's your floss?" at 1:30am

- the absolute chaotic boys who asked me to sell them single cigs

- the Uber driver who told me "bless you and bless your family, you're doing a wonderful job"

- the person who ordered two packs of triple a batteries and nothing else at 1 in the morning

- the very spunky girl who came in at 2 in the morning asking if we sold caramels, and told me "it was a craving i got at 1am and i was like 'yeah let's make this!' and no. it didn't work. toxic sludge from hell." and left.

- the older woman who said "the luckiest married women become mothers, and the luckiest married men become motherfuckers."

- the boys who came in at 11pm and asked if we sold firecrackers

- the guy who straight up asked me if he could steal a taquito

- the people who made popcorn in our microwave at 2 in the morning

- the woman who told me to go masturbate after i ID'd her

- an entirely separate woman who came in wearing different hello kitty PJ pants, asked for cigs, and was incredulous when I ID'd her

- a man with an incredibly thick Irish accent who asked me why i was on the graveyard shift, and after saying "it's a pretty easy shift, especially as an introvert" he said "introversion doesn't exist" then as he was leaving he said, "you're adhd as fuck though, aren't you"

- the person who ordered two bottles of water and three packs of gum at two in the morning

- the woman who, as she was leaving, said "until next time, keep fit, and have fun."

- the man who came in at 4:30 am and told me he just had a really good date with a seagull

- the girl who asked me if her hair gave me a stoner vibe when it actively made me think of an anime girl

- the guy who was driving a bobcat

- the (definitely cis) guy who came in looking for oil and the like at about 4am. when he brought all his stuff to the counter he said, "this shit is getting too expensive" and i responded "this is why I don't drive," to which he said "well if it's got tits or tires it's gonna cause you trouble and it's gonna cost you a lot of money."

- the guy who came in, put two cans of red bull on the counter, then asked if we had twizzlers. upon hearing no, he said "forget it" and walked out without buying the red bulls.

- the man who, to pay for his items, pulled out a jar of coins that included pennies (I'm in Canada, where pennies have been discontinued for almost a decade)

- the man who came in and asked if any sex stores are in the area and open (it was 2 am). after telling him no he tried buying condoms, for which his card declined. he then proceeded to ask me if I wanted to hang out with him when my shift was over.

- the ridiculously drunk man who came in at three in the morning and when I said "hi!" he replied "good"

- the boys in their early twenties who came in at 3am and while waiting for me to grab the slurpee cup i overheard one of them say "look at how good his hair looks, i feel like i should be being fucked looking at it."

- the man who paid for a pack of cigs almost entirely in quarters

- *we'd started doing donations for covid relief in India* the man who after asking if there were sizes for the condoms, during the transaction i asked if he'd like to make a donation and he said "why would I donate to covid?" after his payment went through he said "would you?" and i said "donate to a covid relief fund?" and he said "yeah" and i was like "??? yes???"

- two people asked me if I said the donation was for chlamydia. the first guy said "if it's for chlamydia then I'm not donating" but the second guy said "i mean chlamydia sucks too, I'd donate either way"

- the three very drunk and very considerate girls who were all dressed as flappers

- the guy who asked for four tea bags for his 12oz cup and proceeded to make what I'm assuming was an attempt at a London fog

- the man who came in at about 3:40 after I'd already completed cash counts. he put a jug of chocolate milk on the counter and said "does it bother you that I'm buying this? like, can you keep it a secret just between us?" and i was like "i mean yeah sure" and then i noticed he was holding several rolls of dimes and i told him "i can't take cash right now as I've already completed the counts for shift change" and he was like "not even for gas?" and i was internally like "yeah duh" and then he goes "look man i can go without the gas but i have to have my chocolate milk" and i was like "there's nothing i can do" and then he said "do you drink chocolate milk?" and i said "not frequently, no" and he said "oh, not since you were six?" and i was like "I'm lactose intolerant" which shut him up for about three seconds before he said "you're really not gonna budge?" and then walked out

- the guy who asked for the bathroom and when I said there's no public access he said "what about friends, I've been here twice" and i said "unless you're staff you don't get to use it" and he said "i have a staph infection, does that count" and when my unimpressed look told him no he said "well i tried" and left

- the eighty year old man who was actively using a Bowser snap wallet

- the guy who had to change his tire directly in front of the store at two in the morning

- the guy who punched me in the face with a bottle of iced tea, causing me a concussion and ultimately causing me to quit my job

[justkending]

Moral of the Story. Chapter Five.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all these years to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of old loves and lives all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count: 3200+

Chapter Five:

Once the meeting was done and over, Bucky and Y/N both left at the same time. Bucky was kind enough to hold the door open for her as they made their way back to the street, but Y/N’s goal was to get back to her car as quick as possible. So she gave him a curt thank you and moved quickly to leave. 

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted just as she was less than 10 feet away. She paused with a cringe on her face before turning back to him. He was walking hesitantly to catch up with her. “Listen, I know it’s been a few years.”

“A few is an understatement,” she mumbled and he heard, but decided to move on. 

“I just- I,” he stuttered. What the hell was he doing? “Would you want to get coffee? Catch up some? I-,” Before he could finish, she cut him off. 

“Listen, as great as that sounds,” she tried to say nicely, but he could see the nerves in her face. “I actually have plans right after this.” He deflated some in his spot. She noticed and though she thought she wouldn’t care if she hurt him after all these years, something deep down proved that thought was wrong. “I-I just haven’t seen my family in a while, and the little time I have left here this weekend, I wanted to spend time with them where I could.”

“Right, right,” Bucky tried to brush off unbothered, but failed. “I’m sure your dad misses you, and you him.”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years. That and I haven’t been back in the city in 10 years, so I have a lot to catch up on,” she nodded. 

“Wait, you haven’t been back here in 10 years?” he asked shocked. He thought she had a least been in town throughout the years. Even if he hadn’t seen her. 

“Um, yeah. I kinda…” she hesitated, but figured where would the truth hurt? “Guess I wasn’t ever really ready to get back here.” Bucky knew what she meant even if she wasn’t saying it verbatim, and it hurt his heart knowing he was the cause. Well, I guess both of them were, not just him. “That plus starting up Horizon, it was hard the first few years. But the family still sees each other for the holidays.”

“That’s right. Colorado,” Bucky nodded. 

Y/N had kept forgetting for some reason that Bucky and her father were with each other at least once a week most of the time. Always hanging out and doing guy things, or really, father and son types of things. Meaning he knew of, if not actually knew, Sherri, Denise, John, and Chloe too. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t know about the yearly Colorado trip. 

“Right,” Y/N nodded with pursed lips, putting it all together and Bucky realized. 

“Oh, God sorry. I promise I’m not stalking you, it’s just your dad and I-” he started to defend his knowledge. 

“It’s fine James, really,” she said with a wave of her hand and a slight chuckle. One he never expected coming from her. And the name… He wasn’t sure the last time he heard her say Bucky. As soon as they decided to bring an end to their relationship, that nickname never passed her lips again. “I know you and my dad are close.”

“You’re not upset at that?” he asked, slightly confused. 

“I’m not evil. No matter how much you may think,” she mumbled the last part. “I-I… I know the relationship you two share. You’ve had it since the beginning of time practically. I wouldn’t dream to take that from either of you.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Because all he could do was look at her with a longing look. God, he missed her. Sure he held some anger from where they ended things, but he had moved on for the most part. Now he just missed his best friend. The girl he grew up loving. From best friends to girlfriend, to eventually fiance and wife. He missed her. Just who she was as a person when resent wasn’t a feeling she had toward you. 

Sure, it was a lot to think back on in just the thought that she still cared for him enough not to banish her father from him, but it spoke volumes for who she was as an individual and he missed that. 

“I mean not that I really have a say in other people’s life, but if I did, I wouldn’t do such a thing,” she looked down, fidgeting in her spot seeing him staring at her like earlier all over again. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” he responded, quickly noticing his stare and looking down at his own shuffling feet. “Well, in that case, I’ll let you go. Thomas has been excited beyond measures to have you home. I won’t keep you from him.”

She nodded as they made eye contact again and started to turn back to her car. But before she could get too far, knowing this may be the last time he sees her again for a while, if not ever, he had to say it. 

“Y/N?” She turned at her name and sent him a questioning look. “I’m glad you’re doing ok. You seem to really be taking the world by storm like you always were going to,” he smiled softly and she blushed some before returning the smile. 

“Thank you, James. You too. You seem like you’re doing some pretty amazing things yourself,” she nodded once. 

They didn’t speak more than that, but instead walked back to their cars. Not without a second glance here and there. 

___________________

“So? How did it go?” Thomas asked as soon as Y/N walked in through the garage door. Him and Sherri sitting at the breakfast nook with cups of coffee in hand and wide eyes ready for all the details. 

“It went,” she responded, throwing her purse on the island bar stool and going to make a mug for herself. 

“Wow, such a colorful description. Anything more and she’d be over doing it,” Thomas exaggerated, getting a giggle from Sherri who stood up and joined Y/N’s side grabbing the creamer and sugar for her. 

“Come on now, sis. Good? Bad? Magical?” she added the last word with flare. 

“Anything besides magical,” she sent a playful glare to the woman. “I will say this though.” She walked over and sat with a huff in the nook across from her father, practically deflating in her seat. “I am still technically Mrs. Barnes.”

“What?!” they both gasped. 

“How?” Thomas pushed on. 

“Well I guess the meeting today was just to update the papers and nothing else. I mean, yeah. A few signatures here and there, but it’s not finalized.”

“So it was just an revision meeting? When’s the final cut?” Sherri asked, leaning on the back of Thomas' chair. The two watching their daughter with intrigued eyes. 

“A few days?” she said more in a question. “Matthew, our new lawyer, said him and his partner are going to update them within the next day or so, and then send us the final write up to sign. After we send those back in, it’ll all be settled.”

“You still going to have John overlook everything for extra measures?”

“Never hurts. I really would rather NOT go through all this mess again. Getting divorced once sucks, but twice? Yeah, I’d rather not have to do it a third time. And all with the same man,” Y/N sighed heavily before taking a long chug of her coffee. 

The couple ahead of her sending each other a silent message to the other. Y/N hadn’t noticed as she closed her eyes at the upcoming headache, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have time to question it as her phone started going off. 

Looking down, she saw the office calling her. On a Saturday?

“I have to take this. I’ll be back in one second,” she groaned, taking her coffee mug with the buzzing phone to the back patio. “Hello?”

“Y/N! Hey, I have a quick update,” Melody’s voice came through the other line.

“Why are you at the office on a Saturday?” Y/N said a little sternly, but good intentions were behind it. 

“I got an email from our recycle plant we had scheduled for that Monday meeting and it couldn’t wait until Monday,” she was quick to explain. “But listen. They had to reschedule. The main guy and his wife, the bosses of the vendure who was coming to discuss the offers, had a family emergency come up and asked if they could postpone it a week.”

“Um, yeah sure. That’s fine,” Y/N shook her head trying to run the schedule through her mind. “Did you contact Bee’s Knees and let them know about the postponement?”

“Yes, and they said they were fine with it as well.”

“Ok, good,” Y/N nodded. “So I have a clear schedule besides background work Monday. Is that all?”

“Well…” Melody drug out. 

“Why does that sound like a Natasha kind of ‘well’,” Y/N questioned with a quirked eyebrow. This wasn’t receptionist or assistant talk about to happen. 

“Speaking of Nat, we thought because that was your only big meeting for the week and everything else is normal for the rest of the week, you should extend your stay in Brooklyn,” she replied. 

“What?”

“Come on. We both agree you haven’t seen your family in far too long, and a weekend trip isn’t going to cut it. That plus, Nat made a good point that you have tons of old friends you haven't seen in way too many years either,” she went on. “Why rush catching up with everyone, if all the work you need to do can be done on your laptop from Brooklyn? That and for once, your schedule isn’t overstacked with meeting after meeting. That happens once every few months. Plus, you’re already in New York!”

“Ok, ok. Calm down there, Sparky,” Y/N chuckled at her friend being out of breath. “I mean I guess, you’re not wrong…”

“She can’t be. I’m the one who came up with all this,” Nat’s voice broke in. 

“Oh, yeah. I may or may not be hanging out with Nat and Yelena,” Melody giggled bashfully. “Or be partially tipsy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the three, but couldn’t stop the laugh from coming out of her own mouth. 

“You sneaky little bitches,” Y/N chuckled. 

“What can I say? We’re Romanoff’s,” Nat smirked through the phone. 

“Well, I’m a Hill, but Romanoff by descent,” Melody added in. 

Again, another joking eye roll. 

“Now I have to change my flights and everything,” Y/N sighed. 

“Oh, woes me,” Nat mocked. “What a challenge it must be to log into your computer and change a flight to another week…”

“Hey, smartass,-”

“Lucky for you, you have me. I state once again,” Nat laughed. “I already checked into your flights to see if we can get a cheap reschedule.”

“How’d you know my login information?” Y/N asked, confused. 

“I have my ways, now don’t interrupt,” she scolded before continuing. “I was able to find you a flight around the same time, plenty of time to get to your rescheduled meeting, and it won’t cost you a hair off that pretty head of yours.”

“How’d you manage that?” Y/N asked with a smirk of her own now and a pop of her hip.

“I’ll say it again since apparently you’re deaf. I have. My ways,” the red head replied. 

“You sure you weren’t a spy in another life or something? Because sometimes you and Yelena have some strange tricks up your sleeves that I’ve only seen done in movies.”

“I would like the answer to that as well. Like how they coroerced me into a girls night while I was hiding in my apartment trying to take a relaxing night to read,” Melody spoke up. 

“Drink your juice, babygirl,” Yelena’s voice came quietly in the back. 

“With all that being said, we are gonna to let you go. We’re going to get all the details of last night out of this little one and go to a few clubs,” Nat explained. 

“Oh, I’d love to hear the details when you have them,” Y/N laughed. 

“I’ll have a nice 5 page paper ready for you tomorrow morning,” Yelena yelled from a distance.

“I’ll be expecting it. Now you girls go have a good time and please show Melody what she’s missing out on!”

“Can do, boss lady! Love you! See you next week!” 

With that, the phone call ended and Y/N looked at the empty lock screen. 

“I guess we’re staying a little longer.”

________________

“So, how’d it go?” Steve asked coming home from his early half shift. 

Bucky was sprawled across the couch with a pillow over his face, a sports playback running in the background and a beer that looked like he had been nursing all afternoon on the coffee table. 

“She looks great,” he mumbled into the cushion, but Steve couldn’t syfer the words.

“You’re going to have to say that again without a throw pillow over your face,” he chuckled, kicking off his shoes and throwing his keys by the door before heading to the nearby kitchen. 

“I said, she looks great!” Bucky all but grunted as he sat up. Frustration and annoyance clear in his answer. 

“And why do you sound like that’s a horrible thing?” Steve laughed again from the distance. 

Bucky groaned as he stood up and walked into the other room with Steve. He was parading through the fridge for an afternoon snack, or by the looks of the clock on the oven, lunch. 

It was 12:30 already?

“Because Steve, it makes it hurt all the more,” he pouted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the island in the middle of the space. 

“Her looking good, hurts you?” Steve asked, standing up with a tupperware bowl of leftovers in his hand. 

“I don’t know!” Bucky sneered at him, angry that his best friend wasn’t catching on to his feelings that even he didn’t understand. “I guess deep down, I was hoping she didn’t age well so that walking away would be easier. But there she was, walking in like fine wine. All mature and curvy, and… Perfect…” he mumbled the last part. “She did smack me though,” he added, thinking back with a dazed face. 

“Smack you?” Steve chuckled, popping the cold food in the microwave. 

“Our lawyer is blind. I asked a simple question of out of all the states to live in, why New York in that kind of condition?” Bucky said, hating how it sounded. “I realize now, after processing it, that was stupid and rude.”

“Hence why she smacked you,” Steve laughed, copying the brunette's stance on the opposite counter. “You’re an occupational therapist, Buck. Out of all the things to understand, it’s people adapting to their handicaps and disabilities.” He couldn’t help the laugh at his friend who seemed oblivious to the irony. 

“I was nervous, ok?!” Bucky defended, throwing his arms up and going to pace the room now. “Y/N and I had been sitting in awkward silence for the most part of the meeting so far, and that was the first piece of conversation that came to mind.”

“I’m hoping for your sake, he wasn’t a dick about it.”

“He wasn’t. He actually said he gets asked that a lot. Apparently, he hasn’t been blind all his life and said he’s lived here all that time. Helps when you grow up in the environment you live in.”

“Very true,” Steve agreed, grabbing his food and stirring it around before taking a bite and talking again. “Besides her looking ‘perfect’, did the process go well? You know, besides her reprimanding you like a mom?”

“Ha ha. You’re so funny,” Bucky deadpanned. “But yes. We signed our things and updated it all. Hey, did you know she’s a co-founder of Nat’s woman’s home? I guess not a co-founder, but investor?”

Steve finished his bite and shook his head. “Can’t say I did. It must be recent if that’s the case because neither Nat or Y/N told me about that.”

“I think it is, but damn…”

“Damn what?” Steve asked. 

“Well, at first she had me dropping my jaw at the fact that she did everything and more that she had hoped to do. She’s become an environmentalist like her grandmother and has started a whole business based on it.”

“I mean she was an environmentalist as soon as her GG had her walking. Remember how she would always take our straws at restaurants and have the waitress take them back so we didn’t ‘kill the turtles’? And that was before that was a like a worldwide trend,” Steve remenised, moving to the living room to eat at the couch. Bucky following. 

“God, yes. She started carrying like 10 reusable straws with her as soon as they came out with them. That and remember the amount of reusable bags she had in her backseat any given time of the week?” Bucky laughed, joining him in thinking back to the dated memories. 

“So many she would hand them out to people in parking lots at grocery stores to use themselves,” Steve added. “God, she really loves this planet. I admire her passion though. We need everyone to have a heart for our home like that.”

“She made it everyone's mission around her to know just how important it was,” Bucky smiled at the thought as he looked off in the distance, wrapped in the memories he loved. But that wasn’t the point. The point was he would never be close with her like that again. What they had was done and over… Or would be. “Funny thing actually…” Bucky chuckled awkwardly. 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, looking at the TV in front of him. 

“We may or may not still be married…”

There was a pause as Steve stopped mid-chew and slowly turned his gaze from the baseball reruns on the screen to Bucky with a tight smile. 

“Excuse me?”

“I guess that wasn’t the endgame for today’s meeting…”

“What was?”

“Getting things updated and signed so that the papers were actually ready for our divorce,” Bucky answered. 

“So she’s still Y/N Barnes?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t say that to her face. She looks like she wants to physically throw up when you call her that,” Bucky slouched in his chair. His hand coming up to cover his face as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. 

“So still married?”

“Still married.”

“How long?” Steve sighed, putting his food on the counter and leaning back in his own seat. 

“As long as it takes to make up the new divorce settlements and get them signed and sent back in. Until then… I’m a married man.”

If you would like to be tagged in this series, please send an ask! It keeps things more organized for me. If you comment, I most likely will not add because I loose them:)

- Tags will be closing soon.

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley​ @ximaginx​ @vicmc624​ @leyannrae @lonerlovescompany​ @jessyballet​ @angstysebfan​ @tita127​ @semistablecentenarian​ @im-a-light-child​ @alyssahowden​ @studiesinspanish​ @natyvwe​ @rebekahdawkins​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @millennial-teenybopper​ @scotlandasshole​ @aquariusbarnes​ @shinykoalacat​​

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​ @death-unbecomes-you​​ @heyiamthatbitch​​ @lizzymacy555​​  @srrymydood​​ @xa-dia​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​ @morganclaire4​​ @connie326​​ @captain-asguard​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​ @teenagedreams-bucky​​ @shower-me-with-roses​​ @pham-tastical @livstilinski​​

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​​ @lauravicente​​ @kakakatey​​ @traceyaudette​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​  @laneygthememequeen​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @sandlee44​​ @thorne93​​ @thefaithfulwriter​​ @essie1876​​ @greyeyedsmile14​​ @capsiclehan​​  @xostephanie​​ @averyrogers83​​ @awesomenursingstudent​​ @gh0stgurl​​ @cs-please​​ @carls1022​​ @jjlevin​​ @rainbowkisses31​​ @anise-d-castle6​​ @deannotmoose​​ @their-bibliophile​​ @kitkatd7​​ @willowbleedsonpaper​​ @mariaenchanted​​ @snffbeebee​​ @couldabeenamermaid​​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @princess-annna

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​​ @charmedbysarge​​ @jbarness​​ @bellamy-barnes​​ @katiaw2​​ @aikeia​​ @stopjustlovethemcu​​

[jackbabewang]

Head over heels

Genre: Another nose bleeding ceo Jae, Fluff, Mature content

Word count: 5,818

Currently, in your mid-20s, studied for a degree in Administrative Assistant at a four-year college and working as a secretary in a major corporation. You have a good salary and excellent benefits, earning enough to rent an apartment of your own, but your workload may be more than you can realistically handle and no matter how motivated you are, it will be beyond the realms of human possibility. 

Working with your superior, Jung Jaehyun, is more like a profession. There is always a sense of moral obligation to do more than the minimum laid down in the job description when the man himself works like a monster. You were prepared for the immense sacrifice as well had you accepted the offer. It was agreed. 

With great reluctance, you have grown one hell of an addiction to caffeine, which is clear when you go without it for even one morning, like today. You feel foggy and crabby. None of the words seems to penetrate beyond your mind of half-conscious blank. The pen that is unfailingly in your hand, starting to draw elaborate doodles on a clean page in the notebook which is largely useless at this point.  

Surprisingly, Jaehyun is not listening to the presenter as well. He has crossed and uncrossed his legs six times, peeked out the window eight times. His fingers plow through his hair, messing up the always-neat style he has probably struggled half the morning to achieve. The generality however appears to be interested in the object of the meeting, behaving orderly and attentive. Their intention is, of course, to impress their boss. However the man is probably scoffing inwardly at their obvious acts. 

He is looking around, when out of the corner of his eye he caught movement. The strain on your face, your lips pressed tightly together, your body slumped almost sliding off the chair, as if your backbone has been pulled out through the top of your head. Amused, he brings his attention to what exactly you are struggling with and he sees your right foot: bared. Stretching on your toes, you try to snag your lone shoe but it is an inch out of your reach. And inside, you curse yourself to lose that annoying habit of swinging your feet. 

He watches a moment more then drops his pen, letting it roll over. He bends and pretends to pick it up, catching you off guard as he picks up your shoe instead and holds it so you can slide your foot into it. You cannot quite comprehend of his gesture, and try not to think about it—even when his hand, lightly touching your ankle in turn, sent coils of heat twirling all the way up your leg and through your whole body. Nothing comparable to this has ever occurred which requires direct bodily contact with your boss, to be exact. You slightly choke on your own saliva, but refuse to look at him in the face, visibly embarrassed. In the meanwhile, Jaehyun glances at you the oftener, thus noticing your reaction of an interesting one. 

Weeks have gone by, you never spoke of the incident, and he never brings up the subject either as though nothing ever happened, despite the tension that is sometimes evident in the way he watches you like he demands a “thank you” after the act and thinking you are a woman so ignorant, unmannered and … immodest. That thought troubles you more than the other, though.

Troubles always, somehow, never come to an end, never reach exhaustion; they are new every morning, one woman in particular is trouble herself—Park Sooyoung, the embodiment of your day-to-day horror. You have to admit, from head to toe, she is more beautiful than any female, including yourself in this workplace. She is gorgeous with a perfect figure and has all the attention of the men here, except for the one enclosed behind glass doors on the 45th floor. Mr. Jung, Jaehyun, is eye-candy extraordinaire. Or ‘sex on a stick’, which you overheard her conversation that day in the pantry.

The employee manual says, “Keep the dating scenes away”, as it is most likely to ruin the workplace or kill your career. She interpreted otherwise, eagerly looking for her dear ones. You do not understand her, her constant attendance at Jaehyun's office with a stack of papers which she claimed as her legitimate reason to meet the CEO. And every damn time, exercising intense self-control, you refrain yourself from laughing seeing her walk out a minute after with her ‘documents’ left untouched, indubitably not a single glance from the man. 

Then you know you might be in trouble when the buzzer system, a companion to the intercom, alerts you with two buzzes to indicate that you are to come into Jaehyun’s office. Knocking twice as a courtesy and you enter after hearing his bid and shutting the door behind. You utter no word, make no sound as you cross the thick carpet. You know the instant you set foot in there is something about the air that gives you a bad feeling. The familiar prickle ripples over your scalp and spreads down your neck and shoulders. You gulp. 

He stops, looks up, then back to the chaos on his desk. “Could’ve stopped her…” Phew!

“Yes, Mr. Jung. I should. Next time.” Your sentence breaks into phrase, phrase separates into words, you speak out like a robot, totally expressionless. 

“No more next time, please.” He has never used the word before, rarely hear it from his lips, which sounds like an exasperating term because it shows the helplessness in him. “And put this away,” he orders, without lifting his head. 

The bittersweet fragrance of coffee curls enticingly around your nose, the porcelain filled and still warm in your hand, whereas he has not even touched the beverage. Sooyoung needs to step up her game if she is ever so determined to get into his pants. Brown is the colour of the milky coffee that Jaehyun absolutely dislikes. He has them dark brew, no milk, no sugar, no creamer. You have tried it once and it tastes bad, it tastes awful as its poisonous-looking black. You switch the flat-out rejected beverage for the one to his liking and not so long after he finished with nothing left in the bottom of the cup. 

He works all day, and you work all day. As the saying goes, “A good boss does not leave until after his last employee does.” But if it is the other way round, does that make you a good employee? Totally. The corporation has an extra busy month with the expansion to take all the business it can get. To demonstrate how busy it is, longer hours of work on the same day has been introduced. Even on a Sunday, you are with your friends having brunch when you receive a call to work where your boss has clearly heard the munching of food and clanking of silverware against China over the line. How sucks it is even when you have not drive today and given ten minutes to be there, you have to pay the additional for cab fare. 

Inside, Jaehyun is leaning over his laptop and typing furiously. His fingers are almost a blur over that keyboard. 

“Sorry, Mr. Jung. I’m—” you glance at your wristwatch, holding the tiny face of it between the fingers of your right hand and squinting, “—six minutes late. I was caught in a traffic jam.” 

“It’s fine. Come sit.” 

You do what he asks. You peek over his shoulder and see a screen full of words, you peer harder at the teeny-tiny letters and it takes a fraction of a second to realize he is doing your portion of work. Almost immediately you interrupt him, almost instantly you regret your harsh manner when he turns to you with eyes filling with confusion before his brows knit themselves together in concern. 

“Move over,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands away from which you have shielded the brightness of the display. 

“No, that’s my work. I should be responsible for it.” 

“I don’t have time for this,” he warns. 

You grumble right back, “Just this one, alright? And I’ll do the rest.” 

“If you’re feeling sorry then stay until I leave.” Oh so easily he is keeping you captive, simply taking advantage of his position because he knows that he can. And of course, you will. 

There is the occasional tap tap on a keyboard, turning of pages, then comes the restlessness where conversations are strained or non-existent. As you let the spin of the swivel chair stops on its own, it yields to face the spectacular turquoise tank behind the ornate desk where Jaehyun is sitting at. There swims a three foot long koi which his father bought for 1.4 million after a fierce bidding war at a fish farm in the city of Hiroshima. The bare tank with no gravel or decorations is built into the wall covered with white marble; its simplicity yet luxurious touching makes it a convincingly beautiful moving portrait. Staring at it for the rest of the afternoon, or a probable evening, is enough to elevate your somber mood. 

“Mr. Jung—”

“Jaehyun,” he corrects. He has previously asked you to dispense with the “mister” treatment when you and him are alone in the office but you cannot drop the formality just because he said so. You have to maintain the dignity of his position and allegedly emphasize an atmosphere of collegiality. 

Suddenly you are eager to initiate a conversation, “I like your fish tank. Salt water?” 

“Fresh actually.” Right there. He is giving you the look again. “It’s a carp.” 

“I know I sounded dumb… You don’t have to make it so obvious…” you mumble under your breath, but he heard you nonetheless.

The sky has sunk nearer to the horizon and everything is deep red. Your Sunday is like an ordinary weekday and ordinary rounds of filing, opening and sorting the mail, verifying facts and assembling data—which you have gotten everything complete by now. However the workaholic’s compulsive ass stay rooted to his leather seat, as if he is growing right into it. Only when you call out to him for food does he excused himself from the havoc on his desk, reluctantly. It fascinates you most of the time how he actually listens to you when it comes to reminding him to drink, to eat, and never not to eat, because he always, always got carried away and forego meals. At some point, you are like his mother for real and feel an obligation to take care of him his health; while it only increases his dependency on you. Pretty sure you can accurately state his likes and dislikes with the certainty that you understand him better than he understands himself. 

Two years of working with Jaehyun, you have never once put your foot in his pantry and you assume he never does too. It fills with the distinctive smell of those new things untouched by humans; pristine white cabinets reach to the floor and ceiling, bisected by a tasteful granite countertop and subway tile backsplash. The warm glow from the overhead lights giving the place a cozy, homey feel (and hiding layers of dust). Rather, you will work in here instead of facing the boring office neutrals 24/7. 

You eyed him as he slurps his bowl of jajangmyeon and chomping down the strands of noodles with his front teeth. He resembles a rabbit eating like that but in all honesty you are hyper aware of the black sauce being splattered on his white shirt. 

Or what he thinks about the food, “Do you like it?” 

He ponders momentarily before answering, “This thing is unhealthy.” 

Well, you are unhealthy for your unhealthy eating habits! 

Jung Jaehyun, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is made for fine dining and ridiculously expensive food anyway. What will he even see in these cheap Chinese food?

“How about this— Try this—” Fried dumplings dipped into the red sauce of tteokbokki topped with a piece of kimchi. You pick up the salivating fusion with your chopsticks, before you know it, he leans forward and captures the heaping amount in a huge mouthful. It then follows by approving nods and satisfied hums, all the while your mind comes into play. Purposefully, you ignore the jolt of awareness, even though it twists you up like a pretzel. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Do I make you nervous?” 

The hell is he talking about. His speech is all but business-like and you are internally freaking out at this cheeky side of your boss. 

“N-No…”

“I think I make you nervous.” 

“You don’t make me nervous,” you reiterate. Collecting yourself, you pick up overlapping circles of sliced radish and pop them into your mouth only to feel the choking burn of vinegar at the back of your throat. 

“Why do you shy away every time our shoulders brush?” 

“I don’t like being crowded.”

“You didn’t seem to mind so much before.”

“That was different.” 

“What was different?” He wears an open grin of amusement, enjoying every second of your embarrassment. 

As you continue to stuff your face, you glance over at him, and caught him staring at you. You look away for a moment, then look at him again. “What are you looking at?” you ask through gritted teeth. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. “It’s just that, I’ve never seen you dressed in casual clothes.” 

You are always in a buttoned-up white blouse, black pencil skirt and matching fitted blazer. “Right, and I get tired of wearing the same thing all the time.” 

While he has always dressed in fine shoes and classy suits, you have never before, indeed, seen him like this either—oversized cotton-poplin shirt and black ankle pants. Though someone else may look like a baggy, slouchy mess in the outfit, he looks like a whole meal. This Jaehyun radiates comfort and soothing kindness that for a minute you have forgotten about him being your boss. 

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You tell him and he grins in that lopsided way.

Yet a man has his pride. So you add, “Ugly as ever.” The comment itself is certainly a rude way to speak to your boss and instantly you regret it, but he does not seem bothered anyway.

“I may be ugly, but I’m still better looking than you,” for which he retorts quickly. “Say. Why don’t we skip work tomorrow?” 

You blink, taken aback by his idea, but in truth you desperately want to stay home and shed your responsibilities and act as lifeless and unrestrained. “We can’t skip work.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “I know you’re fucking tired of this shit.” 

Though once again taken aback by his unusual words and speech patterns—which you can only assume the filters of polite society is not working when he is overtired—his facial expression implies reference to something else. But why the teasing tone?

Then it hits you. Your Twitter account, where you have been very active the last few weeks, as a platform to express your thoughts and emotions on working tons of overtime. Your rants are so insane that it is as if someone has pixelated your brain. The ungenerous, unladylike words blurted you regret them. 

“You stalked me!” 

“It’s not my fault that your profile is public.” 

“Why would you even search my profile?”

“Just checking out what my employees been up to.” 

He speaks about it so nonchalantly. You almost roared at him.

“There’s a meeting tomorrow morning with Mr. Kee,” you remind.

He groans only at the utterance of the name of the presenter. Recalling what has occurred in the last conference, he resents waking up early to another yawning dullness, however he chuckles at the reminder of the little interaction between you and him. That brings a pleasant recollection and something to look forward to. Under the table, maybe games of tic-tac-toe, dots and boxes, or maybe, just maybe he can play with your fingers. He stares at your hands to savor the lingering and wonder if you know how incredible they are. Hands like that—small and soft-skinned next to his—should be pampered. He can spin a dream of what those hands will feel like on his flesh. 

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling falls over him as he says, “I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?” you ask. 

“Dinner. Food.” A few seconds lapsed, and he says, “It seems that I’ve been eating alone a lot lately, and I’d like some conversation with good food.” 

“I have plans for—”

“You’re not married, are you?” he asks.

“Me? No, I’m not.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

“No,” you answer, a little offended.

“Then let’s have dinner.” That’s it? 

“Like… on a date?” Stupid, stupid, stupid, you tell yourself. Dinner. That’s it. You know that you are not supposed to overthink it as a romantic appointment, not with him. Perhaps, he wants to talk about the company’s cash flow in a private setting, or he wants to inquire on the status of recent projects, or he wants to find out which projects are running. Perhaps, deep down, you want to casually talk about everything over good food, as a friend for the least. 

“A real date?”

Date. He likes the sound of it, oh he likes it even more when you are the one clarifying it. 

“There’s such a thing as a fake date?” 

You roll your eyes at him.

“Call it a date then, as you wish.” And you resist scoffing out loud at his cockiness, while there is bursting red upon you the shyness of a young girl. 

Hours elapsed upon return to work, but the ambience is more calm, peaceful and comfortable in the moment. Presumably Jaehyun had quelled his distress with food as he is adorable high-spirited than ever. The once deadly dull office is now filled with music of Cigarette After Sex’s and Frank Ocean’s, such that you poke fun of him being an emotional teen, while you secretly enjoy the songs as well. 

By the time Jaehyun finally shuts down the computer, though the files are left open on his desk, it is already midnight. With a groan, you sink in the fact that you still have to wake up early tomorrow as per usual. 

At the sound of it, Jaehyun turns to you with a raised brow, “What? Don’t want to leave?” 

For a minute, he looked unusually handsome and resplendent, marked by deep-set brown eyes, little indentations in his cheeks. He is teasing and it does not help with how awestricken you already are by the look he gave you. For a second, you stand rooted to the spot with nerves twisting your insides; Jaehyun holding the elevator door open and waiting.

His fake cough brings you sharply back to your senses. “Oh, no— shit— sorry,” a smile pulling at the edges of your mouth with false gaiety. 

The elevator comes to a stop. Later taking larger steps than you usually do and out to the ground floor lobby, there he cocks his head, confused, “Where are you going?” 

“I’m not driving today. I’ll take the bus home. See you tomorrow, Mr. Jung.” You bow and wave in a polite manner but he is quick to stop you from taking more steps away. 

“I’ll give you a ride. Come in.”

“It’s fine. The bus station is not so far away.” 

And just like that the both of you end up arguing at a distance over the way to get yourself home, with him still pressing the ‘open’ button that his finger is most likely indented at this point. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” his eyes stern as he scolds (but with no harshness in his voice) yet you then are aware of this mistaken outburst of his and so you quickly step inside. His lips curled up in a victorious smirk unnoticeable by you, a clear winner once again.  

Jaehyun drives this maddeningly slow pace when the road is not even under congested conditions at this hour. Inside this four wheels, you seem to get strangely awkward with all the fidgeting of fingers on the seatbelt despite being on the same ride for multiple times. But those times were with his private chauffeur as well. Have you talk about the Jung Jaehyun drives one-handed? Because that is freaking hot. Spicy. 

Things take off another note—when the next morning you arrive with a cup of hot, steaming coffee and your favourite cinnamon sugar donuts on your desk. Judging that you appear to be showing up behind schedule for sleeping in—the reason being so, it is better not to be reminded of. You run a list of names in your head to figure out who that ‘secret angel’ could be. Aside from your only friend in the workplace, Chaeyong, who received maternity leave a few months ago. You hardly associate with the rest of the employees due to your position that you only need to deal with one person. And that only person seems to have been watching you the second you walk in, however, there he is sitting in his office, eyes trained on the documents from the night before. 

It is of infrequent occasions he has the shades rolled up. 

The said meeting with Mr. Kee goes by smoothly with the respective project itself taking form now and the next thing you know—you are sitting at a table of two in a fancy Italian restaurant located within the affluent area of central Seoul. You are still unable to stir the reality that the ‘date’ is actually happening, judging that Jaehyun could have or should have brushed it off when both are time-poor during the day. Here you have him twirling a glass of red liquid by its stem mindlessly and show no signs of initiating a conversation. It is frustrating at first, but you think that there is a need to make the most of the night when you could have been eating cheeseburger and greasy food back at your little chamber. 

Unfortunately, what should have been a long-winded conversation dies down fast with Jaehyun answering questions by questions in straightforward and short factual answers instead of throwing the ball back to you in effort of prolonging. You bet your entire fortune that Jaehyun is a mo-ssol (one who has never dated since birth), judging the way he speaks in a manner so expressionless like a piece of log, so stubborn. All those meetings or business events do him no good.

Sigh. You have to do everything yourself around here. 

It almost takes you off guard when he asks, “So… tell me about yourself.” You definitely knows him very well but it was never the other way round. Your heart beats with odd little jerks at the thought of his possible interest in you. Now, you do not want to give yourself a false hope of it being a romantic interest otherwise. 

To make things easier, you suggest on the game of “I Like”, to which he shrugs and says, “Okay.” 

You begin, “I like… visiting zoos, scented candles and everything chocolate.” 

“That’s odd.” 

A weird combination indeed but, “That’s how the game goes!” 

“Well… I like…” he ponders for such a long time, as if mulling over the merit of finally revealing the side of him that you never knew of, nonetheless, “I like… turntable, pistachio ice-cream and Batman.” 

Your chuckle comes in response at his last item, “Batman, really?” 

“Hey, never judge someone’s favourite superhero!” 

“Whatever,” you mumble a, “Superman is way better,” under your breath to which he catches on immediately and a childish bickering breaks out from then on who is the best superhero. 

After paying the bill and a bit of you whining, “I don’t want to go home… It’s cold, dark and lonely, and cold…” after wine after wine intake. Jaehyun takes you back to his place and things escalated from there. You kick off your heels attempting to slide across the marble floor in bare feet, stumbling forward you slam him against the wall while still holding on to him. 

Though genuinely surprised, he cannot ignore your eyes like cataracts producing the hazy look, blush tingeing your cheeks from too much alcohol and every inch nearer you get he finds himself having trouble refusing your anything. Letting your index finger, delicate, almost like a feather, trace the arch of his eyebrows to the tip of his nose and along his pouty lips. 

“N-no… We can’t do this…” he groans in protest, holding onto a dangerous slippery rope that is ‘lust’. He finds it completely wrong to take advantage of you in this drunken state, but you seem to not care at all as you slide closer to him stepping on his sock clad feet. Your narrow rib cage with the pillowy softness of your bosom pressing against his chest, so alluring with your breath mingles with his own—that is his last straw. 

He inches a hand downward and wraps itself around your waist as he gathers you close capturing your mouth with his in a dance of sorts, tasting with tender, tantalizing nips and slow strokes of his tongue. Feeling—yes—the excitement of his racing heart and the ragged edge of his breathing. You are so generous, so giving, so primally female. He has never done this before, but his body reacts, it is taut and hard and humming with impatience. 

You ease his suit jacket off his shoulders and it drops on the floor behind him. Then he twists around, shuffling to his room until he falls backwards when his foot hit the edge of the gargantuan bed. Straddling atop him, you curl your hands into his pristine shirtfront and surrender to the consuming heat of his kiss. In semi-consciousness, your fingers flick open the buttons. He weaves his fingers into your silky hair as you continue to undress him. He spins your bodies around again, this time having his hips nestle their way between your thighs. 

You want to touch him. You want him to touch you—all over—but all he does is touch you with his mouth and feed you kisses while devouring your good sense. He growls low in his throat as he abandons your mouth to drag his lips along your jaw. He licks at the delicate skin of your throat and closes his teeth on the tendon joining your neck and shoulder, sending sensation shooting through your body like a hot bolt of lightning. You shudder, half expecting your head to explode. 

“Jaehyun… it tickles,” turning into a giggling mess when he slides his lips over your neck, kissing from the front to the sides to the back. He chuckles boyishly all the way and those giggles turn into breathy sighs, gasps when he lingers on the tender skin behind your ear. You moan, moving restlessly against him and nearly combust when the long, thick ridge of his arousal presses against you. Right where a painful, empty ache blossoms. 

Every stitch of clothing removed and your entire body gives a single shiver as he enters with perfect precision, penetrating slowly all the way inside. He is so tender, so gentle with each thrust, making you cry out in blinding ecstasy and only crave him more. He revels in the new sensations of you enclosed around him so tightly, and how good your bare skin feels against his. It is a level of heaven he has never known existed. 

“Oh God, you feel so good,” he curses under his breath, closing his eyes as he savors each moment rising towards his own orgasm, “Want to come inside you, is that okay? Can I?” 

You cannot even form an answer properly with your mind fuzzy with absolute pleasure that adds to your intoxication, giving him a weak nod and clenching around him so he is moaning your name loudly. As you both reach the edge and shatter, you hold onto each other and squeezing whatever is there to reach out. Breathing deeper and faster, hearts pounding in your chests, laying there limbs tangled for quite some time. 

Your internal clock wakes you up at eleven and you glance around trying to assimilate something of your surroundings. Your eyes, squinting in the sunlight that dance through the large windows. Your body, dressing in a pair of silk pajamas that is of luxuriousness you will never possess. Immediately, you head in the direction of what you assume is the bathroom. And your reflection, astonishingly clean and tidied up of the makeup from the night before besides the remnants of waterproof mascara and some semi-permanent “stains” on your skin. 

Jaehyun looks to you popping out from behind the wall like a thief, his eyes falling to the shirt you are wearing and the corners of his lips twitch upward at the sight. You have not acknowledged his presence yet as you continue marvelling at the large apartment until you hear a soft chuckle from a distance. You shriek, there sits your superior at the dining table with a tablet propped up in a case. 

“W-we’re… late for work,” you blurt out awkwardly, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

There is a short pause before he speaks, “Well, good morning?” and tells you that he has called in to say that you are both away on a business trip. Skipping the fact that you are walking funnily. 

The tips of his ears a cute shade of pink and it hits you, “D-did we…?” Such a stupid question when your neck and chest all over have hickies that match the big one on his clavicle. Boy, were you wild last night. He only answers with fake coughs and avoids looking directly at you.

Your eyes squeeze shut with a heavy sigh upon an internal breakdown. How are you supposed to maintain a great performance at work when the embodiment of your disaster is only a few feet away. Things will never be the same. Heck, it was never the same since the incident from a month ago. 

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid…” if sleeping with your boss is not dumb enough. You just have to be reminded about it over and over again. Is there any way you can shut down your brain or even better, trade it with someone else?

“...besides dragging me around by my necktie,” he mumbles, the shade of his ears intensifies and spreading to the column of his neck. Anyways, “Are you hungry?” 

You are about to reject and scram off to your apartment just to hide this enormous feeling of embarrassment you are suffering at the moment but heaven does not help you. Your belly rumbles in hunger and he is instructing you to take a seat. 

The smell of lightly burnt toast with a side of eggs and delicious bacon as well as the aroma of caramel coffee makes your mouth water. Though it is just a combination of simple brunch menu, he manages to get the job done perfectly and you are inhaling the food with a childish grin. The humiliation from before has whisked off and thrown to the back of your mind, replacing with the appreciation of having someone to fill you up instead. Wait— that sounds wrong. You choke on food and on the air itself at such polluted thought. 

“Are you okay?” he rushes to your side giving gentle pats on your back. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, just—” you find yourself going red again when you see that maroon mark on his skin. 

His hand finds purchase on your head, stroking endearingly, “Don’t get all shy with me now. You’re practically all over me last night.” 

Right when you are getting mushy from the affection, he has to add that so you remove his hand and sigh heavily, “Mr. Jung—” his brows furrow at the formal address, “Maybe we should just forget about the whole thing—”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he interrupts, “I’ve seen the way you look at me and you should’ve known better. I would’ve transferred you to another department if I were so against it but I kept you by my side, didn’t I? You knew that I could hardly work with anyone else, I am stubborn at times and couldn’t even take care of myself, but the fact that you are always there when I need you… You understand me more than myself and you’re…” he heaves a sigh of overwhelming relief for finally getting off these words from his chest, “You’re just amazing…” There are sparkles in his eyes with the utmost sincerity. 

Oh my Lord, is this a confession? Is it? This is a confession!

“So… you took me on a date to fuck me?” Your mind chooses to betray you at the very moment, being equally submerged by the revelation. 

“I’ve never said that.” Bending, he leans closer, “But we had a great time. True?” and kisses your lips you stiffen unprepared. Seeing that you did not answer, he adds, “I don’t mind going for another. If you’re down for it too.” 

Things do change afterwards. The atmosphere of that particular 45th floor of the office building has now blossomed with bubbles of pink. Jaehyun has the shades rolled up ever since and sometimes sending you flirty gazes. It is surely distracting but you do the same and never fail to grasp the chance just staring at him in awe and thinking, “Oh, this handsome man is mine!” The oftener he catches you watching and the intercom goes, “Missy, get back to work.” 

Even so, Sooyoung still pay her regular visits. As she finally leaves his office, you are called over immediately and the first things you say, “What does she want this time?” not realizing your tone of speech. 

He grins, victorious, “Were you jealous all this while?” 

With a scoff, “Jealous my butt.” 

“Had I known…”

“What?” What are you gonna do? I dare you!

“I would’ve kept her in longer,” he says nonchalantly, though you are fuming with his ridiculousness (knowing that he is only teasing). But still!

He is quick to catch your wrist when you turn to leave, and tucks you in the warmth of his embrace. Your nose filled with the scent of him. His cologne makes you think of green, grassy meadows covered with yellow flowers. So fucking good.

“Mr. Jung, it’s against the rules— Keep the dating scenes away,” you warn in a stern voice, feigning annoyance from his previous remark. 

He leans closer instead and invades your space, capturing your mouth in a scorching kiss like he has been holding himself back for hours.

“My rules, my way.” 

[that-girl-over-there-ffn]

you’ve got the love

[i wrote this a few years ago when i was still working on the affinity and chaos project, but never posted it. but ep 5 of wandavision made me dig through the old files, so here it is.] The metallic sweet taste that could only be her husband, the tingling current that passed between their lips, and the serenity of his psyche embracing hers. Had Wanda known when she first met Vision that this was what kissing him would be like, she likely would've jumped him right in front of everyone at Stark Tower.

Vision chuckled against her lips at the thought of Pietro attempting to reason with his crazed sister as she clung to the newly born synthezoid. Leaning back above her, his eyes analyzed Wanda's brilliant smile. As the breaking daylight illuminated the room, she appeared almost angelic with her hair splayed out over the crisp white sheets.

Wanda blushed, turning away. 'You romanticize too much.'

"I am in bed with the woman I love," he whispered as he brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. "Is this not the time for such ideas?"

With a happy hum, Wanda leaned forward, brushing her lips against his skin. Peppering slow, hot kisses and small nips down his neck, her hands roamed over the taut muscles of his back and shoulders. While his heavy sighs danced in her ears, his knee settled between her legs, which she hungrily moved against.

Trailing a path down her abdomen, his fingers dipped below her waist, sliding between her legs. Carefully, he grazed against her nub once, twice, before pulling away, resting a palm against her thigh. Restlessly, her hips twisted, pressing against him, desire building.

"Please," she breathed. 'No more teasing...'

Vision hadn't the discipline, nor the will, to deny her. 'You need only ask, my love.' His lips ghosted down her jaw and neck, between her breasts. With each slow, simple kiss against her flesh, he paused to gaze up at her beneath his brow.

Wanda's chest heaved, catching Vision's haughty smirk grow as he descended lower beneath the sheet. His eyes bore into hers as he hovered over her waist. As her legs spread wider in invitation, she wondered if he was awaiting another request when the metallic clink of the doorknob turning pierced the air.

And the spell was broken.

"Mom! Dad!" Young William and Thomas bounded into the room.

Wanda recoiled, effectively kneeing Vision in the face as she let loose a quick Sokovian curse and yanked the sheet over her chest. "Boys!" she cried, irritated. "What is the rule about our bedroom door?"

"It's an emergency!" they both chanted.

"What emergency?" Vision inquired as he half phased above the sheet covering him.

"There's a dog outside!" Billy grinned below his brown mop of hair.

"Yeah," Tommy added. "It's like, a puppy, I think."

"It doesn't have a collar!"

"We looked."

"Can we keep it?"

"It's really nice."

"Billy fed it a piece of bread."

"We'll take care of it!"

"Wait," Tommy paused, pushing his white-blond bangs aside. "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing!" Wanda declared before hastily asking, "Where is the dog?"

"We let it in the gate!"

"So it wouldn't get hit by a car!"

"I wanna name it Tiger."

"Boys," Vision calmly interrupted. "Your mother and I will be downstairs in a few minutes to assess this canine. In the meantime, I must ask you to please leave. Now."

"Are you cranky because we woke you up?"

"Yes," Wanda sighed, slightly annoyed. "Now out. And don't let the dog in the house."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, sorry, mom," they both apologized as they closed the door behind them.

Letting loose a groan, Wanda fell back against the mattress. "My god, it's like they have some kind of radar," she huffed.

"In addition to their known abilities?" Vision queried as he gracefully landed beside her. "Unlikely."

"No?" Wanda chuckled before she examined his cheek. "I'm sorry, Vizh. Are you alright?"

"I am unharmed," he replied. Pulling the sheet down, he caressed her knee. "You, however, will likely bruise, I'm afraid."

"Hm," she hummed as her body turned to his. "But I'll live?"

Vision's hand moved up her thigh, pulling her closer. "Yes," he breathed before she kissed him. "The boys will be preoccupied with the dog for a few minutes, I suspect."

"How many minutes?" Wanda pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.

Leaning up, he wrapped his arms around her, "Enough."

xx

Several blissful minutes later, Vision had finally risen, seeking a clean shirt from the closet.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wanda watched her husband as he dressed. The flexing of his muscles as he moved, his graceful hands buttoning his Oxford, it was a not-so-secret pleasure of hers.

Vision hid a small smile, fully aware he was being observed. "What do you wish to do about this dog?"

Burying her head under a pillow, she mumbled, "Put it in the neighbor's yard when the boys aren't looking."

Vision disregarded her comment as he looped his belt though his trousers. "I will inspect it then."

"Right behind you," Wanda murmured, head still buried.

Gracefully, Vision moved beside the bed, pulled the pillow aside and kissed her crown. "I love you," he whispered, just as he did every morning.

"I love you," she breathed, eyes still closed. After she heard the subtle open and close of the door, Wanda turned over, sprawled out on her back with a heavy sigh. Summer vacation had just begun and already she was wishing for autumn. While she loved spending more time with the boys, it came at a cost. As she sat up, she felt an uncertain nudge from Vision's psyche.

'Wanda, this is no dog,' his voice whispered in her mind.

'What do you mean?' she replied.

'That is to say,' Vision explained, 'It is not a domesticated canine.' And with that, he projected the image of the animal in their backyard through his eyes.

Abruptly, Wanda bolted to her feet. 'Vision, that's a coyote!'

'Yes, I'm aware,' he replied nonchalantly. 'Although how a coyote managed to wander this far into the city alludes—'

'Oh my god, get the boys inside!' Throwing on a robe, she ripped open the door and descended down the stairs.

xx

From the window, Vision and his sons watched as Wanda spoke with animal control. The two men had been apprehensive at first, arriving at the brownstone residence of the powerful Scarlet Witch clad in her bathrobe, scolding her android husband, The Vision, and their two peculiar sons. But once the pup had been safely secured, a flood of relief lightened her mood and the workers felt more at ease. Most people, Vision had noted over the years, naturally feared Wanda ... until they witnessed her smile.

As she entered the house, she sighed, "I'm going to get dressed." Without another word, she ascended the stairs.

Wisely, all three observed her exit in silence.

"Come," Vision instructed his sons, once he heard the shut of the bedroom door. "If we are to survive the remainder of this morning, coffee must be brewed."

Once in the kitchen, the boys collected the creamer and sugar as Vision set about filling the carafe, "We will discuss this morning's events."

"Okay," they replied in unison.

"You are expected to abide by the rules of this house. One of them being the rule pertaining to closed doors," Vision explained matter-of-factly. "Do you recall what it is?"

"Knock before you open a door," Tommy recited.

"Very good. And what about your mother's room?"

"Off limits unless it's an emergency," Billy said.

"Correct again."

"Are you mad?"

"No." Hesitating for a moment, Vision contemplated, "I am both pleased and proud of your actions, you should always lend aid when you can. But you must always remember to be cautious."

"We just wanted to help."

"It was just a puppy."

"Yes, I'm aware," Vision patted his sons on the head. "However, frightened animals react most unpredictably - it could have bitten you. And I dare not imagine what your mother would do to any creature that harmed you."

Vision paused as the floorboards above them creaked, indicating Wanda was on her way down. "Do you understand what I am conveying?"

"Yes," both boys replied.

"Excellent," he beamed. "Now, I recommend apologizing to your mother. I believe you gave her quite the fright."

xx

As Wanda entered the kitchen, intent on more scolding and possibly murder, she was abruptly halted by two things. The first being the rich caffeinated aroma in the air, her favorite crutch. The second being her sons latching onto her waist, her favorite humans.

"Sorry, mom," Billy said while Tommy added, "About the dog."

Glancing up, Wanda shot her husband a pseudo glare. He simply gave her a warm smile that she couldn't help but return.

[lovelyirony]

omg 10. “change in mind or change in heart?” with natmaria please? xx

Maria Hill does not like crushes. Ever. They complicate things, are never returned, and mess her up. 

This is why she does not like being around Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. Tasha. Whatever you call her, Maria avoids her. 

This isn’t rational, she knows that. Maria can be a very rational person, but not about emotions. If she could still maintain a shred of empathy every now and again, she would cut out every single emotion entirely. 

Apparently, that is “severely unhealthy” and “please see a therapist, Ms. Hill.” 

It’s Deputy-Director Hill, firstly. Secondly, her whole job is severely unhealthy. She’s not going to stop working it. 

But back to the matter at hand. A crush. Crushes are stupid. All the time. Because when Maria gets a crush, she tends to imagine unrealistic scenarios, reads into every single action, and acts very illogically. 

Such as leaving the break room when her break has just started because Natasha enters and smiles at her. 

Or the time that Maria volunteered to do one of the hardest missions of the week because she decided that it would be better to focus her energies on not being killed and taking down a trafficking ring in Texas and dealing with gun-happy people than sitting down and telling someone that she had feelings for them. 

This did not happen out of the blue. 

Sure, she noticed Natasha when she first came. Hell, everyone did. With her Cupid’s Bow lips, green eyes that could stare right through you, and a killer figure, she bewitched everyone and she knew it. 

But that’s just noticing someone. That’s not knowing how they smile when they find something really funny. That’s not noticing how someone takes their coffee. 

And it’s not falling for someone. 

People tell you that it’s “love at first sight.” Pro-Tip: falling in love happens quickly, but it ain’t that quickly. 

Maria falls in a month. 

It is when she notices that Natasha refuses to drink coffee without creamer. It is when they share jokes and looks at some of Fury’s more petty quips, share a mission, and Natasha laughs. 

She laughs. 

And Maria falls. It’s like when she takes a dive from a tall building and there’s that split-second moment of being worried you didn’t bring your parachute or your team doesn’t have your back. 

So Maria has a little freak-out in her office and on the drive home. It’s fine. She just yells and someone to the right of her car stares, but it’s Fine. 

Things are Fine. 

(They are not Fine.) 

Because she likes Natasha. Likes her in the way that she wonders how it would feel to kiss her, to run her hands through her curls and get them tangled up. 

What if they got too tangled up? What if she accidentally got her hand stuck and then Natasha had to cut her hair and hated her for all of eternity? 

- 

The worst part of having a crush, in Maria’s experience as a human on earth, is quite often it is not returned. There is either the painful experience of them softly smiling and telling you that they are honored, but not like that. Friends, please? 

Or you drift and drift away and you don’t know them and they still smile at you but it’s not the same it can’t be the same all because you were fucking stupid and messed it up and then you’re alone, and--

Wow. Too personal. 

Anyways. They do not return it. And someone like Natasha...a girl could dream. But dreams are short-lived. And they are often just that. 

So she could think about getting coffee with Natasha before work and sneaking kisses while they commute together. She could think about taking her out to dinner and smiling across the table and arguing who will pick up the check. 

But that’s not possible. 

So Maria gets the hell on with her job and reviews over the paperwork twice. 

- 

It’s not until Coulson asks her to come into his office and she sees her. 

“Hey Mar,” Natasha says, smiling. “Fancy having a bit of a fun weekend.” 

Maria’s cheeks color. 

“Um, sure?” 

Natasha laughs. 

“You’re cute when you blush,” Natasha says. 

“Stop flirting in my office, it’s going to scar me,” Coulson says blandly. “I need you both to go undercover for a weekend. We’re supposed to be intercepting confidential medical information from one Dr. Tanner. She’s attending an exclusive LGBTQ club event. You’ll drop in Friday, fraternize Saturday, and lure her in. Got it?” 

“With all due respect Phil, why two of us?” Maria asks. “Natasha would do great, um. I don’t mean to sound creepy about that.” 

“None taken,” Nat says, grinning. 

“Two different styles,” Phil says. “Don’t make me explain. Just bring that blazer and the red pants you like. Go, plane lift-off at seven in the morning.” 

Maria nods. 

And then freaks out. In her apartment. 

Should she buy new perfume? Should she get a new face mask? Maybe she could pack seven different lipsticks, or maybe--

She’s overthinking this. By a lot. But damn, it’s with Natasha. Alone. 

- 

Natasha is excited. She’s the one who convinced Phil to let her put Maria on this mission. It’s logic. She could do it by herself. But it’s so much fun when you have a gorgeous woman at your side. 

She’s intending to tell Maria how she feels. She’s noticed the glances, the way Maria smiles at her. The most important part is that she knows that Maria isn’t just looking. 

So she’s packing, and she’s bringing her nice dress. 

- 

Maria shows up to the airport in comfy jeans, an old college sweatshirt, and has her hair pushed back into a messy ponytail. 

“Too early,” she grumbles, gripping her backpack. 

Natasha, of course, looks put together as always. She smiles at Maria. 

“Good sleep?” 

“None, unfortunately.” 

“Worried about the mission?” 

“More like the outfit.” 

“We can change it up when we get there,” Natasha says. “For now, you’re all good. I was thinking we get lunch when we get there?” 

“Sounds good.” 

The plane takes off, Maria fails to get a nap in, and instead texts Tony memes. 

you know every single time you text me i’m in shock 

why, because you know i’m funny? 

no, not that. just shook that you actually contact me. i thought you had bad guys to catch. 

i do. just on a plane for now. 

oh, with nat ;) she mentioned being excited about the mission! happy u get 2 spend quality time with her, loser 

i will tell pepper about the candle incident. 

i will literally give you an apartment for free if you don’t do that 

i want locations. 

Maria smiles to herself, looking out. 

“Gorgeous, right?” Natasha asks, smiling at her. “I think we’re gonna have some fun, Mar.” 

She likes the nickname. A lot. Probably more than she should. 

But they touch down, get their car, and Maria looks up restaurants. 

Natasha settles on Mexican. 

It’s a nice place, all things considered. They make easy conversation as they drive, and end up getting a table and looking at the menu. The salsa is good. Has a bit too much cilantro, but eh. What are you gonna do? 

“So, what do we know about Dr. Tanner?” Maria asks. 

“She likes women a lot, and she also likes performing illegal procedures on people.” 

“Dynamic.” 

Natasha laughs, sipping more of her water. 

They check into the hotel, get to their room, and find out that there’s only one bed. 

One. Fucking. Bed. 

“We can make a switch, maybe, but--” 

“It’s fine,” Natasha says smoothly, cutting the attendant off. “No trouble at all, but thank you.” 

Things are Fine. 

Just that Maria realizes that technically she will sleep with Natasha. Not in the usual way. But. Still. Sleep. 

They also have to get ready in the same bathroom and room. 

Great. 

- 

At least they both like trashy reality TV and documentaries. They share stories about work, share a mutual hatred for a coworker, and agree to have coffee when they get back. 

“There’s a great little place that I think you’ll love,” Natasha says. “It’s right by my apartment.” 

“I’d love that,” Maria says, smiling. “A lot.” 

- 

And then it’s time to get ready for the night. 

Maria decides to commandeer the bathroom, fiddling with her suit. She’s not sure if it’s too much with the heels. It might be. She still does her mascara and lipstick. 

And then she exits. 

Natasha falters in applying her lipstick. 

“Damn Maria. Damn.” 

Maria smiles. 

“You clean up well yourself, Romanoff.” 

(Natasha loves how she says her last name.) 

Maria cannot stop staring at Natasha. Because she looks stunning. 

-

This mission is boring. It could’ve been one person. Which makes Maria curious as to why there are two of them. Not that she’s necessarily complaining. It just...doesn’t make sense. 

Dr. Tanner is already infatuated with Natasha. She’s enamored, following her around like a dog on a leash. 

It’s amusing. Maria hates it. She’s on her fourth plate of appetizers. 

She has also gotten approached by a very cute woman. 

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs. “I’m Lily. You are?” 

“Valerie,” Maria responds. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“In that suit...the pleasure’s all mine,” Lily says. “My hotel room is 202, if you’re interested.” 

“I don’t believe so,” Natasha says, laying an arm around her waist. “Ready to go, honey?” 

Maria grins. 

“Sorry Lily, but I hope you find someone cute.” 

Natasha leads her out of the club. 

“I got the USB device. Put it in her device, huge mistake. Glad we don’t need to break into her hotel room. Anyways, room service?” 

“Sounds good,” Maria says, mouth going dry. “You can, um, stop having your arm around my waist. If you want. I don’t mind.” 

Natasha smiles. 

“And if I don’t want to?” 

“Change of mind or change of heart?” Maria asks, grinning nervously. 

“Neither. Always liked you, Hill. I thought you knew. That’s why I wanted you here on the mission.” 

Maria blinks, smiles, and grabs Natasha’s hand. 

“Cancel room service, I don’t think it’s necessary.” 

Natasha smiles. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

“Is there alcohol?” (yes, this is me lobbying for more drunk Kath)

I love Drunk Katherine

It had been a few weeks since the group had seen one another so a night out was called for. Race & Spot has arrived just as Katherine had called for a blue fishbowl drink. Smirking, Race was relieved Jack was standing beside his wife as she ordered.

“Jackie, you get to witness the famous blue fishbowl and drunk Kat firsthand!” Race yelled, giving his brother a rough pat on the back.

Kat gave him a look. “You’re talking as if I’m not standing here!”

“Are you denying that things are going to be different than the previous two times you’ve had said drink?” Race raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

Kat smirked. “I told Jack I wouldn’t overdo it tonight!”

“Uh huh Plums.” Taking a sip of his Jameson and Ginger Ale, Race would believe it’s when he saw it.

The four caught up on what had been happening over the last few weeks. Race and Spot were one step closer to adopting while Jack and Kat had taken a step back on the family planning, due to a sudden uptick in work commitments.

Soon, the blue fishbowl had made a very visible impact on Katherine, causing Spot and Race to grin in anticipation.

“Is there alcohol?” Kat slurred, leaning against Jack, arms thrown sloppily over his shoulders and her cheek pressed against his chest.

Race chucked. “I think you’ve had enough sweetie.”

“But Race, blue drinks are pretty!” She pouted before brightening up. “Did you know a pterodactyl could take on a T-Rex?”

Spot raised an eyebrow in Jack’s direction. “What up with her and Dino’s?”

Standing up and adjusting Katherine, Jack shrugged. “This is the only time she mentions them. Damn blue drinks.”

“I told you that you had to be here the next time she had one.” Race gave him a look. “This is in the underlying vows of a marriage, Jackie!”

Kat stomped her foot looking at the three men. “Pterodactyls are the coolest. Jack, when we have kids, can we do a Dino room?”

“Sure.” He helped her stand just as she latched herself to him like a koala. “If you can remember this conversation in the morning, we'll do our kids room in Dino stuff.”

Race and Spot both succumbed to laughing, as Race took a photo of Kat hanging onto Jack. “Have fun with this, Jack.”

Walking towards the door with Kat in tow, Jack shook his head at his wife. “Ride ‘em Cowboy!! Can you make the horse sounds too?”

“Katherine Kelly!” Jack half whispered, half yelled in embarrassment as Race and Spot about fell over in laughter.

“What? That’s what we do——”Jack quickly put his hand over her mouth before she could divulge any private bedroom activities.

Race raised an eyebrow. “Something you don’t want her telling us, Jackie?”

“Just keep movin, Race and leave it alone.” Jack adjusted his hold on Kat before heading to the subway station.

Race chuckled. “Well if it’s that she calls you cowboy, that ship has already sailed. She accidentally texted me that when you were out of town!”

Glaring at his wife and wishing the ground would eat him whole, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other while not dropping his snoozing wife. “How long have you had that knowledge and who all knows?”

“About a year now …. Spot is the only one I told.” Race threw his arm around his husband with a grin. “She was too embarrassed and she bought our drinks next time we went out in exchange for us keeping it a secret. You’re safe, Jack.”

Jack’s cheeks reddened. “If I haven’t said this in a while, you both are saints for doing this not once but twice. Thank you!”

“Yea heavenly hunks!” Kat mumbled in her sleep, before snoring quietly, causing all three to chuckle.

“You guys want to crash at the house?” Jack asked, as they boarded the train.

Shrugging, it was agreed they would as they made their way home.

They got Kat into bed before tucking themselves in, knowing that the next morning would be a rough one.

{Next Morning}

The three got up about 8, made a pot of coffee before sitting around talking about various topics. Jack looked at his brother with a grin. “Want to do the honors?”

Grabbing a cup of coffee with way too much vanilla creamer in it, Race headed to the bedroom where Kat was still asleep. Placing the cup of coffee on the bedside table, Race eases himself onto the end of the bed, grinning brightly.

“RISE AND SHINE SHNSHINE!!! It’s time to get your drunk ass outta bed and face the day!” Putting his hands in his hands, he chuckled as she flew up, face full of hair, and a groan.

“Race shut the f up!” She groaned, flopping back against the pillows, throwing one over her face. “God you’re annoying.”

He raised an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying this more in person than over text. “Is that anyway to talk to your heavenly hunk?”

“Is that what I called you?” The pillow was removed from her face giving him a look.

Grinning, Race watched a blush covered her face. “You also called Spot and Jack that as a collective.”

“Oh God. Just kill me.”

“Why would I do that? This is just too fun!” Race said as the door creaked opened, Spot and Jack there with amused smiles.

“Good morning, cara. How are you feeling?” Jack asked, leaning against the doorway.

Giving him a look, she yawned. “Like you drove a truck over my head, backed up, and did it three more times. What the hell happened last night?”

“We know you are like sleepy animals when you’re drunk and also you really like pterodactyls.” Spot grinned, watching her put a hand over her face in embarrassment.

Her words were muffled but they made out what she was asking. “What kind of animal?”

“Last night you were a koala but you told Jack to “rise ‘em Cowboy!”

Her eyes went wide as she threw a pillow over her face. “Just kill me. Just do it!”

“These two aren’t going to say a word to anyone about the shenanigans you got up to last night.” Jack told her watching the pillow slowly move away. “Now get up, Race brought you coffee, and I’m making waffles.”

Kat gave him a look. “Should I have 911 on speed dial?”

“Fine, Race will make the waffles and I’ll supervise.” Jack annended, grinning. “Now get going.”

They left her alone. Trying to convince herself to get out of bed, it took a few sips of coffee before she was able to stand. Taking her time to get dressed, she pulled her hair into a messy bun before leaving the room and heading to the kitchen. She smiled hearing the three guys laughing. Despite the pounding headache she had, she was glad she had those three in her corner and they’d always be there for her, even in her idiotic times, though they were rare.

“Eat up!” Race put a plate of waffles in front of her as she smiled.

Jack gave her a look over his coffee cup. “So I have one request?”

“What’s that?”

“No more blue fishbowls, ever.” Jack gave her a look. “You become a totally different person and too much of a drunk to handle.”

Giving him a look, she put her fork down before raising her right hand. “I swear no more blue fishbowls.”

The three grinned, giving each other looks. “You’ll just have to find a new drink to try. Maybe something fruity and frozen.”

“Can we table the alcohol discussion until I’m sober?” Kat put a hand over her mouth. “I can’t think of having another drink right now.”

Jack laughed, nodded. “Just eat Kat.”

[admiralty-xfd]

This is chapter three, to read chapters one and two on Tumblr click here. To read on A03 click here. 

Scully woke up in his arms.

For a moment, she experienced the brief confusion of a person who hadn’t been held in years; not like this, at least. That confusion melted into contentment when she saw Mulder, breathing gently next to her.

She watched him sleeping, studying his face. It was drawn up into a slightly thoughtful look, as if he were in the middle of a dream; his eyelids fluttering, his lips slightly parted. There was a tiny pi symbol indented into the skin between his eyebrows giving him that look he had on days when he was particularly exasperated with her.

He really was beautiful. It wasn’t that she hadn’t properly acknowledged it before; she’d just never felt like she had the right to. Any pretense they’d maintained over the past few years that they were strictly friendly, strictly professional, all of that had flown out the window last night. She was happy to look, to admire. Surely she’d earned it.

Vivid flashbacks coursed through her mind: the way he’d clung to her desperately when she threw her head back and moaned, his plump lips pressed against her breasts, catching her sweat. How he’d brought her to climax more skillfully and diligently than she’d ever imagined he could (twice). How he’d cried out her name when he came inside her.

How much she’d needed all of it.

It was still dark outside, but from the look of the clock on his nightstand it wouldn’t be for long. He hadn’t stirred, and she had an overwhelming desire for coffee, so she slipped out of his arms and crept into his kitchen.

The last time she’d stayed overnight at his place was only a few nights ago, after his mother had died. The coffee mug she’d used that morning was still sitting on the counter, a half inch of cold coffee and its own developing ecosystem inside, right next to Mulder’s. Typically she’d be annoyed with herself for leaving it, but they’d left in a hurry that morning, for obvious reasons.

She prepared the coffee and as she waited for it to perk, she washed and dried the mugs. Mulder had no creamer, or milk, even, at least none that hadn't expired. She had no idea where he kept the sugar and was afraid poking around his kitchen would wake him, so she drank it black.

It was bitter, and as it went down her throat, for the first time since she’d awakened a terrifying thought entered her mind.

What have we done?

***

“Hey,” came Scully’s voice as she gently nudged him. “I’m sorry to wake you, but… I have to go home.”

Mulder blinked as the world came into focus. He felt foggy, untethered. He didn’t think he’d slept so hard in his entire life and he was pretty sure finally getting laid by Dana Scully was the primary culprit.

She was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. He was naked beneath his sheet and felt a bit vulnerable.

“Um.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Okay.”

“I made coffee,” she offered, setting his mug down on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” he said gently. Why was she leaving? Something felt wrong. “Is everything… all right?”

She smiled. “Everything is fine, I just have to go home. I have some stuff to do this weekend.”

He looked her in the eye and knew this was a classic Scully retreat. She always threw in the towel too early, before things could get real, before things could shake her. She was a master at it, and apparently even life-altering sex was no match for her skills.

He wanted to say something, to make her stay, to figure out a way to talk about all of this, but he couldn’t think of how.

“Okay.” It seemed to be the only word his mouth could form lately.

She smiled and looked down at him tenderly. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Last night was…” he searched for a word that could properly encapsulate how transcendent last night had been for him. That word didn’t exist, so he couldn’t say it.

“Propitious?” she offered.

“I was going to say something more along the lines of... hot as fuck,” he laughed. She blushed, blushed, for god’s sake, he’d been buried inside her a few hours ago, and when she leaned down to kiss him goodbye he knew he was done for.

This was it, him and Scully, it had finally happened. He’d known for years there could never be another, not for him, which is precisely why he’d avoided this very scenario for so long. It had to be her decision, her push forward, and when she’d finally made it last night he felt as if his life had begun anew. Their timing had finally, finally been perfect.

So why did she have to go?

She pulled back and ruffled his hair in that way she did, only now instead of a friendly gesture on her part, he could almost pretend it was love.

“Can I call you later?” he asked, feeling stupid. He never asked to call Scully, he called whenever he wanted to, day or night. And she always answered. Everything felt different now.

“Yes, of course you can.”

She still sounded a bit off, a bit awkward. He felt resigned: of course things would be awkward. Of course this wouldn’t just magically be perfect. They’d been friends for so long and now this seismic event had occurred. Their worlds would be forever different, no matter how they decided to move forward.

She got up and began to exit his bedroom, and he knew this was one of the times he should definitely not follow her. But he didn’t want her to leave on an uncertain note.

“Hey Scully.”

She turned. “Yeah?”

He smiled, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I’m really happy you came over last night.”

She fingered the door frame in a nervous way, but her smile was the same Scully smile that made his heart melt every time. A sense of relief, however small, settled upon him.

“I am too, Mulder.” She walked out of his view and he heard the door open and close.

He believed her. He had to.

***

Mulder didn’t call that day, nor did he the day after.

Scully wasn’t surprised. It was their usual method of dealing with things, and although her ability to waltz around a heated moment with grace and come out of it unscathed was unmatched, Mulder certainly gave her a run for her money. Together, they were quite the pair.

The sex had been amazing, dare she say perfect? It all felt so right, almost fated. She didn’t regret what had happened, not at all. But she did feel like she’d been careless, perhaps, even irresponsible. Mulder had just been through such a trauma and maybe she’d taken advantage. It hadn’t occurred to her in the moment, even when she realized she finally wanted to do this: the possible ramifications of their actions and the effect it might have on his state of mind.

He’d seemed content enough when she’d left that morning, but her concern for him was real. It was strange that he hadn’t called her all weekend. She could only hope that things wouldn’t be terribly awkward when they saw each other again.

On Monday she showed up at work earlier than usual, anticipating seeing him but dreading it at the same time. She wanted to be there first, but she had absolutely no plan for what to do when he showed up. For all the times she’d imagined moving forward with him romantically, she’d never really anticipated how they would move forward as partners afterwards.

Could they, even? Had they started something that would put an end to the X-Files as they knew it?

She heard the elevator arriving, dinging, his familiar steps echoing closer. Everything felt like it was moving in slow-motion. She’d left the door open, perhaps a subconscious signal that she intended to let him decide what their next move would be.

He appeared in the doorway holding a cup of coffee and a sheepish grin. “I come in peace,” he said, with a high-pitched alien affect.

She smiled, wanting to put him at ease. Taking the coffee from him with a thanks, she sipped it. It was prepared perfectly, exactly the way she liked it.

They just stared at each other for several seconds, and it was hard to look at his mouth and not want to kiss it.

“So,” she said, setting the coffee on the desk behind her.

“So.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” he admitted.

She looked at him from beneath hooded eyelids. “I wanted you to.”

The sexual tension in the air around them had always existed, but it was even worse now because it was rife with expectation. They’d done it before. They could do it again. And again.

Suddenly he was charging forward, and his lips were on hers once again, a hand in her hair, the other on her waist. It wasn’t a soft kiss, or a sweet one; it was insatiable hunger, and she felt it, too. She opened her mouth to let him in and he pressed her back into his desk as they devoured each other.

Well, she thought, I guess this is how it’s going to be now.  

His hand drifted to the bottom of her blouse, and he slowly began to untuck it from her skirt. His fingers spread across the soft skin of her stomach, up to her ribcage. She felt a familiar heat between her thighs that meant this was leading somewhere it couldn’t, not here or now, so she put her hands on his chest and gently broke their kiss. His eyes were full of lust, and she knew they had to stop but by God, she wanted nothing more than to find a supply closet or a bathroom stall to continue scratching their seven year itch. Every minute of every day was going to feel like this, now. The professional, ambitious part of her hated that.

“Not here, okay?” she told him, shaking her head with a smile.

He physically took a step backwards from her, appearing almost dizzy. She was in charge here, and they both knew it. He nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”

“Look,” she said, knowing she’d probably confused him the other day. “I’m sorry I bailed on you like that the other morning.”

His eyes widened, perhaps in utter shock she would actually address what happened. Maybe they really were turning over a new leaf. “Yeah... I wondered what that was about.”

“It was just… a lot to take in.”

He nodded proudly. “Thank you,” he said, not missing a beat.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. “You know what I mean.”

“I do know,” he said, laughing, and he stepped forward, taking her by the upper arms, rubbing them a bit. “And you’re right, it is a lot. But I think we can handle it.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’ve handled a lot before, Scully,” he reasoned. “This should be a piece of cake.”

She nodded and gave him a small peck on the lips. She then moved around his desk and sat in his chair, folding her arms on the desk in front of her. He stepped back and leaned against the doorframe, shifting a bit, trying to adjust himself. She looked at the bulge in his pants, the bulge she’d naturally noticed many times before, but this time he was showing a bit more than was work-appropriate.

He saw her staring. “Just give me a minute, okay?” he said, putting a hand up.

She looked away, grinning, shuffling through the files on his desk. She pulled one out, read it over. “What’s this?” She held it up. “A werewolf, Mulder? Really?”

He stepped up to the desk, leaning forward in a melodramatic show of reading what he’d surely written himself. “Oh yeah,” he said playfully. “Skinner approved that one much quicker than I thought he would.”

“Six sightings of an unidentified assailant in the past sixty days,” she read. “And you think it’s a werewolf?”

“Each sighting occurred on a night where there was a full moon, and every victim that survived was unable to give an accurate description of their attacker,” Mulder explained.

“Well, then, I apologize. Of course it’s a werewolf.”

“...Until this most recent victim,” Mulder finished, tapping his finger against the file in emphasis. “He described a tall creature covered in fur with glowing red eyes. Which is exactly what we’re going to be looking for.”

Scully looked at him, of course, skeptically. “Skinner approved this? Travel expenses to Los Angeles? For a werewolf?”

“Stop saying ‘werewolf’ like that, Scully,” he said. “You’re going to give me a complex.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. She sighed and put her hand to her temple. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he grinned. “You don’t want to go werewolf hunting with me? Sneak around in the dark? Maybe make out a little under the full moon?”

She narrowed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head. Her feelings for werewolves were certainly lukewarm, but her feelings for him were getting stronger by the hour. Besides, it might be nice to chase something that didn't involve Mulder's demons.

"Okay. But not while we're working, Mulder," she warned him. He put his hands up in resignation and gave her that look, the one that meant he was listening to her, but not really. The one that meant he might run off to the Bermuda Triangle or jump onto a moving train in spite of her protestations.

"I am at your disposal, Agent Scully," he grinned. And she knew he was. She only hoped she could exercise the restraint she'd been miraculously brandishing for seven years.

Maybe he was right. It could be fun. "All right," she agreed. "Let's go catch a werewolf."

A couple of hours later, they were headed to Los Angeles.

to be continued...

[ssixa]

Chance Encounter//Mark Tuan x Y/N

Description: Walking into the night shift at the hospital proves to keep you on your toes. Nights are left to the universe so you can only hope that tonight will be decent. What happens when you find out that one of your patients is THE Mark Tuan from GOT7? how do you try to deal with the chaos erupting from this chance encounter? and how many times do you have to tell yourself that you love your job?

Genre: fluff, slight cringe

Pairing: Black Fem ReaderxMark Tuan (though I will say there isn’t much description of black characteristics)

Word count: 4.4K

Warning: explicit language

A/n: uploading this while I’m in the middle of lecture. Nothing crazy to add though. I was trying to be more specific with the collage, but why is it so hard to find a picture of an actual black woman arm?! (this will most definitely make sense when you read this chapter lol). I really try not to use the same photos twice, but it happens. hope y’all enjoy chapter 3!

*All pic collages are made by me unless I state otherwise. Individual pictures in the collage are not mine and I give credit to where credit is due.

Chapter 3

For shifts being 12 hours long, they always seem to go by quickly. Fortunately, this shift was one of them. Nothing else crazy happened the rest of the shift. More flirting from Mr. Tuan, more me getting slightly flustered by it, got in an argument with a confused elderly patient who...well...it’s too long to explain, actually got to eat dinner, etc. Before I knew it, it was 6:50am. I was finishing up on my last bit of charting when I heard the patient phone at the desk go off. I groveled because I was hoping it wasn’t one of my patient’s who needed something extensive done. I got up and headed to the phone. I checked the screen and saw a room number I know all too well...Mr. Tuan. I answer the phone,

“How may I help you?” I question just like I do any other patient.

“Oh, I was wondering if I could get a cup of coffee” he says politely.

“Sure! how many creamers and sugars” I respond.

“Um, how about 3 creamers and 6 sugars?” he responds giddily.

“Coming right up” I speak up happily. Maybe a little too happily because all I receive is a giggle at the end. I’m just happy that the request wasn’t anything major that involved me having to leave super late like I normally do. It definitely isn’t that Mark’s face would be the last face (of my patients) I would see before going home. I head to the pantry where the snacks and juices are located. I remember the nurses mentioning making a fresh pot of coffee a little while earlier, while I prefer my red bull. I grab a little styrofoam cup, fill it up with coffee, grab the requested amount of creamers and sugars, and head to Mark’s room. 

I reach Mark’s room and proceed to knock. I make my way in and I’m greeted by a bright smile so early in the morning, the poor guy looked tired though. The one of a few downsides of night shift is having to wake up patients while they sleep. I know I’m angry when someone wakes me up from my slumber, so I try to be as polite to them when I go into their rooms at 3am in the morning. I set the coffee, creamers, and sugars down on the table and pull the table across him so it’s an easier reach; and also that breakfast would be served soon so there won’t be much to do for the people bringing the food. 

Once I set down everything, I look to Mark who just has a tired smile on his face. 

I begin brightly, “hope you enjoy your coffee Mr. Taun.”

He looked at me with such a calm look, I guess he was done with the flirting from doing it all night. He comments,

“You seem happy to see me so early in the morning”, maybe I jumped the broom to think he was done with the flirting. 

“Well I’m happy that I get to go home in a few minutes and sleep until coming back tonight. Also the fact that your request isn’t something to keep me here for a long time” I reply happily. 

“So, you’re coming back tonight? Do you ever get enough sleep?” he questions.

“I do, but luckily I only work weekend nights so my sleep schedule doesn’t get super messed up.”

“Oh so you at least get the week off, that’s good” he says earnestly.

“Well, kinda. I have another job I work during the week and on Saturday mornings. So I end up going from there, then home for a little while, then come here for the night” I reply nonchalantly.

“Do you ever rest? You must be tired a lot” he says slightly concerned. 

“Well look who’s talking Mr. Idol” I laugh.

“Yeah you have a point, but just make sure not to push yourself too much. I can at least vouch the damage exhaustion can do” he solemnly replies.

“Don’t worry, once fall starts I won’t be working as much because of school” I say. 

“You’re in school too! You’re insane you know that right haha” he laughs.

“And like I said before, look who’s talking Mr. Idol” I laugh along. I don’t understand why he’s so worried when everyone who knows idol life knows how hard and tiresome it is. It’s sweet though. I look at my watch and see it’s already 7am.

“Well mr. Tuan, I have to go now, my bed is calling for me. I’ll probably see you later tonight” I state walking towards the door. He looks at me with slight confusion,

“Are you not going to be my tech tonight?”

“What? will you miss me if I’m not?” I say sarcastically

“Yes…” I hate when he does that. He gets so serious all of the sudden and I know he’s just trying to mess with me, well not this time pretty boy.

“Oh yeah sure, I bet you’ll just miss teasing me. I only say that ‘probably’ because they could switch my rooming assignments, but to be honest, that rarely ever happens with me since I only work two shifts back to back” I conclude. For a second I thought I saw a slight smile, what a weird dude. We say our sorta last goodbye and I leave the room. Though it’s been an exciting and yet weird shift, I’m just happy to be finally going home.

~Later That Day~

Back again for another shift. Everything is the same as last night and previous shifts. When I check the census, I see that I have one less patient. I guess someone was discharged during the day, good, one less person to look after. I make my way around my rooms, happily greeting my patients who are happy and surprised to see me back again. Then I reach Mark’s room, yet again, a couple deep breaths and my knuckles hit the wooden door. I walk in and I’m greeted by a soft smile...wow...didn’t realize how I missed that smile within a short amount of time. This whole thing is still so surreal to me. 

I see that the manager’s back, but luckily no death glares this time. He actually looks at me pleasantly and I look at Mark,

“Um, Mr. Tuan, did you tell your manager something about me? He doesn’t look like he wants to kill me like he looked yesterday”I question slightly side eyeing the manager. 

“Oh, I just told him how great you were last night, even put up with my annoyingness. He found it impressive that anyone could put up with me for 12 hours straight that wasn’t him, other managers, and the members” he laughed.

“That makes a lot more sense, I’m glad then. Honestly though, I still see you as the quiet member even though there are plenty of videos that truly prove the opposite” I mention. 

“Yeah, I’m still pretty introverted though. The members really bring out my goofy side” he scoffs. I can tell that his members really mean a lot to him, it’s really in the eyes. The small glint I saw in his eyes for just a second, it was really...beautiful. y/n, this isn’t the time. I continue on with the typical routine where I get his vitals and ask the same questions. I even asked his manager if he wanted anything and he asked for a cup of coffee; no problem there. Since I wanted to get more on his good side, I decided to get it for him and add in some graham crackers with it (nice touch y/n). 

Mark watched as I gave his manager the requested item plus the bonus gift. He smirks,

“Really? I don’t recall him asking for crackers. Someone’s trying to make a good impression, but why don’t you treat me that nicely? When I asked for coffee this morning, you really only just brought what I asked” he whined with puppy dog eyes.

“First, you got me on his good side so I would love to keep it that way. Also the fact that he has to keep tabs on you and the other 6 members, I feel for him. So of course I would like to show my appreciation towards him. He must also really be worried about you...ya know” I say shyly. Thank goodness I’m wearing a mask…

“M-my y-y/n is so caring” Mark fake sobs. I roll my eyes at the over acting. For someone so quiet and yet so loud, Mark will never make any sense to me. I continue on with small talk, but excuse myself to finish up my vital roundings. I say goodbye to Mark and the manager and be on my way. 

I had a gut feeling that tonight’s shift wasn’t going to go as smoothly as last night’s. It always happens that way unfortunately. Though I had one patient discharge during the day shift, I gained two more meaning my section was close to its max. One particular new patient had some extra strength for being elderly; she would make a great teammate on a kickball team. While the nurse was trying to get her info and do her duty to get her fully admitted she started kicking and screaming. Another nurse came to help and I entered the room not long after. It was quite the sight though, both nurses having to hold down the limbs of the patient. I told the other nurse that I got it and she would be ok to leave since this technically wasn’t her patient to deal with. She nodded and I took her position holding the patient’s legs. 

An intense stare off between my new patient and I was a battle I knew I could win. I could tell by her eyes, and because I got a report on her from the nurse before she arrived, that she wasn't all there in the head. As the nurse started putting the restraints on our new patient, I slowly let go of her legs because it seemed she had calmed down a bit, boy oh boy was that a mistake. Only about a minute after letting go of her legs do I find a foot flying in my direction. I managed to shield my face with my forearm and block it, but I knew a bruise would be forming there pretty soon and my arm would be sore for a while. I wince in pain, but managed to grab her legs again until we would be able to restrain her. The nurse looked at me and began to ask,

“y/n you ok? That looked like a nasty hit” said the nurse.

“Yeah I’m fine, I just know I shouldn’t push myself for a while” I say to her. She looked and nodded in agreement. She double checks my arm to make sure nothing is out of place and deems I should be alright. I thanked her, asked if there was anything she needed me to do and she said no. I walked out and went to sit at one of the computers to try and clear my mind. After a little while I decided it was best to get some ice and some gauze to wrap and cool off my hurt arm to reduce any possible swelling that could occur. By the time I was done, I saw it was about the time for me to check up on my patients and to see if they needed anything. I made my way room to room while keeping the small ice pack on my arm. Fortunately, I was able to keep it hidden from the majority of the patients (some were asleep at this point anyways)...key word is majority. When I got to Mark’s room, I knocked slightly afraid he would be asleep and I didn’t want to wake him. He was awake, of course, and talking on the phone. When he heard me open the door he turned his head and smiled,

“Hey y/n, great timing! I’m chatting with the members, do you want to say hi?” he asked. This I was very grateful for since the last time was very much a surprise.

“Um sure, as long as I’m not interrupting anything” I say softly.

“Nah, they never do anything that important or they wouldn’t be talking to me” he laughed. The laughing quickly halted when he noticed the ice pack on my arm.

“y/n, what happened to your arm?” he questions, unable to take his eyes off my injured arm.

“Oh nothing to worry about” I smile and wave the hand of the injured arm. Big mistake. I slightly winced a bit and put the ice pack right back down on the arm. Mark mutes the facetime call and flips his phone over. He grabs my arm to bring it closer to him and again I slightly wince in pain.

“y/n...what happened?” he deadpanned.

“Honestly it’s nothing, one of my new patients just has a killer kick for being in her 80s. It’s fine, but unfortunately no bath for you tonight” I laughed, but he didn’t. He looks a bit concerned, but I try my best to brush off his worries. 

“Mr. Tuan I promise it’s nothing serious. In retrospect, I should be the one worried about you given I’m a fan” I say trying to make light of the moment. It partially works, but I know the worry is still there. 

“y/n you don’t have to worry about the bath. The doctor came by and said I could move around with some assistance so I’ll just hop into the shower chair. Luckily, I don’t think I’ll plan a shower for tonight...it’s not like I’ve done much but sit here” he laughed lightly. I smiled glad he was over it, but forgot he was still kinda holding onto my arm.

“Um Mr. Tuan, you’re still kinda holding on to my arm and if you don’t mind I would like to put the ice pack back on it before any possible swelling occurs” I laugh. His eyes grow big, fully forgetting that he has a hold of my arm. He lets go quickly and the room is filled with an awkward silence. Well, almost silent. We started hearing noises and I started getting a little creeped out because...night shift. That’s when I remembered,

“Mr. Tuan I would’ve hoped to have befriended your group members by now. You might want to show you're still alive before they think I did something to you” I laugh. He realizes the whole purpose of me being in the room was that I get to talk to his members. He flipped the phone back over and un-muted it,

“Hey~ sorry idiots, I had to talk to y/n about something” Mark started.

“Who you callin an idiot...idiot” BamBam replied almost instantly. Wow so he really is this extra even when not around fans and cameras huh.

“So are we going to get to meet her or what?” Yugyeom blurts out in Korean. I laugh a little at how childish this giant is. Mark turns the camera to me and I’m met with five faces I’ve grown to know since debut.

“Hi~ I’m y/n and I’m such a big fan! Like this is honestly crazy, though I would’ve loved to meet y’all in a different situation” I relay softly. 

“AYE WASSUP y/n!!” Jackson screams

“Jackson you’re too loud, but hello y/n it is nice to finally meet you” Jinyoung says with a sweet motherly smile. I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, this is all super crazy. 

As I continue to receive warm greetings from the five I realize there’s someone missing. I look to Mark and whisper,

“Where’s JB?” 

He roles his eyes and proceeds with 

“He had some songs he was working on so he couldn’t join” he replied.

“Wow she really must be head over heels for JB huh?” I hear Jackson comment. I panic slightly,

“I was just wondering where he was, I would’ve wondered the same about any of y’all if a person wasn’t here!” I ramble. 

“...wait, but how---Mr. Tuan you didn’t!!” I look at Mark with daggers that're sharper than any needle. He raised his arms up in defensive mode quickly and rebutted,

“I promise I didn’t say anything! I learned my lesson last time so I kept my mouth shut I promise!” he said hysterically, but trying to laugh away the situation. I keep the daggers on him until I hear someone speak up in Korean 

“JB was actually texting us and bragging about how he’s your favorite member and your favorite idol overall” Youngjae speaks up laughingly. I look at Mark and he translates what Youngjae just said, but I find it hard to believe. 

“Jackson is Mr. Tuan translation right or will I have to make his hospital stay longer?” I said evilly.  

“No, his translation was right, JB was bragging about it in the group chat” Jackson said irritatedly. I was shocked, like I can’t believe my bias was this excited that I’m one of his fans. 

“But on your favorite list, what place am I on there sweetheart?” he smirked. Really, this again? And paired with the smirk too...Lord help me.

“Umm~ are you sure you want to know?” I question.

“You and I are tied Jackson. She’s been a fan of Markson so you can tell she’s been around for a while” Mark interjects.

“I’m pretty sure he asked me the question, Markipoo~”I roll my eyes

“I told you not to call me that!!” he grumbled. Laughter filled the room from me and the boys on the facetime call.

“OMG she knows about the nickname!!” BamBam exclaimed. All the boys had tears welling up in their eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh along too, though I had to keep my voice down. Not that I would get in trouble, but I’m at work so I don’t want to seem like I’m just hanging out too much. Then again, I’m done with all my duties for a while so it’s not too crazy to stay here for a little while. 

“But, Mark is right. JB is my favorite member, but Mark and Jackson are tied for second. Even then, apart from JB being my favorite member that doesn’t mean I love y’all any less. I think I would equally pass out if I met any of y’all in real life” I mention.

“Well?” Jinyoung questions

“Well...what?” I asked back confused.

“You’re not passed out” Yugyeom finished.

“Haha, well at this point I don’t think I could be surprised by Mr. Tuan anymore” I laugh tiredly. I could tell they wanted me to continue given their curious looks. 

“Well, first I didn’t even know it was this Mark Tuan that was my patient last night. He also tended to be a big flirt and joker throughout my shift last night. Then, though I was grateful, he rudely surprised me with a video call with JB. Then I came back in here, but fortunately he at least offered to tell me ahead of time that I would get to talk to you all. So though I’m still a bit nervous getting to meet y’all, I’m beyond the moon right now” I conclude. Wasn’t sure if all I just said made sense, but luckily Mark jumps in to translate to the members that are less fluent in English. Thank goodness to Mark. A chorus of ah’s made their way into the room when Mark finished explaining which signaled an understanding. 

The conversation continued on naturally until I heard the intercom come on, 

“Hey y/n room 123 needs some assistance whenever you’re available” the nurse said.

“Okie dokie, thanks. I’ll head there now” I reply. 

“Well looks like duty calls, it was so nice meeting you all finally!” I continue on happily.

“Awe, bye y/n! Hope we can meet again soon!” Youngjae says. The boys follow with similar melodic phrases as we both said our goodbyes. 

As I was walking out, I say my last goodbye to Mark and that I would be back later when I made my rounds for vitals. 

“Okay, see you later sweetie” Mark joked.

“Yeah yeah whatever” I roll my eyes, exiting the room with a smile. That boy is such a headache sometimes, I swear. Welp, I better go help this patient. I know exactly what this patient’s deal is so I know to hurry because they need to get up to use the bathroom. 

*Mark’s POV*

“Sweetheart huh?” Jackson raises an eyebrow.

“Oh shut up, Jackson. That’s how I’ve been messing with her this whole time, though it seems like she’s used to it by now” Mark speaks up.

“Yeah~ sure, but we’ve never known you to flirt like that especially without other fans and cameras around because at that point you would be forced to. Does our Markipoo have a crush?” Jinyoung taunts.

“You would think I would get more respect as the oldest” Mark sighs

“Haha nope, never” BamBam grins.

“But really Mark, you sure you're not seeing y/n any other way. Your eyes seem to tell something different” Jackson brings up.

“I promise it’s nothing, being here is really boring so y/n is just simple entertainment. Really, you should’ve seen her reactions when we first met” Mark says laughingly. 

“Ok bro, just checking to make sure” BamBam replies. 

*y/n’s POV*

The rest of the shift goes by not as eventfully as the earlier in the shift, but what shift goes by without a bit of craziness. I reach the end of the shift and I’m sitting down at the computer catching up on some back charting. 

“How do I always get caught in this situation? Ugh, I’m going to be here for a while” I mumbled under my breath. Next thing I hear is the patient phone ringing. I cringe just knowing very well it’s one of my patients...it always is. I head to grab the phone and look back at the screen to see the room. 

“This boy is amazingly attentive” I laugh to myself. Of course it’s Mark calling. I pick up the phone and answer in my best customer service voice,

“How can I help you?” I answer.

“It’s almost like you wait for my call, do you wanna hear my voice that much?” Mark says. 

“Mr. Tuan did you need something?” 

“Oh ok, I just wanted another cup of coffee” he says in a small voice. 

“Haha ok coming right up, 3 creamers and 6 sugars right? ” I question.

“Yup, good memory” he laughs.

“Why thank you, sir” I laugh and hang up the phone. Yet again happy that the request isn’t too crazy, I head to the pantry once again. I grab the coffee, creamers, and sugars once again. I think to myself that maybe the manager will be back again like yesterday evening so I decided to grab another cup of coffee. I head to Mark’s room and knock lightly. I leave one cup outside the door in case the manager wasn’t there (I know I could just give Mark the other cup, but nah). As I make my way in I’m met with pleasant smiles from Mark and the manager as well. I take a slight step back to grab the coffee I have sitting outside the room and handed one to Mark and the other to the manager.

Both faces were garnished with bigger smiles than when I walked in and it was honestly satisfying. Not gonna lie, nothing more satisfying then making people happy. I greet the manager and he greets me back. Mark sparks up the conversation while instead of me leaving to finish up my charting, I sign into the computer to finish up (thank goodness for this system sometimes). Mark continues,

“So how was your night?” Mark asked curiously

“Good, that new patient that gave me the wicked kick didn’t cause me any disturbance last night” I laughed. 

Staring down at my arm, Mark asks “Oh yeah! Speaking of which, how is your arm?”

“Still hurts a bit, but nothing a little otc (over the counter) meds can’t handle” I reply.

“That’s good, I hope you don’t push yourself too much with that arm,” he says thoughtfully. I smile to myself, also thankful that I’m yet again black and wearing a mask because Mark would see how red my face would be. Sometimes I hate how he’s still able to mess with me even when he doesn’t intend to intentionally. 

“I won't, I won’t, thanks for the worry though” I say with a small smile.

“This is your last shift right? I remember you telling me you only work weekend nights” he brings up. 

“Oh yeah it is, but as I tell all my patients on Monday mornings, ‘if I don’t see you next weekend, it was very nice getting to be your tech and I surely hope you’re not here when I’m back because who would want to be stuck in a hospital?’” I remark. 

“Haha nice, but I’ll miss teasing you. Besides that, you’re very good at your job so props to you” he relays kindly.

“Hahaha thanks, but you know what I would really love? Is to see you boys at a concert! A sis too broke to get good seats AND plane tickets along with everything else” I fake whine as I sign out of the computer being happy that I’m done with the charting as well. Mark laughed understanding how it could be frustrating, but also knowing he doesn’t have the ability to decide where the group tours. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll have to see,” he laughs. I laugh along as well, but it struck me that this would be the last time I would get to talk with Mark. It was expected obviously, but could you blame a girl. This isn’t a new feeling because it tends to happen whenever I get close to patients, Mark just so happens to be one I’ve known for years, even if he had just heard of me Saturday night.

We say our last farewells since it was 7am. It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is. I head towards the door and turn around one last time. A slight smile graces both Mark and I’s face,

“Have a good day Mr. Tuan” I say.

“Have a good life y/n” he replies with a soft smile. 

Previous/Next

[jj-lynn21]

Cozy Cove: Spending the nights

warnings:  smut, fluff

  Saved by an Angel , A side of tits with your pancakes ,Fires Burn Hot , spending the nights , Learning and Loving , The end id not always the end,   Axel Grease, Big Decisions, Sex and Jet Skis, Late night fun , Old Wounds , Storms pass, Dangerous Waters

 Axel has his arm around Susie's waist as they walk back to his place. The sun is coming up as the bonfire fizzles out. Everyone was walking back to their places taking different routes. As Axel enjoys the sunrise with his girl he notices the two naked bodies on the sand.  He hears his brother snort in his sleep, so he knows they are ok,

"I need to get a blanket over my brother and Jen before they get arrested for indecent exposure." He chuckles as he follows Jen up his back porch stairs. He grabs a blanket from the outdoor furniture. "Be right back," He kisses her softly before heading back down the stairs to cover the naked scene. Then he climbs back up the back stairs.

Susie is sitting on the outdoor couch. He walks over and sits next to her. Putting his arm around her Axel leans in close. "Is this ok?" She nods a yes. Axel kisses here as his hand rubs her shoulder. "You have fun tonight?"

"Yeah, Axel." She smiles. "Should we go inside?"

He stands and offers her a hand. She takes it standing to follow him inside. He tosses his motorcycle keys from his pocket in a plate by the sliding glass door.  Axel stands there while Susie looks around the room.   "Restroom?" She leaned against the couch biting her bottom lip.

"Down the hall on your right." Axel pointed.

They were both a little nervous. A little drunk. Axel didn't want to assume she would want to sleep with him yet. Susie was nervous how her would feel. What he would do next.

  While she goes to the restroom Axel grabs an extra pillow and blanket, "Hey, you can take the bed in the back room. I'll crash on the couch."

Axel is setting up his spot when she walks out of the bathroom. She leans one hand against the wall. The other is placed on her hip. When he looks up he sees she is in a soft pink lacy see through bra and panties set. His mouth drops open. "You sure you want to be out here, Axel?" She smiles sweetly. 

"Um, I was uh..." Alex's mind stumbles for the right words to say.  

"I wouldn't force you to come but I'll be in your bed." She turned to walk back to the bedroom. "And I'm not quite ready to sleep."

Axel followed her, "You are so fucking sexy." He pins her to the wall right before his bed. "But I don't want to take advantage of you. Are you sure you want me tonight?" He nibbles down her neck. His fingers locked in hers on the wall.

Susie can feel his partial hard-on on her thigh. With how he has her held and the way he is sucking at the sweet spot on her neck moisture gathers between her legs, "Maybe,: She takes a breath. "Maybe it isn't you taking advantage but me taking advantage of you?"

He looks at her smirking, "I'm ok with that.."   Axel hitched her legs around him. Susie's fingers dove into his hair as soon as he let her hands go to hold her up. She kissed him passionately as he carried her to his bed. He lays her out before him standing to take his mesh tank top and jean off. His boxers ride low on his hips.  

Susie watches him in continued excitement. He looms over her. "I wanted to taste your pussy ever since my eyes opened on the beach to see your hair cascading over me."

Her hands run over his bare chest as she stares into his lust filled green eyes. "Go on then Axel." Axel holds himself up with one hand and undoes her front bra clasp. Susie plays with his hair as he sucks on every part of her breasts. He works his way down her sternum. The lower Axel gets the more her breathing quickens. She flexes her stomach muscles as he licks around her belly button. Axel sat up on his knees. Susie watched lifting her hips when he pulled off her panties. He felt excited and nervous as he dipped his head between her legs to kiss her  mound before licking her slit.

The way he tasted her so deeply made her pull on his hair. She gasped as Axel's tongue flicked her clit.   He heard her. Then he felt the tremble in her legs. Axel grinned continuing to work her up right to the edge. She whimpered as his tongues backed off just for a moment. He looked at her, Her eyes shut tightly as she made the cutest little sound for him. He wondered if anyone else had ever made her feel this way how  he was doing.

How Susie looked in his bed right at this moment made him so hard  he could barely wait  to be inside her. But he finished her first orgasm of the night with just his oral skills. 

"Axel," she moaned softly as her eyes flew open. Her juices covering his face as she came. 

He pulled his boxers off and put on a condom. He made sure to use his lube liberally for their first time. "How are you doing my Susie Q?"

"I'm.." she tried to focus on him. "That was.."

"That's not even what I do best babe," He kissed her passionately. "Going to make you come again sweet girl. Just relax."

Susie nodded as she spread for him. Her hands clutched the sheets. His head teased her opening before he eased inside. He re-positioned them when he met with resistance. She looked at him with eyes wide as he went in again filling her walk to wall.

He slowly started thrusting. Deepening as he progressed. Her hips slapped into his as she clutched. She moaned softly. he got a perfect rhythm going as he panted.   'Your pussy is so fucking tight around my cock, " He took in a deep breath. "fucking perfect Susie. Your fucking perfect." He groaned,"Oh, damn..."

"Axel, I..." Her eyes blurred. She couldn't speak, but she felt a build up like never before. He got erratic as he fucked her into the mattress. On the verge of his own sweet release. "Oh, fff  oh.... I'm ready, come with me sweet girl...Oh FFFUCK!..."

She cried out as she came with him. Susie's body vibrated under him. He kissed her lips as he settled. "I can't imagine anything better than that my Susie Q. Are you alright?"

She nodded yes as she slowly was able to make sense of the world again. "Axel that was a first for me. Twice in one night was a first."

"Yeah?" He grinned. “I'm going to toss the condom and get us some juice. You want cookies? I have cookies or gummy bears?" He pulled out laying beside her for a few moments. "Whatever you need I probably got it."

"Just the juice is fine Axel," She kisses his cheek. 

He got up to go to the restroom first and then the kitchen. She hobbled to the restroom to pee and gets back in the bed where he is waiting with her juice and eating a cookie. Susie takes one bite of his cookie after drinking a whole glass of orange juice. She snuggles up to him. He spoons her as they quickly pass out to sleep. 

Sometime mid morning Axel's hand rubbed Susie's back gently as he said,"I'm going to shower. Think about going out for breakfast before I take you home to get some more sleep. I have to have the garage open in two hours." He gets up to go shower.

Susie stretches out in his huge bed. Her limbs don't even come close to any edge. She lets out a little whine before she yawns. Then she opens her eyes. As soon as Axel comes out the bathroom with a towel draped around his hips she found her panties and bra before going to shower. Her cloths were still folded on a shelf that Axel also had a few towels and wash cloths setting.

  Axel taped on the door while Susie was in the shower, "Hot coffee is ready in the kitchen, Babe." She grumbles a "thanks."  

Axel had gotten dressed in black jeans with a black t-shirt while she was in the shower. He was reading something on his phone when she appeared in the kitchen donning sunglasses. Her hand clung to her phone naturally like it was just another part of her outfit. She muttered,"Coffee."

He made a mental note she was not a morning person, "How are you feeling?"

She muttered again, "coffee," as she sat across from him. 

Axel slid a mug of hot brew her way. Sugar and creamer were on the table between them.  He kept still and quiet as she added creamer to her coffee. When she started to look his way, he averted his eyes back to his phone. He took a drink of his coffee. "Better now,"

She spoke up after a few minutes. "Sorry, I can be a bitch in the morning."

"You are not so bad Susie Q," He finished his coffee. "Are you hungry?"

"I could use some pancakes," She smiled as she finished the dark rich gift of morning life.

Axel grabs his keys as they leave. He cut through the beach. He pops a wheelie as they head up a small hill back to the main road, Susie screams, She holds him tight as they dart in and out of vacationer traffic until he pulls into park at Karen's Diner. She keeps a hold of him a moment longer when they park there. 

Axel lifts her hands up to his lips kissing each sweetly. He looks back at her. “How was the ride?” I didn’t scare you. Did I.”

“Not yet,” She laughed as she got off the back. “It was exhilarating. Almost as good as last night.”

“Thanks,” Axel grinned. They walked around the front of the restaurant. “We should have tit free dining this morning. I can’t imagine my brother and Jen are in any condition to be up yet. I hope he wasn’t morning shift on the east shore.”

Susie rolled her eyes, “I’m going to ignore that first remark, but I do hope neither of them have to work. Are you going to be all right to work? I know I’m heading back to bed for a while.”

Axel opened the door for her, “Yeah, I’ll be alright with a little more coffee. I don’t have to be there long today. A few others will be coming in and I can cut out early. You free tonight?”

They walked in holding hands. It wasn’t quite as full on a Sunday right before 11am. When they looked around for a table Susie saw her Dad waving frantically. She mumbled to Axel with her back to turn, “You might miss your favorite waitress after breakfast with my parent. We might as well get it over with.”

Axel chuckled, “Might as well.”  

Her Dad switched to the same side of the booth as her Mom so Axel and Susie could sit together. “You two have a fun night?” He smiled. “I know we did.”

“Stop,” her Mother said smacking his shoulder as she blushed. 

“You must be Axel,” He put out his hand for Axel to shake. “ I’m Richard Quinnby. My wife is Sandra.”

Axel shook his hand just keeping enough grip to show Mr. Quinnby he is confident but not overbearing. “Axel Cluney. I like the tat on your back Mr. Quinnby.” He thought it was a reasonable compliment.

“Thanks, Axel.” He said proudly.

A waitress came over. She yawned before offering coffee or juice to them. Everyone got coffee, eggs and pancakes on Axel’s suggestion. Susie had seen the girl at the bonfire last night swooning over Eric. It looked like she wasn’t done as she poured him more coffee at the counter and giggled at whatever he said.

“You have some original ink on you, Axel.” Richard continued.

“Yeah, I told my Father the other Day my body’s a temple and a canvas.” He chuckled. “I like to be creative and Sparky does great work. You should get another one while you here.” The waitress brought their coffee, “Thanks, Tami.”

“Your welcome, Axel,” She looked to everyone. “Your order will be right up.”

When she left Mrs. Quinnby spoke up, “No more Tattoos for Richard, right?”

“Right, Sandra, right.” He  Sipped at his coffee. “You know that waitress Axel?”   “Yeah, I grew up in this town.” He sipped his coffee. “She hangs out with my big brother, Eric. He is the blonde shamelessly flirting with her at the counter.”

“Susie said you had a lot of family here.” Sandra informed Axel. “Your Father is a Doctor?”

“Yeah, he runs the clinic a few doors down.”

Tami brought their food. Everyone dug right in after putting syrups on their pancakes.

“I own the garage so if you need an oil change before leaving I’m your man. Or I can just top off your fluids for free. My brother over there does construction. He will try to block you from leaving.” Axel Chuckled. “And my younger brother Josh is a lifeguard. This town is pretty much the family business. How do you like the pancakes.”

“I tell Susie all the time It is good to be productive,” Mr. Quinnby took his second big bite of pancakes. “These are fantastic.” He talked with his mouth full.

Mrs. Quinnby shook her head, “He can be such a heathen. I also heard this place has a jukebox. Where is that?”

“Right behind you Ma’am.” Axel answered politely as he took another bite smaller than usual. “It’s free. You just pick a song you want to hear, and she will play it real clear.”   She put on Susie Q . Axel smiled at Susie as he finished his meal. 

Her Mother sat back down.   “I think this might brings on good memories for all sitting here.” Sandra smiled. “New and old memories I believe.”

Axel blushed as he finished his coffee. He stood, “It was nice meeting you. I have to get to work.” He kissed Susie’s cheek.” Get some rest and I’ll catch you later Susie Q.” He walked away out the door.

“I guess you're my ride back to the cottage, Dad.” She sipped on her coffee.

“We are going to bike ride along a coastal path with a tour guide,” Her Mother said happily. “You want to come with us.”

  “I guess I can sleep when I’m old,” Susie laughed. “Sure I will go.” She wanted to make sure to spend time with her parents, so they didn’t say anything about her spending maybe most if not all her night with Axel.  

Susie was just dozing off when her phone buzzed. It was Axel.   “I’m fuck ready to pass out here, but I also miss you. Will you come over to sleep with me Susie Q?” He cooed. “I mean sleep tonight. No sex tonight.”

“She jumped up. “Yeah, Axel. I will be there shortly.” She packed an outfit for the next day with here hot pink and black satin with lace trim pj shorts with a top that matched. It didn’t take her long to be at his door.

He opened the door. His eyes all droopy with sleepiness that matched hers. “I went for a five-mile bike ride after breakfast and then Kayaking, so I am ready for sleep.” She hugged him looking up happily.

“Yeah, Somehow I got through a few tire rotations and some transmission work today.” He yawned. “Let’s hit the bed.”

“I’ll be right in Axel.” She walked in the apartment with him towards the bedroom. “I just need to put a few things in your bathroom and change.”

“Nothing too sexy to tease me now,” He yawned again. “I might not be awake but my dick sometimes has a mind of its own.”

She giggled. “I’ve heard that about those things.”

She disappears into the restroom as Axel strips to his boxers before laying down. When She walks in, his eyes are already closed. But when she snuggles up to him he wrapped around her like a lifeline. It doesn’t take long fore them to fall asleep completely comfortable with each other.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Jigsaw // Black: Part Three

Home

A/N: This is the final part of the Jigsaw series, and I could not be happier to have it done. I’ve carried this one around in my head for quite some time now, and while I don’t regret a single thing, it’s been rough to say the least. I want to thank everyone who has stuck it out and made it to this final chapter. I truly hope you like the way it ends. 

Warning: major character death (I think by now that goes without saying) 

Word Count: 2,625 

A young woman sat quietly at the table as two detectives looked on through the one way glass. Her hands were in her lap, her eyes trained on a small dent in the sheetrock; a leftover mark from a previous interview, one where tensions had run high and fists had flown. Won’t be like that this time. Detective Brett Mahoney sighed to himself as he watched her take a deep breath, the slight rise of her chest as her lungs expanded and the subsequent shuddering deflation as she exhaled had been the only movement she’d made since she’d been shown into the room, a cup of coffee placed on the table in front of her. It sat there, untouched, the creamer and sugar packets unopened, nothing added to the dark, bitter liquid. She’s not here to put up a fight. 

 Mahoney tapped the manila folder in his hand twice against his thigh before turning to his partner. “Let me do the talking, got it Buchard?” 

 The second detective nodded solemnly, understanding that he was only there as a matter of protocol. “Yeah, got it,” Buchard responded. 

 Brett returned his gaze to the woman in the interview room, a deep frown cutting into his features as he sighed again. Last loose end. He’d been working on the Castle case, which had been looped in with this mess, and now, finally, the ends were being tied off, the frayed edges cut. “Alright then,” he took another breath, still in slight disbelief that it would all be over soon. Alright, here we go. 

 He gripped the doorknob, knuckles straining at his skin as he turned it and pushed the door open, Buchard following him into the small room. The woman remained still, not even turning to face the two men as the door clicked shut behind them. Mahoney cleared his throat, suddenly dry and harsh now that he actually had to speak to her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Miss-” 

 “This is about Billy Russo, isn’t it, Detective?” She looked up at him then, sad eyes leaving that fist shaped hole in the wall to lock with his. Mahoney got the feeling that almost everything in this woman’s life for the last year or so had been about Billy Russo. He got the feeling that she was as ready as he was to turn the page and move on. Will we be able to? It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if someone would be able to cope with the aftermath of one of his cases. But it was the first time he’d wondered about it for himself. This one was… rough. Apart from the grief that dulled the light in her eyes, she showed no other emotion, not even contempt for the man she’d been called in to discuss. 

 Brett nodded as he moved to take the seat opposite the woman and her untouched black coffee, Buchard silently following suit. “Yes,” he answered her question. “I’m sure you’ve heard that-” 

 Her palms came up to lay flat on the table, Mahoney’s eye immediately drawn to the ring the woman wore on her left hand, and the bracelet, engraved with a name, that she wore on the right. “I heard that he escaped the hospital, yes. And I heard that he was being considered armed and dangerous.” She looked at him, unblinking. “Is that right?” 

 Mahoney felt his partner’s eyes shift sideways onto him as he blinked back at the woman’s question. Billy Russo was probably the most dangerous man Detective Mahoney had ever come across, armed or not. It’s either him or Frank...well, was. So the fact that Billy’s escape wasn’t causing her to have more of a reaction raised a flag for him. “That’s right,” he said. “He murdered his therapist, and then killed four more people. I’d say that’s pretty dangerous, wouldn’t you?” His eyebrows rose as he posed the question, waiting for her response. 

 She sighed. “Look, detective, I know that can’t be the reason that you called me down here.” Her eyes flicked back to that small dent, refocusing before they returned to his. “To discuss whether or not Billy Russo is a dangerous man? He’s an elite Special Forces Marine operative. Of course he’s a dangerous man.” She shrugged, her lips turning down as she shook her head. “But that’s not all he is. I know him, know what he’s like, and if you’re looking for some kind of-” 

 “We’re not looking for anything, ma’am,” Brett calmly interrupted her. “We… we found him.” She sucked in a breath and stared at him, absently pulling at the links in her bracelet, rubbing over the engraved piece. He was able to see the flat piece of metal once she’d run her fingers over it, and it made his stomach drop to see your name there. Goddamn. “Ma’am?” She swallowed, mouth falling open. “Can you tell me how your sister knew Billy?”  

 ..  .. ..  ..  ..  ..

 His hand shook as he placed it on the cool stone, a forceful exhale leaving his lungs as he made contact. Knees buckling, he traced a finger through the deep v-cut grooves of the engraved letters, vision too blurry to read the inscription clearly. Dropping to the ground, another forceful burst of air escaped him in the form of a sob. He pressed his forehead against the granite, still gripping the curved top before flattening both palms on the smooth face. “I promised I’d … come...back to you.” He struggled to choke the words out, chest shaking with the effort to breathe let alone speak. Rolling his forehead to the side, he rested his cheek against the surface, skin absorbing the chill. I’m here. 

 In the moments between his phone call with Frank and their final encounter in the now smoldering warehouse, Billy had sifted through the remaining contents of the folder he’d left the hospital with. Most of it was worthless- session notes in Dr. Dumont’s obsessively neat handwriting, a list of charges that Homeland was trying to hit him with, medical documents detailing his post-op recovery. He’d thrown it all in a pile that would become nothing but ash, engulfed in flames and erased. None of it matters. The only items that Billy had seen fit to save had been the pictures of the two of you, which he’d already been carrying in his pocket, and one sheet of paper, which he held in his trembling hands. It was an address, and he’d read it over and over, finding every crack and crevice in his memory and jamming that information into them. Gotta get back to her. 

 He’d dragged himself out of the burning building in a final act of defiance, refusing to let himself slip away in that place, refusing to break his promise to you. Not when I’m so close. The walk had been mercifully short, and he was grateful for the cover of darkness as he pushed through. He knew that if he were to be seen, covered in blood and ash and fighting for every ragged breath, that he’d be stopped before he could finish his mission. But once again, for the last time, Billy Russo disappeared into the night, stealthily seeking out a place where he could rest. With every stumbling step forward and each impossible beat of his heart, he repeated your name and felt you calling back. 

 By the time he’d made it to the small parcel of land dotted with headstones and encircled in a pointed black wrought iron fence, his vision was little more than shapes and blurs, his breathing rattled in his lungs, and he’d fallen twice, adding a few more scrapes and bruises to his battered body. His feet brought him to the numbered plot that he’d read from that sheet of paper in Krista’s file as though they knew the way through habit- as though this wasn’t the first and only time he’d ever been where he was now. He felt what little strength he had left leave him in a rush as his body finally relaxed, sitting on the hard ground and leaning all his weight against the stone. A sob broke free from his heart as his hand fell away from the stone. He knew he’d only be able to do this once, knew that this wasn’t something he’d be capable of repeating even if it were possible to do so, the clawing feeling in his heart completely eclipsing every ounce of pain, every shred of damage he’d endured. Your name fell from his lips in a gasp, and he was glad that he’d waited until now, glad that this was where he’d be when it happened, that he wouldn’t be alone.

 A cool breeze swept across the cemetery then, blowing leaves and blossoms from the branches of a nearby cherry tree through the air, chilling and drying the tears on his cheeks. He opened his eyes as a few petals fell into his lap, but the soft pink flowers didn’t register. He focused instead on a shimmering light, just like he’d seen in his dreams about you. It can’t be… 

 He choked out your name, eyes wide in disbelief as you appeared before him, the blue of your dress and the scarlet hue of your lips the only vivid colors he could see as the rest of the world faded around you. He tried to reach for you, but couldn’t make his limbs move, too broken, too weak, too damaged to do his bidding any longer. Desperate to touch you, hold you before he closed his eyes, he looked up at you and sobbed two words, “I’m sorry…” 

 Dropping to his side, you said his name, clear and calm, all of the pain and fear that was present the last time he’d heard your voice gone now. “It’s okay,” you said as you sank down beside him, arms slipping around his shoulders to pull him closer. I thought I’d never…  He felt your lips, warm and soft as they dropped to the corner of his eye. I thought I’d never have this again... “It’s okay now.”  He let his eyes fall closed, let himself finally let go of the fight that had been raging inside of him all of his life. A weight lifted from his chest and he leaned into you, arms winding around your body as his breathing evened out. “It’s okay Billy, you’re home.”  

 ..  .. ..  ..  ..  ..  

 “She...she, my sister,” The woman spoke your name, her voice catching as she did. “She loved Billy.” A tear slipped silently down her cheek as a mournful smile played with her lips. “She loved him.” She nodded. “I knew she did from the start, even before I met him, just from… from the way she’d,” she closed her eyes and tilted her head back so that when she opened them again she was looking at the ceiling. “From the way she’d talk about him, the way she’d sound when she’d tell me something… it was...she was happy with him. Happier than I’d ever seen her, and then when I met him,” some more tears pushed their way through, her voice breaking once more as she continued. “When I met him I knew he loved her, too. I just… I knew he’d do anything for her.” You can say that again. “So, like I was trying to say, detective, if you’re looking for more fuel for the fire that you’re going to roast him on, you’re asking the wrong person.” 

 In his tenure with the NYPD, Brett had seen his fair share of people he’d considered to be brainwashed; victims with Stockholm syndrome that showed far more love for their captor or attacker than was reasonable to any sane individual. He was stunned to hear it coming from your sister, though, about the man who may or may not have gotten you killed. “I’m not looking for any fuel, ma’am.” No need. Bastard roasted himself. “I just don’t understand… why are you protecting him? Even after-” 

 “Billy did not kill my sister, detective Mahoney.” She spoke louder and more clearly than she had the entire time, making sure that the tape that Buchard had started recording at the onset of the interview picked up her intent and inflection. She shook her head, a hard look changing her sad eyes. “I don’t care what you tell me, or what the record says. I don’t care what they say in court, or what the official military statement is. I know that he didn’t kill her. And no matter what else he’s done,” determination took over her face as she balled her hands into fists. “I won’t help you put her death on him. I won’t do that to what they had.” 

 Incredible. Mahoney realized that he wasn’t getting her to budge on that front. He chalked it up to grief and the way it had a tendency to alter people’s memories of those that they lost. She wants to think of her sister and Russo as an angel and a choir boy? Fine. But she still needs to know. He cleared his throat again, opening the file that he’d brought into the room with him to pull out a single photo. Jesus, he glanced down at it before closing the folder, and for the first time since he got the call that they’d found Russo, he saw the kind of connection that the woman was trying to tell him that the man had with her sister. To do that… drag yourself there in that shape… goddamn. He winced. Maybe she’s right. He blew out a heavy breath. “Ma’am, I’m not looking to change your mind about anything.” He suddenly felt exhausted. The way she must feel. “I’m,” he shook his head before locking eyes with her. “I called you here today for closure.” For you and for me. He looked down at the picture again. And for them. Her eyebrows came together and her lips twitched and Brett could see that she already knew what he was about to say next. “I called you here today to tell you that we found Billy Russo at your sister’s grave.” He watched as her eyes blinked closed, her throat working to swallow the lump of emotions his closure had brought up. “He’s-” 

 “He’s dead.” She said it in an even tone, not as a question, voice barely a whisper. Eyes still closed, the lids quivered as tears slipped from beneath them. 

 “Yes ma’am,” Brett responded, trying to match her evenness. “He was found this morning,” he explained, “It appears as though he-” 

 “He wanted to be with her.” 

 Not what I was going to say but… He was going to say that it appeared as though he got into a fatal showdown with Frank Castle before dragging himself several miles to her sister’s final resting place. But that works, too. It did. No matter what he thought he knew about Billy Russo, Mahoney could clearly see that there was infinitely more that he didn’t know, couldn’t understand. She wiped at her eyes, eyeliner and mascara creating dark smudges around them as she cried. For you, for herself, for Billy. He tucked the photo away. She doesn’t need to see this. 

 “I’m glad,” she said after a beat, drawing Mahoney’s attention back up to her tear-streaked face. “Glad he got out...glad he...glad they’re together.”   

Mahoney sniffed. Goddamn. He turned to give Buchard a meaningful look, the other man reading it instantly and leaning forward to press a button on the recorder before nodding and leaving the room. Waiting until the click of the door resonated in the room, Brett reached for the woman’s hand. “Me too.”  

.

.

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@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices  @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

[t0ngue-tech]

Deadline | Five

“Jungkook laughed, turning around to follow your movements towards the Keurig, eyes still not leaving your frame. ‘I apologize. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s cute.’

Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him.”

↠ fluff, fake relationship au, high school au ↞

word count: 5.8k

↠ series: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | ↞

A/N: hi guise! just casually dropping deadline onto your dashboard huhu. if you’re not streaming MOTS 7 then baby what is you doinnnnn???? have a lovely day my loves ^-^

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Why were you so nervous? You had absolutely no reason to be as nervous as you were at the moment. Afterall, you were the one who invited Jungkook to come over after school to work on the history project. You had multiple chances to cancel on him, but you sounded confident when you asked so you didn’t want to turn back.

Before leaving your house that morning, you made sure to let your mother know that Jungkook was going to be coming over for academic reasons. She didn’t miss a beat and teased you about it because she was going to be coming home an hour later than usual. Nothing was going to happen, you were one-hundred percent about that, but of course your mother didn’t know that.

You were going to be alone in your house with Jungkook for a few hours.

Completely normal.

No biggie.

I need to fucking calm down.

You were now sitting in the passenger seat of his car trying to focus on the story Jungkook was telling you. His words were entering through your left ear and straight out the other because all you could think about was did I tidy up the magazines on the coffee table or I swept the floor, put away the dishes, and changed out the towels in the bathroom, but I swear I’m missing something.

Obviously you were overthinking everything. You cleaned up your house before Jungkook picked you up in the morning and you made sure that everything was in order twice. Nothing was out of place, but you were so sure something was going to go wrong.

“Y/n.”

“H-Huh?” You blinked.

Jungkook chuckled and ruffled your hair. “We’re here.”

Oh, great.

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.” You scrambled for your bag and fumbled around the front pocket for your keys.

At your front door, you were untangling your keys from your lanyard trying to keep yourself level headed, but the timing of your keys slipping in between your fingers was impeccable. You heard Jungkook snickering behind you as you reached down to get your keys and get your act together at the same time.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook asked whilst snickering.

“Just peachy.” You muttered and pushed your door open. “Come in.”

The house was kept just as you left this morning and as much as you didn’t want to admit to yourself, everything was spotless. Jungkook took off his bag and settled himself down on the large rug beneath the coffee table. He looked around the living room, only making you feel more tense because of your constant overthinking of some sort of “mess” you probably left around.

“Oh yeah, you said your mom is going to be back later?” You nodded. “I have her tupperwares in my car. I already transferred the rest of the food you made me into my own containers.”

“Okay. You can just leave them in the kitchen.” Jungkook stood up from the floor. “I’m going to change really quick, okay?” He nodded and escaped outside while you retreated to your room.

Out of all places, you were not ready to showcase your room. It wasn’t because it was messy but because it was your sanctuary, you held precious parts of you in your room that you weren’t ready to present to Jungkook; pictures, figurines, stuffed animals, it was all too personal in your eyes. Plus, on a less serious note, he had no reason to be in your room right?

You left your room wearing a cropped t-shirt you cut up yourself and maroon sweats, much more comfortable than your skinny jeans and knit sweater. Jungkook was in the kitchen taking the tupperwares out of a reusable bag and you joined him.

“Do you want something to drink?” You asked whilst opening your fridge. “I have water, juice, and coffee creamer.”

“I’ll just have water, thank you.”

You took out the pitcher of water and the bottle of french vanilla creamer. As you glided around the kitchen, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that Jungkook kept his eyes on you the whole time; you pulled out your coffee mug and a tall glass from the cupboard above the sink, loaded the keurig with your favorite pod, and returned to Jungkook’s side with his glass.

“Yes?” You laughed and poured him his beverage.

“No-Nothing.” Jungkook cleared his throat. “You just look tinier in those sweats for some reason.”

You scoffed and looked at him with a shocked expression. “I’m appalled, Jeon. I let you into my home, provide something to quench your thirst, and in return, I receive slander? You wound me.”

Jungkook laughed, turning around to follow your movements towards the Keurig, eyes still not leaving your frame. “I apologize. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s cute.”

Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him.

You gave in and peeked over your shoulder to find Jungkook walking back into the living room while asking for a coaster. How could he just casually spew out the word “cute” like it was no big deal? And more importantly, why did it matter to you? He was just joking around. It didn’t mean anything.

↠↞

The entire time you spent working on the project with Jungkook was surprisingly enjoyable. He helped you create a rough draft of how you both wanted the poster board to look like, took the liberty to search up photos to print out on your laptop, and even proposed a few of his own ideas. What surprised you the most was when he pulled out his notebook that was filled with notes about the Renaissance era and offered to do half of the book report. He wasn’t keen on writing up reports, but he was simply doing what he said he would from the beginning: doing his best on the history project.

You swore you were working hard, but it felt as if you two were taking more breaks than what you originally planned. The coffee table was pushed forward giving both you and Jungkook room to lie around on the rug.

Jungkook laid on his back with his arms up in the air supporting his phone so you can look at his screen. You were sprawled out beside him, leaving a good distance between your body and his but your head still close enough to his so you can look at his music playlist. 

“You only have hip hop and r&b on your phone?” You questioned.

“Pretty much. I also have a few 90s boy band music because those are classics.” Jungkook swiped his finger along his screen and played you a song. “This is my parents’ favorite song to slow dance to. They played this a lot in our house so it grew on me.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the slow rhythm and romantic lyrics. You were familiar with this song. It was one of your favorites so you hummed along subconsciously.

“Oh shit, you know this song?”

“Yeah. My mom is all about 90s boy bands and love songs.” You pulled out your phone to reveal the music you stored. “My dad liked 50s, jazz, and swing music, so my phone is pretty much a mixture of all of those genres.”

Jungkook adjusted his body to lie on his side, inching a bit closer to you. “You remember that about him?”

“Kind of? I recall a few memories back in first or second grade where he’d put on music and dance with me and my mom. And of course my mom told me about his music tastes.” You smiled to yourself reminiscing about the innocent memories of your younger self dancing around with your father; spinning, dipping, and occasionally stepping on his feet without a care in the world.

“Can..Can you recommend a few?” Jungkook carefully asked. You only ever mentioned your father a few times since you started a new friendship with him, so he was probably gently treading your waters.

Your face lit up. “Of course.”

For the next hour, your positions on the rug changed from on your backs, to your stomachs, cross legged, and even with an inch or two of space between your bodies. You played a few songs for him, mainly your favorites. You even let him listen to noir jazz which was your personal favorite branch of the jazz family. After each song he listened to, he wrote it down on a piece of paper so he could download it later.

Loving music that was considered old school made you feel outdated and to top it all off, you also loved old school romance; making mixtapes for each other, handwritten letters, picnics. This was a guilty pleasure of yours, something only a few people knew about you.

“Listening to these makes me feel like I’m in a romance movie from the 70s.” Jungkook quipped.

“Yeah and the noir jazz makes me feel like I’m a private-I in a black and white film.” You played a song from your noir jazz playlist and began your monologue. “It was a stormy night, just as it always has been the past few days. I sat in my chair, desperately craving a shot of whiskey.” To add to your drama, you emerged from the floor and sat down on your sofa with your coffee mug in hand. “It was no use. How was I supposed to solve this case without a lick of new information? Feeling defeated, I picked up the manila folder on my desk so I could toss it across the room, but someone knocked on my office door.”

You raised your eyebrows at Jungkook who seemed to be enjoying your little play. He blew out a breath, “do I have to?”

“I mean,” You swirled your coffee around in your mug, being extra careful to not spill any. “You don’t have to.”

Jungkook laughed to himself and slapped his own cheeks before standing. “Okay, okay, but bear with me and try not to laugh.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to not laugh at the way Jungkook paced back and forth. He walked towards your dinner table and stuffed his hands in his pockets. A broken snicker slipped past his lips and he cleared his throat to collect himself.

“I didn’t know why I was here. I could’ve stayed at the bar to give everything more thought, but no, I hailed a taxi and now here I was, knocking on her door.” Jungkook stared you down and stuck his hand out for you to speak.

“Oh! Come—Come in.” You stifled your laughter.

Jungkook pursed his lips together, shoulders shaking from trying to hold in his own laughter. “I strode… I strode inside her office. Sauve, confident, dripping with devilishly good looks after being soaked in rain.” He slicked his hair back. “‘I think I have something for you, Ms. y/n.’ I said cooly and she looked at me with hungry eyes—”

“Hungry?!” You snorted, finally releasing your caged laughter. “This is a mystery film, Jungkook.”

Jungkook broke down in a fit of laughter, sinking to his knees and clutching his stomach. “Sor—Sorry! I couldn’t help it, it seemed to fit the moment. Let’s start again, come on,” he cleared his throat. “I think I have something for you, Ms. y/n.”

You wiped a tear from your eye and took a few deep breaths. “No, no, no. Come on, we have to reorganize the timeline.” You crawled back onto the floor to turn down the music.

“Aw, it was getting good.” Jungkook pouted.

Honestly, it really was. You didn’t expect Jungkook to actually follow through with your improv performance. He understood the dynamic, albeit he was turning it into something else, but it was still fun.

The rough draft was beginning to look alive. It took a lot of excessive research and a small disagreement, but it was starting to look near perfect. You were now staring blankly at the photos you needed to print out while Jungkook scrolled through his phone. He quietly sang along to a power ballad you played from your playlist and it was, in a way, comforting to listen to. Both you and Jungkook were immersed in whatever you two were doing, that neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

“Hi honey, hello Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinched and flailed around almost dropping his phone. He stood up from the floor and straightened himself out to look presentable in front of your mother.

“Hello, Mrs—uh, um. Hello, auntie.” Jungkook smiled.

“Pffft.” You spurted and arose to give your mom a kiss on the cheek. “Hi mom.”

Your mother had a few grocery bags in hand and Jungkook rushed to assist her in carrying her things.

“Here are your tupperwares, auntie. Thank you for letting me use them.” Jungkook said politely.

“It’s no problem. Thank you for returning them. Your mother unloaded her grocery bags. “Do you want to stay for dinner, Jungkook?”

You snapped your head in their direction. In a way, you had a feeling your mother was going to offer him to stay over, but you were in denial about it. The last thing you wanted was to have your mother tell embarrassing stories from your childhood.

“Uh, um,” Jungkook looked at you in search for an answer and you just smiled. “Sure, auntie. I’d love to.”

“Perfect. It’s nothing special, I’m just whipping up a beef stir-fry.” Your mother tied on her apron. “Why don’t you two take a break from your project. Just wait in y/n’s room and I’ll let you two know when dinner is ready.”

“Mo-Mom!” Panic rose to your face and it was obvious Jungkook’s cheeks were just as pink as yours. Your mother raised an eyebrow and you sighed in defeat. “Okay..okay, this way, Jungkook.”

Great. Just great, This was going exactly the way you wanted it to.

↠↞

“Wow.” Jungkook trailed behind you with his hands in his pockets.

Your walls were splashed with a pastel lavender color and a few framed photos. A cluster of stuffed animals guarded your bed that was pushed at the corner of your room next to a window. There were fairy lights strung along your bed frame and around the window sill. 

Your work desk was cluttered with papers, textbooks, and containers for all of your stationery needs. Just above your desk was a white board and a cork board with multiple polaroids and developed photos tacked to it. Beside your desk was a small bookshelf that carried books, some with cracked spines and withering edges. On top were framed photos, a snow globe, and a self-painted vase with a few fake flowers in them. 

Even if you didn’t use much makeup, you still had a vanity that was setup near your closet. Jennie took the liberty to recommend a few makeup products that would suit your taste such as lip gloss, eyeliner, and a few eyebrow products; she purposely left some of her own makeup there for her benefit and yours too. You barely left the house with makeup, but there were rare occasions where you made the effort to do so.

“Sorry for the mess.” You rushed towards your desk to quickly tidy up. “Take any seat.”

Jungkook waited for you to settle yourself down at the head of your bed while he sat down on your desk chair. “I like your room. It feels almost nostalgic in a way.” He scanned the photos on your cork board and even on your bookshelf. “Is this your dad?”

He rolled over to the shelf and picked up a bright pink picture frame that had scuffs around the corners. The frame held a photo of you and your father from one of your birthdays. There was icing smeared all over both of your faces and you were smiling from ear to ear.

“Yeah. That was from my sixth birthday.” Even if the photo was far from you, you knew every single detail of it.

Jungkook held the frame and examined it in silence. You leaned over and watched as he cradled the frame in his fingertips. He grazed over the photo and settled it back on the shelf.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you and your mom.”

You smiled at the back of his head. “Lighten up, Jeon. Sure, we miss him like crazy but we’re doing fine. I’m sure my dad is sitting on a reclining chair in heaven with a cup of coffee in one hand smiling down on me and my mom.”

Jungkook chuckled, still not looking in your direction. He kept his attention to the pictures on your cork board.

“Wow, you and Jennie have been friends forever, huh?” He stood up from the chair to take a better look at the photos.

“Yup! We’ve been sisters since kindergarten.” You beamed with pride. “Do you have anyone like that in your life?”

Jungkook hummed and stared at your photos a little longer. “Not exactly a friend, but my brother and I are really close. I would consider him my best friend.”

It occurred to you that you knew very little about Jungkook. You knew he had a brother who was two years older than Jungkook and you also knew his parents worked in the same office building but with different positions. This prompted you to ask a few questions about himself, nothing too personal, just enough to come off as friendly rather than an interrogator.

You learned that, just like you, Jungkook lived in the same house all his life. He and his brother played soccer together in elementary school, but Jungkook quit in the eighth grade while his brother continued thus granting him a soccer scholarship. His parents never forced college onto either of them, but still encouraged them to do their best in whatever studies or work field they decided to do.

The Jungkook sitting across from you was a completely different person. He wore a content facial expression and carried gentleness in his eyes. From what you observed, he was a social butterfly. Jungkook never hesitated to talk to people, be playful with them, and always made friends with everyone. The Jungkook in front of you was calm and collected, maybe because he was in an unfamiliar setting, but you enjoyed this version of him.

“You seem to cherish a lot of things.” He spun in your chair to take another glance around your room.

“Mhm. Having all of the good memories surrounding me makes me feel comfortable. It’s difficult for me to get out of my comfort zone, so my room is my safe haven.” You explained.

Jungkook turned his back to you again. “I see.”

“Hey,” your mother stood at your door frame. “Dinner’s ready.”

↠↞

Please. Please. Please.

You sat in your chair desperately hoping that your mother wasn’t going to do anything to embarrass you. Even if Jungkook wasn’t really your boyfriend, being embarrassed in front of a friend was already bad enough.

“Just eat up, okay Jungkook?” Your mother placed a large bowl of the beef stir-fry in the middle of the table. “I usually make it spicy, but I wasn’t sure if you like spicy food or not.”

Jungkook laughed while pouring a heaping amount of the stir-fry over his plate of rice. “I actually can’t handle spicy food that well, auntie. Thank you.”

Your mother returned to the table with a small bowl of sauce specifically for you to pour over your food. As you dressed up your meal with a dark red sauce that easily tickled your nose, Jungkook stared at your plate with wide eyes.

“Want to try a piece?” You asked.

“No...thank you.”

“Scared?” You teased with a smirk.

Jungkook squinted at you with lasers in his eyes. You held up a sliver of beef and a slice of a green bell pepper that was slathered in the spicy sauce with your fork. He leaned in about half way, clearly hesitating, but you heard him say shit under his breath and closed his lips around your utensil.

“Y/n.” Your mother sighed.

“What? He’ll be fine, mom.” You chuckled.

He chewed slowly, nodding his head as he let the flavors settle onto his taste buds. He glanced at your mother with a small smile and then turned to you with the same lasers in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fi—” Before finishing his sentence, Jungkook put his head down and coughed harshly into his t-shirt. He then scrambled to reach for his glass of water to guzzle it down with streaks of water rolling down his chin.

“See, mom. He’s just fine.” You retreated into the kitchen only to return with a small spoonful of sugar. “Here, Jungkook. This helps better than water.”

First, you fed him a piece of your dinner and now you were feeding him sugar. You never fed him anything since you’ve known him and it all had to happen in front of your mother. It was such a coupley gesture and it genuinely shocked you.

“Honey…” your mother sighed.

“No, it's okay, auntie.” Jungkook coughed. “I’m fine, really.” 

The two of you shared a quiet moment of eye contact before breaking out into a broken fit of laughter. It was weird. This was a situation that could easily make you uncomfortable, but you felt at ease. It was banter between friends and you had to admit, you enjoyed every second of it.

Dinner went a lot better than you expected however, your mother did bring up a few stories about how you cried easily as a child and that until now, you can’t watch The Titanic without bursting in tears. You facepalmed a few times wishing you could hide underneath the table, but Jungkook continued to smile at you, assuring you that he was having a grand time.

Jungkook complimented your mother’s tiny garden out front and mentioned that his own mother grows her own herbs; this was something you didn’t know. He even promised to bring a couple of herb seeds for your mother to plant some time.

You tried to avoid the thought, but Jungkook was doing a great job at being your fake boyfriend. It kind of terrified you because of how well he was getting along with your mother. This was dangerous because he wasn’t your real boyfriend and from your past experience with Sehun, you didn’t want your mother to get attached to Jungkook.

You looked over at Jungkook who was aiding your mother in putting the dishes in the sink. They were having a mild conversation about school and if you were a good tutor. It was a lovely sight to see; the way Jungkook smiled politely and chuckled nervously.

“Ah, mom, Auntie Eunbin is calling.” You walked into the kitchen with her cellphone in one hand and the rest of the dishes in the other.

“Oh, okay. Sorry you two, I’m going to have to take this call.” Your mother swapped her phone in your hand with the dish sponge and fled into the backyard; you assumed your auntie was calling to ask about your mother’s potted plants.

“My mom is probably gonna ask you to stay to have some ice cream, so be prepared.” You snickered and hovered over the sink.

“Can I stay?” Jungkook questioned.

“Yeah it’s fine. I hope you like fudge brownie ice cream, Jeon.” You poured dish soap onto the sponge and squeezed it a few times to get it nice and lathered. Just before you could even start scrubbing, Jungkook stole the sponge out of your hand and gently nudged you to the side with his hip.

“I’ll take this, thank you very much.” Jungkook said smugly.

“No, no, no, no. I don’t think so.” You tried to reach for the sponge, but Jungkook was at an advantage with his larger built body frame. “Jungkook, you’re a guest!”

“Exactly! So let me show my gratitude by doing the dishes.” He flug some of the soap suds at you and this triggered you to scoff and wipe the left over soap residue on his cheek.

For a good minute, you and Jungkook were attacking each other with soap and water, completely forgetting about the true objective: washing the damn dishes.

“Ahh! Jungk—”

In the blink of an eye, Jungkook encircled your wrist in his hand and had you caged against the kitchen counter. He leaned it and your breath was caught in your throat. Streaks of the soapy water were still visible on his face and you couldn’t help but look right into his eyes.

“Uh—umm…” you stammered.

“Y/n.” He breathed. “I got this.”

The bass of his voice shook you and you had to fight the blush that was rising to your cheeks.

“Oh...kay…” your voice came out as a whisper and you could feel your chest tighten.

Jungkook let go of your wrist and reeled himself away from you. The hand that was once around your wrist was now on top of your head and there was a beaming smile plastered on his face. “Perfect! It worked!”

You blinked a few times as you allowed yourself to get pushed off to the side. Jungkook casually began to wash the dishes and smiled at you one more time.

“It worked? It—?! Jeon, you asshole!” You laughed and grabbed onto his shirt, shaking him side to side.

It was weird.

You never imagined a day in your life where you’d be standing in your kitchen smiling and joking around with Jeon Jungkook. It didn’t feel strange or unfamiliar, it was like you two had been friends for a while.

So weird.

↠↞

“You know what sounds great right now? Watching The Titanic.” Jungkook quipped.

You nudged your knee against Jungkook’s and ate a spoonful of ice cream.

Just as you predicted, your mother invited Jungkook to stay a little longer to enjoy a scoop or two of ice cream. He eagerly agreed which led the two of you to sit side by side on the sofa watching a true crime series on the television.

Instead of a scoop or two, Jungkook had two mugfuls of ice cream and as tempting as it was to eat more, he refused. You ended up feeding him some of your share because why the fuck not, you’ve been hand feeding him the entire night might as well keep the ball rolling.

“I can’t believe my mom mentioned that.” You groaned and held a spoonful of ice cream to Jungkook’s mouth.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He swallowed. “Hell, I still cry watching A Walk to Remember—”

Jungkook froze and tilted his gaze towards you, hoping to not make eye contact but you were already gawking at him.

“I mean—”

“You cry when you watch A Wal—”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You let out a teasing chuckle. “Well, well, I know what we’re going to watch next time.” 

Jungkook swiftly grabbed the mug out of your hands and sulked into the couch cushions.

“If we’re watching A Walk to Remember, then we’re also watching The Titanic.” Now it was his turn to offer you a scoop of your own ice cream. It was a risky deal, but you agreed regardless. As much as you didn’t want to show him your crying face, the desire to see what he looked like when he cried was stronger.

You probably said okay, let’s get back to work after this episode about three times. All of your papers were still sprawled across the table and the true crime series was still playing. At this point, the project was already long forgotten.

At the next commercial, Jungkook stretched out his limbs and let out a strangled whine.

“Whew, I haven’t been this full with good food in a while.” He leaned over to the side and rested a hand on his stomach.

“Oh yeah, I forgot! I hope this didn’t ruin your diet.” You collected the mugs to leave them soaking in the sink.

“It’s alright. I’ve been juggling between the meals and snacks you gave me with other smaller meals, so a dinner like this won’t hurt me too bad.” He explained. “The lettuce wraps and roasted sweet potatoes are my favorite by the way.”

You joined him back on the couch and crossed your legs. “I’ll make you more next time.”

“No, y/n. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s fine.” You smiled. “I had a lot of fun making it. I don’t cook much anyway, so I felt like a chef.”

Jungkook smiled at you and inched a bit closer to you. “Okay, well let’s both go to the supermarket together next time so I can pay for the ingredients at least. I don’t want you to spend your money.”

You definitely judged Jungkook too quickly.

He was a sweet and courteous guy. You probably just didn’t trust handsome faces, especially ones who were as social as Jungkook. He also became easy to talk to and someone you could joke around with. Besides getting a good grade on the history project, a friendship with him was another positive outcome from this fake relationship deal. 

“Deal.” You replied.

The true crime episode came back on and both of your attention immediately went back to the television. Your eyes danced along the screen, then down to the cable box.

9:31

Holy shit. It’s already this late?!

“Hey, Jungkook.” He turned to you. “What time do you have to be home?”

He then looked over at the cable box and then back at his phone.

“Oh shit. I didn’t even realize it was this late already.” He chuckled. “Uh, I should be heading home.”

Huh?

For a second, you felt… disappointed?

“I’ll help you clean up first. We did quite the number to your living room.” Jungkook laughed again.

You both began to tidy up the living room in silence, probably because the two of you were still trying to watch the true crime episode.

“I’ll walk you out.” You smiled at him.

After letting your mother know that Jungkook was going to leave, they said their goodbyes, and Jungkook followed you out your front door.

“It’s cold as fuck out here.” Jungkook shivered. “You should’ve just stayed inside, y/n.”

You shook your head. “No can do. I have to make sure I see my guests out.”

Jungkook nodded his head and unlocked his car, tossing his back in the passenger seat.

No matter what the weather or situation was, you always made sure to walk your guests out to be sure that they made it into their cars safely.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask,” you began. “Do you always open the car doors for people? Cuz’ I always have to walk my guests out. Is it the same thing?”

Jungkook closed the door and leaned on his car. He crossed his arms and gave it some thought. “Yeah, I guess it’s sort of like that. When I was a kid, my dad used to always tell me and my brother to open the car door for our mom because it was something ‘a man should do.’” He explained and you smiled a little imagining the sixth grade version of Jungkook opening the car door for his mother. “As I grew up, I guess it just stuck with me. I only do it with girls though, my guy friends know how to get in a car.”

You laughed. “I guess it’s kind of like me then.”

A gust of cold wind blew and you rubbed your arms.

“Well, thanks for coming over, Jeon. Text me when you get home so I know you made it safe.”

“Thanks for inviting me.” He smiled.

Jungkook stood there for a moment and honestly, you were hoping he was going to get inside his car soon because he was right, it was cold as fuck outside. He lifted an arm and tugged you by your forearm to have you flush against his body. He enveloped you in a hug and it caught you completely off guard. Your hands were pressed against his car, hesitating to return the gesture, but eventually you circled your arms around his torso.

“You know, y/n, you mentioned in your room that you find it hard to leave your comfort zone and I really can’t thank you enough for being my fake girlfriend.” He said softly. “We both got out of serious relationships and getting to know you a little better, I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to go from holding hands with Sehun to me all of a sudden.”

You blinked a few times.

Now this was out of the blue.

“It—It was probably harder for you. You dated Chaeyoung for like three years.” You explained into his chest.

“Heh… I guess you’re right.” He gently rubbed your back. “But, really, thank you for doing this for me. It was selfish of me to ask and I hope you’re not going to hate me after it’s all over.”

You laughed thinking about how you gained a new friendship with Jungkook. “I won’t. You’re a good guy, Jungkook.”

Silence filled the air once again and you were thankful that your face was buried in Jungkook’s chest. You didn’t dare look into his eyes.

“S’warm….” you hummed.

It didn’t occur to you that you said that out loud until Jungkook chuckled and hugged you tighter.

“I told you to stay inside.” He let you go and gently nudged you to walk back up your driveway.

“I’ll be fine.” You laughed, watching him get into his car. “Drive safe!”

Jungkook waved at you, gesturing you to go inside but you countered, waving him off so he can drive off first. This went on for a while until he finally gave in, starting his car. You stood in your driveway just until his car disappeared from your line of sight. Just as fast as he left, you sprinted into your house and pressed your back against the front door.

The noise of the television filled the room but you paid it no mind. If you had to be honest with yourself, at the beginning, you thought of just discarding Jungkook as an acquaintance overall once this whole facade was over. You imagined your life going back to the way it used to be: undisturbed, going at one pace, and staying focused on yourself and school. This was the plan. You thought you had it set in stone.

Now, you weren’t sure if you were ready to leave this temporary chaotic lifestyle anytime soon. But just because Jungkook wasn’t going to be your fake boyfriend anymore didn’t mean anything else had to change. You still had a new bond with him and once it was all over, that new friendship was going to remain.

You dipped your head and blankly stared at the wooden floor.

“I guess leaving my comfort zone once in a while isn’t always a bad thing.”

-

-

-

♡ rae jagi

[animeniacss]

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Prologue - A Day in the Life

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 5.1k words

Prologue - A Day in the Life

Time has the power to change someone, especially when that someone is young. We do dumb things like cut our hair, sneak out of the house when we’re grounded, and lie to our parents that we did it in the first place. We betrayed, we delayed, and we gave lip when we shouldn’t have…

….we date people who we think we’ll spend our lives with, but who end up as nothing more than a distant memory... That might just be the dumbest thing we do when we’re young, and we hope and pray that one time will be the last because that one time was bad enough, and any more would shatter all hope in terms of love. That’s how it was for you, at least.

Now, your dumb things changed from sneaking out of the house to sneaking out of your daughter’s room a bit too loudly and waking her up--from cutting your hair to trying to save money on hers, botching it and giving her a bowl cut, and lying--or trying to at least--to pretend you’re sleeping when your daughter crawls into bed with you, hoping you can get a few more moments in. But she was smart, and she saw right through you.

You were trying to do that right now. However, just like every other time, you were in bed, your four-year-old shifting the mattress in her desperate attempt to get onto the bed and towards you.

“Mommyyy…” she whined. You groaned, closing your eyes as you covered your face with the pillow. “Mommy…”

“Yes, Min?” you hummed, rolling over. Forget those few more minutes, it seemed your day had started. You opened your eyes and saw a little black-haired girl before you, with bangs straight across her forehead, and a tired expression that exposed her gap tooth.

“Hyo Bin…..” she murmured. Adjusting your hearing, you heard something else now. Something high pitched.

Something like a toddler crying and whining. You heard a few whines of “Mamaaaaaa~.”

“Oh jeez…” you grumbled, getting out of bed. You looked at your daughter as you headed out the door with a sprint in your step. “Get dressed, Min Ja!”

This was how most mornings started for you, and it sure as hell didn’t slow down from here. After getting your youngest up and ready, you scrambled to encourage Min Ja to get herself ready. She always delayed, so you’d end up putting your youngest in her carrier, where you were able to see her, before racing to tug a tee shirt and shorts on your eldest daughter.

“I don’t wanna wear this!” she shouted.

“Well, instead of playing with your toys while I got your sister ready, you should have picked out your clothes.” You pulled her shirt over her head and patted her sides. “You can pick an outfit for tonight after we come home for dance.” Though she continued to pout. Your grip on her hand was tight as she followed you out.

“Ooookaaaay…” Scooping up the toddler--who began whining because she dropped her favorite toy on the floor as she was whisked in the air--you raced out the door and down the street. As you did, you began running your day through your head. It was never any different, but you had to do it every time or you were sure to forget something. “Daycare, then work, I gotta grab groceries on the way back, pick up the girls at 4:30, get Min to dance by 5, go home and get dinner all set up so we can be home by 6:30 to eat... baths, bedtime at 8…” you mumbled to yourself, holding your daughter’s hand tightly as you shuffled down the ever-crowded streets of Seoul. “Jesus, I hope the trains don’t delay again.”

The daycare was close by, a fifteen-minute walk with two kids in tow. It was the forty-five-minute train ride that bothered you so much. Every moment you sat in that packed train felt like another moment closer to death. As you headed down the street, mentally reciting your daily chores in your head, you heard Min shout:

“Mommy! There!” You looked towards where he was pointing and saw you were walking right past it. Kids were seen being dropped off by their parents--some crying, others eager to go--with a kiss goodbye before fleeing into the brightly painted building. Slowing your steps, you headed to the front gate.

“Good catch, Min Ja.”

“You almost did it again…” Min giggled. Smiling, you headed over and greeted the owner, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, a full smile, and warm, welcoming air of a grandmother. “Hello~.” She beamed. “Good morning, Min Ja. Hi Hyo Bin.”

“Hi Miss Yun Yun!” Min Ja gasped. You passed Hyo Bin to Yun Yun, and she smiled.

“I’ll try not to be late today. We have dance practice…” you murmured.

“Oh, Min Ja will remind me.” The woman smiled. “We’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” Your eyes fell to your daughter, who was already playing with two other little girls. “Min Ja!” you called. You watched her trot up to you and you knelt down. “4:30. I’ll be here.”

“Okay, Mommy…” she said. You kissed her forehead, and Hyo Bin’s, before heading down the block towards the station.

The good thing about your schedule was that the locations were relatively convenient, aside from the long train ride. There was even a nice cafe right by the station that was basically your second home. The place was owned by a young couple, the wife, named Min Sun, heavily pregnant yet still going strong in her work. The interior was very minimal, probably because it was a self-owned business and most of the money went towards ingredients instead of decor, but that didn’t matter. What they did have, like a wall of pictures displaying all the cafe’s major events from opening to now, or the homemade chandelier that didn’t always work right, but damn if you knew they didn’t work their hardest when making it. The overall warm color scheme of fall colors like reds, oranges, and yellows helped bring the place together, and it made all who entered it feel as if they were entering a warm hug. You stepped into the cafe, the bell ringing to indicate your arrival. You walked to the counter and greeted the owners.

“Hello~.” Min Sun smiled. “The usual? Small coffee with two sugars and a chocolate chip muffin?”

“Make it a large coffee.” You groaned. “I’m so out of it.” Min Sun smiled and got to work on making your order. You stood there, checking the time on your watch as you scratched your head. You were not looking forward to these next few hours. As you waited, you heard the door to the cafe open and the bell rang again. You didn’t glance over, instead of grabbing your coffee and muffin as it was handed to you.

You quickly paid for your food as she read you the total. “Thanks.” As you turned, you locked eyes with the individual that had walked in behind you. He was a few inches taller than you, with short, fluffy black hair. He had a long face, with bright brown eyes that scanned the menu hung up on the wall behind the counter. You must have been staring for too long, because the guy seemed to notice, and turned to you. Jung Hoseok, a blast from your past...and the reason you were where you were in terms of love. When you locked eyes, his widened, and a grin formed on his face. He spoke your name, forming it into a question, as he wasn’t sure what the answer would bring. You smiled.

“Hoseok?” You set your coffee and muffin before two of you quickly embraced in a hug. “Oh my goodness! What a surprise.”

“Tell me about it.” He smiled. “How are you?”

“I’m…okay.” You chuckled. “What about you?”

“Doing great, of course!” He said happily, his high-pitched voice bringing you to a place of nostalgia. You thought back to the last time you heard him speak to you. “I’m surprised we ran into each other like this.” He said.

“Tell me about it…” you looked at him, tucking some hair behind your ear. You weren’t too sure what to say next, it's been about 6 years since you saw each other last. “....What’s it been, six years?” You asked, a bit of shakiness in your voice. Excellent. Hoseok smiled a bit, his lips drawing into the shape of a heart. It made you smile a bit as well. “Yeah.” He said. An awkward silence falls over you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mi Sun standing by the counter, a smile on her face as she looked at you. Her eyes read: Oh my, what’s going on here? You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked back at Hoseok, whose eyes had returned to the menu. He quickly placed his order, a coffee with creamer and sugar, then turned back to you.

“We should get together. Catch up.”

 “Oh totally.” you nodded. “Uhm...I don’t really know the next time I’m free, though. Pretty hectic schedule…”

 “I see.” Hoseok looked towards the counter and grabbed a napkin. “Uh, do you have a pen?” He asked Min Sun. She pulled one out of her apron pocket and handed it to him. “Thank you.” He leaned down, scribbling something onto the napkin. You watched, taking a sip of your coffee. As he scribbled, he was humming little random noises, as if he wasn’t in public with people around him sharing curious glances towards him. “Here.” He handed you the napkin. “Call me when you’re free.”

You took the paper in your hands, then glanced back up at him. His smile was back, and you chuckled a bit.

“Okay…” you said. Glancing down at your watch again, your eyes widened. “Crap!” You grabbed your muffin, stuffing the napkin in your pocket.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I’m so going to miss the train!” You shouted. “I uh- I’ll call you.”

“Okay…” he said. You were standing for a minute, looking around to make sure you had all your belongings. Hoseok leaned forward, picking up your little coin purse and handing it to you. With no hands to take it, you opened your mouth. Hoseok raised an eyebrow, but you leaned forward, clutching your purse in your mouth. Hoseok couldn’t help but laugh as he watched you race out the door, not looking back as you headed to the station at the end of the street. When you were out of sight, Hoseok turned to Min Sun and pulled out his wallet. “Wow. She really hasn’t changed…”

You just barely arrived at your train, scrambling to get out your train pass and sliding past the closing doors. Once you were safely on, you felt your body melt into a seat. Setting the muffin in between your legs, you used your free hand to put away your coin purse. As you sip your coffee, you pulled out the napkin in your pocket. You stared at the numbers scribbled on it and saw there was a little smiley face drawn on there as well, with the word Hobi written underneath it.

“Hobi…” you breathed out, nostalgic bliss dripping from your lips. Pulling out your phone, you entered his contact into it. Over the past six years, you went through a lot of phones, and along the way, Hoseok’s number didn’t make it into the current one. But it was there now, Hoseok. You questioned putting an emoji, but had no idea what to put. The last emoji that sad beside his name was a heart and that...that wouldn’t work anymore. Sighing, you opened a new message, his name up on top. Staring at the blank message box, you tried to think of what you could say. Should you even say anything at all? Maybe this short reunion was just that...short. As in, not meant to happen again.

You thought back to his smile, his eyes, how happy he looked to see you, and it made you smile too. You closed your phone. “I’ll text him later.” You mumbled softly. Resting against the back of the seat, you tried to eat your breakfast as the train dragged you to work.

You were 24 when you got this job, working as a secretary for a local pediatrician’s office. It wasn’t much, but it works with your schedule and the train ride wasn’t god awful, mostly. The doctor’s office was pretty big, and you weren’t the only secretary that worked, so you were never lonely. Jin, who was a few years older than you, had worked there long before you and taught you everything you knew. However, six months ago, he left to pursue his dream of cooking in a restaurant.

That was when they hired Jungkook, who had been at the job for about a year, so you’ve been teaching him the ropes based on what Jin had taught you. He was a good kid, a bit bratty, but good at his job and good at helping keep things organized. That was good because you were always busy. As the minutes ticked away, you raced into the back staff entrance of the office, saying hello to the doctor and nurses as you hurried to get yourself together.

“You we're so close to being late again.” Jungkook said, smiling at you as you staggered into the room.

“My daughters woke me up late, so I forgot to grab my running shoes when I left. So I ran here in my heels.”

“Ooh. That’s rough.” Jungkook watched you sit and turn on your computer, resting against the back of your chair.

“Any calls yet?”

“I made a few appointments. Flu season is starting so everyone wants their shots.”

“Oh goody…That reminds me I need to get the girl's flu shots soon ...that's a whole process…” you murmured, trying to make a mental note in your already cluttered mind. “Can you make me an appointment before they’re all booked?”

“Can I do that?” He asked curiously.

“Yeah.” You said. “As long as I don’t do it myself. Dr. Park is their doctor.” Jungkook nodded as he pulled up the appointment books. The two of you managed to get Min Ja and Hyo Bin in later in the week for her flu shot.

The next 7.5 hours at work went by like they usually did. Slow. You and Jungkook would take the idle time between checking in customers and answering phone calls to chat with one another about different things. Jungkook, being only 22, was able to get this job part-time while he finished school. He was studying...something. Honestly, you couldn’t remember. But he was smart, so you always encouraged him.

“Thank you for calling, see you then.” You hummed, setting the phone down. The waiting room was full of parents with their kids, who were crying or screaming or misbehaving. You sighed, listening to the parent’s attempts to soothe or reprimand them. Some would do a good job, but others either tried to correct the behavior with a bored or unbothered tone in their voice or would flat out ignore the child or children until they were called inside. Those parents weren’t frequent, but god they got annoying. You glanced at Jungkook, who was smiling at a baby girl in her mother’s arms as he checked their appointment in.

“The nurse will call you in shortly.” He said. The girl stuck her hand out to him, and he lifted a finger, allowing her to grasp it in her hand. “Woah, what a grip.” He cooed, grinning as the girl squealed in delight. After a thank you from the mom, they went to find a seat. Jungkook hummed, leaning back in his chair. “Augh. Kids are so cute. I can’t wait to be a dad.”

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled, pushing your chair back slightly as you opened up a filing cabinet and rummaged through it for a file.

“Of course! But not now, I don’t even have a girlfriend. Besides, I’m really young and I have tons I want to do after I finish university.” Jungkook clarified, leaning back in his chair. Hearing him say that made a soft smile form on your lips.

“Yeah, good mindset. Wait until you’re older.” You said. “Mm, here it is.” You pulled out the file and leaned down the hall, calling a nurse and handing it to her. “You’ll be a good dad, but don’t rush it.”

“I just hope they’re not better at me in video games.” Jungkook murmured, both of you laughing.

Yeah, your time at work always flew by when you and Jungkook got to talking. He was a good kid and had you been the same age, you imagine the two of you would have been good friends growing up. The day dragged on, and you ate lunch at your desk like always. The deal was you worked until 4 instead of 5 without a break, which you didn’t mind. It worked. When 4 hits, you grabbed your stuff. Jungkook was already long gone, leaving at 1, but there was another young part-timer who filled in for him the rest of the day.

“See you tomorrow.” You said, waving goodbye as you headed out the door. You made a phone call to Yun Yun at the daycare, saying you were on your way as you raced down to the station and hopped on the next train. The way back was a shorter ride, only 30 minutes. Lucky you…

——-

“Mommy!” Min Ja yelled, passing the toy in her hand to a friend as she hurried towards you. You smiled, squatting down as she quickly hugged you. “Are we going to dance?!” “Yes. Lemme just get your sister. Go to the bathroom now, we’re in a rush.” You said, heading to the play area for babies and toddlers. A few girls were sitting around, holding kids in their arms and playing with different toys. When the girl holding Hyo Bin saw you approach, she held her up.

“Hyo Bin, who’s here?” She asked, pointing in your direction. When Hyo Bin saw you, her eyes lit up, just like they always did, and she eagerly began to reach towards you. “Mama! Mama!” She shouted in glee. You grinned, eagerly scooping her up into your arms.

“Oh, hello my princess. How are you?” You hummed, kissing her cheeks as she latched onto you. “Let’s go.” You saw Min Ja at the door, trying to pull open the heavy door of the daycare, her tiny backpack on her back, and the eagerness in her eyes ever prevalent in her attempt to leave faster. “Min Ja, stop.” You said, walking over and pointing her towards Yun Yun. “Okay. What do we say to Miss. Yun Yun?”

“Thank you, Miss. Yun Yun.” Min Ja said, waving as you led your daughter out of the daycare and towards the apartment. “Mommy, can I pick out my outfit for dance? You promised!”

“Did Mr. Park say you need to wear something specific?”

“No.” Min Ja said. “And he lets us call him Mr. Jimin, Mommy…” you sighed.

“I know. But you still need to be polite.” You said. As you got into the house, you unlocked the door. “Hurry up.” You called your daughter as she raced into her room. You took Hyo Bin out of her seat and held her as you followed behind Min Ja. “Aaaa, Hyo Bin. I hope you’re not this full of energy when you get big.” You mumbled to yourself. Min Ja grabbed her favorite leotard and skirt to allow for a pink and black combination. You sat her down to pull her hair into a tight bun and help slide on her sneakers. She held her ballet shoes, she was always adamant to do so.

With the girls ready to go, you headed down the street to the ballet studio. You grabbed a small snack for your daughter to eat before starting her dance practice. The three of you arrived with some time to spare, about ten minutes. Other mothers were sitting with their daughters, getting them ready and having them stretch. So, you sat Min Ja down, setting Hyo Bin beside her in a chair as you helped her put on her ballet shoes. “Now, Min Ja,” you began. “Remember to pay attention to Mr. Jimin, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.” She said, crunching into a chip.

“I’ll be back in a little bit after I get some groceries for dinner. I’ll see the end of your practice.” Min Ja nodded, pulling a chip from her bag and putting it into her mouth. “Can Mommy have one?” you asked, eyeing the bag. Without question, Min Ja held up a chip to your lips, and you smiled as you ate it. “Thank you.”

Just then, Jimin walked into the room, a grin on his face. He was only 24 and had recently been able to redo the dance studio after buying it from a friend. He had a wonderful studio, ranging in different dance styles, from ballet, hip hop, and freestyle, as well as welcoming many different ages of students. You had sent Min Ja here for about a year and a half, right when Jimin reopened the place, and Min Ja fell in love with it. You were glad too, it gave her something to do.

“Alright. Good afternoon girls.” Jimin said, smiling as the swarm of about 12 girls aged 4 to 6 raced up to him, greeting him. Min Ja passed you her half-eaten bag of potato chips as she did the same, disappearing into the crowd of little girls. “Are we ready for another fun day?”

“I am, Mr. Jimin!” Min Ja shouted, flinging her hand in the air. You smiled as you watched them set up, picking up Hyo Bin. Min Ja got into position on the floor, before turning to look at you. You smiled at her, waving and encouraging Hyo Bin to wave too. She waved back before Jimin called her attention and they began to stretch. Grabbing her purse, you saw a few of the other mother’s looking in your direction. You gave a polite nod, before heading out the door and to the supermarket.

Trips to the supermarket were a trip, especially with a toddler. Hyo Bin was a good little girl, but she was still just barely two. So, she would try to reach out and grab things, pull them off the shelves, and begin to sob when she was reprimanded. Luckily, you didn’t need too much stuff for tonight’s dinner, so hopefully, you could make it back to see Min Ja’s practice. Most of the time, sitting through the practices were hard, either because Hyo Bin was fussy or you had to take a phone call outside, or it was the only time you could really go out and do a few errands that you wouldn’t get done otherwise. It was convenient for you, but upsetting for Min Ja. As you checked out, your eyes fell to the clock behind the counters. You had about 20 minutes to get back to the dance studio since Hyo Bin held you up by crying in the snack aisle. Since you didn’t have anything that needed to be refrigerated right away, you could skip the step of rushing home and putting everything away and just rush straight to the dance studio again.

If you hurry, you could make it.

-------

“Have a good night,” Jimin said, waving off the last girl that was walking out the door with her mother. As he closed the door, he turned to Min Ja, who stood by the mirror wall, practicing some of her forms. Jimin smiled, walking over to her and kneeling down, gently guiding her into the right position. “There you go. Perfect.”

“When will Mommy get here?” she asked curiously. “She said she would be here to see me.” Jimin sighed, lowering himself fully to sit with his legs crossed beside Min Ja.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Where did she say she was going?”

“The grocery store.” Min Ja said softly. Jimin nodded.

"Then it’ll be any minute,” He said gently. “Want to dance while we wait?” Min Ja nodded, grinning as Jimin got up to turn on the speakers. Discarding her backpack onto the floor, pop music began to play and she began to dance like crazy. As Jimin watched, he heard a door within the studio open, and he saw someone come in. He smiled, greeting them.

-----

You flung the door open about five minutes later, stepping into the dance studio. “I’m here! I’m so sorry…” As the door closed behind you, you leaned against the door and took a shaky breath, clutching your daughter in your grip as your other handheld the bag of groceries. You looked over to see Min Ja, dancing in front of the mirror with someone, Jimin watching happily as he saw you come in. He turned the music off, and you headed over.

“Mommy!” Min Ja grinned, hurrying over to you. You set the bags down, as well as Hyo Bin, before hugging Min Ja tightly. “You were late, Mommy…”

"Min Ja, I’m so sorry…” you said softly. “The line at the store was so long and Hyo Bin got sad and….” You kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay, Mommy…”

“Will you show me at home what you learned today?” You asked, running a hand through her hair. She nodded, smiling as he headed to grab her bag. When you saw Jimin approach, you stood up. “Jimin, I’m sorry, I-” Jimin raised a hand to stop you.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said. “I told you already, I don’t mind.” You chuckled a bit. “Min Ja’s tons of fun to have around.”

“Mommy. Look! I made a new friend!” Min Ja called, and you glanced over. Min Ja was dragging over-

“Hoseok.” You said, a smile forming on your face. He looked up at you, blinking in surprise.

“Oh wow…” he said, watching Min Ja run to your side. “Hey again…” He motioned to the little girls in your embrace. “I had no idea you were uh-.”

"Saddled with kids?” you teased. “Yeah. These two are mine.” Hoseok chuckled. Min Ja glanced up at you, a curious expression on her face.

“Mommy, do you know Mr. Hobi?” She asked softly. You glanced back up at Hoseok at the mention of his nickname. Squatting down, you nodded.

“Mr. Hobi is Mommy’s….” you paused for a brief second. “…Friend from when Mommy was younger. Did you properly introduce yourself?” Min Ja shook her head, and you motioned towards him. Hoseok smiled as Min Ja walked over. She looked in your direction again, and you smiled before she looked back at Hoseok.

“I’m Cho Min-Ja. It’s nice to meet you.” She said happily. “You already know, but Mommy said I have to say that to everyone I meet because it’s polite.” Hoseok couldn’t help but smile, kneeling down to offer his hand for her to shake.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Min Ja.” He said. “And who’s that behind you?” he pointed to Min Ja’s sister, who was trying to grab the bags on the other side of you.

“That’s Cho Hyo-Bin. She’s almost two.”

"Almost two. Wow…”

“I’m four.”

“Four?!” Hoseok gasped, eyes widening. You smiled a bit as you stood up. “I can’t believe that.” Min Ja giggled a bit.

“It’s true!” She said.

“Alright, Min Ja.” You said. “It’s time to go home now so we can get dinner done. What do you say?” She turned back to Jimin and Hoseok.

“Thank you Mr. Jimin and Mr. Hobi.” She said, before hurrying to you. When she realized there was no hand to hold, since one hand the groceries and the other was holding Hyo-Bin’s hand, she walked to Hyo-Bin and took her hand instead. You glanced at Hoseok, who was smiling at you.

“I uh…I’ll call you.” You said, nodding as you thought back to the napkin that was still in your pocket.

"I look forward to it.” He said happily. “Get home safe~!” You nodded as you led your children out the door. Hoseok watched you do, hearing the door close behind you before Jimin called him to help clean up.

When you returned home, you managed to whip up a simple dish for you and the girls. Min Ja was exhausted after dinner. That made it easy to wash the girls up and get them to bed with little to no fuss, which normally occurred at bedtime. Min Ja was tiredly begging to show off her new ballet moves as you tucked her into bed. You smiled, lifting her stuffed elephant off the floor and set it beside her, watching as she lazily pulled it to her chest.

“Tomorrow, Min.” you said softly, giving her a kiss goodnight. “I promise.” Min Ja nodded, rolling onto her side as she passed out. You sighed, watching her chest rise and fall. “Man. I owe Jimin my kidneys for letting her dance out all of her energy.” You went towards the toddler’s cot, seeing that she was asleep too, clutching one of her favorite dolls, a stuffed princess doll. You kissed her forehead as well, before quietly making your way out of their room and closing the door. With the girls in bed, and it just barely 8:30, you sank onto the couch and groaned. This was a typical day for you, from morning until you crashed in your bed. But it was your life, and it could, in all honesty, be worse.

As you sat in silence for a few moments, you thought about the one thing that changed today. Running into Jung Hoseok again, after six years. You grabbed your phone, sitting idly on the coffee table, with the phone number holding a napkin beside it. You grabbed them both, sitting upright as you scrolled into the contacts. For less than 12 hours, Hobi’s number was back in your phone, and you weren’t sure how to feel about this sudden break in your mundane routine.

However, you did feel butterflies in your chest when you dialed his number and press the phone against your ear, listening to the ringing noise before a familiar, high-pitched voice was heard on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey…Hoseok.” You said, leaning back against the couch. “I finally called you.”

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[weltonreject]

Selling a Fake

| Theo didn’t fly home right away; he stayed in Antwerp and together, he and Boris flew back to New York. They start over, two troubled teenagers all over again. They’ve replaced scorching Vegas summers with chilling New York winters. It was never about the place anyway. They’re together-- they’re something-- but Theo still struggles to be open to strangers passing by. | [9.3k] [ao3]

i.

Holding hands with Boris in public was still uncomfortable; still felt like an unnecessary announcement to the world about things that were grotesque and hidden for a reason. Theo used to think it was because time spent with Boris was time spent completely obliterated and sloppy. Admitting to strangers his associations with Boris felt like openly lifting a bump to his nose in public. Well, that’s what Theo thought it felt like, until he realized that maybe being with Boris openly was the only thing that felt so criminal in the first place.

That, of course, was what Thursday afternoon brunches were for: trying to make spending time together less criminal and more commonplace, as two lovers should feel.

“It is your pick today, Potter. You have chosen, yes?” Boris asked, walking beside Theo. They were still in Theo’s neighborhood. Barely able to acknowledge the other existed just yet.

“I was thinking that place we had three weeks ago. I really just want an omelette I think.” Theo shrugged, stepping around the block.

Boris laughed and nudged his side, arm going around his shoulders before dropping to his waist. “So easy to please, Potter. Pick somewhere exciting! These Thursdays, they are fun, no? Meant to be extravagant! Daring!”

“I think I’ve had enough of all of that for a while.” Theo said, turning to look at Boris just barely over the top of his glasses. “They’re just supposed to be nice Thursday mornings. You know how being normal works, right, Boris?”

He scoffed. “Normal? When have we subscribe to normal?”

It was true; between the two of them, they’d done enough in their lives to be unable to step back into normal lives. At least, beyond normal on the surface. They could pretend for anyone who passed, but the truth between them was still that their childhoods had passed in a spotted haze and that their early twenties were nearly lost to a poor art deal. But they’d recovered. The painting, their lives, their money, their sanity.

Everyone was fine. Everything was back where it should have been.

“It’s a figure of speech.” Theo said, still letting himself be led by Boris down the sidewalk. “Normal.”

“I think we are normal.” Boris said nodding firmly. “Yes. We are. Two men, on four legs, healthy-- making money fist over fist!”

“It’s hand over fist.”

“Don’t care! Fist, hand, leg, foot! We’re making it and we’re happy, yes! And now we’re on the way to eat. What could be better?”

“A mimosa, probably.” Theo muttered, casting a glance to the storefronts as they passed.

Shop owners with hoses, cleaning the sidewalk; mothers with their babies trying to get rays of morning sun; children on their way to school; all impossibly bland and predictable strangers that made Theo step farther away from Boris. His arm dropped with a slap against his leg. It fell as if Theo had snapped it, cutting off all feeling from his shoulder down.

“How about coffee instead?” Boris pointed with his other hand over to a coffee cart just across the street. He reached for his wallet just as Theo reached for his arm; the guilt had gotten him before the shame had. “What? No coffee?”

“Well, no. I’ll just get some there.” Theo said quietly. “But also, I mean--” He lifted Boris’s arm as it hung lifelessly in his grasp, trying to motion it back to where it had been. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing?” Boris still hadn’t given life back to his arm. He seemed to enjoy Theo’s wordless proposal of public affection, the bastard. “Do you need itch?”

“What? No! I--I’m trying to say you can-- you know what? Forget it.” Theo sighed, lowering Boris’s arm. He rolled his eyes and let himself smile as Boris burst out in a honking laugh. He grabbed Theo again, his time his hand sitting loosely on his hip. Comfortable and nonchalant.

“So serious, Potter.” He furrowed his eyebrows and mocked Theo’s usual look of concern and anxiety. “It is too early for people to care-- too early to drink too, so twice amount not caring. Not even looking at us, Potter. Don’t be so paranoid.”

Theo couldn’t help it. Sure, the sidewalk was sparsely populated and the noise level was at a low, easy minimum, but there was still something ringing inside Theo. An alarm bell he couldn’t find or still, the metal reverberating and shaking his bones.

“I’m serious, Potter. No one around.” He leaned forward, like he was going to kiss him.

“And I’m serious, Boris.” He didn’t push Boris away, but spoke firmly, hushing his voice. “These people live near me. I see them all the time. They used to know my parents… They know clients.”

Boris nodded and leaned back, his hand still resting on Theo’s hip. His thumb moved over the roughness of his wool coat. “Okay. Okay.”

There was a moment, once the initial panic faded, that Theo wasn’t so afraid of his old and new neighbors seeing him with Boris. There was a level of sophistication to them: two grown and healthy (healthier, let’s say. Cutting down on the oceans of alcohol they’d been drinking had helped their complexions and overall youthfulness) men walking in stride together; one poised and creased to a perfect angle, polished glasses, and a new haircut; the other refusing a trim but still sleek in his all black look, trouser to sweater, even his trench coat a fierce coal black, only the buttons glinting in the morning winter sun. They were two attractive young men that looked attractive together. They looked well put together and somewhat dignified.

So what, Theo wanted to posture. So what if I’m with him? Theo felt a sort of authority in suddenly demanding the old image of him be changed; from poor helpless orphan to a grown, fruitful entrepreneur. He wanted them to notice that something new in his step: certainty.

Yeah. So fucking what.

ii.

The restaurant-- a little corner place mostly of windows with dusted periwinkle walls-- wasn’t crowded when they walked inside. A small bell on the door announced their entrance and all the waitstaff turned to acknowledge them.

“Pick your seat, we’ll be right with you, hun.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Theo started unbuttoning his coat as Boris walked ahead to pick the table.

He picked one in the center, the surrounding tables empty. “Two coffees. Please.” He held up two fingers, anticipating the waitress’s question as he shimmied his coat off. “I don’t think they have mimosa here, Potter.”

“Hm. Shame.” He placed his coat and scarf carefully over the back of the chair. “Maybe coffee is better than champagne at eleven in the morning, huh?”

“Both do the trick, we both know this.”

“What trick is that?”

“Getting us out the door for the day. Just different moods.” Boris winked, folding his hands in front of him. “One cup of coffee, we were functional, maybe a smile if we were lucky. Champagne? Hangover gone and those boring teachers, a bit funner! All the shitheads in class easier to listen to. Like changing dials on radio-- music!”

“Walden is so much better drunk.” Theo hummed, rubbing his one eye under his glasses. “Oh man, you remember Leaves of Grass?”

Boris snorted a laugh. “No!”

“Barely!” Theo agreed, shaking his head.

Laughing at pain was easier when it was closed over and finished; the desert had given them such an excuse to seek out destruction. Nothing around them could grow, so why should they? There was no need to. As hard as leaving Vegas was back then, Theo could at least acknowledge that leaving kick-started his ability to change-- at first for the worst, and then somewhat back toward the baseline for normalcy.

“Here’s two black coffees-- and some creamers.” A new woman came up swiftly, nearly singing the order, and placed the mugs down steadily in front of them. Not a drop spilled before placing a handful of creamers between them. “Alright, gentleman. What can I get for you?”

“He orders for me.” Boris volunteered, placing his menu down.

“Oh, that’s sweet.” The waitress had an unplaceable twang to her voice. It made her endearment sound only slightly pitiful, like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I wish my husband knew me well enough to do that.”

“Husband?” Theo choked on his sip of coffee he had yet to take.

“Friends for many years, him and I. Boyhood-- idiots, mostly. Mistakes made together are twice learned, you know.” Boris steam-rolled Theo’s panic, grinning brightly as he lifted his own coffee up. He gulped it quickly, giving Theo a chance to sputter out a response.

“He’s not my husband.” Theo said sharply. No, no way. Did people like Boris get married? Well, Theo supposed, people like him would marry people like Theo-- for example. Or, more shortly, people like them married those like themselves; Theo to Boris was not much of a stretch.

“Oh.” Her name was Daisy, according to her name tag. But it could’ve been anyone’s, taken out of a bin at the start of her shift.

Introducing himself was not part of the interaction at a restaurant, but Theo knew his credit cards had his name on it-- did he have enough cash to slip away unknown?

Boris spoke loudly as he swallowed, as if talking over Theo’s thoughts. “Cannot! Need to find a uh, kościół, uh,” He waved out to Theo, knowing the word was translatable, if not only because of their long talks from years before.

“Church.” Theo relayed, blinking up at Daisy. He smiled, suddenly familiar with the art of lying, of selling a fake. “He’s very particular about what church we go to. Catholics, ya know?”

This made Daisy laugh, openly and with her hand on her stomach. The guest check and pen pressed against the waistband of her apron-- Theo only noticed then she was pregnant. A mother, warming up to strangers in the middle of her long morning shift. His smile turned genuine and he reached across the table, about to take Boris’s hand but failing half way and awkwardly taking his coffee mug again.

“So what can I get you two? Besides a good priest?”

“Ha ha.” Theo’s laugh came out calculated accidentally. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Uh, we’ll both have omelettes, yeah?” He looked at Boris who shrugged as if he had no say in the matter. “He’ll have… everything in it-- except mushrooms and tomatoes. And uh, I’ll just take a western. Thanks.”

“I’ll get that started for you right away.” She touched Theo’s shoulder as she passed. She scribbled hurriedly before disappearing into the kitchen. Her steps were loud and flat-footed. Theo wondered how badly her swelling feet hurt.

When Theo refocused, Boris was laughing into his coffee and finishing the cup in two strong gulps.

“What?”

“Why did you lie to her? She is no one.”

“You started!”

“Because you were about to act like we are business partners-- nothing to nobody! She would have felt embarrassed all day. She is nice lady-- beautiful and going to feed us. Why lie to her? Who is she?” Boris had far too much reason. It was kind of irritating, kind of what Theo loved about Boris. Not that he’d ever said that aloud. Still.

And with that, he changed the subject. “What else did you want to do today?”

“Today is your plan.” Boris said. He flagged down a passing waitress for more coffee.

It was well known that Boris was a fast and gluttonous eater; childhood of food insecurity led to the appearance of adult greed. Theo understood, but that day in particular, there was something unsettling in Boris already sipping his second cup of coffee. Meals weren’t set to timers, but they did have a certain flow to them. One cup per half of a meal, on a regular pace. There were social cues assigned to the timing of a meal: when to get refills, when to ask for more of something, when to decide if you wanted dessert, when to ask for the check, when to open the check. Boris gulping down his second cup put Theo behind time, stationary but rushing to catch up. There was a warning he was missing-- why was Boris going so fast? What was he ignoring--

“Potter?” Boris placed his cup down across from Theo’s hand. His finger reached across the divide to poke him gently. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are staring at me. And not in way I like.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Theo shook his head and exhaled slowly. He wanted to cry, right there in the restaurant, like some kind of startled infant. Everything was shaking, but only on the inside; Theo didn’t dare make a move.

“You’re lying again.”

“I’m not!”

“Theodore.” Boris snapped, chopping off Theo’s rebuttal. It was a sign he wanted to know and wasn’t going to dance around it. He wasn’t mad, but could very well be if they wanted to play that game. Theo did not.

“Could you…” he groaned at his own request. “Could you eat a little slower? Please.”

“Why does that bother you? Another thing I do that--”

“No. It makes me feel rushed… Like I’m missing something. I-- I want to feel like I have all afternoon with you. We’re not running anywhere.” Theo sighed, meeting Boris’s gaze and watching his eyes fizzle out with a blink.

“Rushed? No, no. Did not mean-- Yes. Can eat slower. Ridiculous request, but yes. Absolutely.”

“I-I’m sorry. Just for today, I guess. I mean, I don’t want to-- I’m just feeling really--”

“Potter, relax! I said yes, right? I will try.”

A part of relationships was asking things from one another, the other part was willingness to do them. As their plates were placed in front of them minutes later, Theo sat wondering what he’d agreed them to.

Leaving Boris was never an option as it was, even back in Vegas, it had just been the desperate choice made, as he felt, for Theo. He would’ve never left if he thought there was another way, he would’ve waited, he would’ve kissed back. Being reunited with Boris-- somehow safer and more sound than in the Netherlands-- was the only path Theo would consider for the future. He never truly gave much thought for The Future as it hurtled toward him, but he knew that it had to have Boris in it for it to have any clarity whatsoever.

With that said, was that the basis of a relationship? Codependency? Maybe that was just loyalty to them by that point. They’d traded enough secrets and drugs to know the other beyond the bounds of friendship-- and definitely beyond the comforts of using the word brotherhood.

What was the word, then? Dating? No. It wasn’t a trial period. Married? Even without the legal fanfare, it didn’t seem right. Theo had dodged one engagement, and watched enough marriages topple after being built on faulty foundations, to begin questioning its integrity. What was Theo talking himself into suddenly? What union was he suggesting they’d become?

And worse, what was Boris agreeing to, picking up his fork like it was an instrument, careful but steady as he got ready to eat. He waited for Theo.

“Sto lat.” Theo muttered, lifting a piece of toast to Boris.

“To us.” He reached over and took the corner piece off of Theo’s toast. He popped it in his mouth with a wink.

iii.

They ate quietly, starting conversations before bites and letting them die while they chewed. It was incoherent at best, but the listening was innate. Theo nodded and hummed in acknowledgement as Boris tried speaking around his food-- still horrible with table manners but at least eating at the pace of a regular human being. He folded to Theo’s request, little argument and no bite. It was kind, but Theo couldn’t help itching to know what Boris would want from him.

“I’ll take the check, please.” Theo said to Daisy quietly, touching her elbow as she walked past. “When you get a second.”

“Of course! Did he like what you ordered?” She grinned, tearing a check out of her book.

“I heard no complaints.” There would never be a complaint over food. It was their common point; if either of them offered food as a meeting place, they’d gobble it up passing bread and wine and laughter.

“Delicious, very much so.” Boris chimed in, placing his napkin down. Wait, napkin. Theo eyed it curiously as the check was slipped into his hand. Boris really was putting the husband act on thick; it didn’t appear too artificial.

“Thank you for humoring me; our meal was an hour and a half.” Theo noted, checking his watch as he opened his wallet. He hovered over his cards before grabbing cash. Anonymity in at least name only. He gave her twice the gratuity tip, tucking all the bills around the check before pushing his chair back.

“Humor? Yes. I did have fun.” Boris pushed himself back and whipped on his coat in one swift motion. His coattails swung out and grazed over the chairs behind him. His front pocket hung heavy, Theo not knowing what was resting inside until they got outside.

On their way out, Theo thanked Daisy quickly and sincerely. He patted her arm and congratulated her-- softly, of course, in case it wasn’t public news. She grinned and waved them both out. She told Theo where he could find accepting clergy in town.

Theo let the door sink closed behind him, the muffled bell ringing inside. Boris produced a cigarette from his front pocket and started down the sidewalk. He held it unlit between his lips as he clicked his lighter unsuccessfully. Theo never carried one, not in his good coat at least. Imagine the look: an antiquesman with a BIC lighter? More like: unemployed.

“Where to now?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Theo confessed, looking up and down the street. He was trying to guess where the city could house them. At least for the afternoon. On Thursdays, everything felt too committal, too ingrained in their routine to risk being seen. Theo couldn’t cut his usual business spots out if they disapproved of his company. “Oh, how about a movie?” They were safe. Darkness usually was.

“What is playing?”

“I think some slasher, a romcom or something, and that eighties re-release.” Theo recalled, having somehow remembered from the paper that morning.

“How about: re-release and I get pop-corn.” Boris finally caught a light, taking in a long inhale. Since coming back to the states, Boris changed his usual brand. They were stronger smelling, and lasted longer. The stale and thick smell hanging around Boris’s mouth longer, clinging to his hair for just a fraction more than it took to put the end out.

“I’m not really hungry after that.” Theo said, placing a hand on his chest.

“Not say it was for you.” Boris tisked, holding the cigarette out for Theo to take. “So greedy.”

“Is that what you ask of me?” Theo asked, still calculating. “Not to take your food?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just talking shit.” Theo said, hissing the smoke out in a sidestream, away from Boris. The taste was near tangible, his tongue going over his top teeth as he passed the cigarette back. He didn’t look at Boris, knowing he’d give something away. Something else away.

A cab would have been easier, but Boris insisted on walking. Can’t smoke in a cab, he’d correctly insisted. Going through three cigarettes between the two of them proved Boris’s insistence to be reasonable. Theo puffed them down the quickest, taking long, deep breaths every time. Boris seemed surprised each time the filter would be passed back to him.

Walking wasn't the problem. It was watching the flags in the windows change from countries and sports teams to ones of rainbow variety. The Quad was in the Village, the two of them stepping right into the quiet corner of the city Theo always felt off visiting. He wanted to stare, as if to say, hey, me too. But always stared at his shoes instead, accidentally saying, i don’t want to see you or be seen by you. It was a difficult line to cross-- one of solidarity to bigotry-- but Theo knew it well. The two sides were miles apart but each step wobbled between the other.

Theo wasn’t sure what he thought of rainbow flags. If he should want one or even feel some kind of kinship with it.

Boris must’ve caught him staring.

“You want one?” He pointed openly to the large flag hanging outside of an apartment complex; safe-space housing for all couples and families.

“No.”

“Why not? You keep staring! On way home, we stop. Get you one. Hang it over your desk-- with all your boring fucking papers-- will look nice! Come on, Potter. I’ll get it for you-- or just take it from the building myself.” Boris nudged Theo’s side, his hand grabbing Theo’s forearm briefly; his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

“No! I don’t want one.” Theo hissed. “What about you? Why don’t you get one?”

“Am not gay, is why.” Boris said without surprise or elaboration. It was the first they’d ever truly discussed the topic. It was obvious where their sexualities overlapped, but it was clear to Theo that Boris, while his only at the moment, wouldn’t have been his only male partner.

“Consider me lost.” Theo said. This was definitely it, what Boris was going to ask for: for Theo to not let his inability to love anyone else overshadow the fact that Theo was Boris’s lucky strike, his one in a million, the only man he’d sleep with because he was in between girlfriends.

Theo held his breath and tried to act casual. He reached out of his pocket and into Boris’s for another cigarette. It forced him to breathe.

“Am beyond-- word is so small. Limiting to whole picture. God, or whatever have out there. Am not one word. If I do everything with love, why pick one kind of person. Love is for all, no?”

“I guess.”

Oh god, Theo huffed and tried to pretend the smoke was burning his eyes. Was he limiting to Boris? Was he putting too much weight in what was just finding happiness? Wasn’t it supposed to be ephemeral. Wasn’t that what made happiness so grand in the first place; it could come and go as it pleased. It had no master and no control, opposing the moon and the tides.

It was fine if Boris didn’t think of himself as gay, that wasn’t any of Theo’s business, but it mattered if Boris thought of their… whatever it was as casually as he thought of passing kindness and love onto strangers. Boris was a very open person generally-- but loving? No. That was supposed to be for Theo, or at least he so selfishly thought.

iv.

In the dark of the movie, some synth tune playing from the speakers and laughter bubbling up from the seats, Boris grabbed Theo’s hand. The tips of his fingers were greasy and pricked with granules of salt. It was almost as if he’d gotten the impulse to grab him, unable to wipe his hands and waste another second. It wasn’t the truth, but the thought moved Theo near tears. A burden couldn’t do that, could he?

“Hey.” Theo whispered.

“Yeah?” Boris moved his hair away from his ear, leaning closer.

It was dark. No one would see them. The seats were tall and the rows were short. They were in the Village for fuck’s sake.

“Nevermind. I’ll tell you later.” Theo muttered, squeezing Boris’s hand. “Not important.”

v.

“I think I should head back home.” Theo said, turning is collar up against the sudden dusk wind.

They’d found a strip of stores they’d never seen before after the movie, winding in and out of aisles, pretending they’d never touched the other before. Theo was startled every time Boris’s hand found its way onto his back. It was closing in on dinnertime and Theo was getting hungry. There was something leftover in Hobbie’s fridge, there always was.

“Come back with me-- I’m closer!” Boris pointed in the zigzagging directions they’d need to walk to reach his apartment. “I even get you cab if your feet are tired. Here, let me--”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go home, Boris. Really.” Theo had convinced himself that Boris was just being polite in his invitation. “I’ll see you later.”

“Theo, stay.” Boris swept forward and grabbed Theo’s hand, keeping him from stepping onto the crosswalk. A stream of people pushed past them, shouldering Theo’s stationary figure. “Let me order food on walk there. Pick it up before we go up-- fastest restaurant on the block. Trust me. Really really good-- authentic too. Chinese guys, family recipes. To die for. Here, look, I call right now.”

Before Theo could twist his hand out of Boris’s grasp, the phone was lifted to his ear. He ordered quickly, barely in English, before tapping off the call and slipping his phone in with his lighter and near-empty box of cigarettes.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Is already done. Let’s go. Do you want car or to walk? I think car, you’ve been walking all day. God, wish I still had my driver. We’d already be on the couch by now. No, we find taxi. Get you off your feet. Long day of critiquing, Potter.” Boris said with a laugh, walking up to the edge of the curb-- nearly off of it-- as he summoned a passing cab to him. He hadn’t let go of Theo’s hand.

“That flea market was reselling stuff from Pottery Barn.” Theo said in defense.

“‘Is not worn correctly! Too even, too fine!’ hilarious how much there is to know! And yet, Potter, you know all of it.” Boris opened the door for him. He lifted their hands, like Theo was a woman in tall heels in danger of falling as he sat down in the back.

“It’s my job to know.”

“This is true. It is. To know very much about so little.” Boris climbed in beside him, slamming the door.

The driver was looking at them through the rear view mirror. His eyes hovered downward before going back to Theo’s, eyebrows lifted.

“Uh, not me.” Theo sputtered, pointing at Boris. The address, the physical name and number of it, slipped his mind. It was just muscle memory; a North Star if Theo ever believe in it.

“Is my place.” Boris said, remembering his end of the transaction. He recounted his address, patting the back of the driver’s seat goodnaturedly before doing the same to the top of Theo’s hand. He still hadn’t let go.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be turning in, fellas?” The driver had a deep voice, but spoke kindly-- and drove like a bit of a maniac.

“Been out all day! Breakfast, movie, shopping-- god! Walking, walking, walking.”

Theo hated that he didn’t name their activity as just walking. No, it had to be shopping. Shopping sounded so feminine and suburban. They were grown men with multiple commas to their savings accounts. They didn’t shop. They went and they bought, otherwise they were just perusing. He twisted his hand in Boris’s, a small warning he was growing uncomfortable. Claustrophobic in his own skin; so little places to go.

“I don’t see any bags. Nothing to your liking?” The driver asked. Theo didn’t like the tone. They didn’t have ridiculous taste just because they were two men. No, their high taste was because of how sticky their fingers got around fine art and antiques, but that wasn’t always a welcome rebuttal.

“No. Friend here knows too much to be swindled by Potpourri Barn!”

“Pottery Barn, Boris.” Theo corrected softly. God, he sounded like a nagging wife.

“Yes! The Barn! All not old-- but they say it was! Lying to our faces! HA, if they only knew.”

“That’s New York for you.” The driver laughed. “How long you two in town? Week-long getaway? Honeymoon?”

“We both live here.” Theo cut in. “We’re from… Well, I’m from here.” After opening his mouth, there was no way to convince anyone that Boris was from Manhattan. “We’re not on vacation.”

“Oh, sorry. Nothing against you, just seems like a lot for locals.”

“We had a day. Two of us.”

“Boris, shut up.” Theo hissed, yanking his hand like rope to a curtain. Cut the show, he’d seen enough.

“What? We can small talk, can we not? There will be traffic-- can not spend it in silence.”

Boris really did everything with love, in some weird way, didn’t he? Sure, etiquette wasn’t the first thing on his mind, but he was a people person; making even the most benign interactions for a New Yorker enjoyable. He wasn’t going to make their driver sit in awkward silence while they did the same in the back.

“Am I stealing his attention away?” The driver was teasing Theo now, casting a glance up at him despite swerving the car into another lane. “I can let you two talk."

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Now Theo just looked rude.

“It’s okay! I get like that with my boyfriend all the time. I understand.”

“Boyfriend! You have one. Tell me. Better than sun on Earth?” Boris cheered, resting their laced fingers in his lap.

“Of course.”

“Ah, so there is two.” Boris added with a chuckle, stealing a look at Theo.

The sweet sentence soured within Theo. The alarm was going off, but there was nowhere for the sound to go. The walls were close together-- skin tight-- and the echo began throbbing in Theo’s ears. Who was this man? How did they know he was okay to trust? Who else did he know that he’d start blabbing too-- Oh I had these gay guys in my cab last week. One looked like a sheep dog and the other, man, like a male Velma Dinkley or something. Wait? Yeah! Do you know ‘em? No shit! I had no idea. Well, let me tell you--

“--Potter, he is talking to you.”

“Huh? What?” Theo gasped, sitting up again. He still hadn’t let go of Boris’s hand. “Sorry.”

“I just asked what you have against Pottery Barn. Your husband says you were reaming them out while you guys were shopping. What gives?”

“Uh,” Theo wasn’t going to correct someone for the second time that day. “It’s given forced character. It doesn’t have any life to it. You can’t fake that on furniture; it makes the room feel stiff rather than inviting.”

“Oh, wow.” The driver mulled the sentence over. “Into interior design?”

Theo clenched his teeth, trying not to be offended or feel cornered. It was a fair question. He had opinions about room character. He sounded like a gay interior designer. No big deal.

“I deal antiques.” Theo said, voice tight. That wasn’t any better.

“Oh! Well, that makes a lot more sense. Bet you two’s house looks great.” He made his last turn, Boris’s place just straight ahead after a bit.

“Oh no.” Boris said, his hand tightening on Theo’s. He was trying to hold the alarm still. “We do not live together.”

“Oh no?” The driver acted as if he had a say in this matter.

“No.” Boris answered. “Do not.”

Theo’s narrow focus missed all disappointment in Boris’s voice and went instead for the firmness in it. It sounded like a rule: no, we don’t live together. That’s not allowed, not necessary.

It made sense to Theo, if he put his mind (falsely) to it, what good was sharing yourself if you had to share your space too? What was your own after a while?

And here, Theo was hoping he’d have nothing left that wasn’t Boris’s.

vi.

Straight out of the cab, Boris dropped Theo’s hand if only to have both free to carry their food. It was only a block down and around, stories of the taste and delicious flavorful smells-- the smells, Potter, the smell sneaks up at you at night. Can smell it rooms away. So tempting all hours-- spilling out of Boris’s lips. It was easy to stay silent and try to process their cab ride.

For about forty minutes, Theo had been out. Completely and casually. Fully and stupidly. Blindly and happily. Boris didn’t seem to mind the momentous change, chattering relentlessly until Theo was all but pushing him out of the backseat. It hadn’t harmed Theo at all, but he still felt unsettled. It left him wanting to be close with Boris again-- why did he have to drop my hand-- but extra aware of how easy it was to spot them. Two men, easily mislabeled as husbands.

Theo left a considerable distance between them as he followed Boris up the stairs to his apartment. To anyone they passed, he tried to look like an unwilling participant in their conversation. By the time Theo finally got inside, Boris was already setting out their cartons and pulling out a chair for Theo. He took the other rickety metal chair across the table. It was stolen from an old diner or something, Theo was sure. The vinyl had been sun-beaten into a rosey salmon from its original cherry red.

“Come on, take a seat. Take off your coat-- shoes too, what are you thinking of taking off running? Sit with me, Potter. You’ve got to be starving. I’m beat. So hungry. Ready to eat everything in sight. You’ve got to be hungry.” He pointed his chopsticks at the empty seat.

“I still have to go home, remember?” Theo said, keeping his shoes on. “I can’t sleep over again.”

“And why not?” Boris seemed to argue more strongly when he was chewing.

“I never stay two nights.” Theo wasn’t sure if Boris had noticed their strangely unspoken rule, but it was true. They always either alternated or went their separate ways.

“Bullshit! Stay again! My place was closer so we came back here-- stay! Come on, sit down and eat with me. It’s food. No complaints.”

“No, really, I should get back.” Theo rubbed a hand over his face- the one that had been holding Boris’s hand not five minutes before. He could still smell the nicotine and popcorn butter. “I’m sorry to make you get all this food.”

“Theo! Wait!” Boris was scrambling out of his chair. “Not before I speak.” Theo had barely even turned away. Someone new was on the defensive. His eyes were wide as if he was moments from hitting a high, but his eyebrows were furrowed with fear.

Theo had already asked something of Boris that day, but he wished he had saved it to simply be: just fucking say it. End it already.

“I have to get home, Boris.”

“This. This is your home. Can be!” He said, slipping his hands under the shoulders of Theo’s coat. In Theo’s disarmament, he pushed the lapel back and down his arms. “If not, make it so. Put your things next to mine, move the bed, buy paint-- whatever you need. Stay here, with me. Sleepovers are not for grown men, Theo. They are not for us. Men own homes. Two men, yes, two men can own one home. Well, apartment, better word. But own, we can! Together, like old times, practically splitting imaginary rent in father’s house!”

This, and only this, was what Boris was asking of Theo: to live with him. And Theo had all the willingness to do so.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” The idea seemed preposterous.

“I am. Other key is being made as we speak and-- and I want you to stay. I don’t like the look you get on your face when you talk about taking the ride back to yours. Face gets so long, Potter, I hate it. Makes me want to ride with you, only to make you drive all the way back with me-- we’d live together in the cars between doorsteps! Unable to say goodbye.” Just like old times. “But now we don’t have to! I come home-- ah-ha! You’re here! You come home, hooray, so am I!”

“Boris, this is crazy.”

“Look back at our lives and say that? How can you?” He laughed heartily, still undressing Theo of his outerwear. “We’ve shared the bed in your dad’s house more than we have here. What’s the no for?”

“Are you sure? You want me to live here?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Boris exclaimed, waving his hands out. The space was his-- theirs. “Live with me, Theo. Stay here. Share with me-- the house, the bed, the food--”

“The rent.” Theo added.

“Hush hush. Missing the point, as always.” Boris cupped his face, as if forcing him to nod. “Do it, yes?”

“Y-Yeah. Okay.” Theo held his wrists, thumbs resting against the back of Boris’s hands. “Okay! Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Perfect! He says yes! He agrees with me!” Boris cried, bringing Theo forward quickly. They kissed and Theo’s glasses are only a little dislodged. “We must celebrate! I think I have some wine-- something in the cupboard! Saved for this very moment!”

“No, no, Boris that’s alright.” Theo would have loved a glass-- or maybe five-- of whatever year Boris somehow always had on tap, but it felt like a recreation. They were sharing the same space again and suddenly slipping down the slope into getting blacked out? No. Maybe not the best idea. “The food is enough. Let me share this with you-- We won’t even use plates. We’ll pass the cartons back and forth on the couch, like we used to when we were in my dad’s house.”

Boris looked touched. He kissed Theo again, softly and with the intent of getting Theo’s rigid posture to melt. It worked.

vii.

On the couch, shoes off and coat still on the ground, Theo rested his head on Boris’s lap. His body stretched out over the other half of the couch, feet over the armrest, while his head was turned to the side, watching the quiet TV program that was on. Theo wasn’t paying attention and he also wasn’t sure if it was in English. He’d finished eating then, but before had a pillow propping his neck up so he didn’t choke in his horizontal dining position. Boris though, was still picking at their carton of lo mein, intermittently resting it on Theo’s chest as he stopped to change the channel or mindlessly move Theo’s glasses up and down on his face, smudging them horrifically. Theo threatened hollowly that if he got any food on him, he’d strangle Boris himself. Boris laughed and poked Theo’s glasses with a greasy finger.

“Asshole.” He mumbled, scrunching his nose to look under the lenses at Boris.

Theo was so full and had such aching bones, as Boris finally replaced the carton with his hand resting on Theo’s chest, he couldn’t help but start to nod off. His breathing became slow and dreamy, his blinking languid and promising.

“Tired, Potter?”

“Not that much. I’m just listening to the TV.” It definitely wasn’t in English.

“Want me to turn it off?” Boris offered. “Or how about change? This making you sleepy?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Theo was half lying. He wasn’t sure how effective it would have been if it was in a language he understood.

“Here, I put on-- Uh, here! Jeopardy! The ‘what is’ show!” Boris pronounced it Jep-ar-dy, clicking the remote quickly. “Here, answer with me. I bet you all-- double, truly!”

“You can’t bet if you don’t get any of the questions right.” Theo said, blinking himself back to consciousness. Alex Trebek’s voice struck him back awake and to where he was. It rattled him, and his alarm.

He remembered watching the show with his mother, even having it on in the background of days in his father’s house. It was a grounding host of sounds-- the timer, the buzzer, the Daily Double chime. It was a show that could be found in every household, every normal family, and here it was entertaining two grown men that were all but-- dare he say it-- married?

That child that used to watch Jeopardy, shouting all the answers and tallying his humble imaginary winnings, was still lying on their couch. His head was resting in Boris’s lap, letting a hand rest on his forehead and ground him in comfort. For a moment, that child was disgusted. His curdling instinct to run struck up inside of Theo and he lurched upright. Boris’s arms lifted in alarm, trying not to accidentally strike him.

That child wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so comfortable being something no one knew about. The apartment was their secret, and so were the memories they were making around the common game show. Theo was a liar in the dark: even when no one was looking. There were people in his life, alive and dead, that would never know this part of him, and he wasn’t sure if that meant it was okay to submit to.

“Potter, what’s wrong?” Boris squinted and reached for Theo’s glasses. He polished them as Theo suffocated the words a younger him would’ve said: god, what are we doing? being fuckin’ girls, staying in and watching TV? god, lets see what Xandra’s hiding and--

“I think I’m going to get ready for bed.” Theo stood, wobbling without his depth perception. Boris held the glasses out as he turned the TV off. “You don’t have to get up. I think I’m just-- I think you’re right. I’m tired.”

“Be in anyway. Five minutes! Can’t play Jeopardy myself-- that’s pointless gambling. Money and bragging rights, that’s always a plus. Can’t brag if you’re the house too!” Boris clapped his hands against his legs before he stood. “Want a smoke?”

Yes yes yes. Yes. “No.”

Theo turned away from Boris’s tisk, going down the thin hallway to the back bedroom. It was poorly lit and even more sorely decorated: dark plum wallpaper, peeling at the seams by the windows, where sticky city summers had taken it victim; a dark oak bed frame bought at a hefty discount because the posts were built too short to look correct when wrapped in canopy, which Boris’s never was; and scratchy blankets that sat on top of simple cotton sheets. There was one dresser, five drawers tall, that had a wood grain that didn’t match the bed or any of the other furniture, and held all of Boris’s belongings-- and still had empty space. Theo wouldn’t have to ask Boris to make any room. He already fit in.

Through the bedroom was the ensuite bathroom, complete with all leaky fixtures and a semi-moldy shower curtain. Theo started the sink, its faucet spitting up thick droplets of water onto his cuffs before starting a slow stream down the side and into the basin. He splashed cold water against his face, nearly forgetting to take his glasses off. His mind began racing, trying to find a way to cover up what he’d done-- but first, he couldn’t seem to place what wrong he’d committed.

He’d felt the same crumpling fear years before, lying flat on his back in Vegas with Boris over him. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of his shoulders, hair framing his face like a waterfall. Boris’s lips were parted and sending his heavy breathing out in rounded gusts; Theo could feel it against his cheeks.

“Are you scared?” Boris asked. He had hope in his voice for a certain answer.

“Yes.” Theo didn’t know what it’d mean, once they’d done It. He was already calculating ways to erase actions he had yet to do. It was like an accidental spill he’d have to pull rugs and tear carpet to cover up in a heated panic-- but he was standing there, waiting to tip the cup. “Yes.”

“Don’t be. Is just me. You know me.”

Sputtering against the cold, Theo knew Boris had been right then and still was. Their shared memories had practically formed a shared consciousness, the two of them taking the same steps, mistakes or not, together; walking in and out of trouble like a waltz. Two people peeled apart at the seam-- at the soul-- and placed on two sides of the country with a timer ticking. Just like a bomb-- the bomb-- maybe.

The towels were like wool as Theo wiped his face, still exhaling strongly. He tossed the towel back on the edge of the sink and began unbuttoning his shirt. He hadn’t grabbed any of his other clothes and had to sleep in just his underwear. He could have borrowed some of Boris’s clothes, but that wasn’t the right cover-up for the situation; that was like pouring red wine to extinguish a fire burning on white carpet.

Not a minute after Theo relaxed into the mattress, his lower back cracking and neck aching at the stretch, the bedroom door opened and Boris came in-- loudly and without much apologies. He knew Theo would still be awake, truthfully.

Boris didn't even reach the dresser; he undressed quickly, dropping his clothes where he stood before sliding under the covers. Theo seized up, if only for a moment at the new warmth beside him. It was practically white hot, rough but like velvet at the same time.

It had been a long day, tugging and pulling away but never knowing what was the better choice. Theo ached all over, but maybe it was for something. For someone. A chance to stop, to settle.

Are you scared?

No.

“Hey.” Theo started carefully, turning over in bed and moving his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“Hello.” Boris said with a stupidly happy grin. He spoke formally, if only because Theo always had the habit of doing so when they were that close together. When things had the possibility of getting more intimate.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“I told you. It’s your house now too.” Boris said, holding his arms up to the room. “A man doesn’t have to thank anyone in his own house.”

Theo reached up and grabbed one of Boris’s hands, pulling it down and resting it on his face, careful and calculated. “Borya.” He said. “Thank you.”

“Borya?” Boris repeated, making sure he’d heard Theo correctly. The name was rare and saved for special moments between them; when Theo was haunted by his own buried hatred and repressed desires, and unable to say what he wanted to say, or even initiate what he loved doing with Boris. It was the one-word go ahead for Boris to remind him he had nothing to be ashamed of. “Yes?”

“Yeah.” It was an exhale, forcing himself to go limp and ignore his own panic.

In all honesty, kissing was still very strange to Theo. He could never get out of his head long enough to enjoy it fully. There was too much movement to consider-- while also not a whole lot either. It was like moving cups for a magic trick; there were only so many things he could do without just going completely off-script, and simply being a very bad magician and kisser. Which he constantly thought he was, only to be assured later he wasn’t. Which could be one of the many lies Boris had gotten very good at telling in his growing wisdom and honest swindling.

“You’re stiff, Theo. Is okay.” Boris muttered, hand still cupping his cheek. Theo envied Boris’s ability to cut off any cautious, self-conscious thoughts to his brain. In a matter of moments after Theo’s blushing admittance of wanting to be close with him, Boris was rolling over to brace his weight just over Theo’s chest, slowly pushing him back onto the pillows. “If you want no more just tell me.”

“I’m okay.” Theo hated how unsure he acted despite knowing he wanted to be kissing Boris, holding and touching him, just being with him. No matter how much he knew he’d want to-- in the private freedom of his own thoughts-- when it came to admitting it aloud, to being heard by another person to be wanting those things, even possibly embarrassing himself by saying the wrong things, it was too much. Theo would cower away and be thought to be uninterested. Borya was his way of inching closer while having Boris do most of the moving.

“You look so handsome.” Boris said, smoothing back Theo’s hair. He was really big with compliments. Not only was Boris big with talking in general, he also really liked to believe it helped get Theo talking too. It was yet to do that, but it was still nice that Boris kept it up. “Can I take your specs? I put them aside. Usual place.”

“Y-Yeah. Here.” Theo held his glasses up and squinted into the dark shadows of the room as Boris’s shape moved toward his night stand. It was dark and his vision wasn’t entirely necessary, but it was a comfort, to know exactly where and what he was doing. Not that it mattered-- he was always clueless somehow.

The first time they had sex as sober consenting adults, it was an embarrassing sideshow event. Boris was kind and told Theo how great it was-- so much better than being stupid kids fooling around in their grimy parents’ bathrooms-- but Theo knew it was a disappointing attempt. He’d been silent the entire time, rigid as a board, and kept his arms frozen by his sides. He’d been too horrified by his own delight to speak any man’s name. It was in the last shaky moments of consciousness that Theo began shaking his head. It was intended to stop his own wave of guilt from drowning him, but it ended up startling Boris and getting him to come to a sudden and untimely halt right as Theo was one last deep breath from tumbling over the edge.

He was so embarrassed, he never again brought the idea up, no matter how much he’d wanted to try it once more.

It had been at least six months since then, and Theo was still trying to get better at acknowledging his own comfort, but it was still a daily frustration. There was no one else around, but somehow, Theo couldn’t stop thinking of how he sounded to everyone else. Despite it only being Boris, his Boris, the boy who knew every secret and kept it close and personal. He could trust Boris to die for him-- nearly did-- and still, somehow, his opinion of him scared Theo to no end.

Theo remained silent, much to his own dismay. He was able to bubble up a few sounds-- a hum of agreement, short and staccato; a short hiss that definitely could have been a ‘yes’ if misheard correctly; and a moan that finally broke his mold and had his hands grabbing for Boris’s shoulders as Boris’s one arm tightened around his hips and lower back, and pulled him closer. Boris laughed, not at him, but as his only way to smile wider than he already was. His kisses were lop-sided and off-center from his giggling, slowly infectious and comforting.

By the time Boris was back to full sentences-- at the same time Theo was not-- neither could stop themselves from laughing. They were sitting up, legs overlapping hips and facing opposite directions, Boris’s hands bracing Theo’s back for touch and to keep him from toppling over. Theo was a mess-- hiccuping and giggling and sobbing and snorting. Boris was no better, trying to speak in smooth suave sentences while his crooked smile bared his new, perfect teeth and silenced his coherence.

There was only one exchange, gasped between fits of laughter:

Boris--

Yes? Yes, what? I’m here.

God-- Boris--

Yes. Yes. I know.

Fuck… Boris, Fuck.

Shhh, Theo. You’re okay.

Boris never asked questions-- never tried to instigate Theo or get him to answer during a time he was seconds from collapsing and crumpling-- but instead just listened to Theo, agreeing with his fragmented expletives and constant reminders that he was with the only person he trusted. Hearing that same, slanted voice from beyond Theo’s star-spotted vision after grappling for it in the fog of his fears was a secret rush, a safety Theo couldn’t get enough of.

In the hanging silence afterward, Theo always felt the most self-conscious. He hated how he began to re-feel every part of his body. How now it only felt attached to him and no one else. It was easy to feel ugly that way, to feel embarrassed about letting himself get thrown apart so so easily.

Boris didn’t speak a word. His hands eased Theo back down, letting him lay down before he readjusted and moved to find comfort beside him. Theo listened to their heavy breathing and began to feel like there was panic in Boris’s cadence. It was fast, like he’d been running-- and trying to run faster. The alarm began ringing again, Theo’s bones still fragile and the ringing sending shock waves up to his chest. He gasped, already feeling like his chest was filled with air.

Theo still couldn’t see with full clarity, his hands having to reach out to find Boris’s chest in the dim shadows.

“Why are you breathing like that? Are you mad or something?”

“What? No! No, Theo, I must catch breath.” He laughed again, his chest caving harshly almost in a cough. Oh.

“Y-You’re still catching your-- laughing. That’s it.” Theo exhaled and thought all his bones would turn to liquid as he blinked.

“Yes! Yes! I find you happy-- not funny, nothing to laugh at, no no. But something so happy, it comes from me. Deep in my stomach; just want to laugh when I see you sometimes. Idiots! The both of us! But, still, somehow here together! A plan set by something greater, I know this.”

“Sure.” Theo reached for his glasses with his other hand. He took another deep breath, strictly because he could now.

“You are okay?” Boris placed his hand over Theo’s on his chest.

“Of course I am.” Theo tried to sound flirtatious, like what they had just done wasn’t already trying to be forced down down down and away from his mind-- God, what would everyone think if they knew that-- he was unsuccessful and sounded only half convinced. Boris curled his fingers around Theo’s hand, a panic of his own. “No, really. Yeah. I, uh… I loved it. I--” Theo huffed. “I love you.”

Boris clicked his tongue and rolled onto his side, facing Theo. “Is that what you were trying to say the whole time? The theatrics! ‘Boris! Boris! Oh Boris!’ was that it?”

“Fuck off.” Theo pushed Boris lightly on the shoulder. He was waiting, the time scraping by. Each second seemed to be trying to build to some greater rejection.

But, of course, Boris would never: “Love you too, Potter. ‘Course I do. Would not go through hell for anyone else. My little ptaszyna.”

Theo could feel his entire body again, his legs still slightly quivering and back arching as he shifted. He still felt unsettled and like he’d done something unforgivable, but he kept breathing and listening to Boris breathe. In a small, guiltful reminder, no one knew but them. Theo had disappeared from all but four people’s lives to make sure he could more securely establish himself where he wanted to be. Although, that had very little to do with getting a new address and all to do with the man laying beside him, whispering an old evening comfort: is just me, Potter. Is just me.

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format.