#Sunday is my only reprieve. but it isn’t really because I have to sleep shift to work nights Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I can’t believe my parents haven’t taken me to more Indian weddings. I feel robbed

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

[adelaidedrubman]

look at that, i’m finally posting fic that isn’t just a joke. trying to get back in my groove with a really old kinktober prompt from this list i didn’t get done in time. posting now in the spirit of forcing myself to return to my “do what the fuck you want” era but also genuinely nervous because it’s been so long since i’ve posted anything semi serious let alone smut so queuing for 5 AM on a monday with no tags and hoping nobody actually sees it <3 if you do, keep scrolling

wordcount: 7k

pairing: john x jestiny | pre-reaping au: part iii | part i | part ii | (no need to actually read, pure smut)

warnings: NSFW!!!!!!! oral sex. throat fucking. rimming. inadequate discussion prior to any of these things. all of the aforementioned occurring on a church altar. arguably semi public? (debate of the hour, actually). proceed responsibly.

John knew, of course, that Deputy Rook would be the officer to respond.

For one, because he knew she was on duty, both from the schedule Nancy dutifully provided him at the beginning of every shift and from his own… information collection and personal intervention, which he knew had ultimately resulted in her schedule being shifted so that she was on duty for most of the weekend, only being granted a brief reprieve on Friday evenings (the time she’d given him the most trouble) before ultimately having to report back bright and early on Saturday morning, granted just enough time to sleep before doing the same song and dance on Sunday, finally allowed a “weekend” off on Monday and Tuesday, and…

Well, it’s not that he would ever plan his own life around her schedule, but he was certainly aware of it, as much as he was aware of every other mundane ongoing in the county.

And yes, perhaps even after he knew the necessary evidence should already in place he’d waited (less than twenty four hours) to officially “discover” the crime he was requesting an officer respond to. Not to plan things according to her schedule, of course, but…

But he was well aware that he was finally calling it in when she was the only officer on street duty, with less than an hour left on her shift. And he hoped that meant she’d be eager to finish up business and leave, and be less likely to give him grief about reporting the matter at all. That’s the only reason he stalled on reporting, truly.

He reassured himself of as much as his heart jumped in his chest at the first sound of tires crunching against the gravel road, causing him to leap up from the pew and scurry towards the window to ensure it was in fact a Hope County Police Department cruiser finally popping up over the horizon.

He studied the faint outline of his reflection in the window for a moment as he mentally rehearsed the interaction he’d accounted for (not planned), fluffing his beard and slicking back his hair before making his way to the door, heart giving another offbeat flutter as he confirmed the flash of copper hair visible from the driver’s seat.

“Deputy,” he greeted with a smile as she finally exited the car, leaning casually in the doorway. Her presence did lend the air a certain electric quality. Sure, they’d been together before, and alone. But never in the broad daylight, and so far from any other civilization, removed as Eden’s Convent was from the main roadways. “I’m relieved to see you’re finally here.”

She merely rubbed fingers against obviously tired eyelids, trying to massage away bags before looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You wanted something?”

“To report a crime,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You couldn’t have done that at the station like last week?”

“It’s an urgent crime this time,” he lamented, stepping back into the vestibule of the church and waving for her to follow. “And there might be fresh evidence to investigate.”

She let out a long, groaning exhale, massaging her temples for a beat more before strolling up the steps to meet him. “What’s the crime?”

“Trespass.”

“You’re going with trespass again?”

“I’m reporting,” he spat out, sharp and firm, “A trespass, yes. Or anything else you see fit to charge it as.”

“Great,” she said with a roll of her eyes, before letting them fall along the doorway he stood in. “So did they break in here?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t know?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Of course not.”

“And I haven’t found any evidence of use of force at this door, although we do keep it unlocked, so —”

“So there by definition couldn’t have been, so we should move on to whatever the fuck it is you do want to show me.”

He huffed, giving her an indignant look before waving her on through the greeting room into the main building. “But I noticed footprints,” he said, pointing down to the imprints left in flakes of sawdust atop the red carpeting of the aisle, as he stepped just to the side of it. “And that made me think something was off.”

“Uh huh,” she grunted. “And you caught someone breaking in when, exactly —?”

“I didn’t,” he waved away, continuing on, leading her towards the projector broadcasting onto screens hanging on either side of the main stage. “Until I checked our security camera footage the next day.”

“Okay.”

“And you won’t believe what I saw.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will,” he agreed with an emphatic nod. “This video was taken at 1:42 AM last night,” he explained, before pressing play.

He looked over his shoulder to confirm her eyes were adequately trained on the screen as she followed him up towards the stage of the church, gaze bouncing between her and the image of three shadowy figures stepping into the hallway he played on screen for her.

“There,” he exclaimed, finally pressing his thumb down on the power off button. “You see?”

“Seems like some folks came into your church late last night,” she scoffed.

“Right,” he nodded again. “And of course I don’t yet have enough evidence to prove it without further investigation, but I highly suspect it was one of the hooligans King’s Hot Springs Hotel just next door is constantly renting rooms to, which the owner would be responsible for under dram shop provisions, which —”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand “So what do you want me to put in the police report, exactly?”

“Well,” he began, enunciating pointedly, “I’m hoping everything I’ve reported.”

“Right,” she agreed, flopping down her hand again. “I can jot down a note somewhere John Seed thinks someone came into his church, but what do you want me to actually report?”

“A trespass,” he hissed back, impatiently.

“I mean,” she deadpanned, eyes still half lidded. “You haven’t shown me anything to report as a trespass, or any other crime, so far.”

“Haven’t shown you —?” he began in disbelief. “Haven’t shown you anything?! Deputy, I am currently showing you —”

“You’re showing me a fuckin’ church, John,” she spat out with a sneer. “If you could show me any evidence of property damage, that’d be one thing, but even if everything you were telling me was true, you cannot fuckin’ trespass upon a goddamn church.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, still slow and measured and ringing with politeness as he paused with thoughtful calm to accentuate the contrast with her belligerent rudeness. He shifted his arms back to press palms against the raised stage of the altar behind him, lifting himself to sit casually at its ledge, smiling to himself as she darted eyes to the side to quickly conceal the way they’d automatically settled at his lap as he propped himself up. “Is your contention that we should be denied equal protection under the law simply because we’re a place of worship? You’re refusing to investigate simply because we’re a church?”

“My contention,” she hissed, hooking thumbs into her belt loops and jutting her chin upward in a pitiful attempt to appear suddenly energized and intimidating as she stepped forward and glared up at him, “is that churches are by definition not covered by the criminal trespass statute.”

He bent at the waist to lean down and meet her challenging glare, flaunting his high ground. “It would be unconstitutional to exclude churches from the protections of the trespass statute. The Free Exercise clause of the —”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ —”

“— of the First Amendment explicitly prohibits excluding from a publicly available protection —”

“— excluded from fuck all, we responded to the fucking call didn’t we —”

“— based purely on the status of religious affiliation —”

“— sure as shit does not prohibit a content neutral definition that happens to exclude your fucking situation, which if you took the time to think through this dumbass plan you’d know is —”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he shouted, pitch still rising with the polite inflection he used the first time even as his volume grew loud enough to echo off the church walls, because for some reason that one tried his patience in earnest. “Are you really qualified to decide I’m exempt from reporting a crime on constitutional grounds? Are they teaching the First Amendment at the Montana Police Academy now? Please, tell me, Deputy, what’s the response code for a violation of our most basic civil liberties?”

She pursed her lips together as she gave him a wide, closed mouth smile that made dimples emerge just as amber eyes narrowed to glare at him, slapping an open palm down on the carpeted floor he sat on to signal she’d lost her patience too.

“They’re teaching it in fuckin’ grade school, John,” she replied in a tone both softer in volume and higher in pitch as it hissed from the back of her throat, with an inflection that seemed designed to imply she really did pity him for not already knowing. “It’s one fucking sentence in a document written over two hundred years ago, even us simple folk have gotten around to —”

“With two hundred years worth of case law! Which I suppose they must have taught you at —”

“Don’t need fuckin’ case law to read the fucking statute, which the Police Academy does teach,” she spat back, forcefully enough for him to feel the heat of her huffing breaths fall against the exposed portions of his chest, making it very difficult for him to resist arching into it, or tugging at her hair to pull her away from him, the vile creature. “Which if you didn’t bother to check, requires the suspect to have entered or remained unlawfully in an occupied structure —”

“Or the premise of another, if you didn’t bother to read on to the second subsection, which apparently you don’t —”

“— says the man who read the Free Exercise Clause before the Establishment Clause, apparently —”

“— and just in case you haven’t checked, this is privately owned property, legally indistinguishable from any other privately owned building —”

“Oh, is it? Then what do you pay in taxes on the place, John?”

“ — completely irrelevant, it’s private property!”

“— that you represent as open to the public,” she replied with a scowl, leaning in closer, puffed out chest nearly touching his abdomen as she stepped forward to stand defiantly between his open and dangling legs. “So I don’t see how someone entering a building open to the public could be guilty of trespassing,” she said with a bored roll of her eyes.

“The same way any privately owned business —”

“So is your fuckin’ contention then,” she sneered, cocking her head with a crinkle of her nose, “that privately owned establishments that open their doors to the public maintain their right to exclude visitors?”

“Of course.”

“Well,” she drawled with a slow roll of her tongue to draw out the ‘L’ sound, tapping a hand atop his knee. “I’m sure Mary May Fairgrave will be thrilled to hear that, because it’s my understanding some jackass has been coming in her bar every Friday night claiming she can’t kick him out because —”

“— would be a violation of the First Amendment to exclude on the basis of religion —”

“— on the basis of you not fucking buying anything, which if you —”

“— and besides that go there during regular business hours, which —”

“— which bars have, on account of bein’ businesses, whereas a fuckin’ church —”

“— would be illegal to treat us differently simply because —”

“— would be illegal to give y’all special treatment and not recognize the differences between —”

“— for special treatment, only asking to be treated exactly the same as —”

“So is your contention then,” she barked loudly enough to echo off the walls in interruption, “that, aside from the fact that Mary May pays her fucking taxes, your church is otherwise, for all intents and purposes, legally indistinguishable from the Spread Eagle?”

“Yes, and entitled to all the same protections.”

“No differences?”

“None de facto, for our purposes.”

She pulled the corners of her mouth down and curled her upper lip, making the indents of dimples sink into her cheeks and the creases of wrinkles scrunch along her little nose, and truly only she could behave atrociously enough to make the sight more infuriating than adorable.

“So I should just ignore that it’s a place of worship, and treat this place…” she paused to wave in gesture, letting her shoulders shrug with a forced mimic of a single huff of laughter, “exactly like I would the Spread Eagle?”

“If that little thought experiment helps you to do your job, then by all means.”

“Alright,” she chirped too pleasantly, pursed lips now curling into a smile, dimples deepening further.

“Alright,” he repeated back.

“Alright,” she agreed again, raising auburn brows.

“Al —” he only managed to spit out the first syllable in repetition, the second swallowed down with a sharp gasp for air as she reached a hand forward to press flush against the front of his jeans, rubbing her palm up and down along the seam with a rush of sudden, shocking friction. “I — Jessie, what the hell are you… Fuck —”

“Per your fuckin’ orders,” she rumbled, a breathy mix between a purr and a growl, “I am treating this place exactly like I would the Spread Eagle,” she explained plainly as she paused the brushing of her hand to grip him tightly, bringing her free hand to the small of his back to scoot him further towards the ledge of the altar and into her touch. “And this is usually the best way to get you to shut up there.”

“For fuck’s sake J — Deputy Rook,” he forced himself to hiss out with biting disapproval, despite the way his hips began to rock forward of their own volition, then jerked sharply upward to chase her touch as she lifted her hand to work at his belt instead. “We are in the middle of…” he trailed off, unable to finish the statement even to himself, digging teeth into his bottom lip as his eyes trailed along the rows of pews.

“We’re on private property, John,” she cooed, honeyed thick with venom, tugging at his waistband with now practiced efficiency to push his pants and briefs down to his ankles. “No real reason to treat it any different, is there?” she taunted, brushing fingers along his thighs and eyes along arousal now fully exposed and undeniable and aching for her touch.

“In fact,” she hummed, bringing the hand to his neckline instead, pulling him down to briefly soothe him with an unusually tender kiss as she turned fingers to the buttons of his shirt, “we’re on your private property, outside of open hours,” she added in a warm pant against his lips as she parted, undoing the final button of his shirt before shoving a hand against his now bare chest to push him down to lay flat atop the platform then sliding the fingers along his sides, back down to the legs she settled between. “I think we could even get a little crazier than we do there, don’t you?”

And with that her lips found the head of his cock with the same undelayed swoop downward that her hands found the tops of his thighs in, pinning them down flat to keep him in place as she dipped her head to take him in her mouth, restraining him from fully arching into the delicious sensation.

Fuck, he cursed internally as she slid pursed lips back up just as quickly, leaving a pleasured shiver of skin crying out for more in her wake.

But god, was sucking his cock really what qualified as ‘getting crazy’ to her, though? He might have misjudged just how adventurous the little devil was. It could have easily been called vanilla if it not lent a certain novelty by their particular location (which was a distressing drawback to him, of course, something to push out of his mind to enjoy himself). And, well — the fact that their ledgers on head given were notably unbalance thus far, and of all the sinful things they had done it was the first time he was feeling the warm plush of her mouth around him.

And fuck, the fact that she was fucking good at it, he admitted to himself with a quick little spasm of his spine, hips bucking upward and a hand shooting out to grasp at the back of her neck, tugging with restless frustration along the stray baby hairs falling from that damned tight twisted braid she always seemed to wear on duty, wishing desperately he had a full loose mane to pull a proper fistful of.

Instead, he was forced to simply settle for brushing fingers up the base of her skull, slipping beneath the beginning pleats of her braid to thread between taut strands and press downward in eager encouragement for her to keep going.

And she responded to his touch with her own little show of encouragement, shifting the hands pinning his thighs down to bring one up to press against the base of his pelvis, causing the pressure already flooding him there to shoot a quick, dizzying bolt of electricity through his length, making him twitch rigid in her mouth. She slid the other hand towards the center to massage along his inner thigh with a contrasting gentle, almost teasing caress.

But no amount of gentleness could stop him from thrusting his hips up freely now that he was allowed the purchase to do so, almost ashamed at how quickly he shed any hesitance brought by their location to fuck freely into the slick pressure of her mouth and tight grip of her hand now wrapping around the base of his cock.

He tossed his head back against the floorboards in full surrender to it, bucking more frantically as she egged him on with equal parts roughness and gentleness; the tight pumping of her fist at his base and the sweet stroking of her fingers up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh reassuring him that she could take every little thrust.

Although he was quickly losing the ability to restrain himself, anyways, as ecstatic pressure seemed to build from every source. As the bobbing of her head to slide the warm pressure of full, pursed lips and flexing tongue down his length kept picking up speed. And the grip of the hand pumping along the expanse of length she couldn’t swallow clenched ever tighter.

And the hand brushing along his inner thigh kept creeping up and up and up, until he had to spread his legs wider just to accommodate the gentle, teasing fingertips along their path, and were then tickling along the creases at their top and still inching further, and — was she — ?

He swallowed and gasped, throat suddenly dry with the realization. They’d reached just past even, and he could no longer deny understanding of the meaning of the way they danced along the soft skin of his inner cheeks now, asking silent permission, daring interruption of their clear path.

An interruption he simply couldn’t bring himself to make when the thrilling shiver each brush of fingertips sent up his spine grew stronger and more focused the closer she came to his center. Until the shiver was finally a jolt that made his arched spine stiffen straight as she finally brushed along the sensitive rim at the crevice she spent so long teasing, and he shot up to his elbows at the sensation.

“J-Jessie,” he whimpered out in pleading, without being able to focus lust flurried mind on exactly what he was pleading for.

Her only immediate answer was the sudden upward flick of tawny eyes to train directly on him as she swallowed him yet again, gaze trailing along the quiver his bottom lip gave in response to the ghosting brush of her thumb along his hole.

“Jessie, please,” he panted out a little more desperately, willing himself to really mean it as a signal to pause this time.

John forced himself to break from her stare and focus eyes blurred from being squeezed shut tight to the point of watering on the rows of pews behind her, dart from the arched windows and aisles of red carpeting that served as visual evidence of just where they were. God, it was bad enough he’d been weak and at the mercy of sin enough to let her go down on him here — to even get aroused at her devilish tricks in the first place, for that matter. To add to that actually finishing here, and like that… “Fuck Jessie, we’re still — we’re still in —”

He still couldn’t manage to finish the thought before she jerked her head upward and let him fall from her mouth with a soft, wet pop of those now swollen lips. She let her fist loosen from around his base as well, while the hand between his legs stayed stubbornly in place, caressing teasingly just outside his rim.

Before he could even bother to choke out words again she rose to stand, now leaning over him in his place still half reclined and splayed out atop the altar for her, free hand moving to caress back and forth along the ridge of his hip bone as the thumb of the other finally pressed flush against the puckered muscles they’d been teasing the edge of.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive, huh?” she rasped with doe eyes wide in focus on his lap as if to show clearly that she’d seen the shameful, needy little twitch his cock gave in response to pressure against his hole even without hardness itself being touched.

“Jessie,” he whined out uselessly yet again, completely paralyzed between asking her to stop out of shame and staving off the worse torture of losing her touch.

“John?” she rumbled hoarsely, her soprano particularly gravelly in the afterglow of his fucking her throat.

“Will you just fucking —” the words caught in the dried and sore flesh of his own throat to stick there painfully as she continued. He thrust grasping hands out to wrap around her arms just above the crook of her elbows and pull himself more upright, look into her face more directly.

“Let’s finish this at my place,” he offered, best compromise he could think of, even though the mere ten minute wait of the car ride even felt intolerable to him at this point, badly as he needed her. “Take me home, if you’re inclined to touch me like that,” he reasoned, knitting brows upward in pleading. “We’ll actually have what we need there, to do it properly and — fuck,” he gasped as she gave another quick brush along wrinkled skin, biting into his lower lip before continuing. “And could take our time, and wouldn’t —” And wouldn’t be in the building he was entrusted with keeping holy. “And not have to rush. Come on, we can forget the police report, if you’ll just take me home now.”

But the soft smile that spread along plumped lips seemed more smug than acquiescing, pulling slightly crooked to one side. “You’d forget this entire little stunt of yours just to get my fingers in you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, feeling creeping shame at how easily he made the concession, but not as much as he was sure he’d feel letting her continue sucking him off and playing with his asshole on a fucking church altar. “You can do whatever you like to me, if you just leave with me now.”

He felt briefly hopeful with the sprawling flush of pink creeping along her cheeks at the promise.

Before she clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head in the negative, finally removing the hand from between his legs and shifting arms up to press forearms against his, holding him by the elbows.

“Sorry, baby. I’m still on the clock whether you’re done making up fake crimes for me or not,” she whispered with a devastatingly chaste kiss to the sweat slickened skin of his forehead, gripping his arms to guide him back flat again. “But I’ll still take care of you best I can,” she added, trailing those same butterfly kisses down his torso, along the bones of his hips before finally gripping the base of his cock again.

And she met the swift upward arch of his hips from the sudden pang of pleasure sparking through him anew with a kiss to the tops of his thighs to ease the tensing limbs back down, ghosting her kisses inward again as she crouched between his legs. She trailed lips upward in the same path her fingertips had walked moments early, finally pressing a kiss to his inner cheek.

Then a warm, heavy breath fell along his cleft, practically already wetting him with its steaminess, the promising heat of it making his cheeks and thighs tremble in involuntary jerks of parting and unparting to chase that ever building storm of sensation, rewarded with stray little kisses that made him gasp for air, and —

And fuck was she really going to put her mouth on him there? And while they were here? In the middle of — fuck, he couldn’t allow himself to even think about it, squeezed his eyes shut tight so that he didn’t even have to look at the reality of where he was as she finally closed the last bit of distance to press that warm, thick tongue against his hole directly.

An embarrassingly sharp gasp caused his chest to heave as she dragged the plush cushion of her tongue forward along his hole to just beneath his sac, let out as a choked groan as she flicked it back down to slide the slick underside along the same path.

“Fuck yes,” she craned back slightly to purr without slowing the pumping of her hand, plump bottom lip barely brushing against his hole now as she mumbled the words against his skin. “Don’t hold back any of those pretty noises for me, baby. I want you to let me hear just how good it feels. I want you to be so fuckin’ loud for me God himself can hear how good I make you feel.”

And fuck the wretched, wrecked cry he bleated out in response to that could be heard echoing all the way off of the high beam ceilings in offering, shame at himself and anger at her chased out with the white hot molten rush jolting through him from the massage of her tongue flush against his entrance and a harsh stroke of her hand to glide precum dewing at his tip down his full length, making everything on him slick with want.

She flexed that full, flattened tongue for a few more beats of luxurious giving, as if to make sure every little nerve sparked to life to greedily accept her generous pressure before she lightened it to more teasing force. And then finally slid tongue back until just its tip trailed along the outermost edge of the sensitive ring, slowing the stroke of her hand as she did.

“Fuck,” he cursed, slamming a fist down in frustration at the abrupt retreat. “Stop fucking teasing already,” he hissed, arching frantically, scooting forward so that his thighs now rested fully atop her shoulders, legs practically wrapping around her neck. (In the back of his mind he noted what an ironic reversal it was of the first position they’d ever found themselves in, but couldn’t bear to dwell on it, on the thought of anything but getting more more more.) “Q-Quit fucking around and just g-get me off if you’re going to do it.”

But he knew the moment she neglected to meet his outburst with usual scolding for being too demanding, instead bringing her free hand up to cradle his thigh without bothering to lift her head or retract teasing tongue to spit out a clever retort, that it was useless. He was condemned to lay back a helpless mess of pealing moans and restless squirming as that wet tip circled him, slowly but surely creeping in towards where his body begged most for attention.

And fuck, after more gasping breaths than he thought he could survive in waiting as she continued her cruel path, at least she was merciful enough when she did finally reach his opening, stiffening her tongue to not waste another second not lavishing him with its full attention and finally building back up the pace of the hand wrapped around him. She lapped and licked at his entrance relentlessly now, driving him into a whole other gear of needy frenzy.

Until finally she set a steady rhythm in flicking her tongue to poke just barely past the ring of delicate folds and tightly clenched muscles, a regular pace of tiny wet tip pumping along the rim, just deep enough to tease him with an echo of the sensation of getting truly and properly fucked.

God, it was somehow both too much, sending his nerves into overdrive, and also not enough, making him desperately wish there was by some miracle proper lube around so she could do more than just teasing laps, thrust those free fingers currently digging into his thighs deep inside him instead.

But alas, surely not. They were, after all, in the middle of a church, he reminded himself with a sick little thrill that traveled through him with a deep shudder.

His thighs quivered in their place rested atop her shoulders from the rush of it, only growing more needy and shaking from her hand brushing up and down to soothe the tremor, rewarding him in tandem with a tight squeeze of the hand pumping his length and a deep, gravelly moan hummed against his skin, vibrating through every hungry nerve ending, sparking all the way up his spine and making him clench and tighten.

His hand curled and clawed restlessly at the carpet of the altar as he bucked hips against her mouth to frantically chase the sensation, gripping for purchase, for anything to anchor himself as he strained and pushed against her flexing tongue. The hand caressing his leg wrapped around to pull it outward, spreading him out even more to give herself better access, then slid up his thigh up to reach for his desperately grasping fist instead, twining their fingers as her tongue increased its pace. Her mouth stayed too busy pressed flush against him to speak, but she gave another rising hum in encouragement, squeezing the hand she held as her thumb brushed up and down along his skin in the embrace.

And it was that gentle little stroke of her thumb against the side of his hand that truly drove him over the edge — the fact that fuck she was really touching him so tenderly, affectionately, while the tip of her tongue wriggled in his ass.

It was simply too much, made every part of him tremble, locking that sweet caressing hand in a shaking vice grip while his rim fluttered to cling to her flexing tongue and press it against every greedy nerve ending and his cock gave those final begging throbs in her hand.

And it just felt too easy, so safe to fall apart when she had him like this, to let that deep quaking consume him and finally allow everything to snap in pulsing release.

“Oh, fuck yes, I’m — god yes, I’m fucking there, yes, Jessie,” he stuttered out incoherently as he was flooded with it, last overwhelming blaze igniting along his skin as he thrashed in surrender to the power of those waves of absolute ecstasy, carried by them without a care for the senseless ways his body and mouth moved as warm spurts of release fell along his torso and hips. “Yes, oh god, Jessie, fuck yes, my Jessie, so good — love it, Jessie. My sweet Jessie, make me feel so — so so good.”

His babbling cries slowly faded with his climax, and he collapsed back against the altar, laboring to catch his breath, lungs amongst the parts of him still frantically contracting and struggling to relax as he came down, hand still entwined with hers, that sweet little stroke of her thumb staying steady, brushing along skin to soothe him even as her grip slackened and her hand unwound from around his softening length to massage around the base now tingling with gentle relief.

“God, just look at you,” she rasped, as hoarse and teasingly lilting as ever as she finally lifted her head from between his legs.

He threw an arm over his eyes in sudden impulse to hide in response to the remark, certain he must in fact look as absolutely ruined as he felt. Not to mention it occurred to him for the first time that this was the most exposed she’d ever seen him, in his position sprawled out with shirt unbuttoned and pants around his ankles as warm sunlight spilled through high arched windows to fall along every inch of naked skin.

And he was already bracing himself for more bitter mocking from her, furrowed brow already slanting downward in resentment as he tried to jumpstart hazy mind to begin brainstorming a retort for whatever she was sure to attack first — a barb about the location, certainly, but she’d probably throw in something about the scars, or how pathetic he looked with his legs still spread, or —

“No fuckin’ fair for you to get to look this beautiful,” she grunted just under her breath before leaning down again, slipping a hand under his back before pressing her mouth against him to once again brush tongue along skin, kissing away the release coating his stomach.

Every planned jab melted away with the soft warmth of lips trailing along his skin, so that all he could do was arch upward to meet her.

Fuck. Beautiful. He hadn’t even realized beautiful was something he could feel, only something he could be with enough meticulous preening. But there was nothing else to describe the warm glow that swelled in his chest as she kissed up it, finally settling with her nose nuzzled at his neck.

“Jessie,” he hummed, finally pulling aside the arm cast over his eyes to rest behind him to prop himself up to rise, fluttering eyelids open to meet the tawny eyes now hovering above him.

Beautiful. Fuck, she was so beautiful too, eyes twinkling particularly golden caught with magnified sunlight and framed with lightly smudged charcoal of eyeliner smeared by sweat, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the summer day and the heat and energy generated between them, lips still so puffy from pressure and glossy with lingering saliva that he simply couldn’t resist just how kissable they were, craning his neck that last bit of distance to press them softly against his.

He settled into that comfortable relief of afterglow he so rarely actually savored as she moved her mouth against his with that same uncharacteristic sluggish tenderness, pressing more weight into his right hand to extend his arm and lean further into her as his left reached to her waistband to begin working at undoing her belt buckle.

“John,” she gasped softly into the kiss, before pulling back, straightening to sit back on her shins between his legs, scooting away until her knees were at the edge of the altar, gently shepherding him along to follow from the supportive hand still cradled at the small of his back.

“My turn,” he sighed against the lips he’d barely parted from as they readjusted themselves, still barely separating now as he murmured words against them. “Want to hear you screaming my name like that now. Want to make you feel that good.”

But her warmth was gone before he could even slide leather through metal, strap slipping through his fingers instead as she hopped down from the platform with an awkward chuckle.

“I, uh — I’m good, that’s alright,” she laughed, tugging at her belt loops to readjust her jeans before smoothing at their front. “Pretty much got what I wanted already.”

Comfortable warmth curdled and boiled over into stinging bitterness heating his insides yet again. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

He bunched fists into silk to throw his shirt back over his chest and regain some semblance of dignity, jumping down into his wrinkled pants just the same as the possibilities raced through his mind. So what then, was she now repulsed by him? Or had she just wanted to humiliate him while she maintained her own innocence? Or did she simply —?

“John, please.” His runaway train of thought was derailed by her overly casual scoff. “I told you, I am an on duty professional. I’m not gonna sully the badge by trying to get my rocks off on the clock.”

His mind realigned itself to race again to conjure the most biting response he could to that. Perhaps that she’d already sullied the entire department the moment she set sinful foot into it. Or a threat laced remark about how he could already have her stripped of the badge for abusing it to coerce him into doing something so shameful when he was just trying to innocently report a crime. Or perhaps simply pointing out she clearly cared about the sanctity of the uniform about as much as she cared about the sanctity of his church, which was…

“Plus I gotta hurry on back if I expect to get this dumbass report filed in time to still make it to happy hour at the Spread Eagle.”

Righteous fury smoldered and fell, reigniting a more petty anger.

“So you’re agreeing to file the report now?” he questioned, regaining his prior authoritativeness with a rise in measured tone and steady march forward to follow her down the aisle towards the exit.

“Well, yeah,” she replied almost boredly, turning around one last time to lean against the doorway at a slanted angle with forearm propped against the frame, flashing him an equally crooked smile. “What can I say? I found your oral arguments on the subject very convincing,” she added with an infuriatingly smug wink. “Besides, not like I had a fucking choice anyways. Yeah, you’re probably makin’ the story up, but no fucking shit a church is protected by trespass laws.”

He drew a deep breath in, puffing his chest out further as he approached to loom over her. “So you knew the entire time that —”

“Oh, what?” she huffed, lifting her chin to blow a hot puff of air against his lips with the words without adjusting her posture to even their heights, making a theatrical show of being completely unintimidated. “Is that annoying?” she asked in an overly whiny tone, with a crinkle of her nose and an overly sweet cock of her head to the side with feigned innocence. “When someone digs their heels into a stance they know is legally fuckin’ baseless just for personal gain?”

He slammed a hand against the wall and bent at the waist himself to mimic her in propping himself there casually, craning his neck down to flaunt how much larger he was than her still. “I could see how that would be frustrating. Particularly if your opponent’s only goal in putting forth a bad faith position seems to be dragging out an argument that —”

“That could have ended a long time ago,” she finished for him with a sharp, exaggerated nod, finally straightening herself to stand and taking a step back in the greeting room, flashing a final smirk before turning. “And saved everyone a lot of hassle. Speaking of which,” she added with a parting wave of her hand, strolling towards the door to the outside this time. “Unless you have anything material to add, like I fuckin’ said, I’d like to still make happy hour.”

“By all means,” he boomed with a flourish of his arm towards the exit she was already passing through. “Although I’m sure you’re already aware that also happens to be the time I like to do public outreach, and by now I’m sure you’re also certainly aware —”

“That there’s nothing I can do to stop you,” she barked without turning around, continuing towards her car. “‘Cause it’s a public place in a free country, after all. But that’s the exact same goddamn reason I’m not gonna let you run me out of there, because I have just as much right to be there as —”

“As I do,” he cut her off, now standing in the open doorway, feeling sunlight against his cheeks directly this time. “And I won’t be run off either, just so you know.”

“Alright!” she called out to him in acknowledgement with a last toss back of her head as she swung her driver’s side door open.

“Alright!” he shouted back in agreement, making sure to hurry the word out loud enough to be heard before her door finally slammed shut and she cranked the engine.

And he swore he saw her mouth the syllables of ‘alright’ one last time in the rearview mirror, and if satisfying some childish urge to have the last word in the matter, if only to herself.

So he muttered the word under his breath himself one last time before balling his hand into a fist and swinging it to turn around and stomp back into the building, down the corridor then circling around off to the side to watch her drive away through one of the main hall windows, police cruiser slowly vanishing over the horizon.

And so, after all that had happened, he ultimately ended the encounter much the same way he began it: staring out the window, stroking his beard, plotting their next interaction in his head.

[mvssmallow]

Cloudy With A Chance

Part 17: …of maple butter.

Masterlist

“It’s awesome right?”

“It’s…a drawer of our socks.”

He looks over in irritation but Jiwon just gives him a blank stare.

“Okay, maybe you don’t appreciate it but that took me fifteen minutes. You just dumped everything in, closed it and walked off. That’s not really how you move in.”

Jiwon shrugs apologetically. “It’s just socks?”

He resists the urge to punch him on the arm. “How do you find anything in the morning? Do you go to work with mismatched socks?”

Jiwon looks at him with the slightest tinge of guilt. “Nobody looks at socks! They’re not important.”

He has to roll his eyes at that. “Well, now they’re all in order. I don’t want people thinking I don’t look out for you. I did your t-shirts too by the way. How the hell did you accumulate like forty white t-shirts?”

Jiwon shrugs again, like everything in his life was just some happy accident that didn’t require his active participation. “I don’t know. I need them though. 39 to wear and one just incase someone wants to steal it.”

His face glows warmly. “I put it back after I wore it!”

Jiwon comes behind to hug him to his chest. “Hanbin, if you want the Disneyland t-shirt you can have it. You can have anything you want.”

He already knows the Disneyland t-shirt is safely folded on his side of the wardrobe. He put it there and he’ll return that when Hell freezes over. Maybe not even then. 

“Anything? Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Even your snapbacks?”

“Yep.”

“And your Jordans?”

“Sure.”

“And your Winnie slippers?”

“No, you got those for me. You can’t have him back.”

He laughs and turns around in Jiwon’s arms. “I don’t want it back anyway, you kinda ruined them. They’re all shredded. I don’t even know how you did that.”

Jiwon leans in and kisses him on the nose. “They’re not shredded. They’re worn in.”

“You’re worn in.”

“Yeah I know. You’re brand new and mint condition though.”

He grimaces at the compliments. “God, you’re so lame.”

Jiwon’s arms squeeze him tight. “Yeah, get used to it.”

It takes them an entire week to move Jiwon in. His apartment was already small but with another life jammed in, it felt even smaller. Jiwon called it cosy but he’d say it was just shy of claustrophobic. There’s just enough space to hold him back from a nervous breakdown.

Or maybe that was still coming. Maybe this was the honeymoon period and he’s still in shock.

“I can hear you thinking. You okay?”

He rests his head against Jiwon shoulder and nods. “Yeah, this whole thing is just kinda new for me.”

“The moving in thing?”

“Yeah. And the you and me thing. Everything is just new. I don’t know what I’m doing, sorry.”

He didn’t. He’d never been in a relationship that lasted this long or gone this far. He’d never been with anyone who knew anything important about him.

“Well, for a rookie you’re doing alright. I’m still surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet. I think I messed up all the systems in your kitchen.”

He hums against Jiwon’s shoulder as he feels warm hands rub reassuring circles into his back. “It’s your kitchen too now.”

“That all you’re going to say? Not gonna yell at me for putting the tea towels with the plastic bags?”

He shakes his head, soothed by the hands moving across his skin. “I already put everything back.”

Jiwon chuckles. “Knew it. Sorry you ended up with a mess.”

“Sorry you ended up with a nutcase.”

Jiwon tips his face up and whispers in a low pitched voice, “I love nutcases. All the best people are nutcases.”

He can’t even look at Jiwon after that, just buries his face into the safety of that solid chest and holds on for dear life.

**** The second week is a blur. They’re both so busy that they only see each other for ten minutes in the morning and maybe a hour for dinner before collapsing into bed at separate times. Late shifts and deadlines eat up every spare moment between them and it feels more like having a regular roommate than a boyfriend. 

It was good in a way, he was so busy that he barely had the chance to overthink the whole moving in thing. There were some things he was already used to when Jiwon had stayed over before: the awkwardness of waking up with bad hair and in a bad mood, constantly battling his rage whenever Jiwon leaves towels on the floor or gets toothpaste all over the sink or frantically rushing to pick up the phone in case it was his parents calling. It freaked him out in the beginning, he’d wake up at 6am every morning so Jiwon would never see him all gross and he remembers shutting himself in the bedroom whenever he had to talk to his mother.

But after awhile, he realised that a lot of those small things didn’t matter. Jiwon learnt not to answer the phone when the parental caller ID was flashing and even better, he didn’t even care how disgusting his boyfriend could be. It was liberating being able to sleep in dirty clothes, eat like pig and wake up swearing at Jiwon’s alarm. He didn’t get judged for it, just a chuckle and sympathetic back rub. 

Things were different now though. Jiwon doesn’t leave to go back to his apartment anymore. There was no hiatus or reprieve and that’s something he’s still learning to deal with. There were no longer days where he could come home after work and sit on his couch for hours in silence. That’s gone and he does miss it, the solitude was his most constant companion for so long.

On the plus side, he learns a lot of new things about himself. He learns that he can cook decent food, live amongst the occasional mess and share personal space with another person without having a full blown panic attack (he just has smaller scale panic attacks). 

But the thing he loves the most is discovering his capacity to care for another person. Maybe he felt it in bits and pieces before, and obviously he feels it for his sister, but with Jiwon, it’s no longer something that he just wants to do, taking care of him is just something that he does now. Like a blood transfusion, it’s worked its way throughout his entire venous system. It makes him who he is now and he feels human knowing that his heart could do this all along.

****

By the third week things had slowed down for both of them. The holiday season was coming up, which meant time off work and eventually, he thinks with dread, family gatherings.

The magazine goes on vacation before Jiwon’s garage closes so he gets to wake up early and make them both breakfast. It’s not until one random Wednesday that it all catches up with him.

Jiwon is half sprawled across their breakfast table and complaining about garage life again. “Some rich dude is giving his girlfriend a Porsche. I can’t believe it. She doesn’t even appreciate it. She called it a cute little car. That’s like calling Jurassic Park a cute little dinosaur movie.”

He half listens as he flips the maple pancakes over and checks on the coffee. This type of comfortable mundane-ness is what he absolutely loves and would fight to the end to protect. He wonders if Jiwon ever thinks about things like this. 

“We had to fit the dumbest customised number plates. You wanna know what it said? BBGRL. I know it’s supposed to be babygirl but what if someone reads it like: babygrowl?”

He snorts as he pours the coffee and sets it down on their breakfast table. “What if they’re genuinely in love or whatever? He obviously just wants to make her happy. That’s nice isn’t it?”

Jiwon rolls his eyes and gives him a look like he’s gone crazy. “Is it backwards day today? You are meant to be the most cynical person ever. Why aren’t you roasting the shit out of them with me? How would you feel if I got you babygirl car plates?”

He laughs and starts stacking the pancakes. “I’d say thank you but poison your breakfast later.”

There’s a split second where Jiwon hesitates siping from his mug.

He grins. “Drink it, baby.”

Jiwon narrows his eyes and takes a long sip out of defiance.

“You know, evil brings out a really nice colour in you.” Jiwon says as he starts cutting into the pancakes and chewing thoughtfully. “Hey, these are really good. Can we have this again tomorrow?”

He tilts his head and can’t help but feel impossibly fond of this messy guy in front of him. 5 foot 9 of crumpled pyjamas, crazy bed hair and a face full of maple butter.

“I was going to make crepes tomorrow. Lemon butter crepes. Yoyo taught me the other day.”

Jiwon groans and it sounds more erotic than it probably should have. “Oh make that. Yeah, I want that too. And those chocolate waffles you made on Monday.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles like an idiot into his mug of tea. This is New. This weird satisfying feeling that he’s feeding someone he cares about. Jiwon doesn’t tease him or ask about the silence, he just rabbits on and on about all the cars coming through the garage that week. He wonders when they switched roles. Did they switch roles? He didn’t even notice.

After Jiwon goes to shower and get changed, he turns on their sound system (that he broke and Jiwon fixed) and starts cleaning the dishes as Sunday Morning plays in the background. It wasn’t even a Sunday but it felt like it could be one. He sings along to the music as he packs Jiwon’s Spacejam lunchbox, catching himself smiling at the packet of Oreos he sneaks in because he knows Jiwon is a sucker for them. That’s when his hand freezes. 

Oh my god.

You have changed.

You’re packing his lunch now.

You’re the sucker.

“Oh shit! I’m gonna be late!” Jiwon is a blur as he flies into the kitchen, picks up the lunchbox and runs out the front door. Two seconds later he hears the door opening again and Jiwon rushes back into the kitchen to kiss him twice, once on the lips and once on the cheek.

“You’re the best. Have a good day.”

“You too. See you when you get back.”

And then he’s gone again. The kitchen smells like maple butter and a woodsy cologne. It smells like a Sunday morning. 

He leans against the kitchen bench, taking in all the little bits that didn’t even exist a few months ago. From the way there’s two sets of plates and mugs to the scattered rap flyers and car magazines on the table to the random hoody (his or Jiwon’s?) that always seems to be draped over a chair. 

He doesn’t notice that he’s doing it until his face begins to ache-

He’s been smiling at an empty kitchen this whole time.

****

Left to his own devices, his mind wanders and his fingers get restless. He makes himself a schedule to continue writing his book but the research has him constantly chasing tangents and falling down the Wikipedia hole. He writes in fits and starts, mind always ending up in the same place. Even when he’s physically absent, Jiwon’s presence fills their entire apartment. 

There’s a note in his diary about an upcoming mic night and his finger traces over the words as he stares out the window, imagining what it might be like if Jiwon ever got a record deal and could live his dreams out for real. Things would change. Would he be a part of Jiwon’s plans or get left behind?

He doesn’t get much done after that and he’s still thinking about their future by the time they’re in bed that night. 

“What do you think you’ll do if you get a record deal?” 

“Accept it?” Jiwon laughs. “Why are you asking?”

“I was just thinking about it today.”

Jiwon pulls him closer until his head is resting on his chest. “Thinking about me getting a record deal?”

His hand smooths over the soft hoody next to his cheek as he thinks. “Yeah. Imagine where you’ll be in a year. Someone from a record company will find you and you’ll be all famous.”

“You’re optimistic.” The chest chuckles underneath him. “Where are you in all this?”

“Still living here, trying to get my book written and published.”

“How far ahead have you thought about this?” Jiwon asks with a smile. “Where are we at three years?”

“Oh you’ll definitely be a legitimate recording artist by then. We should get a bigger and better apartment. And you can say no but I want a dog.”

A hand cards through his hair. “You can have two dogs.”

“You know verbal agreements are legally binding right?”

Jiwon laughs again. “Yeah I know. What about in five years? What do you think we’ll be doing in five years?”

“Five years? Better book deal. Better record deal. Better apartment. Two dogs. Maybe we’d split time between here and the US.”

“The US? Why?”

“For all your collaborations.”

Jiwon’s fingers are soft against his skin and he can hear a strong heartbeat under his ear. “What else?”

“I don’t know what else. I want to write a lot more things but it might be hard though because you’d have tours and stuff.”

The hand in his hair moves down to gently caress his neck. “Will I? You gonna come to all my shows?”

“Yeah, I need to keep the girls in check.”

Jiwon lets out a loud laugh, it jostles his head about. “What about the guys?”

He looks up sharply. “What about them? You gonna ditch me when you get famous?”

There’s a kiss against his forehead which does nothing to calm his irrational thoughts, even though he knows they’re just talking fiction. “Nah, I’ll be too old to look for another relationship. I’ll just keep you, it’s less work.”

“I know you’re joking but-”

Jiwon rolls them over until he’s hovering above him. “Do you really think I’d leave you? Famous or not. Do you really think that you’re not my entire plan?”

He looks up at Jiwon’s serious face, surprised by the sudden change in mood. “I wouldn’t really blame you.”

“That’s a really weird thing to say Hanbin.” Jiwon says with a frown. “Why do you always say stuff like that?”

He frowns too, unsure how the conversation went from fiction to real life so fast. “I just mean, if you found someone-”

“-don’t even finish that sentence. Just don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Some bullshit about me finding someone better or normal or whatever. Why do you always think that there’s something better out there? Don’t you see me in your future?”

He reaches up to finger the drawstrings hanging from Jiwon’s hoody. “I do. But let’s face it Jiwon, there probably is someone better for you out there. I’m pretty sure I’m just systematically ruining your life.” He says with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Is it something I’m not doing right?”

He looks up in confusion. “What? Doing what right?”

Jiwon lies back down with a heavy sigh. “This is how all our conversations go. You talk about staying together but you don’t believe it’s going to happen. So I must be doing something wrong if you can’t see us being the end game.”

He rolls over and tangles his fingers between Jiwon’s hands. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I just….I don’t want to jinx it. Because…”

“Because what?”

“Because this is already end game for me. I don’t care if we never get any better than this.” He finishes quietly and snuggles right against Jiwon’s side.

There’s silence for a moment as they both run the thoughts through their heads. He plays with their fingers and holds his breath as he waits for Jiwon to say something.

“You got low standards, Hanbin.”

He smiles into Jiwon’s arm and just like that, the mood changes again.

“Does your low standard have a ten year plan?”

He presses a kiss into Jiwon’s arm and grips his fingers tightly. “Of course it does. We’re going be on your dumb apple orchard with five dogs and really neurotic hyper kids running around screaming their heads off.”

It’s not until it leaves his mouth that he realises what he just said. But it’s too late to take it back.

Jiwon looks over at him with surprise. “I thought you said you didn’t remember any of that?”

He shrugs. “I lied.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out about this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. It gets less scary after awhile. Anyways, the kid thing is just a crazy dream. I’m going to need to practice taking care of you and the dogs first.”

Jiwon just shakes his head in disbelief and rolls over so they’re facing each other, inches apart. “I’m….I just….”

Sometimes he second guesses himself. Sometimes Jiwon’s impassive face gives him nothing. Sometimes he’s confident about Jiwon’s feelings. Sometimes even Jiwon has his own doubts. 

But this time, he’s sure he saw it, the way Jiwon looks at him as softly and with as much focus as the way he knows he always looks right back. It’s just a small moment, a few seconds, but it feels big. It feels huge.

“I know. Me too.”

[poetzproblem]

Kissed By the Sun Each Morning

I get kissed by the sun each morning Put my feet on a hardwood floor I get to hear my children laughing Down the hall through the bedroom door ~Blessed, Martina McBride

Consciousness creeps into her dreams with a hazy sort of urgency, poking at her brain like a forgotten chore. The first thing that registers is the warm body of her wife curled into her and the faint scent of citrus clinging to dark hair as it tickles her nose. The second thing that registers is the awareness that it’s Sunday. Quinn sighs in happiness, snuggling closer to Rachel with the intention of allowing her body to drift back to sleep for another hour or two—at least until the unmistakable sound of a door closing interrupts her lazy semi-slumber.

Her eyes instantly pop open as awareness races through her blood, waking her fully. The sun is just barely peeking through the closed blinds, but there is unmistakably someone (much bigger than Oliver) up and moving around the apartment, so she reluctantly turns her head away from its comfortable position on the pillow to blurrily stare at the clock.

7:13.

“Seriously?” she whispers, barely stifling her groan.

Callie really needs to lose this early-rising habit she’s gotten into on the weekends. She’s almost as bad as Rachel used to be. Quinn’s sigh this time is one of resignation as she attempts to extricate herself from Rachel as carefully and quietly as possible so she can go check on their daughter. She’s actually surprised Callie hasn’t already come barging in here to bounce on the bed and wake them up the way she has so many times, but she’s certainly grateful for the reprieve. Rachel really needs the extra sleep.

An irrepressible grin blooms on Quinn’s lips when she thinks about why, and she has to resist the urge to curl back into Rachel, slip a hand beneath her t-shirt, and just lie here and hold her all day because she knows their daughter isn’t about to let that happen. The audible scraping of furniture across their hardwood floors is proof of that, and Quinn’s smile fades as the question of what Callie is up to takes precedence in her mind. She drags her still-sleepy ass out of bed, grabs her glasses, and spares one fond glance at her softly snoring wife before she pads out of the bedroom on the way to check on Callie.

The second she steps into the hallway, she can hear Ollie mewling his demands to be fed, and Quinn hurries her pace in the hope of preventing Callie from dumping the whole container of cat food into his bowl (and all over the kitchen floor) like she tends to do.

When she’s in view of the kitchen, she freezes for moment, feeling her heart lurch in fear when she spots her four year-old daughter standing precariously on a chair as she opens the overhead cabinet. She’s just about to race the rest of the way over and find out what Callie thinks she’s doing when her daughter’s soft words to Oliver begin to register.

“You have to be quiet, Ollie. Mama and Mommy are sleeping and I wanna surprise them with breakfast. It’s Mommies Day today. I’ll feed you after.”

Quinn presses a hand to her smiling lips, suddenly torn between the need to stand watch over Callie and the desire to tip-toe back into the bedroom and let their daughter surprise them for Mother’s Day. So she stays where she is, stepping back just enough to stay mostly hidden around the corner while she peeks out to watch Callie successfully (though a bit loudly) maneuver two bowls down from the cabinet. Callie carefully climbs down from the chair, noisily pushing it across the floor a little until it’s under the cabinet with the cereal, and Quinn cringes at the thought of the possible scratches to her flooring, but she decides to worry about that later.

She’s still watching over Callie, grinning at the little pink tongue poking out from between her lips in concentration while she kneels on the chair and pours the cereal—thank God she’d picked the corn flakes over her Lucky Charms—when Quinn hears the bedroom door open again, and she quickly whips around and races back down the hall in time to catch Rachel shuffling out of the room.

Rachel’s eyes widen when she sees Quinn jogging towards her, and her mouth opens to speak, but Quinn slides to a stop in front of her and presses a hand to her lips with an urgent, “Shhh.”

Rachel’s eyebrows furrow as her eyes narrow. “Winn,” she mumbles from beneath Quinn’s fingertips.

“Callie is trying to surprise us with breakfast,” Quinn whispers, dropping her hand. “It’s the cutest thing.”

Rachel’s eyes widen under arched eyebrows. “Is that what all the noise is?” she whispers back.

Quinn nods. “Sorry,” she practically mouths.

Rachel grins, shrugging. She silently points down the hall, indicating that she wants to see, and Quinn nods, smiling back. But before Rachel even takes a step, Quinn stops her with a hand on her arm, pointing down to her midsection with a questioning look.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “We’re fine,” she promises quietly, reaching up to stroke Quinn’s cheek tenderly. “Just a little queasy.”

“Lucky,” Quinn murmurs, a little jealous that Rachel seems to be dodging the persistent morning sickness that Quinn had experienced with her pregnancies. She’d been racing for the bathroom to puke her guts out by this time with both Callie and Beth, but at nine weeks, Rachel has only actually thrown up once, though she’s felt mildly nauseous on and off just about every day. But Quin supposes she’s due for a break since she’d had an even rougher IVF cycle this time than she’d had when they were getting Quinn pregnant with Callie, and then—well, Quinn is just so grateful that things seem to be going really well now and that Rachel is starting to feel more confident about her pregnancy.  

“Don’t jinx me,” Rachel warns lowly, playfully poking Quinn in the side before she steps around her to go see what their firstborn is up to. Quinn follows behind her, hoping that they haven’t alerted Callie to their presence just yet.

Rachel comes to a stop in the same spot that Quinn had been standing earlier, poking her head around the corner to spy on their daughter, and Quinn presses into her back, wrapping one arm around Rachel’s waist and anchoring the other against the wall as she stretches up onto her toes to peer over the top of Rachel’s head.

The milk carton is still sitting out on the counter, and Callie is currently making a mess with the orange juice being messily poured into two glasses, but she’s absolutely adorable doing it. Quinn can’t even care that she’s going to have such a mess to clean up later.

Rachel lifts a hand to her mouth, and Quinn worries for a second that maybe she is going to be sick this morning after all, but then Rachel is turning around with tears glistening in her eyes and a look of absolute adoration on her face, and Quinn understands. That’s their kid in there—making them their Mother’s Day present with her own two hands. Or trying to anyway.

Quinn is feeling a bit tearful herself as she smiles affectionately at Rachel.

Rachel manages to compose herself, wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes. “We should go back to bed,” she whispers, giving Quinn’s hip a little pat.

“Go ahead. I’m just gonna,” Quinn gestures to the corner, intending to keep watch in case Callie ends up dropping something.

Rachel gives her an exasperated look, shaking her head. “Don’t let her see you,” she warns lowly.

Quinn arches a brow, a little insulted that Rachel would doubt her stealth. “I’ve got this,” she mouths, winking at her wife before she leans in to brush a soft kiss over her lips.

Once Rachel retreats to their bedroom, Quinn creeps back to the corner and takes note of Callie’s progress. Two bowls of cereal, two spoons, two glasses of orange juice (that Quinn knows Rachel probably can’t quite stomach just yet), and she apparently found the container of strawberries that Quinn had cut yesterday.  

Quinn almost breaks her promise not to let their daughter see her when Callie practically crawls into the cabinet under the sink after finally feeding Ollie because she’s coming out with the folding lap tray, and all Quinn can picture is a giant mess of broken bowls and glasses on the floor if Callie actually attempts to serve them breakfast in bed. But she bites into her lip and stubbornly holds her position as she watches Callie set up the tray on the floor before carefully moving both bowls, one at a time, down onto the tray and then placing the glasses and strawberries there too. Then she pulls something else off the counter to place on the tray—Quinn thinks maybe it’s a napkin—and Quinn holds her breath as Callie picks up the tray, making sure she has it balanced with a determined expression, before she starts to turn.

And then Quinn is racing down the hallway again, careful to leave the bedroom door ajar just enough for their daughter to be able to push it open, before she practically leaps into bed next to Rachel, throwing her glasses on the nightstand.

“Quinn?”

“Pretend you’re sleeping,” Quinn hisses out, tugging the sheet up over them.

Rachel giggles a little, and Quinn shushes her again, closing her eyes and willing her body to relax. Thankfully, Rachel proves that she actually deserves every single one of her acting awards by immediately going still and quiet next to her. Quinn’s heart continues to race, however, and she half expects to hear a crash before Callie will start sobbing, but to her relief, there’s nothing but the sound of shuffling feet and the slight rattling of glassware before Callie is standing next to the mattress.

“Mommy. Mama. I made breakfast,” she announces at a volume that she absolutely inherited from Rachel.

Quinn takes a deep breath, making a show of stretching as she opens her eyes and turns her head toward Callie. Rachel shifts on the mattress next to her, pulling off a very convincing (or quite possibly real) yawn. Quinn locks her eyes on her daughter, taking note of the fact that the tray has actually survived the journey relatively unscathed. There are a few drops of milk on it and a tiny puddle of orange juice, but it’s otherwise intact. She has to admit—she’s pretty impressed.

Quinn pushes herself up on the mattress, eyes wide as she reaches for her glasses. “Oh wow. You made breakfast?” she repeats, acting surprised.

“Uh huh,” Callie answers proudly, nodding her head.  

“Oh, how sweet,” Rachel coos as she sits up next to Quinn, smiling tearfully at their daughter.

“Happy Mommies Day, Mommy. Happy Mommies Day, Mama.”

Quinn feels her own eyes grow damp, and there’s absolutely no acting involved. “Thank you so much, sunshine. Here,” she holds out her hands as she leans toward her daughter. “Let me take that tray.” Callie ever-so-carefully lifts it higher and moves it into Quinn’s waiting hands with the widest, proudest smile, and Quinn nearly loses her breath at how much she looks like Rachel in that moment. She manages to transfer the tray onto her lap without incident, looking down at the already soggy cereal with a lump in her throat. “This looks so amazing,” she gushes with a wide smile.

Next to her, Rachel echoes, “It does,” despite the fact that she’d probably much rather have a piece of toast. She holds her own arms open for their daughter.  “Get up here so I can hug you, little star,” she urges, and Callie doesn’t need any further invitation. She skips over to the end of the bed, knowing better than crawl over Quinn with the tray there, and scampers up onto the mattress between her mothers. Rachel instantly pulls Callie into her arms with happy tears streaming down over her cheeks. “I love you so much,” she murmurs, kissing the top of Callie’s head.

Callie giggles happily. “I love you, Mama,” she echoes, giving Rachel a sloppy kiss on her cheek before turning to Quinn. “And I love you, Mommy,” she says, squirming away from Rachel to give Quinn a sloppy kiss of her own that makes Quinn’s heart soar with joy. “You’re the bestest mommies ever,” Callie declares, reaching over to pick up the piece of paper that’s tucked onto the corner of the tray. “I even made a card that says so,” she announces, holding it out for Quinn to take.

“You did?” Quinn asks in delight, taking the homemade card with an elated smile.

“I did,” Callie confirms very seriously. “Read it, Mommy.”

The card is made out of pink construction paper with a red, bedazzled heart right in the middle and glitter covered letters spelling out Happy Mommies Day, and Quinn chuckles as she holds it up for Rachel to see. Rachel’s eyes sparkle with happy tears as she presses her fingers to her grinning lips, looking as tickled by it as Quinn feels. “Happy Mommies Day,” Quinn recites, choosing not to mention the misspelling or the missing apostrophe. Even so, she knows Callie had probably needed some help with this and wonders which one of their friends or family members had manned the glue and the glitter.

“Open it,” Callie demands, practically bouncing on the mattress between them.

Still smiling, Quinn opens the card obediently, and when her brain registers what she’s reading in her daughter’s shaky, crayon scripted handwriting, her words come out more than a little choked up.  “I am so lucky I get to have two. I love you forever, mommy and mama. Love Callie.”  

Quinn sniffles, wiping away a stray tear as she hands the card to Rachel to read for herself. “We love you forever, too, honey,” she promises, snaking an arm around Callie’s shoulders to hug her close and brush a kiss to her sweet cheek—careful not to topple the tray she’d worked so hard to prepare.

Rachel sniffles too. “You’re the best daughter in the world,” she says through her tears, somehow managing to hug them both as she reverently holds onto the card.

Quinn feels so incredibly blessed in this moment, wrapped up in the warmth of her family with the certainty that by next year her blessings will have doubled. Between them, Callie giggles happily, and it’s best Mother’s Day gift of all.