#had to count back but if it wasn’t last thursday or the sunday before last idk. idk anythjnf

[qulizalfos]

hhhhhhhhh

[miss-fanfictions]

Sundays at the Library | Part Two

Part One

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Despite Spencer's best efforts to keep you his Sunday solace, you become all he can think about.

Warnings] Gruesome descriptions of typical CM gore, references to sex, Spencer's POV, insecure/anxious reader, poetry excerpts, like 3k of Spencer pining over reader (sorry not sorry), tech stuff I know nothing about

Word Count] 14.1k

Author's Note] These are links to the poetry from this part: "Your laughter", "The Insect", "And because love battles". Though I use important excerpts, I would highly recommend reading these because I reference them throughout. Sorry to make you do homework but I promise it's cute bc Spencer is falling in love through poetryyyy.

Spencer spent four days in Seattle, but he would be lying if he said that was the only reason he didn’t get to finish all ten of his library books by Sunday. 

He read one book last Sunday evening while sipping tea on his couch and then he read two of them a day from Monday to Wednesday in between his work hours. Early Thursday morning Penelope rallied the troops to the conference room to explain that they were going to Seattle because four women had been found butchered. No case was easy exactly, but this one was especially hard. The women were found in horrific states, cannibalism was suspected, and Spencer was in charge of doing the geographic profile. The problem was the unsub was very criminally sophisticated and it seemed like he had no comfort zone, so Spencer was struggling. To top it all off, one of the victims' mothers had broken down wailing in the police station, right in front of Spencer’s map, begging for someone to find her daughter's killer. . . and the rest of her remains. 

Spencer had nothing he could say to the poor mother. JJ ended up trying to comfort her, old instincts from her liaison days kicking in. He went back to his hotel room that night and cried. It’d been a while since he cried on a case, a few months or so, but it happened every so often with bad ones, mostly children. So he let himself cry on the loveseat in the corner for a few minutes before taking a shower, putting on some soft PJs, and crawling under the covers of his double bed. For a while he stared into the ceiling picturing the map, the circles he drew, and the pins he placed on it. Half the pins marked an abduction site and the other half signified where a body was found. If he concentrated too hard, he could see the bodies in the morgue: their blue lips, sheet like skin, the carved out flesh.

Most people would assume there was no downside to an eidetic memory, but Spencer knew there was. He could remember every horrendous, gruesome detail of a crime scene, a victim's injuries, an unsub’s taunts. It all haunted him, swimming around in his vision and fogging his brain when he wanted peace. Reading helped because it kept his brain busy and his head clear. When he couldn’t take the horror anymore, Spencer leaned over the side of the bed to his go-bag on the floor. 

Inside was a couple outfits, sleepwear, his usual toiletries, and a few of his library books. He wasn’t sure how much time he would have, so he brought all three of his unread ones. When Spencer unzipped the bag, he remembered he brought four borrowed books. The Poetry of Pablo Neruda sat atop the rest of his clothes and books. It must have floated to the top as Spencer rooted through the bag for his comfiest pajamas. He hesitated to bring it up onto the bed, thumbing the curling corners, but eventually took it into his lap. 

Spencer wanted to read the book as soon as he got home from the library. He actually almost blew a stop sign he was in such a rush, which Spencer never did because he was a very careful driver. Some—Derek—would call him too careful, but there wasn’t such a thing as too careful. However because he was so reckless and excited, Spencer couldn’t bring himself to read the book. It was too distracting, too enticing—he couldn’t allow himself the pleasure of it because it would consume him. Already you were nagging his thoughts, distracting him from his day, his job, and he had to curb it somehow. He certainly couldn’t feed into it by reading the book you gave him. So, he decided he would wait until Saturday to read it so you would continue to just be his solace on Sundays. 

But Spencer wanted a distraction, he needed one really, and he wanted it to be you. He opened the book and immediately smiled as he was met with your handwritten notes in pink pen ink. He couldn’t explain why the loops and lines were so you, but they were, and it only made it easier for him to hear them in your gentle whisper. 

Spencer read 20,000 words per minute, but he read close to three per minute as he combed through the poems and your little comments and analyses. He savored them as much as he could, because he could only read them for the first time once and never again would they be so fresh and sweet. Every other line his heart would flutter and his breath would pause as he searched between the stanzas and in the margins for your own reactions. 

Pablo Neruda wrote some powerful political poetry in support of the Communist Party in Chile, but it was only a sliver of the book's poems. The rest of the pages consisted of beautiful and heartbreaking romance poems. As he read them, he thought of you. Because you’d given him the book, of course, and it was your thoughts scrawled out on the page right alongside Neruda’s. In his drowsy head, the words merged, printed black and scribbled pink swirling, and suddenly the woman Neruda was talking about was you. You were the woman he longed to forget, but would forever plague him. You were the woman made for his arms, his kisses, his soul. Your body was the journey his hands itched to make.

But Spencer couldn’t think that of you. When his eyes would glaze and your image would appear on paper, he blinked quickly and rubbed his eyes raw. It was wrong to think of you like that because you were an acquaintance—a friend at best. He had no right, even if you’d given him the book. He thought then about why you’d given him the book. Sure, it was because he reached his check out limit and could always read more, but why had you given him this book? It was clearly a favorite by how worn and full of notes it was, but the notes were your deepest thoughts on love. Obviously he would consider you as he read them. 

He tried not to though, he really did, until he came across “Your Laughter.” Upon its title alone your giggle echoed in his ears and he leaned closer to the lamp light to read it unobstructed. 

“My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life.”

Perhaps he had imagined those other women Neruda wrote about as you, but this was you. Your laughter gave him life, comfort, and he was starting to think he couldn’t be without it. Every stanza solidified it in his mind that he loved your laugh, that he would take it over bread or air, because in the dim library it stole him away from the world and relieved his burdens, if just for a moment. He finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning with the page open on his chest.

—

On Friday morning Spencer woke with you on his mind, and that couldn’t happen. He had to banish you from his head, lock your memory away in a deep, dark vault just to get his work done, because every time he saw a flower, or a book, or even heard a laugh, he was thinking of a line from The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and you were that poetry. He had to stuff the book at the bottom of his go bag and swear off it until the case was finished—and he did. He redirected his entire focus back to his map, pins, and circles.

But every night when he went back to the hotel, depressed and exhausted, he sought the book out and found comfort in your words. He fell asleep to them and dreamt your thoughts, then woke up in the morning to you clouding his mind and he had to lock you away again to stay focused.

He was successfully able to rid you from his thoughts at work until Sunday when he woke up antsy at the idea you were in a different state. He tried again to concentrate solely on the case, but when his watch rolled over to 11 he got stuck staring at it, thinking about what you were doing on the other side of the country. It was already 2pm in Virginia due to the different time zones. He wondered what you were thinking. Did you stand at the desk, perched over it for the best view of the front doors? Were you also sad when the hour hand crept slowly passed 11 on the grand clock above the door and he did not walk in? Maybe you didn’t care and the day continued as normal. Or maybe you were only upset he was not promptly returning your book. He thought if only he solved the case faster he wouldn’t have to wonder.

He shook his head, shaking you away, then focused back on the map. Not more than 20 minutes later he solved it thanks to a call from Garcia about a fifth missing woman fitting the victimology. When he added a pin to her abduction site, he found the pattern, the comfort zone, and the unsub. He gathered up the map to present his findings to Hotch, to show him where he knew the secondary location had to be, and just like that the police station was bustling with a new vigor. 

They wrapped up the case late Sunday evening. They put away a monster and were able to give that grieving mother and three others closure on what happened to their daughters. That night, a woman went home to her family and Spencer returned to his hotel room, gathered his belongings, and rushed to the jet. He’d never been more ready to get back to Virginia because as exhausted and relieved as he was, he was also sad. He shouldn’t have been, but he was, because 11am came and went in a police station and not in the library ten minutes from his apartment. You’d called him so reliable and he missed it. He should have warned you about his unpredictable hours, he realized, but now he was just anxious to explain himself. He didn’t want to be the unreliable man leaving a trail of disappointment and broken promises, it was so much like his father the thought made him shiver. 

He was so quick to the jet he beat Hotch and JJ, who were always prompt to get back to their kids. She eyed him as he bounced on his heels, checking his watch. It was nearly 9:30pm which meant they would arrive in the early morning anyway. He would return to his apartment and sleep, hopefully for a while, because the library wouldn’t be open for hours. But Spencer bounced with anxiety because he was late and he hated being late. All he did was think and he was overthinking. He hoped you weren’t. 

“Spence?” He realized JJ’s eyes were on him. She had her usual concerned expression, knitted brows and tilted head. “You okay?”

He nodded because he was okay, technically. There was nothing really wrong. “Yeah, of course.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, and by now Hotch was watching their exchange. “Are you sure? You look a little. . . stressed.”

She wouldn’t give it up then. “No, I just sort of had plans today I missed. I had to return some library books and I don’t like to be late,” he explained, hoping it would soothe her worries. It wasn’t a lie. . . maybe a bit of a half truth, but his weekends were meant to be his and he wasn’t obligated to talk at length about his personal life.

JJ scoffed, checking her phone as she relaxed, calmed by his explanation. Hotch’s eyes swept back across the street, waiting for the others to arrive. “Well, you know better than to make plans. I missed date night with Will again.”

“That sucks,” Spencer hummed absentmindedly, eyes also watching down the road for the rest of the team. 

It was approximately seven minutes later when their SUV pulled up and the six of them boarded the jet. The team took their usual seats, mostly in silence as Hotch did paperwork, Morgan listened to music, and the rest of the team tried to get some sleep. Spencer took the familiar couch at the back of the jet, but he didn’t curl up to sleep just yet. Instead he opened his go bag to the book he had packed away right at the top to ensure he brought it. A smile spread across his face unbeknownst to him as he took it into his hands. He brought his legs up onto the seat and leaned with his arm on the armrest and his head tucked into his elbow as he got comfortable. Unfortunately, he was used to folding himself up on the small couch, long limbs and all, but it was a good enough position to read in. 

Spencer picked up where he left off reading slowly again, tasting the words as he mouthed them to himself alone. Every so often his silent recitation was interrupted by a quiet chuckle or a snort, because not only was your commentary deep but it was witty. Your takes on Neruda’s physical interest in love was so intriguingly sardonic he couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

Spencer found one particular poem, “The Insect,” sensual until he spotted your jokes scrawled along the bottom near the page number. 

“From your hips down to your feet I want to make a long journey. I am smaller than an insect. Over these hills I pass, hills the colour of oats, crossed with faint tracks that only I know, scorched centimetres, pale perspectives."

In your hasty, sloppy handwriting you responded:

“He better be adept at  licking between those hills if he is smaller than an insect”

Spencer cracked a wide grin, stifling his laugh in his collar. Your humor, tucked between the pages of an unassuming book, was uninhibited by your meekness. He couldn’t help but think you would never say such a crude thing aloud, or maybe you would, and he only needed to know you longer to hear it from your lips. Neruda’s next stanza was even more lewd.

“Now here is a mountain. I shall never leave this. What a giant growth of moss! And a crater, a rose of moist fire!”

He followed a loopy arrow from the section of lines to your reply.

“Crater??? I suppose my razor bumps must be the  stinging rocks that tearing out the moss uncovered”

Spencer snorted, wondering if you remembered writing those quips when you generously handed him the book. They weren’t abundant, most of your responses were scholarly thoughts or opinions on love, but he could see your mood ebb and flow throughout the poems, crossed out thoughts and new additions from when you reread and re-examine with fresh eyes and new ideas. When he got to the end of the poem, he could see how your tone had shifted.

“Sliding down to your feet I reach the eight slits of your pointed, slow, peninsular toes, and from them I fall down to the white emptiness of the sheet, seeking blindly and hungrily the form of your fiery crucible!”

Another arrow from the last word guided him to the next page where he assumed you added more thoughts after going back over the poem again.

“Neruda is only a man, so his metaphors of the body have to be expected. But his unrestrained desire and dedication is the important subtext. To make the journey  long and slow and appreciate it all with unparalleled reverence? A girl might just have time to fall in love.”

Your interpretation of the poetry spoke volumes about your outlook on love. How you searched between the lines for the words unsaid, that between the carnal romance, you found desire and dedication. That was what you valued, as well as “time to fall in love.” The sentiment gave him pause because Spencer had a habit of. . . fixation. Spencer cared fast and deeply, and maybe that was too much for you. He would have to cool off, give you space, even if he was starting to want everyday to be Sunday. 

“What’s so funny over here?”

Spencer looked up, tucking the book into his chest, startled by Derek suddenly standing right in front of him. “Nothing. Just. . . reading.”

Derek leaned down his head to see the title, eyebrows rising with a scoff. “The Poetry of Pablo Neruda?” He shook his head as he continued behind the curtain to the bathroom. “Only you would be laughing at poetry, pretty boy.”

Derek would laugh too if he took a look at your writings, but Spencer didn’t feel like sharing you. He went back to his reading and it took him about an hour to finish the book. The feeling of turning over the last page was hollow. Of course, he could remember every single word, could recite it backwards if he wanted to, he studied it so intently, but the feeling of reading it, of getting inside your head was over. He drifted to sleep with the book tucked into his arm, trying to hold onto that feeling just a little longer.

Rossi shook him awake when they landed. The sun wasn’t up yet and a glance at his watch told him it was only 5:30 in the morning. The team wasn’t expected back until Wednesday, so Spencer only dipped into the office to grab paperwork before he got into his car and drove back home to his apartment. Blasting the radio was the only thing that kept him awake while driving. He didn’t realize it when he first got on the jet, but his body and mind were exhausted. His limbs ached and his head was foggy. Once he got in the door he dropped his bag on the floor and slumped into his bed, drifting back off into deep sleep.

—

From the way the light filtered in through the blinds, the sun was arching high in the sky when Spencer finally woke up again. His eyes were practically crusted shut and his mouth was dry, all the moisture leaking out onto his face and bedspread. He rubbed a hand over his face as he sat up and stretched. The rest did him good. He had more energy, at least, and he didn’t feel like weights were attached to him. He sat there for a minute, just adjusting to the world, then his eyes drifted to his alarm clock. It was 12:43pm. 

At once he jumped up from his bed, raiding his closet for a fresh pair of clothes. He didn’t mean to sleep in, he meant to be at the library early to explain himself. All he bothered to put on was a clean button up and slacks before he slipped on his converse and grabbed his keys. He stopped himself at the door when he remembered he was going to the library to return his books, so he swung back around to pick up the basket on his coffee table and grab The Poetry of Pablo Neruda from his go bag. 

He jogged down the stairs to his car, breezing past his neighbor Mrs. Cavanaugh who greeted him kindly. Of course, he drove just as carefully as he normally did, using his turn signal, completely stopping at each stop sign, and maintaining the speed limit, all the while his fingers rapped the steering wheel. His parking job in the library lot wasn’t great, though if he was being honest it never really was, but he didn’t hang around long to admire its crookedness as he grabbed his basket and speed walked into the library. 

It was comforting to be met with the familiar chill and paper air. A hand thoughtless combed through his hair as he took his time to walk down the rug to the front desk. He realized he didn’t put a comb through his hair before he left which meant it was definitely wild. He would have spent time being embarrassed about it if he looked over the counter and saw you, but he didn’t. In your chair was an elderly woman who squinted through her own glasses as she read a thick book she clutched in her wrinkly hands. She looked up and saw Spencer standing there, an unamused look on her face. 

“Checking something in?” She asked in a smoker's voice. 

“Oh, uh, yes,” Spencer floundered, surprised you weren’t there. He took your book from the top of the basket and then brought the rest up to the counter. The woman watched him as he pulled the books from the basket, an over plucked eyebrow raised. He had to dig around in his wallet for his library card too, but eventually set it on the counter to avoid the talons at her fingertips. She let out a sigh as she began scanning them. 

Spencer tapped his fingers against the countertop, eyes roaming around the library. Was Monday your off day? He never asked. He actually didn’t know much about your personal life besides that you were in graduate school. Maybe you had classes today? He could come in again tomorrow. . . but was that weird? He wouldn’t have any books to check in, so he didn’t have any actual reason for coming in besides seeing you. Would you find that odd? That he sought you out? He didn’t want to wait until next Sunday to talk to you again.

Spencer looked back at the librarian as she cleared her throat. She finished checking in the books and slid back over his library card, but he was still just standing there. “Is there something else you need?” She asked and he whispered your name. “What?”

“I–I mean, is she working today?” Spencer clarified quickly. “The girl who is at this desk on Sundays?” 

She blinked at him, leaning back in her chair and picking back up her book, a sharp finger turning the page. “She’s working.”

He nodded, gathering up his library card and basket and briskly walking away from the desk. With no additional clues as to where you were, he went to the second floor and began walking around. You had to be around there somewhere, eventually he would find you. He scanned the shelves as he walked, looking in the sciences for books that interested him, but he was too preoccupied looking over his shoulder for you walking by. Eventually he was fed up waiting for you to walk by and roamed the library just looking for you.

It took going to the fiction section to find you. He rounded the corner of a bookcase and saw you up on a ladder, arm full of books, the other busy nestling them into their places on the shelves. Your hair was done up and you wore a long, patterned skirt, but also a fitted long sleeve shirt. It hugged you like you hugged the books, and Spencer’s eyes trailed the outline of your figure illuminated by a gold halo from the window behind you. In over a week of not seeing you, Spencer didn’t forget a single detail of how you looked, but the feeling he got when he looked at you was new and invigorating. 

He saw you in a new light, literally and figuratively. He knew some of your inner thoughts; each poem he read felt like a conversation. Maybe it was one way, but you read the book so many times perhaps it wasn’t. He hoped maybe you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave it to him, as if, in your own shy way, you were saying all those words to him.

A quiet gasp broke his train of thought and suddenly you were looking at him, turned on the ladder to see him at the end of the bookcase. “Spencer?” You looked surprised, caught off guard, and when you tried to scramble down the ladder clinging onto the books and nothing else, you tripped on your skirt and teetered on the foothold.

Spencer was next to you instantly, the basket sliding up his arm as he steadied you with a hand on your waist. You took hold of his other hand, delicate fingers wrapping tight around his palm, and slowly came down off the ladder. He let you go once you were on the floor again, unsure of what to do with his hands warmed by the feel of you.

“Thank you, I was really trying not to twist my ankle falling off that again,” You smiled nervously, embarrassed, and looked down at the books you held against yourself. 

“Again?” Spencer asked, brows quirking up, lips twisting into a smile. Not only were you shy, but you were klutzy. He wasn’t sure which made you more endearing. 

“Oh yeah. I was laid up for a week after falling off a three foot ladder. Now I don’t reach so far out,” you explained, finally chancing a look up at him and finding his eyes already on you.

“I got shot in the knee once. I was on crutches for five months, two weeks, and five days and I hated pretty much every second of it,” he blurted out, and to his delight you breathed out a quiet laugh. 

“Well you’ve got my twisted ankle beat,” You shrugged at him. He chuckled in reply, and slowly the conversation faded away. He had so much to say to you, to explain, but it disappeared from his mouth when he stood in front of you. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. He wondered if you thought about him even half as much as he thought about you. Finally, your voice came out in the softest whisper. “I didn’t know if you were going to come back. . .”

 “I was in Seattle,” like a dam burst, at last his words came rushing out. “I travel for work a lot and I’ve been in Seattle since Thursday. I only got back this morning.”

He searched your face for your reaction but your eyes were unreadable. “You just got back from a four day work trip across the country and the first thing you do is go to the library?” He couldn’t tell whether you were weirded out or not. Normally your emotions were all over your face and he read it just like a book, but suddenly you snapped it shut.

“No. Well—yes, kind of. . .” When you only continued to look at him, he felt the need to keep talking. “I had to return the books, y’know? And. . .” He searched your eyes for an indication to stop or keep going, but they were only pools of hope with borders of acetate. “You called me reliable—before, I mean—and I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t. I didn’t have any way to contact you either to let you know I wasn’t going to come in so I just. . . came here as soon as I could.”

The meekest of smiles lifted the corners of your lips and Spencer nearly let out a sigh of relief. “I guess it’s silly, but I was a little sad when you didn’t come in. I thought I really messed it up, and that sucked because it gets kind of boring in here without a genius FBI agent to be surprised by,” you shrugged, finger tapping along a hardcover book in your arms. Spencer opened his mouth to reassure you that you didn’t do anything wrong, but you continued. “I think it’d be better for both of us if we had a way to contact each other—so you can warn me of course! When work has you too busy to come in.”

Spencer stood in front of you for a few seconds, processing what you were saying. Then you inclined your brows at him and he scrambled to get his phone from his pocket. “Oh, right. You can just put your number in and I will, uh, text you.”

You struggled to adjust the books in your arms to get a free hand, so Spencer set the basket down and offered his help to take them. “Oh, thank you,” you mumbled, passing the books into his long arms and taking his phone. As you thumbed in the numbers, Spencer turned to the shelves and began putting the books in their rightful places. You furrowed your brows at him, mouth falling open. “Oh, Spencer, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to help.” He gave you a smile over his shoulder and went back to fingering over the spines to find the correct placement.

“Thank you then. Just. . .” Your head craned outside the end of the bookcases, glancing either way before walking back to the trolley that carried the books that needed reshelving. “Don’t let Mrs. Wilson see you. I think she’d actually fire me.”

“Mrs. Wilson?” Spencer questioned, brows creasing. “The woman at the desk today?”

You just gathered another armful of books from the trolley when your head snapped back to Spencer, then glanced between him and then the nearly empty basket on the floor, worried. “Oh my God, she checked your books back in. She didn’t say anything mean to you, did she? Nasty little comments are her specialty.”

Spencer took more books from the cart, his eyes glued to you as you scaled the ladder again. “No. She wasn’t exactly friendly either, but she didn’t say anything mean.” You wiped fake sweat off your brow. “Is she your boss?”

“Kinda, yeah. Technically I’m a library aid, but I do pretty much everything she does as the librarian,” you said, voice dry and tired with annoyance. “Actually I do everything she’s supposed to do besides berate people for late books, that’s her favorite pastime. Most of the day she manages the desk while I do everything else. I only work the desk Sunday because that’s her off day. I’m pretty sure she spends it at church because she’s always telling me I should be going.”

He glanced at you as you talked, continuing to organize the books. It was the most he ever heard you talk, and he was starting to hear the same voice he heard on the margins of The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. “I’m glad I came in on Sunday then,” he said. He likely never would have met you if he didn’t come in on Sunday, what with you rushing around doing all the other day to day library duties. That meant there was a 1/7, or 14% chance of him meeting you at the library the way he did. He didn’t even want to think about how slim the chance of him meeting you was after also factoring in the other libraries in the area he could have visited.

“I’m glad you did too.” You smiled over at him, shelving your last book and carefully heading back down the ladder. “She never would have let you check out all those books at once.”

He quickly placed the remaining book in his hand on the shelf, joining you at the trolley as you divided up the last of the books left. “So, if she’s so mean and awful at her job, why don’t you report her?”

You paused, eyes going distant and your shoulders slighting curling in on yourself. “I could report her to the director I guess, but. . .” You only considered it for a moment before collecting the books and spinning away down the bookcase with a shake of your head. “I don’t see the point. She’s just a grouchy old woman. It’s not like I can’t handle it. I think the reason she hates me so much is because she thinks I’m going to replace her.”

Spencer eyed your body language and shift in tone. It was the confrontation that scared you, he realized. He saw it before with Todd and now with Mrs. Wilson and the director. You didn’t stand up to her or advocate for yourself because of some self conscious doubt or fear of rejection. Sure, Mrs. Wilson might be mean and a bit scary, but that shouldn’t mean you have to deal with her blatant disrespect. He wanted to give you some encouragement, but seeing your reaction to his question—the way you curled in on yourself to protect yourself from the discomfort just considering reporting her gave you—made him not want to push you, so he finished putting the books in the bookcase. 

“If you say so. I'm just sorry you don’t get along with your coworker. I feel like my team at the BAU is my family and I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” he confessed. His only real family was his mom, but he felt it wasn’t appropriate to talk about her just yet. Although he did feel like the team was also his family, so it felt right to talk about them.

You hummed, a dreamy look on your face. “That’s nice. It makes sense too, since you all have to trust each other with your lives, don’t you?” You brought your bottom lip between your teeth suddenly, hesitating to look at Spencer. “I um, I looked up what the BAU was the other day because I wanted to know what you did exactly. It just said you created “profiles” of serial killers, but it didn’t mention field work.” You slotted onto a shelf the last book in your hands, fidgeting with your fingers as they became idle, eyes wandering back and forth between him and the floor.  “I was just thinking if. . . are you in danger often? You didn’t seem very scared of that guy the other day—obviously he’s not nearly as scary as a serial killer, but you also said you got shot in the knee?”

Spencer held back a smile because you seemed upset, but the fact that you took the time to look up what he did and worried about him made his stomach swirl in a way which was more pleasing than nauseating. “Field work is a part of my job, yes. We profile serial killers and other criminals, but we also help the local police catch them. I’ve had other injuries besides getting shot in the knee, too. So, yes, often it can be a very dangerous job.” It also felt wrong to bring up Tobias Hinkel, the trauma Spencer experienced, and the path it led him down. Maybe at a later time he could bring it up, but now he was more comfortable recounting exactly the amount of times he’d been shot at and every injury he’d gotten on the job from being punched to poisoned. Spencer did none of that though, because your face became sickly and your brows knitted so tight with concern he thought they might merge together. “I’m always okay though! I trust my team and we all keep each other safe. I wear a bulletproof vest to protect my vital organs and I carry a gun, so I’m kind of hard to kill.”

You crossed your arms, nodding as you calmed down from the worry. Spencer wondered if you were also an anxious person, it would make sense since you were so concerned about him and his job. It was a dangerous job, sometimes in the moment Spencer dismissed the probabilities that he could actually die, but it was always possible despite his experience, knowledge, and skills. Unlikely, but possible. “It’s a really good thing your coworkers have your back then,” you joked, but it was weak and Spencer could tell you were still unsettled.

He wanted to calm you down, because there wasn’t anything to be worried about. He was good at his job, safe, and he always ran all the probabilities and took the best course of action. Most importantly, he always had a thorough and accurate profile, which Gideon always said was the deadliest weapon he could have. You didn’t need to worry about him despite the danger. “‘What more can they tell you? I am neither good nor bad but a man, and they will then associate the danger of my life, which you know and which with your passion you shared,’” he recited. Your head tilted as you took in his words, an excitement of realization slowly filling up your face. “‘And good, this danger is danger of love, of complete love for all life, for all lives.’”

“‘And because love battles’, Pablo Neruda,” you named it. Spencer was right when he assumed you read it several times because you had it memorized enough to spot it. “That poem is about fighting for and defending his love despite his past and what others have to say about it—not the danger of having standoffs with murderers.”

“Yes, but I can repurpose it. I do this job despite the danger because I love people. I love helping them, saving them. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. If I don’t catch the murderers, who will?” He explained, trying to show you that this job was just a part of him, however dangerous it was, he could handle it. “I know it can be scary, but trust me when I tell you that I’m good at what I do. There aren't any people out there better at this job than my team. You don’t have to worry.”

You plucked at the ends of your sleeves, thinking on what he told you. The seconds ticked by and he resorted to examining your body language, how your shoulders were even and between them your chest rose and fell at a steady pace. Your face was placid too, until it warped with a playful smile and you stepped closer to him. The breath left his lungs in an exhale. “So. . . you did finish The Poetry of Pablo Neruda?” He took air in again with a chuckle. Teasing him must have meant you felt reassured. “You must have been distracted being so good at your job that your interpretation was off, because that’s not at all what that quote means.”

Spencer took a step towards you, his long legs almost closing the gap of space between your bodies before you scrambled back a step. “Oh, I know what you think of that poem. I know exactly what you think of all Neruda’s poems, since you spelled it out for me.”

Your hands came back to the front of you, fidgeting with your fingers as you avoided the intensity of his eyes, face warming with embarrassment. “You read all my notes?” How could he not? Surely, you must have known he would. 

“Of course I did. I thought it was all very insightful,” he said, and because he couldn’t help himself, he continued. “Especially all your little jokes. What did you have to say about ‘The Insect’? ‘He better be adept at licking—’”

“Spencer!” You squealed, certainly disturbing anyone who was in the surrounding rows of bookcases. Your hands rushed to cover your face. “I didn’t—You weren’t—oh my God!”

Spencer laughed at your suffering, taking sadistic pleasure in it only for a few moments before he gently pulled your hands from your face by your arms. “It’s okay. I thought they were all very funny. You’re very funny.”

It was harder for you to shake off the embarrassment. You carefully removed your wrists from his hands to wring them. “I didn’t think you were even actually going to read it.”

Spencer’s brows twitched into a furrow, puzzled as to why you thought he wouldn’t read the book you gave him. “Why not? I like poetry.”

You shrugged. “I–I don’t know, I just definitely didn’t expect for you to memorize it and everything I said.”

“I have an eidetic memory,” he countered, knowing he would remember everything you ever wrote and said to him. “And some of that stuff is pretty hard to forget anyway.”

You whined, mortified. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize what that means.”

There was a pause between you and Spencer, because you were embarrassed and he wasn’t sure why. Having someone read your private thoughts is vulnerable and flustering, but you gave him the book. You must have known he would agonize over your every word, but your reaction said you didn’t. Spencer couldn’t help but feel he was reading too far into things, his obsessive, addictive personality sending him spiraling down a hole of a relationship he dug all on his own. You didn’t think about him as much as he did you; you didn’t read into the things he did and search for more meaning. 

“Do you need more books?”

“Huh?”

He was staring into your face thinking hard, but you snapped him back out of it. “You finished reading all your books right?” You repeated.

“No, I only read seven of them,” he thought aloud.

“What? What happened to Mr. 20,000 words per minute?” The shyness fled you slowly as you turned again to teasing him. It was cute, but it also flustered Spencer, because he definitely couldn’t tell you he didn’t finish his other books because he spent all his time scrutinizing every word both you and Pablo Neruda wrote. 

“I–I told you I was in Seattle for four days. I didn’t have time to finish them because I was busy.” It was a lame excuse because he definitely did have enough time, he just spent it reading the book you gave him because it comforted him better than any other book could.

You hummed, tapping your fingers along your forearm. “Okay, well, you should look for some more books. I have to get back to work or the library’s going to collapse without me. So, um, text me?”

He got whiplash from your sudden goodbye. “Y–Yeah, of course. I’ll see you next week right?”

“Of course,” you repeated, throwing him a wave as you grabbed the handle of the trolley and started pushing it out of the aisle. 

“Wait, don’t forget this.” Spencer stopped you as he picked his basket back up from the floor, plucking The Poetry of Pablo Neruda out of it to hand to you. 

You took it with a grateful smile, setting it on the trolley. “Thank you, Spencer, I’ll have to give you more poetry book recommendations since clearly you liked this one so much.”

He watched you disappear around the corner and was immediately hit with everything he wanted to say to you, what he should have said, all the conversations he wanted to have had. It wasn’t enough. You’d taken a decent chunk of time out of your busy day to chat with him but it still didn’t satisfy him. Spencer wondered if there would ever be enough of you, or if he was now forever craving you, needing your words, your laugh, you entirely.

He resigned himself to looking around the library for new books to read. Every time he entered a new aisle, he looked for you, having hope you’d be there but you never were. Still, he took his time finding books, but once he had seven in his basket he made his way down to the front desk.

Of course, Mrs. Wilson was sitting there and she was just as pleased as she was before to see Spencer standing in front of her. She stood up as he began unloading the books onto the countertop. 

“Seven books?” She croaked.

“Yes? I only have three out and the check out limit is ten,” he justified, pausing as he rummaged his wallet for his library card.

“I know the checkout limit. You can’t check out more than five books at once,” she hissed, clawing two books off the top of the stack and dropping them onto the cart behind her. Without missing a beat, she turned back and snatched up his library card from the counter and began scanning.

“Okay. . .” he mumbled, unsure how to respond. Obviously that wasn’t library policy, but he wasn’t interested in fighting with your coworker. All he needed was for her to dislike him. Well, dislike him more than the disdain she seemed to have for everyone. 

When she finished scanning and checking the books out, she slapped his library card on top of the stack and sat back in her seat, picking up her book again without a word. Spencer took that as his sign to get lost and quickly gathered up his books in his basket and made for the exit. He looked back once more as he opened the double doors and turned back around as they shut behind him.

Spencer wiped down the books and his basket in his car, setting them both up snug in his passenger seat. He sat there for a moment, looking back at the library, then pulled out his phone. Like you said, your name had been added to his contacts, your full name. He bounced his leg as he considered sending you a message, but finally gave in and typed a simple one out.

- Hey, it's Spencer Reid.

Again, his leg bounced viciously as his fingers hovered over the buttons, sporadically typing out letters before deleting them. He even set it down before he picked it back up and hurriedly sent another message.

- Mrs. Wilson only let me check out five books.

He tossed his phone over into his passenger seat with a sigh. Spencer Reid did not text. It was strange, embarrassing, and not at all something he was used to. He felt the urge to call Garcia and even ask if he was doing it right. Was there even a right way to text? There had to be and he had no clue what it was. Constantly Garcia was bringing up internet language Spencer did not understand. What if you knew it and he didn’t? He almost went back into the library to research it on the computer. 

But he had to go home. He hadn’t eaten yet and his stomach was starting to rumble and growl. There was a chinese place on the way home, he could stop by there and get takeout. It wasn’t the healthiest plan, but there wasn’t much at the apartment besides pasta. That meant he also had to go grocery shopping tomorrow. He sighed through his nose as he put the car in drive, only to immediately throw it back in park when he heard his phone chime. He lunged over the console to the passenger seat so quickly the seat belt locked up and he choked himself momentarily before he could unfasten it and snap up his phone from the seat. There was a text from you.

- When do you go back to work?

His brows creased, but he responded swiftly nonetheless.

- Wednesday. Why?

- That means you have to come in tomorrow at 11, that's her lunch break. I can check you out.:)

He was even more confused by the punctuation at the end of your sentence. He reread it thrice for any clues to the meaning before he tilted his head and saw a smiley face staring back at him. A laugh burst from him, shaking his chest. He could put off grocery shopping until later in the day tomorrow.

—

Spencer came into the library Tuesday at 11am promptly. You escorted him around the library as he found two more books, then you let him pick an additional two more to check out on your own library account. After picking out the books, sneaking to check him out at the front desk became the best covert op mission Spencer had ever done, and he actually had done quite a few. As you talked, Spencer recounted cases he worked on and taught you the lingo they used in the field. When you slunk behind the front desk, you actually whisper-screamed “Clear!” at him with a face so serious Spencer had to slap a hand over his mouth so he didn’t blow the whole operation by laughing in your face. Your head bobbed constantly for any sight of Mrs. Wilson, even though you told him she ate lunch at the diner down the street. Then you slid him the two extra books like the scandal was DEA investigation worthy. All the while, you and Spencer giggled like children. 

You were a lot less worried now when he told you about the cases he worked on, he tended to leave out the really scary parts, but the idea of him chasing after armed murders didn’t terrify you as much anymore. You seemed to trust him and his skills more, likely because of his excellent performance during “Operation Paperback,” which was the code name you lovingly bestowed upon your mission to check Spencer out more books while Mrs. Wilson took what was most definitely not a smoke break. (You told him you were going to launch your own investigation into the cigarette butts you kept finding in the parking lot when he left now that you were a pro at “FBI stuff.”)

Spencer left the library with a giant grin on his face and it stuck with him even as he picked out his next week's worth of meals at the grocery store. He also planned when he would see you again and thought about all the things he wanted to talk to you about. Of course, he wanted to tell you about all the great things he did: his successes as an FBI agent, how he earned his PhDs, the time he hit the ball and ran the winning homerun for Derek’s baseball team. But he also wanted to tell you the darker parts of his life: his mother’s illness, how the job had traumatized him, his struggle with addiction. And he wanted to know so much more about you in kind.

Swiftly, it was no longer just Sundays he was visiting the library. He was dropping in after work and on the odd days he had off due to prolonged cases in other states. It took him less than a week to memorize your schedule. You had off on Fridays and Saturdays, and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you had classes. Of course, your classes were late after work on Monday and Wednesday, however they were early in the morning on Friday. The library hours were something he also saved in his mental rolodex. It had open hours all seven days of the week: 10am to 4pm on weekends and 11am to 7pm on weekdays. Spencer was leaving work on time for the first time in years to make it to the library before close. 

Over the next couple weeks as he went to the library, he realized you spent a lot of time troubleshooting the computers. So when he came in he would either find a book to read or set himself up at an open computer near the one you were working on. He told you he was “researching” things for cases, but he didn’t really have to because anything he wanted to know he could have asked Garcia with her masterful skills and FBI grade software. He came to chat with you, listen to you complain about having to fix the computers so often because the local teens kept breaking them. Still, you were too timid to reprimand them or threaten to kick them out. In his job everyday there was always confrontation, everyone had to do it, so it was both confusing and sweet to him that you lacked the nerve to address people. He only wished you would stand up for yourself, because when you avoided confronting the problems it only ever gave you more labor. 

You became much more comfortable with him though. You shared more thoughts openly, met his eyes more, and even shared things about yourself that seemed very personal. You told him about your parents, your friends, your quaint apartment, and some embarrassing stories of your childhood. As close as you both were becoming over the weeks, you refused to let him read any of the poems you wrote because “it's different when you read it than when strangers read it.” He couldn’t dream of it being bad. He wouldn’t even give criticism or comment on it, but still you wouldn’t let him. You did, however, let him read your interpretations and analyses of poetry and literature you were reading for your classes. He would finish scanning the texts in minutes, which you would whine and complain about taking hours doing as a slow reader, and then read your writings and give you his critiques. At first you were nervous and fidgety about it, would go quiet when he didn’t necessarily agree. Then, slowly, you became more argumentative, fighting him on whose perspective was correct. Spencer loved arguing with you, the way your face lit up when you thought you had him, and the pout of your lip when you conceded the genius maybe knew what he was talking about. 

He handled five cases over the weeks he got to know you, during which he never used his phone more. He would be away for days at time and not be able to visit the library, so he resorted to texting you during the day and calling you from his hotel room in the evenings after you got home from classes, or just before you tucked yourself in for bed. Sometimes he talked about the cases, only giving you bits of information and keeping out the truly horrific things. Other times, he talked about his life. It was hard at first, telling you about the darkest parts of him, how he was far more complex than he originally led you to believe, then it became easy. You took it in stride, showing him an empathy he never knew he craved so deeply. You comforted him over the phone, or in the library, and assured him you didn’t see him any differently than before. Told him you were still his friend.

His friend. Of all the things you said to him while he was vulnerable, that one was the only one that wounded him. You were a great friend, truly, but Spencer was closer to the realization everyday he didn’t want to just be your friend. On the nights he wasn’t away on a case, when he entered his empty apartment and prepared himself dinner alone, he missed your voice. He wanted you there always, more than someone should want a friend. He never thought about Derek, or Penelope, or JJ the way he thought about you. His team was his family and he loved them, but the way he felt about you was another thing entirely. You consumed him at times. When he should be thinking about a case or chatting with one of the team, something reminds him of you and suddenly he’s stuck in a loop of thinking about what you were doing, thinking, feeling. He was distracted, and the worse part of it all was that his team was starting to notice.

Spencer tried to be discreet, but sometimes as he sent a text under his desk or hidden alone in a room Derek would catch him and he’d have to come up with a fast excuse. It always sounded defensive and not quite convincing because Spencer was not a very good liar. The rest of the team was catching him lost in thought, which wouldn’t be as damning if it didn’t happen so often. He cared for you so much he couldn’t help but think of you all day. He likely would never stop talking about either if he wasn’t hiding your existence from his team. At first it was because he tried to keep you very separate from his work life, like his job at the FBI didn’t have to exist when he was with you and therefore you did not exist when he was at work. But now you’d infiltrated his life completely and there was no possible way to keep you separate. He hid you now because well. . . he was embarrassed. Clearly he was obsessed with you, he couldn’t deny it anymore, but you didn’t feel the same way. 

You were caring, kind, generous, empathetic, yes, but in love with him? Well you gave no indication you were. Often you would call him your friend, mention you were scared of relationships, and when he tried showing you he was interested in being more than your friend—getting closer to you, complimenting you, flirting with you—you got quiet and shied away, so he backed off. He wanted to be with you so desperately he put to use all the tips Derek had given him—the PG-13 ones at least—but none of it worked. Perhaps he wasn’t doing it right, or you just didn’t like him. He was trying hard to just settle with being just your friend.

“Oh my God, I hate this thing!” You hissed, slapping your hands over your face and groaning quietly into them. 

“I’m guessing you tried turning it off and on again?” Spencer grinned. He pulled out the seat to the computer next to you, hanging the strap of his messenger bag on the chair behind him. Your eyes glared at him between your fingers.

“Don’t make me hate you too, Spencer. That never works.” Well then the problem went beyond his ability to fix. “I just don’t understand how they can get so many viruses on a computer? Everyday I’m blocking new websites.”

Computer six, which conveniently was the computer with the least visibility from the front desk, was almost always in need of fixing. Mainly because of a group of teens who would come in on the weekends or after school to play around on it. Constantly you were blocking the unsecure, often dangerous or pornographic websites they frequented. How they found them all, you could not fathom. You were fairly good at fixing the computer with all the time you’d spent doing it and all the tutorials you had to research, but were truly stuck. It was almost a week of the computer being down and you had no luck repairing it. 

“You tried everything?” He asked, his smile dropping into a frown at your distress.

“Yes. I don’t know what to do anymore. Mrs. Wilson is on my ass about fixing it and she’ll never call the director to send someone to fix it because that costs money. And I’d have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting a new computer and I don’t even play.” You drug your hands down your face, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“I could get it fixed.” 

You let out an unstifled laugh, which he would be happy to hear if you weren’t laughing at him. “Spencer, you suggested turning it off and on.”

“No, I mean I could ask someone to fix it. A member of my team, Penelope, is a technical analyst. She’s very good with computers and she could fix it.” He didn’t want to ask Garcia, actually the last thing he wanted to do was get his team involved, but he hated even more to see you so upset and stressed. He was just your friend and that was all Garcia would see. 

Your mouth fell open and you waved your hand dismissively. “Oh no, I couldn’t bother her with this. She's probably so busy. I–I can handle it.”

Spencer smiled. You were so sweet, always determined on dealing with things so you didn’t have to put the weight onto others. It only made him want to help more. “She’d be doing me a favor. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help.”

“Are you sure?” Beyond the apprehension, he saw how hopeful you were. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll let you know when she can come fix it,” he said, watching the smile spread across your face. You were so elated, you reached over the space between the chairs to give him a hug, letting out a deep sigh of relief. 

“Thank you so much, Spencer,” you mumbled into his shoulder. He awkwardly patted your back, unsure exactly what to do with his gangly arms. He wasn’t too much of a hugger, neither were you, so it was the first time you’d ever hugged him. His cheeks warmed at the thought.

Unfortunately, he had to follow through on his promises. So the next day when he went into work he hung around the door to Garcia’s lair, repeating over and over in his head how he was going to ask. He opened the door with a knock and she swirled around in her chair to look at him, a megawatt smile beaming.

“Hey handsome, what can I do ya for?” She greeted, spinning a fuzzy orange pen between her fingers. 

Spencer wrung his hands in the doorway, halfway between coming in and running away. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Of course! What did you need me to look up?” She spun back in her chair, hands at the ready.

“It’s not that, it's a personal favor. A–A tech problem. Do you think you could help me with it this Sunday?” 

Slowly, Garcia tapped her heels on the floor to turn her spinny chair back towards Spencer, eyebrow quirked. “Okay, technophobe. What’s this tech problem because I didn’t think you owned a computer?”

“It’s a computer at the library I go to. It’s been out of order for a week now and they can’t seem to get it fixed,” he explained, continuing to fidget. 

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, gesturing at him with her fuzzy pen. “Is there not more than one computer at the library? Or are libraries really that popular still? I think you should just get a computer, Reid. I promise it’s not that scary and I’ll pick you a good one! The kind even old people know how to use—no offense. We can go—”

“Garcia,” he interrupted her rambling with a wince. Clearly he wasn’t going to get away with asking for her help so vaguely. “The library can’t afford to pay someone to fix it so I told the librarian I’d ask if you could. If you’re too busy, it’s alright.”

She seemed skeptical, mouth bobbing open and closed like she had more to say, but finally closed it with a simple nod. “I can fix it, of course I can fix it. JJ canceled our brunch plans Sunday so I can be there at 11:30.”

Spencer gave her a tight lipped smile and a nod. “Okay, I’ll send you the address. Thank you, Garcia.” He wanted to add that she probably shouldn’t mention it to the rest of the team, but knowing Garcia’s lack of subtlety and habit of being just a tad nosey, he figured that would only make it more suspicious and odd.

So he gave her a farewell and speed walked back to his desk, taking his seat with a heavy sigh of relief. Garcia may not be a profiler, but she knew him well and she had a bloodhound like nose for gossip. If he wasn’t careful, she would sniff out just how much he liked the librarian he mentioned so briefly. Then it would spread like wildfire around the office and Spencer would be safe from no one’s prying and teasing. 

It was the first Sunday he was nervous to go to the library. His palms were sweaty as he waited at the computer with you, you none the wiser. He tried to focus on you to calm down because you were always his source of comfort. His eyes trailed over your long skirt and t-shirt combo, making note of the way you kept touching your arms as if you were cold. No doubt you’d slip on the cardigan you kept behind the desk soon, but he assumed you wanted to look nice to meet Penelope, because you did look very nice. Your hair was out of its updo and if he looked hard enough at your face, which he did, he could tell you were wearing lipgloss and some other little bits of makeup. 

“You okay?” You asked him softly, eyes looking over his own face.

“I’m fine,” he blurted maybe a little too quickly because you looked unconvinced. Slowly you were learning his tells and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before you found out how fixated he was on you and you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. “I just. . . I hope Penelope can fix it for you.”

You smiled sweetly, looking away at the entrance. “I bet she can, but even if she can’t, it's okay. It was nice of you and her to try.”

He wanted to reassure you that he would always try for you, but Penelope came through the double doors, absolutely glowing like the sun. In mood, but also in outfit. Or maybe it was more like a sunflower? All Spencer knew was that it was very yellow and vibrant. She came rushing over when she saw him and you stand up to greet her.

“Hi, you must be Penelope. Spencer told me so much about you,” You greeted and immediately Spencer realized he messed up.

Garcia’s eyes ran over you, then went back and forth between you and Spencer. He could see the gears turning in her head. “Oh, hello!” She chirped, friendly as always but awkward because she heard nothing about you.

Quickly, Spencer introduced you to Penelope and both you and her shook hands before she put him out of his misery and asked what the problem with the computer was. She took a seat at computer six and you stood next to her, pointing out things on the screen.

“I have some kids that keep coming in and going on all these sketchy websites. I keep blocking them, but they keep finding new ones and it’s loading the computer up with viruses. Then it runs slow and freezes so often it’s unusable,” You shook your head as you explained, exasperated by it all. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot, but do you think you could fix it?”

“Oh, please. Those are some easy fixes! I’ll just remove the viruses and add some more blocking software not even tech savvy kids can get around.” Garcia was already typing at the computer, doing things on the screen Spencer didn’t bother to try and comprehend. He was looking at you as the grin yanked up your lips.

“Really? Thank you so much. I’ve been fighting with this damn thing for weeks. I’m not great with computers.”

“I think you’ve done pretty good so far. You’re much better than Reid, that’s for sure. Sorry fellow genius, but it's true,” she glanced back at him, almost remorseful but still carrying a smile.

You laughed, always eager to tease him. “When he’s on a computer I think he lied to me about having an IQ of 187. He needs my help finding research databases, pulling up old articles, everything but logging in, really.”

“Huh,” Garcia glanced back at him again, only to find his eyes averted and his hands stuffed into his pockets to stop their incessant fidgeting. He was caught and he knew it. He maybe. . . exaggerated how bad he was with computers to you at first, just to get you to come over and talk to him when he first started coming to the library after work, but unfortunately he didn’t know how to end the ruse. Garcia called him a certified technophobe, but even she knew he had those basic skills, especially since she’d seen him do it on his own before. 

“How long do you think it will take?” You asked, glancing over the rest of the computers to the desk. “I just have to get back to managing the front desk.”

“Only about a half hour. I’m going to do the other computers as well to save you some time blocking websites. You can go though, I got this.” She gave you a smile, gesturing for you to leave.

“Thank you again, Penelope. I’ll be back before you’re done,” you promised, fluttering away from the table swiftly to help someone standing at the front desk.

“So…” Garcia was looking up at Spencer impishly.

“So?” He asked, though he had a good idea of what was coming.

“Do you like her?” Her eyes were hopeful, lips spread into a grin. 

“Garcia. . .” he warned, pleading for her not to go any further. He didn’t want to have to lie, but he couldn’t tell her that he was hopelessly falling in love with you.

But that only sold it for her, her hands reaching off the keys to fan her face. “OMG. You do like her!”

He glanced around to see if you heard her exclamation, but you were busy talking to the man standing at the front desk. “Penelope, she’s my friend,” he tried to be firm in his assertion, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a whine.

“A very cute friend! Who seems like the sweetest person on earth. Oh, and she works in a library. So adorable—y'know—because you’re always reading? Are you sure she’s just a friend?” She launched into a ramble, too clouded by the idea that he may be interested in someone to recognize the hurt on his face.

“I’m sure. She’s… she doesn’t like me like that,” he sounded sad, he didn’t mean to, but he was. He had a very hard time hiding his feelings, and now Penelope heard it and was looking at him like he was a kicked puppy.

“Oh, well, I—really? She seemed so. . .” She was at a loss for words, watching as you walked past guiding the man from the desk over to the staircase, likely showing him where to find a specific genre. Penelope shook her head as you disappeared from view, redirecting her focus back to the screen and letting her hands fly back to the keyboard. “I should mind my business. Right. Bad Garcia.”

Spencer frowned, eyes lingering on where you vanished up the stairs. He pulled back out the chair beside her and slumped in it, avoiding her eyes. “Thank you, Garcia.”

He didn’t have to thank her for long though. 

She fixed the computer and you were so incredibly grateful you hugged her. Or rather, you hugged her back after Garcia enveloped you into her arms, so overwhelmed with your praise, but you seemed glad to let it happen. Even after she left, and a few days later the teens returned, they were upset to find the new restrictions on the computer they couldn’t bypass, much to your delight. Spencer was thankful for that, but he was much less grateful when only a week and a half later Garcia slipped up and mentioned you to the team.

He was wrapping up his paperwork fast, reading through documents at lightning speed and filling them out so quickly his handwriting was nearly illegible. But he promised he’d come to the library to see you after work because he was away on a case the past couple days including last Sunday. He was so invested in completing his paperwork he didn’t even notice Derek and Penelope passing him with cups of coffee. 

“Whoa kid, got a date you're running late for?” Derek joked, perching at Spencer’s desk to grin down at him with a teasing smile.

“Oooo, I bet it's that cute—” As the words came tumbling from Garcia’s pink lips, Spencer’s face ripped away from his paperwork to look at her, and with a look of horror she quickly cut herself off to sip from her mug.

Derek’s brows creased, looking between Spencer and Garcia with an amused bewilderment. “That cute what?” When Garcia avoided his eyes, drowning in her coffee, and Spencer’s cheeks turned pink, realization covered Derek’s face. “Oh, okay pretty boy, I see you! That must be why you’ve been on your phone so much. What cute girl have you been talking to?”

Spencer cleared his throat, turning back to his papers as he consolidated them from the cluttered mess into a neat pile. “No one.”

Derek laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “No, no, no. Don’t get all shy now, playa, spill.”

When Spencer refused to respond, continuing to shuffle about his papers, Derek narrowed his gaze onto Garcia, who could drink from her cup no longer and began coughing. It gathered the attention of a few other pairs of eyes in the office just in time for her to finish her choking and begin spilling.

“Okay! She’s this absolutely adorable librarian! She’s the sweetest thing and her style is so cute and I wanted to ask her where she got her glasses from, but I was too distracted because Reid totally likes her and thinks that she doesn’t like him, but I was trying to get all profiler on her because I thought ‘there’s no way she couldn’t like boy genius because he’s just as cute and they are so made for each other’ and—like you guys know, I’m no profiler—but I’m pretty sure she likes him!” Finally she took in a breath, practically hyperventilating and fanning her face.

Spencer gawked at her, wide eyed. “Penelope!”

She looked at him sympathetically, but it was Derek’s face that he focused on. His brows were high on his forehead, mouth gaping as he took all of her words in. “Okay, first of all: wow. Second of all: why do you think she doesn’t like you?”

Spencer chewed on his lip. He didn’t really want to explain himself to Derek and Penelope, two people known for their confidence and dating escapades, but he was cornered. Not only that, but he was becoming so desperate he found himself wanting their advice. “I–I don’t know. Whenever I try to show her I’m. . . interested, she gets quiet and awkward.”

“How have you been showing her you’re ‘interested?’” 

He shrugged, leg bouncing under the table. “Flirting with her I guess?”

Derek scoffed. “You guess?” When Spencer could do nothing but look away with a heavy sigh, Derek continued. “Look man, she could just be shy. I know it’s scary, but you have to just ask her out on a date. That's the only way you’re really going to know if she likes you.”

Spencer picked at a loose thread on his cardigan, voice quiet. “But what if she says no? I just. . .” He licked his lips, playing over the words in his head and wondering if he wanted to be so vulnerable to Derek and Penelope. “I like her so much. . .” he whispered.

Garcia cooed, tottering around the desk in her heels to wrap her free arm around Spencer. “Who could ever say no to you, handsome? I’m positive, she’ll say yes, I know that girl likes you!”

“Hey,” Derek said, getting Spencer to look up at him as Garcia released him. “You got nothing to worry about, pretty boy. Now you go to that library and ask her out to a nice fancy restaurant—which no pretty girl can refuse—and I’ll worry about this paperwork.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked meekly, but Derek and Penelope only reassured him and ushered him out of his seat. He was out of the office less than ten minutes later, getting into his car. He flipped down the sun visor to look at himself in the tiny mirror, frowning at his reflection. His hair was always a mess and he needed to shave. 

He flipped the visor back up with a sigh, putting his car in drive and taking himself to the library before he sat in the parking lot all night stressing. He didn’t have to ask you out, but he did have to go because he promised you he’d be there. . . and he missed you dearly.

The library was empty when entered. There were sometimes a few stranglers this late, but on a random Tuesday night the library was clear of everyone but you, bent over wiping down the tables for the night. His eyes roamed over you, breath catching in his chest like it always did when he first laid his gaze on you again.

“Good evening,” he greeted, trying not to startle you with his presence. 

You turned quickly, a smile taking over your bored face when you spotted him standing by the front desk. “Spencer! How was your flight this morning?”

“Fine. I finished the book on biological regulations and development, but I mostly just slept because we had a whole day of paperwork to catch up on.”

“And work today?” You asked, throwing a wet wipe in the trash and plucking out another as you moved to clean the next table.

“Like I said, paperwork. Very boring.” He untucked his hands from his pockets, setting his messenger bag down at the front desk and grabbing a wet wipe from the container to help you wipe down tables. He often helped you with your closing work when he arrived so late, especially on nights you had classes after work. “How about you?”

You shrugged, gesturing around the room with your hands. “It’s the library. Same thing everyday here.”

“That’s not true. What about the clown?” 

A laugh burst from you as you remembered the story you told him the other day on the phone, you curled up in bed and him sitting on a couch in a hotel room five states away. You stayed up late until he got back from the police station just to tell him about the man who came in dressed in a full clown get-up to print out coloring book pages for a birthday party he was running late to. It made your whole week and you just had to tell him, howling particularly hard about how Mrs. Wilson, after thoroughly wiping down the printer, printed out a notice to put on the front door instating a library dress code of no costumes. 

“The clown was probably the most interesting thing to ever happen in this library. That says something about how boring it is.”

“Is the FBI showing up everyday not interesting?” He mocked confused.

You gave him a playful glare over your shoulder. “Okay. I guess you can be the second most interesting thing to ever happen in this library. Right below the clown.”

Spencer chuckled. “I should be offended by that, shouldn’t I?”

“Feel how you want to feel, Spencer. But Bo-Bo is the only one who’s given me coloring book sheets.” You shrugged, playing nonchalance. 

“Oh, because I print those out so often at my job? If I did, there wouldn’t be enough crayons at the dollar store for you to color them all.” Maybe he was in a fake competition with a clown for your favor. Either way, when you ducked your head with a breathy giggle, he knew he won it. 

When you both finished wiping down the tables, he took out the trash while you set about turning off the lights, shutting down the computers, and other small tasks. He met you at the front desk as you collected your bag and jacket, pulling his messenger bag back over his own head. He held the door open for you as you both left the library and stood by your side as you locked the doors. 

“Thank you for helping me close,” you smiled at him as you tucked the keys into your bag.

“Of course.” He wanted to say it should have been Mrs. Wilson helping you, because the old bat usually took off an hour or so before close, but you brushed him off every time he suggested reporting her and he didn’t want to sour your mood. He also liked walking you to your car, especially when it was this late and dark, because the thought of anything happening to you was so devastating he couldn’t stand to think about it.

So he walked with you down the staircase and across the lot to where you parked your car early this morning and he pulled in next to you a little while ago. It was already dark, but the street lamp you parked your car under illuminated you and him as you stood under it, arms wrapped around yourself. You searched for something to say, he could see it in the way your lips twitched and your eyes roamed his face. For a moment, the sound of crickets and the eerie hum of night faded, and Derek’s words were thunder in his ears. He would never know unless he asked you, and he couldn’t live looking at your sweet face knowing he never even tried.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?”

Your eyes nearly as big as planets amplified by your glasses, which glinted off them as you nodded rapidly, lips parting to take in a sharp breath. “Yes!”

Spencer was taken aback. His ears buzzed and a tingling sensation filled his extremities. He was elated, but thrown off by your complete enthusiasm. “Wha–really?”

You shook your head at him, laughing breathily as if he stole the wind from you. “Yes, of course I do, Spencer. I–I’ve wanted. . .” Your eyes looked between his nervously.

“You wanted what?” He insisted, leaning in because he had to know what you’ve been thinking, what you’ve been wanting from him that he missed. 

You looked down shyly, picking at your nails despite how your fingers shook. “I wanted to ask you out when I first met you. When you were just some guy in the library, and I thought you were obviously flirting by trying to impress me but. . . then you were telling the truth and I–I was so embarrassed I was wrong and I thought you didn’t like me like that. . . and soon enough you weren’t just some guy, you were Spencer, and I–um, I couldn’t let myself ruin it.”

His hands gently took yours, stopping their anxious picking. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you, heart so full and beating so fast he heard it thrumming in his ears. “You couldn’t ruin anything. You’re so. . . perfect,” he mumbled, close enough to taste your air. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since you gave me that book. I saw you in every poem and reading your thoughts made me feel like I was in your head, feeling what you were feeling. I needed it after every case, I–I needed you. All I wanted was to ask you out but. . .”

He was at a loss for words, but you shook your hand, squeezing his hand in yours. “It’s okay, Spencer. . .” His eyes glanced down to your lips, but just as he considered leaning down to capture them with his, you ducked your head nervously again, softly letting go of his hands. Spencer reeled with disappointment he didn’t kiss you, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Um, I did give you that book on purpose. I think the most romantic thing on this Earth is poetry and. . . I hoped it was enough of a sign.”

He recovered quickly, excited just to know you returned his feelings. He sighed into the new open air between the two of you. “I knew it. You bewitched me.”

You giggled, a sweet sound that picked up as you met his eyes again, swatting at him with a hand. “No I didn’t!”

Your laugh dissipated and the two of you were standing in the parking lot, looking at each other under a streetlamp. “Saturday at seven?”

“What?”

“Our date? Is Saturday at seven okay?” He reiterated.

“Oh. Oh, yes. That’s a good time,” you stuttered, snatched from whatever daze you stared at him in. He smiled.

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll figure out the details?” He offered. You needed time to process it, he thought, because he knew he did. He would get home and sit on his couch, replaying every word from your lips and flutter of your lash in his head. Maybe that was the best part of an eidetic memory.

“Okay.” You nodded. He opened your car door for you and you climbed inside. “Good night, Spencer,” you hummed at him before closing the door.

He watched you leaving the parking lot before he got into his own car because he had to sit there for a minute, calming his pounding heart before he got out on the road. For the first time in a while, he was most excited for Saturday over Sunday.

[pixel-percy]

☕ Matthew Murdock's favorite barista happens to be his next-door neighbor & is now his girlfriend. They just can't get enough of each other. ☕

Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday

☕ Word Count: 919 ☕ Music Vibes: Seven by Jung Kook (feat. Latto) ☕ Warning(s): Smut (piv), mentions of blood/injury, & language ☕ A/N: I have nothing to say other than enjoy to my fellow Matthew Murdock lovers in chat lmao I planned an entire week of these little blurbs so they'll be up on their respective days! I hope you all enjoy ❤️

Monday

“I’ve only got 10 minutes,” you gasped into Matt’s mouth, one hand already pushing up your skirt and tugging down your underwear. You lifted yourself ever so slightly from the arm of your couch so the fabric could be slid down your legs, his lips never leaving yours during the process.

“You said that 10 minutes ago,” he replied, a cheeky smile apparent despite the back and forth of your kisses, biting, tasting. Your makeup was going to need a touch-up, your hair a redo, and the clock was running down before your shift technically started. Thankfully, owning your own business had its perks—like making your own schedule and allowing tardiness when the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen or his lawful counterpart, Matthew Murdock, wanted to be between your legs.

“Foggy’s not gonna be happy you’re late,” you muster. Matt’s hands found your hips, gripping them a bit roughly, thumbs digging into the dough of them. It was hard enough that it might bruise but you loved that.

“It’s only 20 minutes.” The words were mumbled as he wrapped his forearm around your lower back, and a squeak left you as he pulled your lower body toward him. Your head softly plopped onto the couch, a smirk on his lips when your eyes fell on his face.

“If you hadn’t been out on patrol so late last night we could’ve done this more—” He gave you a firm pull by your hips, a gasp escaping your lips, and positioned your back in a hedonistic arc on the sofa’s arm. 

“I’ll make it up to you when I get the chance,” he said and you knew he was good for it. If the last month or so of exclusively seeing each other proved anything is that the company and the sex were mutually spectacular. Even if Matt’s “job” sometimes got in the way or had him falling into your apartment at odd hours of the evening—which wasn’t unlike the first time you both met and he mistook your apartment for his. There was a lot of confusion and blood that night as you patched him up, but it led to this so you couldn’t complain.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you tease. In that moment you felt him pull you up—to which you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn’t long before his condom-covered cock pushed past your entrance, still gentle but with a purpose. A moan escaped your lips and your back arched, pulling up off the arm ever so slightly.

The sun was just high enough to pass the buildings next door and its rays illuminated you both through your half-drawn curtains. What a picture you two must have been. Your pleated skirt practically folded back against your exposed stomach, red sweater bunched up under your breasts, and Matt, still suited up, tie thrown across his shoulder, and buried inside of you. What a show for anyone nosey enough to look.

Matt’s grip on your thighs didn’t falter, even when you reached up to grab his wrists, nails digging a bit into his arm as you held on, pleasure already building up in you. You were never worried about Matt’s aim, as far as you had experienced, he never missed and this time was certainly no different.

“Shit,” he said, the momentum of his hips picking up with each thrust. As much you both wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and play hooky together, Matt had a pretty important case to figure out and you had coffee to serve. He also had nothing to prove to you—the first night you’d spent together confirmed that multiple rounds were not an issue and neither was pleasing you.

You came first, a convulsive sort of feeling, and Matt followed soon after like he always did. It wouldn’t surprise you at this point if he timed it somehow… He gently put you down, a bit breathless, and grabbed the back of the couch with one hand for support.

“You’re gonna be late,” you say, also breathless.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling himself out of you and stumbling back a little when your legs dropped from his back. You readjusted yourself on the seat and picked your underwear up from where they’d fallen onto the floor. Matt moved to your bathroom with the condom he was already tying off and you followed behind, a little slower, the heels of your boots hard against the floor.

Matt was fixing his suit when you entered, underwear twirling on your index finger—a pair of red lace, your favorites. Also, Matt’s. He smiled at your approach and set his tie in place before he turned to face you. Without a word, you took your underwear and slid it into one of the front pockets of his pants.

“Bring those back to me later, would you?” you asked, getting close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed and leaned down to place a similar kiss that got you into this situation in the first place. “I’ll think about it.”

Matt turned to leave the bathroom and you gave him a small pat on his ass, warranting a chuckle.

“Good luck on your case!” you shouted after him and received a ‘thanks!’ in return before the door to your apartment opened and closed promptly after. You turned back to the mirror in the background and nibbled on your bottom lip, a stupid grin plastered on your face as you started to address your hair.

[padfootagain]

Something Good (XIII)

Chapter 13: The Plan

Hello! Here is a new chapter for my Ben Barnes series!

We are back in Leeds and… hihihihihihihihihih!!!! You’re gonna like this chapter I think, an important one for Ben, for sure!

This chapter is quite long, but it wasn’t logical to cut it into two pieces so… you’ll have to bear with me.

Hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none for this chapter! Slow burn, professor AU.

Summary: Coming out of a divorce and trying to get used to being a single mom, while teaching your classes at University, you thought your life could not get more complicated than it already is. But when you are asked to take care of the theatre club with the colleague that you really can’t get along with, you realize that everything can still get ten times more complicated in your life. And when you start actually liking Professor Barnes, the troubles only grow exponentially…

Word Count: 5928

Masterlist for the series – Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Ben had a plan.

He needed to get over this stupid crush of his, this… ridiculous infatuation. He needed to go back to the way things were before. Not the annoyed part of your relationship, but the friendly part. The professional part.

So, after spending his Sunday tortured by the thought of you, he finally found the perfect plan. It was simple, but easy. It was simple, but would be effective. Because, after all, what he felt for you was a mere crush, nothing more. Absolutely nothing more than a silly crush that would be gone as quickly as it had appeared.

The plan was simple, yet it promised to be effective: Ben would avoid you at all cost.

After all, the only time during the week when he had to see you was for the theatre club on Thursdays. That was all. Perhaps a second meeting to get ready for the club? He would see you a grand total of three hours during the week. It was most definitely not enough to keep such a ridiculous crush alive. Ben was pretty certain that everything would be back to normal by the end of the week, two weeks at the most.

So, when he stepped into his office on Monday, he was determined to remain there all morning, and to resist his urge to drop by your office just to have a chance to see you, even if for just a few minutes.

But it quickly went wrong…

His quiet and tranquillity lasted a strong thirty minutes, until he was startled by a soft knock on his door. And when he looked up, you were standing on the threshold of his office, a bright grin on your face, as if you truly were unbearably happy to see him and God knew Ben wished you could always look at him like that…

He cleared his throat, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

“Hi, Ben!” you chimed, walking inside before he would invite in.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

He tried hard not to smile too much, but couldn’t help himself when he saw you hurrying inside, taking a seat he hadn’t offered yet, with an excited smile on your lips.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought that, maybe, you were so excited because of him…

“Did you have a good Sunday?” you asked, starting with some small-talk.

“I did,” Ben nodded. “Restful.”

That was a blatant lie, he had barely slept in the last forty-eight hours because he couldn’t stop thinking about you…

“You?”

“Just spent some time with Sally. Watched Mulan, for a change,” you joked, making him laugh too easily.

He felt giddy. Like a kid. Like an infatuated teenager.

“But I was coming to see you with a purpose!” you took a folded piece of paper out of your purse and handed it to Ben, who accepted it with a puzzled frown. “Sally made this for you.”

Ben’s frown deepened although there was a smile tugging at his lips now.

He unfolded the piece of paper, to reveal a messy painting of red flowers, very similar to the ones Sally had showed proudly on that video call in London. Ben’s frown broke into a grin, and he couldn’t refrain a chuckle.

“This is adorable.”

“She said – and I quote – ‘Ben is nice with you, mummy, so we need to be nice with him. And he didn’t get a painting. So, he needs one’.”

“That’s amazing. Please, thank her for me.”

“I will. She sent me on a mission to give it to you today, you know?”

“Really?”

“She reminded me at least five times to give it to you and went as far as to check herself if it was in my purse.”

Ben exploded with laughter, the sound loud and luminous, making your heart skip a beat.

“She’s something else,” he commented. “Well, I love her gift, you can tell her she’s a born artist.”

“I will,” you giggled.

You spent a moment simply staring at each other, and found yourselves unable to look away.

Your eyes were so pretty. And your eyelashes seemed so endearing for some reason under the neon lights of his office…

You were the first to break the spell, suddenly getting up and shying away while Ben was blushing profusely.

“Alright, I’ll let you work now,” you added in a hurry before turning toward the door.

And Ben was so disappointed to see you leave… he looked for something to say to hold you back, so you could come back on this chair where he hadn’t invited you in the first place, so you could keep on talking despite the fact that he had a million things to do to prepare his paper…

You turned around one last time, just before stepping across the door, and Ben’s heart stopped altogether, suspended to the words you hadn’t even pronounced yet…

“Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Ben grinned. So bright, you were almost blinded by it.

“Sure, I’d love that.”

“I have a class until 12:30.”

“Just drop by when you come back. We’ll go to the cafeteria together.”

It was your time to grin.

“Okay! See you later!”

Before he could say anything else, you had walked away, still grinning, looking excited… God, did he wish it could be because of him…

He heaved a sigh, letting himself completely collapse into his chair.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He needed to get over you… what was he doing? He should have refused to eat with you…

He looked down at Sally’s painting again. There were traces of her tiny fingers here and there, imprinted in red paint. Messy brush strokes all over the paper to shape irregular petals of all sizes.

He smiled fondly at the painting, and when he put it away in his drawer, he was careful with it, delicate, aware to be holding something precious. He gave it one last fond glance before closing the drawer.

Tomorrow. He would start properly avoiding you tomorrow…

He could enjoy one more day basking in your radiant presence.

Tuesday was not much of a success either. It wasn’t Ben’s fault though. When he stepped into the cafeteria around eleven to grab a coffee, he did try to back away and abort mission altogether…

… but you had spotted him before he could run for his life.

“Hi, Ben!”

You gave him a small, adorable wave, how was he supposed to resist?

His two-minutes break turned into fifteen minutes chatting with you, until it was time for him to get ready for a class.

“Do you want to have lunch with me and Jas today?” you asked him before he would leave.

“Oh, it would have been nice, but… My class ends at half-past one today. I’m not going to make you wait for so long. Sorry.”

He had never been happy about having lunch late before, but this gave him the perfect excuse…

But you merely shrugged.

“We can wait for you, it’s no trouble.”

Ben froze, frowning a little.

“I… are you sure?” he asked in a stutter, taken aback.

“Of course! Drop by my office when you come back, okay?”

“Sure…”

It turned out that, unsurprisingly, Jasmine didn’t want to wait for so long to get lunch, and ended up eating lunch with other colleagues.

But you waited. When Ben arrived, you welcomed him with the brightest of smiles, grabbed your lunchbox and asked how his class had been. He wasn’t surprised to find that Jasmine had already eaten, but he was surprised to find you waiting for him.

You had forgotten your cutlery, he handed you his fork and ate with his spoon instead.

And he wondered why he was so touched by it all. It wouldn’t have bothered him at all to wait for you to have lunch.

Maybe he wasn’t so used to feel like he was enough for anyone to make any kind of efforts to be with him…

And it was so nice of you to have waited…

Tomorrow. He would start properly avoiding you tomorrow…

He could enjoy one more day basking in your radiant presence.

Wednesday came and he was the one to offer for the two of you to eat lunch together. It hid a devilish plan of his: you needed to talk about the club, and he intended to kill two birds with one stone, and to avoid having a proper meeting with you during the afternoon by working at lunch.

It backfired completely, though.

You heaved a frustrated sigh as you noticed that you had forgotten to bring a fork and spoon… again.

The cafeteria was quiet, although there were quite a lot of people there, but the conversations were calm and the voices low. It didn’t really fit your current state of mind.

Ben merely chuckled as he handed you his fork.

“Why don’t you leave some in your office, just in case?”

“I always forget to do that too.”

You rubbed your eyes, heaving a sigh. You seemed exhausted today, and Ben wondered why. You were still kind, still smiling, but your eyes weren’t shining as much as usual. Dark bags dug into the skin under your eyes.

“Rough night?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Nightmares.”

Ben was cautious when he asked his next question.

“What kind?”

But you shook your head.

“Nothing new. Never mind.”

He didn’t insist when you guided the conversation away, settling on the club instead.

“We have so much work to do for the club too,” you moaned. “We need to find a way to play music for tomorrow. And for the rest of our sessions. And tomorrow we’re assigning roles and…”

But Ben interrupted you, feeling that you were spiralling, as your voice sounded more and more distressed, your throat tightening.

“I’ll bring my guitar tomorrow, and the choir has a synthesizer, some drums, a few of these. I’ve asked them, we can borrow their stuff as much as we want. And the kids have prepared their song, you can trust them on that. They take this thing seriously.”

“I know. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

But you were surprised when Ben chuckled.

“Why on Earth would you disappoint them?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a little foolish now.

Ben shook his head, a fond smile on his lips.

“You’re doing great, with the club, with… everything, really. You’re doing great, don’t worry. Besides, I’m here too. I’ll help.”

You weren’t sure if he was talking solely of the club now, or if he was talking of something more… you weren’t certain.

He knew he didn’t mean just the club though, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

When lunch was over, you felt better. You were laughing again, and Ben didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his office, and he didn’t want to have to wait till tomorrow to see you again…

His plan backfired, because when you waved at him as you walked towards your office, Ben didn’t have any excuse to see you again.

Thursday was the day of the theatre club. You had so much stuff to do and to decide, but the most urgent matter was to assign roles. You and Ben had brought a guitar and a synthesizer, and a few students had brought their instruments as well, even if you had not asked them to. They had gathered the previous week, even though you and Ben were in London, and had already decided on some of the roles, some people volunteering for them.

It was a lot of fun. It was busy and a little chaotic, but in the end everyone was more or less laughing, and joking around.

You were surprised by Ben’s musical skills. He didn’t seem fully at ease playing the piano, but he was more than good enough to go through the song, you guessed he must have prepared for it.

And he did. He could also play the guitar, and it was amazing to see him talking with some of the students about music, especially with Nathaniel and Roberta, who seemed to share a passion for bass guitar.

And you couldn’t control the way butterflies erupted throughout your stomach, the way your heart stumbled in your chest, the way you felt heat spreading all over your frame at the sight of Ben’s form hunched upon his guitar, a bright smile on his lips…

He seemed to adore music, to adore playing… it was amazing to see him smile so brightly, looking so happy.

He seemed more relaxed than usual too. You struggled to swallow when you caught him popping one more button of his shirt open; and you did your best not to stare, but you failed quite miserably.

Both you and Ben were quite surprised at how talented some of these kids were. May they be playing an instrument or singing, almost all of them would have already been able to hold their ground on a stage.

You sang along a few times, just for fun or to help a couple of shy students, and Ben was surprised. Your voice was lovely. You weren’t singing with your full lungs, but the sound was pleasant nonetheless, even if it remained shy. But then, why was he surprised in the first place? He loved listening to your voice, no matter if you were talking, whispering or singing. He shouldn’t have been surprised at all…

Nathaniel ended up being cast as Christian, the vote was unanimous. After a second performance, Giselle was chosen to play Satine. The rest of the group was divided through the other roles. Daniel was ecstatic when he was chosen to play Harold Zidler, making everyone laugh.

“I need to grow a moustache!”

“You don’t have to,” Ben laughed.

“Oh, I will! I will! Have you seen his moustache? I want to get that too…”

“Are you sure you can grow a moustache like that?” Nathaniel teased him, earning a shove that sent him flying off the table where he was sitting.

Everyone exploded with laughter, including Nathaniel.

And when Ben turned to you, basking in the warmth of your laughter, studying the way your nose was scrunching a little bit, the lines at the corner of your eyes, the curve of your lips… He was terrible at hiding the blush in his cheeks, the dreamy glint in his eyes, the tenderness in his smile.

He was so terrible at it that several students exchanged a curious glance.

What was happening between their two teachers?

Friday came with the promise of the weekend and some well-deserved rest.

When you came knocking on Ben’s door at noon, you didn’t even have to ask him if he wanted to join you for lunch. He simply grinned, asked you how you were doing, stood up and grabbed his lunchbox.

He handed you some cutlery without a word, cheeks all red but with an amused smile on his lips. You thanked him shyly, trying to hide your reaction from Jasmine, but you failed quite miserably.

You chatted happily with a bunch of your colleagues throughout lunch, and yet your gaze kept on drifting back to Ben on its own accord. And Ben was quiet, not because he didn’t have much to say, but simply because he was too busy looking at you to listen properly to the conversation.

When it was time to go back to work, Ben had completely forgotten about his meeting with his PhD student Henry, too busy chatting with you about this movie he wanted to see this weekend. He didn’t seem to notice either that your office was in the opposite direction, he enjoyed your presence too much for that.

“Oh! Hello, Henry! How are you?” you greeted the young man with a warm smile, and Ben finally noticed his student waiting for him by the door of his office.

Henry seemed quite taken aback, but smiled nonetheless.

“Huh… Hi! I was just waiting for Ben, actually. We have a meeting…”

Ben’s eyes grew round, and he checked his watch.

He was fifteen minutes late.

“God, Henry! I’m so sorry, I completely forgot!” Ben apologized, blushing hard and hurrying towards his office now.

He unlocked the door and let his student walk in before turning to you again.

“I…”

He wanted to ask for a drink. He wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to the cinema with him or to have a walk or… anything… anything as long as he could see you a little more, even if it were for mere minutes…

But you were faster than him.

“Well, have a good weekend, then, Ben!” and he was almost certain that you were reluctant when you spoke your goodbye.

“You too… have a nice weekend.”

You gave him one last smile, before turning around to leave. And Ben watched until you had disappeared around the corner, he couldn’t help it.

He heaved a sigh, staring for a moment longer at the spot that you had occupied and then left empty. At long last, he walked inside his office and sat down.

“So… Henry. Huh… wait a second…”

He looked for the right notebook, then flipped the pages.

“Ha yes, last time we started discussing the…”

“Wait, Ben.”

The professor looked up, surprised. He pushed back his glasses upon his nose.

“Before we start… I really need to know what the hell just happened.”

Ben frowned hard.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“About you and Y/N, of course!”

Ben blushed fiercely, he couldn’t help it. He clenched his jaw, averting his eyes and clearing his throat.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“Ben… please! Last time I saw the two of you together you were ready to cut each other’s throats! And now… are you sleeping together?” Henry asked, looking excited.

“Of course not!” Ben hissed, looking at the door, but he had closed it before entering his office.

“Oh my God… you have a crush on Y/N…”

“Of course not! Stop it!”

“Wow… I had not seen this one coming. Does she feel the same? Have you asked her out? Oh. My. God…. London… did you two go on a date in London? Did you…”

Henry gave Ben a suggestive look, and it was too much. Way too much for Ben.

“Shut up!”

“But does she feel the same? Have you already asked her out?” Henry insisted.

He noticed the flash of pain and discomfort that crossed Ben’s features, and his excited expression was replaced by a worried one.

When Ben replied, his voice was frozen, impersonal… it sounded so unlike him…

“Henry, do I really have to remind you that I’m your boss and that you can’t ask me questions like that?”

“But I…”

“One more word and I’ll have you fired. Is that clear enough?”

Henry froze, mouth dropping open in shock. A mixture of astonishment, of hurt, of anger as well.

Perhaps he had crossed a line, but Ben was a friend. They had gone to drink beers together, they had spent hours talking about their personal lives… it wasn’t such a stretch for Henry to ask Ben about you.

Why was he reacting this way?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his shoulders dropping.

He noticed the way Ben’s eyes filled with tears though, and all traces of anger left him.

Ben looked away in a hurry, hiding his reaction, and cleared his throat, pretending to read something on his notebook, when he couldn’t see anything, tears blurring his vision.

“Ben? You’re okay?”

“Of course.”

“We… we can do this next week if you want. I didn’t really find anything interesting this week.”

Ben nodded, mumbling a thank you and goodbye.

“Can I do something for you, Ben?”

“I’m just fine, Henry. I’m just tired.”

It was a blatant lie, and Henry knew it. But he didn’t push it. Instead, he got up, and left without a word.

And Ben felt so ashamed for snapping at his friend this way. But then again, as soon as the door closed, Ben had to take his glasses off so he could brush some tears away.

Henry’s words rang in his ears again and again and the answer kept on being shouted in his head…

Does she feel the same? Does she feel the same? Does she feel the same?

Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

When Ben looked up again, he caught his own dim reflection in his blank computer screen, undefined yet still him. Barely him at all though, after so many changes.

He struggled to swallow, his throat too tight.

How could she? You’ll never be enough…

Saturday passed in a blur.

Ben was still plagued by his conversation with Henry, no matter how short it had been. He could feel his old insecurities coming up all over again. You had shushed them a little during the week, but he had been a fool for thinking that it could last, that he could do it… that he could lean into these feelings. He couldn’t. It was ridiculous, and dangerous and…

His first plan was the right one. The one he needed to go with. He needed to get over this silly crush of his, and to do that, he had to stop spending time with you.

And now, it was the weekend, it was the perfect occasion to stay away.

So, Ben kept himself busy. He went to the cinema, went out with a few friends, called his family.

On Sunday morning, he rested a bit, too tired after his night out with his friends, but he decided to go for a walk in the afternoon. He opted for Roundhay Park, as he loved running there. He disregarded the potential explanation for his choice being that Sally had mentioned that park the previous week. Besides, the little girl said she was going to go there with her father next week, so Ben was in the clear. There was no chance he would stumble upon you there.

Or was there?

It was sunny despite the biting cold. His warm breath was making his glasses blurry with condensation, but he didn’t mind that much. He took a long walk along Waterloo lake, enjoying the peaceful sound of the water moving with the wind and the happy laughter of children feeding ducks and running around in the grass. He had brought a book, and decided to settle for a while at the Lakeside Café. He was in sight of the coffee shop when he heard a laughter he recognized in a second. And sure enough, a mere moment later, someone was shouting his name. A child…

“Look mummy! It’s Ben!”

And he shouldn’t have turned around, because he needed to get over you. And he needed to control himself and to resist and to not see you…

But he turned anyway, despite his brain, despite reason, despite logic, even despite his heart. He couldn’t help it. It was too much to ask from him to act as if you weren’t there…

“Oh! Hi, Ben!”

You waved at him, grin bright and welcoming as ever, looking adorable in your warm clothes.

And Ben wanted to cry at the mere sight, but he smiled instead.

Sally was pulling you towards Ben by the hand, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Well, hello, Sally!” he waved at the girl, and she grinned up at him.

“It’s funny seeing you here,” you said, but there was no trace of sarcasm in your voice. You were genuinely happy to see him.

“Yeah… same for you, actually. I thought you had planned a quiet Sunday, and that Sally was going to the park next week with Liam.”

“It was the plan! But Sally wanted to come and… well… it’s always nice to come at this time of the year. With all the trees losing their colourful leaves… and it’s quieter than usual too, thanks to the cold.”

You were grinning, you looked so happy to see him…

Were you? Were you that happy? Or was he imagining things? Like he was imagining a perfect life with Julia…

His resolution came back to his mind, and his smile was quite tight when he spoke again.

“Well, I hope you have a nice afternoon together.”

You frowned a little at that, but then again… he was probably busy. Perhaps he wasn’t even alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you nodded. “Come on, angel! Let’s go see the ducks.”

“But…” Sally turned to Ben again, giving him her most adorable puppy eyes. “Do you want to come see the ducks too?”

Ben struggled to swallow, but he shook his head. He forced a smile, his hands tightly closed in fists.

“No, I think your mom would prefer for the two of you to spend the afternoon together…”

But just as he silently complimented himself for his great excuse, you destroyed all his plans.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’d love it if you spent the rest of the afternoon with us!”

“Yes! Please, Ben!”

“I… I don’t know… I don’t want to bother you or…”

Your smile faltered, and he hated himself for being the reason for it.

“No, it’s okay,” you answered, voice shy and fragile all of a sudden, and Ben frowned at your change of tone, from excitement to sadness. “We’re the ones bothering you. I’m sorry. Let’s go, Sally.”

“But…”

“Ben is having a nice time now, let’s leave him alone. Come on.”

You pulled your daughter away, waving at Ben as a goodbye… but the two of you seemed so disappointed and Ben…

… Ben was heartbroken as he watched you leave.

And just like he failed on Monday, he failed to forget you once again. How could he push you away? You were… everything.

He thought for a second about what he wanted. Safety? To forget about his crush? To forget about you? To go back to his quiet life?

But the answer was none of the above. It was perfectly clear and obvious.

I want Y/N.

Perhaps he wasn’t enough, and perhaps you didn’t feel the same, and perhaps he was getting himself into too much trouble, but it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, he felt miserable at the mere idea of walking away now.

So… what was the point?

“Actually…”

You turned around as you heard him, frowning a little. You had taken but a few steps, you could still hear him loud and clear without him needing to raise his voice.

“I’m freezing,” he went on, trying to hide the way he was suddenly out of breath. “I was about to get a coffee. Would you like one?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

Slowly, a smile formed on your lips again. Meanwhile, Sally was overexcited already.

“Mummy! Can I get a hot chocolate? Pleeeeeeaaaaaase!!!!”

You fondly laughed at her, nodding.

“Yes, you can get a hot chocolate.”

Sally jumped up and down in excitement, letting you guide her towards the coffee shop.

And it was lovely. It was more than lovely, actually, it was happy. You felt so calm, the way you only felt when Ben was near. And he felt warm and safe, the way he only felt when you were there.

You played with Sally, listened to her babble away about school, and you and Ben talked for a while too while Sally was playing with a couple of toys you had brought. And it was easy. Everything was easy with you, when on paper, it should have been complicated. But it wasn’t, not really. It was made simple by how happy he felt talking with you, and laughing with you… Ben reckoned he had not been this happy in a long, long time.

You ended up going to see the ducks and swans and the geese after your warm drink. Ben protected Sally from a goose at one point, earning himself a nasty nip at his wrist. But he didn’t really mind. Sally was a little scared after that, so you walked across the grass instead, played some tag, and you were surprised at how easy it was for Sally to play with Ben.

She was running away, laughing like crazy, while Ben was threatening to catch her and tickle her. When he caught up with her, he lifted her up above his head a couple of times, making her laugh even more.

When Ben turned around, laughing with your daughter in his arms, you had tears in your eyes, and he frowned at the sight, afraid he had gone too far, done something wrong…

“Are you alright?” he asked, gently putting Sally down.

But you nodded, grinning now, despite the tears you were brushing away.

“Mummy! We tickle!”

Sally rushed towards you, hands up in a grabbing gesture, and you laughed at her, running away.

Your daughter turned to Ben, then pointed at you.

“Ben! We must tickle!”

He laughed, shaking his head with infinite fondness, before nodding.

He followed your daughter as she ran after you, and you let yourself be caught by your daughter. You weren’t expecting to stagger so much as you laughed though, and as you lost your balance, you expected to fall. But you didn’t.

Instead, you were caught with ease, in a gentle hold, resting against something hard…

When you looked up, it was to meet Ben’s dark eyes and get lost in them.

Hands splayed on his chest, looking dishevelled in an adorable way, you looked up at him and he fell into your eyes. He stumbled into them and found himself trapped, with no chance of escape…

His hold on you tightened a little without him noticing when his gaze drifted down to your lips. And he wondered how they tasted like, and how soft they could be… And when his eyes fell onto the edge of your jaw, and the tiny bit of skin that peeked out from under your scarf, he wondered how your skin tasted like, and how you would sound if he pressed his lips to the pulse of your neck…

You took a step back, and he shook himself out of his thoughts, blushing fiercely, but it was easy to blame it on the cold. It was harder to find an excuse for the way he flexed his hands, for the way his breathing was shallow now, for the way his heart was racing…

And when he looked up at you again, his heart seemed to expand in his chest into something warm and radiant and too big for his ribcage. And he was stunned by the feeling, he didn’t really understand it at first, it was too overwhelming for him to do so…

You cleared your throat, smiling shyly.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, rubbing your palms against your thighs.

“You… you’re welcome…”

And he kept on staring at you. He kept on staring because he couldn’t look away. The whole world could have crumbled, and Ben would not have moved a muscle. He was too stunned for that.

And he wondered what that all meant, what was he feeling? It was just a crush… a silly crush… just a crush…

“Mummy, look! Ben, look! A big duck!”

You turned to Sally again, who was pointing at a bird a few meters away.

And Ben shook himself, pushing his thoughts and feelings to the side.

He joined you once more, looked at the duck with Sally, crouching down next to her and pointing at the colours on the feather, talking in a soft, soothing voice.

You were supposed to stay for only an hour, and Ben was supposed to head home early, but you only left the park because Sally was growing tired and the light was beginning to decline, the sun setting in lines of gold and red. Ben chuckled as a leaf got caught in your hair, and you were surprised when he reached to take it away, but you didn’t protest. You didn’t protest either when he pressed his palm against the strands of hair that had been messed by the leaf as he pulled it away. And you didn’t protest when his hand lingered on your hair for too long.

Ben was ready to explode, feeling the soft strands under his palm and fingers, your warmth radiating through his skin…

You walked to your car, and Ben helped you to fasten Sally’s seatbelt in the backseat. You turned to him one last time as you closed the door, before you would walk around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you told him. “I’m glad we met randomly, like this.”

“Me too,” Ben grinned. “It was fun.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… everything, I think.”

Ben frowned, not understanding, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to ask you what you meant. Because, the next second, you were resting a hand on his shoulder, and going on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Warm breath against his beard. The pressure of your fingers on his shoulder, that he could feel despite his warm coat. And then the softness of your lips so… so soft. Your hand left his shoulder, coming up to cup his cheek instead, so you could press your lips a little harder against his skin, and he closed his eyes. A mere reflex, he didn’t even notice that his eyelids were fluttering and coming down. He leaned into your touch without noticing, because he couldn’t have, even if he had wanted to. Ben’s brain had ceased to function altogether. He could barely breathe at all, his entire body on fire and his heart stumbling in his chest and failing to keep a rhythm and…

… and then you were gone.

Your fingers slipped away from his beard, touch gentle, feathery. Your lips left him and were replaced by the cold wind of November.

When he opened his eyes again, he fell into yours.

You were smiling. And you were… you were…

Everything…

“Bye, Ben.”

Your voice was so tender, so soft… a little deeper than usual, he noticed it. He wasn’t able to think enough to understand why, though. Instead, he smiled, mimicking you.

“Bye, Y/N.”

You walked away, turned around and walked over to the door by the driver’s seat, and climbed inside. Only when the engines started was Ben able to move, and he walked to his own car.

When you drove past him and waved, and when Sally waved at him too with a toothy grin, he waved back at the two of you.

He climbed inside his car, locked the doors, and let out a long, deep breath.

His heart was beating frantically, and despite the minutes that had flown by, he could still feel the burn of your skin against his, the weight of your lips, hear the staggering of your breath as you pulled away, and the way the dying light of sunset got caught in your eyelashes and… and…

And that feeling in his chest…

He let out a sharp breath when the realization struck him… chasing all air from his lungs as efficiently as a punch in the stomach.

Because he knew. He knew what that all meant, what he felt… and it wasn’t a mere crush, it was so much more, it was…

Oh…

Oh, no…

***************************

Taglist: @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @kpicard @rhapsodyonthethames @idek-what-to-put

[heavenlyakin]

Chemist on Campus

Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader - College AU

Word count: 3k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: vaginal sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, use of 'good girl', and generally dirty things.

A/n: I don't think I posted this before my hiatus so I'm posting it here. If I did already, sorry you're getting it again on this account. I hope you enjoy it! Also, the title is literally just song lyrics, this has nothing to do with chemistry.

--

The breeze hitting your cheeks, the crisp autumn air, and the warm coffee in your hand has become a routine part of your day. It wasn’t that these things hadn’t existed before you started college, but now that you spent most of your morning walking from your dorm to class to the next class and then back to your dorm again. You just spent more time outside than in the confines of a stuffy, overcrowded classroom.

How had you survived 18 years of that? You couldn’t fathom having to go back to that life ever again. Thank god you had no plans or reason to.

Adjusting your earbuds, you smile as Novacane by Frank Ocean starts to play. This song might as well be another part of your routine, given that you had added it to all your playlists in the last few weeks. It wasn’t new or anything your friends were playing in the dorms or at parties, but something about the beat just made you happy. It made you feel motivated, plus some of the lines made you giggle.

Someone steps in front of you as you’re about to cross the courtyard of the student union, a microphone is thrust in your face. You remove an earbud and pause the song. His hazel eyes meet yours, and you smile politely.

“What song are you listening to?” Oh, you notice his friend with the camera now. You’ve seen them before on TikTok doing this. He’s a lot taller in person than you had thought.  

“Uh,” you hold up the screen, letting him see. “Novacane, Frank Ocean.”

“Nice, have a good day!” He calls after you as you continue your walk.

You sneak a few peaks back at him and his friend, noticing his eyes are following you even with his friend talking to him. You turn around, cheeks warming, and rush to get to class. You make a mental note to check TikTok later to see if you make the cut for his account. How hadn’t you recognized it was your campus he was filming on before?

Regardless, you don’t have time to think about that now. The professor walks in, dropping her bags on the table and smiling at everyone in the lecture hall.

“What do we know about basic literature tropes so far?” She asks and hands shoot up.

--

Reiner, that’s his name, you notice as you scroll through his account. He hasn’t posted today, but you start watching more of the videos, starting to pay attention to the surroundings and feeling silly for just now noticing the familiar buildings and scenery that makes up your campus. You roll on your stomach, bedding shifting and crumpling up even more than before.

“Whatcha watching?” Your roommate muses, looking over at you from her desk.

“Oh, just a TikTok. I think I met this guy today and might be in one later.” You tell her and her eyes grow larger.

“Oh!” She crosses the room to peak at your phone. “I’ve seen him all over campus. I think he belongs to one of the frats and they run that page together.” She tells you, always a source of information.

“Do you know which one?” You ask, locking your phone and letting it drop on your pillow.

“Sorry, I just listen to rumors. I don’t ever follow through on them or go to the parties.” She shrugs, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Buuuut…” she elongates the word, “my sources say they have them Thursday through Sunday. You just have to get there before they’re overcrowded and shut down.”

“Well, we just have to go check it out for ourselves then.” You say, smiling wide. “Afterall, I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”

She starts laughing, shaking her head slightly. “We shall see,” she says hesitantly. “You meet the guy one time, and you want to hook up already?”

“Is there anything wrong with that?” You frown, nudging her shoulder with your fist.

“As long as I don’t have to leave the comfort of my room this time, I couldn’t care less who you hook up with.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh and open your phone again. She’s right, maybe this time you won’t have to beg her to let you have the room. You’re sure the frats have more than enough space for a one-night stand, and maybe even a bed bigger than the twin in your dorm.

--

Friday nights in the dorm have a buzzing energy about them that you’ve started to get addicted to. All down the hall doors are open with music playing from them. Many of the girls offer to do anyone and everyone’s makeup or hair for the evening. Clothes are even swapped, sometimes tossed down the hall and from room to room. Other floors aren’t like this, you realized that a few weeks ago when you were invited to play games with a friend. You’re glad this floor has something special.

“Are you ready yet?” Your roommate asks, and you nod while applying a layer of gloss. You finally convinced her to come out to this party with you.

“All done,” you toss it in your small purse. “Wow, you look… hot!”

“Thanks.” She looks you up and down. “You look like you’re ready to get fucked.”

“Slutty would have been a better term,” you giggle, pushing her out the door.

You picked to live in the dorm closest to campus, and by default, the frat houses. The walk is short and there’s already a sea of people on the streets. The older students all seem to be going the opposite direction than you, heading towards downtown with the bars, clubs, and other places you’ve heard of but yet to venture into. Honestly, you don’t think you will until your friends also do. All of which, are perfectly content with the frats and house parties for now.

This one is not unlike any of the other you attend. Each night you go, it’s just added to a memory of blurring lights, overwhelming sensations, and little to remember once the hangover settles in the next day. Those are far more memorable, by far.

Your eyes scan the crowded living room, looking for the familiar build and blonde hair you’ve decided is tonight’s conquest. He’s not here. You push through the crowd, drinks spilling on your already dirty shoes. The kitchen is less crowded, spilling into the dining room which is abandoned except for one person sitting at the table.  

There he is.

Reiner sits leaning forward, his elbows on the table while he looks through his phone. The blue light illuminates his face, a frown across his brow piques your interest. You fill a cup with the punch on the counter, grabbing a second cup for Reiner at the table.

“Hey,” you say loud enough to draw his attention.

He looks up and smiles, so you slide the cup across the table to him. “Oh, thanks.” He takes a sip then eyes you again. “We met earlier, right?”

You nod, sitting on the seat adjacent to him. Smoothing the pink skirt over your thighs, you watch as his eyes watch your fingers, moving down the supple skin of your thighs. “Yeah, you asked what I was listening to.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you bite your bottom lip nervously. “Oh… that’s right. I do so many of those, it becomes a blur sometimes.”

“Oh,” your brows furrow and you take a long sip from your cup. Whatever confidence you had going into this tonight, you’re losing quickly. He doesn’t seem like he’s up for what you had planned and now it’s just awkward.

“It’s not that-“ He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, his bicep flexing. “Sorry, that probably came off really bad,” he laughs. “I didn’t mean that you’re not interesting or anything… I should probably just start over…” you notice the nervousness when he speaks, something you find incredibly endearing. “I’m Reiner.”

“-----,” you smile, putting your right hand over his left on the table.

You squeeze it softly, reassuring him hopefully. He responds by turning his hand, so his palm is against yours. Mission accomplished.

“Do you not like crowds?” He asks while intertwining your fingers with his.

“They don’t bother me, I just found something more interesting here.” You can’t help the sly smile that graces your face. “What about you? Sitting in here all alone.”

“Honestly, these get boring after a few years.” He shrugs, leaning closer. “So, what is it that you found so interesting?” His smile isn’t nervous or innocent now.

“You,” you say sweetly.

Standing, you manage enough bravery to move closer. Reiner turns in the chair, making it easy for you to straddle his thighs and sit yourself down on him. His hands rest lightly on your hips. You drape your arms around his neck as he leans back in the chair to look up at you.

“What about me?” He asks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. So typically male to fish for a compliment this way.

“Dunno,” you lie, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. You note the way his sculpted chest feels against your breasts, and the tightness growing in his pants against your core. “Maybe I just thought you’d be a good ride.”

His eyes close before his lips touch yours. His kiss is hungry, full of need and desire. The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, his right hand trailing down to your ass, squeezing tighter. You roll your hips once, dragging your core against the growing erection in his pants. He gasps into your mouth, giving you access to him more. Your tongue drags across his, sucking it into your mouth.

You will devour him tonight.

He holds your ass tight in his hands, pulling you roughly against him. The softness of his joggers against your inner thighs sends shivers down your spine. One hand leaves your ass, the coolness of the room replacing the once warm grip. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping your hair tight against the roots.

“I don’t feel like sharing how appetizing you look to the rest of this house.” His tone is anything but the nervous boy you originally thought he’d be. Instead, it’s full of confidence and command. “Let’s go down to my room.”

He lifts you off of him and onto the floor. You stand, wobblily from the sudden movement, but take note of the difference in your heights. You’d remembered he was tall when you met him earlier but being this close to him unleashes something in you that you didn’t expect to feel.

As you follow him down the stairs to what you assume is his room, you can’t help but mentally undress him. Remembering the hardness of his chest against your breasts only increases the wetness threatening to pool in your underwear. Pulling your skirt down, you step off the last set of steps leading to the basement. Reiner closes the door to the stairs, locking it behind him.

You only have a few seconds to examine the room, noting the couch you’re backed into. Reiner’s body presses against yours as you melt into the soft cushions. His weight on you makes your stomach explode with excitement, building and building into a tense bundle. His shirt comes off quickly, his impatience with waiting for you to pull it over his broad shoulders.

Your fingernails graze down his chest, and he tosses his head back with a hiss. “Fuck, do that again.”

You do, digging in slightly harder. His lips attack yours before you have time to react, your skirt is pushes above your ass. His fingers tease your cunt through the lace fabric of your underwear. You dig your nails into his shoulders, a wild grin from him indicates it’s just what he wanted.

“So pretty when I tease this wet little cunt,” his words leave you trembling. “I bet you taste as sweet as you look.”

“Why don’t you find out then?”

His chuckle warms your chest, your body heating inch by inch. His lips kiss down your neck, to your collarbone. His fingers pull your top and bra down just enough to reveal your bare breasts to him. The first flick of his tongue against your perked nipple makes you moan louder than you expected. You arch into his mouth, his other hand lighting pinching your nipple and squeezing your breast.

“Oh god,” you moan louder, your fingers biting into his skin.

His mouth moves to the other breast, giving it the same tortuous attention as the other. His fingers slip beneath the flimsy lace of your underwear, finally giving you some of what you want.

“Are you always this wet?” He asks, looking up at you from between your breasts.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead he slips your top off your body, unfastening your bra and tossing them across the room. He kisses down your chest, to and past your navel, then slowly kissing down your hip bones. You buck your hips forward, begging with your actions. When that doesn’t work, you have to bed for real.

“Please,” your voice breaks mid word, making him smile up at you.

Your underwear are pushed down your thighs, past your calves, and tossed in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. You go to take the skirt off, but your hand is stopped as you’re reaching for the zipper.

“Leave it, please. I like how it looks bunched up around you.” He pulls your hand away and you nod.

He kisses just above your clit making you whine. His tongue licks up then back down, making you squirm closer. He grabs your hips holding you still while he takes his time with you. His middle and fore finger slip into you, fucking you at the same slow pace. You drag your fingers across his shoulders, tangling them in his blonde hair.

His fingers hit that sweet spot inside of you, making you push his face closer. Your thighs shake as he fucks you faster with his fingers while sucking on your clit. His tongue does wonders on you. It’s impossible to remember anything but him.

The tension that’s been building in your stomach is so tight, you’re about to explode. Just before you’re about to cum, he pulls his fingers and lips away. You start to whimper, but the taste of yourself when he kisses you disrupts it. His tongue floods your mouth and you pull him into you. Wrapping your leg around his waist you’re desperate to close all the gaps between you.

“I thought you wanted to ride me, gorgeous. Or do you not think you can handle me?” He whispers against your lips.

You place your hands on his shoulders, smiling and pushing him back. He smiles wildly as you sit up on your knees, unzipping the skirt and clumsily take it off. It joins the floor with your other clothes. When you focus back on him, you see he’s already slipped his joggers off and is stoking himself lazily.

Fuck…

His lips curl into a smirk. You don’t let it rattle you, instead you slip onto his lap like earlier. You take his face in your hands, biting his bottom lip and pulling back. He moans against you, and you move one hand to line him up with you. As you sink down, you whine and moan.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant as you adjust to his size.

“You got this baby,” he smiles up at you his eyes glossy with desire. “You feel so good, fuck.” His head lays back against the couch.

Leaning forward you kiss his neck, biting and sucking intermittently as you start to slowly roll your hips. His cock fills you, dragging against your walls with each motion. He grabs your hips, fucking up into you and taking your breath away. As your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out, he fucks into you harder making you cry out.

“Oh god, again please,” you whimper against his lips.

He fucks into you over and over, holding your hips and using the momentum to bounce you. You’re lost in him; the taste of his lips and the feeling of his cock deep in you with each thrust. His lips attach to your breast, and you wrap your arm around his neck and hold him close. His teeth graze your nipple, and you can’t stop yourself.

“Reiner, holy fuck. Oh gods,” you whine louder and louder as you cum around his cock. He chuckles against your nipple, never slowing his thrusts.

“You sound so sweet when you cum,” he tells you, kissing along your neck. “I’m going to have to hear it again and again until I’m fully satisfied.” The warning in his tone makes that tension coil in your stomach.

You came tonight expecting to devour him, but it seems he had the exact same thought…

And he’s winning…

Not that you care, afterall you’re feeling better than you ever have before. As you’re lost in the sensation that is him, he flips you onto your back, fucking deeper into you. He holds your hips while he finishes inside of you. He groans, falling down onto his elbows above you. His forehead rests against yours while he catches his breathe and you kiss his lips, cheeks, and nose softly while he relaxes more.

“So, you like Frank Ocean?” He asks, smiling down at you, dick still inside you.

You can’t help the laugh that leaves your body. “Oh my god,” you kiss him, grabbing his face again.

“What?” He asks, pulling away and out of you. He settles beside you on the couch, draping his arm around you. “I was editing the video when you came in, so I asked.”

“Right after blowing my mind,” you add giggling. He joins you in laughing this time.

[stonerskinny]

mkay i ate some chocolate at like midnight bc i was high and fucking stupid but it was 3 squares and a serving is FIVE so i feel somewhat fine about it. counting the start of my fast as 1am to be safe and that puts me 16 hours in. going to just see how long i can go for i think BAHAHA

although maybe that’s stupid because my birthday is friday and bestie is coming over thursday night. and im sure she will make me eat something either that night or the following morning because we are going to an apple orchard on my birthday (i am so unbelievably excited I AM GONNA GO FERAL) and im sure she won’t let me get away with walking that much without eating anything. but i know from my last 72+ hour fast that they help me drop weight like nobody’s business so i am so fucking tempted to just see how long i can go for 😭

maybe i’ll just aim to break it thursday during the day w something small and then i can tell her i ate already before she came over so i can get away without eating much that night. and then i can just say i am saving my hunger for eating a million apples on friday but then i wont eat more than like two and then ill get away with it all and be fine. and then saturday afternoon i have an assessment for neuropsych testing and probably i wont eat before that but then ill be stressed after and wont want to eat AND THENNNNN i have reasons for not wanting to eat sunday and that reason will also be relevant monday and then tuesday is the anniversary of my sexual assault so i wont want to eat and then wednesday is my appointment which i wont eat before and probably wont want to eat after.

and if i go back to work next week ill be moving more and thus burning more but then that will fuck up my ability to restrict because i will have to be a functional fucking person so maybe i will just text my manager and tell him i want to start the process of medical leave now because there’s no fucking chance my dietician won’t send me to residential. i just know she is going to. and if i start medical leave now then perhaps i wont have to worry about going in next week and then i can just fucking lock in and then go to res before the end of the month and maybe have to kiss all of this goodbye. can u tell that i’m fucking stressed about this shit?

i don’t want to have to give up this account i think that might be the thing im most upset about. because im tired of my eating disorder and im tired of hating myself and wishing i wasn’t around but i love this fucking community and i love being able to vent without judgement and i love knowing im not alone in all this shit. but i don’t know if ill be able to be on here without getting triggered if im attempting actual recovery. “the rise and fall of stonerskinny” has kind of a nice ring to it, i guess. lmao.

feel like i could throw up and also like i could cry. sigh.

story of my OD incoming btw i just need to find weed in my room and roll a joint and smoke the entire fucking thing first because i haven’t had weed since like 7am and i am violently nauseous as a result!

[tryingtodotheright-thing]

Hello Sunset - 7

AN: This chapter was hard to write for some reason. I'm still trying to get back in to the groove of writing so please bear with me things don't flow. Let me know which parts you enjoyed. Also, when I started planning this, I'd already weaved in that S.Coups enlisted as a public service officer so I won't go back and change things.

PAIRING: Seungcheol x fem!reader GENRE: exes to lovers, idol verse, angst WORD COUNT: 4,340 WARNINGS: reader has anxiety and depression, swearing, mentions of alcohol Text in blue is spoken/written in Korean.

Previous / Next

6 February 2024

Y/N reflected on the past week as she got ready for her date. The Sunday morning after their dinner, Joshua had added Y/N to a group chat with the other 95 liners and spammed the chat immediately with the pictures they had taken, mostly the goofy ones he had taken of Y/N before Jeonghan and S.Coups had joined. Y/N in response had sent through memes of Joshua. Jeonghan had then joined in, sending in unflattering pictures of Joshua that Y/N immediately saved for future use. She wasn’t that mature to not seek revenge.The ragging had teetered off eventually. They’d checked in on how everyone was handling their hangovers. Jeonghan had asked her what she was doing and she’d sent them a picture of her half-packed suitcase. Joshua, staying in character as the annoying brother, had nagged her to get it done and not procrastinate. She had sent him an eye rolling emoji in response. At one point, S.Coups had sent a message asking after her itinerary. She had confirmed the dates she’d be at each city and told the trio to send her a list of anything they wanted her to bring back. She’d gone back to packing as she chatted with Eun Ji, who had come over that morning with coffee and breakfast. 

Her phone pinged to let her know there was a new notification. Swiping the screen, she saw that she’d gotten a text from S.Coups that read ‘I’ll be there in 10 minutes’. She was still trying to come to terms with what was happening. Barring that short moment in the car, he hadn’t really given her a sign to say he was into her and she hadn’t wanted to read into something that wasn’t there. After all, they didn’t really know each other. But then, she got the text from him on Thursday evening. He’d sent it to her directly instead of the group chat.

S.Coups  Thursday 1 February Did you make it safely to Sapporo? 19:38

Y/N hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone check in on her.

Hey! Yes, I just got to the hotel actually. 19:45

Keep warm. It’s cold right now. 19:46

I will! Thank you for checking in 🙂 19:46

She’d thought that would be the natural end of their conversation but it wasn’t. 

Keep your Tuesday evening free.  I’ll show you around Sapporo.  20:16 If you want to. 20:17

Y/N didn’t reply immediately that night. She had needed to run this whole situation past Joshua first before she did anything. He was her friend first and he needed to feel comfortable with whatever was going on. She’d sent Joshua a screenshot of the message and then put the whole thing out of her mind. She had work the next day and that had been her priority. Fast forward to now, Joshua had given her the green light, saying he’d seen it coming and she’d been texting him all her nervous misgivings last night as she fretted over the ‘date’. Did he even see it as a date? She didn’t know. She knew nothing except the ever present flutters that right now made her want to throw up her lunch. 

Y/N wrapped the warming scarf around herself, gave herself a glance over before leaving her hotel room to wait in the hotel lobby. She’d suggested meeting him at the venue but he’d disagreed, saying it’s better to go together. They were heading to Odari Park to take in this year’s Snow Festival the city was famous for. The festival had been recommended to her by Makoto-san, the general manager for the Japan office, when she’d met him last Friday. It was pure coincidence and luck that her visit crossed over with the festival. Y/N was heading to Okinawa tomorrow with some colleagues to assess the operations there so she didn’t think she’d have time to go. As if he’d read her thoughts, S.Coups had asked if she’d like to go to the snow festival. Her anticipation for the evening was sky high though she tried to remind herself to consider it just a normal outing between friends. 

S.Coups was cloaked in mystery and his winter accessories, the mask, scarf and beanie hiding most of his features. He was dressed mostly in black, similar to the last time Y/N saw him. He was the picture of calm, hands casually resting in the pockets of the baggy padded jacket he wore and humming an unheard melody. He looked up at the sound of Y/N’s boots. A smile quickly covered his face though Y/N could only tell by the squinting of his eyes since the rest of his face was covered. Soon, Y/N stood in front of him, only a step away from fully invading his personal space. He looked so warm and comfortable that Y/N wanted to wrap her arms around his waist tightly. She instead gave him a quick bow with her head in greeting. He responded in kind before suggesting they head out. 

They stayed close yet far enough as they walked to the car, so that it wouldn’t take much for them to separate and pretend they were strangers. Y/N noticed the deliberate act and it reminded her yet again how different their worlds were. Yes, she was getting traction and much quicker than anyone had anticipated, but she never had to consider any of this. She maintained her privacy and her presence in the media was little. Maybe that would change in the future, but for now, no one cared too much about Y/N the person and what she was getting up to in her personal life.

It would have been quicker to take public transport but with Seungcheol (as he’d asked to be called) being who he was, it was prudent they avoided being out in public together if possible. The driver and the guard remained respectful of their privacy and listened to the radio on low volume as the pair in the passenger seats spoke. She broke the silence first, asking about his vacation and how he’d ended up in Sapporo. He explained that it was a reward for working hard during rehab and a much needed break before he picked up the pace once the holidays were over. The conversation flowed easily once the metaphorical ice broke. He told Y/N about this spontaneous trip with some friends to Sapporo for the holidays, how he’d wanted to enjoy the downtime before rehab intensified and he began to prepare to return to the public eye from his hiatus. He asked about the progress of her trip, being attentive and listening patiently as she lost herself in recounting stories from the past week. He asked questions that showed he was interested and it made Y/N feel shy. She was used to being listened to and respected in the office, but it was different getting it from Seungcheol. Y/N knew it spoke volumes how she sometimes allowed herself to be treated in her personal life, specifically her parents. She didn’t feel the need to hide away and turn the attention away from herself as was her norm. It was all because she felt his genuine interest. Y/N was really starting to admire Seuncheol the man as much as she admired S.Coups the artist. 

Odari Park was busy and they huddled close as they admired each sculpture. There were so many ice sculptures and it was fascinating that people could so precisely recreate anything from a castle to your favourite anime character in ice. Seunghceol enjoyed being able to move around so freely in a crowd. He enjoyed it even more with Y/N. She looked at everything with awe and was excitable in her as she took in each piece of art. He found it so endearing and couldn’t help but to smile at her cute mannerisms. She would get caught up in her excitement and forget to maintain the calm persona she’d planned to present that evening. Y/N found herself forgetting that she was just getting to know Seungcheol as it was too comfortable to spend her time walking around with him sharing their thoughts on what they observed. Whenever she would get too excited and get close to him to say something, he would smile at her softly and when she would get shy upon realising, he would tap her hands, like he did back in December, to get her attention and reassure her it’s okay by carrying on whatever conversation they were having. 

Though they took breaks, it was difficult to find a place where they can properly rest. Y/N became worried about the cold and Seungcheol walking around for too long that it starts to hurt him. Anticipating that he would say he was fine, Y/N instead asked Seungcheol if he was hungry as she was ready to eat. With that, they found themselves in an Udon restaurant not that long after. The pair sipped on a tea to warm up their bodies as they waited for their food to arrive. They compared pictures they took of the sculptures and of each other. They both debated on who had the best ones, sending each other pictures the other didn’t have. Seungcheol had also taken pictures on a camera, and he said he would upload those on Weverse but the ones he took on his phone was just for the two of them.

As they finished looking through their memories of the evening, Seungcheol lamented that they forgot to take a picture together. The guard, who’d kept them company from a distance for the evening, offered to take one. Seungcheol immediately moved to sit beside Y/N for a photo. He took his mask off and with no inhibitions, flashed a gummy smile at her before turning to the camera. Y/N immediately melted, not that she was upset or irritated, but with that one smile, he could get her to do anything. Once the picture was taken, he didn’t return to his seat. He remained beside her and this new arrangement meant that he’d lean in close and turn his head whenever Seungcheol had something to say to her or vice versa. Each time, Y/N thought her heart skipped a beat. Choi Seungcheol was not good for her health. 

He reluctantly returned to his original position when their food was served. The next hour flew by without either of them being aware. She made him laugh and he made her blush. They talked about Joshua. And the band. He told her about their antics but also the love they held for each other. In response, she shared her admiration of his role in the group, how he guarded and guided the members. Then, it was his turn to blush. He tried to brush off the compliments but she would repeat them till he accepted them. He thanked her and would smile sheepishly and look away from her sincere eyes. Seungcheol also returned the compliments, saying he’s been listening religiously to not just her album but all the short covers she’s been posting on YouTube again. There was a lot the two shared in common in terms of their careers as musicians but also in the concerns they had for their future. Y/N felt lighter as she talked about her worries and she hoped she’d equally helped taken some weight off his shoulders. 

It was still a week day and Y/N was travelling to Okinawa the next morning so they had no choice but to wind up their evening once they’d ravished their meal. Seungcheol asked about about her plans as he walked her back to the hotel lifts from the parked car. She confirmed that she'd be back in Seoul on Sunday. Y/N hesitated once they came to a stop in front of the metal box that would carry her to her room. Neither pressed the button, knowing it would bring a bittersweet goodbye. The cough behind Seungcheol from his guard was a gentle reminder to get a move on when they remained loitering. 

“Thank you for this evening and for the meal. You really should have let me pay.”

He scoffed at that.

“It was a really lovely evening. I’m happy I can call you a …” She hesitates on the word. “... a friend.”

He responds saying Y/N is easy to speak to and he’s sure she’d be a great friend. Like a balloon, she felt the air in her drop as her shoulders drooped.

“Maybe I didn’t make things clear and that’s really my fault.” She wanted the ground below her to swallow her up.

“I think you’re a great person and obviously a really good friend to Shua.” Y/N wished she could magically vanish.

“I’d really like to get to know you more … not as a friend but with the purpose of dating.” Pin drop silence. Y/N was sure she’d misheard. 

Seuncheol looked slightly nervous as he continued. 

“I’d like to take you out again when you’re back in Seoul.” Not getting a response, he rushed to say, “Think about it. I don’t need an answer now.” 

The flutters were back. She couldn’t meet his eyes but Y/N bashfully nodded in agreement. 

“Well. Uhm. I’ll get going. Good night and safe travels tomorrow.” Another meek nod. 

“Y/N-yah?” The honourifics had been dropped. He waits for her to look at him. His eyes were so hopeful but his twisting hands showed the apprehension. “Will you text me when you land on the 11th?”

She nods more obviously this time and that repeats the confirmation verbally. There was a spring in his step as he walked back to the car. Y/N dropped on her bed and squealed into her pillows as soon as she arrived in her room. Forget packing, she needed to unpack her evening with her friends first. It called for a group call between Eun Ji, Rachel and Y/N. The deconstruction of the evening went on for a couple of hours, part way through which, Y/N got up from the bed to multi-task, packing her suitcase and getting ready for bed. At the end of the call, Rachel had asked if she knew what her response was. The smile that blossomed onto Y/N’s face was enough of an answer.

Y/N and Seungcheol text over the next few days, sending each other updates mainly through pictures of the places they were spending their day at and of their meals. When Sunday evening arrived, as if he’d been tracking her movements, Seungcheol calls to make sure she made it back safely just as she walked through the doors of her flat. The pair end up talking on the phone till late, bringing each other up to speed on what the pictures didn’t say. Hearing the sleep in Y/N’s voice, Seungcheol knew the call had to end soon so he nervously asked her, just before they wished each other sweet dreams, if she had an answer for him. Y/N says that she’s planning the next date. 

From then, the frequency of their interactions per day increases. Alongside the pictures, they now text regularly through the day, each notification was a source of dopamine and they lulled each other to sleep most days. Depending on the time of the day, the messages moved between a spectrum of cute and flirtatious to teasing and flirtatious.  Seungcheol was more direct in his messages and Y/N was more honest and verbal about her feelings. They’re both busy, Y/N particularly so they struggle to agree a time for their next outing. It only made the flames burn brighter as they longed to meet in person again soon so they can pick up where they left things.

It was the day before Valentine’s Day or CARAT Day as it was for Y/N and Seungcheol. Y/N had a bad day at work and Seungcheol senses this through the delayed response and lack of pictures, particularly of her meals. Y/N was moping, wrapped in her blankets in bed, tossing and turning and huffing in frustration. She’d dealt with difficult stakeholders before; it was part and parcel of her job in the corporate world. However, it was her first time dealing with it so overtly and directly, where the person didn’t even bother to hide why they were being so rude and resistant to Y/N’s attempts to mediate. For a minute, she’d forgotten that in South Korea, the culture meant that her social status was different. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t experience racism or harassment growing up in London. She definitely did. The difference was that it was subtle. The racism was instutionalised and exhibited through unconscious biases and remarks that were then excused as ignorant due to not knowing better. This was different and it really hurt. Y/N was agitated and wanted to shout, scream, break a plate (maybe on that person’s head) but instead continued to mope. The sound of her phone broke her out of her thoughts.  

Seeing that it was Seungcheol calling, she answered, knowing she owed him that after sending him short responses all day. 

“XXXX by the Han River in 30 minutes okay? Go go go!” That’s all he said before he ended the call. 

An hour later, Y/N found herself almost jogging on the spot to keep warm as she waited for her bungeoppang to be made whilst Seungcheol joked with the stall vendor. He’d claimed this is the best bungeoppang in Seoul and that Y/N had to taste it or she was missing out in life. He’d been joking around since they’d met up and to Y/N it was obvious that all of this was a generous attempt to cheer her up. The piping hot snack was collected and the pair continued their walk along the riverside. They weren’t alone. There were still many people out and about despite the late hour and it seemed Han River was a popular dating spot. As a big group passed the pair, Seunghceol grasped her hand to move her closer to him. He went to let go of her hand but then intertwined their fingers into a stronger grip. His strong hold was thrilling and it gave Y/N a comfort she didn’t know she needed. It was as if something was different and the day had turned in itself to be a happy one. 

“Here, it’s cooled down a bit.” Seungcheol handed over the fish-shaped snack. She thanked him and took it, their fingers brushing off each others. She let out a happy hum as she took a bite. 

“It’s so good, Seungcheol!”

“Let me know whenever you’re craving it, I’ll buy you some.”

Y/N grinned at him and nodded. She swung their hands as they caught up on their day. He listened to her complaints with sympathy and was angry on her behalf. She was grateful that he listened and that he didn’t offer advice immediately but asked what she needed. Y/N knew that she was falling for him and deeply too. Seungcheol was very quickly becoming her favourite person. He was shaking her world and taking it to a new direction she’d never planned for. She was no longer resistant to it and instead welcomed it with her arms wide open. If this is who she gained, then she’ll cross her fingers and hope that he’ll always come to her. Everything else can be dealt with. As Seungcheol embraced Y/N to comfort her, Y/N made up her mind. She tightened her arms around his middle and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent that hypnotised her. 

“Cheol?” She spoke into his neck. He shivered as her breath brushed his skin. 

He murmured to say he’s listening.

“Can I kiss you?”

His arms relaxed for a second before he gripped her hips again.

“On one condition.” Y/N slightly pulled back to look at his face in confusion.

“Only if today’s officially our first day as a couple. I don’t kiss just anyone, you know?”

She huffed at his teasing and tried to push him away. He chuckled at her sulking and pulled her closer again till they were tightly aligned. He dipped his head down and paused a hair’s breadth from their lips touching. It was as if he was looking for some sort of answer. He caressed her face with his eyes before giving a nod, satisfied what he found. His eyelashes brushed against her cheek as he closed the final distance. Their lips brushed softly. Once then twice. His hands moved for one to hold her neck and the other her right cheek. He leaned in even closer, tilting his face to the left slightly as each kiss lasted slightly longer than the one before. His kisses were sweet, almost chaste and left her wishing for more. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and grip him closer but his beanie and her gloved hands stopped her. 

They were still outside in public and it must have dawned on Seungcheol as he pulled away after a few minutes. He looked down at her, his smile was radiant and Y/N wished she could look at it everyday. They stayed wrapped up around each other as they waited for their breathing to regulate. Y/N reluctantly unlocked the arms around him as he did the same. They stepped away from each other till they were a respectful distance. He laughed at her bashful smile and she pouted as she looped her arm through his so they can walk back to the main road. Y/N took a taxi back to her flat whilst Seungcheol was picked up his guard. Y/N thought 13 February 2024 was the best day of her twenties.

They talked everyday and made sure to see each other at least twice a week. Sometimes they would go for a late night walk like they did on their first date. Other time, he would spoil her and take her out. Most of the time, their dates were mellow, which suited both of their needs. Seungcheol became a regular visitor to Y/N’s flat. She would cook their dinner and he would clean up. Then, they would end up cuddling on the sofa, watching the TV or playing games. The weeks flew by with both of them occupied by their work and personal lives. 

Y/N was packing again to fly back to London for a few days. This time, he was there in person instead of texting her to ask about her preparations. Everytime Y/N would put something in her suitcase, Seungcheol would take it out. He whined about her leaving him and that he won’t even get to speak to her properly because of the time difference and distance. Each time he complained, she would drop reassure his with a pat or a kiss and promise that the time would flyby. It was just a couple of days, she would say. It did flyby and Y/N was back in Seoul on the 6 March, after making a pit stop in Paris for the Stella McCartney show at Paris Fashion Week. Seungcheol was waiting inside her flat when she arrived and hugged her tightly as soon as she crossed the threshold. 

He had organised a dinner with the 95 liners to celebrate her wins at the BRIT Awards. He promised that the devil twins would tire her out and it would help her get back on the correct timezone quickly. She immediately made a note to tell Joshua and Jeonghan what Seungcheol had called the duo so they would bully him and not her that night. A quiet gathering ended up boisterous and she wasn’t even surprised considering whom she was meeting up with. They all drank to their hearts’ content and some more than that. Some of the boys who were back in the dorms heard and crashed the gathering and it gave Y/N a chance to get to know them better. Cheol had dropped her off back at her flat and gone back to his shared place with his brother. He had a busy morning so she wasn’t expecting to hear from him till the evening. She’d planned to sleep in the next morning but her dream was interrupted by a call she received from one Director Shim Jae Hyun. He introduced himself as the main manager for SEVENTEEN. 

“I understand you’re currently dating S.Coups. I would like to meet with you to go through some details. Please meet me at HYBE offices at 2pm today.”

Current - 31 August 2025

It had been over a week since the Dispatch article had caused a media frenzy and Sian had released the statement on her behalf. Y/N had just finished filming for Good Morning America and wrapped up all of the last minute NYC promotions that had been scheduled as damage control over the last few days. She had a flight back to London that evening and would be back in the studio the next day as she still had tracks to finalise for her album. Sian had asked her to announce the release date during her interviews so she was committed to meeting the tight deadline. Before all of that though, she had a Zoom meeting to attend with Director Shim Jae Hyun, a few other executives from PLEDIS and HYBE as well as Sian, Emma and W Music's Chief Legal Officer, Martin Williams. Y/N connected to the call and was shocked to see who else was part of the call. She hadn’t expected him to join but she was surprised to see Joshua on the call. 

“Y/N, you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guess she was in trouble.

[aringofsalt]

writing patterns

tagged by @reformedplayerbibuck, thank you! this is so fun

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

*not going to count my technically-most recent because it's a collection of ficlets so i don't think it'd really be indicative of a pattern

Buck noticed the chest for the first time as they were getting ready for bed. 911 / sticks & stones may break my bones...

They ended up leaving it alone for a while. 911 / outta my mind (in the palm of your hand)

Tommy, Buck thought, looked mad. 911 / help is on the way

He didn't exactly have a plan when he invited Evan over that Sunday. 911 / you got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby

The first time Steve saw the firefighters, the bar was packed solid. 911 / we can go back and play pretend

They've done it before, is the thing. 911 / do you got room for one more troubled soul?

The second attempt at a wedding went off without a hitch, in the end. 911 / and i can't explain, but you keep calling my name

It wasn’t that Tommy was new to internet dating. stranger things / and i'll show you lovely things

“Fuck it,” Eddie says loudly one evening when they’re getting high in Steve’s room, and Steve turns his weed-blurred eyes in his direction, blinking in surprise. stranger things / all we do is drive

If Eddie had to pick a favourite day, the choice would be pretty difficult, but his answer would probably be Thursday. stranger things / sweet music playing in the dark

so usually, pretty short and to the point. my second sentences are the long ones 😂

no pressure tags!

@evansboyfriend @momotonescreaming @apartmentsmoke @theweewooshow @tboybuck

[duchi-nesten]

The Mr. Lancer teaches trigonometry fic.

Summary:

Mr. Lancer hated his life as it was and now he had to be a sub for the trigonometry class? Him? An English teacher?

This day couldn’t get any worse. (Or could it?)

-

Chapter 1

Word count: 1462 || AO3 LINK

1 | ?

-

Sometimes Mr. William Lancer really fucking hated his life.

Okay. Maybe it was a little bit more than just sometimes, he was an underpaid teacher after all. And also a single middle aged man with no children or pets. (Except for the wild animals he unfortunately had to call his students.)

All alone. Lonely on every wednesday afternoon. And thursday. And Friday. And Saturday too. Lonely every day of the week. Quite a sad sight indeed.

Okay his life actually sucked really fucking bad alright.

But the recent events really took the entire cake.

It was a monday when he first received the news of the terrors about to reign on his life. His last class of the day just let out and he was left behind, doing some boring teacher paperwork. Probably giving out a lot of F’s. He had an online friend from a different school that was also a teacher and that guy liked to give out a lot of F’s. He also believed in some fairly odd parents or some shit though.

Anyway, back to OUR favorite teacher, Mr. Lancer. Lonely on a monday afternoon. He was actually supposed to watch over detention, but Daniel McFucking Fenton didn’t bother to show up and he was the only student punished today.

Sometimes Mr. Lancer wondered what happened to that boy, but he always ended up shrugging it off in the end. Two more years and that boy along with the rest of the class will not be his fucking problem anymore.

He will have another enclosure of wild apes to deal with then though.

God how many more years till his retirement? He was quite old god damn it. He deserved it already.

He was brought out of his very angry and incredibly sad thoughts by a knocking on the classroom door. He snapped his head up to look at the offending piece of wood, praying that it wasn’t Daniel McFucking Fenton who decided to show up after all. He wanted to go home earlier.

Instead of his quote on quote favorite student, he saw Mrs. Ishiyama walk in. She had a bunch of papers in her hands.

The principal came to see him, great. That could only mean more work. Just his god damn luck.

Daniel McFucking Fenton would have been so much better to deal with after all.

Still he had to act civil.

‘’Hello Mr. Lancer’’ Ishiyama said as she made her way over to his desk.

‘’Good afternoon.’’ he answered.

‘’I have a favor to ask of you.’’

Oh god jesus fucking christ screw everything fuck his life this is exactly what he expected.

Instead of voicing his displeasure he simply asked ‘’what can I help you with?’’

‘’The ghost of Hipparchus who usually teaches our trig class has had a family emergency and needed to leave for the Ghost Zone.’’ she explained looking through the papers, not even making eye contact with him. Rude. ‘’Can you sub for him tomorrow?’’

Before he could react she pulled out some papers from the ones she held in hand and put it on his desk.

‘’You’re the only teacher who’s schedule aligns perfectly. Here’s the lesson plan. I know you won’t disappoint.’’ she said before quickly leaving, not giving him enough time to protest.

She knew he would protest…

And how could he not? Fucking trigonometry class? He was an English teacher for fuck’s sake!

Maybe he should really submit that resignation paper he wrote out in a moment of weakness (which was like every sunday evening) (yes he wrote a new resignation paper every sunday evening. Don’t judge the man.)

Sighing deeply, he picked up the papers left by Ishiyama. It took only 10 seconds before the contents made him start crying like a little pathetic baby.

Tomorrow was gonna be a fucking disaster.

-

And a disaster it was. Right from the first minutes after he woke up.

Turns out drowning your issues in a bottle of gin on a monday evening was not a good idea. Especially not when one had to wake up at 6 in the morning.

Which by the way he did not do.

No, the gin made him forget to set his alarm. He felt betrayed, when he woke up at 7:30 instead. Panic filled his half awoken brain as he quickly raced out of bed to get ready. School would start in half an hour and the drive there took 31 minutes!

He was out the door after only 25 seconds, which could probably land him a spot somewhere in the Guinness World Records book.

Climbing into the car his bald head hit the roof making his already growing headache even worse. The god awful song that started playing on the radio the moment he turned the vehicle on was doubling the pain even more.

This Mr. Worldwide guy really needed to shut the fuck up for a second.

Quickly switching the radio off Mr. Lancer paused to take a little breather. Alright, he just had to run one (1) light and he could be at school in time for his first class. Which thank god was actually his english class. The mathematical monstrosity of a fucking subject was his third period.

With no further ados, Lancer drove the car out of the parking lot and sped towards the school.

On the drive there he almost got ran over by the Fentons’ ghost vehicle thing with Jack Fenton at the wheel. Probably on a blind chase after a ghost that Phantom would handle before they even got there. A normal Tuesday in Amity Park.

He kinda hoped there would be a ghost attack during his third period today. Maybe the Fentons could even come and wreck the classroom. That would definitely delay the trigonometry class until Hipparchus got back from whatever he was doing in the ghost world.

That deceased man owed him for this.

Finally. At last. His journey ended when he reached the school. He parked his car on his designated spot (thank the lord they had those) and ran into the building. He burst into his classroom right as the bell rang.

Wiping the sweat off of his forehead, he glanced at his students, sitting at their desks and looking at him weirdly.

Kinda rude of them.

��’Uh… Mr. Lancer.’’ one of his students by the name of Tucker Foley started uncertain. ‘’What are you wearing?’’

He looked down at himself and noted that he forgot to change out of his pajamas. Well that certainly explained how he managed to leave the house in just 25 seconds. No fastest morning routine Guinness Record for him after all. Dang.

‘’Focus on your books instead of my attire, Mr. Foley’’ he responded, voice filled with authority. The teenagers would eat him alive if he showed anything else than confidence in that moment. As they say, keep your head held up high and you won’t see the bottom you hit.

Okay no one says that, but still.

He swiftly turned to the blackboard and decided to go along with his lesson like nothing was wrong. He could get his spare set of clothing from the teacher's lounge later. He kept them there in case Jack Fenton ever showed up to disintegrate his clothes again.

Speaking of the Fentons, right as he finished writing today’s subject on the blackboard, the door to the classroom opened up with a slam and in ran no one other than Mr Daniel McFucking Fenton.

Late again.

Like every Tuesday.

And every other day of the week.

‘’Sorry I’m late Mr. Lancer! There was a very long crack in the sidewalk on the way here and I had to walk very slowly to not step on it and crack my mother’s back-’’ the boy stopped spitting out this nonsense of an excuse when he saw Lancer’s attire. ‘’Uh… did someone crack your back and you couldn’t change out of these clothes or…?’’ he asked after a second of staring.

‘’Very funny Mr. Fenton.’’ Lancer answered, narrowing his eyes. ‘’Maybe I should crack your back, so you can’t escape the detention I’m gonna give you today.’’

‘’It’s not like a cracked back ever stopped me before.’’

‘’What?’’

‘’What.’’

Mr Lancer put two fingers to his temple to ease the ever growing headache. He was too tired for this.

“Go sit down Mr. Fenton. We’ll talk after class.”

The boy begrudgingly dragged his feet towards his seat. Which, now that Lancer paid attention he could see he was favoring dragging the left foot a bit more.

The youth and their fucking TikTok dances. They’re gonna break all their legs one day.

With a sigh the teacher turned back to the board to start on his English lesson.

[gettingskinny]

Okay I feel like shit…

A little update: I couldn’t finish my fast, I almost passed out at work before I had to drive and it wasn’t safe. I can’t fast more then 19 hours it seems like, at least during the work week.

I ended my fast at a little over 20 hours, then I picked the worst food to eat, I should have picked something lower calorie.

I made a go to meal of mine (rice with Alfredo sauce and parmesean and chicken) it came out to 576 calories.

I’m fasting until tomorrow morning.

I think I need to slow down and not push myself (too much, push but safely) I’m terrified I’m going to binge and ruin all of my progress.

Yesterdays total calories was 518 total calories

I think for the rest of the month I’m going to try and stay under 700 calories. Which is doable, it’s been doable the past two days and I think I can do it.

I have a trip at the end of the month with my sister so I know I won’t be able to fast or restrict too much. I’ll be going to Chicago for a concert. I’ll probably count at least Wednesday when I leave as a metab day. I don’t think there’s any way around it.

When I get back from that trip it will be august and I’ll get strict with things.

Monday: 600 cal limit

Tuesday: 500 cal limit

Wednesday: 400 cal limit

Thursday 300 cal limit

Friday: 200 cal limit

Saturday: fast from last meal on Friday and all day Saturday (this I can do because I tend to “forget” to eat when I get busy)

Sunday: 100 cal limit.

I’m gonna do that for a week or two and I’ll update with my weight and how that went.

I feel weak and like I have no self control. Why did I have to eat that? Why did I have to cave? The feeling it passing out passed and I should have kept going. I feel disgusting and I hate myself for doing this. It’s too late, I already ate.

[malum-forev]

Game On: Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven

She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands until she saw purple and yellow stars cover her already blurry vision. It seemed the stark contrast of the white chalk against the once emerald green board wasn’t enough of an eyesore for Mrs. Patterson, one of (Y/N)’s teachers, she was insistent on writing everything in her infamous script handwriting. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, the red ink on last semester’s paper that read: ‘Your closing argument is not only structurally incorrect but factually inaccurate.’ Still haunted (Y/N).

Mrs. Patterson looked down at her polished silver watch, nine forty-five. “Judging by your empty eyes, I think now would be a good place to stop.”

Scattered chuckles could be heard around the room but what was most noticeable was the sighs of relief. The 7:30 pm double lecture was hard to handle but having one of the most decorated teachers in that time slot became almost unbearable. (Y/N) got up to stretch her back and pick up her things as people started shuffling out of the classroom. 

“Law students sure know how to enjoy a Friday night.” She instantly recognized his voice.

‘Deep breath, one, two, three.’ She counted in her head before turning around.

“What can I say, they don’t call us the life of the party for nothing.” She smiled. “I thought you had practice tonight, you know to get ready for the big game next week.”

Bucky clutched the left side of his chest. “You know my schedule? Don’t make me blush.”

(Y/N) hiked her tote bag up and walked past him towards the door and peeked her head out, looking both ways. Once she turned around, she bumped into his chest.

She pushed him away from her and from any potential witnesses. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky leaned on the wall closest to the door and started shuffling through his backpack. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“That statement didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms. “Someone could see you here.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, his furrowed eyebrows cast a dark shadow on his celeste eyes.

“Your eyes look like marbles when you make that face.” She stated.

His features softened and a deep dimple appeared next to his newly revealed pearly whites. “That statement didn’t answer my question.”

“Your argument becomes invalid once you’ve repeated my structure.” 

“The class that just ended was legal argumentation right?” He chuckled. 

It was her turn to mimic his act. “You know my schedule? Don’t make me blush.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “I came to give you this.”

Dangled in front of her eyes, (Y/N) immediately recognized the thin gold bracelet. She gasped and took it out of Bucky’s hands. “Where did you find it!”

“I do believe people usually say ‘thank you’.” Bucky chuckled. “That’s why I’d been calling.”

Although this made (Y/N) feel even more guilty about avoiding him, she could never tell him the truth. “This week has been kind of crazy.”

Bucky laced his hand in hers and brought (Y/N) into a hug. He said “Alright.” Without believing a word she spoke.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re coming to the game next Thursday right?”

“I think won’t be able-“

“Please?” He interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up to meet his eyes, their noses touching. “Okay.”

Again, a smile creeped on to his lips and he turned his head to bring them closer to hers but (Y/N) turned and took a step back. 

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry, I forgot.”

(Y/N) cleared her throat and turned towards the door. “So, I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“I was actually thinking we could see each other on Sunday. Steve is leaving and I have the apartment to myself.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, a crimson tint adorning his cheeks.

“Sure, just text me.” She smiled.

“Promise you’ll answer?”

“I promise.” She nodded before leaving the classroom. The winter air of January helped her cool down. She brought her hand up to her lips, her heartbeat more present there than inside of her chest, but they only made her remember what had happened a week ago. 

The sound of glasses clinking and her friends’ laughter brought (Y/N) joy. It had been a few hours since they had all celebrated the new year. The scene before her eyes made her feel like she was a little kid again, no worries no deadlines just now.  

“Are you coming or not?!” Natasha laughed from the front door, kicking her shoes off on her way out. 

“I’ll keep your clothes safe.” (Y/N) smiled and headed out. 

The previous day had been unusually sunny, the deep ray of warmth cast over the snow had made some of the water at the lake in front of Steve’s cabin melt. So, the obvious conclusion the group had come to (during the final sips of the fourth champagne bottle and the start of the second tequila shot) was to skinny dip. 

“In some cultures, it brings luck into the new year.” Sam tried to justify as he unzipped his pants.

“Please!” (Y/N) let out a loud laugh. “There has to be at least one of us that doesn’t get pneumonia!”

“Anything bad that happens to you this semester, I’m blaming it on not jumping in!” Wanda yelled as she jumped in. One by one they all shrieked from the cold and erupted in laughter from the alcohol. 

(Y/N) was starting to pile all of her friends’ belongings when she felt someone throw her over their shoulder.

“Can’t let you have bad luck this year, doll.” Bucky laughed as he brought her closer to the edge of the dock. “You have two options: take off your clothes and jump with us or I’ll throw you in with everything you’ve got on.”

Wanda, Steve, Sam, and Natasha cheered from their position inside of the lake. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll jump in! Just turn around!” (Y/N) said through laughs. 

As everyone turned around, (Y/N) quickly discarded her clothes. Bucky peeked through his fingers, that covered his eyes. He double checked that no one was looking, although judging from his friends’ alcohol intake it was possible that even if someone saw them, none would remember. He brought her close to him, their chests touching. 

“Three.” He whispered.

“What are you doing?” She questioned, worried. 

“Two.” 

“James, let’s just jump.” (Y/N) turned to look at her friends but they weren’t even paying attention, the group was too preoccupied with the freezing water to even care.

“One.”

(Y/N) grabbed his hand and took him to the border of the dock, but Bucky brought her back to him.

“Happy New Year, doll.” He smiled before bringing his lips to hers. The passionate kiss took her by surprise. It wasn’t like before, it wasn’t filled with deep breaths and hunger, a desire. It was soft and deep, something (Y/N) had never experienced before. But suddenly the pleasure turned into warmth, a burning feeling that covered her skin. A feeling of all too much consumption. (Y/N) pulled away, breathless. Her widened eyes met his and in a moment of desperation and before she could even conceptualize what was happening, she jumped. 

The cheers of her friends, drowned her thoughts and as she rose back to the top the clattering of her teeth and the drop of her body temperature numbed anything and everything.

Sometime later, once they couldn’t feel their toes anymore, all of them started filing into the cabin. But before (Y/N) could enter, Bucky pulled her aside hidden from anyone’s view.

“What was that about?” His eyes spoke millions of words, those his lips couldn’t pronounce. “I don’t even get a ‘Happy New Year Buck?’.”

“Happy New Year Buck.” She repeated, her eyes focused on the ground. 

He took his index finger to her chin and lifted it up. “Tell me, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

(Y/N) debated telling him, bearing her naked soul to him. Putting herself in an even more vulnerable position than she had been with him some night before. But Bucky noticed immediately, her eyes changed and it was as if the walls had built up again. 

“If we want this to work, we cannot kiss.” She stated sternly.

“What-“

“Friends with benefits, no kissing. Ever.” She interrupted. 

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes. He took her hand and placed it on his, rubbing circles on her wrist. “One of these days, you’re going to wind yourself up a little bit too much. And you’re going to fall apart. Everything is more complicated whenever your head gets in front of your heart.”

“Those are the terms, take it or leave it.” Her blank stare challenged him, (Y/N) pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. “I’m going inside.”

In a matter of seconds, Bucky was left alone with the winter breeze and in his hand he held the snapped gold bracelet that was wrapped around (Y/N)’s wrist. 

Sunday rolled around faster than (Y/N) had anticipated. Before she knew it, she had already avoided her roommates’ questions, grabbed some coffee and was laying on Bucky’s bed with only a thin bedsheet covering her, his comforter had been long gone.

Bucky walked in with both of the coffees in his hand. “This kid Peter really has the hots for you.”

“Why are you talking like a transatlantic news broadcaster?” She smiled as he handed over the coffee.

“In case you lost my number.” Bucky read out loud the ten digits that Peter had written on the side of the cup.

“Oh god, I seriously don’t have time to let him down easy.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on Bucky’s headboard. 

“If you don’t watch out, you’ll get a heartbreaker reputation.” Bucky chuckled as he traced his fingers up and down her arm. 

(Y/N) opened her mouth but quickly closed it, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Anything that wouldn’t come out as a lie, and in this moment she could only lie.

“So, this friends with benefits thing. It comes with the ‘friends’ part right?” Bucky asked and (Y/N) nodded. “So, can I ask you something?”

She chuckled. “Sure.”

“No ox two.” Bucky looked at her as serious as ever.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but erupt in laughter. “What are you on about?”

“So when my sister and I were younger, my ma wanted to create like a secret phrase. Something with which we had to tell the truth but she promised that we wouldn’t be in trouble. And since we weren’t allowed to say ‘bullshit’ she came up with ox two. Ox as in similar to bull and Two as in number two, shit.” Bucky explained.

Her laughter did not seize but instead intensified. 

“When you promise no ox two, you have to tell the truth.”

“I promise, no ox two.” (Y/N) smiled. 

“Why are you insistent on not dating?” Bucky asked her.

(Y/N) took another deep breath. “Look, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Great way to start.” Bucky chuckled.

“All my life, I’ve had to work double at everything just to prove that I’m capable. I constantly have to jump through an insane amount of hoops to end up with a great result, even better than anyone around me, especially any of my male classmates. But even when I show that I can deliver better, they say I am just not enough.”

“I don’t doubt Peter is a great guy but, I am not willing to sacrifice everything I’ve done for someone. One single comment from Peter could ruin everything I’ve worked for. Now, instead of being hard working, I try too hard. Because I put my studies in front of my love life, I’m a prude. If I ever decide things don’t work out, I’m a bitch.”

“Instead of opening yourself up, you live in this shell. Only hyper focusing on your goal.” Bucky uttered. 

(Y/N) scoffed. “Of course you would judge me.”

Bucky turned to face her. “I’m not judging, I just think sometimes you should stop and enjoy the ride. I wouldn’t want you to get to where you want to be, only to realize the journey was part of the reward.”

(Y/N) let out a small smile. “This thing between you and me, that’s the most adventurous I’ve ever been.”

“Well, don’t worry about me. My lips are sealed, no one will ever know what goes on.” Bucky closed the gap between the two of them and started leaving a trail of kisses from her collarbone to the edge of her lips, but never once touching them. 

...---...

Tagged List

@charmedbysarge @rabbitrabbit12321

@crazy4seb-chris

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 38: May 30th

Traffic wasn’t exactly sparse, but Jong-Yeol had already been circulating the block for the last half hour or so out of fear for your safety. He therefore managed to arrive where he had left you within a few minutes. Before entering the car, you half-drunkenly mumbled byes to the members of BTS, all except for Jungkook and Jimin, who was helping the former in his search upstairs still. Though it felt a bit weird just leaving without telling everyone goodbye, it was, perhaps, for the better that you didn’t see Jungkook again - at least not that evening.

Because you were forced to wipe your eyes more times than you could count on your way home. Not even the dullness of intoxication numbed the wretched pain inside your chest.

You stumbled straight into bed when you arrived home and fell asleep instantly. After some hungover deliberation during the next day, you came to the conclusion that you might as well make your trip to Osaka about something more other than just Jungkook and his hyungs’ concert. You decided to make it a trip for yourself, too, and since Se-Eun was unable to come along due to her own hindrances in life and Jung-Hyun still hadn’t answered you from the day before, it truly was a trip for your own sake.

Thus, it wasn’t with a particularly heavy heart that you called the university to apply for five days of non-attendance, meaning you would be gone for an entire week of lectures and classes. Even though you felt a little bad for exploiting your parents influence on the school, you felt exhausted, through and through. You needed a vacation, if only briefly, and somewhere you wouldn’t have to be reminded who you were. In Japan, you hoped to escape, ever so momentarily, the burden you had been born to wear.

And the curse of harboring feelings you refused to acknowledge yet couldn’t seem to deny toward someone who would never be yours.

Yes, all you needed to do was endure. Endure the feeling of having all your emotions tugged and drawn into a thin, thin string just a little, tiny bit longer. Over the course of three months and more that string had remained intact - it must not break just yet.

Three days. Three days after which you could finally rest and allow yourself to heal, permanently this time.

Saturday evening, you videochatted with your parents on KakaoTalk while booking a plane ticket to Osaka. Initially, your mother stood reluctant as to your long leave, but your father eventually convinced her to let you go, and you were told some nice places to stay, eat or simply visit. It was clear, however much they tried to conceal it, that they were concerned for you. And deeply so. None of them said it out loud, but you noticed it in the way they exchanged glances with each other, or in a question disguised as another.

It didn’t matter, though. As long as you could have this week, you would be fine.

Or so you fervently wished.

Since you didn’t want to lag behind due to your vacation, the rest of the weekend was dedicated to studying. It wasn’t until late Sunday evening came around that you felt an uneasiness creep up on you. Jung-Hyun hadn’t gotten back to you ever since Thursday afternoon and though he wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, he wouldn’t just ignore your messages. Something could have just happened to his phone, however, and so you disregarded your concern for him as a mild case of paranoia.

And then it was time for you to call Jungkook about the details surrounding the concert.

His familiar voice filled your ear within fifteen seconds of the call. “(Y/N),” he said hushedly, sounding strangely out of breath. “Did something happen?”

For a moment, you contemplated whether or not to tell Jungkook about your recent shortage of communication with his brother. But then, deciding your earlier prediction was the most likely cause of Jung-Hyun’s lack of response, you simply smiled as you curled up into your chair and hoped you would sound completely normal when you spoke. “Why do you ask that? Can’t I just call you to see how you’re doing?”

“Well,” he began, his tone stiffening. “I’m kind of in a situation right now…”

Before you could ask him to specify his “situation”, you heard a female voice in the other end. It took away all the warmth of hearing Jungkook’s voice and burned away the blurry memory you had of Jungkook the evening with his group members - to be more precise, how good it had felt touching him and have him touch you while carrying your drunken self downstairs.

No, not even the most masochistic part of you enjoyed what you heard next.

“Who is it, honey?”

It sounded close, far too close in your ear for her to merely be in the same room, even less nearby Jungkook. Her voice trickled into your ear like old orange juice, sweet and pungent and sticky, and resounded as loudly and clearly in your head as if though she were pressing her mouth right next to the microphone. The way her lips moved, you could see it before you, and the way she smiled, you could feel how it affected him, and the way she probably was lying beside Jungkook, touching and caressing him - it was all too apparent, too explicit. Too thinkable .

You thought you were going to throw up.

“It’s just Jimin.”

It was a curt, precise answer. You barely registered that Jungkook had lied before Park Yi-Jae pressed on.

“Really? Why was the caller ID so weird then?”

You gulped. You had forgotten completely about the apparently weird name you had in Jungkook’s contact list, and hadn’t bothered checking it when you had had the opportunity.

“I got annoyed at him this morning so I decided to change it.” Jungkook lied as smoothly as if he had been prepared for her continuous pursuit.

“What does he want?” you heard her ask, her voice lowering for some reason.

“He… he was wondering when I would return.” Jungkook had spoken almost reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to say it, which struck you as odd since it was just a lie anyway. But then, you realized why - Jungkook didn’t want you to know how long he probably had remained with Yi-Jae.

As to why he didn’t want you to know about that fact… one could merely guess at, considering what he had told you yesterday.

She giggled. “I guess I’ve stolen you long enough. Jimin-oppa,” she said abruptly, causing you to almost fall off your chair, “I’ll send him back to you now! Good night! And I’ll see you on Tuesday!”

You almost thought you were going to have to fake Jimin’s voice, which you in no way knew well enough to even come close to mimicking, when you heard a rustle of what must be fabric - clothes or sheets? - and then Jungkook’s voice.

“I’ll call you again in five.”

He cut the call immediately, without waiting for your reply. You didn’t mind it though - you were paralyzed with shock.

Had you just called in the middle of… or after… or in the beginnings of… something you had absolutely no intention of calling anyone - least of all Jungkook - in whatever stage that so were or had been?

You had to cleanse your throat with some cold water. Your pajama pant pocket buzzed just in time for when you had brought your nausea under control, but you were still forced to inhale deeply before answering.

“Yes?” you said.

“Sorry about that,” said Jungkook quickly. “Must have been really awkward.”

“Something like that,” you replied. “I was just calling to ask about Tuesday - the wheres, whens, hows and so on and so forth.”

You almost couldn’t believe how normal you actually sounded. The words ran right out of you nearly automatically, and you didn’t feel a thing inside. It was neither cold, nor hard, nor warm, nor soft. Your heart was merely there , pounding evenly and obediently to keep the rest of your body alive.

Had it reached its limit?

“I was just thinking about calling you about that, too,” he said, something akin to relief in his voice. “Would you like to come to rehearsals and watch?”

“No,” you answered instantly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to distract you or disturb preparations by being in the way.”

“Please, we’ll be performing before thousands. And I’d actually like it if I had some kind of audience during practice. To warm up in front of, you know. And in an arena with more than fifteen thousand seats, you should find a spot where staff won’t be bothered by you.”

“Sure then,” you decided, still feeling a bit detached from the situation at hand.

There was a pause before Jungkook asked, “Do you have time to be on all three of our concerts? They’ll be straight after one another.”

“No,” you said, a half-lie. “Only the May 30th one.”

“A shame,” said Jungkook, his voice genuine. “But I guess education is important.”

“You guessed right.”

He chuckled. “I’ll text you the address to the arena. And time when we’ve received our schedules for the day.”

“Perfect.”

Strangely, Jungkook left you hanging for a while. You almost felt how he was readying himself for something, and consequently did the same.

“Yi-Jae will be there as well.”

“I heard,” you said casually, somehow. “Seems I’ll get to know another incredibly influential and popular idol.”

“It’s alright with you, then?”

You snorted. “What would you do if I said I weren’t?” you said jokingly.

Jungkook didn’t respond. You tried not to think about what his silence entailed, and swallowed before continuing. “Of course, I don’t mind. I’ll get an excellent opportunity to get to know her.”

The sentence had barely left your lips when you realized you weren’t joking anymore. You did want to know who exactly Park Yi-Jae was. Not only because you now were supposed to be Jungkook’s closest friend and therefore had a duty to look out for him as well as get along with his girlfriend.

No, you wanted to know what he saw in her, a girl you had met a total of two times - both with devastating results.

It wasn’t on a jealous or masochistic basis you had founded your new idea. No, really, it wasn’t. Frankly, you were curious of her character, seeing as she was the catalyst for everything that had happened that February night at the stadium. Because you could have sworn she had planned the whole “chance” encounter between you and Jungkook, which thereby had led up to the accident and the amnesia in the first place. It wasn’t something you could exactly prove, but remembering the way she had behaved and spoken… something was definitely fishy.

You didn’t think Yi-Jae had planned that Jungkook would throw a drunken tantrum afterward and get run over, not judging by the awful way she had acted in the parking lot of Asan Medical Center, but she was definitely not an innocent bystander. Yet, you knew she hadn’t been aware of you and Jungkook’s engagement, which had been made clear by both Jungkook himself and what she had told you after he had figuratively thrown her out of his hospital room.

Additionally, you hadn’t forgotten about what Yoongi had told you when you two had privately met. Namely, about the incident involving Yi-Jae and that actor guy having met up earlier this year in ways that, for the paparazzi, appeared suspicious. And although photographs and articles from tabloid reporters were about as realistic and honest as Se-Eun’s stance on romance, you remembered Yoongi saying how Jungkook had lied about how steady his and Yi-Jae’s relationship was.

Park Yi-Jae had been the first domino brick. Yet who was she? Who was the person that had initiated all the drama and all the stupid mess that came out of Jungkook’s amnesia?

Who was the person responsible for all of your pain?

“(Y/N)?” someone said for the fourth time.

You jolted, having completely forgotten about the phone conversation while absorbed into your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry, I accidentally pressed mute.”

“And you call me the idiot?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t done it, too, at least once.”

“Nope.”

You grimaced even though you were glad he didn’t appear to see through your lie. “Shoot. There goes my most embarrassing secret.”

“I can think of a number of more embarrassing moments. A large number.”

“I have to go,” you said, intentionally ignoring his comment.

“I bet. I’ll see you on Tuesday, then.”

You nodded. “See you on Tuesday,” you echoed before hanging up.

It was a night of restlessness before you woke up early the next morning in order to catch the first flight of the day to Osaka. Jong-Yeol grumbled as he drove you to Incheon, also evidently reluctant as to your one week long absence despite your greatest attempts at reassurance. Still, he helped you check-in your bags and admit your ticket, following you all the way to the security controls where he was simply forced to let you go.

“I’ll see you in a week,” you said where you stood fifth in line to the security measures. “And stop worrying,” you added when he clenched and unclenched his fists. “I know Japanese better than dad. I’ll just ask around if I get lost, or just use my phone.”

Standing next to you, Jong-Yeol sighed. “I know,” he said. “You’re an adult now. You should be able to handle yourself. But I still don’t like the fact that you’re going alone.”

“Jungkook and his hyungs and their staff will be there, too,” you pointed out as you shuffled a few centimeters forward, the line of people behind you following along.

“He’s no good,” he replied with another sigh. “If only Jung-Hyun would have accompanied you.”

“Oh, yeah,” you uttered, recalling the issue with Jungkook’s brother. “I haven’t heard from him since Thursday last week. Do you know if he’s gone somewhere?”

Jong-Yeol shook his head. “Nothing. Do you mean to say you cannot even reach him by phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Something must have happened to his phone. He’s a busy man, (Y/N) - he’ll get back to you when he can.” Jong-Yeol gently patted your shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

You gazed down your engagement ring. “You’re probably right.”

It took another ten minutes before you were able to get through security, from which point on you were completely on your own. You waved a silent goodbye at Jong-Yeol before heading into the duty free shops and boutiques, and while nothing came remotely close to being “too expensive”, you found yourself losing interest rapidly and it wasn't long until you became bored. Since it was still two hours left until the plane would lift, however, you decided to find your way to the gate and read or browse the news or talk to Se-Eun for the remainder of the time.

Se-Eun was thrilled for your sake - and very much frustrated over her mother having vetoed her attempt at tagging along with you - yet you could hint worry in her tone, too, a worry similar to your parents and Jong-Yeol’s. You noticed how she tried to hide it behind her usual glad disposition, but when you told her you had to leave for the plane, she finally cracked.

“(Y/N),” she said earnestly, causing you to sit down onto the black leather sofa in the first class lounge again. “You’re… you’re coming back, right?”

Your eyes widened, both in surprise and dismay. “Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking,” you said, tone sharper than perhaps necessary but useful nevertheless. You couldn't believe what you had just heard.

“I’m not!” she blurted, obviously guilt bearing down her tone. “I just want you to know, (Y/N)...” She hesitated.

“What?” you asked, one eyebrow quirked. “What do I need to know?”

Se-Eun inhaled deeply before continuing. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. Please,” she added before you could interject. “I care too much about you - I won’t be able to stand seeing you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said firmly. “And I will return to Seoul, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

You didn’t know which ones of your statements she had addressed, nor were you sure you wanted to know.

“Look, I can’t talk anymore,” you went on hastily as you heard the second call for passengers to enter. “I’ll call you when I’m in Osaka. See you next week!”

You knew she was contemplating whether to be a bother or not and insist on the conversation at hand, but she eventually conceded. “Bye!” she said cheerily. “And take photos this time, seriously! High quality ones while they’re on stage!”

“I’ve got my camera with me, don’t worry.”

“And try to get a few snaps on… you know .”

You rolled your eyes even as you smiled, both relieved and glad the mood had lifted between you two. “I’m not taking pictures of Jimin and Jungkook’s legs. Or sweaty necks and exposed foreheads. Or crotch silhouettes,” you added quickly, a grimace manifesting on your face.

“What about making those pictures my birthday and Christmas gift combined? Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Come on, (Y/N)! You have the kind of opportunity most fangirls would kill a man for! Or two!”

“Pervert.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. “Scratch the other stuff. Just give me one photo of Jungkook and Jimin’s thighs each. No, actually, if you can squeeze in both into one single picture--”

“No,” you said as you bit down a laughter of your own. “I’ll send you as many pictures as I’m allowed, but nothing weird.”

“Damn it.”

“Seriously, Se-Eun,” you said as you grabbed your purse and jogged out of the lounge area. “I have to go now.”

“Yeah, I can hear the announcer,” she said. “Have fun in Japan, (Y/N). Seriously, you need it. I don’t want to see your under-eye bags ever again. It doesn’t fit someone as rich as you.”

You entered the line of people heading into the drawbridge connecting the airplane with the airport. “Thanks. Or something along that line.”

“By the way, if you find your way to an anime and manga store--”

“I’ll buy you as much merch as I can carry,” you said with a smile.

“Do you remember my favorite characters?”

“How can I not?” you asked as you tucked the phone between your cheek and your shoulder while rummaging your purse for ticket and passport. “A blonde cyborg, that dude in blue uniform who can make fire by snapping his fingers and that one guy from that titan show. And there’s that white-haired boy with some weird arm as well as that other white-haired boy who eats people.”

The last made the male flight attendant give you an obvious deep frown, but as soon as he read your name and spotted your first class ticket, he pretended as if nothing had happened. And so did you - things were simpler that way.

“You suck,” she said with a giggle. “But if you somehow can manage to figure out who they all are despite your obvious cluelessness, I won’t protest.”

“I know them when I see them,” you said defensively. The flight attendant gave you back your ticket and passport and you started into the drawbridge. “I’m literally boarding the plane right now, though, so I’m going to have to hang up.”

“Take care! And send the pictures as soon as you can!”

“I will. See you in a week, Se-Eun.”

Two hours later, you arrived at Kansai International Airport. You found yourself scratching your arm an awful lot during the time it took you to get to your hotel, which was a five-star establishment located in central Osaka and not even twenty minutes away from the arena Jungkook was performing at. Yet, excitement and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of joyous wonder was building inside your stomach with each step you took in this new environment.

It felt nice blending into society for once, neither the taxi driver nor the woman in the hotel lobby taking you for anything other than a young citizen. Wealthy, obviously, and someone unfamiliar with the area, but thanks to years of rigorous tutoring, you didn’t even have an accent. People didn’t look twice at you, and you weren’t getting hounded by paparazzi. You therefore felt quite confident journeying out, even by yourself, after first getting settled in the hotel.

Osaka was a concrete jungle with various patches of green in the shape of obviously man-designed parks, and the climate wasn’t much different from Seoul’s. Also, since you mastered the language, there wasn’t much of a mystery wandering around discovering. Yet, the charm of being a tourist during a period that wasn’t a holiday or a usual time for students to have time off lingered with you, and as you decided to have late lunch at a cheap, automatized ramen shop, you felt a sort of profound happiness at the simplicity of it all. The kind no amount of money in the whole world could buy. It was the calm before the storm.

One day left until May 30th.

The remainder of Monday was dedicated to browsing the rest of the area nearest the hotel and taking photos of the urban environment. You managed to find a hobby shop dedicated for anime merchandise and bought dolls and small figurines for Se-Eun before heading back, and made a quick detour to a corner shop for some snacks as well. All your tension had melted away after a hot shower, and you were relaxing on your bed in a thick bathrobe two sizes too large, watching TV for hours upon hours. You had meant to change into your pajamas, but accidentally fell asleep before you could bring yourself to.

And briefly, you floated in a darkness where no real life drama could harm you.

The buzzing in the other end of the room was what jolted you awake. Stiffly, you scrambled out of bed and toward the desk you had put your phone to charge upon before showering, and blinked rapidly to regain your vision. It was surprisingly bright outside, but you didn’t spend much brainpower considering it. 

Not until you, half-blind, raised your phone to your ear and heard Jungkook’s voice slip through the line.

“Morning, (Y/N).”

“‘Morning’?” you exclaimed. “You must be kidding me.”

“Why would I?” he asked, the confusion in his voice quickly sharpening into alarm. “Shit, don’t tell me you’ve missed your plane!”

“No!” you amended hastily. “No, I actually came here yesterday. Decided to take an additional day--,” or five, “--off. I just… I must have fallen asleep. Didn’t wake up until now.”

“Well,” said Jungkook, his tone deflating. “Thanks for terrifying me. I almost thought you weren’t going to come.”

His concern made you smile, ever so slightly. “No problem.”

“Anyways,” he began, his voice trembling with anticipation and joy with each passing word. “We’ll start rehearsing at eight-thirty. It’ll mostly be a rundown to see how things work technically, and we probably won’t be doing the concert in its whole until sometime after lunch. You can come anytime you want - I’ve told the manager-hyungs you’re coming, so you should have no trouble getting in.”

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll get there in an hour or two.”

“Great. And thanks again for coming.” He paused. “You… you have no idea how much it means to me. Especially considering how bad our relationship used to be. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t get all soft on me now,” you reprimanded gently, your heart aching at the genuine nature of his sentence. “Let’s celebrate and get sentimental afterwards instead. Who knows - I might just hate the show.”

Jungkook chuckled and his voice turned normal. “I’ll make sure you don’t.”

After telling you some final details surrounding the preparations for the concert, you calmly got ready for the day. You weren’t going to rush, even though a part of you direly wanted to see Jungkook as soon as possible.

Because there was another part of you, more dominant than the former, that dreaded seeing him with Park Yi-Jae.

It was nearing your “an hour or two” when you finally exited the cab outside Osaka-Jo Hall. There were a few girls waiting at the entrance already, chattering happily about the concert and the members of BTS. You were quick to put on a mouth mask to conceal your identity, and wandered up to where they stood, wary of the curious glances they sent you when you tried the glass doors. A moment of general awkwardness filled the area when you discovered that you weren’t able to get in, and you felt your cheeks grow warm underneath your mask as you texted Jungkook that you were there. His reply came surprisingly quickly.

*10.01 - Walk along the eastern side of the arena until you see a pair of metal doors with green and white writing on them. Someone will come get you.*

You did as instructed, and soon disappeared out of range from the girls’ vision. It wasn’t long until you found double doors that matched Jungkook’s description, and you rolled your eyes when you read what it said: machine room, beware! You doubted it was there “someone” would come to find you, and instead continued along the wide, asphalt path that led around the arena. Eventually, you saw another pair of metal doors that were also slightly ajar. The sign on the doors read: staff only. Glad that you had decided to follow your instinct - or logic - you approached them, ready to call Jungkook should it be necessary for him to confirm your identity - when a familiar face poked out between the doors.

“Kim Sejin!” you said with a surprised smile. “I expected someone else!”

“I can see that,” said Sejin as he returned your smile. “How are you?”

He pushed up the door for you to enter, and quickly shut it after you had. You found yourself standing in a slim, windowless corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly in two directions. The air smelled of rubber and cool concrete, and the fluorescent lights that traveled across the gray ceiling, parallel to a white line across the floor, gave off a pale, eggshell-colored illumination.

“I’ve had better days,” you said as you gingerly rubbed your neck. You had definitely not slept the way you used to. “But I’m far too excited for Jungkook to be bothered.”

Sejin gestured for you to follow him down one end of the passageway. He didn’t look half as tired as he used to, and you fleetingly wondered whether you consequently looked worse than you had when you first met him. If Sejin noticed, he didn’t mention it, at least. “I can’t believe you succeeded, (Y/F/N),” he told you. “I’d say Jungkook is just as good as he used to be, if not better! In three months, no less! It’s a miracle.” He shook his head. “No, you’re a miracle. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t been there to help the kid.”

His words moved you, but you tried to shrug it off. “It was my fault he ended up in an accident,” you said, grimacing at the bitter tone. “The least I could do was to help him get back on his feet.”

“Still, he owes you a lot. I do, too, since I would have probably lost my job if Jungkook never recovered.”

Your eyes widened at this. “Oh, he hasn’t recovered,” you said, causing Sejin to furrow his brows. “We tried that memory thing you told me about, but it didn’t really work out. So, Jungkook decided to practice and relearn everything he’s forgotten.”

“In a little more than three months?” asked Sejin incredulously.

“Probably in less than that.”

“Unbelievable,” muttered Sejin as he grasped his forehead. “I… I thought for sure he was--” He cut himself off, and his frown deepened as he scrutinized you briefly. “No, he’s definitely changed. I can’t deny it.”

You averted your gaze. There was a knowing in the man’s eyes that you did not feel comfortable addressing.

Mostly, because you weren’t sure if you even could.

“I was wondering,” you began instead, hoping to steer the conversation down another path, “if I could take some photos during the concert… and perhaps even before? Backstage, pre-show things.”

The western wall suddenly opened up to a set of stairs leading up and, judging by the direction, toward the center of the arena. “I’ll have to call the director about backstage things,” said Sejin as he started up the steps. “But since I’m guessing you have no reason to use the pictures for monetary gain, it should be fine. Take as many as you’d like.”

You followed him. “Thank you. And no, I won’t sell them.” However, you would share them with Se-Eun.

“Good.”

The stairs led to a heavy door that swung open to reveal another seemingly endless corridor. However, this one was wider and had windows that showed the outside, and faint music periodically permeated the walls. Sejin led you onward, and greeted passing staff in a set of polite but repetitive Japanese sentences, which you mimicked. The staff didn’t take any special notice of you, and so you took it as a sign that you could take off your mouth mask.

The music grew louder with each step you took, and it wasn’t long until you recognized it.

“My blood, sweat and tears…”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. Not out of fear or concern, but out of remembering the decisive evening in February when you first had heard those lyrics.

This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

By the time you and Sejin exited onto the empty stands in the eastern side of Osaka-Jo Hall, the music was blasting. Sejin left you to yourself after a female personnel had approached the two of you hesitantly, wishing to speak with the manager about something backstage. He apologized for having to leave so abruptly, but you assured him that you would be fine. Frankly, he could have departed without you even noticing.

Because there were seven male figures dancing in the center of the brightly lit stage that you couldn’t tear your eyes off. Or to be more specific, the one dressed in gray sweatpants, a loose white t-shirt and yellow brand boots.

Jeon Jungkook.

Last time you had seen him dance, you had honestly been appalled. Not purely because he had been bad, but because you had once seen him dance like there was not even a thought in his head other than the stage and the audience and the rhythm of the beat. While performing, on stage, Jungkook had been a completely different person--no, he had transformed into a different being altogether, something more than just human. His singing and dancing had weaved a spell so utterly intricate and appealing, you had been beyond shocked, beyond simply attracted or intrigued.

You had thought him beautiful. For the first time in your life, you had looked upon another human being with nothing but pure, unadulterated wonder. His stage presence had practically swept you off your feet and punched you in the guts at the same time.

And it was just that sensation that recurred when you watched Jungkook dance on stage for the second time.

You almost had to sit down as you stared at him. He had no need for fancy clothes or makeup or stylized hair. It was refreshing, actually, seeing him in comfortable clothes, face bare, dancing as if though nothing else truly mattered. His moves oscillated constantly between the calm assuredness of practice and the fiery intensity of his will and passion, though that in turn created a sort of balance that was absolutely captivating. It rendered you wordless.

You could watch Jeon Jungkook dance for ages, but then, that wasn’t what you were there for.

None of the seven members of BTS noticed you even as they finished the song and the stage director shouted that they needed to go through the song routine again. The music restarted, and you began uncovering your camera. You snapped a few shots - mindful, of course, of the flash setting, which you shut off before you started taking photos - as you approached the stage. Unwittingly, you managed to capture a few images where members exposed a strip of naked skin either around their midsection or their neck and shoulder area, and decided to keep them a secret from Se-Eun until you needed to cheer her up some extra. Other than that, you kept the photographing to a minimum, and eventually sank down onto one of the many plastic seats, your eyes still glued onto the dancing guys.

“(Y/F/N)? Is that you?”

The blood ran cold through your system. You slowly, very slowly, craned your neck backwards, and despite having heard her voice, despite reason telling you that she was very much present, you had to muster every ounce of self-control as not to jolt in shock when she entered your vision.

“Park Yi-Jae,” you said with a smile that tasted like ash and brackish water. “Nice to see you.”

Park Yi-Jae had stopped mid-stride, and turned fully toward you, her eyes round with genuine surprise. She was wearing an oversized, pink hoodie that made her delicate, bare legs look even thinner by comparison, and unpocketed her phone from the front of her white jeans shorts before taking the seat next to you. The air suddenly smelled like strawberry candy and hairspray.

“Likewise!” chirped Yi-Jae as she beamed at you. “But when did you get here? I didn’t even know you’d come!”

She ran her fingers through now long, straightened blonde hair, which you took as a sign of nervousness. Her nails were meticulously polished and cut, and jewelry dangled from her ears and tiny wrists. You tried not to look, but forced yourself to search for it - and you found it. Draped around her pale neck was the necklace you had bought for Jungkook’s graduation. Immediately, reflexively, you braced yourself for the immense agony of being reminded, of seeing the betrayal, of reliving the wound Jungkook had inflicted upon you that fateful February night.

But instead of pain, all you felt was emptiness.

“Oh, I arrived yesterday,” you told her, your voice completely light and normal. You sounded glad, really - somehow - while you strained to be heard over the music. “Jungkook invited me to come almost a month ago.”

“Did he?” Her smile remained on her face. “Well, I’m so happy to see you again - we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” She lowered her gaze ashamedly. “I was horrible toward you. I’m so sorry about that. I just… I was scared to lose him and hurt. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Yi-Jae both looked and sounded honest. You didn’t know if you believed her, but you knew you had to appear as if though you did. If only to keep the conversation at a reasonable level. “Of course not,” you said sympathetically. “I get it, it must have been horrible hearing him say what he said.”

“Yes, but still…” She touched her bracelet, her eyes remaining downcast. “I’m sorry. I threatened you like a madman and I even accused you of not caring about him. I honestly thought you only wanted to use him for your family business.”

“But why would you think that?” you asked carefully, making sure your voice was calm and reassuring. It wasn’t difficult, seeing as you weren’t angry or annoyed at all. In fact, you felt absolutely nothing while talking to Yi-Jae. Someone could have shot you in the leg and you wouldn’t even have flinched.

You would have been terrified of yourself, but not even fear could overcome the total and complete numbness infiltrating your emotional state just then.

Yi-Jae glanced up at stage, where the members of BTS were still dancing. “Jungkookie told me a lot of things about you that weren’t exactly… flattering. I allowed that to cloud my judgement when I was angry with you, which was wrong in the first place.” Her eyes flitted nervously over to yours before quickly darting away again. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing Jungkook back to us and the way he almost used to be.”

This piqued your interest. So not only Sejin had noticed that something was different with Jungkook.

“There’s no need apologizing,” you said while you mused over what she had said. The horrifying feeling of emotional voidness was still present inside you, like a vile, corrupting sickness that no medicine or treatment in the world could cure. It was worse than jealousy, a hundred times worse, because it felt almost as if it were a different person talking. As if you were merely watching yourself, unable to do anything. “I completely understand you. I would have behaved the same in your shoes.”

A lie. An utter, utter lie. Fortunately, Yi-Jae didn’t seem to notice that.

“Thank you so much for accepting my apology,” she said as her eyes shifted back toward yours. She smiled. “I’d like us to be friends, (Y/N), if I can call you that.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?” you wondered.

Yi-Jae giggled. “I know we didn’t exactly start off right,” she replied, “but I still think we can make it work. We’re both tied to the same guy, and I don’t want to make this a case where he has to choose either you or me.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why would he have to choose? He loves you.”

Again, where you anticipated pain, there was nothing. You lifted your hand to rub your throat and tried to discreetly find your pulse. It was steady, pounding in an even rhythm, strong and alive.

Why, then, did you feel as if you were buried three feet under ground?

“Ah, yes,” she said with a short laughter. “But still. I love him too much to see him have to struggle between me and his friends. You are just friends, right?”

It took all your remaining willpower not to laugh. It would have been a cold, harsh laughter, but a laughter nevertheless. So, that’s what her point with the conversation was. Yet, you couldn’t confront her about it, not as long as you wanted to be friendly with her for Jungkook’s sake… which meant you could potentially be keeping silent about it until she and Jungkook died, what with the lie you had told Jungkook regarding the engagement ring you had once worn.

Shoot.

“Yeah,” you said nonchalantly. “That idiot is lucky to have someone who cares so much about his well-being as you.”

You managed to not sound sarcastic, but it was only barely. Yi-Jae must have sensed it, too, but she kept up appearances. “Thank you, (Y/N),” she said with a bright smile. “Let’s make a lot of good memories together. Just wait, in five or ten years, we’ll all be gathered around someone’s dinner table and just laugh at this.”

You felt your mouth move into a stiff smile. “Yup,” you replied. “It’ll all be like a bad dream.”

Yi-Jae nodded, and opened her mouth to respond when someone interrupted her. You hadn’t noticed the music stopping for a brief water break, even less the tall, sweaty guy regarding the two of you where you sat.

“(Y/N)!”

You looked in the direction of his voice and spotted Jungkook standing a few dozen rows away. Around him, the six remaining members of BTS were scattered across the seats, faces sweaty. They raised their hands wearily and called out a few greetings, which you returned with a smile. Yoongi was the only one who kept looking up at you after the guys resumed talking among themselves, except for Jungkook, who was grinning right at you.

“There you are!” he shouted. “I was calling you for the third time just now! Why couldn’t you send me a text that you were here? I almost thought you had been kidnapped!”

Warmth filled your chest, but it was only a spark, a weak flame, compared to what you used to feel when Jungkook smiled at you. You truly were emotionally injured, you fleetingly acknowledged as you rolled your eyes at him. “I thought you had eyes, you idiot!” you called back. “It’s not like I’m sitting right in front of you. Wait, but I am!”

“I’m actually getting my eyes checked soon,” he responded loudly, a chuckle following afterward.

“It’s probably all that gaming, you know!”

Jungkook shrugged, but his grin widened. You tried to discern any kind of unease or awkwardness in his posture or tone over the fact that you were sitting with his girlfriend, but he seemed unmoved.

He was moving on.

While chugging his water bottle, he returned focus to his hyungs. Yoongi, however, was still sending occasional glances your way, none of which you were able to interpret, yet you smiled at him to assure him you were alright. Another lie, of course. You were all but alright.

“Do you and Yoongi-oppa have something going on or…?”

Your jaw slackened, and you stared incredulously at Yi-Jae. “What?” you exclaimed, unable to dampen your shock. “Of course not!”

Yi-Jae tapped a finger against her chin and smiled apologetically at you. “Sorry, it just looked a little suspicious.” She leaned closer, the smell of her strawberry perfume infiltrating your nose even more. “Come on, we’re friends now. You can tell me.”

You were tempted to tell her very firmly that friendships didn’t work like that, and even more so the prospect of just punching her straight across the jaw. But you managed to restrain your impulses, and merely shook your head. “No, really,” you said as you discreetly moved away from her. “There’s nothing between him, or anyone else in the group, and me. Trust me - I couldn’t lie to save myself even."

Now, that might have been an exaggeration. You could definitely lie, only not to people who knew you somewhat. Yi-Jae seemed skeptical, but she let it go, flashing you another brilliant, sweet smile you had seen in CFs and posters so many other times. “Okay, but you’re not interested in any of them or so?” she asked gently.

“No,” you said, doing your best not to grit your teeth. “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment. University is work enough already.”

Yi-Jae giggled, but she sounded almost too content when she replied. “That’s unfortunate,” she said as she let out a wistful huff of air, her eyes locking onto Jungkook’s back. “I wouldn’t know what I would do without my honey.”

You guessed it was supposed to sound romantic, and perhaps it was. But you couldn’t even imagine having to depend on another person, especially your significant other, to that point. If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have been able to handle an overbearing partner.

But then, you weren’t particularly successful in the dating realm, were you?

Perhaps a girl like Yi-Jae was all that guys wanted. Pretty, petite and pure - the perfect combination.

“Let’s do ‘Not Today’!” A man wearing glasses and a lightweight headset, presumably the stage or concert director, shouted instructions from stage to people in the area. “Performers, please take your starting positions!”

Jungkook gave you and Yi-Jae a quick smile over his shoulder and saluted before following his hyungs back up to the stage. You waved back, not really feeling like you wanted - or could - smile. Yi-Jae called out to him, however.

“Fighting!”

A whole hour passed before you excused yourself from Yi-Jae’s company. She didn’t seem to mind, as she had been talking to and laughing with someone on her phone for the last thirty minutes or so. Hoping Jungkook would be too absorbed into the rehearsals, you hurriedly left the same way you had come. Fresh air, or really anything that didn’t reek of candy and strawberry, was something you had run a shortage of, and you were practically panting when you found your way to a small lounge area and shut yourself in. You had barely sank down onto a worn, leather armchair when you felt the tears prickling behind your eyes.

“No!” you grunted as you balled your hands into fists. “Don’t you freaking cry now. You can’t break just yet, not until--” Your voice broke, painfully so.

You shook your head and closed your eyes, refusing to give in to the urge of relinquishing control - control was all you had left to cling onto, at least until after Jungkook’s concert. All this time, you had been nothing but unyielding in your belief, your conviction that you were doing the right thing both for you and Jungkook and everyone involved. You couldn’t just let more than three months of hard work slip through your fingers, not when you were so close to the freaking finishing line.

After the concert, Jungkook would have proved his worth as an idol again. He would be able to continue pursue his career - his childhood dream - together with a circle of people you now knew supported him more than you had ever been able to do. His hyungs: Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok - Jungkook would be in good hands continuing forward. And what his band members might not be able to provide for him, he could always find in Yi-Jae.

He had his life back together now. You had fixed the damage caused by his accident, which in turn kind of had occurred because of you. Your debt was paid, your duty was done - you could walk away from Jungkook now with a smile on your face and a straight back. He was glad, everyone around him was glad, and his life was going to continue where it abruptly ended due to his amnesia. It was all you had ever wanted when you first decided to help Jungkook.

Yet why did your chest feel so hollow? Why did your eyes yearn to bleed saltwater? Why did you want to punch something until you couldn’t punch something ever again?

Why were you being so difficult when you desired nothing but Jungkook to be happy?

You had kept your eyes close while struggling with your thoughts, and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep, exhausted still from the travel yesterday. It was your furiously vibrating jacket pocket that later roused you, causing you to shoot up from the armchair.

“Yes?” you answered.

“(Y/N)?” Jungkook let out a loud, exasperated exhale. “Where have you been? Yi-Jae said she hasn’t seen you since around lunch time! It’s an hour minutes before the show!”

“I’m on my way,” you said as you hurried out of the room. You saw staff running in all different kinds of directions and scratched your nose. “Uh, where am I supposed to go?”

“I’m in one of the private changing rooms for the performers. Wait where you are - I’ll send a manager to bring you.”

“I can just ask around,” you said as you started hesitantly toward a young woman, who was heading in the opposite direction.

“You know Japanese?”

“I know English, Chinese and a little French, too.”

He snorted. “I should have known. Well then, if you’re nearby the arena, it shouldn’t take you long to find me.”

You signaled for the woman’s attention, and her eyes found yours. “Alright,” you said rapidly. “I’m hanging up. See you in a bit.”

After some explaining, the woman was kind enough to show you all the way to the green room, where you found Namjoon, Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung waiting in each foldable plastic chair, phones in hand. They had all been primped up from head to toe, similarly to when you had seen them on stage the first time, and you knew instinctively that you had a golden opportunity to take a picture of them when they were still unaware yet still nearly photoshop perfect. However, and despite almost hearing Se-Eun beg for you to do it, you weren’t just going to snap a photo of someone - even someone as famous and comfortable with cameras like BTS - without them knowing about it.

“Hi,” you said as you entered the green room, which wasn’t particularly green. It was concrete, much like the rest of the building and Osaka altogether, and smelled strongly of hairspray, deodorant and lotion.

Jimin, who had been weighing himself on the two back legs of the chair, responded fastest. “(Y/N)!” he blurted as he sat properly. “Where have you been? You missed lunch.”

“There should be some left,” said Namjoon as he gestured toward a corridor that started in the other end of the green room. “In the second room, next to all the water bottles.”

“I’m not hungry,” you said truthfully, though you gave both of them a grateful smile for considering you might be. “Where are the rest?”

“Yoongi and Hoseok are still getting their makeup done,” said Seokjin as he lifted his gaze from the phone briefly to meet yours. “Jungkook is fixing some clothing issue.”

“He lost more weight than he should have,” said Taehyung, a strain to his cheek as he spoke. He then pointed down the same corridor Namjoon had indicated earlier. “You’ll find him third door to the left.”

“Thank you,” you told Taehyung, who nodded curtly in response. “By the way,” you added hastily as you picked up your camera. “Can I take some photos of you? It’s for a friend.”

“The shy ones always say that,” said Seokjin though he straightened his posture. “But sure.”

“Wait,” said Jimin as he checked his reflection in the screen of his phone. “It’s bad lighting in here, actually.” He grimaced.

“It’s just a normal picture,” you assured him quickly.

That didn’t seem to calm Jimin, or in fact anyone of them down. You had to take at least ten pictures until all four of them were satisfied, since if one of them complained, another one complained at the next picture you snapped. When they were all content, Hoseok appeared from the corridor and insisted on being a part of the suddenly lengthy photoshoot. Twenty pictures later, all five of them disagreed on the picture in question, and so, with a sigh, you left the camera with Taehyung so that you at least could leave.

“Jungkook?” You knocked on the third door to the left, just as Taehyung had told you. “You in there?”

“Yeah, come in.”

Jungkook was looking himself up and down in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. His brown hair was fashionably tousled, and he was wearing enough makeup to even cover the slight scar he had on his left cheek. There were titanium in his ears and around his fingers, and he was wearing a red bomber jacket over a turquoise shirt with print. His legs were wrapped in tight, tight black denim, and he wore brand sneakers to complete his look.

“Hey,” he said as his eyes found yours through the mirror.

You pushed past a movable clothes rack that was draped with various expensive-looking shirts and jackets. “No white t-shirt? What happened?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he replied as he straightened the collar of his shirt. “Where the hell were you by the way? I searched everywhere for you.”

“I was in a nearby shopping mall,” you lied as you did your best not to scratch your arm. “I’m actually feeling a little sick. I don’t know if I’ll be able to be here for the whole concert.”

Jungkook spun around. “You have to be,” he said, desperation clear in his tone. He approached you and put his hands on each of your shoulders. “Do you need some aspirin? Water? Have you actually eaten lunch?

“No,” you admitted as you averted your gaze. You couldn’t look into his eyes when he was as close as he currently was. The smell of him, mixed as always with soap, was enough to make you want to just lean your head against his chest and breathe it in.

“You need to take care of yourself, (Y/N).”

“As do you,” you said while studying the floor. “Taehyung told me you lost more than just five kilos.”

“Almost nine,” said Jungkook quietly.

You would have liked to look into his eyes to bring a little more weight to your sentence as you responded. “Seriously, don’t be an idiot. Your fans love you for what you do and who you are, and I believe they would like you to be healthy before all. So do that. Because if you don’t take care of your health, who will?”

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you were concerned about me.”

You felt your lips tug into a reluctant smile. “Of course I am. I’m your friend, Jungkook. Why wouldn’t I care about your well-being?”

“Why then, won’t you look into my eyes?”

You inhaled deeply before raising your chin. Jungkook was tall, not as tall as Namjoon or Jung-Hyun, but he was tall enough for you to have to strain to look up at him, especially now that you were standing so closely together. He wore a soft expression on his face, his familiar brown eyes filling you with warmth - and you almost cried. The voidness that had numbed your feelings earlier, crept back across your senses with a ferociousness you now came to appreciate while you fought back your traitorous tears. You wouldn’t look away, however. You kept gazing up at Jungkook, hoping he couldn’t see how difficult this really was for you while you battled with your feelings.

“(Y/N)...” began Jungkook carefully, his voice low and hesitant.

“Forty-five minutes left until the show!” an unfamiliar voice called out from the corridor, cutting off Jungkook in whatever it was he had meant to say.

“Where’s Yi-Jae?” you asked as you stepped away from him. The weight of his palms on your shoulders remained, like imprints in the sand. “Shouldn’t she also be here to support you?”

“She’s in the bathroom and has been for a while now,” said Jungkook, his tone neutral. “She ate some bad salmon. Sejin-hyung caught it too.”

“Guess I should be glad I didn’t stay for lunch,” you muttered. “I love salmon.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some aspirin or something?”

You shook your head. “I’ll manage. And pills make me sleepy, anyways.”

Jungkook pulled up his phone from the bomber jacket - since he probably couldn’t even fit a coin in his pants - and held it out to you. “Could you take a picture of me and the hyungs so I can send it to my parents?”

“Sure,” you said, even though you lifted your eyebrows in surprise. You tapped in the code, 1024, yet nothing happened. “Did you change the password?” you asked.

“Sorry, I forgot about that. It’s 1738.” He glanced at his reflection in the mirror again, adjusting his sleeves and his hair before turning back toward you, and pointed ahead. “Let’s go.”

You hung your purse over the clothes rack before heading out. Laughter could be heard all the way to the green room where now all seven members of BTS were visually ready for the concert. The laughter came from Seokjin and Jimin, who was watching Taehyung clutching your camera as if it were his own and taking pictures of all the members while shouting random English words. Taehyung had seemed to gotten really into character while he forced Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi to pose differently, using both chairs and the various equipment lying nearby. You could hear Jungkook sigh, but when you looked up at him, he was grinning as widely as the other guys.

“Come here,” ordered Jungkook, causing everyone to look at him. “(Y/N) is taking a group photo of us.”

“Group photo?” said Taehyung in heavily accented English. He said it in a confused way, as if he himself hadn’t understood what he just had said, which caused an upheaval among the others.

“Yeah,” said Jungkook as he stifled a laughter. The others didn’t. “Come here, all of you.”

You had to unlock Jungkook’s phone twice before all six of his hyungs finally obeyed him. Perhaps, if it were another day, or another life, you might have joined in on the laughter and found it funny how Jungkook spoke without even the slightest honorifics while ordering the members around, but you knew this would be the end. And so, it was with a pensive smile that you took the photos.

When you were finished, the seven guys flocked around you to browse through the images, several of which would have belonged in a comedy sketch. They settled down after that, though if it were because of nerves or because they needed to save their energy, you didn’t know. Taehyung returned your camera to you before he went to stretch together with Hoseok. You unfolded a chair, too, and sank down on it as Jungkook patted you on your arm.

“I’ll be right back,” he told you. “If anyone needs me, I’m in the bathroom.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“And (Y/N)...” His fingers squeezed around your bicep gently. “Thank you, again, for everything. You really are the best kind of friend I could have ever asked for.”

“Save the sentimental stuff until after the concert,” you said as you struggled against the burning in your eyes. “Who knows what will happen. Break a leg, by the way.”

Jungkook chuckled as he left you. “Heartless,” he muttered over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until he had left that you realized you were still holding Jungkook’s phone. Remembering the weird caller ID your phone number had according to practically everyone, you felt your curiosity increase exponentially with each passing second. You tried to resist the urge, knowing that you had no right to be browsing around Jungkook’s phone just because he had told you the password. Yet, when you realized that this would be your final chance to find out, you decided to sneak a peek. How dangerous could it be to just snoop around one last time and for something as innocent as a caller ID? Not at all, you reckoned.

You believed wrong.

What you thought would have been the last time you would directly interact with something connected to Jungkook for your own sake turned horribly wrong. For when you found your number in Jungkook’s contact list, you couldn’t believe what you were reading. You bolted up the chair with enough force to startle everyone in the green room with you, including the members of BTS. Yoongi’s gaze weighed especially hard upon your neck as you bolted toward the dressing room you had left your purse in, but you ignored everyone. Even as Hoseok called after you, concern in his voice, you rendered yourself deaf. All you knew was that you had to get out of there before--

“(Y/N)! What’s going on? Did something happen to your father again?”

You froze. You wished you hadn’t, you wished you had been able to sprint out of the dressing room and merely push past the person standing behind you just then, but you couldn’t. You were petrified.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?”

His steps thudded across the floor, hasty, worried. Yet it was you who were filled with apprehension after Jungkook forced you to turn around and look at him, hot tears running down your face.

For Jungkook fell to the floor, gripping his head with both his hands until his knuckles whitened.

Seconds, days, hours, years - it was all arbitrary. Time felt as if it had ceased, yet simultaneously ran faster than ever. People, both familiar and unfamiliar, gradually filled the doorway to stare at you and Jungkook. Nobody dared step over the threshold. Not even Jungkook’s hyungs moved when they heard him grunt and groan in agony where he was crumpled onto the floor.

All you heard were your own heartbeats. Fluttery, light, as if to compensate for the unmoving time. You wanted to help Jungkook, you wanted to stop his suffering no matter the cost.

But that was not something you could do. Not when you were the cause of it.

Eons could have passed - or a few milliseconds. But the amount of anger in Jungkook’s eyes as he looked up at you, mixed with the kind of cold scorn he had regarded you with the last five years, made you believe in the former. The way his lips formed into a thin line, the way he set his jaw, the way his brows were slightly furrowed - they were all a part of the Jungkook you had shared your latter teens with. They were all a part of what had made you despise him so much during the last couple of years.

They were all a part of the expression Jeon Jungkook had worn when he discovered you with Park Yi-Jae after the concert in Seoul that Sunday in February.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. Instead, you darted out of the dressing room, the spectators parting like the Red Sea before you. Not even Yoongi’s slim dark eyes, which were brimming with sympathy, lent you any consolation as your walking turned into running and then sprinting.

Jungkook’s snarled after you, voice colder than ice. It lashed into your back, harder than a physical whip, almost making you trip. Yet despite the pain, your legs didn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop moving.

You didn’t know what would happen to either one of you if you stayed.

And so you continued, even as he repeated the sentence, the agony coursing throughout your body and your very soul doubling. Even as you felt his familiar brown eyes pierce into your back, like salt in open wounds. Even when you would have rather been torn apart by real weapons and bleed real blood.

Because nothing hurt as much as hearing Jeon Jungkook yelling after you with enough contempt, disappointment and disgust to poison the ground you walked on.

“Why the fuck did you lie to me, (Y/F/N)?”

[pixel-percy]

☕ Matthew Murdock's favorite barista happens to be his next-door neighbor & is now his girlfriend. They just can't get enough of each other. ☕

Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday

☕ Word Count: 1.4k ☕ Music Vibes: Seven by Jung Kook (feat. Latto) ☕ Warning(s): Smut (bj), sewing a wound, & mentioned blood ☕ A/N: Some light hurt/comfort because how could I not~ Also, normalizing spitting because not everyone has the capacity to swallow and it's okay if you don't fucking want to. That's that.

Tuesday

Matt sucked a breath through his teeth, a hissing sound prompted by the way the needle you held moved through a particularly tough part of his shoulder.

“Sorry, almost done,” you assured him.

“It’s fine,” he said. “More surprised that I felt it. Pain doesn’t really bother me.”

“So I’ve noticed,” you responded, trying to hide the tinge of worry behind a flirtatious tone. He chuckled, a small thing, and gripped the edge of the bed. Moments of silence passed between the two of you, the ebb and flow of the needle and thread keeping your attention focused.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this for him in the last month—hell you hadn’t even known how to do it right that time without his directions—but you found your pokes more purposeful. 

Ninja sword was the flavor of the night apparently, cut clean through his suit and hit his shoulder. Seeing him hurt twisted up your insides every time. He knew. In fact, he protested coming to you with his wounds in the beginning but your protests to the contrary were just a bit more convincing. You could trust each other and that was that.

“Your hands are steadier,” he whispered. A smile crept to the corners of your lips, appreciating the praise.

“I forget you can always tell.”

“Tell what?”

“How I’m feeling,” you said. “Even when I’m putting on a brave face.”

Matt breathed out another bubble of laughter, turning his head a bit so you could see his smile. In a way, it was comforting to know that he could tell what you were feeling most, if not all, of the time. Communicating feelings with a partner was always a struggle and, while obviously not perfect, this entire relationship was amongst the easier ones you’d dealt with. Horns and all.

“Alright,” you said, finishing up the stitches. “Done.”

Matt groaned in relief and straightened up his posture, winding his shoulders a little bit to release some of the pressure that had built up. You tucked the materials you’d been using back into the First Aid kit, gathering those with blood to be disposed of, and placed the kit back next to your bed. It was useless to place it anywhere else nowadays.

Your apartment was dark when you crossed the living room and into your open kitchen. The little bit of moonlight you were privy to and the light from your bedroom lit the way toward the trash can where you dumped all of the blood-covered items and such. With a quick scrub of your hands, you grabbed a glass of water for Matt and made your way back to the bedroom.

Matt was still at the edge of the bed when you returned. The top of his briefs peeked out of the top pants, which had been undone for a bit now, and when you approached an endearing smile crossed his lips. Even through your worry and want to care for him, the attraction you felt for this man was winning out again. You approached, stopping just in front of him, and offered the glass to him.

“Thank you,” he said, fingers grazing yours as he obliged and took a long sip. You couldn’t help but watch the way a loose drop trickled down his five o’clock shadow, down his throat, and settled on his collarbone.

“Anytime,” you said, voice soft and fond, hand on the crook of his neck now, playing with the hair at the base. Matt’s hand found the back of your thigh, the roughness of his skin pressing into yours, urging you closer. You obliged and he placed the glass down on the nightstand before his other hand found a parallel position on your other thigh. “Can I do anything else for you, Mister Daredevil?”

He chuckled at the nickname, your playful tone, and his hands slid up until they were settled just under your shorts. You stepped closer to him, knee rubbing semi-unintentionally against his bulge—finding him growing harder and harder by the second. Seemed he was feeling the same as you. He placed his chin at the top of your stomach, head angled upwards, and you couldn’t help but give his cheek an affectionate scratch.

“I think I just need to relax,” he muttered. Your hand moved from his cheek and up through his hair, tugging it ever so slightly. You were rewarded with a content little moan that you felt through your old tee shirt against your stomach where his neck had settled.

“I can help with that,” you assured.

“Can you?” he asked, intrigue prominent in his words. “You don’t have to.” You felt the sincerity in that statement, you knew it to be true, but it just made you want to do it more. Your head bent down so that your lips hovered just above his, skin touching for the briefest of seconds.

“But I want to,” you breathed and closed the space between you. It was sensual and deep. This time you both released a groan, Matt’s fingers digging even rougher into your thighs. You pulled away, a little reluctantly, and noticed how he chased after your lips, eyes fluttering open.

You lowered yourself until his hands moved to his knees and you were on yours. One of Matt’s eyebrows raised but he didn’t oppose.

“So this is what you meant,” he said softly.

“What’d you think I meant?”

“I dunno, maybe a bath?” he teased.

“Maybe after,” you said with a smile. “Now, relax.”

And he did just that. Matt leaned back, hands on the sheets behind him, and allowed you access to him. You grabbed the waistband of his pants, tactical material rigid as you tugged it down with his briefs, lifting himself a bit like you had the day prior. Before long he was free, erection before your eyes and waiting for the attention you were promising.

You maneuvered yourself to the perfect place between his legs, elbows resting on his muscular thighs, and took him in your hands. Matt’s breath hitched for a moment, invested in every movement you made.

You leaned forward, gathering the saliva building in your mouth and letting it fall onto the tip. You placed both hands around his shaft to work the liquid around it, his whimpers getting caught in his throat. When you were satisfied, you gently wrapped your lips around his tip, tongue teasing the underside.

Matt moaned—a drawn-out sound that spurned you on. He was a vocal lover, one of your favorite things about him, and it always made you feel confident in the way you took care of him. Despite the frustrations of being the partner of a part-time vigilante, watching him come undone by your tongue felt good —proud to stoke the fire of Hell’s Kitchen’s personal devil in your mouth. Revitalized.

You found your rhythm, a steady motion of your hands, mouth, tongue, breaths… and Matt was coming undone. His hand found your head but didn’t push, using it as an anchor to the world if you had to guess, fingers intertwined with your hair. Moans rolled off his tongue and settled in the air of your apartment. It wasn’t the loudest either of you had been but it wasn’t the quietest either.

“Louder,” you managed before sliding your mouth over the head of his cock again. He huffed, a sound he probably meant as a laugh, that transformed into a loud drawn-out moan that cascaded over your body. It made you shiver. He was getting close.

“Angel,” he rasped, pet name tumbling off his tongue.

“Mmhmm,” you answered, mouth not leaving him. Your tongue swirled and worked its way around the tip, shaft, and underside. There was a small stutter from him, an indication, and you readied yourself.

The tension in Matt’s body released all at once, coating your tongue and filling up your mouth. He fell back onto the bed when you released him, breaths heavy and staggered. You got to your feet, mouth full, and made your way to the bathroom.

You spat the viscous liquid into the running water of the sink, took a few swigs from the tap to rinse, and grabbed a nearby towel. The water streamed onto the material, warm, and you wrung it out a little before exiting.

“Well…” he said. “I’m much more relaxed now.” You chuckled and approached him with the towel. He gently took it from you.

“Good,” you said and laid down next to him. A few moments passed, quiet yet intimate, your fingers running along the bare skin of his arm just for some contact. You turned your head to him and examined his features, eyes closed, small beads of sweat on his forehead.

“So,” he whispered, head tilting toward you. “That bath still on the table for us?”

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour à tous, it is 15c and partly cloudy, however we are due 23c at some point today.

As I am not getting out and about as much as before I am using photos from previous years and the above photo was taken when I visited Île de Re, probably when I first arrived in France in 2017! Yes it is now 6 years that I have been living here, that anniversary fell this week and I cannot believe that it is only 6 years, I just feel so “at home” here.

I decided last Sunday to cut the grass in the back garden, I was tired of poppies and tall yellow flowers (weeds) taking over the grass, so out I went! Determined to only do half if that was all I could manage…… well you know how it goes, half done and oh yes I will continue…. well it wasn’t that tiring really and it does look a whole lot better. It really gives me a boost when I see the grass looking looking nice and green. We have had some rain this week but not nearly enough to get deep into the dry earth, but mustn’t grumble at least we had some.

I took up the pea plants and some of the broad beans but some looked to still be flowering so I have left those. The strawberries haven’t done so well this year and I guess I will have to buy new plants for next year. The raspberry canes have come to nought and I will be looking to sort out that pot at the end of the season. I promise myself everyday that I will look to clear some of the weeds in order to lay down newspaper and compost and move irises from troughs into the garden, unfortunately, my heart isn’t in it at the moment. I don’t want to waste the spent compost as I do think that it will provide nutrients for the iris and make a good base for them to grow on.

“The Trainee Solicitor” was unwell at the beginning of the week and took himself off to the “walk in” centre where he was told he had tonsillitis and given antibiotics. Having been a tonsillitis sufferer when I was younger, I knew just how he would be feeling and really hope that he is starting to turn a corner now.

“The Daddy” has his two children this weekend, the youngest was at the playground with his grandad. Not yet two years old and he was counting up to six, then was saying he liked being in the swing. He told grandad “no more hand” as he didn’t want to be pushed, unfortunately grandad missed that bit and pushed him again, when grandads hand was making a move to push him again he said “get off” not so much he wanted to get off the swing more he didn’t want to be pushed again. What a little star, he was looking up at the sky as he was in the swing and sounded as if he was saying “delighted”. His daughter is staying an extra night as it is a “teacher training day” on Monday, then there are teachers strikes Wednesday and Friday so she will be with grandad for at least one of those days too.

They are both growing up so quickly and I am sad that I won’t get to see them again this year, although my granddaughter did come to visit me in April, it will just be my grandson I haven’t seen.

I have had a couple of visitors this week, Sarah, a British lady who lives in Haute Marne, came to see me and was surprised by how well I look. Her and her partner are going to come over in a couple of weeks and hopefully he will put the fixings onto the large print that my eldest son bought for me and he will hang it. The print shows Whorlton Bridge, a single span chain suspension bridge, which was opened on the 7 July 1831. It is of interest to me as my grandfather was born in the village.

Then Monique came to see me, she has a lot on her plate at the moment, her husband is unwell and this coming week she is having her twin granddaughters, aged 18 months, to stay from yesterday until Thursday. She is hoping that the weather will not be too hot so that the children can be outside most of the time. Fortunately Monique has a large garden and orchard and I am sure that running around in there will tire those children out quickly. Let’s hope so, as one sleeps well all night but the other hardly sleeps at all, let’s hope a little bit of “Aube air” will work on them both. I really don’t envy her that task this week.

Finally, let’s take a minute to honour twins Adam and Simon Yates who finished first and second in Stage 1 of the Tour de France yesterday. British cyclists, not the first brothers to finish in that order but it looks like the first twins to do it. Just to keep the theme of the Tour de France, this photo was taken as the race came through Bar-sur-Aube on the 6 July 2017.

See you next time!

[wardenparker]

Starting Over - Chapter 1

Marcus Pike x female Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Recently arrived in Texas and only slightly removed from his divorce, Marcus finds himself smitten with the women at the housewares store that is helping him furnish his new Austin condo. It becomes a more complicated situation than he could have expected, but Marcus has never been one to shy away from a challenge when love is on the line. ✨This fic takes place *before* the events of The Mentalist. ✨

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 14k Warnings: Cursing and food mentions like always, but this is just pure fluff right out of the gate.  Summary: Handsome divorcé Marcus walks into your store and into your life like a breath of fresh air, not even intending to sweep you off your feet. All he thought he was here for was to furnish his new place. Notes: Thanks to everyone who voted in the Wednesday/Thursday WIP game! This sweet little multi-chapter is a shout out to my day job at Crate & Barrel. At least once a week if not more, we see folx fresh off divorces, getting ready for weddings, moving across the country, and generally starting their new lives - helping them start up fresh again is a big challenge but it’s something I’ve always really enjoyed about my job. And one day we wondered...what if Marcus Pike strolled into my store?

Sighing, Marcus rubs the back of his neck self-consciously when he walks in the door and the bell chimes, letting the store workers know that there was a potential customer coming in. He had put this off for as long as he could but was quite frankly tired of sleeping on an air mattress in his empty condo like it was the first time moving out from his parents rather than what it really was. Starting over. He was divorced, having left everything with Amanda and not taking anything more than his clothes and the painting that he had bought from a street artist. He had been a little watery eyed when the painting arrived yesterday from the shipping company. The only remaining evidence of the life that he had left behind in Portland. Now that it was here, it was a sign that he needed to pull out his credit card and put together a house that looked like a grown man of thirty-four lived there. Looking around the displays, he feels completely out of his element and can't help but remember when he was happily picking everything out with the woman who now no longer carried his last name.

"Hi, welcome to Crate & Barrel!" Your voice chimes from the front counter, as full of positive pep as you can possibly be for nine on a Sunday morning. Not having the same sunny Texas accent as your co-workers usually means having to be twice as friendly just to hit the same perception of approachability, and being new on management means going even further, so when you look up to properly greet your new customer, you're fully prepared to force a bright smile. No force, it seems, will be necessary today. The man who's just walked in is not only exceptionally cute, but looks like he's going to need plenty of help. "What can I help you with today?"

Giving a slight chuckle, Marcus drops his hand and gestures around. "Everything?" It's more of a question than a statement and he's feeling a little - okay, a lot - out of his element. "I, uh, I just moved here, and I have four suitcases, an air mattress and one single painting." He admits, feeling foolish for telling Amanda that she could have everything. He should have at least taken the spare bedroom set; it wasn't like there were too many memories of the two of them intertwined on it.

"Well, let's get started then." Pushing out from the counter, you murmur to your coworker to page if she needs you, giving a gentle tap to the walkie-talkie in your ear, and walk over to the door. He seems intimidated and a little embarrassed - which isn't unusual for people who come into the store looking to start a whole new household - so you offer him a much less forced smile. "We can start out with the big stuff in furniture, or we can start small with kitchen stuff and dishes. It's up to you." You'll stick with him, rather than pass him off to the slightly aggressive, more-than-slightly judgmental furniture specialist you have on staff this morning. He seems like he needs a gentle hand.

"My back would be eternally grateful to have a bed instead of that damned air mattress." He admits, flashing a small grin. "I've forgotten this is not my Sigma Phi days where we went camping every weekend." He looks around, and chews on his lip as he imagines furniture around the painting. He didn't want the styles to clash since he was particularly fond of that piece.

"Bedroom stuff first, then." Motioning for him to follow you, you head for the escalator to the second floor where most of your furniture is shown. "We don't have a whole lot here in the store for you to take home, but we'll do our best to find you something in stock in the warehouse and we can get it to you in about a week. Does that sound okay?" If he's sleeping on an air mattress, it means he truly has nothing at all at home, poor guy. And a big move coupled with having nothing at all usually means divorce. You keep walking, leading him through showroom set ups of living rooms and home offices until you hit bedroom displays. "What's your style? Traditional? Modern? Avant Garde?"

"I have a painting that would probably explain it better than I ever could?" He had snapped a photo of the painting just for this, so he could hopefully hand it off to someone who could steer him in the right direction. It had been amusing to Amanda that he had a minor in art studies and work in art crimes but had zero clue about interior design and how to put a room together. He pulls out his phone to show you the picture that he had taken.

"Oh, wow..." A lot of people come in with pictures on their phones. Living room furniture that they want to match some pillows to, or a dining set that they want to try to dress up. But you don't normally see anything that really catches your eye. This guy might actually be fun to work with - if his taste in art is any indication. "So, something a little out of ordinary, then? Comfy with a twist." Against the wall, there are a few bedroom sets with sleigh beds, iron frames, and big four-posters. "Maybe we can start over there?" You suggest, nudging him in their direction. Something about that painting makes you think that a basic wood frame or upholstered headboard isn't quite going to do it for him.

"That sounds great. Comfy with a twist." He nods and lets you lead him over to the selection and he starts looking around. "Something that I can read comfortably in before bed." He had hated the way that the headboard of his old bed had jammed against his spine, and he had to angle his head awkwardly no matter how many pillows he had shoved behind his back.

“So no wrought iron, I’m guessing?” You grin at the bed he’s just walked directly past without even looking. “Take a look at the four-posters in the corner. They have tall headboards.” Trailing a step behind him, you try very, very hard not to let your eyes linger. No checking out the customer’s ass. You lecture yourself.

He feels slightly guilty for the impression that you are gorgeous, even though he has no reason to feel that way. He's single, he's allowed to look, especially since he had discreetly checked your hand to see if you were wearing rings. It was shocking since it was the first time he had really done that since he had signed the papers six months ago. "Okay, which bed screams 'cuddle with me all morning'?" He asks with a gesture towards the different headboards.

“Depends on if you’re talking about pets or people.” It’s a joke you’ve made with customers before, but a glance at his hand proves you’re right about the divorce - there’s the bare evidence left of a tan line there. It’s been a few months, but not too long. You don’t want to spook him with any accidental comments. “With pets, I’d say go for something low to the ground. With people?” You flush slightly, heat flooding your cheeks, but try to be helpful with a dose of honesty. “I would stay away from anything with built-in storage. No one wants a book falling on their head during…cuddles.”

He laughs, immediately feeling better about all of this and appreciating that you can look at things practically. "Noted. No built-in storage. Height doesn't matter because I work too much to have a pet. It would be cruel to keep a dog in a cage all day while I'm at work. Or at a kennel when I'm out of town on a case."

“Case?” One eyebrow arches at him automatically. “What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking.”

"Oh." He hadn't really meant to say that, not wanting you to get the impression he was trying to use his profession as a way to brag. "I, uh, I work for the FBI." He admits, flushing slightly and giving you an embarrassed smile.

“Very cool.” There’s no sarcasm in it, no malice or envy, just an honest reaction. A lot of people look down on people who make a career out of retail, but he doesn’t seem like he would be that way from your brief interaction. “So you’re here in Austin?” Your favorite coffee shop is right by the FBI building downtown, you’ve seen it more times than you can count at this point.

"Yeah." He relaxes a little after there isn't the normal questions of if he carries a gun or his least favorite: if he's shot someone. Why people immediately start fixating on shootouts never ceases to confuse and irritate him. "Transferred from Portland. I work in art crimes." He tells you with a half grin. "Good way to put my minor in art to use."

You have to smile at that. He doesn’t immediately start beating his chest about fighting crime like most guys in law enforcement do, which is such a relief. The last thing you want to hear about is shootout statistics. “Hence the one thing you have with you being a painting.”

"Exactly." His grin widens and he nods towards the four-poster bed with a high headboard that isn't curved and has a low slung footboard. "I like this." He tells you, looking back towards you for approval. "It kind of gives me a mid-century vibe without being too mid-century."

“That’s pretty much what we do here. We call it mid-century modern.” Following him to a large canopy bed, you have to immediately banish the mental image of him sprawled out under the covers, attributing it to the fact that he’s cute and you desperately need to get laid. “See what you think.” You offer, motioning to the bed itself. “We sell the mattresses, too.”

He gives you a very distinctly impish look before he flops down on the soft mattress and bedding and gives out a nearly pornographic moan of pleasure. After weeks of wondering why he didn't just go get a bed from the nearest store, his entire body aches in relief at being cradled by real support. "This is— have you tried this?" He asks, not even lifting his head up and patting the other side of the bed. "Dear god, lay down and feel this."

“I don’t normally lay down on the clock.” He’s too cute, and you can’t help but grin at him. The image he presents - of being flat out in a comfy bed in the bright morning light (seriously, why is this bed strategically placed under direct lighting like that?) is cozy and nearly fuzzy in a way that reminds you that it has been way too long since you got laid. You roll your eyes at yourself - it’s just a sale and he’s just another customer - and set yourself down on the mattress. Unfortunately, it’s early and you’re tired and you sigh out loud immediately. “Because I’ll get comfy and never want to move,” you finish the thought with a laugh.

"This definitely has breakfast in bed vibes." Marcus's head lolls over to the side and he can't help but admire your profile. The itch to sketch you surprises him and he tries to rationalize it by reminding himself that you are beautiful, someone who would be an art subject. "I think this is the one." He says, more to himself than to you and he's immediately telling himself not to go there.

“The mattress, too, I’m thinking?” You pull yourself up so you can’t get too comfortable and produce a notepad from the pocket of your work pants. That, combined with the iPad you have that serves as a product database, means you don’t have to leave him as you walk around the store collecting ideas.

"I think so." Marcus is pretty decisive, and it seems to be the perfect combination of firmness and comfort that won't have him tossing and turning at night. "It's not like I'm going to be...never mind." He bites off the comment about testing it out to make sure it doesn't creak too much, remembering giggling happily with his ex-wife the last time he had picked out a bed. With her.

“I don’t want to be rude…” But you see it a lot. All the time. At least once a week for the entire time you’ve had this job. “But building a home from scratch on top of a big move usually also means a breakup?”

Marcus sits up and looks down at his now bare ring finger and gives a sigh. "That obvious, huh?" He asks, snorting slightly and sending you a side eyed look. "My divorce was final months ago, before I transferred to Texas. I let her have everything but the one painting that I brought with me."

“I see it a lot,” you assure him, not wanting him to feel put on the spot or like you pity him. It sucks, but shit happens. “I’d say I help someone start over after a divorce about once a week, to be honest.”

"Jeez." Marcus mumbles, feeling slightly better in knowing that he's not the only one, although it can sometimes feel like it. "I guess that's something." He pauses and gives a small shrug. "We got married out of college and....I don't know— I thought we were good and she came home about ten months ago and told me that she was in love with one of her coworkers."

“Shit,” you blow out a puff of air, full sympathy written on your face, before you cringe. “I mean shoot…not supposed to swear in front of customers.” But you offer him a small shrug, silently saying you didn’t think he would care. “I’m sorry. That sounds really hard. Normally I say starting over is the time to let yourself have fun. There’s got to be something she would have hated that you love. Even if it’s silly like having a favorite glass, or big like wanting a leather couch and she hated leather furniture.”

He chuckles and nods. "Why do you think I have that painting?" He asks, feeling slightly conspiratorial. "She hated it."

“See?” Smiling broadly, you really hope you can make this a little more pleasant and less tortuous for him. Starting over is hard. “We can start there.”

"Yeah." He likes the way that you smile, hoping that he can see more of it while you help him put his life back together. Or at least his home. "I never understood why she didn't like it. It's amazing and the artist has since become a very popular modern artist."

“There’s no accounting for taste, I guess.” The best you can do is shrug, because if she was willing to give up this man - a work of art in his own right - then of course she might not appreciate a beautiful painting. “Is the painting going in your bedroom?” You ask, suddenly having a small moment of inspiration.

"I was thinking so, yeah." He nods and admires the thoughtful look on your face.

“Can I show you something?” When he nods, your smile spreads a little. “There’s a blue in that painting…we have a bedroom set that’s just like it.” Two room settings away, you show him a dresser, bureau, and nightstand in the same beautiful shade of indigo as is showcased in his painting. “A little pop of color? Maybe?”

He chews his lip and stares at the furniture, thinking about where it would be put in his room with the painting in perspective. "I— I think I like that." He had never mixed furniture like that before, but he doesn't hate it.

“You can take some time to think about it.” Furnishing a whole place is a big deal, you know that. The last thing you want is to push him to something he’ll end up disliking. “We can look at some others, and at some sheets, blankets, that kind of thing.”

"Okay." He agrees even though he knows he won't change his mind. He's pretty firm in his decisions once he's made up his mind.

“Across the way,” you motion for him to turn around. Across a small threshold is a big room full of bedding and bath things. “There’s cotton, linen, hemp, all kinds of good stuff. Some people are incredibly picky about materials, and some just care about the pattern. I don’t know which kind of person you are.”

"Soft and comfortable." Marcus tells you immediately. "No floral shit." He grimaces. "Easy to clean. I like to bleach the sheets."

“All the linen things are machine washable.” It’s easy to guide him around. He moves easily wherever you do, and it’s comfortable rather than making you feel crowded. “Soft, cool, comfy, and I wouldn’t recommend bleach, but there are a bunch of good bleach alternatives for use on coloured fabric that would be safe on patterns.” Beside the florals and pastel colors, there is a collection of sheets and duvet covers inspired by menswear that you lead him toward. Pinstripes and warm tones and a flourish of different kinds of grays. “These might be a good place to start?”

He points to the pinstripes. "I like those."

“You’re very decisive.” You laugh, grinning at certainty in his expression.

He laughs with you, not minding that you are making fun of him a little. "It's gotten me in trouble a few times."

“In this case, I think we’ll be okay. I’ve never known bedding to be a life-or-death situation.” His laugh is sweet and musical, and you grab the bedding set he’s picked out from the shelf for him. “What else are you going to want for that room? A lamp for the nightstand? A mirror?”

"Yeah." He looks around and realizes exactly how much he has to buy. "I do enjoy reading before bed." He admits, knowing that he will have books piled up on the stand quickly.

“This is going to get overwhelming kind of fast.” The look on his face is the mild panic you see quite a lot. Nobody ever thinks about how much stuff is in their house until they go to fill one up on purpose. “Tell me when you need to take a break, okay? We can always split this into two days, or even three if you need to. Shopping can be…a lot.”

Marcus shakes his head. "I'm fine." He slides into an easy grin. "Just wondering how badly my credit card is going to be protesting."

You hum a little at that, nodding, and try not to laugh. He didn’t exactly come to the cheapest store in the world. “We have a store credit card,” you tell him with a small shrug. “The rewards program is pretty good. If we did all your furniture and housewares stuff on it today, we can save the rugs and mirrors and decor stuff for a second shopping trip. Using the rewards on them would probably cover most of not all of the cost depending on what you pick out.” And it is not - repeat not – an ulterior motive so that you can see him again. Definitely not. Alright, maybe a little.

Marcus puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head at you in amusement. "I have to tell you...you're dangerous." He compliments, knowing that he will definitely be coming back here if for no other reason to see you. "Are you going to come help me decorate when I get it all delivered too?"

“I just really like my job!” You defend with a laugh, managing to cover your mouth before it becomes a truly amused snort. “And we do do in-home furniture consultations, for the record.”

He tells himself that his heart bumps because he's happy that you are comfortable enough to laugh freely and not because there is a chance you might like him beyond a client. You said consultation, not friend. "I might have to sign up for that." He warns you before he chuckles himself.

“We can do that.” Normally you wouldn’t be one of the people who does them, but you just finished up with your Design Expert training and fuck if you’re going to let someone else work with him in his own home. Not when his smile makes you want to giggle like it fucking does. You really need to get some. “If you want to, I mean. Sometimes it can really help to visualize the space.”

"Absolutely." Marcus agrees quickly when you say we. He flushes slightly and then asks. "Would— it would be you that comes, right?" He hopes so but will understand if it won't be you. He couldn't be that lucky.

“It can be.” Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. He’s just gotten divorced and doesn’t need you getting all doe-eyes on him. “If you want to do that, I’d say let’s save the most difficult or biggest room for an in-home visit. Most people want to do living rooms or eat-in kitchen and dining combos.” You’re really trying your best to be professional and not bat your damn eyelashes at him but it’s hard when he’s just standing there being that effortlessly cute. “But it’s your house, of course.”

"I was thinking that you could do more of the finishing touches?" He asks, wondering how all of this works. "The stuff that brings everything together?"

“Sure.” Your lips pull into a flushed smile, and you know the tips of your ears are burning. “Let’s find you some furniture for each room that can be delivered relatively quickly, and then we can schedule an in-home visit to pull it all together.” This would make him your regular customer for at least the next three or four weeks, and you will absolutely be gloating to your roommate about it all later tonight.

Marcus grins, knowing that his dimple is on display, and he likes the way that you look away, slightly shy all of a sudden. "That's good. Although the coffee maker comes home with me today." He groans, tired of having to stop by a coffee shop every day, although the one near his office is amazing.

“Cross my heart.” You promise, even though you’re feeling a little like melting into the floor. How is one dimple cuter than two?? “Maybe let’s move to the dining and kitchen things, then? Since you picked out your bedroom set so fast?”

He winces and gives you a slightly guilty look. "Uh...I need bathroom stuff too." He admits. "I have like two towels. But my condo did come with a washer and dryer, so there's that."

“We can do that.” A few feet to the left and you’re in the bath section anyway, you just have to keep it in your goddamn pants and not imagine him using the towels. “Can I suggest 800-gram Turkish cotton towels in white for the comfy gentleman who likes to bleach things?”

He snickers and nods. "Don't tell me bleach doesn't belong on towels." He warns you, faking a slightly cross and yet playful tone. "I like to make sure the towels I dry off with are clean, otherwise I should just air dry."

“Not at all towels are compatible with bleach, but luckily for you, we have some nice ones that are.” Dear god, air dry? He’s going to kill you without trying. “I’m not going to completely up-end your life with a towel revolution, I promise.”

He loves the banter between the two of you and reaches out to touch one of the towels that are piled up, enjoying the softness. "Although now I can't be gripped at for just walking around naked." He muses. "I might just get towels for guests."

Are you fucking KIDDING me?! You exhale very slowly and as silently as possible so it’s not completely obvious that you are wondering what precisely was wrong with this woman who didn’t want to see him naked, and end up chuckling slightly. “Whatever you want,” you offer with a weak shrug. “It's your house now. Time to be comfortable in your own way.”

He hums at the thought of that. He had been comfortable in the house that he and Amanda had furnished, even if he hated the ten thousand pillows to take off and put on the bed every morning. So that would be a no go. "I want casual comfort. Cuddling on the couch while watching Casablanca comfort." He tells you, knowing that at some point he is going to want to date again. He's the type of man who wants to have a woman to shower with affection.

“Such a good movie,” you gush immediately. It’s just a gut reaction, but since he’s just named one of your top five all-time favorite films, you’re not going to be embarrassed about it or anything. “So…towels that are fluffy, but you can bleach. A sofa that’s big enough to sleep on but doesn’t have a fussy fabric that needs special care. And…all dinnerware and glassware will be dishwasher safe?” It’s all just a guess, but as you get to know him a little through his choices, the picture is becoming clearer. “Except wine or cocktail glasses. Those are never actually dishwasher safe even if the manufacturer claims they are.”

He nods. "Definitely. I hated when I had to handwash the china we got for a wedding gift." He rolls his eyes and sighs. "And microwaveable too."

“But.” A small smile plays on your lips and your shrug playfully. “If you’re going to be cuddling and watching movies, you’re going to need at least one throw blanket.”

"Where do I find the ‘person to cuddle’ section?" He jokes, looking around the store. "Right now I’m going to pillows for that, but yes to throw blankets. At least two."

“Um…” You fluster – fully and completely lose your cool for a solid five seconds – and know you must look like a complete idiot right now. But it’s not as though anyone could ever accuse you of being able to play it cool. “The…um, there’s a lot of blankets and pillows. I’m sure we can find you something.” Yep. Great job. Now you look like a moron when he very clearly did not mean you. He was just making a joke.

There is something absolutely adorable about the way that you freeze, and Marcus bites his lip, not wanting to read too much into it and make you think that he's a creep. "Lead the way and I will follow." He promises you quietly.

For once grateful for your own diligence, you’ve been taking note of everything he’s been picking out as you talk and it makes it easy to move out of the room you’re standing in and start toward the other side of the sales floor to the sofas, side chairs, media consoles, coffee tables, and all other manner of living room furniture. “How big of a space do you have for a living room?” It’s such a polite and professional question, but your ears and cheeks are burning, and you need to keep on track before you embarrass yourself in front of him.

"It's pretty big." He flushes slightly because of the tone he had used; he could have definitely been alluding to something else. "Uh, the living room is a good size." He corrects himself, turning to look at the sectional and kicking himself mentally for that faux pas.

Yep. He’s going to give you a coronary and it’s still the very beginning of the day. You clear your throat softly and nod, forcing yourself to look at where his attention has gone. “So a sectional and an accent chair? Coffee table that doubles as storage so you can keep your throw blankets in it?”

"Yeah. I like that." He nods eagerly, trying to remind himself that he is not here to make an ass out of himself. "Not a small one. One big enough to stretch out comfortably on." He tells you, bypassing a smaller sectional. "I'm hoping it rains sometimes? Take a nap on the couch with the rain coming down outside? It's the best sleep."

“Try this one.” There’s something akin to a blush on his cheeks and you’re trying not to read into it, but you’re basically putty for this man that you’ve known for a mere half hour. Nodding him over to one side, you sit down on a big, deep sectional that may as well be a goddamn twin bed for how comfortable it is. It’s your favorite sofa in the whole store and you’ve been thinking about buying one for ages. It sounds like he might like it just as much.

Marcus sits down and immediately purses his lips in happiness. "Oooh." He wiggles a little deeper into the cushions and hums again. "Oh, this is nice." He tells you before he decides to lay down on the long portion of the sectional with his head close to your thighs where you are sitting on the other portion. For a split second he wants to move his head over to your lap, but he grabs one of the throw pills and sighs. "You have the best beat on furniture."

“When I transferred to this store my choices were furniture specialist or management.” You shrug, not trying to brag but just giving him a little insight into who you are at this job. “I took a combo. I’m the manager for the furniture department.”

"No shit?" Marcus tilts his head up so that he can look up at you. "That's a very good testament that you excel at your job." He tells you, impressed that you weren't given an either/or option.

“Started in housewares as a holiday hire eight years ago.” You shrug again, ever so slightly, and tuck your legs under you on the sofa. “I'm originally from upstate New York. Way upstate. So I get that moving down here can be culture shock, but we can do our best to make your new place feel like home.”

He jams his hand under the pillow and shifts slightly so he can look at you better. "What caused you to come to Texas? Boyfriend?" He tries to seem nonchalant, but he is extremely interested in that answer.

“It’s not a fun story or anything like that.” Shuffling a little, you love that he’s engaging with you and not just treating you like a servant, like so many people do. “Basically, I wanted to start fresh. So I decided to apply for promotions to a bunch of different stores in the company and ended up picking Austin. My college roommate was from Texas and I had visited her family down here once and liked it. She had just moved back here and I figured it wouldn’t be so bad if I had a friend. So…here I am.”

"Gotcha." He admires the adventurous spirit and yet the practicality of not moving somewhere where you know no one. "Well, I count myself extremely lucky to have you here with me today." He tells you as his hand brushes over the fabric and he thinks of something that he wants. "So, will I lose points if I ask if this comes in leather?" He asks, giving you a charming grin.

The grin you flash back at him is nearly matching, and you reach behind you to grab a handle of fabric samples from the arm of the sofa. A solid half of them are leather, in all sorts of beautiful colors. “We can definitely do leather.”

"How much of a basic bitch would I be if I wanted black leather?" He asks, arching an eyebrow at you and waiting for your reaction.

You snort, not fast enough to cover your mouth to muffle it this time, and shake your head at him. The fact that he’s opening up and having fun just makes him so much fucking cuter. “Pretty basic. But I won’t hold it against you.”

He can't help but shoot up off the sofa so he is sitting up, practically giddy with glee. "You snort!." He cackles, having a thing for girls who snort when they laugh. He will have to make you do it again.

“Not on purpose!” But you’re laughing because he’s laughing, and you can feel every inch of your skin set of goddamn fire with flushing. He’s…like a puppy. What kind of crazy was his ex to ever let him go?

"That's the best part!" He moves the pillow over and slides next to you. "It's always so cute." He admits, flushing slightly before he looks at the fabric samples. "So don't be embarrassed."

“I’ll try not to be.” It would be completely unprofessional to kiss the divorcé in the middle of the sales floor, you remind yourself, shifting a half an inch where you sit so you’re sitting beside him. For your own sanity, the best thing you can do is try to keep the sale going, even if you no longer give a flying fuck about what he buys and only about getting his number. “I do have to inform your inner basic bitch, though, that special ordering a sectional in black leather will take a god-awful long time. Smoke Grey always comes in faster and won’t suck up all the light in the room by being a literal black hole.” The cosmic joke of the universe is you, today, it seems. Because as you go to show him the color sample, your hand grazes his slightly and you swear you nearly burst into flames.

“Which one would you pick?” He asks curiously, wanting to know how your own style runs and not because he’s imagining curling up with you on this sofa and snuggling while the rain beats down or whatever passes for winter in Texas happens outside. His stomach flip from a simple hand graze and he knows he wants to ask you out now.

“Honestly?” It feels so juvenile to be fluttering over a tiny touch and a simple question, but here you are. “I would go for the grey. It’s a little more sophisticated and a little less bachelor pad, with the added benefit of being faster to deliver.”

He nods and gives it careful consideration. “I don’t want to look like a bachelor pad. Even if it’s what it will be.” He admits, looking over at you for your approval. “Grey it is.”

“Being a bachelor pad is fine. Looking like a stereotype will get old really fast.” You nod a little, still waiting for your fucking heart rate to return to normal, but it’s beginning to look like it’s just never going to happen. “Now…are you the sort of person who wants as much furniture as possible to match? Coffee and end tables matching, and then media console and bookshelves matching? You said it’s big, so I’m assuming you can do a lot with it.” As soon as the sentence is put of your mouth you realize how it could sound and you could just about die. “The space, I mean. You said the space is big.”

Marcus Pike does have a dirty sense of humor and the twenty-year-old frat boy that seems to live inside every grown man makes him snicker and shoot you a playfully provocative look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asks.

Yes. Yes you fucking would. You clear your throat slightly and know you’ve been caught looking flushed. “Fine,” you try for your best teasing tone. “Live in your black leather bachelor pad with no snorting laughter. See if I care.”

He pouts, face immediately falling, and he manages to poke his bottom lip out a little even though he hopes you are playing with him. “Noooo, I want the snorts.” He whines slightly, “I’ll be good.”

“Oh my god,” that makes you giggle a lot more than you were expecting, and you end up grinning at him like a smitten idiot. Which - to be fair - is exactly what you are at this point. “Fearsome FBI agent begs for snorting laughter. Excellent headline.”

He grins at you and gives a small wink. “Don’t tell anybody.” He murmurs. “They might take away my badge.”

Of course he winks. You could fucking melt into the sofa from how cute this man is. “I promise. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good.” He looks over at the coffee tables and sees one a display over. “Grey…would this go with it?” He asks, standing up and moving away reluctantly but he is here to furnish his condo. He leans down and brushes his fingers over the wooden top of the coffee table.

“Good eye.” It’s stupid to be upset that he moved away from you, considering your job is to sell him things and not to flirt, and you get up to follow him with an approving nod. “That would work perfectly. And it has matching end tables, too.”

“Good.” He nods quickly, imagining a few art books on top. “Now do we get to try out blankets? Two of them, big enough to wrap around two people.”

“Behind you.” Directing him to turn around, you nudge him toward a full corner display of throw blankets and pillows in a flurry of different colors, textures, patterns, and sizes. “This is the fun part. Accessorizing.”

“I’ll choose one and you choose one.” Marcus decides with a grin, walking over and plunging his hands into the soft fabrics and giving a soft moan of delight.

He’s adorable, just diving in headfirst and enjoying the little details mercilessly, and you bite back a grin as you head to the other side of the display to grab a few things.

He picks the softest, biggest blanket he could find. Didn’t even give a damn that it was purple. Actually likes it. “This is mine.” He tells you seriously, holding it up like a trophy.

“Oooh, that’s a good one.” You nod seriously, before coming over with the creamy, off-white one that happens to be your favorite. “This one is dry clean only, but it’s so soft.”

Dry clean only isn’t his idea of low maintenance but the look on your face has him nodding even before he reaches for it. “So blankets are done. Now we need lamps.”

“Keep going around the corner.” With as decisive as he is, this is going a lot faster than most customers, despite the fact that you’re doing up his entire condo. “You’re flying right through this.”

“Oh.” He stumbles slightly when he realizes that when he’s done he won’t have a reason to spend time with you. “So that means that I can buy you lunch for all your hard work when you have a break, right?” He asks, hoping that he’s not stepping over a boundary.

“Oh, um…” you stop in your tracks, shuffling a little, and feel a smile split across your face. “Yeah…” Breathe. Remember to breathe. “I-I’d, um…I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” The breath he had been holding whooshes out and possibly the biggest smile he’s had in a long time covers his face and it nearly forces his eyes closed. “Good, I’m mean– yeah.” He rushes. “Let’s get this done then.”

“We still have a whole kitchen and dining room left,” you remind him, not that you’re not now eager as fuck for the workday to already be over. Glancing eagerly at the time on your iPad, you nearly groan at the fact that it’s only been an hour. It feels like forever and at the same time that it’s been no time at all since he walked through the front doors. Your lunch break is far too far away, as far as you’re concerned. “Maybe we can make it so that you don’t have to use paper plates and plastic forks anymore.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “No paper plates. Take out cartons.” He corrects with a small shrug. “I don’t even have a coffee maker, so cooking is out of the question.” He gives you a grin. “I really hope you get some kind of commission on this.” He offers. “Because I need a lot.”

Still smiling like a lunatic from his invitation, you give him a slight shrug and shake your head. “No commission. But I, um…I’d rather have that lunch invitation than commission.”

"Then I'll have to make it lunch and dinner." He immediately replies, his eyes widening slightly and a flush making his cheeks turn pink when he realizes he had said that out loud. "If you want, of course."

The delight you feel at seeing him blush is pretty close to ethereal - men who blush are fucking adorable - and you keep him moving toward dining tables with a happy hum and continued smile. “I was actually going to go downtown tonight…there’s a small theater around here that plays a black and white movie every Sunday night. Tonight is Sunset Boulevard, which I can never resist.”

"That– that sounds great." He stammers slightly, and can't believe that you are inviting him to a movie. Normally he was the one that was suggesting date nights with Amanda.

“Yeah?” The nervous thump on your chest relaxes measurably. “You mentioned Casablanca earlier, so I hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”

"As long as you let me pay of course." He shrugs slightly. "Since there is no commission and then maybe dinner after? I've found a really nice little steakhouse that has a decent wine menu."

“I have a feeling I won’t win, if I try to argue the point of payment.” You wing one eyebrow at him but it’s just soft teasing. Since arriving in Texas, it’s become apparent that the old-fashioned spirit of men paying for dates is alive and well. “That sounds perfect.”

Marcus can't even stop grinning as he nods, looking away even as he starts mentally looking through his wardrobe to wear something a bit better than his jeans and t-shirt that he's wearing now. "It's a date."

A date. You hold back an excited shiver and wonder vaguely if you have anything remotely approaching date clothing clean. “Are you ready to look at dining tables and chairs?” As much as you would happily kill the next few hours just talking to him, this is the way you do it without getting yelled at.

Marcus gives you a side eyed look and tucks his tongue into his cheek. "So when is your lunch?" He asks, lifting a brow. "I need to figure out how much time I have to leave you so I don't appear creepy for spending too much time with you."

You laugh quietly, doing a very bad job at not sounding guilty, and lightly tap the headset settled tightly in your ear. “I’m afraid it’s slightly too late to go unnoticed,” you admit. Your lovely, nosy coworkers have been making noises in your ear about how cute he is and how he’s flirting with you for fifteen minutes already. You were about ready to rip your headset out, but you couldn’t dignify it with anything but being embarrassed. “I have about an hour and a half before lunch, though. If you want, we can skip over dining furniture for now and go to plates and cups and kitchen things? Stuff you can take home with you and use right away?”

"Whatever is easiest for you." Marcus is a little more relaxed now that he knows that you are going to go out with him tonight. "I have a pretty good idea that we are going to be hauling a lot of stuff out to my car."

“You’re famously decisive,” you tease, offering him a bright smile. “So it shouldn’t take too long. I think we can get it all done before my lunch.” You absolutely flipping need to, so you don’t spend more than three hours with one customer, but you definitely don’t say that. Instead, you offer: “If not, I guess you’ll just have to come back and see me again.”

"Oh, you can count on that." Marcus assures you with a grin. "I'm one thousand percent positive that I will be back."

“See?” It’s too good - you can’t help how your face is about to split from smiling. “Decisive. I like that.”

"What can I say?" He asks with a shrug, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn't tuck the hair that is out of place behind your ear. "I know what I like."

The way he says it is crystal clear that he isn’t talking about furniture, and you have to look away for a second to actually get yourself back together. If you don’t, you’ll spontaneously combust before you even get to lunch. “Tell me about how you eat.” You force yourself back into the headspace of selling just a little bit further. “Is dinner usually over the sink? On the couch? Or do you like to sit down to a meal?”

"When I'm by myself it's normally on the couch while I watch the news or a baseball game." He admits, with a shrug. Oftentimes - towards the end - he had eaten apart from Amanda due to their conflicting work schedules. Or at least what he had thought was conflicting work schedules. "When I'm with someone I do like to sit down and talk with them. Listen to their day or whatever. Relax together."

“So you’re pretty normal.” There’s a slight melancholy to his voice that you don’t like, and you keep yourself bright and positive to try to banish it. “What about having friends over? I know you just got here, but it won’t take too long before you start making friends at work. Is something like a dinner party or Friendsgiving in the distant future?”

"I can see that happening in the future, but for now, the basics would be fine." He doesn't want to jinx himself by planning for a future that might not happen anytime soon.

You nod, not wanting to guide him toward anything that will upset him or he’ll regret, and motion to a dining set a few feet away. “Maybe something like this?” A small, square table with four matching chairs sits comfortably with some of your newer dinnerware showcased on top, and you bite your lip while he takes a first look. “It’s an extension table,” you explain as he looks around it. “It basically doubles in size when both extensions are in place, but you won’t have to stare at an overly large table taking up a ton of space when you’re not in the mood.”

He hums and looks around it, bending down to look under the table and tugs on a leaf so that it starts to expand. "This is a lot better than the tables from our childhood. Having to store the extra piece somewhere and then dust it off when company came over." He muses, impressed with the piece. The dining room table he and Amanda had was one of those type things, given to them by her mother and he'd hated the heavy piece but had eaten many meals on it.

“Believe me, we have a ton like that.” Gently reaching past him, you flip up the Final Sale tag on the table and show him the fact that the damn thing is even half off. “I just like this one better. It’s a little sleeker and a lot lighter.”

Marcus chuckles and knows that he is going to buy this table. Not necessarily because it's half off, even though that is a good thing. More like he's entrusting your expertise and so far you've not steered him towards anything he's hated. It seems as if you either have similar taste or you've got him pegged. Plus if it's something you like...that's a bonus he really doesn't want to acknowledge right now. "Well now I have to buy it." He tells you, eyeing the price and admitting it's a good deal.

Going through almost the entire rest of the store does take a while. All the furniture, kitchen things, dishes, glasses, and other little things take a while to pick through; but in the end Marcus seems genuinely satisfied with what he’s chosen and you’re looking at a sale that runs perilously close to half of the entire day’s sales goal. There is a full cart’s worth of product that is going to be loaded into his car today, a whole other load that will be delivered to his place later in the week, and then probably two full furniture trucks in the weeks after that. It’s staggering, but after this anything he needs to buy for his house will be small and inconsequential. Standing at a cash register with him, you go through every point and product before getting to his personal information. “Marcus…” you prompt him for his last name, since introductions earlier had been highly informal between you.

He can't help but giggle at the fact that you hadn't even exchanged last names but you had scheduled a date. "Pike." He tells you, pulling out his wallet to hand you his already transferred Texas driver's license. It was easier to let you see how to spell the street he lived on than try to spell it. He learned that when he had that sandwich shop deliver the first night he was in the condo. "Marcus Pike."

“Oh, you gotta be—” You nearly burst out laughing, hand clamping down over your mouth so you don’t swear on the sales floor or draw attention. You hold up his license, trying to hold in the disbelieving laughter. “Does the condo next door to you have a gnome by the front door and a vegetable garden in back?”

He tilts his head, curious to know how you could possibly know something like that. "Yeaaaaah." If he hadn't just spent hours in your company, he would have been more concerned instead of just a mild alarm that you would know that specific detail.

You just laugh, shaking your head at the whole thing, and sigh. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, neighbor.” It hadn’t particularly weighed on you that you’d never met the person who moved into the condo next door to you and your roommate a few weeks ago - not having the same nose for gossip that Texans seem to. The universe, however, was apparently going to make damn sure you met.

"Really?" Marcus normally is better about getting to know his neighbors than he had been this time, but hadn't wanted the questions just yet. Moreover, he didn't want to get the pity, although if he had known you were going to be his next-door neighbor, it might have been a different story. "This is..." He cranes his neck around the store as if he is looking for a hidden camera. "Are you sure this isn't some kind of joke?"

“If it is, it’s on both of us.” Quickly typing his address into the computer, you lean against the counter a little and laugh again. “I’d rather think that the universe really wanted to make sure we met.”

"Well, we can't disappoint the universe." He leans across the other side and gives you a grin. "It makes picking you up tonight extremely easy." He jokes, not even mentioning the fact that if things went well and someone spent the night with someone, the walk of shame was just a quick step next door. Not that he was expecting that, but the two of you seemed to have chemistry in spades.

Most of the time it would worry you a little - or at least you would have more caution about all of it - but despite him being licensed and required to carry a gun (let’s face it but most of Texas concealed carries) there’s nothing threatening about him at all. He’s just a really nice man that life kicked in the teeth. “And I think we can probably skip the pretense of needing a cup of sugar if you just want to knock on my door,” you tell him softly.

He tries not to let that comment filter into the dirty portion of his brain, the one that has already imagined what you look like naked – several times. However, he smirks slightly and edges in just a tiny bit closer. "And you know there will be a blanket you like if you want to come cuddle." He counters.

“Hmm.” Your ears are burning hot again and if you wouldn’t get in massive trouble for it, you’d close the three inches across the counter and kiss him right the hell now. “I’ll remember that,” you tell him with a conspiratorial smirk.

He hisses, feeling the blood rush to another place much further south and filling out the semi he's been sporting for hours as he watches your ass around the store. "I'm going to need those towels so I can take a cold shower before our date tonight. Unless you want me to drip dry." He murmurs, nodding to the stack you had placed on a cart.

Feeling your eyes widen, you cover your mouth immediately to keep from giggling and giving yourself away. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” you snicker under your breath. “All this talk about cuddles and drip drying…a girl can only take so much before she spends the rest of the day distracted.” And you are far, far past that threshold…

"Good." Marcus' grin turns a bit naughty. "You can feel my pain considering I don't remember half of what I was buying. Too busy trying to see that pretty smile of yours again.'

“It wasn’t the snort that swept you off your feet?” You raise a teasing eyebrow at him as you force yourself back to the task at hand.

"It didn't hurt." He honestly hates that he's done shopping for today, even though he knows he will probably cry when he sees the total. "It was the cherry on top."

“Well,” you offer him a sympathetic expression. “You’re about to like me a lot less when you look at this total. I think it’s safe to say I’ll be treating for date number two.”

"Yikes." He winces and does a quick calculation on how badly it would hit his savings before he shakes his head. "What was that about the store credit card?" He asks with a huff even though he's delighted that you are already considering another date.

You can’t help but feel guilty, even if he was the one who chose to come in here to furnish his place instead of IKEA or going and shopping around to mix and match his place. He knew it was going to be pricey. “Wait a minute.” A flash of a grin sparks on your face and you turn to open a cabinet behind you at the counter, eventually coming up with a little promotional pamphlet that you flip open and scan into the computer. Fifteen percent off will go a very long way for him today. “We don’t do a lot of coupons and things here, but we do have one for people who just moved. Hugely helpful along with the card.”

Marcus frowns slightly and reaches out to touch your hand. "I don't want you to get in trouble for special favors." He tells you, hoping that you aren't trying to give him something that you shouldn't because you were neighbors, or that you like him. "I knew I was going to be spending a lot."

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you hesitate pulling your hand away but have to - because stupid work - but squeeze his fingers before you pull away. “It’s not special privilege, I just forgot. Because I have a very cute, very distracting customer.” Everything about your tone is light and teasing and meant to reassure him. Getting into trouble won’t help either of you. No. You just got hypnotized by beautiful brown eyes and completely forgot.

"Okay." That makes him feel better and he shoots you a grin. "What can I say? I was a boy scout. Technically Eagle Scout."

“I’m not surprised.” You chew on it, the hit of competitiveness in the back of your head, and smirk as you start the application for his credit card on the register. “I was a Girl Scout. And will happily break down for you all the ways in which my Gold Award was much more demanding and time consuming than your Eagle Award.” The wink you toss him is all in good fun.

He catches his lower lip on his teeth in surprise and breaks into another grin. At this point his face is starting to ache from how often he is smiling but he doesn't give a damn. "Really?" He huffs, shaking his head. "We will have to see about that." He glances over to the display that shows all of those important last-minute items that a person might need and snags a good bottle opener. "We might need this too if we are going to get into a measuring contest."

“I think it will get put to very good use.” Sitting in his empty living room with a bottle of wine and a few throw blankets before his sofa arrives actually sounds like an ideal night - like indoor camping - but you’ll just savor the thought until later.

He nods. "If you want to have a place to sit...I can drag the air mattress into the living room. Give you the complete 'look at this guy' effect." He jokes, snorting slightly at how bare his condo is.

“Or…” You shrug a little and start bagging up the last of his loose items to take home today. “You could just come over to my fully furnished place with a roommate who blessedly works nights, so she won’t be there breathing down our necks?” She wouldn’t. Naomi would give you your space and then ask endless questions later.

"I don't want to impose." He does though, he can't believe that both of you are discussing the possibility of spending the night if he wasn't misreading things. "Although it would be nice to sit on something other than an air mattress."

“It’s not imposing if I invite you…but we can decide later on.” There’s an unmistakable spark of excitement running through you, and it’s now so close to your lunch break that you could spit and hit it. “For now, let’s get this all wrapped up and I’ll have this brought to the back door. You can bring your car around back and we’ll help you load everything up.”

"Yes and you have to tell me where I am taking you for lunch." He winks at you, not having forgotten about that important thing that needs to happen first. He looks over at the computer and jerks his chin up. "So was I approved?" He asks, knowing he will be.

“Luckily for your empty condo, yes, you were.” Your eyes widen slightly when the print-out shows how high his line of credit is and you lay the slip in front of him like you would with any other customer. It’s inconsequential to you. “I know it’s not glamorous or anything, but on Sunday’s I usually go to the Panera in the mall around the corner for lunch.”

Marcus groans and nods. "French onion soup in a bread bowl and one of their massive cookies." He announces, eating there often himself. He glances at the approval amount and sees that it would cover all of today and whatever else he adds on the next visit. "Zero percent APR for twenty-four months?" He shoots you a grin. "Hell yes, I won't have to dip into my savings."

“Did you think I would steer you wrong?” Gentle teasing has been a thread through your morning with him and your broad smile widened again.

"I would say that the best decision I have made in a long time was coming into your store today and running into you." He admits, honesty shining in his eyes and he is eager to take you out to lunch where you are not worried about crossing a professional line and then again tonight.

“I’m very glad you did.” That is an incredible understatement, and you busy yourself with printing out his long receipt and folding everything neatly for him. “I can clock out in ten minutes. Why don’t I have someone help you load up your car? By the time that’s done, I should be able to go.”

He signs the credit card slip after you had charged it to his new account and gives you a quick nod. "Back door?" He asks, just wanting to double check.

“Just drive around the back of the building and park by the double glass doors. I’ll let them know you’re coming.” And you swear you’ll try not to look like a giddy lunatic in the meantime.

It's almost ridiculous how much effort it takes to turn around and walk away and he's extremely proud of himself for not turning around to get another look like he's a little kid with a crush. He makes it out of the store and reaches into his pocket for his keys before he gives a decidedly giddy little giggle of happiness that he was going on a date with you. "Get it together Pike." He murmurs after the moment has passed. "Get the shit loaded up and then you can moon like a schoolboy."

The two teens who are working in the backroom today don’t give it a second glance when you roll the cart full of Marcus’s items back to them and disappear again, grinning like a moron. Not reappaering again until nine minutes later on the dot, with your purse in hand. They’re just finishing up with Marcus right as you appear at the back door, and you bite your lip to keep from saying anything stupid or immaturely giddy. “All set?”

He is thankful that his car has a huge trunk and back seat, barely fitting everything in there so you can actually ride with him and you don't have to take your own car to a lunch he is taking you to. "Ready whenever you are." He assures you with a smile as he walks over to the passenger door and opens it for you.

“Such a Boy Scout.” You grin, but accept his hand to help you into the car and don’t even look back to see the smirks on the faces of the teens you work with. “Take a right out of the parking lot and you’ll be on the road for about thirty seconds before you see the sign. There’s just no way to get between our parking lot and theirs on foot.”

"Gotcha." He follows your directions and as he gets behind the wheel and starts it up. "How long do you have for lunch?" He asks, wanting to make a note of when he needs to have you back.

“Forty-five minutes.” Being alone with him is…exciting somehow. Like you’re doing something forbidden even though that is blatantly ridiculous because you’re both consenting adults. “Plenty of time, since we have tonight planned already.”

He nods, happy that you are at least getting a decent lunch break so you can unwind. "At least you don't have to deal with that asshole who came in and took up all your time this morning." He scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes as he turns into the correct parking lot.

“Mmmhmm,” you grin at him. “Can you believe that guy? The nerve of him to treat me like a human with dignity, and not a servant.”

The frown that comes over his face is swift and fierce, unhappy to say the least at the idea of people treating you like a servant rather than a helpful courtesy. "Please tell me that doesn't happen often?" He knows it's very likely, people act like entitled assholes towards retail workers but he doesn't have to like it.

“Don’t get all White Knight on me, Marcus.” It’s too late to take back the bad joke, even though you immediately regret it. “You know people are shitty to retail workers. I’m just glad I don’t work in food service anymore. The fact that waiters aren’t allowed to punch people is a crime.”

"Not going to get white knight on you." He promises. " I know very well that you can probably grind anyone to verbal dust with that wit of yours." He doesn't want to come across as the type to try to fix everything. That was something that had bothered Amanda a lot. Instead of just listening he had wanted to fix. "I personally think that punching people who are assholes to servers should result in the person getting punched getting a fine."

“White nights aren’t all bad.” When he parks the car you don’t get out right away, just turn to look at him and take off your seat belt. “It’s more about picking your battles. “And I chose a career in retail, so it’s entirely on me to be my own knight.”

"Doesn't mean I can't be upset when people don't have basic common decency, but you are right." He tells you. "You have a very stiff spine."

“A stiff spine and a particular fondness for men who still hold doors.” Reaching over quickly, you give his hand a little squeeze.

"I do like to hold doors." His heart thumps in his chest and he squeezes your hand back. "Now to get you fed as a thank you for helping me spend a lot of money today."

You stay put for the extra seconds it takes him to move around the car, regardless of the fact that you’re 100% capable of opening your door your damn self. It’s about the gesture, not any hidden judgment.

It’s busy inside but they’re quick, bringing you and Marcus up to the front of the line quickly. You have a feeling this break is going to fly by. He orders exactly what he said it was going to. The French onion bread bowl and a cookie, along with water since he had only had coffee this morning. Of course he had you order before him, making sure that you get whatever you want. It's not necessarily a grand gesture but he would rather you actually eat than order a salad in some attempt to pretend like you don't really eat. He hated when people would do that.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You laugh, when the skin between his eyebrows pinches. “It’s my favorite salad in the world. Every Sunday. Asian sesame chicken salad, iced tea, and a cookie.” It’s cute, the way his indignation paints itself like a pout on his stupidly perfect lips that you’ve been thinking about kissing for hours now. “If it will make you feel better, I promise to have a meat and potatoes dinner to prove I’m not dainty.”

"Okay." He gives you a slight pout. "I am just hoping that you aren't one of those women who feel like you have to show your dates you don't eat a lot. That shit's for the birds. Blueberry pancakes and bacon is where it's at."

“Oh my god, no,” you shake your head immediately. “You can pry my artisanal hipster premium bacon from my cold dead hands. And brisket. Holy shit, brisket is the best reason to move to Texas.”

He arches his eyebrow at you and hums. "I guess I will have to try it." He tells you with a small shrug. "I haven't gotten around to trying the world-renowned Texas brisket yet."

“Our neighborhood does block parties in the summer.” It’s a little weird to refer to it like that, but he is your neighbor. “Three doors down from you, the place that just always smells like a restaurant? Ted Brubaker does amazing brisket and ribs.”

"And now...I want ribs." He groans, rolling his eyes slightly. "So other than brisket and bacon, what else do you enjoy?"

"Let's see." You pretend to think very hard about it, but there aren't that many things that you really trip over yourself for anymore. "The first thing I did after unpacking when I got here was get a library card, and the second thing was find a good campground. I cook, hence the vegetable garden, and I like music." When his name is called from the window, you both nab your trays to find a table and get away from all the extra noise. "What about you?"

Marcus slides into the other side of a booth so that he can face you. “Well, I checked out the local museums and art galleries. Both professional and personal interest.” He tells you, passing you the cutlery he had picked up for you. “Haven’t had much time to do a lot else. This is the first weekend off I’ve had since I moved here.”

"No rest for the wicked, I guess?" It hurts your heart on his behalf that he hasn't had a lot of time to check out his new home - since exploration and discovery are exactly the things that will make this new place feel like an actual home.

"I guess so." He digs into the bread bowl and scoops up some of the soup and gives a small moan of pleasure at the taste. "It's always hectic, getting up to speed in a new office. They actually had quite a few open cases that I needed to study and get to know like the back of my eyelids."

"Besides the clear-cut stolen paintings, what else does art crimes entail, exactly?" Digging into your lunch, you crunch happily and ignore the gentle buzzing of your phone in your pocket every so often. Either Naomi is bored before she has to leave for work or your coworkers are curious; either way, Marcus has your full attention right now.

"Forgeries, money laundering, illegal imports." Marcus tells you. "Did you know that forged paintings are a 3.4 trillion-dollar worldwide enterprise?" He asks you before he takes another spoonful of his soup.

"Are you serious? Trillion?" You stop with a forkful of salad halfway to your mouth. "That's insane!"

He huffs and shakes his head slightly. "Yep." He pops the p and sends you an ironic look. "Tracked down by people who make a government salary."

"Fuckin a." Shooting him a wry smile, you shrug your shoulders. "I do swear for the record. A lot. Just can't do it around customers."

"Well that's a good thing, I won't feel bad when I slip up and say something." He gives you an exaggerated sigh of relief before he snickers. "I try not to swear too often but there are times when it's completely necessary. Stubbing your toe during the middle of the night on the way to the toilet, romantic times...the list goes on."

"Very subtle. Just slipping that right in." Alright, so you chose your phrasing very specifically in order to get the dirty joke. But he did start it.

He lifts his brow and gives a small, amused shrug. "I'm a man. Despite being a romantic at heart, I still think about sex a lot."

"Good." In all honesty, it's more comfortable for you if the topic of sex is out in the open and not something to be coyly beaten around like a prize to be won. "I'm fairly upfront about things, most of the time. Or at least I do my best to be. So people who pretend that sex is animal or beneath them when it's actually the only thing they're after? I hate that. Sex is great, I don't know why people have to act so holier-than-thou about it."

Marcus leans back and looks at you with pure admiration. “I like that attitude. Sex is great and people who deny that aren’t having the right kind.”

You snicker, forking up another bite of salad. "You look like I just handed you a giant Christmas present with your name on it."

“Do you blame me?” He asks. “It’s so easy to overstep and I don’t ever want to make someone feel objectified, so when they are just honest, I can tell them where I stand.”

Chewing quickly, you shake your head with certainty. "I don't blame you at all. I'm glad that the reaction was a positive one, honestly. I've been accused of being too forward in the past." Your most recent ex, in particular, had taken quiet offense to the fact that you 'undermined' his masculinity by not letting him kiss you first, and your whole sexual relationship had had an air of competition about it.

“Don’t worry about that with me.” Marcus assures you with a sardonic look. “Most of the time I was the one who was too forward. Or moved too quickly? I don’t know, it’s honestly been awhile. But I have to be level with you. I think you're a hell of good looking woman and I’d love to get to know you better.” He pauses and then gives you a small wink. “Maybe see you naked if you’re into it.”

It's his phrasing that takes you off guard, and you don't realize you're gaping at him a little until you shut your mouth to smile. You don't really take compliments well, most of the time. That wit of yours that he identified earlier is a decades-old coping mechanism and for once - for just this once - he's managed to crack through it for a second before you get it back. "Well," your smile turns lopsided, ears burning hot as a volcano now that you've essentially been given permission to have naughty thoughts about him. "It would be very un-neighborly to make you keep sleeping on that air mattress every night when I have a comfy bed big enough for two."

“Well, I can honestly say that if you were to spend the night at my house, I would hide the towels so you had to air dry.” He teases, remembering how you had reacted to his comments on that. He hadn’t missed it, just chose to bank the knowledge for the moment.

"Noted." Your lips twist on a slightly wry smirk. "So I'll be justified in hiding everything except my favorite tiny bathrobe if you ever decide to stay over?"

He is definitely enjoying this conversation a lot. Two adults admitting that they are going to sleep together and not being coy about it. “How does it look on your floor?” He asks seriously.

"I'd say 'like a work of art', but I'll have to have you evaluate that for me." The honesty between you is fucking freeing in a way that you hadn't at all expected, and you nudge the toe of his boot under the table with your own. "Since you're an expert."

That makes him laugh and sends you another wink. “I am.” He acknowledges. “Just let me know when you want me to come over and analyze it.”

Your usual sense of what you want is strong, and in this case it lives directly between your legs: humming and throbbing and telling you to hurry it the hell up. "As soon as you like," you offer with an honest shrug. "I'd say we should have a pretty good idea of how we feel about things by tonight."

Marcus is loving this sense of self that you possess, it’s refreshing and honestly, a big turn on for him. He nods and leans back in his seat so he can watch you munch happily on your salad. You were eager to eat and he is more than happy to watch, enjoying the way you do a slight wiggle in your seat when you take a bite you really like. “And if you decide that it’s going to be a no for you, you let me know and we’ll move on from there.” He’s honest enough with himself to know that not every woman would want to be with him. Realistic to and practical despite being a romantic with high hopes.

“Same goes for you.” You tell him, though you can’t imagine in what universe you would turn him down. Though it’s refreshing as hell to hear that he’s not going to act like an entitled brat if something happens that makes you hesitate. It would be a shame if he turned out to be a bad kisser - that truly being your biggest turn on. A good kiss can turn the world on its end.

He gives a slight scoff and shakes his head. “I’ll let you know if the second coming of Christ happens first.” He’s made up his mind and if he’s completely honest with himself, decided that you would be someone he was interested in fairly early on in today.

The full evidence that you like his sense of humor is on display when you barely manage to cover a snort with your hand. Not to muffle it - since you’ve learned he actually does think it’s cute - but just out of politeness to everyone else around the two of you. The giggles that come afterward are from the absolutely delighted look on his face.

The rest of lunch goes by with the two of you talking about anything and everything. Marcus doesn’t want to make sleeping with you the main focus of this time. No matter how direct you might be, he still wants to get to know you and in the very broad sense, woo you like he would any other woman he was seeing.

“I should be getting back.” There’s very clear reluctance in your voice, but you’ve got less than ten minutes left and then another four hours to your workday before you can go home and fuss over an outfit for tonight.

Marcus nods, taking your tray and transferring everything over to his so that he can dump all of it at once. “You’ve still got to work, and I’ve got to go set up a lot of things at my place.” He flashes you a grin. “Too bad someone can’t come help me unload it, but how about this? When you get off work, you take as long as you need to get ready, relax, and then you shoot me a text and I’ll walk next door and pretend I just drove across the city to pick you up?”

“Thirty seconds across our driveways is a much less nerve-wracking trip than thirty minutes across town.” Either way, you’re glad to not be wasting time. You really do like Marcus and don’t impose artificial barriers to getting to know him.

“Very true.” He guides you out of the restaurant and back over to his car, holding the door for you in both locations. He knows that eventually you might get tired of him opening a car door, Amanda did unless it was a special night out, but he enjoys the little things that add to the comfort of the person he is with. Things that make them feel special. “Hopefully the rest of the day isn’t too boring. Maybe another hopeless person will come in to establish their new place.”

“If they do, I’ll probably hand them over to the actual furniture specialist working today.” You flash him a conspiratorial grin. “Like I should have done with you.”

That makes his stomach flip like he’s about to ask Samantha Perez to the school dance again. Although he’s not fourteen anymore, the confirmation that you had found him appealing is a huge stroke to his ego. “I have to say that I’m grateful you didn’t.” He tells you once he’s walked around the car and slid behind the wheel again.

“Somehow I don’t think you would have been asking Norm to help you pick out throw blankets to cuddle in.” Although, you do have to admit that your elegantly gay male coworker would probably eat Marcus right up.

“Maybe not.” He throws you a teasing glance. “I never say never though.” He’s straight, but he’s never been one of those who has said that it couldn’t happen if the right person came along.

“Then I’m even happier that I didn’t introduce you.” The entire ride back will take all of a minute, but you settle back against the upholstered seats of his car and grin back. “Just in case.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t think you have to worry. I’m open minded, but it hasn’t happened in thirty-four years, so I don’t think it’s necessarily in the cards for me.”

“Still,” you shrug. “It would have been one more way we swerved around each other, and the universe has been working hard to push us together.” It’s not that you necessarily put a lot of stock in fate. You’re a romantic, sure, but not one so obsessed with soulmates or destiny that you let it rule your senses. Still, it seems like an awful lot of coincidences for two people.

“Very true.” He gives a small chuckle and after debating it for a split second, reaches over and takes your hand to give it a soft squeeze. “You don’t ignore the signs you're given.”

The soft, deceptively small gesture makes your whole body tingle, and you squeeze his hand back to share the small intimacy of the moment. It’s making butterflies erupt in your stomach and a giddy sort of haze float through your mind. “Not anymore, anyway.”

He pulls into the parking lot and turns to give you a small, encouraging smile. “So, enjoy the rest of your day.” He uses a slightly chipper tone like he’s a mom telling their child to have a good day at school. “And don’t let the assholes get you down.”

“I have enough residual good mood for any Texas-sized asshole this job can throw at me.” Giving his hand another light squeeze, you don’t bother to hide the broad smile on your face. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

“I am too. Sunset Boulevard is another favorite of mine.” Marcus admits. He wants to lean in and give you a kiss, but instead of going for something that might be a little too soon and quite frankly embarrassing since you are sitting in front of your place of employment, he lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. Besides, a car isn’t the most romantic place for a first kiss, and he wants that to be special. “Let me get the door for you.” He murmurs after he lowers your hand from his lips.

“Thanks.” You will absolutely, one hundred percent be thinking about how soft his lips are for the next several hours, and it will be a goddamn miracle if you don’t just haul him into your place the second he knocks on your door later.

Marcus reluctantly lets go of your hand and gets out to walk around the car to open the door for you. He shoves his hands in his pockets after he closes the door so he doesn't reach for you and gives you a soft smile. "Well, I don't want you to be late clocking back in, so I'm going to go and start several hours of work to unload and unpack everything to keep me from obsessing about tonight."

“Come over at six.” You smile softly and stuff your hands in your pockets the same way he has, keeping yourself from doing anything impulsive. “And…the gnome’s name is David.”

"David." He grins, loving the whimsical nature of you and your roommate for naming a garden gnome. "I'll make sure to remember that." He sends you a small wink and takes a step back, knowing that if he doesn't he will try to keep talking to you and make you late. "I will see you at six, beautiful."

______

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[tomdutch]

*slams fists on table* prompt #30 [grabbing your lover by the collar] and #37 [kitchen counter make-outs] with peter please my dear talented mutual <3 <3 <3

❀ home to me ❀

prompts: (30) grabbing your lover by the collar + (37) kitchen counter makeout

↳ post-college!peter, established relationship, a bit of suggestiveness at the end

word count: 1.7k of light angst & lots of fluff

flufftober drabbles (now completed)

wednesday is the worst day of the week for peter. he’s had this argument with ned all through high school, usually under your amused gaze as you watched your two best friends argue like bored housewives.

hating monday is garfield behaviour and it’s not cute, peter maintains, and tuesday is unmemorable. thursday has a spark of excitement, knowing friday is so close and will bring with it the weekend, which are totally exempt from criticism. except sunday from the hours of three to eleven pm, where peter often finds himself scrambling to catch up on all the schoolwork he’s missed while being new york’s friendly vigilante.

he can easily remember the first time you witnessed him and ned bickering; it was a dreaded wednesday afternoon during junior year of high school, and the three of you had decided to skip your last period—an egregious crime for peter, but you talked him into it—to get sandwiches from delmar and eat them on the roof of peter’s building, since he lived the closest to the shop. the sight of your twinkling eyes watching his hands gesture enthusiastically and his cheeks darken with enthusiasm for his explanations was more than enough to have him stuttering even more than usual.

“i’m just saying,” he ended his account with a loud breath shaking his chest, “wednesday is the purgatory of capitalist society’s seven day week.”

ned’s jaw slackened, while your grin only got bigger as the three of you took seats on the ground near the roof’s railing, warm sandwiches in hand. “oh my god, we’re never getting girlfriends.” he exlaimed, throwing his head back and clutching his grilled chicken sub close to his heart as though this new proximity would heal it.

an embarrassed shut up left peter’s thin lips, and he looked down, focusing on unwrapping his sandwich and on not shivering when your thigh brushed his as you settled in beside him.

“i don’t know,” you giggled, sparing your curly-haired best friend a glance from the corner of your eyes, “i’m sure there’s a girl out there who love freckle-faced boys with strong opinions on the days of the week and a hatred of non-smushed down sandwiches. who knows, maybe she’s closer than you think.”

this wasn’t the exact moment peter fell in love with you—no, that ship had sunk a long time ago—but it is when he knew he would never love anyone more than you. and now, five years later, that certainty still hasn’t faded, not even one bit. not even when you two fight over the dumbest topics imaginable.

it’s been almost two hours since peter’s seen you. after your argument, the first one in your new shared apartment over the furniture of your new shared apartment, you’d glared at him with palpable contempts, turned on your heel, and slammed the door shut behind you. rain soon started plummeting from the skies, like it’s mocking peter’s horrid mood, and he knew you hadn’t stopped to check the weather app and grab an umbrella before you stormed off.

great, peter thinks, i can’t suit up and go looking for her or she’ll get even more mad i didn’t give her space and if i don’t, she’ll come home mad about the rain and mad i didn’t go find her. all he can do is fall onto the couch, making sure not to knock any of the boxes around the coffee table, and bury his face in his hands. right as he’s about to bite the bullet and get up to wear his suit, the front doorknob jiggles for three solid minutes before the hinge creaks loudly when you throw the door open.

as expected, you’re utterly soaked, clothes sticking to your skin and shoes squeaking on the thor-themed welcome mat before you take them off. you glare at the little cartoon norse god holding his hammer up as thunder strikes loudly outside for good measure.

“hey,” you surprise peter by addressing him first, making his back snap to an upright position.

“hi, sweetheart.” he responds, snapping into action when your bottom lip trembles and your eyes fall onto the hardwood floor. thankfully, the bathroom is the first room you two got working on when you moved in a couple days ago, and he was able to find warm, clean towels in seconds. “here you go, baby.” peter mumbles, wrapping a big one around your trembling shoulders and a smaller one over your head; big, gentle hands attempting to dry your hair.

your throat feels strained, a heavy weight in the middle restricting your breathing. wide eyes with unshed tears watch your boyfriend as he tenderly moves the towel over your wet strands, and you place your hands over his wrists, effectively stopping his ministrations. once your gazes meet, peter’s worried brown eyes locking onto your regretful ones, you whisper, “i’m sorry.” the words almost get stuck rolling off your tongue from your remorse, but you manage them. “i’m sorry for fighting and leaving when i was angry, petey. i’m so sorry.”

one of your palms leaves his skin to grab a fistful of his signature find x pyjama shirt, and peter lets you drag him close until your noses are touching despite his super strength. “it’s okay, baby.” he reassures you, voice kind and light. “you can get mad at me whenever you want, as long you always come home to me.” his eyes turn glossy, thin bottom lip getting caught between his teeth. “i can’t lose you, too.”

“never, peter.” you answer him immediately, reaching up to press kisses to his wobbling chin, your boy trying hard not to cry. “you’ll never lose me, love, you’re stuck with me for good. no return policy here. matter of fact, it’s illegal.”

a breathy chuckle leaves his throat, and he rests his forehead on yours. comfortable silence falls over you, peter’s fingers playing with the hem of your wet sweatshirt, stuck to your cold skin uneasily.

“why don’t you take a hot shower and i’ll whip up some light dinner?” he mutters, dragging the tip of his nose along the slope of your own.

shit-eating grin spreading over your lips, you cup his cheeks and drop a peck on his mouth. “as long as the shower isn’t hot because you’ve set our home on fire trying to make an omelet.”

peter groans loudly, throwing his head back with amused irritation as he steps away from you, “you’re so annoying.” he grumbles and snaps the towel off your head just to playfully throw it in your face. “go shower before the living room smells like wet dog.”

he doesn’t wait for your response, heading to the kitchenette and giggling under his breath at your insulted gasp.

thirty minutes later, you’re dry and sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth as you tap your flannel pants-clad thighs along to the rhythm of a song on peter’s playlist. the culry-haired boy is standing in front of the stove, dumping some of may’s tomato sauce that she dropped off as a housewarming gift onto pasta and veggies.

“smells so good.” you sigh, leaning your head back on a high cabinet and delighting in the proud, happy beam your boyfriend sends you.

the phone in your lap vibrates, and you look down to your lockscreen, a message from one of your friends flashing on it. that’s when your eyes fall on the date, memories of high school flooding your mind like a tsunami of reminiscence.

biting back a laugh, you look over at peter, his tongue slipping between his pink lips as he attempts to not splatter sauce all over the stove while mixing the pasta and sauce together.

“baby,” you giggle, holding your phone up to him, “it’s wednesday.”

the furrow in his eyebrows and confused expression only make your laughter multiply, fully amused as realisation sinks in. “fucking wednesdays,” peter grumbles, turning the heat off with the strength of a petulant child. “i swear, i need to start sleeping through w*dn*sdays so that nothing bad happens to me or anyone i love during them again.”

“wait,” you deadpan, “how did you just censor wednesdays if we’re talking out loud?”

“huh?”

“never mind.” you shake your head, waiting for peter to finish serving the pasta on each of your plates.

he takes his time, moving slowly and twirling the tongs around dramatically to swirl the spaghetti as though he’s a contestant on masterchef. dork. when he’s satisfied with the presentation, he grabs a fork and gets a bit of everything on it, before looking at you with the most convincing puppy dog expression you’ve ever countered.

“taste?” peter asks, shy smile tugging the corners of his lips up.

you nod, and he feeds you, cheering adorably when you close your eyes and moan at the savours. “if i hadn’t watched you make this, i’d think you got takeout while i was showering. ‘s really delicious, petey.”

his eyes light up at the compliments, cheeks a soft pink as he places the fork on your plate. he’s about to graciously respond, when your hands grab the neck of his shirt and drag him into you, hips cornered between your thighs and mouth pressed to yours. despite the sudden movements, peter recovers quickly, melting into your embrace like butter on a hot pan. tongue slipping between his lips, you run your fingers through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, pleasurable shivers racking down your back when he groans at the contact. the taste of the sauce on your tongue moves to peter’s while his hands grasp your waist tightly, dragging you to the edge of the counter.

you break apart minutes later, both your chests heaving for air and faces feeling warm. sucking your bottom lip between his own, peter smirks at the whimper you let out. “how about after we enjoy my skilled cooking,” he whispers, feeling his heart literally skip a beat when you giggle, “i can eat something else?”

the ridiculous comment is very much worth it when you laugh harder and pinch his tummy playfully.