#just. please stop expecting us to read the full series in a row

[obi-wann-cannoli]

Fantasy writers PLEASE start including some sort of ‘previously on’ intro chapter to your sequels. Not just a cast of characters (though that is also helpful). I can’t remember shit about my own life much less the political situation of the fictional fantasy world from the first book.

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

Night is creeping over the College when Faralda drags her chair over to sit beside hers, scraping loudly across the cold tile, and drops herself into it with her spine straight and rigid enough to support construction of a new building.

“I have found this,” she says, voice as stiff as her posture, “impossible to articulate.”

Mirabelle’s eyebrows lift. “Will you try?”

She closes her eyes; her whole face attempts to follow suit, like a door straining shut against an overfull closet. “I am trying. Please don’t… look at me.”

“…very well.” Apprehensive, Mirabelle obliges and redirects herself to stare straight ahead, dropping her hands into her lap. It is not the most orthodox way to have a conversation, but if it will help, she can study the worn stones just as well as her master wizard’s face. “What can I do?”

She doesn’t see it, but knows exactly the reactive twist of Faralda’s mouth all the same. “Whatever you like. Just—listen a moment, and then I won’t bring it up again.”

“Is this an interpersonal issue?” She had thought Nirya was doing better about focusing on her own studies lately. Hearing otherwise is a disappointing development, certainly—

“No,” says Faralda, exasperated, and then, “yes. Of a sort. —I am not playing twenty questions with you, Mirabelle. Archmage.” She falls silent.

Mirabelle keeps her eyes fixed on the wall across from her and waits. Faralda is always so unwavering—unflappable—the gradual shift in her behavior these last… well, better not to count it, she thinks, neatly sidestepping the thought—regardless, it has been highly irregular. It’s a relief to have the opportunity to set right whatever has been making her, instead, evasive. For that, she can sit in silence, however long it takes.

She is always looking at Faralda’s side of the office; the view is not new. She studies the row of books on the too-high shelf anyway, the jar full of quills (though she only ever uses one at a time, wearing it down into persistent unusability). Her desk is far neater than usual; she’d spent all afternoon fussing at it, putting things in drawers and taking them out again and likely thinking she was being very stealthy about glancing over every few minutes with something clearly on her tongue and bitten back.

It is quite a long silence, though.

Mirabelle is beginning to wonder if her senses have somehow erred and Faralda is not actually sitting here with her anymore when there is a resolved exhale. “…I think of you,” Faralda says at last, quiet.

“Oh,” Mirabelle presses her fingertips to her mouth abruptly to suppress her smile. “Is that all?”

“Is that—” She sputters a series of incomprehensible noises, each one more offended than the last. “Is that all—Mirabelle, I am trying to—”

“I think of you, too.”

“Don’t mock me,” says Faralda despairingly. “You know I meant it a—a certain way.”

“And how do you know,” she asks, gentle, “that I don’t?”

Her speechlessness, rare phenomenon that it is, has much less weight to it than her previous silence.

“May I look at you now?”

“No. Please.”

“You are looking at me. I don’t think this is quite fair.”

“You can’t know where I am looking.”

“Do you really think I don’t know what it feels like—” She stops suddenly at the long fingers moving her hair from her cheek behind her ear, deliberately avoiding contact with her skin, as though half-afraid of something. Surely not of her.

She looks. Faralda’s face—very close, which she should have expected and yet for some reason did not really believe would be the case—is expressively illegible.

(This is a lie, she ought to acknowledge. She can read the flickers of her expression quite well. It’s only that Mirabelle has always found it easier, though, to wait.)

There is a little divot in the center of her lower lip, where she presses the tip of her quill when she’s concentrating. It seems, at present, the most singular thing in all the world. “And what,” she says, voice barely a whisper, “does it feel like?”

[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[hansolmates]

one more time (m)

pairing; (former) popular!jk x (former) normie!reader summary; it’s been two years since you’ve seen your former tryst jeon jungkook. you didn’t expect him to be applying for the internship you’re currently running, along with the rate your heart is running at the sight of him in a black suit. genre/warnings; self-deprecating language, your typical (future) co-workers!au, jungkook is a piner and so is oc, a lil bit of sneaking around, adulting, a mutual understanding of feelings (finally!!) smut in the form of—soft n’ dirty baybee, unprotected, cockwarming, overstimulation, minor praise and possession kink, cumplay, &you know that they gon have heart eyes the entire time w.c; 7.3k a/n; darn why am i so... emotional over this??? it started out as a meaningless drabble series but with all my lovely readers and moots it’s grown into such a fun, introspective series. thank u for loving this and joining me on this journey. for those of u who are new to this series feel free to read popular-ish first or as a standalone! [popular-ish masterlist]

if you’ve enjoyed this (whether as a standalone or as a series) please consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨✨✨

“A mess, I’m a mess,” you sing-song to yourself, organizing the manuals on the clear glass by subject and size. The applications of all your new interns are alphabetized, not a form out of place. Everything’s perfect. “Alright Jessica, all twenty of the interns are accounted for.” 

“Actually, there’s twenty-three,” Jessica quips, and you let your shoulders slump. Being part of the recruiting team of your company has been simultaneously exciting and stressful. Stressful because of the constant travel, but otherwise exciting because you loved your internship at your current company. You remember how nervous you were two years ago, and how much support and help you got from your recruiters. Applying to this team was a natural turn of events. 

“A-are you sure, Jess?” you look through all the applications, count the amount of nametags, triple check the chairs. You’re sweating through your blazer, wondering where you went wrong. 

The head of your recruiting team glues one hand to her hip, while the other hand is holding her iPad, scrolling with her thumb. You swallow, intimidated by Jessica’s golden wavy locks and her black-trimmed white Chanel pantsuit. 

“Yep, but don’t be too hard on yourself. I just added three more recruits last night. I’ll get the chairs and the apps are being printed. No worries,” Jessica assures, gesturing for you to hurry up and get outside, “Call the babies in!” your team leader waves her finger around like a magic wand, commanding you to the front lines. 

Krystal puts a hand on her shoulder, as always looking impeccable. She has virtually nothing to worry about. She’s a woman who has connections, courtesy of her team leader. “Let’s go, newbie,” she teases, pulling you through the door. 

The recruits in the lobby are wide-eyed and vibrant, and you feel a little nostalgic as you watch them line up in front of you and Krystal as you sign them in. You would dwell on the feeling more if it wasn’t for your exhaustion, so you decide you’ll get a chance to take a road down memory lane when you get to the hotel. 

“Name?” 

“Xu Minghao.” 

“Congrats Minghao, here’s your nametag and I’ll see you inside,” with a firm handshake, one recruiter is free to go. 

“Name?” 

“Chou Tzuyu.” 

“Congrats Tzuyu, here’s your name tag and I’ll see you inside,” she doesn’t go in straight away, and moves to the side of the door. “Actually,” you pause mid-handshake with another recruit, staring at the woman in curiosity, “my boyfriend just got a call last night that he was accepted in this year’s batch. Do you have his name?” 

“Yes, three more recruits were added,” you chirp, as if you totally did not hear that bit of information five minutes ago, “What’s his name—Jungkook?” 

The both of you blink at each other. One hand on Tzuyu’s shoulder, eyes wide and mirroring yours. Your heart falls straight to your stomach, wanting to be eaten by acids and bacteria so you can stop any possibility of feeling any lingering affection for the boy you fooled around with in undergrad. Everything about him screams professional. He’s clean cut, a pinstripe black suit you never thought he’d own, and his hair is neatly trimmed and pulled behind his ears. His shoulders look tall and broad under the slight padding, his biceps comfortably stretching against the dark fabric. The golden complexion remains the same however, from the honest brown eyes to the coral pink lips that would always smile at you. 

“Oh, so you do have his name!” Tzuyu clasps her hands together, delighted. He has a girlfriend, too. It’s then you realize you’ll be stuck with not just him, but her for the week. “You guys are so efficient. C’mon Kookie, let’s find some seats!” 

“I still gotta get my nametag,” he replies goodnaturedly, gesturing to you, “save us some seats in the front?” 

Tzuyu thinks nothing of it, squeezing his bicep before skipping off to the front row. Your eyes linger on her form, and it’s only then you realize how tall and intimidatingly pretty she looks in that plaid teddy bear brown skirt suit. You did not look that good when you were a budding undergrad. 

By this time, Krystal has taken all your other recruits from your line, regarding you with a raised brow. She’s fast with her attendance, so you know you don’t have much time. 

“I applied last minute,” Jungkook says, scratching his head, “was running out of options before graduation. I didn’t know you’d be one of my recruiters, though. Lucky me.” 

Jungkook and you never ended up keeping in contact, at least as of recent. A check-in message a few months in, a happy birthday or holiday greeting late at night. But two years later and those messages are automatic, with no feeling or personality. You never thought you’d see him again, no less in the city. 

“You just graduated with your masters, congrats,” you smile at Jungkook, although you’re sure the feigned emotion fails to reach your eyes, “IT Management, right?” 

“You remembered,” Jungkook brightens, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder, “you look good.” 

“Oh please—”  you laugh to yourself, shaking your head, “I just got off a flight and I ran over in a two-day old suit, I don’t even have makeup on,” you didn’t feel this way in the morning, you just rushed to do the bare minimum to be enough and ran over to the convention hall. But now in the presence of Jungkook who looks so handsome and clean-cut, you can’t help but feel a little slighted at the sudden reunion. 

“You’re always beautiful,” Jungkook exhales, and you clutch your clipboard closer to your chest. 

You cough, an excuse for him to stop touching your shoulder, “You should go inside, it’s gonna start soon. We can catch up later.”

“Wait—” you make a scrunched up face that Jungkook can’t catch, but right in Krystal’s view. You can tell she’s laughing at you internally with her devious grin. “I just wanted to say, Tzuyu isn’t my girlfriend. We’re just…” 

“Fooling around?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so sharp, but you wanted this conversation over. You have a job to do and Jungkook is your emotional barrier. 

You and Jungkook used to fool around. 

Jungkook winces, looking younger in his monkey suit. “I mean if you give me a chance to explain later—”  

“Nametag, let’s go newbie.” Krystal slaps on the sticker herself, a little too hard if she asked. She doesn’t even bother to write his full name, just a bright green Jeon JK, IT Management tacked on his breast pocket, clashing with the gold pocket square. 

“Sorry,” Jungkook tucks his tail in for now, bowing at you and Krystal as he scurries inside. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Krystal doesn’t bother to comfort you or ask what’s up—not that you want her to, even though you do want a breather before you have to go up on that stage and explain the itinerary for a week. The only thing you can do is smooth out your skirt, brush away the flyaways on your hairstyle and plaster a company-paid smile on your face.

The autopilot switch is on throughout the rest of the morning. Not just because Jungkook’s around, but the new position has got you on livewire. You’re glad that you’re not wearing base makeup because you are absolutely melting with all the high beam lights all up in your face as you talk through the week’s activities. 

You could swear Jungkook clapped a little harder than most once you stopped talking, but maybe it’s because you’re not used to seeing Jungkook in the very front of a lecture. In fact, he was a very hard middle person, preferring not to show off his intelligence and let other people lead the discussion. Then again, it’s been two years, you don’t know how much he’s changed. 

Jessica caps off the seminar with a great kick-off, the happy hour. The recruitment team picks a four star restaurant under their hotel so the recruits can enjoy themselves before going off to the training facility for a week. 

And by training facility, you also mean yet another four-star hotel. You knew you made the right decision by joining this company because the benefits are impeccable, and value personal enjoyment just as much as they value work ethic. In the morning you and the recruits will be driving uptown to a private resort where there would be classes in the morning, and recoup in the evening. You’re very much looking forward to the infinity pool on the roof. 

The recruits are ushered out as soon as you’re done, and that’s when you step out of the shadows to clean up the chairs and the brochures left behind. Thankfully Jungkook is probably following the norm and going back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner. Once the room is completely empty, you rip off your blazer and let yourself relax. 

It’s going to be a long week. 

Jeon: where u @?

You: hotel room

Jeon: why? Thought we were all gonna have dinner together

You: nahhh, this night is for the recruits! You’ll be tired of our faces by the end of the week, enjoy it while you can 😉  have a good night

You sigh in contentment, relaxing further into the silk sheets. You just finished your skincare routine, letting some mindless drama play as the essences and serums sink into your skin. All you want is one Jungkook-free night. Tomorrow you’ll be stuck training him and Tzuyu for the week and you want to take tonight to emotionally prepare yourself. 

Your phone rings once more. 

Big Baddie Jessica Jung: krystal and i ordered takeout in the restaurant downstairs. Can u bring it to our  room? Plsssssss 

Little Baddie Krystal Jung: it’ll be faster if you do it, we even got u a lil somethin🍰🍰🍰

Taking in your outfit, you grimace. You’re dressed for bed, a large nightie with your hair pulled back and a little pink bunny tie headband on top. Can’t they get room service to send it up? You admire your boss but you don’t understand why she needs to display her power over and over, she already knows you’ll follow her to the ends of the earth. 

Quickly slipping into a pair of sneakers you run down the expanse of the hotel. It’s easy to spot where the recruits are, livin’ it up in the large restaurant that takes up half the space of the ground floor. Most of them are pretty drunk, hoping to sleep off the hangover on the four-hour bus ride. You have absolutely no judgement, two years ago you were in the same position. 

Thankfully you don’t have to go far into the restaurant, as the hostess immediately knows Jessica’s order. While you wait for her to go into the kitchen and get it you drum your fingers against the counter, hoping no one notices you. It’s akin to when you’re a teacher in a mall, hoping none of your students gawk at you in the middle of Victoria’s Secret. 

“Ah, well Jungkook and I aren’t official yet—but very soon.” 

Your ears perk up at the sweet voice. Tzuyu is leaning across the open bar next to the counter, sipping on a mango mojito. She’s dumped the blazer for the night, showing off her soft skin and slender arms with a sleeveless cream blouse. 

“Then where is he?” another recruiter asks, gesturing to the expanse of the lobby. 

“He’s not much of a party person,” Tzuyu shrugs, tipping back her drink. 

You scoff, plastering on a smile to the hostess as you grab your bags and walk as fast as you can out of the lobby. You’ve never felt more like an old hag until now. Sure, most of the recruits are younger than you, but seeing Tzuyu talk so freely about her relationship with Jungkook has you in a bit of a spiral. The day of graduation, you told Jungkook not to wait for you. Heck, you’re only interested in the idea of what you could’ve had with Jungkook. 

These thoughts only cloud you further as you jab the elevator buttons all the way up to the suites where you and the Jungs reside. You relax a little when you see a strawberry cheesecake sitting prettily on the top of their order, your name written on the label with a little heart. Hanging their bag on the door handle of their room, you make your way back to your suite. 

You freeze when you see a floppy-haired Jungkook roaming the hallway, looking like a clueless child hobbling around in slippers and wide eyes at any sparkly item that decorates the area. It doesn’t even look like he tried attending the happy hour tonight, dressed in an impossibly big heather grey sweatsuit that swallows his form. 

“Are you lost?” you ask tentatively, as if you’re talking to a toddler lost at the mall. 

Jungkook relaxes considerably at the sound of your voice, and he replies, “Was tryna find your room since you didn’t reply to my texts.”

“So… you decided to check all the rooms?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p with a smack of his lips, “I figured the recruiters would be far away from the party so I started at the top. Thankfully I got to Jessica’s room first. Didn’t have to knock on too many doors. Only one old man got annoyed at me.” 

“You’re crazy,” you chuckle, slipping in your keycard to let Jungkook in. 

“Fuck, this room all to yourself?” 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to kick his slides to a corner of the wall, flopping atop your bed and clutching your baby blue koala plush in his arms. The king sized bed is enough for his legs to stretch comfortably without falling off the edge, and he eagerly pads his feet against the soft fabric. 

It warms you to think that Jungkook is comfy enough to lay on your bed and hug your stuffed animals, a semblance of friends that you’ve missed for such a long time. Last year the team you worked for was great, you loved the people and even now you consider some of them friends. This year the team is a little smaller, and since your two other co-workers are sisters, it’s a little harder to nudge yourself in the direction of friendship. 

As soon as you sit down against the headboard, Jungkook’s eyes soften. Everything feels so different and the same. The threadbare pajamas that either of you haven’t had the heart to throw away since they’re so damn comfy, yet  your bodies are a little more worn and your eyes a little more droopier than usual. 

“So,” Jungkook bites his lip, not in the sexy way, but the nervous way, “about Tzuyu—”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to explain yourself,” you slump on your corner of the bed, regarding Jungkook with guilty eyes. “I really shouldn’t be feeling the way I’m feeling. It isn’t fair and I don’t want to jeopardize your internship.”

“And… what are you feeling?” 

“Dumb things.” 

“Your feelings aren’t dumb.”

“This time they are.”

“I’ve always shared my feelings, it’s unfair that you never want to share yours,” Jungkook sits up, criss-cross applesauce, pensive. “Maybe it’s my fault for not making you feel comfortable enough to share, but I feel like the reason why we never worked out was because we never tried hard enough to have a proper conversation.” 

How could you have missed all the indicators, all the good words, all the kindness Jungkook has given you that last semester? “You’re absolutely right,” you let your insecurities, your apprehensiveness, get in the way. You think in two years you’d do better to eradicate this kind of behavior, but lately you haven’t had many friends to express your feelings to. “Tell you what, I’ll work harder to express how I feel. No exchanges, no nothings. I owe you this.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Jungkook smiles, “I just think it would be nice to y’know, talk. As friends.” 

“Right, friends.”

“So, will you hear me out about Tzuyu?” 

“Let me open my cake,” you pull out your bag with the cheesecake, which thankfully has two spoons, “it seems like we’ll be having that kind of conversation.” 

Everyone is more amicable because of food. According to Jungkook, Tzuyu has a hardcore, ten-year plan for her twenties. After a couple of dates with Jungkook, Tzuyu whips him into the plan. Mentions that she’s well-bred and has a family reputation to uphold. Says IT Management is something completely desirable in a partner, that he’s sensible and wonderful and would like to be committed full-time. 

“And she talked to her parents about me and said that I’m a good prospect for marriage. Like I’m another pillar in her plan!” Jungkook cries, taking a monstrously sized bite of your cheesecake, wallowing away.

This is akin to sleepovers you’ve always wanted to have in high school, down to the food gorging. You can’t help but be fascinated, “So are you wrapped up in an engagement? Is this a scary rendition of Crazy Rich Asians?” 

“You just can’t turn a one-eighty like that on a fifth date,” Jungkook shakes his head, reeling at the emotional whiplash, “she’s really nice. Really organized, really perfect. It really intimidates me.”

“Is she what you reaaaally want?” you can’t help but ask, rolling your eyes at the excessive use of the word, and tamp down the pain in your stomach by eating a forkful of creamy cheesecake. 

“I don’t know!” Jungkook replies exasperatedly, “Obviously I’m worried since she wants to put a ring on it. I told her she needs to back off. Right after the seminar I said she had no right telling other people we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn’t say much, just frowned and walked away.” 

You roll your eyes, scraping the leftover graham cracker crust from the edge of the plastic plate. “According to her, I heard you two are planning to make it official very soon.” 

His eyes widen, “I really bring girl trouble wherever I go, don’t I?” 

“Since I’ve known you,” you half-joke, putting away the plastic cutlery on the nightstand. 

You two sit in silence for a few moments, letting the television fill the room with mindless static about some sappy Hallmark movie. Tentatively, you land a hand on Jungkook’s knee. He looks down at your tiny fingers, giving his skin an experimental squeeze of comfort. 

“I don’t want her,” he finally says. 

“Okay,” you reply, “you won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to. I can arrange the groups this week so you don’t have to be around—”

“Give me one week,” his eyes flash to yours, dark and sharp.

“Jungkook. You have your determined face on,” it makes you sweat.  

“Because I’m determined to win you over, once and for all,” you eyes widen, and Jungkook visibly freezes, “was that too much? I’m kind of on an emotional high today. I didn’t expect to see you today and it kind of threw me into a loop. I thought I might be running into you once I started my internship but I didn’t think you’d be my recruiter. And then you went on that stage all bad-ass talking about work and you looked so gorgeous in your suit and I was so proud knowing you made it and IrealizedhowmuchImissedyou—” 

“Jungkook, slower,” you’re feeling a little woozy as well, equally overwhelmed. “You’re just saying this because you didn’t expect to see me—” 

“You’re deflecting, again.” 

“I’m scared, okay?” you blurt, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re right, this is all so sudden. So can’t we just start being friends and see if it takes us somewhere? You don’t have to win me over, just support me like I’ll support you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook moves up the bed, so he’s leaning against the headboard as well. His long legs stretch farther than yours, and it feels oddly domestic as you talk it out and stare at the television screen. “I’m just, worried I’m running out of time.” 

“I'm not going anywhere this time.” 

“I know,” Jungkook shakes his head, ridding himself of his torrid thoughts. Conceding, he gestures to the television, pulling out the remote under your pillow, “wanna watch television, or catch up?” 

You last about an hour until you knock out. However, Jungkook keeps you entertained up until that moment, as you exchange your lives and stresses. Everything meshes together, you’re not sure if it’s the charm that comes with late night talks, but you feel like you can talk to Jungkook about anything if given the time. You melt when he strokes your hair till the last minute, wishing you a goodnight and a promise of more. 

“Okay, I’ve gone over most of the work ethics in the manual,” you smile nervously when you see your glazed over recruits, nearly falling off their chairs. Even Krystal is bored out of her mind, discreetly playing with her phone in the back under her manual. Of course you’d get stuck with teaching the boring classes. “Any last minute questions before we head off for dinner?” 

Tzuyu shoots her hand up, “Are romantic relationships allowed in the workplace?” 

Jungkook promptly chokes on his water bottle. He looks up at you, panicked. Ignoring his terror, you paint on a thin smile towards the young woman, “Like I mentioned earlier, romantic relationships between employees are not frowned upon, so long as you’re not working under or over someone in the same department.” 

“Right, just wanted to make sure,” Tzuyu is all chipper smiles as she thanks you.  

If you were still twenty-one, you’d gag at the pointed look she sends Jungkook. They’re sitting diagonal from each other, and Jungkook makes a point to pretend to be interested in your lecture until the very end. 

You’re halfway done with recruitment week, and while you’re not shocked at how fast the week has gone by, you’re fairly disappointed that Jungkook and you haven’t had time to meet up in private. So far it’s been easy enough to keep your friendship (and past sexual relationship) a secret, but something dark and eager tells you how much you want more. The recruiters are eager to leave, all twenty-three of them grouping off and talking about what they want to eat for dinner. Everyone except a certain dark-haired fellow, who’s hair is currently bouncing off it’s styled coiff, wanting to return to it’s normal non-gelled self. 

“Kookie,” you raise a brow at the interaction, Tzuyu leaning over her chair to Jungkook’s, “wanna get dinner tonight?” 

Jungkook’s taking an excruciatingly long time to pack his things, raising a brow at her, “I’ve told you already, I don’t want to be involved in whatever plans you have.” 

“Oh-kay,” Tzuyu rocks back and forth on her oxford heels, pursing her magenta pink lips, “then why don’t we at least walk back to the hotel together? I really want to talk about some things that might change your mind.”

“Nothing will change my mind,” Jungkook’s determined face has been staying strong for the week, from the way he makes sure he’s first in your class to the simple “good morning” and “good night” texts you exchange. “Besides, I have a date tonight. And I really want to talk to the recruiters about a personal work matter, so can you please leave?”  

You try not to snort at how blatant Jungkook was being. You pretend to organize your folders, throwing whatever random notes you have in your bag for later. 

“A date,” she twitches,  “with who?” 

“Someone that doesn’t treat me like a stepping stone in her career path,” Jungkook deadpans, and that’s all it takes for Tzuyu to huff and walk away from the hall. 

You think Tzuyu is like a bug, relatively harmless, but someone who gets on your nerves. 

“A date, huh?” Krystal quotes, finally looking up from her phone. Her sharp, cat-eyes linger at the door, wondering if Tzuyu is going to pop out and try to drag Jungkook by the reins. Finally, she plants her stare between you and Jungkook. “So, you two fucking?” 

“Former fucking,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, and you jump off your podium to elbow him in the ribs, “ow—what?” 

“You just don’t tell Krystal we’re fucking!” 

“Former fucking,” he chastises, but the eyes he sends you are a little sultry, and you wonder if he’s thinking of fucking in the future. You reel yourself back, focusing on the third party.

But you anticipate that Krystal couldn’t care less, and you’re grateful for that. While a smaller work team means a smaller possibility of close work relationships, you do like the drama-free environment. “Like you said,” Krystal shrugs, slinging her briefcase over her shoulder, “romantic relationships in the workplace are not frowned upon.” 

You wring your hands between your bag when Krystal finally makes her getaway, and you look up at Jungkook. “So,” you smile wryly, “you have a date tonight, huh?” 

“With a pretty working woman,” he sighs dramatically, putting a hand over his chest, “that is, if she’ll have me.” 

“Consider yourself taken.”  

Jungkook and you sneak away to your suite once again. To your surprise, the suite is decorated in rose petals and a bottle of champagne sits in an ice bath on your bedside. A large pizza pie sits beautifully on your coffee table, and the television is playing lo-fi hip-hop. 

You feed Jungkook champagne-dipped strawberries as you gorge on the joy that is baked bread and cheese. 

And when he kisses you, it’s slow and sweet, like you have all the time in the world. 

It’s the last day of recruitment week, and all classes ended at noon so the interns can use all the resort’s amenities to the fullest. Many of the interns, including yourself, Jessica and Krystal, are on the rooftop celebrating a successful workweek. Staff and interns alike are buzzing around, eager to top off their weekend with some relaxation and sun. 

Jungkook is with his new team, conversing with other IT employees. You try not to stare too hard at your reignited flame, tipping back a cutely decorated glass of fruit. His arms ripple as he tips back the liquid. He’s wearing a tank top and you could swear his biceps have gotten meatier. Unfortunately you hold yourself back, after all the internship isn’t quite over and you still are a professional. 

At the end of the weekend you really have nothing to worry about, you know that. 

But Tzuyu? She irritating. 

“I just don’t understand,” Tzuyu suspects nothing of your budding relationship with Jungkook. You’re thankful for that because towards the end of the week, it was getting harder and harder to be subtle when you two send each other heart eyes from three meters away. 

Tzuyu sounds like she’s talking to herself, the way she stares into the infinity pool, despite the fact that her friends are surrounding her with rapt attention. You’re a cabana away from her, sipping languidly at your drink while Jessica and Krystal nap next to you. Even though you can’t see Tzuyu, you can practically feel her pout emanating through the fabric that separates you two. Despite the fact that she’s been offered a great intern position given her degree and experience, she’s still upset. For her, is that not the most important part of this whole week? 

“Jungkook’s really not that great if he’s going to turn me down like that,” Tzuyu seethes. You should write up her nonsense in a book and publish it, really. “Why waste time when he has the whole package right in front of him?” 

It’s then you realize why you’ve been so torn, so strung up and wound tight all these years. Just like college, all shy and hesitant to take a step forward while Jungkook was ten steps ahead, you were worried. You let other people’s thoughts stop you from making the leap, girls like Tzuyu that never meant to intimidate you, but you let their presence get up in your head and control the nonexistent hierarchy. 

But two years later, and that doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Jungkook is no longer the all-star lacrosse player, but what remains is his heart, full and willing. 

Everything Tzuyu just said was… wrong. Irrevocably, inexplicably messed up. But the idea of “wasting time” does strike a chord within you. Are you wasting time? At this point, your feelings of each other are pretty clear. What are you two waiting for, again? 

You thought Krystal was sleeping, considering her sunhat sitting atop her face, but once she hears you packing away your bag she whistles, “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Sending a quick text to Jungkook, you make a beeline for your destination. You don’t even bother looking for him in the crowd. 

You: meet me by the elevator at the very end of the lobby. 

Not a minute passes by when Jungkook joins you at said elevator. He has two glasses of champagne in his hands, and offers one to you, “tired of the party?” he asks.  

You clink drinks, easily tipping yours back. “It’s not our thing,” you declare with a small smile. Jungkook's eyes soften, glancing back and forth between your face and the soft pleats of your marigold sundress. His hair is pushed back, sticky from sweat and chlorine, dark bangs hanging over the shaved sides of his head. You turn your head slightly as you wait for the elevator, biting your lip as you're sorely reminded of how sexy Jungkook looked at the dive pool half an hour ago. 

The elevator dings, and it’s wide enough for you to slip in at the same time. You put your champagne glass in the corner of the elevator for now, hoping you don’t accidentally step on it. In closed quarters, you can smell the slight tang of chlorine coming from Jungkook, combined with his own brand of musk. 

Jungkook looks younger tonight, happier. Having just finished graduate school and working towards a full-time gig, another chapter in his life has started. His hair is no longer in that tight-whipped coiff he struggled all week to maintain, loosened in its natural wave due to the pool water and heat. His cheeks are a little ruddied and plump, a sign he’s been enjoying the food this week. 

The door barely closes when you get it out, pulling at his hand to face you.

“Jungkook, I like you,” you blurt, and his eyes bug out considerably. Out of reflex, his hand sharply squeezes yours. “You don’t have to say anything, because you’ve been saying everything for the majority of our relationship. I really like you, I really liked you back then too. You’re still so sweet, and loving, and smart and I’ve just been too dumb and insecure to—” 

Jungkook seals your confession away with a desperate kiss, and you turn into a pile of mush at the contact. Relief seeps into your bones, sings into your system. When he pulls away, he looks serious. He doesn’t let you get far, and clutches your face between his two hands so you can’t turn your head. Your soft cheeks fill between his fingers, warm and cradled. 

“Never call yourself that,” Jungkook exhales, regarding you with firm eyes, “you’re beautiful, and intelligent, and the person I want.” 

“I don’t wanna take it slow anymore,” you mumble against his lips, leaning in so that you can barely nip at the pink skin. “Want you now, need you now.” 

“You have me now,” Jungkook agrees, and as soon as the elevator dings open to your floor, he scoops you up into his arms. 

By all means it’s not graceful, he’s clutching you like a baby with his hands over your butt as he jiggles you all the way to your front door. Clinging onto him like a koala, you press kisses to his cheeks as he leads you to your room. You laugh and giggle like teenagers, as he fumbles between your breast to grab the card key that’s nestled between your bra. It’s warm in his hand as he swipes it through the reader, pushing you inside. 

“Is it bad that I’m kinda turned on by the fact you got my key out of my boob?” you joke, although the contact of his rough fingers against your breast is a feeling well missed. 

“Is it bad that I’m always turned on when you lecture in seminars?” Jungkook retorts, kicking the door closed with his slipper-clad foot as he walks you to the bed. “Fuck, I can hear you talk about insurance benefits all day.” 

“Didn’t know my sex appeal extended that way—oh fuck—” 

Your vibrant marigold sundresses provides easy access to Jungkook as he throws you onto the mattress, your skirt billowing over your waist as he makes quick work to expose more of your skin. 

“No more talking, more loving,” he’s crazed, doesn’t hesitate to move your bikini bottoms to the side as he rubs lovingly at your long-lost bud, “need to fuck you, now. It’s been so fucking long.” 

“Kook,” his breath is warm against your already sopping cunt, and you lift your hand to run through the strands of his messy hair. It only takes one firm tug and you’re able to pull him up by the root of his hair, cranberry juice tinted lips with a faint sheen because he couldn’t help himself to have a little taste of you. “Baby, let me touch you. Let me show you how much I want you," you coo with a pout, hands trailing over the drawstrings of his trunks.

You can see how much Jungkook wants to say yes. His eyes glow with the possibility, bright and wanting in the afternoon sunlight. The image of him shoving his cock deep into your throat, so far that you can taste it in every crevice of your mouth. Your nails gripping into his ass as you go deeper, tears pricking your eyes as cum seeps out of your pretty lips. 

But he firmly shakes his head, fingers doing the devil’s work as he eases a digit in you. A little noise of protest bubbles in your throat, but it soon dies out as soon as he finds the right spot to reduce you to mush. 

“Next time,” he exhales against the juncture between your thigh and pelvis, picking up the pace and adding another finger, “if you touch me, I’ll cum right then n’there. This is enough for me, you’re enough.” 

So you let him have what he wants. You’ll make it up to him in the morning, and the day after, and the day after. You shed your clothes, the sundress extra forgiving as it slides off your body, revealing a swimsuit that hasn’t even touched the pool. You feel a little self-conscious as he drinks you in after so long, but he quickly shucks off his clothes to match your state of nakedness. 

You remember how you tiptoed around your first night with Jungkook, taking great care to make sure it was fleeting, how dark the room was as you let your pleasure take over your senses. Two years later and the sun is setting, gold bleeding through your sheets and illuminating the room. There's no need to hide.

“I must say, we’ve both kept it tight,” Jungkook teases with a wink, squeezing your hips so he can change positions. 

You silently agree, your fingers slipping across the washboard of his waist. 

“Mm, and still so fuckin’ cute,�� Jungkook marvels as he pulls you up on his lap. Your whole body is flushed with want, one hand squeezing your breasts while the other plays with the curls of hair that lead to your sopping wetness. You glide your core over Jungkook’s stomach, sighing as you take note of the abs that clench under your heat and his hot member that rubs between your ass. 

It’s a tight fit when you finally sink down on him, but the burn only fuels your desire as he stretches you wide. His grip is helpful as he guides you through the motions. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this physical with someone, and it’s almost comical when you both sigh in contentment at the contact. 

“I’ve missed this,” you mumble, biting into his shoulder as he thrusts up. 

“Mm, it feels different, right?” Jungkook hums, keeping a slow pace. The drag is wonderful, and you know that he’s trying to prolong the moment. He reaches for your head, presses his forehead to yours as he speaks, “you’re mine now, right? For real.” 

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” you press kisses everywhere. No need to hide anymore. You bleed love into every kiss, to his jawline, the little freckles across his chin, his lips. “This is romantic and all, but I really want you to dick me down. Which is why you need to go a little faster, you sap.” 

Jungkook scoffs, “A pillow princess is what you are.” 

He stops moving, and you two sink further into the mattress without its springs bringing you back up. The both of you are acutely aware of how wet you both are, your combined arousals seeping between your seams and dripping onto Jungkook’s thighs. But the young man simply relaxes against the headboard, baiting you. 

“Kook,” you whine, clenching against his member. Your hot walls have a mind of their own, unable to stifle their desire. Sweat lines Jungkook’s brow as he tries his hardest not to move, just simply be. 

“Tell me how much you want me, princess,” the pet name has you clenching harder, and you pout. 

“Baby,” you whine, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. There’s no one in the room, and you’re sure no one is on this floor because everyone’s on the rooftop, but the words you’re about to say are for Jungkook and Jungkook only, “please, I want you to pound me into this mattress until I can’t walk anymore. I want to cry out your name so everyone can hear I’m yours. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you nip at his lobe, and let your thumb nick at the simple silver rings that adorn his ear. You hear a click of his teeth, indicating the clench of his jaw as his muscles flex around your body, "I want you to fill me with your cum until I’m eating it, and—and—oh Kook!” 

Your words aren’t enough to distract you from his large dick sitting prettily between your folds, and you’re suddenly cumming, all by the mere thought of what’s to happen. You’re shuddering in his arms, and Jungkook soothes you by running his fingers over the spine of your back, distracting you from the utter mess you’re making on the sheets. 

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook coddles you, stroking your hair, “can my good girl take it?” 

“Y-yes, Kook,” you nod eagerly, fighting the overstimulation as he nudges you off his lap. You’re pliable, as Jungkook sets up the pillows for you to rest comfortably as you get on your elbows and knees, “your good girl.” 

You shudder as your bare pussy starts to feel cold, immediately missing the warmth Jungkook can provide. You can practically feel his hot gaze burning in your back, his large palm squeezing your ass as he marvels at how ready and eager you are for him. 

“It’s so easy to slip inside,” Jungkook rubs your nectar across the head of his cock, swirling around your engorged skin as he slips right inside. You both moan at the stretch, “Finally, my adorable baby, you like this? You like getting pounded like the dirty girl you really are?” 

“Mm, yes!” you squeal, clutching onto the feather down pillows for dear life as Jungkook displays his strength, one hand gripping your hips as the other weaves itself into your hair. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and the lewd sounds of each other’s juices and his balls against your ass echoing in the room. 

“Y-yeah,” despite his power, his thrusts are sloppy, and you know he’s almost at the edge, “and I like you, so so much. I want to make you cum everyday, make you happy and—mph—” he gives up on talking, focusing entirely on his destination. 

“Cum, baby,” you urge, melting when his one hand comes to thread with your own, “fill me up with you.” 

He flips you on your back, and you finally see how desperate Jungkook is to cum. His eyes are glassy, filled with emotion as he strokes himself to completion. Your hand reaches up to cup his damp face, and that’s when you feel him loosen. Hot, pearly strings cling to your pussy, decorating your skin in his essence. Your fingers immediately reach down to swirl the cum between your folds, and Jungkook groans at the picture, immediately throwing your hands to the side to kiss you senseless. 

There’s so much pouring between the two of you, affection, the feeling of being cherished, so much that you can feel the whole world reducing to the two of you. 

“All mine,” he whispers to himself, as if he still can’t believe it. And then, he puts up a poker face as he leans into you, resting his head gently on your breasts, “I knew I only needed a week.”

You narrow your eyes, flicking lightly at his forehead. You’re sticky, sweaty, and covered in cum and while you’re exhausted, the built in jacuzzi in your washroom looks very enticing right now. “Jungkook, this happened naturally. I said we would try as friends first and we did. We just so happened to escalate pretty fast.” 

“I don’t think it was that fast,” Jungkook nuzzles his face into your skin, “it’s been two years since college. Being popular did do a number on our relationship, but we caught up." 

“You were popular-ish,” you roll your eyes, teasing him. His face falls, and you can’t help yourself. Your hands reach over to cup his cheeks, and you happily squish the supple, pouty flesh. He’s adorable. “Kim Taehyung though? Park Jimin? Absolute heartthrobs I couldn’t stand to be near them—ah!” 

Jungkook seems to read your mind, lifting you bridal style to drag you over to the bathroom where the marble jacuzzi sits tauntingly. The stone is ice cold as he brings you both inside, immediately turning on the nozzles to fill it with steaming hot water. You find the tiny bottle of lavender suds, spilling the soap in an arc. His legs slip over yours, cradling you so that your back is pressed against Jungkook’s chest. 

“Being popular never mattered,” Jungkook shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “I realized the only person who I really needed to notice me was you.” 

bonus. 

You wake Jungkook up the next morning with your lips wrapped around his cock, fresh cherry balm rubbing down the thick veins until he's cumming down your throat. 

"Wow," Jungkook whistles, licking his lips at the sight of you sucking the arousal from your thumb. He huffs against the pillow, eyes darting to the open organza window, letting in the early morning light. The rooftop of a multi-star hotel, white Egyptian cotton seats, a full time job on the way and waking up in the most blissful way possible. 

"I have a proposal," you crawl on top of him like a koala, hooking your thighs between his blanket clad body. 

"I do," he replies instantly, looking straight at you with droopy puppy eyes.

"Not that kind," you slap his chest, "where are you living once orientation is over?" 

"Mm, there's a boarding house near a local translation. It's probably an hour commute? Not too bad." 

"So, I just leased a townhouse last month," you bite your lip, tucking your head between his neck to hide your embarrassment, "I was gonna rent out the spare room and put an advert in the paper but…"

"I do."

"I said it isn't a marriage proposal."

"Asking you to live with me is basically a marriage proposal."

"There will be no benefits," you sit up, wagging a finger in his face, "you'll be paying rent and half the utilities. And you will be doing all the laundry." 

"Sure," Jungkook replies loftily, squeezing your ass, "you're benefit enough." 

[goldenmayhem]

Part Two

series masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: E/18+ only (no minors)

WC: 6.4k

Tags/warnings: cis F!reader. characters have a child. established relationship (marriage); mentions of death, mentions of drug use/addiction/alcohol, mentions of food, short graphic depiction of violence, PTSD, depression, dark thoughts.

Summary: Frankie came back from Columbia with a brokenness to him, a little bit of light drained out of his eyes and a haunted look on his face. He refuses to say a word about the trip. You want to piece him back together again, for him, for your son, for your marriage, but it proves to be a tougher job than you expect.

A/N: If I have missed any tags/warnings etc. please let me know! This is unbeta’d. I am absolutely not an expert in PTSD or mental health. 

Previous

Frankie got back from Columbia nearly ten months ago. In the early stages of his recon trip he had called to check-in often, if only to sweetly tell you he missed you, or to ask you to put Diego on the phone so he could hear his voice. Then, one day without word from him had turned into three. Suddenly you hadn’t had any contact with him for five long days, which you had spent pacing holes in the kitchen floor, trying not to assume the worst. 

On the sixth day, you had been about to book a plane ticket and fly out there to find him yourself when you heard the front door creak open and he had walked through it. 

You had been so relieved to see him, so deeply comforted by the sight of him again that at first you hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. Physically, he had come home with just a few cuts, some bruises and a faint scar high on his cheekbone, but you can see now that he’s carrying a great weight mentally. There’s something there, cumbersome on his mind and unbearably heavy on his shoulders. Something he clams up and refuses to talk about, but it lingers all the same, embedded in all your interactions and often obvious in his muted demeanor. 

When he’d first returned, his reunion with Diego had brought an alleviated grin to Frankie’s face, but you haven’t seen a genuine smile from him since. 

It’s not just him either. He’d gone on the mission with his former Marine buddies, Tom, Pope, Will and Benny, and they’d all come home like that. Well, those of them that had made it home at least. Poor Tom hadn’t been so lucky. As a result, the other four had returned with a brokenness to them, a little bit of light drained out of their eyes, a haunted look on their faces that left them refusing to say a word about the trip. 

But it’s Frankie you live with, so it is his slow unravelling that you’ve had a front row seat to. It’s him you’ve seen struggle. 

Struggle to get through the day without a drink. 

Struggle to concentrate. 

Struggle to sleep. 

When he first returned, you used to wake up at all hours of the night to find the space in bed beside you empty, or see him with his eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling, sweating, haunted by nightmares. He’s struggled to let you in and stopped letting you close, moving you from husband and wife to strangers who slept in the same bed—that is if Frankie ever slept. The nightmares and flashbacks seem to keep him exhausted but awake.

He struggles with Diego too. You know he loves his son, and must have missed him something fierce, but he seems unable to express it. He can’t stand to sit and read to him anymore, and gets frustrated when Diego cries or doesn’t listen. He just walks out of the room and disappears for hours, escaping either to shut himself away in the garage, slink off to work or to Benny’s house, leaving you to pick up the pieces. 

And that’s what it feels like; like all that's left of him is pieces. You’d farewelled a full, complete man when he’d left for Columbia, but it’s as if there was a mix up of some sort, and they’d only sent home various pieces of him.

Telling yourself it was just the stress of the trip and pain of losing Tom got you through the first few months, but as time has gone on, things have only worsened. He’s grown detached, just going through the motions mundanely, disconnected and uninterested in life around him. You’ve tried to be patient with him, desperate to help him in any way you can, but he shuts down any conversation so abruptly that you don’t get a chance. 

It’s been killing you to see him hurting like this, but he wraps himself in barbed wire, keeping you at a distance. You long to pick up all his pieces and put him back together; to see him smile, hear him laugh, to have your Frankie back.

You miss his gaze, his touch, just being close to him. He’s taken multiple jobs overseas in the years you’ve been together, some halfway around the world, but in the same room together, even sitting on opposite ends of the same couch, there’s never been more distance between you both. There’s no warmth to your interactions, none of the lengthy deep conversations or silly little jokes you’d share. 

He even touches you as little as possible. 

The best example of that is tonight, as you sit around the dinner table, plates in front of each of you full with the meal you had spent all afternoon tending to while Benny chased Diego around the lawn and Pope and Frankie watched, drinking beers out near the garage. Benny is making a show of zooming forkfuls of food to Diego’s mouth, like a spaceship, leaving your young son shrieking in delight. 

You glance at Frankie’s hand, noting it ball into a frustrated fist as he tucks it on his knee under the table. It’s the noise; the volume and pitch of Diego’s reaction that must be getting him worked up. 

As a gesture of care, you rest your fork on the edge of your plate and ease your hand to rest atop of his, but he withdraws his hand, retracting it from you. Wincing, you try to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and reach for your glass of wine to wash it down. 

“Can I have the salt, please?” Pope asks. 

He’s at the other end of the table so Frankie has to pass it along to you first, and it’s hard to ignore the way he pulls back a little as he offers it, holding the very edge of it so your fingers don’t brush as you take it from him. It stings like it always does whenever he pulls away like this. 

You miss the days he would touch you almost constantly; his hand in yours as you walked, one hand on your thigh as he’d drive, his arm around you on the couch, his fingers resting on the curve of your ass as he’d hug you tight against him. 

He barely brings himself to look at you these days. He sees you, standing there in front of him or across the room or in his peripheral vision. But he doesn’t look at you. His head is always down or his eyes are cut away, and if his eyes do meet yours, they’re dark and glassy, every glance quick empty as if he can’t bring himself to let them linger on you for any longer than necessary.

It’s an absolute change from what you’ve known of him since you first met him. He used to love to look at you. He used to do it for hours, as if it was his favourite thing to do. You’d often wake up to find him propped on his elbow next to you in bed, looking lovingly at you, and you’d groan and push his face away, complaining it was creepy. He’d laugh and pepper your face with kisses, waxing poetic about how pretty you are. 

He used to look at you with absolute fiery heat too. If you’d bought a new dress and decided to wear it, if you were in your swimsuit during the summer, or even if you were in your ratty old pyjamas. You’d feel his stare, feel the heat spread across your skin like wildfire and see the desire in his eyes. Fuck, you miss it. 

You miss him, even as he sits right next to you at the table.

Benny overloads the next forkful of food and Diego’s laughter is so loud it breaks the sound barrier as half the mash potato slides off the fork and hits the table before it makes it to his mouth.

“For fucks sake, Benny,” Frankie complains. His face is tight with annoyance, frustration settled in the hard line of his lips, and anger burrows down into his furrowed brow. “He’s got two good arms to feed himself.”

Benny disregards him as easily as ever and refills his fork. “This way is much more fun, right, Little Fish?” he asks his young partner in crime. 

Diego beams in agreement, ushering Benny’s next forkful to his mouth with his flailing arms, like an aircraft marshal directing a plane on a runway. 

Frankie slices his knife through his steak with so much force that it scrapes ear-piercingly on the plate. 

“Let the kid eat his own food,” Pope tells Benny, backing Frankie as per usual.

Benny pouts but gives Diego back his fork, realising he’s outnumbered. 

“They’re the fun police, aren’t they, Little Fish? See, Pope, this is why he likes me more. I’m actually fun.”

“He doesn’t like you more,” Pope argues as he poises a forkful of veggies at his lips. “He’s just seen more of you.”

“Is that why you moved back? You want to come for my title of ‘Favourite Uncle’?” 

“Your title?” Pope scoffs. “The one you got by default because Will left and I was in Australia?”

Will had taken off almost right after Tom’s funeral, saying something vague about finding a new purpose and making the joke that it’s hard to be a motivational speaker without any motivation. Benny had teased that it was a mid-life crisis, but you know Will had taken Tom’s death the hardest. It hadn’t shocked you that he needed to find himself to find some peace. 

What came as more of a surprise was Pope’s return from Australia a couple of months ago. He’d quietly mentioned he had bought a house in the area and was planning on actually sticking around for once. At the time, Benny had told you he suspects Pope has a new girlfriend he’s hanging around for, but you aren’t sure if it was a genuine suspicion or another of his jokes. 

“I earned that title by being here and doing fun stuff like making your fork a spaceship, right, buddy,” Benny directs to Diego. He gets a laugh from Diego then looks to you and gets more solid confirmation in the form of your nod. 

Benny has been great with Diego, even before Columbia, but especially afterwards. He somehow has the patience Frankie doesn’t when Diego is past nap time and screeching for a bedtime story in a decibel and defiance that drives Frankie to absolute frustration. Benny will often swoop in with a book in hand and take Diego to bed, sit with him on his tiny racecar bed and read the story with a variety of different voices and unwavering enthusiasm. 

Pope sighs loudly at the verdict and cracks open another beer. 

“Is Benny giving you a ride home?” you ask him casually. You’ve been counting the beers he’s had, knowing his truck sits out in your driveway. 

He frowns, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he lowers the beer can from his lips. “No, I figured I’d take the spare room like I used to.”

Anxiety builds in the pit of your stomach and you glance at Frankie, but his downcast eyes don’t leave his plate, and bitterly you realise that he’s going to leave you to circumvent this disaster on your own. 

“You, uh, you can’t take the spare room,” you stammer, trying to invent an excuse on the fly. “We’re, um, we’re…...re-organizing the garage so it’s stacked full of stuff.” 

Pope fights a laugh, and you want to kick yourself for such a silly excuse. A crowded room is no deterrent to a man with the job he has. He’s slept on the ground, in the bushes, on the side of a mountain, probably on a pile of rocks. 

“Not a problem for me,” he affirms. “I can ignore the mess. I only need the bed.”

“It’s buried in stuff,” you lie, tripping over your own words in an effort to get them out of your mouth fast enough to dispel his idea. “The whole room--it’s just absolute chaos in there.”

It’s a shitty lie and you feel ashamed to say it, knowing that it’s not true, and he’d easily be able to see that for himself if he were to open the door, but it feels almost more shameful to tell him the truth. 

To tell him that he can’t stay in the spare room because that’s where Frankie stays. 

That’s the bed that houses Frankie’s pillow. The closet where Frankie’s clothes hang. The room Frankie escapes to when he wants time to himself, which is more often than not lately. 

The fact of the matter is, your marriage might look together from the outside, but if people were to get a peek in, they’d see the truth. Both of you are barely hanging in there, separated by a giant divide that you can’t seem to reach across. 

Over the table, Pope looks at Frankie and grunts, “so much for mi casa es tu casa, eh, hermano?”

“Tienes tu propia casa,” Frankie shrugs.

Benny looks to Pope and grins like a Cheshire cat. “I’ll drop you home,” he lures, “if you admit that I’m the favourite Uncle.”

Pope scoffs and drains the rest of his can. “I’m a man of principle, Benjamin. I’d rather pay the cab fare than repeat a lie like that about my own Godson.”

Benny splutters, so incredulous that his fork drops to his plate. “It’s not fair for you to be his Godfather and his favourite Uncle. Stop being so damn greedy.”

They bicker playfully back and forth, and though it’s usually an argument that would give you a headache because you’ve heard it a thousand times before, you instead blow a low sigh of relief, thankful for the change in topic. 

Absent-mindedly, you use your fork prongs to toy with a piece of cauliflower on your plate until you hear the faint chatter of conversation still to a stop. Frankie’s hand enters your peripheral vision and reaches for your plate. 

“I’ll clear,” he says simply, getting to his feet. 

Benny isn’t quite finished, but manages to get another heavily loaded forkful to his own mouth before he loses his plate to Frankie’s waiting hand.

“We’d better head out, Benny,” Pope says, smacking his hand to his own jean clad thigh. Clearly he’s picking up on what you already know; that Frankie has reached the limit of his social battery this evening. 

When you all gather at the door to say goodbye, Diego whines in protest of Benny leaving but his grin comes out when Benny says he’ll be back soon. He promises a playdate at the park tomorrow as if he’s taking a blood oath, crossing his heart and sealing it with a pinkie promise, but his theatrics only make Diego laugh louder as he salutes him in reply. 

As predicted, Pope gets in the passenger seat of Benny’s truck and the minute you see the headlights leave your driveway you feel your body exhale and deflate. Finally, there’s no need to wear the mask anymore, no need to pretend that everything's okay and you're every bit the happy family you’ve always been.  

Diego tugs at your shirt and asks for a hug so you lift him to your hip. Sweetly, you kiss his forehead, burying your relaxed deep breaths in his soft hair. 

“Come on, baby,” you tell him, “Mama will take you to bed.”

His brown eyes flash, the sweet brown pools of chocolate taunting you, so similar to a shade of Frankie’s that you haven’t seen in so long. 

“Read story?”

“Of course,” you vow. “With the voices.”

He claps and cheers all the way to the bedroom.

Thanks to Benny’s afternoon of soccer, he falls asleep by the end of the first book, but you take a minute to admire the solace you feel from his peacefulness before you have to steel yourself to head back downstairs to Frankie. 

You find him in the kitchen, rinsing off the stack of dirty plates on the counter. He rests them, dripping, on the granite and you take your place opposite him and begin slotting the dishes into the rack of the dishwasher. It’s companionable silence, though you find yourself itching to fill it with a funny joke or a flirtatious flick of water like you normally would. Tonight, as per usual, it feels as though some of the air has been sucked out of the room. 

You know Frankie could go the rest of the night without uttering another word, but your self control slips. 

“Why didn’t you help me out?” you ask after placing the last dish. 

“With what? The bedtime story?” he guesses. “You’re better at those than I am anyway. He doesn’t like it when I won’t do the voices.” 

Dismissing the conversation, he turns to the sink and runs the hot tap over the frying pan you’d used to cook dinner. 

Anxiously, you stand rooted to the spot, wringing your fingers. You briefly consider ending the conversation here to save yourself the trouble or the argument that might ensue. Lately, you’ve found yourself choosing an easy lie over an honest truth, preferring silence to fighting, but tonight, you push it. 

“When Pope was asking to stay in the spare room,” you edge, “you went silent and let me fumble my way through a bogus excuse.”

With his back still to you, you can only imagine the pained expression on his face as you watch his shoulders sink, his body slumping as he scratches the scrubbing brush over a stubborn stain. 

“We don’t owe him and his big nose any explanation of our sleeping arrangements,” he says, the words falling quietly from his mouth.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “We do if he wants to sleep in the bedroom that you’re occupying.”

“What was I supposed to say? Did you want me to tell him I’m sleeping downstairs because I’m having nightmares again and I don’t want to wake up my wife?”

Here he goes, using the nightmares as an excuse again. The same one he had used the first time he proposed moving himself to another bedroom. You had asked him not to, promising him that being there for him was far more important to you than sleep ever could be, but a week later you had arrived home to find that he had moved all his stuff while you were out. When he had explained that sometimes he needed some space after a nightmare, too caught up in it and panicked to handle someone’s touch, you had chosen to stay silent and take the easy lie, all the while knowing the hard truth. 

As much as you wish you could blame it solely on that, deep down you know it’s not just the nightmares. That’s not the only time it feels like there’s a canyon size divide between you both. It’s always there, sometimes you can just feel it more than others. Like tonight at the table when you had placed your hand over his and felt him pull away. 

“Frankie,” you say on a long exhale. “I–” 

Reading into your tone, he jumps in preemptively. “Let’s not do this.”

So far you’ve been careful not to press him in fear of pushing him further away, but at this point your tested patience and willpower seem to have eroded entirely. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep burying my head in the sand about all of this.”

He rests the frying pan on the benchtop before slowly turning to you. “Not tonight, please,” he says, voice pleading with you as much as the glassy look in his eyes. “Just not tonight.”

You close your mouth and open it again, internally debating with yourself.

He moves close, trepidation flashing over his expression. His arms close around your waist, hugging you to him robotically. It’s stiff and it feels formal but your body still sings at the mere touch of him.

“I miss you, Frankie,” you tell him, swallowing around the tears building in your throat but unable to avoid the moisture in your eyes, clouding your vision as you glance up at him. “You’re right here in front of me, and I miss you.”

Frankie’s brown eyes echo a type of pain that you can’t put a name to, one that he tries to hide even from himself, burying it so deeply inside of him. You only see glimpses of it intermittently, in these sporadic, desperate moments where he’s able to bring himself to look at you; really look at you, without his impenetrable brick walls up. 

You blink your tears away and the vision of him standing before you comes into sharper focus, clear enough to see the shame and distaste woven into his sheepish expression. 

In his reply, his words are whispered hoarsely and split in half by a lengthy pause, during which he blows out a heavy, shaky breath. “I’m….sorry.”

It’s rare moments like these that let you think you might be getting through to him, that your diligent efforts to chip away at his rough, hard exterior to slowly unearth whatever tragedies and pain burdened him in Columbia might be working. 

He clears his throat and you hold your breath, the whole world on pause as you wait for his next words, hoping and praying, like always, that this will be the moment he will choose to open up to you. To trust you. To crack open that safe he locked his heart away in, and share his pain with you. To let you hold him and tell him that you love him anyway, just like you always have and always will. 

Just like all the other moments before it however, this too slips away without resolve. 

“Let’s leave the rest of the cleaning up for tomorrow,” he cajoles gently. “Lets go to bed. We can....cuddle.”

Despite the disappointment of not getting through to him, your resolve melts immediately, evaporating like raindrops on a hot sidewalk. The tension bleeds out of your body until you’re limp in his arms, elated by the thought of sharing the bed with him again, even more so at the idea being of his own suggestion. 

“Really?” you ask, voice no louder than a mere whisper, afraid to scare him off or change his mind. Even if it’s being offered as a bribe or a distraction to avoid a fight or circumvent a conversation about what’s going on with him, you’ll take any chance you can to be close to him again. 

His lips press to your neck, and even just the briefest brush of them over your skin sends shivers through you. 

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he promises, dispassionately, as if he’s doing you a favour. 

He is. 

Your face falls but you quickly patch it back into a smile before you turn to look at him. You’ve been craving any inch of affection from him for so long now that you’ll happily take this, take every brief touch. Whatever he’s willing to give you. 

There are familiar dark circles under his eyes, and worry wrinkles worn into his forehead. He looks older than his years now, a few straggled grey hairs scattered through his unruly hair and untamed beard. He’s still every bit as gorgeous as ever, but you don’t want to rip his clothes off like you used to. You want to gather up the pieces of him and hold him until he fits back together. Tonight, maybe what he’s offering is as close to that as you can get. 

His eyes roam your face as he watches you watch him, weariness at home in his eyes, knowing the way you are looking at him. Much to his visible relief, you take his hand in your own and lift it to your lips. 

“Lead the way,” you tell him as your lips brush over his pulse point before you press them to his palm. “Take me to bed.”

In days gone by, he would have carried you, but his back isn’t as good as it used to be, so he settles for keeping your hand in his and guiding you down the hall, up the stairs to the bedroom. He stops you at the foot of the bed, moving away only as far as to retrieve an old t-shirt of his that he knows you often sleep in. 

Coming back to you, he lifts the hem of your shirt up, untangling it from your arms and reaching behind you to unfasten your bra. It falls away, leaving you bare except for your shorts, and you stay quiet as he looks at you, an expression on his face that you can’t quite decipher. 

His tongue snakes out over his bottom lip and for a second you think he might reach up and touch you, slide his hand, or his mouth, over your breast, but he doesn’t. He helps you pull on his t-shirt instead, and then shucks his own clothes. 

As he fumbles with his pants you work off your shorts and tuck your cheek to your shoulder, inhaling the scent of him that’s still clinging to the soft cotton of the shirt. You feel spoilt to have the man himself in bed with you tonight, and you reach out to touch him, just because you can. 

Standing in just his briefs, he follows your touch willingly, walking into your arms and pressing his body close to yours. You rest your cheek on his chest and hear his heartbeat, closing your eyes and letting the thud of it’s beat fill your ears. He’s here, you remind yourself. He might not have come back exactly as he left, but he came back alive, and for that you are so eternally grateful. 

“I love you,” you tell him.

And you do. You do love him, just as much as you ever have, and you’re not giving up on him. Not now, not ever. You want to help him find himself again, and if that means sticking this hard part out, you’re willing to do it.

If it means taking whatever he gives you, you’ll accept that. 

You will keep loving him, keep trying to reach him, keep trying to piece him together again until it works. You don’t know when that will be, but you know you will never give up on him. That Frankie you know and love is still in there somewhere, you just have to find him. 

A few weeks later, Frankie fucks up. He knows it. 

From the minute his boss asks him to come into his office, guilt and shame fill his stomach, weighing heavy like an anchor inside him. Since he got back from the ill-fated trip to Columbia he’s been drowning in self doubt and unrest, and with this latest development it feels like the water is rising again. 

His boss cuts to the chase, announcing that they just got the results back and it shows Frankie failed his last drug test. 

It’s always a risk to take drugs in a job that routinely tests for them, however, in his defence, it had been a while since they tested him last, and he only took the coke because he hadn’t been able to sleep for so long and he was sick of feeling like a zombie. He wanted to be active and play with Diego, stay awake for work and finally smile with you enough to ease some of the permanent worry he knows he’s put on your face. 

His boss doesn’t want to hear his excuse though, so of course, he doesn’t reveal any of that. He doesn’t say that he can’t sleep because whenever he closes his eyes all he ever sees is Tom’s head with that bullet hole pierced through it. 

That all he ever hears when it’s quiet is the sound of the chopper engine malfunctioning. 

That the smell at the gas station makes him flashback to that crash landing in the thick jungle. 

That the feel of Diego in his arms or your gentle touch on his body only reminds him of what Tom’s lost, and what Frankie so very nearly cost himself too. 

When he closes his eyes and lies awake at night, the house is silent but his head is screaming, unrelentingly tortured by all of this. The memories and mistakes all play out behind his eyelids on an infinite loop.

But sometimes when it’s day time and he’s awake and it’s loud, things are worse. When his eyes are open, he can see the pain and anguish on your face, and know it’s his doing. When Diego shouts and it’s too loud for his head to take, he finds himself up on his feet and in search of some closed off space to calm his breathing and his racing thoughts, often before he even knows he’s doing it. 

None of it’s right. He knows that. But it’s all reactionary, survival. He might have made it out of the trip alive, but it’s as if his body doesn’t know it. His heart rate hasn’t slowed any since he got home, still wired to be on high alert and unable to shut off. 

Regardless, he gets told that he’s suspended and they take his pilot’s licence. They detail a raft of procedural consequences but Frankie finds it hard to listen. Bottom line is; he can’t fly. Can’t come to work and won’t get paid. 

Before he’s dismissed to leave the office, his boss mentions that he’s technically under review, but very pointedly states that he will need to pass another drug test before they can even consider him coming back to work. And the thing is, Frankie’s just not sure he can. 

The alcohol isn’t enough any more, not numbing him to the degree that he requires in order to function, and he’s got a twisted history with his cocaine usage. He’s previously learnt that it’s not something he can just do once or twice and quit, especially not when he’s struggling like he is. 

On his drive home, the thought of telling you about all this makes him feel physically ill. More sick than he’s ever felt before. His hands feel clammy on the wheel of his truck, and sweat collects on his pale face under the brim of his trademark cap. He resolutely makes a concerted effort not to look in his mirrors, appalled with the sight of himself. 

He’s been useless as a husband and a father since he came back, and he knows it. He sees the pain in your eyes, the trepidation in your movements, as if he’s a landmine and you’re afraid to put a foot wrong and set him off. He can’t blame you. He feels much like a time bomb himself, and it doesn’t take much to explode. 

Diego still reaches for him but Frankie finds it hard to receive his affection. His son looks at him with such joy and wonder, so in love with him, though Frankie can’t for the life of him figure out why. 

What’s there to love, he thinks. He is an old man with a bad back, a drinking habit, and now a coke issue again. He’s the reckless idiot that left to go on the stupid fucking trip to Columbia, thinking that getting a taste of the excitement of his old Marine life with his buddies was more important than being here, being a good man for his family, that family that he loves. The family he now finds hard to look in the eyes. 

He did this to himself, and he knows it. That’s what tortures him. It was him who insisted on going on the trip. The trip which could have killed him. Sometimes, when things are really hard and his brain is beaten up with memories and tortured by sleeplessness, inflamed by the alcohol, part of him wishes it had killed him. It might be easier than living with all of these open wounds, with this pain that he knows he’s causing you, day after day. As if it wasn’t enough to make you suffer through a week of radio silence, making you wonder if he was even alive, only to come back and prolong your suffering. 

He moved to the spare bedroom because he could no longer stand seeing the dark bags under your eyes or the bleary and bewildered look on your face as you woke to him shuffling around at some absurdly late hour once again, but he knows it hurt you deeply.

And he doesn’t mean to recoil, but he’s afraid to touch your beautiful body with all the blood on his hands, and even more afraid to burden you with the horror of the things he saw and did over there. He’s terrified to reveal the man he really is, knowing it’s nothing close to the one you deserve. You keep telling him you love him, but he finds it hard to imagine you’d still feel that way if he told you all the things he’s done in his life; horrible, unforgivable things that still haunt him. 

Distracted, he barely manages to plant his foot on the brake in time, almost oblivious to the red traffic light he arrives at. The truck screeches to a hard stop, jolting him forward in his seat, secured enough by his belt to stop him face planting into the steering wheel. A pile of papers on his passenger seat don’t fare as well, spilling forward into the footwell and scattering. He curses, thumping the dash with the heel of his hand. Fucking typical. 

With a heavy groan, he reaches over to pick up a handful, shocked when he catches sight of the top paper. It’s a brochure to a place that claims to help Veterans. One of many you have given him. The first few were handed to him, but he gave you such a poor reception that you had switched to a more subtle approach, leaving them around the house or in his truck, slipping them inside the letterbox alongside the other mail as if it were a coincidental neighbourhood pamphlet drop. 

He stares at it now in his hand, and the words on the front stick out like thorns. PTSD. Drug Addiction. Employment. Counselling. In the past it hurt too much, too hard to confront, so he’s pushed them aside or thrown them in the bin. Today feels different. Coming across it this way, picking it up by chance after losing his job, feels different. 

More desperate, maybe.

The light goes green but instead of heading straight, Frankie turns left. 

He realises, belatedly, that he’s driving to Pope’s house, but not until he turns on to Pope’s street. He’s heard Pope’s got some new girl hanging around lately; he might not participate in conversation as actively as he used to, but he’s got ears and Benny is loud. 

There’s no cars in the driveway when he pulls in, so he assumes that whoever she is, she hasn’t moved in. Yet. 

He parks his truck in front of the garage and shuts the engine off, staring a while longer at the brochure he’s still holding in one hand. The one that’s staring back at him, as if to say, “I’m your only hope”. 

Maybe it is. Maybe his time of handling things his way, be it by burying his head in the sand or pulling away from everyone, is over. It certainly hasn’t gotten him anywhere, he realises. He’s been deteriorating as a husband, a father, a friend, and now he can’t even bring in any money to the house without a job. His chest aches, wondering what use he is to you now if he can’t even contribute financially. Without the distraction and escape of work, how will he fair? What further destruction is he capable of? 

He’d rather not find out. 

Head clouded with thoughts, heart racing and stomach swimming, he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket and opens his browser. He makes a Google search and skims over the results, before throwing his phone across the truck, watching it slide along the bench seat and collide with the passenger door. Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

He tosses his cap off his head and itches his fingers through his hair, wanting to fill his fist with the scruff of it and tear it out of his scalp. His skin is burning, head pounding. 

He unfastens his seatbelt and slides across to retrieve his phone. He drags a heavy hand over his face and unlocks the screen, editing his search. 

He can’t do this healing here. He knows that. He doesn’t know much any more, but he knows that. 

If he’s going to get help, to unlock all the gruesomeness and confront the monsters in his head that haunt his nightmares, he needs to be further away. Unravelling will be an ugly and painful process, and he doesn’t want to put you and Diego through that. 

In a dream scenario, he would click his fingers and be himself again. He would never have said yes to the trip to Columbia. But he doesn’t have a time machine or a magic pill. He has you and Diego and his friends, and he doesn’t want to put any of you through any more suffering. To be drowning you all as you fight to save him, to pull him from the quicksand underneath his feet. 

If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it once and do it right. Then he’ll come home and be himself again, be the man that he wants to be. The man he once thought he was. 

Leaving will hurt, he knows that. But staying here and burning bridges like this will be irreparable and the reality of that hurts more. 

A new list of results regenerates on the screen under his thumb and he clicks the top result. Reads through the information. It’s in the next state, but it’s highly recommended and promises good results. 

For his sake, he hopes that’s true. It’s his last chance.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird:   The Hand of Andromeda Ch. 1

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) (New chapters will be posted first to patreon and then moved here) Hanging above the front of the classroom loomed an archaic clock; its arms slowly moving with the passing of each second. To Lizzy Stalwart who was the only student left in the classroom the clock appeared more like a prison warden, watching over her until her hour was due.

Mr. Parkins, her teacher, sat behind his desk just under the clock. He appeared to the casual observer to be going over today’s submitted papers and grading them, but Lizzy could tell from his constant sidelong glances that he was more interested in his data pad he had tucked away in a side drawer. No doubt it was playing the live feed for the Rebound Prix game going on today. He would occasionally look up to watch Lizzy with suspicious eyes before looking away again as if uninterested.

Lizzy had never liked Mr. Parkins as a teacher. He always felt the need to show off his intelligence, always needing to make people feel inferior to him, and always gloating about his past achievements. Frankly she thought that he was having a midlife crisis and this was his coping mechanism, but with each passing day it just became sadder and sadder to watch.

Before Lizzy could further ponder the sad existence of her teacher a series of knocks came from the classroom door. Mr. Parkins looked up from data pad and closed the drawer it was in. He straightened himself out and said “Come in.”

The door to the classroom slowly opened and a towering figure entered the room. They needed to stoop slightly to enter as their muscular build could barely squeeze through the door frame. At first Parkins thought that the figure was just a rather muscular human until the figure fully emerged into the room.

“Thank you for coming on such short-“Mr. Parkins began as he stood and held a hand out then stopped himself. He took a good look at the figure now that he was outside of the doorway and saying he was surprised would be an understatement.

The figure was none other than a Predatorian, standing easily six or seven feet tall and dressed in a coal black suit and matching pants of no doubt expensive material. Orange and black slit eyes looked down at Parkins before looking passed him to Lizzy. As they saw her the Predatorian’s mouth twitched for a moment and Parkins could see a gleaming row of razor teeth behind the smooth blue and white scaly skin.

Turning their gaze back to Mr. Parkins with his hand still held out but unable to move, the Predatorian clasped it with his own hand and shook it.

“It’s no trouble at all.” The Predatorian said. The fluency of his speech was almost as unnerving to Parkins as the sand paper like texture of their skin.

“You-you-you are…” Parkins trebled on as his body switched to auto pilot and continued shaking the alien’s hand. “You are Ms. Starlwart’s guardian?”

“I am.” The Predatorian let go of Mr. Parkins hand who was still dumbly shaking it. “You can call me Mr. B; I spoke with you earlier on the phone.”

“Why yes we did, but I was just thinking you would be-.”

“Human?”

Mr B. grinned, showing off even more teeth as he waved his hand as if dismissing Parkins concerns. “That’s alright; I get that a lot with humans.”

Lizzy watched as her father motioned for Parkins to sit back down which he gladly did. She could tell Mr. Parkins was regaining a bit of his composure returning as he sat behind his desk now that it separated the two of them.

“I was a bit confused why I am here however.” Mr B. continued. “You weren’t specific with what my little girl was in trouble for and I would like to clear up that confusion now.”

“Today was the final exam for the class before the summer break.”

At this Parkins pulled open a drawer from behind his desk and withdrew a single paper sheet from it. He placed it on his desk so Mr. B could fully see it.

“Your daughter was upset with how her grade came out and began arguing with me about changing it. I felt this was most disrespectful and thought her parents should be made aware.”

“That’s because you docked me points for not using a calculator!” Lizzy stood up suddenly and nearly knocked over her chair. “I told you I didn’t need one but you still told me I needed to use it!”

“It’s alright sweetie,” Mr. B said in a soothing tone Mr. Parkins found completely at odds with his appearance, “I’ll take care of this.”

Lizzy pouted but sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She couldn’t even look at Mr. Parkins without becoming upset at this point.

Smirking Parkins turned from Lizzy back to Mr. B. “You see? Your daughter is smart but her manners can be lacking at times.”

Mr. B was ignoring Parkins and picked up Lizzy’s exam. He slowly went over reading every line before looking back at Parkins.

“Were her answers wrong?”

Mr. Parkins looked confused for a moment but rallied.

“She was docked points by not following the rules.”

“But were her answers right?”

Mr. B walked towards the desk and now loomed over Parkins. He set the paper back down on the desk and tapped it with his talon like finger. He locked eyes with Parkins and continued tapping the paper.

“I’m asking if these answers she gave are right or not.”

“Technically,” Parkins began, swallowing deeply as the locked eye contact whittled away his composure again, “they were correct.”

“Then it makes no sense why you took away points.” Mr. B stood back up to his full height. “She did the work and gave the correct responses.”

“But she didn’t follow the rules I laid out for the exam.” Parkins countered. “Not following the rules will not get you anywhere in the real world Mr. Stalwart.”

“And what would you know of the real world?”

Parkins looked up and saw nothing but pure anger written across Mr. B’s face. The corner of his mouth was twitching once more revealing the sharpened white teeth. His eyes narrowed and his stare turned hard.

“You, who spend every day inside this tiny safe box”

Parkins retreated deeper into his chair as Mr. B grasped the table and leaned forward.

“You sit here behind your tiny desk in your tiny world and think that you know how the “real” world works, do you?”

Mr. B was now leaning over Parkins, his shadow swallowing him up. Parkins clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking as gut wrenching fear crept up his spine like a cold shower. He looked into Mr. B’s eyes for a moment and saw nothing but a barely contained rage, held in check by the thinnest of lines. Parkins’s stare broke away for a moment and looked over at Lizzy only to see she was still sitting at her desk but had covered her face in her arms as if embarrassed.

Mr. B pushed forward Lizzy’s papers. “You will give her the credit she is do or else.”

“O-o-o-or else what?” Parkins stammered, to which Mr. B smiled. Not a friendly smile, but one of pure devilish delight. The kind of smile Parkins had seen on holo dramas from villains just as they were about to commit evil.

“Or else I will have the school board have you removed from your position.”

As Parkins looked at Mr. B’s calm demeanor he could tell this was no idle threat, but more a assured promise.

“Oh,” Mr. B continued as he casually picked some lint off his suit and flicked it away, “I’ll also have you black listed from every school on the planet.”

“But you can’t do that!” Parkins was on his feet so suddenly that he knocked his desk with his knees and sent the contents atop it scattering to the floor.

Mr. B casually shrugged and took on a more relaxed posture. “I can, because unlike you I know how the real world works.” He calmly bent down and picked up Lizzy’s paper and put it on the desk again.

Parkins looked back and forth between Lizzy and Mr. B like a deer trapped in headlights before slumping back into his chair.

“I will correct the mistake.” Parkins said reluctantly.

“Good man.” Mr. B adjusted his suit and motioned to Lizzy. She sighed loudly and rose to her feet, hefting her backpack and heading towards the door. “I knew we would come to an understanding.”

“Your daughter will have no trouble passing my class from now on.” Parkins continued, any shred of dignity lost from the encounter. Surprisingly Mr. B shook his head.

“I don’t want her getting a free pass.” He fixed Parkins with a stern stare again which made him further retreat into his chair. “All I want is for her to be treated fairly.”

Parkins couldn’t say anything and just nodded his head as the two of them left the classroom.

The car ride home from school was uncomfortably quiet for Lizzy. She sat in the back with Mr. B while their driver carefully navigated the busy streets of downtown Gilfield. The buildings flew by like blurry images as the car drove the two of them back home. The car itself was a stretched model with the back lavishly decorated with emerald silk and several bottles of Juvian IV water or exotic liquors.

Every block or so Lizzy would glance over at Mr. B expecting him to say something to her, but every time she saw him casually reading some papers and making notes or dabbing his slowly dying cigar into the ash tray. This went on for about ten minutes before she couldn’t bare the silence anymore.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Lizzy said as she crossed her arms and sat back into her seat. Mr. B set down the papers he was reading and turned to her.

“I’m not upset with you,” he began as he twisted the final embers of his cigar out and closed the tray, “but you know better than to poke the bear.”

“But Mr. Parkins-“Lizzy began but Mr. B held up a hand to stall her.

“I stood up for you because your teacher was being an asshole and needed to be taken down a peg; but that doesn’t mean his point wasn’t valid.” He pulled out a bottle of red velvet like liquid and poured a glass for himself, careful not to spill a drop as the car continued down the road. As the liquid touched his lips his pupils dilated and a shudder ran down the length of his body. “In his classroom he’s the boss, and when you’re the boss everyone under you must do what you say.”

“Until you find a way to do it better.” Lizzy quipped back making Mr. B smile.

“I’m glad to see some of my lessons are sticking with you.”

Lizzy smiled back as she pulled out a napkin and threw it at him. “Were as the ones I teach you fall on deaf ears.” He looked confused for a moment until she motioned down with her head and he saw several drops had spilled on his suit.

“Son-of-a-bi-“he began before the driver cut him off.

“We’ve arrived sir, madam.”

“Thanks Hendriks.” Lizzy was already out the door as she called back to the driver and stepped out on to the street. It was nearly dusk and the city lights were beginning to turn on one by one turning a dull city into a light show of neon and glare. A line was beginning to form around the block as Lizzy walked passed them to the front and waved to the bouncer at the door. To the crowds surprise the bouncer let the kid cut the line and enter the night club “Blitz”.

As she made her way through the club she smiled and greeted the staff still prepping the place for opening. Several of the dancers on stage saw her and called out which she waved back but continued her way upstairs and into the back rooms meant only for staff.

She came to a thick metal door strong enough to take an anti-grav tank rocket and not be dented and stopped. Pulling her backpack off she shuffled around inside until she found he id card and swiped it. The door beeped and lit up green for a moment before slowly rumbling open letting Lizzy continue on.

Unlike the front of the club the back room was an entirely different beast altogether. In place of bar benches and rows of liquor, stood weapon racks and crates larger than her entire body. The scantily clad dancers were replaced with thick muscled guards checking weapons before loading them into storage containers. Even the air itself that had smelled of cologne and perfume was replaced with the stench of weapon oils and hydraulic fluid.

She wondered why her dad had wanted to keep both of the businesses he ran under the same roof but when she thought about it the whole thing was so cliché that no one would believe it anyway. Who would think the largest mercenary company in the Sleisian Belt would be being run out of the back of a seedy nightclub?

She had just made it to her room when an aid approached her. Without a word said they handed her a data pad which she took without looking at it as she opened her room’s door.

“I’ll have it finished and organized in an hour.” She said to them. They nodded and scampered off back down the hallway to the arming room as the door closed behind her.

Her room was modest by comparison to the military quarters outside. Pictures of singers were on the walls and the ceiling was covered with star charts that shifted as the projector updated them every passing minute.

She threw off her backpack and plopped herself down on to the nearby bed. She’d hoped laying there for a few minutes would relax her after the mind numbing ordeal Parkins had put her through but the more she thought about it the more frustrated she became.

Sitting up she shuffled over to her desk and picked up the data pad she had been given earlier.

“Computer, play track seven.” She said as she sat down and began going over the day’s expense report for the company. Just looking over the initial figures she had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Date #3

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.7k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: none, BUT THE FLUFF IS COMING DOWN FULL FORCE YA’LL

a/n: don’t forget, I taking your guys’ comments/reactions into account for this series, so please let me know what your thoughts are! of course, at the end we’ll really take a deeper look at all of the dates and what stood out the most, but I would love to hear from you about this one!! love you all, enjoy!

Date #3

series masterlist ∆∆∆ join the taglist

The more time has passed, the more you fully come to realize that if you have been that affected by two dates, you are in no way prepared for the five that remain.

Nope. Not one bit.

It was Thursday when Jungkook finally texted to check that you were free around eleven. Your heart leapt, finally. A date that you wouldn’t have to spend all day moping around waiting for.

So obviously, you were ready by 9. You know, just in case.

You’d been instructed to wear casual clothes, something that you rejoiced in. Donning your sweater with the word Harvard in thick blue letters spanning the front and a pair of skinny jeans, you felt right at home.

The boys never missed a chance to tease you about your Harvard sweatshirt, and for some reason they never believed your lie that you actually went there. Of course, that might be due to the fact that they were very much aware of your current schooling situation and it was most definitely not Harvard.

But hey...attending one of the top universities in South Korea wasn’t bad, either.

Currently you were perched on the end of your bed, partly due to the fact that if you went anywhere else you would most certainly just end up staring out the window at every car that passed by. Not wanting to look like a nosy neighbor, you’d confined yourself to your room to wait out the morning.

In the hours that pass, your thoughts are completely occupied by the two boys you shared the last couple of Saturdays with.

It would be a lie to say that you don’t replay the image of Taehyung standing in your doorway every night as you tried to sleep, his hair a fluffy mess and that cable knit sweater proving to be your doom.

Your thoughts were usually interrupted as you took your bracelet off and stared at it, imagining Hobi delicately placing each individual bead it it’s place. It’s when your hand burns with the memory of his gentle kiss on your palm that you finally set the bracelet down and let out a frustrated sigh.

Yeah...Jimin was wrong when he invited you to just think of these as nice, friendly dates.

He probably knew it, too.

“Ok,” you breathe out, closing your eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. “Just...enjoy it.”

Enjoy it you shall.

That’s the thing that carries you through the waiting, still just breathing in and out and mentally preparing yourself for all that awaits you today.

You get so carried away in your attempts to calm down that the knock on your front door comes before you realize how much time has passed. Taking one more steadying breath, you get up from your bed and amble down the hallway to the door.

Pausing for a moment, you realize that you truly have no idea who might be on the other side of that door. The thought makes you smile. You’ve always loved a good mystery.

Cracking open the door, you can’t help but smile as the figure before you has their back turned to you. At the sound of your quiet giggle, they turn around, eyes a little wide.

A nervous smile in place, Namjoon leans forward ever so slightly. Almost as though he’s being pulled in by your personal gravity. “Morning,” he says almost as an afterthought, his voice low.

“Good morning,” you respond, throwing the door open the rest of the way. “So you’re lucky number three?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You busy yourself with grabbing your bag and double checking that you have everything. “What do they say?”

Namjoon shrugs, his nervous smile growing until it’s bordering on giddiness. “Third time’s a charm.”

Indeed.

Once you’ve ascertained that you have everything you’ll need (you made sure to replenish your mint stash earlier this week), you’re stepping out into the slightly brisk air and locking the door behind you.

The sound of keys jingling near your ear has you turning to face Namjoon, who wears an oversized, dark plaid shirt that’s open to reveal his black t-shirt beneath it. The picture of casual coolness, paired with his dark wash jeans and sneakers, the look is complete with the way his dimples poke out as he holds up the keys to your eye level.

“Guess who’s driving?” He teases in a sing-song voice, making you laugh as you swipe the keys from him. As the two of you descend the stairs toward the car, you tilt your head to the side.

“How did you get here?” Then, turning to him with wide eyes, “You didn’t drive yourself, right?”

He’s quick to shake his head, pointing out a car that’s turning around at the end of your street and slowly making its way back toward you two. “The guys dropped me off.”

The thought of Namjoon in a car with some of the boys and the rest trailing after them in a separate vehicle is endearing, while also hilarious. “All of them?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Every last one of them.”

As the car draws nearer, you see the windows roll down and someone with familiar black, fluffy hair sticks their head out. Like a dog pile, another head hovers beside them.

Taehyung and Jimin.

Oh, and there’s Jungkook somehow managing to wiggle in between them.

“We apologize in advance, jagiya,” Jimin croons loudly with a teasing smirk. “At least try to enjoy yourself.”

You snort, clicking the button to unlock the car and laughing even harder when Hobi jumps at the sound of the horn. He sits in the passenger seat beside Jin, who drives. The two merely wave before mumbling something to each other that makes them laugh.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You ask, frowning as you do a head count and not finding him anywhere. In response, a pale hand coming from what must be the very back row of the car worms its way forward to the open window. You swear you can almost hear his disgruntled greeting, but it’s drowned out as Taehyung excitedly speaks up.

“Good luck trying to beat me, hyung,” he teases, shooting Namjoon a sweet smile that’s at odds with his teasing comment.

Namjoon just shrugs, utterly unphased as he follows you around the car and opens the drivers side with smooth precision. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

This encourages a round of ooh-ing that only serves to make you laugh even as you tuck away the momentary competitive side of Namjoon. Calm, calculated, and - if you’re reading that steely look in his eyes correctly - utterly in the zone.

Oh, you’re definitely enjoying this way more than you should.

“Drive safe!” The boys shout out amidst jeering comments directed toward Namjoon and his lack of driving abilities. With a final wave, they’re speeding off down the street. Once they’ve disappeared from sight, you notice the way Namjoon’s shoulders relax. He hurries over to the passenger side, hopping in and buckling up before fiddling with his phone.

“So...where to?” You ask, buckled up and ready to go. You tap the steering wheel excitedly, already feeling hyped up from the short interaction with everyone.

You miss seeing them all together. There’s a reason why you’re friends with the entire group.

“I put the address into the car,” Namjoon explains. “It should give you directions as we go.”

Arching a brow at him, you don’t shift into drive just yet. “So I’m driving us there, but I don’t get to know what the end location is?”

Smiling softly, Namjoon nods. “Exactly. You’re so smart, have I ever told you that?”

Scowling, you press the green button that appears on the screen and a warm female voice instructs you to drive to the stop sign and turn left.

You hum, pondering the slightly sarcastic question. “I’m not sure. But that’s definitely a sign that you should tell me more often.”

“I’ll make note of that.”

With a glance at the screen, you see the estimated driving time. “We’re leaving Seoul?”

From your peripheral, you notice Namjoon’s worried expression. “Is that alright? We can find something to do around here, it’s just-”

“No,” you rush to reassure him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.” It won’t be a particularly long drive, just over an hour, but you certainly weren’t expecting that.

Something tells you that there are plenty more surprises waiting for you today.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you slip into an easy conversation, Namjoon relating his latest experiences in his efforts to add something eye-catching to his studio.

“Like what?” You ask. “I love your studio the way it is.”

Namjoon looks over at you, smiling softly. “Really? I don’t know...I just feel like something’s missing.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for something today,” you promise, relaxing now that you’re on the freeway and in the flow of traffic. “Like, do you want something to hang up? Or something to go on your desk?”

He shrugs, taking a moment to roll his window down and close his eyes as it runs through his hair. “I already have a bunch of stuff on the wall, and if I put anything on my desk-”

“Right, you’ll spill on it.”

“Exactly.” You keep your eyes on the road, entirely missing the fond look he gives you.

“So basically, you don’t need anything.”

He huffs a sigh, rolling the window back up and sinking down into the seat. “No, I do, I just don’t know what.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey,” Namjoon cuts, giving you a dramatic glare. “Don’t mock me.”

Feigning innocence, you peek over at him. “I’m not!”

“Yah, just drive.”

“I am!”

Despite the bickering, you can’t fight the smile edging its way onto your features. A glance over at Namjoon shows that he’s having the same issue, his face turned away from you but failing to hide the silly grin he’s attempting to hide as his fingers curl at his lips. It’s a habit he’s had for as long as you’ve known him, one that often makes its way into many photos.

“Prepare to take exit 14,” the voice instructs, and you make your way over to the far lane, eyeing the looming sign that will announce what exit it’s for. Once the sign comes into view, you give Namjoon a puzzled look.

“We’re going to Anyang?”

It’s not that you have anything against the city, it’s just that...well, what is there in Anyang that isn’t in Seoul?

“See? Super intelligent.” It’s the only response you get from Namjoon, but it has you rolling your eyes in an effort to counter the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

In a couple of minutes you’re turning onto a relatively quiet street, only a few random people mulling about, enjoying their weekend. Namjoon points out an entrance to a parking lot that you would have completely missed due to its hidden nature. Once you’re parked and dwarfed between the buildings surrounding the little lot, you jump out of the car and make a show of stretching your legs.

Namjoon mimics you, a loud yet satisfying yawn coming from him. “Hey, are you hungry now or are you good to wait a little while?”

You pause, internally wondering. “I think I’m good for a while.”

“Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he comes to stand beside you. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him. “Woah, you still haven’t told me where- oh.”

The two of you have rounded a corner and now stand in front of a nondescript building. Its sage green paint is chipping a bit, giving it a rustic feel that is only accentuated by the gold lettering above the door.

Wanderers & Travelers

However, it’s not the homey feel or the tasteful name that has you stopping in your tracks. It’s what you see inside, through the large windows.

Without a single word, you step forward as though in a daze. The little bell above the door chimes as you walk in, announcing your arrival. And, as though the entire thing couldn’t get better, the scent hits you.

The smell of old and new books, some leather bound and some hard backed, dives into your senses and leaves you whirling.

The walls in here are painted some shade of sky blue, complementing the deep wood shelves. It’s quiet in here, the only sound being that of shuffling feet.

If you blink, you’re afraid it might all vanish.

“Oh! You’re here!”

Turning to your left, you see a woman with flecks of white in her hair, smiling warmly at you and Namjoon. If you’re being completely, honest, you’d nearly forgotten that Namjoon was there.

The woman descends the final few steps of the creaky staircase, keeping a friendly distance as she nods at the two of you. “You were right,” she remarks to Namjoon. Then, to you with a teasing smirk, “You look like you’ve never seen a bookstore before.”

You sputter for the right words. “I- yeah, but this-”

“Is no ordinary bookstore,” Namjoon finishes for you, a hand at your elbow. You can’t help but lean into his touch, momentarily forgetting the rows and rows of shelves just a few steps away as Namjoon involuntarily steps a little closer.

“Ah, right. Well, first thing’s first: I’m Choi Min-jee. And this is my bookstore,” she gestures to the endless rows of bookshelves, and you wonder for a moment how all of these can fit in the building. It looks so much smaller from the outside.

Min-jee motions for you to follow her, and she leads the two of you to the nearest bookshelf. “These books range in languages and age, you never know what you might find. This shop has been in my family for five generations now - we’ve collected our fair share of books and other antique items.” With a little wink, she steps back. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and the upstairs is open now.”

Namjoon perks up at this, looking over from where he’d pulled a book off the shelf. “Really? We’ll have to look up there!”

“Please do! I’m off to practice piano.” With that, she whisks away, leaving you to your own devices.

You stare after her in awe, mouth slightly ajar. It makes Namjoon chuckle quietly, he must know the feeling.

“I wanna be her when I grow up,” you whisper, earning a louder chuckle from the man.

“Same.” Namjoon heads deeper into the shelves, and you follow after him. He glances back at you over his shoulder. “This is my favorite place.”

“I take it you’re a regular?” You ask, eyes catching on a bright blue book with frayed binding. Pausing, you ease it from its spot. “Hm… ‘The Cottage by the Sea’.” You run my hand over the shiny inlay, a seashell glinting up at you. “Why do I feel like I just entered the world of ‘Little Women’?”

Namjoon snorts, wandering back over to you and gazing down at the book. He grabs the one that occupied the spot next to it on the shelf, the deep red absorbing in all the surrounding light. “You’re definitely Jo.”

“Really?” You ask, gently flipping through the first few pages and trying to find a publish date. “I always thought that I was more of an Amy.”

Namjoon looks appalled, tearing his eyes away from his book. “What? No. In what world are you Amy?”

“Hey! Don’t act like she’s a bad person,” You whine, bringing the book close to your chest. “She was just...trying to survive.”

Huffing loudly and obnoxiously, Namjoon heads over to the other aisle, peeking at you through the gaps in the shelf. “She got everything she ever wanted, without hardly having to ask for it. Are you telling me that you have everything you ever wanted?”

There’s a skylight above you, allowing the lazy afternoon sun to filter in and play with the lighter tones in Namjoon’s hair. He looks at you with his ferociously focused gaze, something that you had never squirmed under before but now find your cheeks burning as he doesn’t look away.

You sigh contentedly. “More or less. Look at me, I’m surrounded by books.”

Namjoon gets closer to the shelves, leaning down to be eye-level with you through the shelves. “So what’s missing?”

“Hmm?” You hum, getting a little lost as music starts up somewhere. You realize with a start that this must be what Min-jee meant by practicing piano, as the soft sound comes from somewhere hidden.

There’s a little smile on Namjoon’s face, just enough for a dimple to appear. “You said more or less. What are you missing still?”

Edging a little closer and nearly closing your eyes at the smell of leather, you’re tempted to reach through the shelf and poke at the little indent in his cheek. “Just your glasses, I think. I love it when you wear your glasses.”

The statement takes him by surprise, Namjoon’s dragon-like gaze dropping and a flush taking over his features before he steps back. “Hmph.” With that, he continues down the aisle, the red book still in his hands and the blue in yours. “I still think you would be Jo, though.”

“Why?”

The two of you match footsteps, languidly walking along the seemingly endless rows. You catch glimpses of him through the books, a soft dimpled smile on his face as he looks down at his feet. It’s enough to make your coy smile grow, and you clutch the book tighter to your chest.

Finally, Namjoon comes to a stop as another book catches his eye. You take the opportunity to round the corner and enter the aisle he stands in, feet carrying you closer to him. Just as you’re about to reach his side, he speaks.

“Jo is...well, for one, she’s a dreamer. And we both know you’ve got a lot of dreams in that head of yours.” He taps your forehead for emphasis, side-smile growing when you scowl. “But she’s a realistic dreamer. You’ve given up a lot for your dreams, but I believe that you’d leave it all behind if someone you loved was in need of you.”

You blink, unprepared for the genuine compliment.

“And,” Namjoon says breathily, sliding the book back into its place and turning on his heel to walk away. “You two share a tendency to be oblivious to others feelings for you.”

He keeps walking, leaving you to become a sputtering mess before launching yourself after him. “I- we what?!” You all but screech, wincing as you sound twice as loud in the empty shop. “I am not oblivious-”

With a triumphant smirk, Namjoon heads down a little slope that leads toward a sitting area. “Be honest with yourself. You wouldn’t have had any idea about the pact or anything if Jungkook hadn’t spilled it.”

“But that’s not my fault!” You defend, glaring defiantly at his back. “You guys had that under lock and key!”

Diving into another row, Namjoon looks contemplative. “Ok, that may be true. But tell me the truth: did you ever once suspect that...I don’t know, there might be something more going on? Even just once?”

You stand out in the main walkway still, frozen by his question. “Er…” Pausing to think, you squint down at the book still in your hands.

Of course there were moments that had your heart pumping a little faster and a blush rising to your cheeks. Movie nights always meant some form of cuddling, but you quickly just assumed that it was all part of the friendship. Good morning texts that made you sink back into your pillows with a lazy smile, or the little facts that one of the boys would remember about you always made you stop and wonder.

But you never actually entertained the idea. It all seemed too…

“Unrealistic,” you mumble aloud. When Namjoon looks at you quizzically, you walk down a few rows until something catches your eye. You delight in the fact that now he’s following you. “I guess I had little moments where I wondered, but it just seemed like wishful thinking.”

Stopping near the end of the row and looking up at the top shelf, you wiggle on your tip-toes trying to grab a book. Your fingers barely graze the spine of the book before a warm presence overshadows you and Namjoon’s fingers ghost over your own before tugging the brown book from its spot. Still pressed against your back, his light breathing makes the hair on the back of your neck tingle as he lowers the book into your waiting hands.

“Moments like this?” He whispers, hands coming to rest just above your hips.

Suddenly, you recall a moment from months before, when you’d been in a similar situation. The boys had invited you over for some breakfast on one of their rare morning’s off. You’d wanted some cereal, only to find the bowls on the very top shelf. Namjoon had come to your rescue, pulling the exact same move before awkwardly pausing and looking as though he’d wanted to say something. He hadn’t, and instead rushed out of the kitchen before you could even utter a ‘thank you’.

Turning around in his grasp, you can see that he wears a similar expression as before. This time, however, he looks determined to say whatever comes to mind.

With a quiet voice you whisper, “Who in their right mind puts bowls on the top shelf?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he throws his head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that sinks right into your bones. All you can do is watch him, feeling like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Perhaps it’s the first time you’ve ever allowed yourself to look freely.

“Ah, so you did notice,” he whispers back. “You acted like nothing happened, so I figured I was in the clear.”

With a roll of your eyes, you’re stepping out of his grasp and taking a look down at the new book in your hand. “With you, Mr. Kim, we’re never in the clear.”

He lets out a low hiss, but lets you walk away. Not like you realize he’s not following you anymore, you’re idly wandering around while thumbing through the mystery novel. It looks like it might be an original copy from one of your favorite authors. One that passed away in the 1950’s, but still stands out among the countless authors that have come after them.

You’ve made it down to the small sitting area, where a large fireplace is crackling.

“Huh,” you smile. As if this place couldn’t get any better. Plopping down on the couch, you let out a sigh at how the cushions sink and welcome you into their warm embrace. Setting the blue book off to the side, you open up the brown one and begin to read.

You’ve nearly completed the first chapter - knees tucked to your chest as you lean against the arm of the couch - when you hear footsteps approaching.

Expecting it to be Namjoon, you glance over your shoulder with a smile. It’s Min-jee, who returns the smile with a knowing look. You listen closely and realize that her piano practice must be over. Classical music plays over the speakers in the shop instead.

“Namjoon’s gone upstairs,” she explains, coming to adjust something in the fireplace. “He said something about finding an item for his studio.”

You close the book softly, stretching before sitting up straight. “What’s upstairs? More books?”

“No, we’ve expanded our antique selection, there’s an assortment of desks and chairs up there, among other things.”

Making an ‘o’ with your mouth, you get up. “This place is amazing, by the way.” You hold up the brown book with an excited expression. “I found this - I think it’s an original! How much is it?”

Min-jee makes her way over to you, smiling softly as she recognizes the book. “You’re a fan of this author too, huh? My grandad used to read these to me back before I had to start running the shop.” She offers you a fond look. “Oh, and Namjoon told me to put whatever you like on his tab. So don’t worry about it. Take the book.”

She must notice your shock, because she places a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “He also told me that you might be hesitant to get anything because of that. But honestly, get it. And ‘The Cottage by the Sea’. That’s one of my favorites, actually.” Min-jee nods at the blue book with its golden seashell.

“Ah, he knows me too well,” you sigh. “This might be silly to ask, but...do you think it’s alright? You know, to just get them?”

Min-jee, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t laugh at your question. Instead, she sees right through you, to the worry in your heart.  The last thing you want is to take advantage of any of the boys. “It would make him happy,” she responds, watching your reaction carefully. You immediately let out a sigh of relief, nodding and picking up the books.

“Alright,” you concede. “I’ll get them, then.”

“Great! I’ll take them up front and hold them for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s perfect.”

While she whisks away your books, you follow after her until you reach the staircase. She nods encouragingly, and you head up.

Clearing the stairs, it doesn’t take long to locate Namjoon. He’s standing in front of a large wardrobe, inspecting every inch of it. The sight makes you smile, enjoying the way he’s chewing on the inside of the cheek.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re getting for the studio,” you drawl, making your way toward him. He looks back at you, a wide smile interrupting his cheek chewing.

“I mean...no, but look at it!” He exclaims. “It’s beautiful, isn't it? Honestly, if I moved some things around, I could probably make it fit.”

You reach the wardrobe, marveling at the expert craftsmanship. “It’s gorgeous. But what would you even put in it? It’s not like you take all of your coats to the studio. And you want your trophies to be visible, don’t you?”

This thing must weigh a ton, the wood is thick and the hinges smooth. “Hmm...no, but I can think of something else I could hide away in here.” The way Namjoon glances over at you with a sly grin makes you stumble back, red rushing to your cheeks as you suddenly become preoccupied with a very old typewriter.

“What would that be?” You venture, running your fingers over the keyboard. You’re waiting for his answer, which you’re sure will be a single word - you. However, just as he’s opening his mouth and looking like he’s garnering the courage to say it, the creaky staircase announces someone’s arrival.

At first you think nothing of it, but Min-jee’s voice is loud. Loud enough that you know she’s trying to be heard.

“I told you, we don’t sell anything BTS related in this store.” She says, and you and Namjoon share a puzzled look.

A couple of voices respond, but one in particular stands out as she raises her voice. “I swear, I saw Kim Namjoon walking around in here just a few minutes ago!”

Their footsteps are growing closer, and you suddenly realize that this is Min-jee’s way of warning you two.

Rushing over to Namjoon’s side, you look around frantically. “Is there another way out?” You whisper. Clearly the staircase is blocked at the moment. When he shakes his head, you’re about ready to suggest causing a distraction but he suddenly gasps.

Quickly and quietly, he’s swinging open the wardrobe and nudging you inside, quickly following. You raise your eyebrows, mouth opening to ask him just how this is going to help anything, but he allows the door to swing shut and presses a hand against your mouth.

Back pressed against the back of the wardrobe and Namjoon looming over you, the two of you hardly dare to breathe as you strain to listen to what’s going on outside.

“I’m pretty sure I would know if he was in my shop,” Min-jee is saying, sounding much closer now. “And right now the upstairs is off-limits, so please-”

“Look, I know I must sound crazy, but I’m absolutely positive that I saw him in here. I was just outside and he went up the stairs! And now you expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

You keep your eyes trained on the thin opening where light is streaming in, trying to see what’s going on. Namjoon, however, shuffles a little closer, hand slipping from your mouth and staring down at you. He braces his hands on either side of your head, needing to bend over a little bit due to the small space.

“For the last time,” Min-jee defends, “the upstairs portion of this shop is closed. As you can tell, nobody is up here besides us. If you wish to continue this conversation, I would simply ask that we do it downstairs.”

You bite your lip, looking up at Namjoon and about to whisper something about how Min-jee deserves a raise. The words die on your tongue, however, when you finally catch sight of him.

Namjoon is slouching a bit, and you realize that his hands are on either side of your head. His hair is slightly mussed, from what you’re unsure. However, that’s not what has your breath catching in your throat.

He’s looking down at you in a way that suddenly makes you aware of just how small the wardrobe is, and has you mentally cursing yourself for coming up here in the first place. Namjoon is looking at you, looking at you in a way that you immediately recognize.

Like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to.

You watch the way his eyes follow the way your throat constricts as you swallow, the way they trace the slope of your nose and the dip above your lip.

The voices fade away as Namjoon’s fingers feather through your hair, light enough to make your heart melt. He does so slowly, eyes reading your own in order to see if he’s somehow crossed a line that he shouldn’t have.

You, however, are sick of all these dumb lines and boundaries that have been set. Somehow, Namjoon must see that, because he’s opening his mouth and whispering out what he’s been thinking this entire time.

“You,” he mumbles as he watches the strand of hair he tucks behind your ear. Almost as though to verify that this is real, that it’s actually happening. “I’d tuck you away in here, and nobody would find us.”

Breathing has become impossible at this point.

“No prying eyes, no invisible lines to make sure I don’t cross,” he’s tracing the line of your jaw now, and you don’t miss the slight tremor in his hand. “Would you like that as much as I would?”

His eyes land on yours, eyebrows coming together as he awaits your answer. You would smile if you could, but you find that you’ve turned to putty at his touch. Instead, you slowly nod before breathing out, “Yes.”

That’s when you realize that Namjoon is just as tired of rules as you are. Namjoon, the dedicated leader that always makes sure everything is in order. Namjoon, who constantly forgets things like his phone and wallet, but never forgets to say please and thank you.

Namjoon, who leans impossibly closer until you’re closing your eyes for fear of going cross-eyed. His breath fans across your nose, acting as your only warning before his lips find yours.

Light as a feather against your mouth, Namjoon kisses you.

As you sigh against his lips, you suddenly understand why kissing was prohibited. Because right now, all that you can think of - every breath, every heartbeat - it’s all saying the same thing.

Namjoon.

Just as your hands find their way to his chest and bunching up the fabric, he’s jumping back with a gasp and stumbling through the door of the wardrobe. You see his wide eyes, but you’re too busy standing there completely frozen and praying that nobody is up here still.

He looks around frantically, but looks at you with utter horror as the same voice as before pipes up from downstairs.

“See! I’m telling you that someone is up there-”

“Oh! Did you see that? I think I just saw him taking the emergency exit!” Min-jee retorts, and you can picture her frantically pointing out the window in an effort to distract the girls. “Hurry! He looked like he was running!”

The bell above the door chimes, excited voices fading as the group exits the shop. However, their timely exit does little to soothe the raging heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I- I’m not supposed to do that,” Namjoon reminds himself aloud. “Please, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re gone!” Min-jee calls out, poking her head up as she ascends the stairs. She spots you still standing in the wardrobe. “Oh, so that’s where you were hiding. Anyway, I’ve locked up the front, so we shouldn’t be having any more trouble with that.”

You can only offer her a weak smile, Namjoon still staring at you with that horrible, guilt-ridden expression, which you’re dying to erase.

“Thank you,” you say when Min-jee begins to notice the odd silence. “We’ll be down in a second, I think.”

Namjoon nods along, finally looking away to check the time. “Actually, we’ve got a reservation,” your stomach flips at the thought of sitting through an entire meal with his guilty apologies, “is there a way we can sneak out of here without being seen?”

Min-jee blinks, looking between the two of you but not saying anything. “Ok...um, yeah. The back alleyway should be clear, it’ll lead to the parking lot.”

Finally stepping out of the wardrobe, you look back at it with a glare.

“So much for Narnia,” you mumble, closing the door.

ˆˆˆˆ

Min-jee quickly places your books in a bag - Namjoon ends up getting the red one as well - and offers it to you with a smile. Automatically you reach out for it, but so does Namjoon. The second your hands meet you can’t help but jump, and the bag falls to the floor.

“Oh no,” you whimper out, feeling sorry for the old books. Before you can lean down to get them, Namjoon’s swooping them up and keeping a firm grip on the bag. He mumbles out a soft, “sorry” before following Min-jee toward the back exit.

The two of you thank her profusely for the day, and you promise that you’ll return soon. There’s no way you can leave a place like that alone for very long. Namjoon smiles for a moment, looking pleased that he picked a good place. However, once he catches your eye, he’s back to chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Slyly sneaking down down the alleyway, it’s quiet between the two of you. No matter how hard you pinch yourself, your thoughts keep zoning in on the way Namjoon’s lips felt on yours...the way he looked at you just before he leaned in...how perfect everything had been until he’d come to his senses-

You’ve made it to the car, and you click the unlock button, jumping back as it honks. Man, you’ve got to get out of your head.

Namjoon hurries to set the bag in the backseat before rushing to the driver’s side, opening the door up for you with significantly less flourish than before.

Knowing Namjoon, it’s eating him up alive. And there’s no way you’re about to let a kiss - something to celebrate, in your opinion - ruin the rest of this date.

Especially when it may very well be the only one you get.

“Namjoon,” you say, walking slowly toward him. His eyes jump up to yours, and you can already see that he’s hard at work trying to pretend like everything is fine.

“We’re going to be about an hour early for our reservation,” Namjoon admits, running a hand through his hair and immediately trying to fix it after. “I’m sorry for rushing you out of there, I wasn’t thinking straight. You can go back in, if you want. I’ll wait out here until you’re ready-”

“Namjoon.” He quits his rambling, red cheeks somehow turning redder as you stop before him. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

At this, he lets the door fall shut. “You...did?”

Wanting nothing more than to dispel the awkward tension, you laugh. “Of course I did! I’d be an idiot if I didn’t! So please...it’s nobody’s fault. So what, you broke a stupid rule-”

“And I’ve hurt the guys in the process of breaking that rule,” Namjoon explains, looking at you with clear, pained eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me regretting kissing you because- w-well, that’s not the point!” Leaning back against the car, you follow suit just as a large stormcloud blocks out the sun. It’s going to rain soon.

“Namjoon, you’ve all found ways to skirt around the rules in some way,” you confess, remember Hobi’s sweet hand kiss and Taehyung’s forehead kiss. “Sure, you actually broke the rule, but nobody is going to hate you for it. Nobody. Least of all me.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes as he lets out a long breath. “It’s just, we all agreed to give you enough space to make a clear decision if you felt like you wanted to make one at the end of all this,” he confesses, not seeing the way your eyes widen. Oh. “And I’ve completely screwed that up.”

Sighing, you squint as a fat raindrop lands on your nose. “Well, we’re on a date, aren’t we? People sometimes kiss- I mean, honestly, we could have done a lot worse-” Namjoon chokes on his spit at that. “But if you need something to blame, please don’t blame yourself. Because I love this date, and as far as I can tell, the kiss only made it better.”

He peeks one eye open at you. “Really?”

“Really.” You shrug. “And see? I really am Amy! I always get what I want!” You don’t add the fact that that wasn’t quite true with Hoseok or Taehyung. “If anything, blame the wardrobe. Wardrobes are wacky, anyways.”

Namjoon snorts, rolling his eyes. “Blame the wardrobe? Really?”

“Yeah! Sometimes they transport you to Narnia, sometimes they mess with your common sense,” you give him a pointed look, which he avoids. “So if the boys get all upset about it, just tell them it was the wardrobe. I’ll back you up on it.”

Finally, Namjoon laughs. Like, the annoying little hyena laugh that he hates but you secretly love. And when he looks back down at you and opens up the door, he doesn’t look so upset about it.

“Be honest, would you have rather gone to Narnia or been stuck in there with me?”

You feign annoyance. “Ugh, just get in the car.”

From the way your stomachs were rumbling and the rain was pouring, the two of you decided to bag the reservation. It was for some posh outdoor restaurant in Seoul that Namjoon pretended to be excited about.

Which is exactly how you ended up going through the McDonald’s drive thru and bringing it back to your place.

“Aren’t you on a diet or something?” You ask around your fries, eyes not leaving the television screen. The two of you had decided on Gone With the Wind, completely forgetting just how long it was.

Namjoon makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah, something like that. Today’s my cheat day, though.”

“Aw, you decided to spend your cheat day with me?” You tease. Namjoon rolls his eyes, finally deciding that maybe you really are Amy from Little Women. However, he can’t fight the feeling that he’s the Laurie to your Jo.

Not that he’ll be telling you that anytime soon. He’s certainly done enough today.

“More like our date happened to fall on my cheat day,” he bites back. “And I heard that they have really good cheesecake at that restaurant we bailed on.”

You hesitate before taking another bite of your food. “Should we have gone? They probably would’ve given us our food to go if we didn’t want to sit under the umbrellas. I feel bad, you made reservations and everything.”

Namjoon shrugs. “No, this is way better.” He holds up his McFlurry for emphasis. “They even had the cheesecake McFlurry back in season! Coincidence?”

“I think not!”

You both chuckle before falling back into the companionable silence you’d been in before. Over the course of the drive back to Seoul, you’d taken your time, stopping at a handful of little parks along the way. Namjoon had imitated the ducks before realizing how silly he looked, then hiding behind his hands for a solid five minutes before he could look you in the eyes again. Overall, it had been calm and relaxing.

As you watch Scarlett O’Hara flirting it up with different suitors on the screen, you can’t help but wonder if that’s you.

Sure, Gina told you back at the haunted house to just enjoy it. Chances are it was all just a phase, anyways. There was all of this romantic tension between you and the boys that would naturally fade away as their curiosity diminished after their dates.

At least, that’s what you assumed. However you’re quickly coming to realize that you’re a little out of depth here.

“You alright over there?” Namjoon asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You have your thinking face on.”

You blink. “I have a thinking face?”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so stressed?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly. “I’m just...thinking about the movie.” Not entirely a lie.

You know he won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it, but you take a little bit of enjoyment in the way his lip pouts out. “Alright, if you say so.”

Only a few more minutes pass before he speaks up again, sounding a little hesitant. “You know that this is a long movie…”

“Oh, should we end it here?” You ask, a little disappointed because you were just getting to one of your favorite parts. “You don’t need to feel like you have to stay-”

“No, not that. I’m gonna finish the movie. It’s just,” he wipes his fingers off on a spare napkin before scooting a little closer to you. “Long movies call for cuddling, don’t you think?”

You nearly choke on your saliva. “You- you, as in Kim Namjoon, want to cuddle? You’re into cuddling?”

He laughs, tugging on your arm until you give in and collapse against his side. You hope that your content sigh isn’t too noticeable when he drapes an arm around your shoulder. “It just depends sometimes. But yes, I am. At the appropriate times.”

“Ah, and long movies-”

“Are the epitome of the appropriate time,” he explains, lightly pinching your arm when you let out a wry laugh.

“Hey!” You cry out, only to be shushed by him.

“Shhh, I’m trying to watch this.”

You just can’t find it in you to be annoyed.

You’re asleep before the film is over, despite the fact that the sun barely went down. Something about having a full stomach and leaning your head on Namjoon’s shoulder just lulled you right to sleep.

You stir a little when Namjoon fidgets, pulling his phone out to call someone. His voice is deep and quiet, trying not to wake you.

“Hey, can you pick me up now?”

Despite your half-asleep state, you crack a smile. It’s quiet, but you can hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, I’m close to there right now. Be there in a couple minutes. You’re at her apartment, right?”

“Thanks. Yeah, she’s conked out on the couch.”

There’s a laugh ringing through the phone. “Cute. Make sure she rests up, she’ll need it for our date next week.”

Namjoon sighs, not quite annoyed but not exactly pleased, either. “Yah, just hurry over.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you think I should wake her up to say goodbye?”

“Your call. But I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna give her a kiss goodbye. If she’s that tired, I’d just let her sleep.”

Your cheeks involuntarily turn red, and you can only imagine the way Namjoon looks right now. It’s his silence that gives him away.

“Hyung...what-”

“Text me when you get here,” Namjoon says, and suddenly the call ends.

Oh, he’s in for it tonight.

Stretching and trying to look like you totally weren’t just eavesdropping, you crack open your eyes to see Namjoon looking down at you with an amused expression.

“I would tell you that you missed the ending, but something tells me you’ve seen it before,” he drawls.

You chuckle breathily, yawning as you stretch your arms over your head. “Yeah, a couple of times.”

“I’m about to head out,” Namjoon begins, back to chewing on the inside of his cheek. “But thank you for going out with me. I seriously...it was just the best.” He smiles softly, and you wish you could have a picture of it.

Instead, you opt for nuzzling back into his side. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one thanking you? It was great, Namjoon-ah. I’ll have to read that book you got some time.”

He hums, returning the sentiment. “Yeah, we’ll do a book swap.” His phone lights up, but before you can see who it’s from, he’s snatching it up and jumping up from the couch. “They’re here.”

It’s tempting to not resort to begging him to stay a little longer - if only for the sake of his warmth which is quickly fading as he retreats to the door. However, you only pad after him, stopping him before he reaches the door.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest. “Tell everyone I say hello.”

“I will.” And with a rush of cool air, he’s out the door.

Gone, leaving you to stare blankly and wonder what just happened today.

And worse yet, what’s yet to come.

main masterlist

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[lustbile-archive]

Just Check It Out

JaehyunxReader

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary/Warnings: Smut. Oral (reader receiving), public-ish sex, flirty but also suspicious stranger!Jaehyun, sharp object and blood play/consumption, and honestly low key shitty friends.

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist

Can be read on its own or within the series.

Your face is screwed up and your nails dig harshly into the palms of your hands in anxiety as you stare at the hollow looking building in front of you. The only signs of life is the red light that pulses and radiates from underneath the entrance door, and the taunting laughter that rattles from behind you deep from the bellies of your two friends.

“What are you, a scaredy cat?” one of your friends asks as she reaches forward to pinch your arm, “just go in.”

“What are you, a twelve year old?” you rebut, your tone a lot more clipped and harsh than you wanted, but the fear crawling up your spine fogs your judgment.

“What happened to a warehouse?” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but the sounds of confusion from behind you tells you they had heard.

“What are you going on about a warehouse?” your other friend takes her turn questioning you, her tone slightly more concerned than the other.

“What do you mean going on about a warehouse?” your voice is shrill as you turn so quickly it made you slightly dizzy, your jaw dropping and your eyebrows furrowing immediately in shock and confusion, “you two heard what that weirdo taxi driver said. He dropped that person off and picked them up from a warehouse. A warehouse! Not some weird ass club.”

The story that the skeevy old man had told you and your friends ran through your mind still. Something about how he had picked up and dropped off the same person every few weekends during his shift, but one night, when he definitely remembered dropping them off, he never got the call to take them home.

“Oh come on so what,” your first friend speaks again, her voice louder than necessary as you started to pace back and forth in front of them, “like you just said, he was just some weirdo old taxi driver. The story probably isn’t even true and if it was he probably didn’t notice that it was a club cause he was too busy trying to figure out how to kidnap the person.”

“Yeah cause that makes me feel so much better,” your stepping slows slightly as you respond, your eyes rolling so hard they ache, “and why is it me that has to go in in the first place huh?”

“Because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.”

You can’t stop yourself when you petulantly stomp your foot, a wash of shame and nerves washing over you immediately after as you cross your arms over your chest. The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong. Whatever force in the universe that was looking down, or up, at you tonight had it out for you, and it only took about three rounds of the hand game before you lost to both of the girls in front of you.

“Listen,” the a lot more gentle friend of the two started, wrapping her arms gently around your stiff form, “just go in, take a look around, and then come back. We’ll be right here waiting, and if it’s cool we’ll all go in.”

‘Or you could just come with me,’ you think to yourself, but something clogs your throat, forcing the words to remain swirling in your chest.

“Fine,” you let yourself sink into her hold for a few seconds, before you start to wiggle free. She smiles softly at the way you pout, and an evil part of you anticipates guilt tripping both of them when you escape the creepy building, “but if you’re even an inch away from this exact spot when I get back you’re dead.”

Their grumbles of ‘yeahs’ and ‘okay whatever’s’ is lost behind you as you teeter on the edge of the sidewalk. You only allow yourself a moment to wonder how a night out with friends devolved into you entering a strange club, before your looking both ways and crossing the street.

You can only imagine how silly you look as you sprint across the road, a nervous skip in your step from the lack of a crosswalk beneath your feet, and when you land on the sidewalk again you’re slightly winded from the anxiety that pumps in you.

The door and the building is about a thousand times more intimidating now that you stand in front of it, the entrance grinning at you like a hungry monster. You can feel the stares of your friends eating at the skin of your back as you stand there curled into yourself, and a warmth spreads across your skin in embarrassment when you notice two men standing to the side, at a front row seat to you shaking like a leaf.

There’s a moment of relief when you see that they don’t seem to notice you, too busy scrolling through their respective phones while one nurses a cigarette. But this relief does nothing to truly calm you of the fact that you have to enter the building marked as “Club X” or face the taunting of your friends. And while you are an adult and the childishness of the jeers from your peers shouldn’t phase you, them questioning your confidence isn’t something you’d like to deal with.

With a deep breath, you stand straight. ‘It’s one drink and a look around’ you remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t be nervous it’s just a club and you’re an adult.’

From your own scolding you start to come to your senses that yes, there’s no reason to be scared, and without even thinking about it, you notice that your feet have already started carrying you through the threshold.

The red lighting is bright and darkens the writhing bodies that occupy the huge club. If it wasn’t for the thumping bass of music, you could have easily convinced yourself that you stand in the beginning of a horror house, and amongst all the normal club goers was a masked man holding a knife waiting for you to let your guard down for even a second.

‘A drink,’ the quiet voice in your head reminds you, and with a quick glance around to locate the bar, you're pushing through the masses of flesh and sweat to get just that.

You also remember that you're here to take a look around.

It’s a normal club from the looks of it. Too many bodies pressed too close together, a less than inviting restroom tucked in the back corner, the back of the large room littered with booths full of people drinking and yelling over the music. The music itself pumps from huge speakers that stand in front of a short elevated stage, a man standing behind a dj booth controls exactly what pours from the speakers as a group of rambunctious men drink and roughhouse behind him.

Right before you reach the bar, is when you notice something you didn’t fully expect. Towards the back, and high up on the wall, there was a balcony. There was a singular chair, large enough to hold a person and then some, and a large potted plant that branches out so far that it’s vines wrap and devour the railing beautifully, but other than that, nothing. There’s a heavy looking curtain hiding whatever room the balcony connects to, and directly below it is a hollow looking hallway with a thick rope blocking it from the general club goer.

You’re so distracted by the odd sight, you don’t realize how close to the bar you had gotten before you hip bumps harshly into one of its stools. You can’t stop the quiet yelp that leaves you from the quick shock of pain, but even worse is the hiss that escapes the teeth of the young man that stands behind the worn wood of the bar. Even in your regained embarrassment and warmed cheeks you’re able to form the thought that the guy who glances at you with gentle sympathy looks a little young for a bartender.

“Um, can I,” you stutter slightly as you take a seat in the offending stool, praying you can fake confidence enough to smother your embarrassment, “can I get a drink, please?”

“Oh um,” the boy matches your stuttering as he appears just as flustered as you at what happened, “I’m gonna be honest, um the actual bartender had to step away for a moment to uhhh… attend to something. So the best I can give you is like a beer.”

“That should be fine,” you sink slightly in relief and endearment as his own nervous state works to release you from your own.

He moves to step away from you, before you quickly interrupt, “oh don’t you need my id or something?”

“Oh yeah,” he blanks before you, staring off as if he suddenly remembers the existence of laws, “uh I’m gonna be honest, I don’t care. Just, if you see the real bartender at all tonight just don’t tell him okay?”

“I respect your honesty,” you speak to his retreating form as he grabs your drink, and when he returns with a cold amber bottle, you continue, “just between the two of us.”

“Just between us,” he places the bottle next to your hand before shooting you quick finger guns. A small grin still lives on your lips as you bring the opening up to your mouth as he walks away to try to nudge a passed out man that snoozes with his face pressed against the splintering wood awake.

Drink had, club looked at, and as far as you’re concerned, your mission is done. The club seems harmless enough, so with your bottle still gripped between your fingers, you stand to leave and report to your friends that the club is open for business if they’re interested.

Your sure you take the same path that you did to get to the bar, it would be hard not to after you’ve already established where the dj, bar, and weird balcony was placed. But when you’re standing in the exact place that you're sure was where the entrance stood, you’re faced with nothing but a solid empty wall.

Maybe you got turned around, with the amount of people rushing by and the lighting causing it to be a little difficult to see, it wouldn’t be completely out of the realm of possibility. But for the life of you, you could have sworn you turned around and took the exact same path.

You stand frozen in place for a moment, staring at the wall as people dodge and bump into you. You can't imagine how odd you look just staring at a blank wall, but a small part of you hopes that your vision is just compromised and if you look just a little harder, maybe the entrance is still there.

In a last ditch effort, you reach out. Your fingers gently brush the cold wall, before you huff and press your palm flat against it. No false wall, or optical illusion, so maybe you really did just get turned around.

All hopes of that being the truth is immediately crushed when you finally turn around. The balcony high and taunting exactly in the place you’d dreaded it would be, the corner of the bar peeking out from behind a mass of bodies almost as if it’s inviting you to return for just one more drink.

Your heart leaps to your throat when reality starts to set in, but alongside reality, is a rush of determination. There’s no way you’re just stuck here, you tell yourself. You have to get back to your friends and you’re sure that amongst the dozens of bodies that stand around you, there’s no way that they plan on staying here for good right?

There has to be another exit, at least a side door that leads to one of the alleys that stand around the perimeter of the building.

Your hand returns flat to the wall, and you begin to walk. You assume the fastest way to find an exit is to just walk the entire room, and hopefully with you grounding yourself with the wall, you won’t get sucked into the bodies that seem unaware that they’re being locked in.

You keep your shoulder pressed to the wall as well, staying close in hopes to avoid any bumping shoulders or sharp elbows. There are a few times that you have to dodge the rare groping couple that decides the flat surface of the wall is the best place to press against for a good public make out, but you’re quick to return when they’re behind you.

You trace the entirety of the right wall of the building with no luck, and as you turn the corner and pass the restroom you’ve started to huff in disappointment. Maybe the back wall, or the hollow hallway you saw earlier will bring more luck, and if not it probably won’t kill to return to the guy who’s watching the bar to demand he tells you how to escape.

Even though you’re determined to stay focused on finding a way out, you can’t help but to stare at the balcony as you get closer and closer. You can see now that the railing sparkles in the warm light, and you assume it’s made of a gold metal. The vines are even more beautiful as you get closer, and you now notice they’re accompanied by small dark red flowers that look vaguely familiar. But carnations don’t grow on vines do they?

You lose yourself so much in your thoughts that you don’t notice the body approaching you. It’s until you're about a foot away from the dark hallway that you’re pulled from your own universe by a large hand that lands on the wall directly in front of your face.

You jump about a foot in the air, a quiet yelp leaving your lungs as you follow the line the stranger's arm makes to reach his face. And while you know deep down that attractiveness doesn’t mean someone is automatically good, you can’t deny the man that stands in front of you is beautiful and his soft but mischievous eyes makes you slightly relax.

“Believe it or not, but I didn’t really intend to scare you,” he laughs softly as he leans closer, his hand not moving an inch from its spot next to your head, “but you’re looking very beautiful tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrow at how his tone sounds weirdly familiar, and how his words somewhat suggest he’s seen you before. But you know you’ve never met nor seen this man in your life, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that.

“That’s kind of bold of you,” you say with a soft smile that tells him you don’t really mind, and the task at hand starts to slowly slip from your mind as you lose yourself in his soft eyes.

“Easy to be bold when you’re telling the truth,” he leans closer as he speaks, and as he crowds your personal space, you start to feel a fuzzy static wrap around your body, “you look like you’re headed somewhere sweetheart. Can I ask where exactly that is?”

“Oh,” you pulled slightly back into reality at the question, and you even peer around his shoulder to try to see if the entrance has returned and become visible since your journey to the back of the club, “I’m trying to find the exit.”

“Hmm,” his hand not caging you against the wall lifts to scratch gently at his chin as he lets your words roll around in his mind, “well the back is kind of a weird place to be looking for that isn’t it? Why don’t you just go out the same way you came in?”

It’s impossible to ignore the slight twang of taunting in his tone, like he knows something you don’t, but you quietly choose to brush it off. Maybe it’s just your imagination.

“Oh well,” you start before you realize you may sound a little weird if you try to tell him about the disappearing entrance, “you know just… heading that way now.”

He only smiles at you as you laugh nervously as you start to fiddle with your fingers. He’s nice, his slightly drooping eyes making him seem harmless regardless of the way he presses you into the wall, but nevertheless his charming aura and the way his cologne has started to flood your nose and fog up your brain makes you start to get delirious.

“Do you think you could spare me a few seconds before you head out?” His head tilts slightly to the side as a cute and playful pout lands on his lips, and the way he stares you down tells you he knows you won't tell him no, “if only you want to of course.”

“Yeah sure,” you breathe out as you sink back against the wall, despite the little voice in your head that is desperately trying to remind you of your friends that remain outside.

“Good,” his hand finally moves from the wall, only to move a few inches to rub his thumb softly over your cheekbone, “now what is someone so pretty doing in a place like this.”

You can’t help but grin at how cliche he is, but it weirdly fits him and makes your heart flutter, “a place like this? Seems like just a normal grimy club to me, what do you know that I don’t?”

He huffs out a breath, his head softly shaking at the question, “I couldn’t even begin to tell you.”

“Ooo, well maybe if it’s that bad maybe I should go,” you tease, lifting up from the wall slightly, only for him to move his hand down to your shoulder to push you back.

“Well it’s not that bad,” he backtracks as his hand starts to test the waters and trails down your arm until he’s holding your wrist, “not if you stick with me.”

“You a regular here?”

“Hm, yeah,” he pulls on your wrist until it rests on his shoulder, and a pleased hum fills his chest when you take the liberty to stretch out your fingers to scratch at the base of his skull, “something like that.”

“Then maybe you wanna show me around, since it’s my first time here?” You pull him closer as you talk, until his chest starts to brush against you, “maybe show me to the entrance.”

“No, no. I think I’d like to keep you right here,” you were only teasing with the suggestion, but he seems stern when he speaks. This tone and the way he dips his face into the bend of your neck when he finishes makes your breath rush out of you.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks softly, only loud enough for you to hear over the thumping music, his lips brushing the now burning skin of your neck.

“Very okay,” you reassure, and as you thread your fingers fully into the thick hair at the back of his head, the idea of getting back to your friends completely slips your mind.

He only hums again in response before his mouth opens wide to lick at the skin stretched across your jugular, his lips slowly sucking a chunk of skin into his mouth and pulling blood to the surface to form a bruise.

You flinch and your other hand moves to join the other in tugging at his roots when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Your head tilts to the side as he starts to move his lips across your jaw and his hips push between your slowly opening legs. The loud music feels like its wrapping around you and feeding you to the wall behind you as his hands now move to squeeze at the flesh that protects the sides of your ribs.

“Who are you?” your words come out stuttered, breathless, and broken, the question slipping out almost by accident as he continues his work on your neck.

“Who do you think I am?” He returns rhetorically. Having another question thrown back at you makes you flicker off for a moment, and by the time you pull yourself from your own foggy brain, he has his teeth biting into your earlobe.

You can only let out a whimper as he licks at the shell of your ear and you try to collect your suddenly scattered thoughts. It doesn’t get any easier as he starts to knead harshly at the skin and flesh underneath his fingers and your knees start to lose their strength.

“How far will you let me go?” Another question to add to your swirling mind, but he doesn’t seem any form of impatient as you collect your thoughts together to respond.

He pulls away from where he’s tucked into your shoulder, his forehead coming to rest against yours, and with the sudden eye contact, it's like he pulls you back down to earth.

You feel very suddenly awake, and it seems like the club disappears behind him, the only remaining evidence of it being the way the music and voices still thump against your eardrums. The way he looks at you is softer than you imagined, but there’s still the inkling of arousal behind his eyes that you know what he’s asking.

“Don’t stop,” you finally answer with zero hesitation, using the hold you still have on his hair as leverage to pull him to your mouth.

He grins wide against your lips, a deep and pleased chuckle leaving him before his eager tongue is pushing its way into your mouth.

With his strong fingers still pushing bruises into your skin, he presses you against the cold wall, his hips and legs pushing against you until your shaking legs step apart enough for his liking, and his body is flush against yours.

Your lips follow his as much as they can, before you notice that he’s sinking down to your neck, his knees bending slightly as he goes. His hands begin to start to move as well when he’s returned to licking and biting bruises against your throat, and its seconds before his cold fingers are brushing against the skin of your stomach.

His blunt nails scrape at the skin of your sternum and the swell of your chest as his lips slide across your skin until he’s nipping at your collarbones. It’s not until one hand slips under the thin material of your bralette with his fingers gently tugging on your nipple, does he finally land on his knees in front of you.

Having him move out of your immediate field of vision throws you off for a moment. The still breathing bodies that fill the room in front of you dance around you, but no one comes closer than a few feet from where he kneels on the dirty floor.

Being reminded that its not just the two of you makes you freeze, the feeling of the hand that doesn’t grope at your chest moving to lift your skirt goes almost completely unnoticed until you feel his mouth take over the garment's job of covering you.

Your fingers flex and tug at his hair when you feel his lips brush against the band of your underwear, and a quiet gasp escapes you when he teeth tugs on the elastic.

“You said don’t stop,” he reminds, muffled just barely loud enough for you to hear, before he lets go of your skirt and the fabric falls over his head and blocks his next moves from your eyes.

You feel his newly freed hand move steadily up your thigh, his fingers brushing against and tickling the sensitive skin as he goes. Once he brushes the hem of the garment, his index finger pushes under and brushes against your buzzing skin as he loops the digit around the crotch of your under to pull it away from your body.

With a harsh pull, he starts to tug your underwear down your legs, his mouth immediately takes advantage of the exposed surface and latches onto a patch of skin on your hip that’s still slightly dimpled from the biting elastic of your underwear.

Once your underwear is pooled around your ankles, his hand retraces its movements back up your thigh, and this time your body shivers at the now familiar feeling. You still groan when his fingers harshly wrap around your thigh, his palm flexing as well as he tugs your leg up and over his shoulder.

His hand shifts until his grip holds you tightly against his face, and his other hand slips down from your chest to press slightly against your stomach. Even though you’re aware enough to know what’s about to happen between the two of you, that does nothing to stop the quick yelping noise that jumps from your chest when his tongue swipes warm and flat against your skin, the tip of the muscle curling at the last moment to flick against your clit and make your hips jump into his grinning face.

He doesn’t leave you a second to adjust to the feeling of his tongue licking into you before he’s going back in. This time when he returns to your skin, his tongue dips shallowly into you, greedily licking up the arousal that spills from your body as he tries to spread the taste of your over every last one of his taste buds.

Your knees tremble and you slip a few inches lower against the wall as your head tilts back. Your heart thumps harshly at the small amount of panic that fills you at the idea of falling into the floor, but the pleasure he pushes into you and your mind scrambling to remember the hold he has on you relaxes you.

He finally moves his tongue away from where you flutter around nothing, his pace slow and maddening as you let your body go lax in his hands and use the study support of his shoulder.

Your eyes shut tightly and your muscles flex for a moment when his lips take hold of your neglected clit, the quick intake of air you pull into your lungs, immediately escapes again in a soft moan.

He uses the way you rest against his shoulder and the wall as a reassurance as he moves his hand away from your thigh to replace the open space his tongue left with his fingers.

You feel two of his long digits press into you slowly, the sudden intrusion making you dizzy and a happy noise that resembles a purr rolls from your chest.

The man kneeled between your thighs finally responds to the small noises you make for him with his own, a proud and content hum crawls out of his lips and against your skin as his tongue repeatedly laps at your clit.

He’s eager, almost like he’s been waiting to show you what his mouth can do his whole life, and as your leg curls around his back and pulls him closer to your lower half, his fingers begin to steadily pump in and out of you.

He takes the moment that his tongue and lips wrap fully around your clit to suck harshly at the bundle of nerves, to curl the tips of his finger to press into the spot that makes stars burst from under your eyelids.

You scramble to find a way to warn him of the knot that forms directly under the hand that pushes against your lower belly, the lack of knowledge you have of his name almost making you want to huff in frustration. But when he starts to massage quick come hither motions against the spot that has you in spirals, you’re gone before you can conjure any cohesive thought.

Your hips stutter against his relentless mouth as you come with a desperate whine. One of your hands leaves his hair as it flies to push against the wall next to your head, your nails digging harshly into the painted brick as he doesn’t let up on licking your through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You’re once again thankful of the tight hold he has on you as you twitch in his hands, his wandering fingers moving back to gripping your hip so his tongue can replace them to devour you.

He moves so quickly to stand when he’s finished licking you clean that you swear you almost get whiplash, and you only get more flustered by his motions when he uses his grip on your sides to spin you around and push your chest into the wall.

“Do you know how pretty you are,” his soft cooing throws you for a loop, but only helps in the neediness you feel for him regardless of your still retreating orgasm. His lips return to press softly to the bone of your jaw and one of his hands slips back in between your thighs to roll the tip of his middle finger softly against your sensitive clit while the other moves away from your skin. The way the fabric of his pants brush against you when he unbuttons them tells you he uses the missing hand to pull himself from his underwear.

You’re proven right, when you feel the end of him nudge the back of your thigh, the precome that drips from his tip smears against your skin and makes you squirm.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts as he moves himself towards the inside of your thigh, until he pushes himself against your wetness, “how long I’ve waited for you?”

“Hmm?” You hum in confusion at his question, but when he begins to push inside you, you quickly chalk it up to him being in the moment and press your cheek against the wall.

You melt into the hard brick as he sinks into you, every inch of him stretching you and pushing against every nerve that makes hums of contentment warm your chest. He moves slowly and with his fingers still playing with you, you feel yourself get dizzy as your eyes flutter and roll.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he leans into you, his heated chest straightening out your spine that was curving in pleasure. His now freed hand reaches around, his fingers spreading far against your burning chest, and you feel yourself start to float away from your body when he rolls his hips at the same moment his hand wraps around your throat.

“So good for me aren’t you?” He asks quietly in your ear as he begins to move, his lips brushing your ear easily from the way you tilt your head back to lay on his shoulder. You can only gasp and whimper in response as his thumb harshly digs into your skin below the curved bone of your jaw, but the way your jaw hangs open lets him hear every noise without problem.

A deep groan rattles his chest against your back as he picks up his pace, how deep he pushes inside you with each thrust and the pressure he puts on the blood flow going to your head makes your vision fuzzy.

You can feel your body twitching, but there’s nothing you can do to relax the tensing of your muscles. Your hands start to flail slightly from the pleasure shooting up your spine, one desperately slipping up and down the wall as you try to keep balance, and the other finally finding comfort in holding onto the wrist of the hand that chokes you. You get just a moment of clarity to notice, and feel bad for the way your nails claw into his skin, but the guilt is quickly washed away by the twisting in your belly.

He shows little interest in easing up on you, even when he notices how you start to crumble against him. Almost no interest at all, when he celebrates hitting the spot inside you that finally pushes a loud moan from your lips by relentlessly quickening the pace of his fingers that moves across your clit.

Jumbled moans and slurred words squeeze through your gritting teeth, not even taking the time to be molded into full thoughts in your brain before they pour out. You say a silent thanks when you feel his hand tracing up your neck towards your mouth, assuming he’s going to cover your mouth, as you can only feel yourself start to truly lose the control you have over your volume.

You’re teetering on an edge, the promise of another orgasm dancing on the back of your tongue, and your hips form a mind of their own as they begin to jump and tilt back towards him in desperation. You can’t imagine anything pushing you any closer than what he’s already doing, until you feel his thumb start to push against your lower lip.

It’s almost as if he has you on puppet string with how quickly you move to bring the digit between your lips, your cheeks pulling in and hollowing as you start to gently suck on the intrusion. The pride you feel when he swears darkly in your ear at your action is indescribable, the idea of you causing this man to lose himself the way he is, even with yourself being in more of a submissive position, makes you grin around his thumb as it digs into the center of your tongue. And the feeling of your drool slowly dripping out of your mouth to slide down his wrist makes you feel like you’ve made some kind of claim on him.

Your arousal, and the beginning sparks of your orgasm, fogs your brain. Enough that it takes a moment for you to notice the small bites of pain that shoots across the skin of your tongue that presses against a thick ring he wears below the bend of his thumb.

You want to whimper out, maybe nip at oddly strong digit to ask him to lighten up, but you shamefully admit that the burn and the coppery taste that begins to flood your tastebuds makes you shiver and flutter around his length as it pushes you both closer and closer.

Once your blood is spilling out enough that it begins to slip down your throat, is when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, his hand moves to grip your jaw tightly. You feel your saliva that’s been tainted with your blood spill quickly down your chin and neck as he turns you to face him, and the delirious and rapid look in his eyes when they meet yours tells you he loves the mess he’s made of you.

“Come for me,” it’s said sternly. Demanding in the way that tells you there’s no room for arguments, or pleas to slow down, but you greet the command with pleasure. You’re also just as glad to accept his open mouth as it presses against yours.

Nothing about him slows down. His hips, fingers and lips devour you like he’s been starved for centuries, and you start to feel that maybe you’ve been waiting just as long.

You squeak and groan when he sucks your wounded tongue into his mouth, and when it hits you that he’s pulling and swallowing the blood that pours out of it, is when you're pushed over the edge.

You’re more than thankful for the way he presses against you, as you’re sure without it you would have crumbled in place. Your knees feel useless and you whine into his open mouth the best you can with your tongue trapped between his lips, and you feel your body curl back against him as he holds you close. The way you tremble only comparable to a body trapped and lost in a blinding cold, and your stomach flexes in pleasure.

You want your body to mesh into his as you come in his hold, his arms strong and pulled tightly against your bones as his hips stutter against you. And it’s only a moment of watching you melt into him before he’s following close behind.

The way the evidence of his orgasm spills into you is what finally pulls him away from your lips as he almost growls with his forehead pressed against your temple. His body taking control of his impulse as his brain is taken over with the way you’re wrapped around him, and almost like a reflex, his hand pulls away from your clit to swat harshly at the inside of your thigh. But the way his teeth bite into his lower lip and he’s eyes scrunch closed, you can only offer a dopey smile in response.

Your smile falls slightly as you cringe at the feeling of him slipping from your body, but his hands moving to rub up and down your sides momentarily makes you relax.

He’s quiet and quick as he bends to drag your underwear up until they’re back to resting on your hips, and you pray they do enough to keep his come from spilling out of you.

“You need to get back to your friends,” he breaks his quiet spell as he turns you to pull you into his chest, and you have a small moment of confusion at his words before it hits you what you were trying to do when you ran into him.

Your hands fly up to clench at his shirt, your curls fingers wrinkling the fabric of his shirt and the sudden puppy like look you give him makes him smile.

“I can't wait to see you again,” the sureness in his voice shakes your core a little, and you can only hope what he says is true, “I promise I won't be hard to find.”

“Can you at least tell me your name,” you say more petulantly than you intended, but you're greeted with his grinning sharp teeth as he starts to pull you away from his chest regardless.

“I’m Jaehyun,” he speaks slowly as he makes sure you’re completely steady on your feet before he starts to step away, “I promise you won’t forget. Now go, the entrance should be there just like normal.”

He nods as he finally disappears into the crowd, but you can’t help the biting voice at the back of your mind that, even though he only gave you a few short sentences, he always spoke like he knew something you didn’t.

But he was right. You took your chance with the entrance again after his confident tone, pushing through the crowd of pushy shoulders to get back to the front. The only disappointment that rests in your chest when you reach the now visible door, is you didn’t get a glance of the man amongst the crowd.

It’s almost like culture shock when you step outside. The men that lean against the wall by the door remain rooted in place, their thumbs still swiping aimlessly at their phone screens, and the shadowy outlines of your friends still stand on the other side of the street.

Even with a looseness to your muscles from what happened in the club, you still feel foolish as you sprint to where they stand, and the looks of surprise they wear makes an apologetic smile stitch onto your face.

“So how was it?” The more gentle of the two asks, a concerned glint in her eyes making you feel even more guilt on what you let distract you.

“It was pretty cool,” you hesitate telling them what had happened, you’re not sure why as you knew they would never judge you for the hookup but you can't conjure the words, “I’m sorry I was in there for so long though.”

“So long?” Your more fiery friend takes her turn to speak now, but your face only screws up in confusion at her questioning words, “dude you were only in there for like five minutes top. Were you even able to get to the bar to get a drink in that time?”

You can't collect your thoughts enough to force words, instead you fumble over syllables and rumbling noises of misunderstanding what she’s saying. You’re almost ready to ask her how something that felt like years to you only felt like five minutes to her when she interrupts again.

“Whatever. It could have been five seconds and I still would be bored so lets fucking go,” she turns to walk away, her hand reaching back and lacing her fingers through your own being the only thing that pulls you along behind them as the feeling of Jaehyun’s finger prints weighs you down, and tugs at the cord that connects you to the club behind you.

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter one | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | It’s my birthday, so to celebrate I’m sharing chapter one of my new WIP. This started its life as a one-shot but then my enneagram 4 brain took over and now it’s looking like it’ll be a multi-chapter short. Enjoy!

Also, feedback – comments, likes, etc. – is always appreciated, my loves.

AO3 link | 1300 miles playlist

_____

The sun is just starting to sink in the sky as Sam and Bucky finish the latest repairs on the boat. Sam has spent the last hour pestering Bucky about things he’s missed over the last 80 years — things he needs to do, shows and movies he needs to watch, music to listen to, places to go. Bucky is considering the consequences of putting his vibranium fist through the new Captain America’s face.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to New Orleans?” Sam half-shouts at Bucky in amusement.

“Sam, besides the airport, when would I have been to New Orleans?” Bucky sighs.

“We’re going. Tonight.” He stands up. “But none of that Bourbon Street bullshit. I know a place,” he says.

_____

The bar is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a table near the small stage where a band is setting up.

“I’ll get drinks,” Sam says, heading to the bar.

“Sam said he knows the owners?” Bucky asks Sarah.

“Jo and Danny. Yeah,” Sarah says. “Danny served with Sam on his last tour. Real young kid when he served. Took some shrapnel to the chest and face in an RPG explosion and got out early. He and Sam kept in touch.”

Bucky watches Sam talk to a man with a mop of curly, brown hair and an auburn beard behind the bar. From where he sits, Bucky can see a jagged scar peeking out from the top of the man’s beard over his cheek, stopping just below his right eye.

Sam returns with three beers. "Danny says hi," he tells Sarah. "Says he'll come over when he has a free minute."

"Jo around?" Sarah asks.

Sam nods toward the stage. "She's playing tonight. Danny says she's in the office rewriting the set list."

Bucky sips his beer and looks around. When they entered, there was a wave of enthusiasm as people recognized Sam as Captain America, but it seems to have died down and now no one is paying them much attention. Bucky prefers it that way, though he’s happy that people are excited for Sam.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam says, smiling and nodding toward a woman emerging from a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting white tank tucked into light-wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of black combat boots. Her wavy, dark hair fans out behind her as she rushes towards the stage. She's clutching a piece of paper in one hand, and the smile on her face makes Bucky's heart stutter for a moment.

Sam catches the way Bucky is watching Jo as she jumps onto the stage. He elbows Sarah and nods at the lovestruck look on Bucky's face, and they share a smirk. Bucky doesn't notice the exchange. He's too busy studying Jo. Her arms are covered in tattoos, from shoulders to fingers. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, Bucky can see the row of piercings adorning the curve of her ear. There's a gold ring between her nostrils. Bucky's seen some of the kids in Brooklyn with that piercing, but he doesn't know what it's called. He's seen plenty of women like her since moving back to New York — with tattoos and piercings and dark hair — but there's something about the combination with her green eyes and soft smile that makes his mouth go dry and his palm sweat.

He takes another sip of his beer to ground himself.

Jo picks up an acoustic-electric guitar from its stand, swings the strap over her shoulder, and plugs the guitar into a small amp at her feet. She raises her right hand in the air and sets a count with her fingers — one, two, three, four. The band starts, and Jo strums the guitar, smiling at the crowd. When she steps up to the microphone and opens her mouth, Bucky is surprised at how sweet her voice sounds. He was expecting it to be rougher, but it's gentle and warm, and he likes the way her mouth looks as it forms the words to the song.

Next to him, Sam taps his foot along to the music. Bucky can't remember the last time he saw a band play live. God, he thinks, it was before the war, before everything. He takes another sip of his beer before Sarah hands him a fresh bottle. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left the table and gone to the bar. He smiles and nods his thanks.

Sarah leans over and whispers to Bucky just loud enough for Sam to hear, as well, "You should ask her out after the show."

Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. As he told Yori once, there's a dance to these things, and he's eighty years out of practice. Plus, his last date didn't exactly go as planned.

But he can't stop staring at Jo's painted black nails and tattooed fingers as they move across the guitar strings. LOVE is written across the top knuckles of her right hand, HATE on the left. A series of lines and dots decorate her lower knuckles. There’s a snake curling around her left wrist, its inked head resting on her hand, and several large peonies cover the back of her right hand and up her forearm. Bucky wonders what her tattooed hands would look like wrapped around his cock. He also wonders where else on her body she has tattoos and what that voice would sound like when he's between her thighs. Fuck.

The band transitions into another song, and Jo's eyes land on Bucky. She's used to people staring at her, especially when she's on stage, but she's caught by the way his eyes never leave her, never wander to look at the band's female bassist or to Sarah sitting next to him. She's certain his stare could burn a hole right through her, and she wouldn't even complain. He’s fucking gorgeous.

She knows who he is, of course. She’s seen the recent footage of him with Sam in New York and read the Times article detailing his move from assassin to almost Avenger. Plus, her twin brother, Danny, was a bit of a history nerd as a kid so she’s definitely seen a Captain America documentary that mentioned the Howling Commandos. And they may or may not have hidden a fugitive Captain America and Falcon following the Accords.

Jo tears her eyes away from the super soldier and focuses on the rest of the audience. She can see Danny behind the bar, flirting with the man he's been trying to sleep with for the past two weeks. She catches his eye and smiles her encouragement between lyrics. Get his number! she tries to say with her eyes. Danny's usually pretty good at reading her mind. She doesn't know if it's a brother thing or a twin thing or just a Danny thing, but when he holds up his phone in surrender and smiles back at her, she knows he got the message.

The first half of their set ends with a crash of drums and a long guitar riff. Jo takes a swig from the mason jar full of water she keeps on stage. Her eyes meet Bucky's again as she swallows, and he licks his bottom lip. Heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what else that tongue could do.

Willow, the band's bassist, steps over and whispers in Jo's ear, “If you don’t fuck him after the show, I’m going to."

When Jo looks at her, she can see the amusement dancing in Willow's eyes. She rolls her own eyes and avoids looking directly at Bucky for the rest of the set.

_____

After the last song, Jo thanks the crowd and helps the rest of the band tidy up the stage, unplugging amps and turning off the mics. She's still trying not to look at Bucky, even though she can feel his eyes on her.

"You have to stop staring, man," Sam whispers to Bucky.

"I'm not staring," Bucky grumbles.

Sarah laughs, "You're definitely staring."

“Here," Sam says, "I'll introduce you." And before Bucky can protest, Sam is waving Jo over. "Josephine," Sam says, hugging her.

"Samuel," she returns, smiling. "Congrats on the new gig." She punches his shoulder lightly. "Better you than that John Walker douchebag," she says. Bucky snorts, and she catches his eye and smirks before turning to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah." They exchange pleasantries while Bucky tries to get his tongue to turn back from lead.

Sam points at Bucky, "This is—"

Bucky stands. "Bucky. Barnes."

Jo smiles and shakes his gloved hand. "Jo. Landry," she says, matching his cadence.

Sam was right. Bucky can't stop staring at her. This close, he can see there's a bit of gold in the green of her eyes and a slight gap between her two front teeth. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and just a little bit like pot.

Jo returns his stare. His five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide the dimple in his chin, and she briefly imagines pressing her lips against it. She’s trying to name the exact shade of blue of his eyes when Sam clears his throat.

She’s not usually so easily flustered by attractive people, but Bucky's blue eyes and chiseled jaw have done a number on her self-control. “Let me grab a drink,” Jo says, turning quickly.

“No need,” Danny says, appearing in front of her and handing her a glass. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “He’s cute.”

“Please fuck off,” Jo hisses in return, widening her eyes at him. She’s only half-serious, and Danny knows it. It’s a twin thing.

When she looks at Bucky again, he’s smirking, and she wonders if enhanced hearing is a super soldier trait. Bucky pulls out the fourth chair at the small table for her to sit, and Jo can't remember the last time someone did that for her.

"The show was great," Sarah says, grabbing Jo's attention.

"Thanks," Jo replies. "Took a while to get back to it after…” she snaps her fingers but doesn’t finish her sentence.

"You were snapped?" Bucky asks.

Jo nods. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Cheers," she says sarcastically, raising her glass in a toast. She shakes her head again and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Five years just," she holds her hands open, "gone. Danny was still here, holding all this together by himself."

She tucks one leg under the other, and her knee bumps Bucky’s beneath the table. When she moves to pull her knee away from his, he places a gloved hand on her thigh, holding her leg in place.

Bucky surprises even himself with this move. He hasn’t been this forward with a woman since an auburn-haired nurse in Italy during the war. With her, it was all hands and mouths and skin on skin because he was certain he was going to die any day. Now he supposedly has all the time in the world. He just isn’t sure what he wants to do with it.

But in this moment, he's comfortable here, in this tiny bar, with a beer in his hand and Jo's knee pressed against his. He's confident that Sam would never introduce him to someone he couldn't trust.

Bucky's flirted with Sarah, sure, but that was mostly to irritate to Sam. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of something happening between himself and Sarah and then ending badly and ruining his relationship with Sam makes his stomach hurt. Pursuing Jo seems safer in that regard. She and Sam are friends, but if — when, he thinks — he ruins things, he can just go back to New York instead of losing his only friend.

Jo asks Sarah about AJ and Cass to distract herself from the butterflies forming in her stomach at Bucky’s touch, and Sam starts a story about the boys' latest interests. Bucky is content to listen to the three of them talk, his eyes barely leaving Jo. When she flicks her gaze over to him every now and then, she doesn't seem phased by his staring, and she hasn't pulled her knee away from where it's softly touching his. After a while, Danny emerges from behind the bar and joins their table, introducing himself to Bucky with a firm handshake.

While Danny and Sam trade updates about people they know, Jo leans towards Bucky and asks, “You want another drink?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies.

Jo doesn’t say anything else, just nods her head toward the bar, stands, and offers Bucky her hand. He takes it, the leather glove of his right hand warm against her palm. He wishes he could feel her skin without the gloves between them. He doesn’t usually wear them around Sam and Sarah and everyone in Delacroix, but he wasn’t sure how the metal arm would be perceived at this bar he’s never been to. Sam told him not to worry about it, but Bucky doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Jo leads him through the sea of tables to a barstool, then moves behind the bar and grabs him a fresh bottle of the beer he's been drinking all night. "Unless you want something stronger," she says, pausing before she hands it to him.

"This is good," Bucky replies.

She pops the top and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip as he watches her maneuver around the bartender on duty to fix herself another whiskey sour before taking a seat on the barstool next to him.

"Full disclosure; because it's only fair," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I know who you are, Sergeant Barnes. Not the whole story, but bits and pieces."

Bucky pauses. He searches her eyes for the fear he's expecting but finds none. "And you're okay with that?" he asks.

Jo quirks the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile and says, “If Sam trusts you, I trust you."

“I’m not great with meeting new people, and I was telling myself the same thing about you," Bucky admits, almost sheepishly.

“You know we can never tell Sam about this, right?" Jo says, conspiratorially. "We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Never,” Bucky agrees, and knocks his beer bottle lightly against her glass in understanding.

They talk for a while, just the two of them alone at the end of the bar. Jo asks him how he likes Louisiana ("Hot, but the people are friendly"); where he's staying ("Sarah's"); when he's heading back to New York ("A week from tomorrow"); what he likes to do for fun ("Still figuring that out"); his favorite place ("Wakanda") and favorite book ("The Hobbit"); and a myriad of other questions — some of which Bucky answers easily and some that make him pause. He makes her give her own answers to each one in turn.

Jo leans close to Bucky so she can hear him over the noise of the room, and he takes the opportunity to study her features more closely. He's practically mapped all of her face when her eyes leave his for a brief second and land on Sam, Sarah, and Danny staring at them from the table across the room.

"Don't look now," she whispers, leaning even closer, "But we seem to have an audience."

Bucky makes a big show of looking over his shoulder at the group.

"I said 'don't look!'" Jo laughs and swats casually at his arm.

Bucky takes the opportunity to pin her hand with his own, holding it tightly and licking his bottom lip before smiling at her. He can see the blush paint her cheeks and creep down her neck and chest.

He likes Jo, likes how easy it feels to be around her. He isn't used to that. He isn't used to feeling comfortable with people. Hell, he thinks, I barely feel comfortable with myself. But there's something about Jo that makes him feel safe and calm. Of course, there's attraction there — plenty of it — but he's sure it's more than that.

For her part, Jo is enamored with Bucky. She likes his hard edges and his snark, but she also likes the small glimpses he's given her of the man beneath all of that. She doesn't usually fall for people so easily, but she's found herself drowning in the sea of blues that make up Bucky's eyes, and she doesn't want to be rescued. How fucking cliche, she tells herself.

"We should probably go back over there," Bucky says, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.

They both stand and make their way back to the table. Bucky pulls Jo's chair out for her again, but this time, he makes sure to pull it a little closer to his chair in the process. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who smirks at him. Bucky returns the smirk with a thin-lipped smile of his own before scooting even closer to Jo.

Jo finds it hard to focus on the conversation in front of her with Bucky's warm body so close to her own, and she realizes she misses the pleasant feeling of his gloved hand around hers. She places her own hand on his thigh and hopes he gets the hint.

Bucky’s fascinated by even the slightest movements of Jo's tattooed fingers, and when her hand rests on his denim-clad thigh, he thinks the sight alone might kill him. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the glove off his right hand and links his own flesh and bone fingers with hers.

Jo doesn't look at Bucky — she's trying not to draw attention to her hand in his lap — but Bucky watches the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile, and he squeezes her hand in response.

The conversation continues a bit longer before Danny leaves the table to check in with his bartender. Jo excuses herself to get another drink, and Bucky watches her pop behind the bar to fill a glass for herself.

"I need to get home, relieve the babysitter," Sarah says when she finishes her beer.

"We're heading out then," Sam says, then turns to Bucky, "You coming?"

Bucky looks toward Jo and says, "No, I'm gonna stick around. I'll get a cab back or get a hotel room in the city."

Sam smirks. "I don't think you're gonna need a hotel room, man."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Just promise me you'll use protection," Sam laughs. "We don't need any little super soldiers running around just yet."

Bucky gives him a sarcastic smile, but realizes Sam's probably right, and he definitely doesn't have any condoms in his wallet. He's not planning on sleeping with Jo tonight — he just met her, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet — but if the army taught him anything, it's to be prepared. As if reading his mind, Sam pulls out his wallet and places a condom in Bucky's palm before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back.

"Have fun, man," Sam says.

Sam and Sarah say their goodbyes to Danny and Jo on their way out, and Bucky joins Jo at the bar, sitting on the barstool next to her where they sat earlier.

"Sticking around, soldier?" she asks. She reaches for his dog tags and tugs them gently. The drinks have been strong, and she's feeling more flirtatious than she would otherwise.

"If you don't mind," Bucky replies.

Jo smiles and reaches for his hand this time. "Not at all."

"Are you gonna finish your interrogation of me?" Bucky asks, amusement apparent in his voice.

Jo laughs in return. “I thought I'd read your palm instead," she says, turning his hand over in her own.

Bucky snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. "Is this a trick you use on all the guys?"

"And girls," Jo says, meeting his eyes. Then she studies his hand carefully, running her index finger across the lines that crisscross his palm.

"Your dominant hand," she continues, "determines your future, while your non-dominant hand is tied to your past."

Bucky snorts again at the truth of it all.

"I'm not making this up!" Jo laughs. "I mean, someone did, but I'm not!" She can see the laughter shining in Bucky's eyes, so she goes on, "Your head line is deep, meaning your thinking is clear and focused, but it's also curved downward which indicates a creative spirit and an appetite for literature and fantasy." She looks up at him, "Explains the love for Tolkien."

"I'm not sure I'm buying this," Bucky says.

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're gonna give me a hard time over palm reading," Jo laughs.

"The aliens were real," Bucky deadpans.

"And in New Orleans, palm reading and psychics and crystal balls and voodoo are real," Jo says, still laughing. "But I promise not to read your palm again or read your aura or get out the tarot cards."

Bucky likes the way her slight accent makes New Orleans sound more like Nawlins. He also likes the sound of her laughter and the way her face lights up when she smiles. She's still holding his hand in her own, so he turns his palm over in hers and brings her tattooed knuckles to his lips.

_____

Meanwhile, the bar closes, and Danny and the bartender clean glasses and close up for the night.

Danny points at Jo as he comes around the bar. "I’m locking up then heading upstairs," he says.

"Thanks, love," Jo replies.

Danny walks the bartender out and locks the front door, then retraces his steps to the back of the bar. On his way past Jo, he stops and kisses her on the cheek, saying, "Be good. And set the alarm."

He turns to Bucky. "And you, Sergeant Barnes," he says, pointing at him now, "I know you're an Avenger or whatever, but if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"Bye, Danny," Jo says, rolling her eyes as he disappears through the door marked 'Employees Only.' "Don't worry about him," Jo says, turning back to Bucky.

“Older brother, right?” Bucky says. He understands; he was an older brother once.

“Twins, actually,” Jo smiles.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer. "Sarah said Danny served with Sam," he says.

"Yeah. Afghanistan. A lifetime ago," Jo says. “He only had one more mission before he could come home so he switched with someone. An RPG barely missed the helicopter he was in, and he was pretty badly injured in the explosion and the resulting crash. Almost lost an eye. He came home, got out of the Air Force, went to business school. Now we own the bar..." She pauses to take the last sip of her drink. "...and the building. Sam's really helped Danny get past everything."

"He's good at that," Bucky says.

"Another thing we can never tell him," Jo laughs.

"Agreed. So, when do I get to ask about your tattoos?" he questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks.

Bucky licks his bottom lip. "Anything."

He likes her dagger tattoo the best. It’s inked on the inside of her right forearm, nestled amongst the peonies, the hilt facing the crook of her elbow and the knife’s tip pointed toward her wrist. It’s feminine and dangerous and incredibly sexy. She blushes when he tells her how much he likes it. He doesn't tell her it reminds him of one of his favorite knives, currently tucked at the bottom of his backpack back in Sarah's living room.

"In some ways, they're my armor," she explains. "When I'm on stage, people look at the tattoos, not me, and I kind of like that. It lets me be whoever I want to up there."

Bucky understands the desire to hide better than anyone. But she knows who he is so there's really no point in hiding from her any longer. Plus, he feels like his arm is something she would understand, something she could accept — not just because of her brother's military record but because of her own unique body modifications.

He pulls his left glove off and shrugs out of his leather jacket, revealing the vibranium arm beneath his black t-shirt.

Jo takes in the black metal and gold details. "That," she says, pointing to his arm, "is lovely."

"It's lethal," Bucky warns.

She cocks her head to the side and says, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky can't stop the corner of his lip from pulling up in the slightest hint of a smile.

"Okay,” she says, placing her palms flat on the bar top. “You want another beer?" she asks.

Jo stands and turns to move behind the bar, but Bucky's vibranium hand on her arm stops her. She looks at him curiously, and he slides his arm behind her back and pulls her flush against his chest. She settles between his open thighs, her palms resting gently on top of his legs. He's staring at her so intensely she's convinced he willburn that hole right through her, but she can't bring herself to look away.

He leans in, his lips only a breath away from hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky finally asks, his flesh hand moving up to cup her cheek.

"Please," Jo whispers, desperately.

Bucky closes the distance between them, and his lips meet hers. He's hesitant at first, but when he feels Jo respond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing even closer, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens them for him. She tastes like bourbon and lemon from the whiskey sours she's been drinking, and Bucky loves it. His tongue sweeps along the roof of her mouth, and Jo moans. Bucky is determined to hear that sound again.

He kisses across the corner of her mouth and over her jaw. The hand that was cupping her cheek moves to her hair to angle her head backwards and give him better access to the bare skin of her neck. He laves his tongue over the corded muscles there, then nips at the skin with his teeth. She moans again, and Bucky is on fire.

Jo's right hand weaves into his short hair and tugs until his mouth comes away from her neck. He catches his breath while Jo nuzzles his nose with her own and places a soft kiss against the Cupid's bow of his upper lip. His eyes meet hers, and her pupils are blown wide with lust.

The need to kiss her again is overwhelming. Bucky’s lips find hers, and Jo somehow leans even closer into his body, her hands tracing down his chest to his waist. Bucky lets his own hands move to Jo’s ribs, resting just beneath her chest, his thumbs teasing the underside of each breast. Jo gasps when Bucky’s right thumb moves across her taut nipple.

Fuck, he thinks, I need to slow down. While he’s shared kisses with the handful of women he’s met on dating apps, he hasn’t done anything this intimate in a lifetime.

Bucky pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Jo's and stares into her green eyes.

"I should leave," he says. “I’m getting carried away. I…I want to do this right.”

And he does. Desperately. He wants to buy her flowers and take her out and learn what makes her swoon. But he also wants to map every tattoo on her body with his fingers and tongue and then fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Jo laughs breathily. “We don’t have to do anything, but it’s almost three o'clock in the morning and your ride already left. You can sleep on my couch if you want to be a gentleman.”

Bucky groans. “I should be a gentleman."

She kisses him again, lightly, then moves away to set the alarm and turn the rest of the lights out. She leads him through the 'Employees Only' door and up a set of stairs to her apartment.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Jo asks, as she unlocks the door.

"No," Bucky says. As far as he knows, he's not allergic to anything thanks to the knock-off serum, but he doesn't say that.

Inside her apartment, Jo kicks off her combat boots at the door, and Bucky does the same, leaving them both in their socked feet. There's a fluffy black cat sitting on the back of the green velvet sofa.

"That's Toulouse," Jo says. "Or Louie. He doesn't answer to either, so it really doesn't matter what I call him."

The cat regards Bucky with indifference before standing up, stretching, and leaving the room.

"Guest bathroom’s just there,” she nods. “Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the couch," Jo continues. "Unless you've changed your mind about being a gentleman." She smirks at him.

Bucky laughs through his nose. “Don’t tempt me.”

Jo leaves the room for a moment, which gives Bucky a chance to look around. He's standing in her living room; one wall features a set of French doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the street, and the opposite wall holds bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling with books, framed photographs, and various knick-knacks. From where he stands, he can see a small room with an upright piano and guitars hanging on the walls. The exterior walls of Jo's apartment are brick, and everything else is set in jewel tones. He likes it. It's dark and cozy, and from what he knows of Jo so far, her living space matches her well.

When she returns, Jo is holding a stack of blankets and pillows. She sets them on the ottoman and moves across the room to close the curtains.

"There are some sweats and a t-shirt there that should fit you" she says, turning to Bucky.

"Thanks," Bucky says, smiling softly.

Now that they're here, in her apartment, Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do or say. He can still feel the heat of Jo's lips on his, and he's painfully aware that the condom Sam gave him is still in his pocket.

Jo must sense the hesitation rolling off him because she crosses the room to stand in front of him and takes his hands in hers.

"Get some sleep, Sarge," she says, squeezing his hands in tandem before dropping them.

"Goodnight, Jo," Bucky returns.

_____

Bucky lays on Jo's couch in the dark beneath blankets that smell like laundry detergent. He wishes they smelled like her. He unlocks his phone and looks up the distance between New Orleans and Brooklyn. Just over thirteen hundred miles. He sighs and drops his phone onto the coffee table before closing his eyes and reliving each kiss as he falls asleep.

On the other side of the wall, Jo falls across her bed, deflated. She likes this guy. She wants him — painfully so. But leave it to her to fall for the one guy in her bar who lives half-way across the country.

_____

next chapter

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch6: That Makes Two Of Us

Summary: Things heat up between Katie and Steve as their relationship progresses, but when Tony caches them out, he’s on the war path.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad Language, Smut (dry humping, oral- male receiving) NSFW, 18+. and a VERY angry Big Brother...

A/N: One of my favourite chapters. Thank you to @angrybirdcr​ , its a pleasure to have your edits for the repostings!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 5

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

End of May 2013

“For the one hundredth time, no, Tony I am NOT coming.” Katie groaned as she pulled up outside Steve’s apartment building “I have work to do.” “But the damned meeting is in DC!” Tony protested “Surely you can manage to spare an hour! You’re part of the board!” “You know full well that’s only to make sure that Starks maintain a controlling stake!”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you don’t care about our business.” Her brother’s voice took on a petulant tone. He could be such a child at times. “Stop being a dick.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “Look, I’m busy with work, I can’t just drop everything you know just because you-” “Have you got a man on the go?” Tony asked suddenly, cutting her off “Because I’ve not seen you for weeks. Do I need to prep a Shovel Talk?” “Goodbye, Tony.” Katie cancelled the call before she stepped out of the car and headed to the lobby door.

In his apartment Steve was reading a proposal and groaning to himself. They wanted him to record videos to talk to high school kids about puberty, keeping fit, being in detention, not doing drugs…and he had agreed, just to shut them up mainly, but he was already regretting his decision. With a final wrinkle of his nose, he threw down the document he was looking at and was about to make himself a coffee when the buzzer to his apartment went off.

“Hey, Handsome.” Katie’s voice rang over the intercom and he smiled just as he always did when she called him that, a habit she’d slipped easily into over the last three weeks of dating, which had consisted of early morning breakfast meets on their way into work, stolen lunchtimes away from the office where they could hold hands with a slice or a burrito as they walked around the Mal, three more intimate evening meals at quiet restaurants and one trip to the cinema. That had been Steve’s favourite date so far, not just because it had been his first time in a movie theatre since the 40s, but more so that he he’d enjoyed the feel of her as she leaned into him when he’d put his arm round the back of her chair, sharing popcorn, stolen quick kisses on the lips in the dark as they sat on the back row in between their bursts of hysterical laughter at the film. They had gone to see the third and final instalment of the Hangover trilogy, which Katie had been ridiculously excited about. She loved those films and Steve had to admit he agreed they were pretty good, as all three had made him laugh in places until tears rolled down his face. Movie and TV nights in their apartments had also turned into something special too as they snuggled down together, sharing snacks and personal space along with deep kisses that left him wanting a lot more… “Hey Sweetheart, come on up.”

He waited for her by the door and felt his breath catch as she emerged onto the landing from the stairs. She was wearing a blue and white LA Dodgers T-shirt, which was tight and finished just above her hips and clung to her chest flashing a strip of her toned stomach, tight grey jeans which fit snug to her ass and black baseball boots. Steve had seen her in all sorts of clothing items- jeans, tops, dresses…but never like this.

And fuck, she looked hot.

“Hi!” She greeted him with a huge smile and a gentle kiss, standing on her toes to meet his lips, before she stepped into the apartment and headed into the living room. Spotting the file on the coffee table she picked it up.

“What’s this?” She asked, opening it.

“A proposal from Fury. I’m going to be doing some videos, for high school kids..phys-ed classes that kinda thing.” “Videos?” “Yeah, apparently they get Celebrities to do them normally but they thought they’d use me this time.” Steve shrugged. “You’re not some kind of performing monkey they can trot out when they want.” She winkled her nose in distaste as she remembered those awful USO videos as she thumbed through the file. 

Steve smiled at her indignation on his behalf. “It’s only a couple of videos.” he assured her. 

“Hmm.” she dropped the file with disdain onto the table “Anyway, enough about that. You busy?” “When it comes to spending time with you? Never.”

“Oh that was smooth, Captain Badass!” She smirked and he gave her a quick shrug and a smile.

“What you got in mind?”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat she pulled out what looked like two tickets from her back pocket and suddenly it became apparent why she was dressed as she was.

“Are we…no, you’re kidding?” Steve couldn’t help the childish grin which flickered across his face “Baseball?” *****

“Oh what?” Katie cried out, jumping to her feet as the umpire made an atrocious decision for what felt like the 100th time, turning to Steve in disgust. “Is this guy blind or just really fucking dumb?”

Steve let out a snort, leaning back in his seat with his hand gesturing to the field. “Blind, he has to be. No one can be that stupid. I mean he’s been calling bad ones all game.”

Katie angrily dropped to her chair and Steve gestured to the vendor for two more beers. He passed one to Katie who hesitated as she took it.

“I bought the car.” She said, looking at him.

“Sweetheart,” he leaned over, kissing her cheek, “ridiculously fast metabolism, remember? I can’t get drunk. I’ll drive home…”

He handed over his money, waved away the little bit of change he would have received before he turned back to his girl who was pouting at him.

“The last time you drove Rainey you didn’t respect her. You drove her through a fuck tonne of puddles.”

“Doll, it’s a…”

“Er, she.” Katie looked at him. “She is not an it…”

Steve rolled his eyes. She was ridiculously attached to her Range Rover. He had to admit, as far as cars went it was pretty damned nice both to be driven in and to drive. White with black wheels and windows, and every gadget in it known to man. Mind you, he expected nothing else from the Starks.

“Ok, she is a damned four by four…” He raised an eyebrow for her. “They’re supposed to go off roading, so what’s a few puddles?”

“Off roading?” Katie spluttered, her eyes wide. “No! You’re so not driving her ever again.”

“Fine I’ll drink both of these then.” He shrugged, moving to take the beer he’d handed her back, and she moved it out of his reach, glaring at him. The desire to drink and have fun won out over protecting her car from a haphazard Captain who was on the sly a bit of a speed demon and probably never actually completed any kind of driving lesson in his life, let alone a test. She dug into her pocket and handed over her keys.

“One scratch and you’re a dead man.” She narrowed her eyes playfully.

“I’ll take good care of her.” He said solemnly, putting the keys into his pocket.

As the game progressed, despite his protestations that the LA Dodgers just weren’t his team, he found himself rooting for them and he was getting more and more frustrated at the current batters method. The guy was swinging it around with more force than Thor wielded his hammer and it wasn’t working. But just as Steve was about to let out another cry of frustration, the bat suddenly connected with the ball, and it was a good hit. Both Steve and Katie got to their feet shouting for the players to speed up and go for home. When they made it the pair both let out a loud cheer, and Steve hugged Katie, grinning wildly. At that moment, stood there, surrounded by strangers but with the girl who made him feel so grounded, he had never felt so normal since coming out of the ice, and he loved it. 

The rest of the innings passed far too fast, but at the end of the game, the Dodgers won, much to Katie’s delight. They joined the throng of people streaming out of the stadium hand in hand and Steve, still grinning like an idiot felt Katie tug on his hand.

“Shall we head for a drink?” She asked as he looked at her.

He nodded, tilting the peak of her cap back slightly and giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Sounds great.” And it was a great idea. Until they parked up, walked into the sports bar and spotted half of STRIKE in there round a table.

“Turn around.” Katie hissed with a groan and, just as they were about to do so, Rumlow yelled from the bar.

“Hey Cap, Nova…”

“Too late.” Steve muttered as Katie rolled her eyes and turned round.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Rumlow smiled and Katie shrugged.

“Yeah, small world, huh?”

“You want a beer, Cap?” Rumlow gestured to the bar and Steve nodded.

“Sure, thanks.”

“Stark, what do you…woah, what is this shit?” Rumlow pointed at her shirt and it didn’t escape Steve’s notice that the man’s gaze was lingering far too long on her boobs. He took a deep inhale, his fists clenching in his pockets as Katie let out a scoff.  

“This shit just kicked the Nationals asses!” she responded, jabbing Rumlow in his chest.

“Whatever man!” Rumlow shook his head. “Fucking Dodgers…” They didn’t have much option then but to join the rest of the team. Rumlow took the opportunity to eyeball Katie at every given opportunity and it was really starting to piss Steve off. At one time Katie looked up and caught Steve simply glaring at Rumlow, and in an attempt to keep him calm she gently squeezed his knee under the table. Steve was glad when it was his round, giving him an excuse to leave the table, Evans following to give him a hand.

“Enjoy your date?” Thee ginger haired man looked at Steve with a smirk.

“What?” Steve replied, a little too quickly. “I saw you and Stark kissing.” Evans popped a shoulder. “Outside the stadium. Don’t worry, no one else did.” Steve let out a sigh. It wasn’t like they were doing anything wrong, but he knew that Tony didn’t know yet and the pair of them were simply enjoying the early stages of a new relationship on their own before the inevitable tornado of interest hit once they did go public. Glancing at Katie who was talking to Rollins and Rumlow at their table, he turned back to Evans and dropped his voice slightly.

“We’re not deliberately keeping it from everyone, it’s just early days, don’t want everyone sticking their noses in, get what I’m sayin’?” “Secret’s safe with me.” Evans nodded. “Although I suspect it won’t be a secret for much longer if Rumlow keeps eye fucking your girl.”

Steve let out a snort as he took his change from the bar tender. “He’s a pain in the ass.” “Yeah well do me a favour, Cap.” Evans chuckled, picking up three of the glasses “When you do eventually snap and beat on him, make sure I’m there. Been waiting for someone to smack the shit outta him for years.”

****

Later that evening the coffee table at Katie’s apartment sported a number of empty plates, which had previously contained several frozen pizzas, and a good quantity of empty beer bottles. Katie was happily snuggled under Steve’s arm, curled against him and he was enjoying the closeness and comfortable silence that had fallen over them as they watched another ‘Game of Thrones’ episode. Katie had gotten him hooked on the fantasy programme and promised not to watch any of the latest season until he had caught up on the last two. As the episode finished he felt her stir and he didn’t want her to move, thankfully she didn’t too far, simply shifting her head slightly.

“So I never asked if you enjoyed yourself” She asked, looking up at him.

“Doll, it was amazing. Thank you.” “We should go more often” She mused “I haven’t seen a game live in years but I really enjoyed it.”

“You know what I didn’t enjoy?” He looked down at her, the soft light from the lamp illuminating her pretty face, highlighting the freckles spattered across her nose. “Sitting in that bar with Rumlow watching him looking at you.”

“Aww were you jealous?” She teased, sitting up.

“Not at all.” He shook his head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he recalled what Evans had said at the bar “Just don’t appreciate him eye fucking my girl.”

She let out a large snort before she looked at him, as her brain registered what he had just said.

“Your girl?” Her tone was teasing but the look in her eyes told him she was anything but, in fact she looked almost nervous. “Is that what I am?”

Steve hesitated, realising that he’d never actually asked her that question before. Was three weeks too soon? He had no idea. To him it wasn’t, he’d been waiting to be able to call her his for months now, but was he outside of modern day dating etiquette?

He looked at her and took a deep breath, before he swallowed and spoke quietly, the nerves making his stomach flip slightly. “Well I’m kinda hoping you wannabe. I mean, if it’s not too soon.”

“It’s not too soon, it’s not too soon at all.” She whispered as she looked back at him, her features soft, eyes alive in the dim light of the lamp. “Stevie, I already am.”

And that was it, his lips crashed onto hers and he was kissing her like he’d been wanting to kiss her all day, his arm curling tighter round her, pulling her close. Katie took the initiative, every inch of her body was on fire for him, and she wrapped her arms round his neck and pulled him down as she fell slowly backwards, sinking into the couch. The movement came as a not-entirely unwelcome surprise to Steve and he didn’t resist. Automatically his hands crept to her hips, settling just under the hem of her top as she placed both hands on his face, the pads of her finger tips cupping his jaw. She broke away this time to breathe, head laying back on the arm of the couch and he dropped his head, pausing his lips inches from her neck.

“Can I kiss you here?” He whispered softly. .

“God, yes.” Katie sighed and he obliged, pressing his mouth to her neck. He gripped her hips again and they gave a little jerk of their own accord, pushing up against him and they she let out a soft moan at the feeling of his crotch bumping against hers. At the noise Steve pulled back to stare at her again, almost as if he was needing her permission to carry on. Katie wordlessly answered by tilting her hips up again, causing him to give a little grunt as she did so, before he took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Doll, I don’t want to rush you or do anything-”

“It’s okay Steve,” Her voice was low and slightly breathy as she looked at him, her eyes, locking onto his. She wanted this, more than she’d wanted anything before. She pushed her head upwards, lips pressing back to his and her hands slid under his t- shirt. His muscles twitched at her touch as the sensation of her gently dragging her nails across his stomach sent a spike of desire, like a red hot poker through his entire body. At that point, something snapped inside him and he let out a growl and Katie paused, hands still on his stomach.

“Did you just growl at me?” Her eyes flashed, dark, a smirk on her face. She was enjoying the effect she had on him, and right now so was he.

“Yeah.” he nodded, simply.

Her smirk grew wider as she grasped the bottom of his T-shirt. He held his arms up so she pull it over his head, and once he was free, he glanced down to see Katie looking at his chest.

She’d never seen him topless before and she was momentarily stunned. She let her hands wander, tracing the lines of the flowing muscles and Steve let out another groan wanting to feel her skin against his. He interrupted her hands exploration by gripping her top and looked back at her, ever questioning. As means of an answer she moved her arms and sat up slightly to allow him to yank it up and off, her hair falling around her shoulders, his lips catching hers as he gently slipped one strap of her bra down at a time placing a soft kiss on each of her shoulders. Her breasts spilled over the tops of the lace lined cups and his groin twitched, the crotch of his jeans now painfully tight.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered gently, and then he kissed her again. Her fingers gently took his hands and she guided them onto her, sliding them up her rib cage to her chest and he obliged, boy did he oblige. Gently at first, softly squeezing and kneading the soft flesh and white lace, before his hand slid into the cups, teasing her taught nipples with his thumbs, acting completely on instinct, listening and watching her as she groaned gently, arching her back, her reaction telling him he was doing something right as all the time his groin bumped against hers.

Katie could feel the fabric of her underwear sliding in her jeans with every thrust of his hips against hers, that’s how wet she was. Steve was rocking hard against her and she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling sharply, forcing his head back, almost violently. As she tugged he let out another low growl and when she let go he stared down at her to see her smirking as she watched him, his pupils blown so wide there was hardly any blue left.

The rhythm of his hips was growing more frantic and their kisses were growing more desperate. “More,” she moaned into his mouth, and he gave her what she wanted, moving his hips even faster, rubbing against her in ways that had her clutching at his back like her life depended on it. Steve had never felt anything like this in his life. It was so good, so right, in a way nothing had ever felt so right before. This was a first for him, rutting up against someone fully clothed. Making out, Bucky had called it, but none of Steve’s bedroom experiences had ever entailed anything like this, and God, his head was a whirl of lust, desire, and he didn’t give a fuck about anything else at that moment other than her as she lay underneath him.

He started to lose his rhythm and he let out another groan as the tell-tale tightening across his lower stomach warned him he was fast approaching his release. This was too soon, he needed to get her there first. Clenching his teeth he desperately fought back the high as he pushed his hips down hard, making her gasp and claw at his back.

“Sweetheart, I’m close.” He breathed. “You almost there? Tell me your close baby, please?”

He needn’t have worried, at his words it was all she could do to moan brokenly and nod and his mouth fell to that spot on her neck which seemed to drive her wild. She tipped her head back as he gently nipped beneath her ear with his teeth and a few more thrusts of his hips against hers and she was done, fingers wrapped around his hair as the lights exploded in front her eyes and she felt the coil in her stomach unravelling as she came hard underneath him, hips bucking upwards, almost violently. Her voice was broken as she gasped out “Stevie…”and it was the single most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life. Her name for him, the name that no-one in this day and age called him other than her, tumbled from her lips and seeing and feeling her fall apart in his arms sent him over the edge right behind her in a pure surge of ecstasy. He fell forward, his arms shaking as he fought to keep his body up, not wanting to crush her under his weight. His head dropped forward, as he lowered himself ever so gently onto his elbows, his face pressing into the crook of her shoulder and she gently ran her fingers through his hair as they both breathed deeply as they waited to regain control of their bodies. Eventually both of them evened out and he raised his head to look at her, to find her smirking a little, her eyes twinkling with what looked like humour.

“What?” He managed to ask, his nose sliding against hers.

“I haven’t dry humped since I was about sixteen.” she said closing her eyes again with a smirk.

“Dry humped?” He snorted. “What-“

She laughed “Dry humping, making out, whatever. It’s been a while, Rogers.”

He felt himself chuckle again and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one of her hands running up and down his spine causing the muscles to gently twitch at her touch, neither of them in a hurry to move, but Steve’s arms were starting to hurt.

“You ok?” Katie looked at him, seeing the tension in his muscles and he nodded.

“Yeah, just, my arms.”

“Lay down.” Her hands moved to his biceps, gently trailing shapes on his skin.

“Doll, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m not made of glass, handsome. I promise you, it’ll be fine.”

Steve licked his lips and with a deep breath he lowered himself down gently, shifting and moving lower, pressing as little of himself to her as he could, despite the fact he could have happily smothered her to feel her body pressed against this. He closed his eyes and lay his head gently on her chest as she carded one hand through his hair, the other softly trailing down his neck and across his shoulders. Her touch was soothing, relaxing, loving even, and h felt himself beginning to doze off.

Katie was also growing sleepy, so she gently kissed his head and whispered a single word to him.

“Stay?”

It was a question to him, an invitation to stay with her that she was desperately hoping he’d take up.

He opened his eyes to blink lazily up at her. “Do you want me to?” he asked, his voice thick.

She nodded, “Let’s go to bed.”

He made to stand before he remembered his trouser predicament having just shot his load into them like a pubescent teenager and stilled, his cheeks flushing even more.

“I uh…I think I need to…”

“There’s some stuff of Tony’s in the spare room.” she said, looking at him cutting him off knowing exactly what the problem was because she was also in need of a clean-up “Should be a pair of sweats in there. Might be a bit short on you but…”

With another soft kiss, he pushed himself up off the couch before offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up, a little more forcefully than he had intended and she fell forwards, crashing into his chest.

“Steady on Soldier.” She grinned and he apologised, dropping a kiss to her forehead as his gaze once more dropped to her chest. With a certain glint in her eye she turned around, undid her bra and slipped it off before bending over in front of him, picking up his T-shirt from where she’d tossed it to the floor before heading over to the stairs.

Steve was hard again like it had never left.

After he had cleaned himself up and managed to calm himself down, he thrown on a pair of Tony’s sweatpants retrieved from the spare room and exited the main bathroom, heading to her room. She wasn’t asleep as he found out as he settled down in the bed next to her, and she moved to rest her head on his bare chest tangling her legs into his as his hand stroked her back, gently underneath his T’shirt, light fingers brushing her soft skin.

“This is mine…” He teased with a yawn as he tugged at the bottom of his shirt and she moved laying a soft kiss onto his lips.

“You can have it back tomorrow.” She said, laying her head back down on his chest. As her breathing grew even he felt himself start to drift off too, the warm feeling in his chest made him want to burst with happiness.

*****

When Steve woke the next morning it was peacefully. Katie had shifted positions through the night and now her back was to him pressed as close as she could get, he still had his arms around her, his face buried in her hair. She smelt so familiar and comfortable. As his sleepy brain reminded him of the previous night he smiled and felt a familiar twitch. He was hard, again, which wasn’t uncommon when waking up, but suddenly he felt her stir, and then he realised with horror that she was going to feel him poking her in the back.

It took Katie a few seconds to recall the night before, but when she felt a solid, warm wall of muscle pressed against her, a small hum of contentment rumbled in her throat as she pushed back further into him. They both lay there for a moment, silently, basking in the warmth and softness of each other before Katie turned over and looked up at him. Her face was devoid of any make up, not that she wore a lot anyway, but her freckles were more pronounced, clear skin was bright, cheeks flushed and her hair was tousled in waves around her shoulders. He reached out to tuck a long strand that had fallen over her cheek behind her ears, when she looked up at him, her eyes glinting.

He was about to wish her good morning, but before he could she kissed him, hard and fast, tongue tangling with his. And then she was straddling him, his head against the pillow, as her lips began to trail down his chest. By the time his sleep and lust addled brain had caught up with what was going on, she had reached her destination and had flipped the waist band of the sweats he was wearing down, taking his erection firmly in one hand, making him hiss slightly.

His size had taken Katie slightly by surprise, although she knew with retrospect it shouldn’t have. She looked up and locked eyes with him before she gave him one final smirk and took him in her mouth. Steve panicked for a second, this had never happened to him before, his hands flying to the bed sheets either side of his waist, but it wasn’t for long, as all worry flew out of his mind as she began to work him.

From the noises he was making Katie knew he was enjoying himself. Which was her aim. After a short while, she pulled off of him to suck at the tip and worked her hands over the rest of his length. When she glanced up at him, he had his head thrown back against the pillow, face contorted in utter pleasure. She continued to lick, suck, and when she pulled away slightly to suck at the sensitive tip, working the rest of his length with her hands he let out a loud groan and he looked at her. Her eyes locked onto his and he felt that tell-tale warmth rising in his groin and stomach.

“Katie, sweetheart, shit.” His voice was raspy from desire and the fact it was morning and Katie was beyond aroused at the sound as he babbled the first words either of them had spoken since waking. “I’m gonna-” his words caught in his mouth as she took him in hers again, this time all the way to the back of her throat. At that, he was gone, his fingers gripped her hair tight the other clutched at the bedsheets, noises escaping him that he’d never heard before as he spilled himself down her throat and slumped back completely blissed out.

Katie rolled onto her side watching, as he finally opened his eyes and looked down at her.

“Morning, Handsome.”  She grinned and he felt himself chuckle.

“Morning, Gorgeous.” he said, still fighting to control his breathing.

“You want breakfast?” She asked, leaning over to peck him on the lips. He hummed a response and she smiled once more before climbing out of bed. Steve watched her head into the bathroom and found himself thinking that as far as mornings went, he’d had worse.

She emerged a few moments later, her hair slightly less wild, and she was still in his T-shirt, which fell to midway down her toned thighs, giving him a better look at that intriguing tattoo that adorned her right which he still hadn’t seen in full properly. She flashed him a smile, fully aware he was looking her up and down, and then she left without a word, clearly with no intentions of getting dressed fully yet. Which was fine by him.

Katie turned the radio on and set about making coffee, singing softly to herself as she replaced the filter paper. She tossed in a liberal amount of Columbian Roast and was just pouring two mugs when Steve, who was now out of bed, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled at him and slid a mug of the coffee over the island where the creamer and sugar already lay waiting and he took it with a thanks.

“How hungry are you?” she asked and he arched an eyebrow over the top of the mug and she gave a laugh. “Sorry, dumbass question. Fancy pancakes and fruit?”

“Don’t got to any trouble, Doll.” He began to protest but she shook her head.

“It’s no bother, I can whip up a batter in five minutes.”

Turning away from him, she reached up into the cupboard for the flour and the T-shirt she was wearing rode up slightly giving Steve a perfect view of her ass which was clad in black lace panties. The fraying tendrils of self-control he had been holding onto snapped completely and stood up from the stool he’d been perched on, right hand still clutching his coffee. He rounded the island in three long strides and placed the mug down on the counter beside her, his hands falling to her hips and he gently spun her to face him. She giggled slightly before his lips met hers and he reached down and cupped her ass in both hands picking her up easily and setting her down on the counter.

“Something got you worked up Captain?” She teased, looking up at him. Last night had clearly unlocked something in the Soldier, and she was liking what she was seeing, and feeling.  

“Yeah, the sight of you wearing nothing but a pair of panties and my t-shirt…” He said raising an eyebrow as he reached for his mug again, taking another drink, trying to play it cool. But it wasn’t working clearly, as she simply laughed and slid both arms around his neck as she leaned in to kiss him again. His free hand slid to her thigh, tracing a path up until, just as he had reached the bottom of her panties, they were interrupted by the sound of the lift doors opening.

“Hey Kiddo, you in?” Steve and Katie exchanged a look, utter horror spreading from Steve’s head to his toes as Tony’s voice hit his ears.

“Kiddo?” he shouted again. “I can smell coffee, you in the kitchen?”

“Shit…” Katie said as she gently pushed Steve backwards, jumping down from the counter, adjusting the T-shirt. Steve was now a shade of crimson pretty much from his neck upwards as he desperately tried to rearrange his pants to hide his once more ebbing arousal. She debated telling Steve to hide in the bedroom but there was no way he’d get across the open plan living space to the stairs without Tony seeing him.

They were well and truly caught.

As she clocked the utter horror on Steve’s face she was suddenly overcome with giggles at how ridiculous the entire situation was. A super soldier and a SHIELD agent, both of them having faught aliens, deadly terrorists and weapons traders, were stood in her kitchen panicking about being busted fooling around by her brother.

“So, the damned board meeting was cancelled which would have been fine had I not already been on the jet over, so I thought seeing as I now in town with nothing to do we could hang for the day or if you’re too busy at least have breakfast…” Tony’s voice was getting louder as he walked through the apartment.

Steve looked at her in utter astonishment as she began to laugh now because frankly he couldn’t think of a single thing that was funny about this situation if he tried. Her laughter didn’t stop even as her brother walked into the kitchen, his brown eyes flashing from his sister to Steve and their various state of undress, a look of utter horror on his face as he processed the implications.

“Oh you have gottta be fucking kidding me…” Tony muttered, dropping the box he was carrying onto the kitchen counter. “Please tell me there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for this…” “Explanation yes, innocent…not so much.” Katie said through her laughter and Steve let out a groan. This was not how he wanted Tony to find out.  “Don’t you know how to buzz Dickwad, before just walking into my apartment?”

“I have a key…” “For emergencies…” she shot back. “Stop changing the subject.” Tony demanded his eyes flashing dangerously and Katie folded her arms and tilted her chin up defiantly.

“Look, this isn’t a big deal, Tony…”

“No, this…this is a very big deal…” he snapped back as he looked from her to Steve, every line on his face was contorted with anger and shock.

Steve took a deep breath and placed his mug down on the side. “Tony…” he began trying to placate the billionaire but he was cut off.

“What, you gonna tell me this aint what it looks like?” he shook his head. “That Captain America isn’t banging my little sister? I might be like nearly 60 years younger than you old man but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Steve took a breath, his nostrils flaring at Tony’s snipe.

“Tony, I’m 29 next week, I can do what or who I like” Katie snapped at him “And besides you’ve no room to talk, the amount of times I’ve walked in on you and whichever bimbo you decided to bring home that night…”

“That is completely different!” Tony spluttered.

“No it isn’t” she shot back, hands going to her hips.

Tony’s eyes locked onto hers, before he looked back at Steve who held his gaze evenly, before the dark haired man shook his head and looked at the super soldier.

“Can you go and put some clothes on please, frankly the amount of flesh on show is disturbing me.” “Well I would but your sister is still wearing my shirt.” Steve shot back, his temper rising. Tony gave another growl and then he stopped, open mouthed.

“Are those my sweats?” He spluttered, his voice practically a squeak.

“Yes.” Katie replied simply, and at that point she grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him out of the room and up the stairs. The initial humour she had found in the situation had ebbed away and now she was livid at her brother.

“He is…” she started, opening the various drawers to pull out a hooded top. Taking Steve’s T-shirt off, as she threw it over the bed to him. “The biggest hypocrite going…”

“To be fair I can kinda see it from his point of view…” Steve said shrugging on his T-shirt and making a point of averting his eyes as she strode over to her dresser, naked bar her panties.

She pulled on a hoody and narrowed her eyes at Steve. “Don’t defend him…”

He chuckled and crossed the room, walking round the bed. “I’m not.” he placed a peck on her lips “But I do think that I should go, let you talk to him alone…”

“Yeah, probably for the best…” she breathed out a sigh and followed him down the stairs where he retrieved his sneakers.

“Wait, do you wanna take my car or…” He gestured up and down his body, and she took in his trainers, slightly too short joggers and a T-shirt “Nah, Baby Girl, I’ll run.” She smiled at the term of endearment that he hadn’t used before then, as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll call you later.” He promised, before disappearing in the elevator.

Katie took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. Tony eyed her from where he was leaning against the counter, mug of coffee in his hand.

“Don’t start.” Katie warned him, to no avail

“Oh I’m gonna!” Tony spat, before he paused and looked around “Where is the Star Spangled Ass-hole?”

“Gone home.” Katie folded her arms.

Tony snorted “I bet he has…” “You know I don’t remember me reacting like this every time you brought a girl home, which from my recollection happened quite a lot.” Katie sniped back, as she walked to where he was stood by the coffee pot and reached round him to pour herself a fresh mug.

“That..that was different…” Tony stammered at her back as she walked to the counter for the creamer.

“How so?”

“Because, well, it’s him…” he whined “I mean, seriously? Of all the men in the world…”

“Yeah because the last one worked out so great…” Katie said sarcastically, replacing the carton down with a slightly harsh action, causing some to spill over the top.

The room fell silent bar the chink of the spoon on the edge of her pink unicorn mug as she stirred in sugar and milk. She took a sip of her drink and turned to face her brother who was hunched over the counter slightly, eyes on his mug. Eventually he straightened up and met his sister’s eyes before he spoke again, this time his voice was softer.

“How long?” he asked,

“Three weeks, give or take.”

“Three weeks, and I’m only just finding out?” “Yes, Tony.” she groaned, with the air of someone talking to a small child “And your reaction is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

To be fair, Steve was right. It wasn’t an ideal way for him to find out, but she knew the reaction from Tony wasn’t about her being caught, it was about her being caught with Steve. The two men got on okay, which hadn’t always been the case, but after the battle of New York Steve had spent a lot of time with them both at the tower. Tony was still a little reserved with Steve, more so due to the fact that Captain America was someone their dad had idolised but, whilst the two men were immensely different, there was a mutual respect between them and Katie was hoping now that that was going to be enough for Tony to be reasonable about the situation.

“Please don’t kick off about this. I care about him, a lot.” She said gently, looking at her brother, appealing to his better nature and the fact that she knew he would want her to be happy.

And sure enough, that was exactly what Tony asked as he looked at her.

“Does he make you happy?”

“More than anything.” she replied honestly. “I really like him Tony, I want this to work.”

Tony studied her face for a moment before he let out a deep sigh, looking away. “Damned it.” He groaned “I can’t believe I’m going to have to have the Shovel Conversation with Captain America.”

In the silence that followed Katie debated pointing out that Steve wouldn’t be frightened in the slightest of Tony’s various threats anyway, but who was she to rob her brother of his opportunity to try and protect her?  Instead she placed her mug on the counter and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Tony who sighed again and reciprocated the gesture.

“Suppose he is an improvement on Agent Shitweasel” he said, resting his chin on her head.

“That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.” she snorted.

*****

Steve was reading a book in his lounge when Katie messaged him later that afternoon. Apparently Tony had calmed down enough to take her for lunch at some Italian place in the Business District following which they’d had a walk round the city together before Tony had left to go back to New York. Steve was pleased, he knew that despite the fact that he drove her insane at times, she loved the bones of her brother which was why his reaction before had pissed her off. He messaged back, telling her he was glad she’d had a good time and that he would call her later before he picked his book back up, but he’d only managed another chapter or so before there was a buzz on his intercom.

“Rogers, it’s me.”

Steve sighed “Come on up.”

He wasn’t surprised Tony was on his doorstep, he’d been half expecting it. And, judging from the lack of stupid nickname, no Spangles, no Capsicle, no Old Man, he wasn’t here to exchange pleasantries. A fact that was confirmed when Stark didn’t wait for Steve to invite him in, he simply pushed past the door into his flat and stalked inside, glancing around.

“You can tell Kiddo helped you decorate and furnish this gaff, far too modern to be your doing. There’s no Dig for Victory posters or wind up radios…” Tony said, causing Steve to roll his eyes “Holy shit, is that an original Dekka?”

“Katie said you’d like that” Steve watched the inventor cross the room and run his hands across the sleekness of the record player’s casing. “But I have a feeling you didn’t come here to admire my music equipment.”

“Perceptive” Tony turned to face him, his eyes flashing. Steve took a deep breath.

“Tony, I…” “No, you don’t get to talk, you get to listen. And you better listen good.” the billionaire cut him off “Katie was heartbroken when Agent Shitweasel did the dirty on her. She came home and I held her as she cried herself to sleep for 2 goddamned weeks before she shipped out to New Mexico… ”

“Tony…”Steve began, knowing already where this conversation was going. He wanted to assure Tony that he would never do what Ward had done, ever. But Tony ignored him.

“I hated him.” Tony said “he was an absolute dickhead with her at times and she changed because of it.  And then, after New York she seemed to go back to being her old self. She was laughing, socialising…and that was down to you” Tony looked at the Super Soldier, who cocked his head slightly to the right as he listened, a small smile tugging at his lips “ She had a friend, something she hasn’t had much time for since my little sioree in an Afghan cave, my bad, and for the first time in ages I can see she’s over it, you know…” he took a deep breath and Steve waited for him to finish “But Katie puts her heart into everything, and I gotta ask Cap, is this serious for you or you just after getting your dick wet?”

“What? No, of course it’s serious for me Tony…” Steve said, his temper flaring slightly at his crass tone. “I can’t believe you think that little of me that you had to even ask me that!”

“Oh get off your high horse, Rogers!” Tony shook his head, and Steve raised his eyebrows “This has nothing to do with what I think of you, this is about my sister…you know the girl I brought up from the age of 7.  The girl I couldn’t love any more if she was my own. I’d die for her you got that? Die for her!”

“Well that makes 2 of us!” Steve said loudly, silencing the other man. There was a moment where no sound was heard in the apartment bar the ticking of the clock on the wall and Tony raised his eyebrows slightly as Steve looked down at the floor taking a deep breath.

“Look, I know you’re not happy about this…” Steve sighed, looking at Tony again “But do I care about her Tony, more than you know, and nothing you do or say to me is gonna change that.”

Tony’s eyes softened, but his jaw remained set. Steve took a deep breath and wet his lips before he continued.  “And, for what it’s worth, I think you did a damned good job of raising her. She’s an incredible woman.”

“She’s a pain in the ass…” Tony sniffed, Steve was glad to hear his tone was less confrontational “And she’s stubborn, always thinks she knows best…”

“Wonder where she gets that from?” Steve said cheekily

“Absolutely no idea” Tony deadpanned back.

Steve’s face cracked into a smile as did Tony’s.

“Look.” Tony sighed, “I just want her to be happy and with someone that treats her right…”

“I don’t ever want to hurt her, Tony. You have my word…” Steve said, honestly.

“Good, because if you do, make no mistake I will��fucking kill you, slowly and painfully and there will be no defrosting 70 years down the line.” Tony’s brown eyes flashed slightly as he stared at Steve, And Steve knew, absolutely 100% that he meant it. He was surprised to find himself slightly unnerved by the threat. Hoping that his face didn’t give him away her merely nodded and then Tony’s demeanour changed completely and he turned back into the Tony Stark that Steve knew, and had to admit quite liked after all.

“Good, this was a good talk…” Tony said, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Steve smiled as the weight he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulder. Having Tony’s, albeit grudging, approval would mean the world to Katie, and if he was honest, it meant a lot to him as well. Not only was Tony his friend also, but he was the closest thing Katie had to a father, and he wanted him to be alright with the fact the two of them were together.

He offered the man a coffee which he politely declined, stating he needed to get back to New York. The two shook hands on the threshold of Steve’s door before Tony gave him one last look, raising his index finger and middle finger of his right hand to his eyes, before turning them to point at Steve in an “I’m watching you” gesture. Steve raised his eyebrows in understanding and felt his mouth tug upwards at the side as Tony turned on his heels and left.

He retreated back to his living room and pulled out his phone.

“Hey Badass” Katie greeted and Steve chuckled.

“I’ve just had a visitor.” Katie groaned into the phone as he sat back on his couch

“Let me guess… my darling brother turned up to give you the shovel talk?” her tone was exasperated. “No mention of a shovel, just threatened to kill me slowly and painfully if I hurt you, and you know what? I have absolutely no qualms about the fact he would.” Steve grinned as he spoke.

“Don’t tell me Captain America is scared of Iron Man?” she questioned playfully. “No, Steve Rogers is slightly disconcerted by Tony Stark.” He corrected as she let out a chuckle.

“Best make sure you don’t hurt me then aint ya?” “I’ve no intentions of doing doll.” He said, honestly before he let out a breath, smiling “I really enjoyed last night.”

“And this morning?”

“Yeah, another first.” He said, unable to stop the smirk on his face spreading into his voice “I’ve never, errr, had a woman use her mouth on me before…or vice versa for that matter.”

“I like being your first.” she said softly and his chest warmed at her words.

“You know what else was a first? Waking up next to my girl.”

There was a pause before she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“And you know what else I like? You calling me your girl.”

A shit eating grin crept back across the Captains face. “Well, you better get used to it, Doll.”

**** Chapter 7

**Original Posting**

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 3

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A buried family secret comes to light thrusting you to the forefront of an old alliance.

Note: Finished this before work! Hope y’all enjoy.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

There was a flurry of activity around the jet waiting on the tarmac. You sat in the car, still cuffed, trapped, as you watched the crew hurry. It was barely noon yet and you were exhausted. Barnes returned and slid in the other side. You ignored him and kept your eyes out the window.

“Shouldn’t be long before we can board,” He said. “You look unhappy, your highness. Is there any way I can help?”

“Uncuff me, let me go home and live my life,” You snapped dryly. “That would about do it.”

“Get it all out now.” He chided. “The king won’t stand for your lip.”

“‘The king won’t stand for your lip’,” You mimicked and grunted as you leaned a bit too heavily on your hands. “I really don’t care what he wants and I certainly don’t care what he thinks of me. All the better if he hates me.”

“This isn’t about feelings. He will marry you regardless of his personal bias,” Barnes assured. “It will be easier, however, if he has a reason to tolerate you.”

“Do you really live by the forgotten words just because they were written down?” You scoffed. “You know how absurd that is? I’ve seen the stories, he could marry anyone--”

“No, he can’t,” Barnes intoned. “Those forgotten words are not forgotten. The kingdom remembers the agreement. They remember how much we gave to the flagging country of Ecklun. They remember we were promised a princess.” He looked at you. “You. We paid our dues and we expect a return on it.”

You shook your head, finding it hard not to laugh sardonically. It was all backwards. This was the shit you read about in textbooks or fantasy novels. It was bullshit.

“Would it disqualify me to tell you I’m not pure?” You snickered. “To tell you I didn’t save myself for the king I never gave a second thought about?”

“It doesn’t bother me and surely not him.” Barnes shrugged. “He’s had his own fun, but I would advise you to not be so flippant about it with him. He is not one for cheek.”

“If I am who you say I am, I will do as I like.” You snarled.

“Very well. I can’t stop you. I can only warn you against it.” He pushed his head back and sighed. “You know your history, you recall how kings can be.”

👑

You sat on the plane in a plush leather seat, white and pristine like the rest of the interior. Barnes was across from you, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Once you’d taken off, he’d quit checking his watch and settled into the flight without a second glance at you. You couldn’t do the same. 

Aside from your anxiety and anger over all that had transpired, your hands remained bound behind you and kept you from leaning back or getting comfortable in the least. You teetered on the edge of the seat and glared at him.

“What do you want, Duchess?” He asked without lifting an eyelid.

“Can’t you at least take these off?” You grumbled. “My shoulders are killing me.”

He shrugged and said nothing.

“You can’t expect me to sit through this whole flight like this.” You hissed. “Shit, you don’t treat me like a duchess or whatever you claim I am.”

His eyes opened sharply and he uncrossed his arms. He sat forward, his jaw ticked as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“You will not use that language further,” He warned. “Understood. It is unladylike. Unseemly. I won’t tolerate it and neither will the king.”

“Language? I’m sorry I don’t talk in iambic pentameter.” You scowled.

“You know what I mean. No more shits, fucks, and all that.” He seemed disgusted by the words on his tongue. “If you feel the need to moan, pretend you are a child.”

“Oh, gosh, will do, mister,” You said dryly. He raised his brow and his nostrils flared. “If I promise to watch my mouth, will you undo these?”

He blinked and checked the time again. He seemed to weigh the option as he angled his head one way then the other.

“Well, I can’t have you arriving in cuffs, I suppose,” He stood and reached into his pocket as he neared. “But don’t think I won’t bring them back out if needed. You understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes, I swear to be a good little duchess,” You quipped.

He huffed and pulled you forward as he reached around you to grasp the cuffs. They came free and he drew away. He backed up as he put the key back in his pocket and dropped the cuffs in the empty seat next to him. He leaned an elbow on the rest and held his chin as he watched you. You sat back as you stretched your arms in front of your, turning your hands and rolling your wrists.

“We have a lot of work to do,” He ran his fingertips along his short stubble. “A lot.”

👑

Time seemed to stand still. When you arrived, it was morning in Astrania, the rest of the day lost in the difference. A man in black led you down the steps to the tarmac, Barnes behind you, and another man. You were taken into the airport, away from the general public, and guided through the corridors meant for employees only.

Barnes came up to walk beside you. A sudden tide of displacement washed over you. It was all real. You were far from home, stranded, trapped, in a land you didn’t know. With a title you didn’t want. For a purpose you dreaded.

The man in front of you stopped short before a door and turned back to look at Barnes.

“Cameras are here.” He said curtly.

“Already?” Barnes frowned. 

“They must’ve seen the royal jet circling,” The man replied. “Apparently, they’ve been on alert since your departure.”

Barnes sighed and nodded. He unbuttoned the single button of his jacket and pulled it off.  “Just make sure you keep them away.” He opened his jacket and turned to you. “Here.” He tried to shroud your head in his blazer and you dodged it. The man behind you blocked you. “Come on. There’s gonna be at least a dozen photogs out there and you far from ready for an appearance.”

“Are you serious?” You snorted.

“The longer we wait, the more will be there,” He said. “Now come on.”

He threw his jacket over you and you caught it. It smelled like expensive cologne and sweat. He wrapped it around you so that you could barely see and grabbed your arm to guide you onward. Unsteady, unsure, you let him usher you ahead and a heavy metal door opened, a streak of light visibly past the hem of the jacket as you could barely see your own feet.

A buzz of voices and the shutter of cameras greeted you outside and you clutched the  fabric tighter. Barnes kept on, a few warnings to the vulture-like photogs as the way was cleared ahead of him by your stalwart escorts. A car door opened and you were angled inside quickly. 

You caught yourself on the seat and felt a nudge to move over. Barnes climbed in as you righted yourself and the door closed heavily behind him. He pulled his jacket away and shook it out as the tinted windows flashed with the cameras outside. He grumbled and folded his jacket in his lap.

“Well,” He bemoaned. “That does change things.” He shifted on the seat. “Driver. Go on.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Your arrival will be a headline by the next hour,” He explained. “That means we have even less time to get you… ready.”

“Oh, such a tragedy.” You snipped.

“Trust me, duchess, while you insist on making a mockery of this, you do not want to face the media without preparation,” The car began to move and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “They will tear you apart. What matters is their perception not your intent.”

“Ah, is that your job then?” You wondered. “You’re supposed to make a lady of me.”

“I am to educate you,” He insisted. “A tall and no doubt foolhardy task,” He growled. “But my king gave me an order and I will do what I can to mold you into at least a semblance of a lady.”

👑

Lush green fields turned to rolling hills. You watched the scenery, almost forgetting where you were and why. The picturesque countryside awed you and sent a chill through you. It truly felt like you had stepped back in time; even as if you had arrived on an entirely different planet.

Trees planted in careful lines closed in around the road and led to a row of tall hedges and you stopped before a gate of curled metal, topped by sharp points. It opened after the driver gave a short honk. The long drive was laid with mosaic stones and curved before the rounded steps of a great mansion. The double doors at the top were decorated with golden knockers and the handles were wrought and twisted elegantly. The car came to a halt and Barnes, as was his habit, checked his watch.

Your door was opened by the driver as Barnes climbed out the other side. He rounded the vehicle and beckoned you towards the steps. He walked beside you and you could sense him watching you from the corner of your eyes. The doors opened as you approached the stairs and liveried servants appeared from the other side as they welcomed you with eager smiles.

“All is prepared duchess,” He gestured ahead. “The palace has been readied for your seclusion. You are the only task left.”

“What a welcome,” You sneered. “I might be unlearned in the habit of nobility, but I don’t think it is usual for one to speak to a duchess in that tone.”

He smiled and took your arm, hooking it through his as he urged you up the stairs.

“The king has permitted me full reign in your training,” He said as he guided you through the open doors. “He will forgive me my own missteps if I can prevent your own.”

You dragged your feet as you entered the vast foyer. The floor was of white marble veined with gold, the decor shared a similar color scheme, and portraits hung from the walls, vast likeness of women in garb dating from the earliest medieval periods to the last century. You detached from Barnes and looked around.

“This is the Palace of Regia,” Barnes explained from behind you. “These are your foremothers. The queens of Astrania, each of whom took their pre-marital seclusion here. Each who married and served their kings proudly.”

You recalled the tradition, common to many countries but mostly retired since Victoria reigned over England and much of the globe. You turned back to Barnes and blinked.

“How long?”

“Two weeks,” Barnes answered. “Two weeks to ready you for the king’s presence. You will be taken to the capital at the end and attend your engagement party so that you can acquaint yourself with your future husband. Your wedding is scheduled the next week.”

“Engagement party? Wedding?” You echoed. “That’s… three weeks. Not even a month.”

“Yes, so we should get to work.” He neared and grabbed your shoulders. He pushed them back. “Stand straight.” He poked your chin up with two fingers. “Head high, shoulders back.”

“What are you--”

He rounded you and his hand gripped your waist and squeezed. He shushed you and ran his other hand up your spine.

“You must hold yourself like a queen. Mind your posture, your highness.” He said.

You pulled away from him harshly. “What are you doing?”

You were shocked as you felt a slap on your ass and he swiftly caught your hips and drew you back to stand before him.

“I am trying to save you a lot of grief.” He said. “Stay.” He bid as if you were a dog. He released you and came around in front of you. “As I said, head up, shoulders back.”

He stared until you obeyed. You sighed and stood straight as you could. He grinned.

“Let me tell you, Duchess, the cameras, the public, they will judge you even more harshly so you want to give them as little ammunition as you can so that they cannot turn their muzzles on you.” He girded and grabbed your arms, adjusting them before his hands settled on either side of your neck. He tutted. “You cannot hang your shoulders like a hunchback.”

“I don’t--”

“You do.” He insisted. “Now,” He removed his hands and walked backwards until he was near the wall. “Walk to me.” You squinted and he lowered his chin. He chuckled and waved his hand to beckon you forward. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but took a step. He hissed. “Keep your head up. Shoulders straight. Don’t sway like that.” Each footfall had another comment until you were right before him. He gestured you to turn around and he kicked your feet closer together and again touched your hips. “Let them know you’re a woman but do not flaunt it. Walk as if there is a string running straight through you. Lift your feet.”

He nudged you and you began to walk again. He followed not far behind and you heard his displeased grumbles. He fixed your shoulders, your hips again, told you to keep your feet closer together, head up! 

You were growing more and more annoyed by the second. You were tired. You hadn’t even had a chance to register everything. You were in a palace, marching beneath the eyes of dozens of dead queens, far from home and all you had ever known. It was all so foreign, so different, so startlingly unfamiliar. You hated it.

“Enough!” You spun to face him and he stopped short. “Holy shit! I haven’t even--”

He grabbed your hand and smacked it like you were a child. “Language.” He warned.

You tugged your hand back and gaped at him. “What the fuck--”

He took your hand again and smack it harder. “Your highness, let us not be children.”

“Don’t touch me--” You tore yourself away. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“If you insist on acting like a child, I will bend you over and spank you like one.” He said. “Now, stand straight.” He crossed his arms. “And mind your mouth.” You stared at him, stunned. He raised his brows and nodded to you. “Don’t make me count, Duchess.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Remedy – Howlin’ For You – One Shot

Description: Bucky finds out some news regarding his baby sister. 

Word Count: 2,500

Howlin’ For You - Masterlist

Read the series or you will not know what the fuck is happening.

Bucky awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand.

He unwrapped his arms from Y/N’s body, which unfortunately caused her to slightly wake up as well.

Bucky was used to receiving phone calls in the middle of the night. It was one of the side effects of being the leader of a biker gang that often enforced acts of vigilantism.

But it wasn’t a Howlie whose named flashed on his screen brightly.

“Buck?” Y/N mumbled, still half asleep.

“Everything’s fine, doll. Go back to sleep,” he whispered to her and gave her cheek a kiss for good measure before shifting out of bed with his cell.

He quietly closed Y/N’s bedroom door and made his way downstairs to talk privately in her living room.

“What is it Agent Stark?” Bucky nearly growled.

“That’s Director Stark now, actually.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed into a glare, despite Tony not being able to see it. “Yeah, I heard you got a promotion after nearly getting Y/N killed.”

“Yep...almost got you killed, too.”

“What do you want?”

“Listen, I’m breaking a lot of protocols calling you right now…”

“Do you remember the part where you called me? I didn’t call asking for any favors. But I have a feeling you’re about to ask me for one…”

“No. No favors this time. This…uhh…this is family business.”

Bucky stopped pacing and waited.

“I figured you deserved to know.” Tony hesitated. “Heinz Kruger – friends called him Hank.”

Bucky’s blood went cold and all his movements froze. He hadn’t heard that name in years. And he hoped he never would.

It was the name of Rebecca’s ex-boyfriend. To be precise, the one Bucky almost murdered with his bare hands once he found out he was abusing his baby sister.

Tony cleared his throat, knowing he had Bucky’s full attention now. “He was found dead in his apartment this morning. They’re declaring it a homicide.”

“Am I on the list of possible suspects?” That was his first question. 

It would make sense. Becca had a restraining order against Hank. Bucky had a reputation for hurting people. It wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together and suspect that the big, scary, older brother wanted revenge.

“Well, that’s the thing. I asked around, and you’ve already been crossed off the list. You were at a diner with Y/N last night, weren’t you?”

Bucky hated that he knew that. “Yeah.”

“On top of that, they’ve traced your presence through multiple security cameras. You were almost a hundred miles away from the scene of the crime. On top of that, the rest of your crew seems to be spotted at their usual bar…all accounted for.”

“Why do you sound so surprised, Stark?”

“I’m not surprised that it wasn’t the doing of the Howling Commandos. I’m surprised because it seems like whoever did to it wanted to make sure none of you could be framed for the job.”

Bucky was now just as perturbed as Tony.

“I know you’ve wanted the asshole dead for years. I figured – I don’t know – she would get some kind of relief knowing that he could never hurt her again.”

Then Bucky felt guilty for giving Tony such a hard time. Yes, he was bitter still about what happened. But at the end of the day, he knew Tony was a good man and always had the right intentions. He didn’t have to reach out and give him this news. But he thought he was doing Bucky a favor…and he owed him a lot.

“Thanks for calling, Stark.” Bucky finally put his pride aside.

Tony was silent for a moment. “How’s that girl of yours doing?”  

“She’s…umm…she’s doing alright,” Bucky could at least give him that, couldn’t he?

“I’m glad. Tell her I said hi…but I have a feeling you won’t do that.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Bucky looked around the dark house after he hung up. Only one lamp was turned on in his rush to pick up the phone call.

He didn’t think he could go to back to bed. There wasn’t sleep in the cards for him tonight. If he went back now, Y/N would sense his tension and wouldn’t sleep until she figured out what had upset him.

He’d let her sleep.

The rest of his night consisted of him drinking whiskey and trying to wrap his mind around the information Stark had just given him.

—————

The next morning, Bucky marched into the shop on a mission. 

Usually everyone messed around first thing in the morning, just trying to wake up before their days really started. But everyone saw that Bucky was a little off and all watched him carefully as he made his entrance.

“Nat, can I see you in the office?”

She looked around at the rest of the crew, but nodded and followed Bucky up the metal stairs to his private office.

“What’s going on?” She asked after she closed the door.

“I need you to track someone down for me. No following. Just get me a location and I’ll handle the rest.”

She shrugged. Easy enough. “Sure, Buck. Just give me the name.”

Bucky finally looked at her as he hesitated to give the only information she needed.

He quickly aborted her gaze and sat down. “Grant Ward.”

She opened her mouth.

“Nat, please…no questions,” Bucky quickly cut off her opportunity. “Just get me his location. Got it?”

“Of course.”

—————

Bucky was working on a bike in the garage behind his house when he heard her footsteps.

She didn’t bother to wait for a greeting. She knew that he knew she was there. And so, she plopped herself down on the couch in the garage.

“Bad day?” She asked.

He finally looked up at her, but kept working on the bike. “Not exactly.”

“You’ve been off all day,” Y/N pointed out. “Seems to have started with that mysterious phone call you got last night.”

Bucky looked up at her and gave her a stern look. “Y/N…” He warned.

This was her cue. The cue that she was close to getting too involved in Howlie business. Bucky had this talk with her awhile ago. There were just some things he couldn’t tell her. It was to keep her safe, keep her conscious clean.

“I know,” she replied. “I can just tell when things are heavier.”

He tilted his head. “Heavier?”

She nodded. “It’s like there’s this invisible weight on your shoulders.” Then she sighed. “Listen, I know there are things you can’t tell me. But I also know that you can’t carry it all alone all the time.”

Bucky gave her a shy grin after her little tangent.

“What?” She asked with pure innocence.

He got up from his kneeling position next to the bike and slowly walked to her as he cleaned the grease off his hands.

Then he leaned down to kiss Y/N, which she happily accepted.

“I love you, you know that?” He asked her.

“Mhmm,” she hummed as she smiled up at him. She stole another kiss.

He sat down on the couch and maneuvered her body so she was sitting in his lap.

“I gotta go out of town tomorrow night,” he told her.

Y/N tried to read his face, but nodded reluctantly. “Who’s going with you?”

“No one. Just me.”

“Well, what about Steve? He always at least–”

“Can’t. It’s just gotta be me, doll.”

She opened her mouth to argue further.

“I know you don’t like the idea of me going anywhere alone. I know it worries you. But it’s just something I gotta do, OK?”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, thinking it all over.

“Is it dangerous?” She finally asked.

“I don’t think so.” He wanted to say ‘no,’ but he learned the hard way that he couldn’t always promise safety in this life. He didn’t want to lie to her, even by accident.

———————

Bucky had been driving his motorcycle for hours. He’d have to drive through the night to make it back home before tomorrow started. But he was willing to do it, knowing that Y/N would be worrying for less time.

He was coming up to his location soon.

The bar was lined with dozens of motorcycles, already telling him what type of place this was and who it was meant for.

Bucky took of his helmet and shook out his hair. He knew it was probably a mess from being stuck under such restrictions for such a long time. So he threw it in a messy bun low on his neck.

When he walked in, he was immediately eyed by the patrons. It was expected. The Howlies do the same thing at their places, weary of strangers and newcomers.

Bucky knew he would find him here. Nat assured him that he had been seen at this exact bar 3 days in a row.

Bucky’s gaze went across the room, looking for the familiar face.

He didn’t find the face, but did find the back of his head.

The seats on either side of him at the bar were wide open, giving Bucky a perfect opportunity to slide right on in.

From the way he reacted to Bucky sitting next to him, it was almost like he expected him to come.

“Barnes,” he greeted lowly without taking his eyes off of his drink.

“Ward,” Bucky replied cooly before ordering a whiskey from the bartender.

“Figured you’d find me eventually,” Ward sighed.

“Yeah, well, Nat could find could probably work for the CIA if she wanted to…”

Ward finally turned to face him. “You here to turn me in or something?”

Bucky chuckled and thanked the bartender as she handed him his drink. He took a sip before he said, “No. I’m not here to do that.”

“Then why the hell are you here, Barnes?”

Bucky rubbed his face. A part of him didn’t want to do this still. But he had to silence that part before it could control him.

“I came here to thank you.”

Ward scoffed and shook his head. “You think I did it for you?”

“No, I know I had nothing to do with it.”

“Does…” Ward cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Does she know yet?”

“No, I didn’t tell her. Steve said he…it’s better that he tells her than me. He’s going over there tonight to talk to her.”

Ward nodded.

“I’m mostly just wondering why…” Bucky thought aloud.

“Why?” Ward challenged.

“Yeah, why did you do it?”

Ward was silent for a moment.

“I know I broke her heart. But the worst part was what I drove her toward after I did that.” He shook his head. “You should’ve killed him when you had the chance. After what he did to Becs…” His words died out.

It was then that Bucky realized tears had formed in Grant’s eyes. But the biker managed to control his emotions. 

“After all the shit went down with Hydra, all I was left with was each of my mistakes and regrets. And…she’s the biggest one.” He rubbed the scruff around his mouth. “I just wanted to do something good for once in my life. And if I was gonna do that… I was gonna do it for her.”

Ward turned his head to Bucky. “How did you manage it? How did you manage to have it all? You got the Howlies, your family, your girl.. you got it all.”

Bucky sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I don’t know, man. I ask myself that fucking question every damn day.” Then he looked at Ward with a frown. “But I do know that I put them before myself. I choose them over me. And we both know that’s not what you did.”

Ward nodded, knowing he deserved that. “I envy you. I didn’t want to admit that.” He shrugged. “But fuck it. I do envy you.”

Bucky downed the rest of his drink and stood up.

Ward turned to fully face him. “I’m not going back to her... you know, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know you’re not,” Bucky answered.

Because they both knew that Grant wasn’t good enough for Rebecca. There was a time where he could’ve been. But he threw that chance away when he joined Hydra and broke Rebecca’s heart.

“You’ll look after her, won’t you? Like you always do?” Grant didn’t know why he had to ask. Maybe he just needed Bucky to know that he still cared about her.

Bucky looked at him before nodding his head.

Then he tipped his head, “Ward.”

He did the same, “Barnes.”

————-

Steve watched Rebecca’s face as she processed the news.

She blinked a few times before her eyes glazed over in tears.

What was she meant to feel?

Happiness?

Relief?

Sadness?

Guilt?

Steve reached over and gripped her hand, reminding her that he was there for her.

“What are you thinking?” He asked gently.

She opened her mouth to answer, but then changed her mind and quickly closed it.

“Rebecca, there’s no right answer.”

“I’m…There’s a part of me that’s relieved. Despite knowing Bucky and you and the rest of the Howlies would never let him near me again, there was always a voice in the back of my head that was telling me he was still going to find a way to hurt me.”

She swallowed, realizing her throat was dry. “But I’m also sad because I know that even now that he’s dead…that voice isn’t going to go away. It’s always going to be there.”

Then her tears started falling. “And I’m mad…I’m mad because he turned me into a person who’s happy that someone is dead, that someone was murdered. I don’t want to be that person, Steve.”

He pulled her into him then, wrapping his arms around her protectively. “You’re not a bad person, Rebecca. You’re so much more than what he did to you. It’s barely even a tiny piece of you.”

Steve let her cry it out. Meanwhile he rubbed her back and let her know she was going to be OK.

When she finally freed herself from his grasp, she got caught in his eyes.

Those baby blue eyes that she’s known her whole life.

Before they could mesmerize her like they did when they were younger, she moved further away from him on the couch.

If Steve noticed, he pretended not to.

They weren’t those innocent teenagers anymore. They’d both lived multiple lives since then.

When they were younger, Rebecca could never figure out if she had a crush on Steve or she just didn’t know what it felt like for a boy to treat her kindly.

But none of that mattered anyway, Steve had never looked at Rebecca in any way other than the little sister he never had. That didn’t mean he loved her any less. Because he did love her.

She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Steve…for telling me.”

“I know it doesn’t fix everything, but I told Bucky you deserved to know.”

Rebecca nodded. “Things are never going to go back to how they used to be, I know that.” She gave him a shy smile. “But maybe it’s a start.”

-------

Maybe all of you will hate this since Y/N really isn’t in it that much. But whatever. I wrote what I wanted to write. 

[missinghan]

give it a chance ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : college au; roommates au; friends to lovers au

❖ word count : 9,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language, slightly suggestive & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you convinced yourself to attend a party in order to prevent Lee Minho from doing stupid things; however it’s not so stupid anymore when your roommate said he needed to tell you something important.

❖ a/n : the continuation of what if we is dedicated to @chaninfused, so *clears throat* this is where I hereby declare that she deserves more than what the entire universe can possibly give her; oh hi furat, this is why I’ve been so cryptic all this time. I know this isn’t much but I want to thank you for tolerating me and letting me be mean to you even though we only started talking for a few months; you’re an incredibly great friend and an amazing writer, don’t ever forget that 🖤

one.

It’s been almost a week since Jisung last talked to Minho (albeit texts and FaceTime) and he wakes up to his best friend roaming around his crusty kitchen, struggling to find a bottle of honey. Seungmin’s mom has been constantly sending them thirty packets of rib soup per week. And Minho thinks the sight of Han Jisung slurping on nothing but distorted rice with pork ribs while stressing over his paper for seven days straight is more tragic than his non-existent love life.

“It’s like you’re trying to turn us into gym rats,” Hyunjin snickers lazily, flinging his bangs away from his face. “You even brought us Tupperwares, are you really expecting us not to order tacos impulsively on study nights?” He’s a little dubious about stuff like this because he can feel the actual horror of only eating chicken breast and string beans just by seeing Chan cooking them up. 

Seungmin chucks a piece of lettuce towards his direction, “Don’t you have anything else to do other than complaining?” He knows that when Jisung and Hyunjin decide to order food on study nights, they’re gonna do anything but study.

“Uhm, I actually do,” he replies nonchalantly. “I’m going through Minho’s phone.”

Jisung takes a seat next to him by the counter, propping his head onto his hands, “What’s the point? There’s nothing but cat photos and cat memes...and also Y/N as his background.”

“That angle is hideous, by the way,” Hyunjin comments like the true photography geek he is, which is completely ignored by Minho because he’s too cranky to start a fight at ten in the morning. “But it’s kinda cute for you to do that, so I’m gonna turn a blind eye.”

Jisung asks out of the blue, “Who’s going to BamBam’s party this Sunday? Well, besides the other two-thirds of 3RACHA.” 

“I have a midterm on Monday, dumbass,” Seungmin mumbles while washing his vegetables at the sink. 

“And I’m sleeping over at Lix’s for a project,” Hyunjin informs him lamely, having no intention to attend another single frat party. At least not BamBam’s frat parties—that guy has the weirdest friends; a chick was so drunk that she thought Hyunjin was her boyfriend and almost tried to make out with him on the dance floor. 

Jisung secretly hates going to parties without his friends- no, actually, he never goes to parties without people from his social circle because he dreads the whole introduction part that requires formalities and inevitable awkwardness. But it’s not like that with Minho, ten minutes into their very first conversation and he feels like he’s known him for years. 

In short, he will die if Minho doesn’t come to the party. Chan can only chat with him for so long until his DJ duty occurs and Changbin’s probably gonna be too busy doing keg stands to care about his antisocial friend. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Minho gives in while chopping up the chicken breasts and this prompts Jisung to clap happily like a seal for the next twenty seconds as he skips over to the fridge to fetch a water bottle. “But we’re gonna need a ride, I’m not taking my motorbike for some crackhead to puke on it. Ask Chan later when you crash at his place.”

Jisung tosses his head back to take a peek at the clock hanging by the bookshelf, and it reads 10:07 AM. He really should be getting for his class at eleven because traffic sucks but he’s not feeling like sitting through two hours of Park ranting about marketing strategies. “Can’t Y/N just drive us? I don’t think she’d let anyone else take you home when you’re not sober,” he ponders, earning a nod of agreement from both of his roommates. 

Just when Minho opens his mouth to brush it off, he stops himself to process the information again and holds back a ‘you’re right’ because he hates letting people know that they’re not wrong. He wouldn’t let anyone drive you home when you’re drunk either. “Her car’s with her dad right now,” he tries to sound casual when three pairs of curious eyes are glued onto his back. “I, uh, sorta had it run into a tree last week.”

“You what? How are you still alive?” Hyunjin’s jaw is on the floor and Seungmin accidentally dumps too much vinegar into his salad while Jisung’s choking on the iced cold water, coughing furiously after into the sleeve of his hoodie. Guess Chan’s gonna have to drive them both. After all, he can never say ‘no’ to J.One. 

Minho murmurs, “A dude rear-ended me, fucking idiot.” He finishes marinating the chicken breasts and arranges them nicely onto a tray with aluminum foil on top, pushing it into the preheated oven. “And basically she’s never letting me touch her car again,” he sighs while staring into midair dreamily, flashbacking to last Friday when you immediately Ubered yourself all the way from campus to downtown after picking up his call. All he got was thirty seconds of affection; you made sure that he’s not hurt and the rest was just a monstrous tantrum. He ended up sleeping on the couch that night. 

“My my, you two are just like an old married couple,” Hyunjin chuckles lightheartedly and shakes his head, scrolling through the series of texts in amusement, “What even is this? I swear your conversation consists of 60% ‘when are you going home?’, 40% ‘your lunch is here’ and 20% terrible cat memes.”

“We’re roommates,” Minho drags the word through gritted teeth, holding back all the murderous thoughts inside his head because he feels like Hyunjin’s just asking for a death wish. It’s too early for this. 

Unexpectedly, Seungmin decides he’s in a pretty good mood today since he aced his OChem pop quiz yesterday; meaning, he’s gonna stick his nose into his friend’s business whenever there’s a chance. “Don’t you guys share a bed too?” he pretends to play dumb only to receive a kick in the shin from the older boy. 

“We’re also broke,” Minho cranes his neck tiredly, washing the dirty knife under the tap. “Besides, the heater in the living room sucks.”

“You both even smell the same, it’s getting kinda creepy. Please don’t tell me you guys also share showers to have a light water bill,” Jisung makes a gagging noise and Minho thinks he’s already said too much. His grip on the knife tightens for a split second before letting it drop into the sink. He doesn’t trust himself with anything sharp the moment Hyunjin started this unwanted conversation. He also regrets stealing Changbin’s meal prep recipes to feed his trash friends. 

Minho questions callously, “We just use the same shampoo and shower gel, what’s the big deal?” His hands go for the box of oatmeal that Felix left here last time in the cabinet full of random food. He doesn’t get why Seungmin would buy so much groceries like he’s in a pandemic knowing damn well that his idiotic roommates can’t cook for shit. 

Hyunjin purses his lips, trying to prove his point, “Don’t you think that it’s weird? You don’t do those things with us.”

“Because none of you would fucking house me when I was on the verge of being homeless!”

“And why is she yelling at you through texts anyway? Bro, there’s like ten missed calls here with at least a hundred ‘where are you?’. Why is she terrorizing you this early in the morning?” Minho immediately snaps out of his semi-angry trance, chest heaving up and down. 

“Oh shit,” he facepalms himself. “I promised to pick her up at ten from class, what time is it again?”

“You’re fifteen minutes late, my friend,” Jisung supplies unhelpfully. “It’ll take another ten to arrive at campus, without traffic that is. You’re so dead. D-E-A-D.” It feels weird to hear something correct coming out of Jisung’s mouth (twice in a row) and now Minho wishes he could just whack his friend unconscious on the floor with the new set of microphones that Chan gave him last year for Secret Santa. 

“Oh, I left your rice sitting at ‘warm’, by the way,” Minho makes a grab for his biker jacket and helmet on the counter before fleeing out of the apartment with his sneakers half-way tucked in. It’s not even been thirty minutes since they’ve seen each other for the past week and Jisung’s already choked on water, not once, but twice because of Lee Minho. Sometimes he wonders if the universe is telling him that he needs new friends. 

two. 

“Your boyfriend is late.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss at Yeji while staring at Minho’s contact on your phone anxiously. There’s no reason for you to be; worst-case scenario, you can just take the 0325 home and lock him outside for the night so that he’ll have no choice but to endure Chan’s embarrassing sleeping habits. He wouldn’t even notice either way because he’d be too busy swearing in his sleep to be annoyed. 

Yeji puts her hair up into a ponytail after stretching her limbs tiredly. She only has one class today and no choice but to stay on campus for her shift at the café before lunch break. Too bad Woojin can’t cover her today because of midterms. “I’m only speaking facts,” she tells you with a yawn and notices the slight pout on your face. “Hey, don’t be sad just because your stupid boyfriend can’t pick you up. I can call Chaeryeong if you need a ride here and there, she wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not fucking sad!”

“Y/N, you look more depressed than Ryujin when she got a B+ in calc.” That’s irrelevant, Shin Ryujin already has a GPA booster after signing up for Kim’s stats class, one B+ won’t make it any less sparkly.

You only let out a prolonged sigh after checking your phone for the tenth time in the past half an hour. He isn’t picking up any of your calls, your messages probably can’t even reach him and now you’re sitting at M.I.A Cafe with a cup of plain water after standing outside at the front gate for so long like an idiot. An idiot, who’s hopelessly in love with her roommate- wait what? 

Listen, you already know that this is going to happen. It’s awfully inevitable and it’s getting harder and harder as the days pass by because summer is almost here. Meaning, Minho’s gonna move out soon, according to the contract. 

Are you sad about that? 

Yeah, kinda.

The more you think about it the more you regret your decision that day to let him stay with you. Because now you don’t think you’d be able to sleep without him next to you, hogging the blanket all to himself; you get angsty when he’s not home even if he’s just at dance practice; you’re definitely getting way too used to sharing an earphone with him while you both are dreading your assignments silently at the kitchen counter. And now you’re getting nervous just because he’s thirty minutes late. He’s never late, not even to your Monday Movie Night where you both can pig out and binge-watch the Avatar: The Last Airbender series until you’re sick of it. 

Maybe you’re relying on him too much. Hypothetically speaking, it’s not his fault for the damage of your car but you’re just making excuses to be with him. You even set him as your emergency contact. It’s kinda tedious to be your roommate, you realize. All of those things aren’t mandatory and he can simply mind his own business without having to feel obligated because of the ‘roommates’ label yet he’d still choose you, over everything else. Perhaps he’s dealing with his own first world problems and forgot to leave you a message this time. 

Yeji inquires breezily, wiping a cup dry with a towel, “Also, are you going to BamBam’s party this weekend?”

“For me to carry your ass home after getting shitfaced and sit through another two-hour lecture from Lia? I’ll pass thank you very much.”

She indicates with a quirk of her perfectly dark brow, “What if I tell you that Minho’s gonna be there?” Now she sounds like she’s the one who’s crushing on Lee Minho and not you. Never knew that your friends can be this creepy but the more you learn… “Jisung just told me he found a plus one aka Mister Celebrity to attend that frat party with, you wouldn’t have the heart to let me be the loner right?” she pouts with her nose scrunched and it reminds you too much of Light Fury so you look away, knowing that you wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance if she kept this up.

“How is that my problem?” you merely roll your eyes, slightly annoyed. “And also, isn’t Jisung supposed to have his marketing class now?”

Yeji doesn’t give a damn about what on Earth Han Jisung is doing with his life so she just brushes your question off. “Would you let Minho drink irresponsibly?”

You nod without hesitation, though it feels wrong coming out of your mouth, “He can do whatever he wants...as long as my carpet remains clean after his hangover.”

“Would you let me drink irresponsibly?”

“The same goes for you,” you tell her monotonously. “And I only picked you up because Lia sounded like she was hyperventilating when you attended that one law brat’s birthday party. Na Jaemin, wasn’t it? Hate that guy, by the way.”

Yeji thinks it’s time for you to open up even more and not despise people that much. Having Lee Minho as your roommate is already a huge step-up but it’s not like there have been any modifications to your routine except the fact that another human being is simply enduring your bitchy ass of a loner. She wants you to be really out there, just not messing with shit like doing keg stands because Seo Changbin is a terrible influence. Woojin once had to drop his shift at the sushi place to drive Jeongin home because Changbin left him hanging on the beanbag chair for a game of beer pong. Jeongin has never gone to another single party since. 

“You hate literally everyone!” Yeji’s getting impatient, you can feel it.

“Are you telling me it’s my fault that people are shitty?” you bark, massaging the sides of your temple tiredly. You wish you could just drop the entirety of your current presentation to Yeji because your brain cells are already evaporating one by one into thin air.

She barks back, merely sneering, “C’mon! Y/N, it’s not like you ever have plans for the weekend.”

“But I’m having midterms on Monday, I didn’t spend my time on those notes for nothing.”

She shakes her head at you almost in disapproval. Sure, you’re a coward for backing out on this because BamBam’s no stranger to you. That Thai kid has been hanging out with Chan since middle school and he always offers to buy you coffee whenever you happen to drop by as they’re working on a project together. He’s a nice guy, but you don’t know him that well. Something in your gut is telling you that he has weird friends (he totally does). And you’re not about to overdrink only to blurt out an awful confession to Minho while being surrounded by a bunch of crackheads that aren’t in your social sphere.

“I heard kids are vapi-” Yeji stops herself, thinking she should just give up, and get ready for the next batch of sleep-deprived customers coming in at lunch break before Jeongin chucks an avocado at her direction for chit-chatting too much about your gigantic crush on Minho. “Nevermind, it’s not like you’d care anyway, have fun with reviewing I guess.” And with that, she leaves you alone with the cup of plain water to dump the used coffee grounds in the trash.

It takes you at least ten seconds to comprehend what she just said. And you’ve come up with a new yet very last-minute decision: screw midterm because you’re making sure that Lee Minho’s going home in one piece. 

Very timely, your phone buzzes on the wooden counter.

[10:38 AM]

lino | hey you still on campus?

three.

The blush scattered across your cheekbones just grows ten shades darker when you see Minho at the front gate leaning against his black Kawasaki; disheveled hair, hands stuffed inside his pockets, occasional puffs of smoke escaping his lips, and unbothered gaze. You’ve never told him this, you’re not telling him this now, and you’re never gonna tell him; but he looks stupidly good in that biker jacket. Again, you don’t get how someone can look this good early in the morning. 

“What are you doing here?” you murmur grimly, approaching him from behind. It feels like he’s doing this to your heart on purpose, without even trying. And those girls over there are making you very uncomfortable by eyeing your roommate up and down like he’s an expensive piece of steak with a gold leaf sticking to it.

Minho turns sideways and flashes you a smile; your little heart just did a perfect cartwheel because of that, it can only take so much. “Sorry, I kinda lost track of time, but I still promised to pick you up, didn’t I?” he says casually as your face morphs into a deep frown because you’re basically confused. The only problem is: you don’t even know why you’re confused. There’s this fluttering feeling at the pit of your stomach and now you feel as though someone just gives you a blow to the head when Minho looks straight into your eyes, brows slightly knitted together.

This is not healthy. 

“You didn’t answer my calls or my texts.”

Minho thinks you look cuter than usual when you’re silently fuming because you’re not the type to lash out on people. But it’s not so cute anymore when you threatened to flush his AirPods down the toilet that one time when he spilled ketchup on your carpet. He just hopes he doesn’t end up sleeping on the couch tonight like last time. 

“I put my phone on silent, as always,” he reminds you of how much of a pain in the ass it is to receive a call-back or a simple reply from him. 

You make a face, “Whatever, didn’t I tell you not to make a scene? Have you seen those chicks back there? They’re watching me as if I’m sabotaging their dreams of eating you alive.” Well, you can’t exactly blame your roommate for having girls gushing over him wherever he goes because...it’s his fault for looking like a snack all the time. 

Minho quickly detects how you’re not overly fond of his admirers and needless to say, he’s fairly amused. “Then let them,” he puts an arm over your shoulders and pulls you flushed against him, ruffling your hair. Moments later, you’re already hearing scandalous gasps along with hushed whispers going through your eardrums like a never-ending train. It’s really setting your nerves on fire. 

“Don’t you think that this is weird?”

“What?” Now it’s Minho who’s confused here. 

You slightly push him away and avert your gaze elsewhere to avoid eye contact. “We’re roommates, right?” you mumble, slightly unsure about...all of this. 

“Hmm, what about it?”

“Well, I don’t know…” you fiddle with the hem of your jacket and sigh. “What if people keep getting the wrong idea about us?” You sound somewhat regretful as if your decision of taking him in as your roommate was a mistake, as if you feel like it’s better off if he wasn’t in your life at all, as if the past month was completely meaningless. Since when did things become this complicated? It started with a harmless one-month contract and now Minho’s not sure of what he should do next. But that’s not it, is it? Maybe he’s just overthinking too much. 

He looks hesitant for a moment there, very not-Lee-Minho of him. “We’re still cool right?” Minho tilts his head to the side, the afternoon sunlight slips through fluffs of white clouds and brings the constellations in his warm brown eyes to life. Though he looks like a scolded child, you can’t help but want to put this moment into a frame and simply cherish it for the rest of your life. 

“Beats me,” you breathe out, silently hating yourself for not being able to get angry at him. It’s harder than you thought, really, and it doesn’t help when his eyes keep doing that thing to your poor little heart. “Make me pasta and we’re good,” you end up chuckling when Minho’s expression turns a solid three hundred and sixty at the offer.

“That’s not a very smart move for a business major, your loss,” he replies with a goofy smile, tossing the helmet that he got you yesterday in your direction. And if you pay attention enough, you can almost see Minho exhaling out of relief. But you’re too busy staring at the ground to douse yourself in your own giddiness to notice. “Oh crap, I think I left my wallet at Hyunjin’s,” he tells you after swinging a leg over on his shiny vehicle. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “You don’t need your wallet to make me pasta now do you?”

“By the way, are you going to BamBam’s party?”

“Only if you’re going,” you scratch the bridge of your nose with your ring finger, a little embarrassed to admit that he’s the only reason why you’re ditching midterms. 

Minho’s hearty laugh fills your eardrums, shit-eating grin and all. “If it makes you feel better, Chan’s driving us,” he voices without looking at you, but your chest still swells either way. 

You fucking hate how you have the softest spot for him. 

four.

You’re already regretting this although you’ve only been sitting in Chan’s back seats for less than twenty minutes. Crankiness takes over your body as a result of reviewing for the whole afternoon, your eyelids are getting droopy, and your head seems to be all too big for your neck at this rate. More reasons for you to not drink tonight. 

“Ugh, why am I even here?” you groan, and Jisung scrunches his nose, slightly alarmed because you’re not usually this loud unless you’re high on caffeine. 

Minho tells you in the most lighthearted way possible, “Because you love me.” 

You wish you could just put his head through a wall because everything and anything coming out of his mouth are never healthy for your mind, or heart. “Uhm, no I don’t.”

“But you did confess your love to me,” he singsongs as if he just hit a jackpot with his lottery ticket, angling his head to toss you a wink. “I have receipts, ma’am. They’re right here, in my heart.” Minho’s never seen you so giddy before so he recorded everything, but he’s not planning on putting himself on a chopping block by telling you that. 

You shove his arm and purse your lips, flaming cheeks but the car’s too dark for him to see it. “I was sick, asshole, I talk shit more when I have a fever than when I’m drunk,” you defend yourself helplessly, not enjoying the fact that he had to bring it up when you’re in a confined space with Seo Changbin and Han Jisung. 

“Minho doesn’t like it when Y/N raises her voice.” Great, now he’s talking in third person. 

“What are you even? Four?”

He winks at you, “Baby me, baby.”

“Oh my god shut the fuck up and get away from me!”

“You’ll never get rid of me, baby.” Eventually, you give up because you’re too mentally exhausted and there’s still a long night ahead of you. You’re not wasting your energy in pointless arguments with him because you both yell at each other on a daily basis anyway. 

“Maybe he’ll zip it if you tell him that you love him,” Jisung suggests innocently with a not-so-innocent look on his face. He’s already acting dumb when he’s this fucking sober so you’re not looking forward to two hours later when vodka’s practically replaced his own blood. 

“I’d rather chew off my own foot.” Changbin snorts involuntarily at your stiff remark, Chan mutters a small ‘ouch’ while Jisung’s too busy laughing his ass off. And a demeaning silence descends after that. 

Minho’s right next to you, oddly unresponsive to the situation, his head leaning against your shoulder as he gazes dejectedly out the window. You don’t see how stormy his eyes are. He also misses his motorcycle tremendously because Chan’s the safest (slowest) driver to ever exist. No joke, if he keeps going at the pace of thirty miles per hour then you should just skip the party and watch a movie while getting drunk at his place altogether. 

“Can you go any fucking slower?”

“Excuse me?” Chan laughs in disbelief, he’s a little offended because he personally thinks he’s a good driver, maybe a little bit too obedient when it comes to the law. Hey, at least you know you’re in good hands. “I’m not trying to get us all killed before BamBam could poison one of you guys.” 

Jisung purses his lips as he’s reminded of the last party where he ran into that Thai dude. He gave him a plastic cup, telling him that it’s merely a harmless fruity vodka only for Jisung to get kicked out by an Uber driver after throwing up in the back seats. Turns out, the lemons and oranges in the cocktail were relatively spoilt. 

“I’m gonna die from boredom before we could even get into a car accident,” Minho informs him unconstructively, staring at some random notifications from Instagram of people commenting on his cats’ photos, text messages from his mom and swipes them all away. Mostly to chuckle to himself like a moron because of his lock screen. Yes, your stupid face is still on there after three weeks and you don’t know if you should be crying or laughing.

Chan narrows his eyes at the rear-view mirror, “It seems like you’re entertaining yourself just fine by looking at Y/N’s face.” 

“This photo does make me laugh because it’s priceless,” the younger boy states without turning his head to look at you. “But still, bored.” 

The car grows silent again soon after because Chan’s already been stressed out enough from traffic since clearly, people can’t drive to save their own lives. But it’s not like your friends can keep their mouths shut for the rest of the trip anyway. 

“Boreddd,” Minho voices randomly while a J.One’s song is blasting through the speaker. It’s a terribly soft song and it doesn’t help when Minho feels like he can downright sleep through an earthquake, potentially falling into an enormous crack on the Earth’s surface and still being able to nap like there’s no tomorrow. He’s just glad that Jisung grew out of ‘Wow’ and embraces his awkward self through his own music. It’s..sentimental but what’s a J.One song without that element?

Changbin looks up from his phone for half a second, wholly uninterested. “Then shut up and sleep,” he says expressionlessly. Very timely, his most recent track comes up next on the playlist and he starts rapping along with it. Minho thinks he can really use a good eye shut as SpearB is performing live right behind him because Changbin can only stay sober like this for so long until he gets his hands on one of BamBam’s sketchy-looking concoctions. 

You’re starting to get bored too at this rate because usually, during times like this when the car is filled with nothing but music and everyone (except for the driver) feels like they’re falling into a food coma, a certain idiot will—

“Y/N, don’t you have a midterm on Monday?” Ah, there it is. 

Jisung bends himself forward and drapes an arm over the leather seat, scrunching his nose at the sight of Minho sleeping soundly against your shoulder. He’s still bitter about the fact that Minho refuses to drive anyone other than you with his motorcycle for some reason. Exclusive things are always so annoying. 

You exhale deeply because Jisung reminds you of that one kid who always asks questions that stress the hell out of the teachers back in high school. Would it kill for him to just shut up once in a while? 

“I do, and I haven’t got a wink of sleep since yesterday afternoon,” you tell him rather lazily, shifting when Minho snuggles himself closer to you, his hair tickling your jawline. You pray he doesn’t know how fast your heart is beating. “A little alcohol might spare me a night of crying myself to sleep.” 

Jisung lets his bottom lip stuck out like he’s a fucking five-year-old not allowed to get his favorite ice-cream flavor. “Aww, you should have asked Minho for cuddles then, pretty sure he’d be more than happy to—,” he remarks sarcastically and you wish you could just throw him in the middle of an intersection. He’s lucky because Minho’s a heavy sleeper or he would have been knocked senseless or something. The last thing Chan needs is being forced to pull over for having wild animals wrestle the shit out of each other in his vehicle. 

“Hey, fuck off,” you snarl at him, knowing you should have chosen the passenger seat instead. That way, you wouldn’t be fuming inside because you can’t physically strangle Han Jisung to his imminent death. He has already tattooed that image into the back of your brain and you swear you’ve never heard a creepier chuckle from your friend. 

Jisung notices the coral tint on your cheeks and sneers, leaning back against his seat. “Yeah right, as if you’re actually gonna get drunk,” he says snarkily. “You’re just gonna be there to prevent Lee Minho from making bad decisions.” 

“I decided to come because Yeji wanted me-“

“Yeji who? In what world will you have time for her when you’re too busy staring at Minho like a total creep? Wanna bet ten bucks?” 

That’s bullshit because Lee Minho is already your entire world. 

Chan butts in, “Make that fifty.”

Changbin raises his hand, “I’d bet my Tesla.” Your friends really spelled out ‘a bunch of fucking clowns’ in bold, gigantic capital letters and you’re this close to facepalm yourself against Chan’s steering wheel. This is why you don’t go to parties with them that often because you’re stuck with cleanup duties with Seungmin until these crackheads grow out of their amateur drinking habits. 

“You’re just jealous because he would rather call you an Uber than give you a lift himself,” you say pointedly and Jisung lets out the loudest, most scandalous gasp. So dramatic. 

“You,” he jabs a finger at you, eyes wide in accusation. “Need a nap.”

You laugh dryly, ignoring the urge to snap a picture of his flabbergasted expression and turn it into a new meme for your group chat. “You don’t say, Han, you don’t say.”

And Changbin rolls his eyes over the moon, vividly picturing where this disastrous conversation is gonna go. Basically, he wants you to get shitfaced as soon as you step foot into BamBam’s house so he’ll have a sappy, drunk confession video to toss on Twitter tonight because Woojin just posted a picture of him with a drumstick dipped inside a glass of what looks like a watered-down Margarita. He’s highly concerned since there hasn’t been anything juicy on his feed other than his friends creeping people out with their questionable content. 

“If you two don’t end up getting drunk and kiss, I’m gonna be pissed,” Changbin says casually as if it’s just an afterthought. This prompts you to chuck your phone in his direction—you can care less about your screen protector at this point if it means stopping him from taunting you further. 

He asserts like a snake, “Hey, remember that time where you tripped over Kkami and totally crushed Minho under your weight?”

“I blame gravity for that.”

“But Albert Einstein said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”

“Who cares about Albert Einstein?!” you whisper-shout harshly, cautiously eyeing Minho’s sleeping figure. He scrunches his nose and murmurs something that you can’t quite hear before turning over to face you completely. His arms unexpectedly slip underneath yours like second nature. He furrows his eyebrows occasionally, other times he’d be grinning like an idiot and his lips are slightly agape, full eyelashes framing his eyes beautifully. Sometimes you wonder how weird his dreams are whenever you caught him talking (and cursing) in his slumber. 

Changbin wants to pry aloud when you start staring at Minho for too long; he might as well be tossed on the freeway at this point before exasperation squeezes the little amount of oxygen left out of his chest. This is worse than Hyunjin’s terrible rom coms. He props his head onto his hand in boredom as Chan pulls over and turns off the engine. “Hey we’re here, why not wake your prince up with a kiss—”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” you threaten. 

Now there are two distasteful tattoos at the back of your head. And you will not hesitate for a heartbeat sacrificing the entirety of your bank account to get them removed. To get Lee Minho removed from your mind.

If only it were that easy.  

“Mhmm,” the figure beside you lets out a low grunt and hugs your arm closer instinctively. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your denim jacket and sets your heart on fire. You’re ready to flick his forehead any second now to interrupt his slumber but before you could even do anything, Seo Changbin aggressively opens the door and you widen your eyes in horror. Where the fuck did he get a megaphone? And what for?

“Bitch wake up! Those drinks aren’t gonna finish themselves!”

It’d be a miracle if you ended up finding him alive by dawn. 

five.

“Y/N you ass, give it back!

“No, we’ve only been here for three hours and this is your fifth cup already,” you tell her in a mildly serious tone before dumping her cup of whatever the fuck of a yellow substance that Ryujin gave her ten minutes ago into the sink. 

Yeji plops herself onto the sofa in the living room after you drag her out of the kitchen where people are making out on the marble counter. Glad to see nothing’s changed...idiots. “God, you’re such a party pooper, I shouldn’t have told you to come,” she complains in between small hiccups, alcohol tinting her cheeks beet red. 

“I’m here to save your ass and this is how you’re repaying me?” Your question didn’t come out as coherent and threatening as you imagined and every single cell inside your body is shaking for no specific reason. 

Your friend narrows her eyes down into a mere glare like a detective in those crimes shows that you spend way too much time on and you’re debating whether you should be laughing or pissing yourself. She fucking knows that you’re lying. She fucking knows the sole reason for you to be here. “Give me a break, it’s not like you’re doing anything besides staring at your boyfriend from afar,” Yeji scoffs dejectedly. 

“God forbids ‘Lee Minho’ and ‘my boyfriend’ go in the same sentence,” you grit, subconsciously averting your gaze around the living room to spot your roommate. All he’s been doing is being held back by Chan when he tried to murder Changbin once, catching up with his old friends from high school and hanging out with some of his classmates, ranting about how much he dreads Kim’s eight AM, gushing with Hyunjin over some senior’s choreography set. By the looks of it, Jisung must have handed him at least seven of those red party cups from the bar—thanks to BamBam who keeps restocking them every hour. 

Yeji chuckles creepily when the alcohol finally hits her hard, you think you just got chills by the way that she’s leaning closer. “Of course not,” she hiccups into your ear, words slurred, “Lee Minho’s not my boyfriend, he’s your boyfriend.” You look at her in the eye, and mentally regret your life choices. How insufferable. 

“I mean, seriously,” she slams her body back onto the couch and groans; you can’t tell if it’s out of frustration or the cushion is too soft for her back. “It’s like you’re living the life of the main protagonist in a Harry Styles fanfiction! Do you know how many girls and boys would kill to live in the same apartment as that?” Her index finger is pointed directly at the person you’ve been watching and avoiding all night, across the room with a dart in his hand as he stands in front of the dartboard. 

“Were you aiming for the board or were you plotting to kill me? Because I can’t tell! I-can’t-fucking-tell!” Changbin shouts over the music and you momentarily cringe at the crack in his voice; it’s never a college party without one of your friends riling each other up over the dumbest things. And also, who thinks it’s a good idea to lend an unstable Lee Minho a sharp object of any kind?

You look away as heat flares through your nostrils when Minho accidentally glances at you after laughing at some corny joke that Chan made. He’s more than mildly hammered right now, you suppose, because, well, Chan can only make people laugh when they’re exceptionally drunk. 

A stupid question then slips out of your lips. “With what?” It sounds like you only have one brain cell and are perpetually dumb. It makes you feel even dumber when there’s nothing but a can of Coke inside your body. 

“A hottie who dances, cooks, has a good sense of humor, lowkey a genius, highkey a tsundere, shares a name with a famous actor. Far more handsome than the actor himself, if I dare.” Yeji has no hesitation whatsoever naming every reason as to why people on campus shamelessly throw themselves at your roommate on a daily basis. And now your head grows ten times fuzzier, floating mundanely in the clouds above. Basically, you feel like you’re drunk—except your confidence isn’t sky high enough to do something stupid—which makes no absolute sense. 

The silver-haired girl next to you puts an arm around your neck and giggles, you’re highly perturbed that her vocal cords are gonna give in tomorrow when she convinces you through FaceTime that you should be extra careful with your notes since she won’t be showing up to class. “Oh! And he has three cats, right? Cat people are said to be more intuitive and thoughtful, that’s a bonus,” Yeji asserts and your jaw is on the floor at this rate. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance during lunch break and she already knows this much?

No wonder Minho never talked about his cats with Felix and Seungmin again.

“I bet you read that off a Buzzfeed article.” 

“Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong!”

You inhale and exhale deeply, linking your fingers together, “Yeah, but that’s all people will ever see.”

“Well, what else can they like about him?”

“I don’t know,” you say bluntly, but the rouge on your cheeks is anything but ‘blunt’. “They don’t see how stuck-up he is, how he loves hogging the blanket all to himself, how he secretly stocks up a stash of trashy snacks. They don’t see the way his eyes sparkle when he looks into their eyes during a conversation because he’s actually a very attentive listener.”

Yeji pats your back without turning her head, slightly amused, “I think you meant how he looks into your eyes during a conversation.”

Your eyes scan the room one more time to find Minho hugging his stomach from laughing too much, there are actual tears in his eyes because Changbin just lost a bet and apparently he has to belly flop himself into the pool as a punishment. You haven’t seen him this happy in a while, even when he’s potentially dying from a really bad stomachache but it still puts your heart at ease knowing he’s having fun tonight. 

Needless to say, he always knocks the breath right out of your lungs without much effort. Even when he’s ditched the leather jacket and ripped jeans, you still think no one looks better than him in a large t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“But I don’t get it,” Yeji looks over at you this time, real carefully because your tone just grows firmer and more serious. “How can he just stand there, laugh...and look so beautiful?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah that’s exactly what I need to hear right now, Yeji,” you facepalm almost immediately, highly disappointed in yourself. 

Jisung’s getting his ten dollars on Monday when you surprise him with two slices of cheesecake from his favorite dessert place. Changbin can keep his Tesla and Chan...Chan isn’t getting anything.

You push yourself off the blue velvet couch and groan, you’re getting sore quickly because the cushions are far too soft. “Let me get some fresh air, I feel like I’m gonna to lose my mind,” you tell your friend but you doubt that she caught it since the music is all too loud for students to communicate properly. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why fistfights during parties are a thing. 

“Uhm, wait,” Yeji tugs onto your sleeve and jerks her head towards the direction of Minho. “I’m sorry but what the hell does your boyfriend want now?”

“Huh where—“

Like..three feet away. Or a whole lot closer. 

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” And you find Minho standing in front of you with his arms crossed stubbornly, eyebrows knitted together and tinted pink cheeks. He looks a little pissed off, and you don’t think you’re both on the same page here. 

When you give him a ‘what do you mean’ look, your roommate feels the need to unlock his phone and jab his index finger against his poor crusty screen as he shows you at least fifty messages that he’s been spamming in the last half an hour. This reminds you of the yellow Post-It note that Minho violently smacked onto your fridge the very night when he first moved in. 

‘I hereby fucking declare that if we did end up going to the same party (doubt btw), we would keep our phones with us 25/8 so one can save the other’s ass from stupid decisions— lee minho’ he wrote. Minho knows all too well the only ass that needs to be saved is his. And you’ve thought about taking the note down several times but you don’t think you’d have the heart to. 

“Oh,” your head draws a blank canvas and you look for your phone in your pocket. But then, “I left my phone in Chan’s car.”

Minho rolls his eyes at you and decides that he’s too impatient to wait for Chan to sober up and remember where he left his keys. “Whatever,” he manages to crack a small smile, one that shines through the dimmed LED light on the ceiling and makes your heart stuck in your throat. “Let’s get out of here, I have something to tell you.” 

“Hey hey hey,” Yeji tries to get up from the couch but her limbs are too wobbly. “You can’t just tap out all of a sudden and steal her from me like that. Don’t even think for a minute you second rate—”

“Yeah, no, she’s mine.”

You’re downright baffled. But you’re not sure if it’s because of what he said ten seconds ago and your heart is going haywire, your brain cells are giving in on you or it’s because he’s tugging you by the wrist and piloting you through the impending chaos of sloppy college students. 

You’re not sure if you want to know. You’re not sure if you’re ready. 

six.

Fall arrives sooner than you thought and it almost makes you miss summer. Though you didn’t really have anything exciting besides an internship that refrained you from living on YouTube for too long. 

The evening is oddly cold, but you’ve never had a problem with the tips of your fingers growing chilly. It’s different tonight—it’s the kind of coldness that slips through your flesh and into your bones, coming in contact with the thumping force of your heart, causing it to shiver. There’s nothing to do but keep your gaze straight forward, your feet moving on their own with the one and only goal of heading home. Clouds with the murky color of wet ashes pass by, and the ground as its dank reflection—a reminder of how humanity is ruining the planet. 

The streets are so quiet and tranquil; you’re afraid that Minho might be able to hear your heartbeat. Now you’re pointing a finger at society in accusation because it’s the weekend yet no elder couples are taking their night strolls, no middle-aged ladies in fluffy jackets are walking their spoiled teacups dogs and no wasted college students are roaming the streets with ‘trouble’ spelled out on their forehead. Really, you’d rather stare at people in a creepy way and zone out than constantly thinking about Lee Minho when he’s right beside you. 

This is terribly suffocating and you don’t think if you can keep this up in the next thirty minutes until both of you get home and melt into the comfort of your bed. 

“Sober up, Mister Celebrity, that’s too much fun for tonight.” Minho winces slightly when you press a can of cold green tea against his cheeks as he’s about to doze off on the wooden bench next to the vending machine. While he’s taking a swig, you feel a silent obligation to take a seat but your eyes are determinedly fixed on the curb. 

The bench suddenly feels far too big and the night breeze is far too cold for Minho’s liking, so he shifts his body closer, fingers brushing over yours and sending electricity down your spine. “What do you mean?” he scoffs, finding it hard to not look at you so his gaze is temporarily glued onto the can of green tea in his palms. “Tonight was nothing compared to Jisung’s birthday.” He can still feel the remaining warmth from your hands, it makes him wonder how it’d feel to actually hold them. 

“Ugh, god,” you shake your head in disbelief, internally cringing. “Don’t even remind me.”

You still don’t know what Hyunjin fed him that day to the point he couldn’t remember what happened. All hell broke loose Felix posted a video of him pretending to be a stupid ostrich and trying to do a mating dance towards Jisung on Twitter. No one dares to talk about that scarred video since. Now that he’s reminded you of it, you wish you didn’t own brain cells in the first place. This is why the internet is scary. 

“What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?” 

Minho stops for a second at your question and places his beverage down on the bench. He stares distantly at the space ahead as if he’s fighting with himself inside his own head, seriously contemplating something. It’s come to your attention that this isn’t very like his usual self. Minho never hesitates for a second when he has something in mind. Even when he knows that you might rip his head off.

He exhales deeply, turns his head, and makes direct eye contact with you for what seems like an eternity. His eyes are as wide open and honest as a child’s, they possess something so much more the longer you stare at them. A warmth, safety. Your heart is gonna combust if he doesn’t get this over with soon. 

Then, “I think I forgot to put yeast in the batter.” Wait what?

“Minho!” you punch his arm, earning a low grunt from the blond-haired boy. “Don’t fucking scare me like that!” He’s looking at you as though your eyes are turning red with rage and smoke is coming out of your ears, scared for his own life but truthfully, you’re just relieved. Surprisingly. 

“Wait, so you’re not mad?” he asks you with a wide-eyed expression, trying way too hard to keep a straight face. “Aren’t we supposed to bring homemade bread for the get together at the nursing home tomorrow?”

“Old people still enjoy Bingo for some reason, they can have that instead of bread.” His mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he scoots closer to you and you can tell that he reeks off alcohol, which is making you a little dizzy. When your gaze falls elsewhere but Lee Minho, you attempt to appear casual, “But if you wanna bake so badly, I can still pull an all-nighter and start over with you.” That was doable, but you could have done better—should have sounded like you didn’t really care. 

Minho flings his bangs away from his face and tosses his head back, chuckling breathlessly. “Don’t you have a midterm to stress over instead of me? I don’t want you to pick out every single strand of hair on your head after baking with me.” He finally said something nice once in a while, you sorta appreciate it. “It’d be embarrassing when my parents FaceTime me and see you as bald as my great grandfather.” Nevermind, he’s still the same old jerk. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you’ll be moving out in two weeks, either way, right?” Your tone sounds sad and grim all of a sudden; it really dampens the atmosphere because Minho is now looking at you with concern laced in his brown eyes. “Look, I get that it’s bothersome to be my roommate so there’s no need to feel bad. I’ll be fine going back to my old life where my feet don’t get cold in the middle of the night because no one would be there to hog the blanket anymore.”

Minho feels the need to clear things up here. “I never said anything about moving out,” he grabs you by the shoulders and hopes you could just look at him when he’s being serious for once. “Y/N, who even said anything about moving out? Was it the landlord?”

“No,“ you say, still not willing to face him directly. You’re such a coward. 

“If so, why would I move out? Did I do something wrong? Did I piss you off or something?”

You’re trying so hard not to snap at this point. “No!”

“Then why can’t you just fucking look at me?!”

“You’re still drunk, let me buy you another—“

Minho shakes you forcefully, hoping to knock some common sense into that brain of yours. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not drunk!” he cries helplessly, not caring about the fact that he’s waking up every cat possible in the neighborhood. “Just- just look at me, will you?”

You stubbornly keep your eyes anywhere but him. “Why would I look at your stupid face?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. You’re not usually like this.”

Every single cell inside your body quivers simultaneously when he says so—good god, no, he’s testing you. Minho knows something’s off. Now to think about it again, you’d rather let him dirty your carpet than being put on trial like this.

“You wanna know why I’m acting like this? It’s because of you! You’re making me nervous! It’s your fault for making me feel this way!”

“What?” he blurts, eyes blinking numerous times in disbelief. “What did I ever do to you?”

“God, Minho, you can’t possibly be this dense. Tell me, that you’ve never, not even once, seen me turning beet red when you simply look at me in the eye. Or when you’re just sitting there, laughing your ass off about something stupid. It makes my heart flutter, okay? You make my heart flutter. Do you know how much of an effect you can have on me? You don’t go around juggling with others’ feelings like that,” your voice grows smaller and smaller towards the end until there’s nothing but an oddly comfortable silene floating midair. A sense of relief washes over you; you unknowingly exhale.

Minho stares at you in awe for a moment there, until he also speaks up for himself. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he almost snickers, and this causes you to peel your gaze away from a random bush to gawk at his response. “You’re telling me to not go around juggling with others’ feelings? If anything, you’re the one who keeps messing with my heart. What am I supposed to do? Not get drunk so that I won’t be able to get away for doing dumb things?”

“What dumb things?”

“I don’t know, kiss you?”

“Fuck, you can’t get away with it this time now, can you?”

You’re already regretting this and there’s no turning back. Because when Minho subconsciously runs his tongue over his bottom lips, you’re already fighting the rouge spreading on your cheekbones. He shortens the distance between your heads until your lips are practically a breath away from his. Impatient, you grab a fistful of his shirt to smash your lips against his. Minho stays frozen for a nanosecond, taken aback by your boldness before pulling you closer by the waist. You’re hesitant at first, but he guides you through it, telling you that it’s okay by embracing you more tightly. Dear god, Minho’s kissing you and the world just falls away. It’s slow, comforting in ways that words can never be. He slackens his jaw to deepen the kiss, smiling into it when giddiness bubbles up inside his stomach. 

The world still feels like it’s spinning when he parts away, an alcoholic taste mixed with the green tea ghosts your lips, and your face grows ten times hotter. Even in this cracked darkness, Minho sees you blush hard and is fully aware that his cheeks are mirroring yours—he doesn’t even bother to convince himself that it’s from the alcohol, because it isn’t. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Minho questions though his breath is still a bit shaky from the kiss. He really didn’t lie when he said that he could never stop bothering you. 

You can’t help but smile at him brightly; this causes his heartbeat to spike inside his chest. “Well, do I have to?” He shakes his head and stares down at your hands until he musters up every strand of courage left to finally intertwine them with his own. Fits like a glove. 

“Come on, let’s go home,” he tells you softly, eyes crinkling into a pretty crescent moon shape. But you stop him right there when he attempts to stand up and wordlessly lean your forehead against his. Minho understands that you simply need a moment so you both hover right there, simply melting into each other’s touch. But what you say next just makes the ignited passion inside his heart flare-up. He’s at a loss for words, utterly speechless. 

“I am home.”

“Welcome home then, Y/N,” Minho whispers.

Everything feels like a dream that you’d never want to wake up from. His hands are clasped on either side of your face, resting just below the lobes of your ears. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks so that you won’t drift away, your breaths mingling. Never before has your own name made your heart flutter. But you guess it’s only because Minho said it. You do know that it’s not an afterthought, nor out of impulse. It’s a promise, for whatever’s coming your way on this path, he’s never gonna leave you behind. And the moment he feels that thing beating inside his chest is in sync with yours, he slowly leans in again.

Albert Einstein once said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love. And you have every right to argue with him in the afterlife because you’ve confirmed that Minho is your gravity. Gravity keeps you grounded, always get a hold of you so that you won’t ever have to wander off too far away. It’s there for you but it doesn’t have to act like it cares. Minho’s kinda like that too—he picked you up every time you said you’re good walking home, he only stocked up the stash of candies to secretly feed your midnight cravings. They only differ so much where his heartbeat for you is loud, undaunted and he loves you fearlessly; nothing shall meddle with his feelings for you as long as the way your eyes light up when they meet his doesn’t change. 

Before you met Minho, you didn’t know that it was possible to just look at someone and smile for no reason. The way his lips curl up when he smiles, his sarcastic remarks, his kindhearted nature though he’s awfully good at hiding it. That’s what people do when they’re in love, they say—to fawn over the littlest things but they’re what makes you fall so hard for him. But as time passes by, you’ve learned that it’s actually quite nice to be in love with someone. Because then, you get to spend your time and effort on their happiness as well, not just your own. In exchange, that person is capable of bringing colors to your dull world, tearing down your walls, and showing you just how beautiful life can be. Surely, Minho might not stay by your side forever in this crazy game of Monopoly but you’d risk it all for him even if the sky comes crashing and the universe turns upside down. 

After all, you can’t love alone. 

[simpsiren]

sticky notes: the story

mark lee x reader

introduction 

main masterlist

description. you use sticky notes to get into contact with your soulmate.

genre. soulmate au, high school au, strangers to lovers au

warnings. nonee

a/n. so some people requested for a full story of this so here it is! i really liked making this because the concept is just so cute cudndn oh and i did include the same idea as what i did in my previous post but i had to change it a little so that it would fit the plot. this is a really really long ff since its a slow burn typa thing so please try to stick with me on this one HAHA anyways enjoyy! :D

“you actually believe that?”

you lift your head up from your notes to look at soyoung. she nods her head and hum eagerly. you rub your temples from seeing her respond. “i do believe soulmates exist. but sticky notes to talk to them? what’s social media for then? and how is it even scientifically possible?” you question soyoung, bringing your eyes down as you continue to do your homework.

“that’s the beauty of soulmates, ray!” soyoung whines. you shake your head. “you’re dumb to believe it without confirming the information with other relevant sources.” you mutter out bluntly. you hear soyoung letting out a ‘tsk’. “here you go again being a history student. i swear im glad i never took it.” you scoff and slam your pen on the table gently.

“excuse me, woman! at least i dont have to memorise the whole textbook and only having 5 pages of content coming out in the exam.” you stick your tongue out playfully to tease soyoung. “i cant get over the fact that valcanos didn’t come out eventhough i memorised so much for it.”

the both of you laugh, knowing that the two of you can never stop debating on whether history or geography is the better subject.

“ray complete your homework at home. we cant stay in the classroom for long you know?” soyoung stands up to get to her seat, which is 2 rows down yours since you were sitting right at the back. you liked sitting at the back. it allowed you to always be able to use your phone in case you get bored in class. you still cant believe that your teachers think you’re a good and obedient student. you figured they only assumed that due to your high grades.

you sigh “that’s true.” you turn around to grab your back that was hanging in your chair and start packing your materials. once you were done, you grab the class key and walk over to soyoung’s seat, waiting for her to finish packing. you notice soyoung has finish packing and went to switch off the lights. you allow soyoung to step out first before you close the door behind you and lock the classroom door.

you and soyoung walked down the hallway silently, you were looking out the window to watch the sunset while soyoung had her eyes on her feet. only your footsteps could be heard as almost everyone has left the school grounds except for some teachers who were working late. the school normally closes at 7pm and you’re walking out at 6:50. to break the silence, soyoung opens her mouth to start a conversation.

“okay if you dont believe me why dont you try it yourself? like write a simple introduction to your soulmate.” you raise an eyebrow as you shove your hands into the front pockets of your mom jeans. “why dont you do it?” you fought back as you huff. soyoung bites the inside of her cheek as a moment of silence passes for her to think of an answer.

“because i believe it. and you do not. so you should try it.” you smacked soyoung’s arm, making her flinch back and shouting a loud ‘ouch’. you roll your eyes, knowing you didn’t hit her hard and she was just overreacting. “brilliant excuse,so. but if its going to make you stop talking about it, i might as well.” soyoung face lit up as she jumps happily and starts skipping ahead of you. you laugh and pull the handle at back of her bag to keep her explosion of excitement to the minimum.

“you owe me brown sugar milk tea. large.” you taunted. soyoung waves her hand lazily. “i’ll buy you one after school tomorrow. but you better update me during math.”

you wanted to say how you could just text soyoung to update her, but you remembered the fact that soyoung’s mother took away her phone since she didn’t do well for this year’s midterms. although to you, soyoung’s grades were decent. unfortunately for her, soyoung has to live up to her asian mom’s high expectations. the thought of this made you want to frown, but you showed a bright smile regardless as the two of you finally made it to the school gate, waving to each other and bidding farewell before walking down opposite paths.

once you arrived at home, you took out your phone from your back pocket. you saw a notification from your mother saying that your parents would be home late. you shrug your shoulders as you walk to your room. “as always.” you breathed out.

you did your normal routine of showering and eating leftover dinner that you needed to heat up at the couch while you completed one episode of the anime series you were so hooked on. you continue watching but with the amount of homework you have, you might finish them all by midnight if you dont slack.

you turned off the tv and washed your plate before heading into your room. as you close the door behind you, your eyes immediately went to your desk, which was pretty messed up since you had a test to study for yesterday that you completely weren’t prepared for and had to squeeze in as much information as you can. hence, the scattering of notes and textbooks.

you stroll over to your desk and sat down. you take out your homework from your back which was beside the desk. looking at the stack of homework, you groan in despair as shove it to the back of the desk till it hit the wall. “ah fuck it! im just going to ask kun for help.” you admitted your defeat depsite thinking you would be able to gain some energy from your dinner. you also thought about how you’ve done your homework in the morning plenty of time so i shouldnt be a problem unless kun doesn’t offer his help.

you jump to your bed and lay down, bringing your phone out and immediately start scrolling through instagram. as you swiped your finger up to look at the posts of the people you follow, you stop at one. a picture of a couple who met through the sticky note theory. or so they claim. your thumbs hover over the screen as your eyes look up to the ceiling, starting to remember what soyoung asked to do to get your bubble tea.

yoy tap your index finger on the side of your phone as you constantly started to think whether you should do it or not. you’ve heard the rumours. but are they even true? the more you thought about it, the more intriguing the idea got. but at the same time, you also thought of how stupid it sounded and was probably made to fool people.

after contemplating and having in a debate in your head that felt like forever, you finally place your phone down beside you and take a deep breath. “ill do it.” you groan to yourself, letting curiosity take over your other feelings.

you gather up your strength to stand up from your bed and walk over to your desk. you push all the papers and textbooks aside, grabbing a yellow sticky notepad from your stationery organiser. you had other colours too like pink and purple, but you figured that you should go with the classic.

pulling out a random pen that was laying in between the pages of one of your textbooks, you tilt your head to the side as you start thinking of what to write, unconsciously biting the end of your pen in the process.

you bite the side of your cheek and shrug, deciding to go with the plan of writing whatever that comes to your mind.

um hi? i dont even know if you’re going to see this. its funny, really. i heard a rumour that you can communicate with your soulmate through sticky notes. it’s probably just fake news and im writing to a nobody. that would honestly be embarrassing but it’ll be like love letters.. to myself(?) or my soulmate. write back? haha

you read over what you wrote an endless amount of times, thinking if you should make changes. you groan and immediately stick the sticky note onto your wall, giving up on giving second thoughts about what you call this ridiculousness.

you went about your night, forgetting you have left the sticky note on the wall. as you were on you bed scrolling through tumblr at 2 in the morning, you hear something. it sounded like a piece of paper had fallen from your desk.

unable to see in complete darkness, you turn on the flashlight from your phone and walk around your room, trying to find whatever it is that fell. it didn’t take you long to find a small yellow sticky note that you accidentally stepped on.

you pick it up, remembering that you wrote on the sticky note and thought that it was yours. however, once you were able to get a closer look, you noticed that the words on the sticky note have changed. so has the handwriting.

holy shit. i dont know what is this. but apparently a sticky note appeared on my wall saying i have a soulmate. my friends told me i should write back because of some rumour. so here i am trying. hi im mark. i dont know your name, but hope you’ll tell me once you recieve this. you’re in luck because apparently the rumour is true. im just as crepped out as you are.

you froze in your spot. your fingers shaking as you read the note again. you scratch your head. being too tired and unable to think straight at 2 in the morning, you place the sticky note on your desk and went back to bed to play with your phone. you soon forget about the fact that your soulmate has replied to your message that you have written on your sticky note.

as you got ready for the next period which was math, soyoung immediately runs over to you, dragging the chair from the desk beside you and taking a seat. you flinch a little when you suddenly see her close to you. 

“so did you try it?!” soyoung asks, her voice filled with enthusiasm . you brushed a few pieces of hair behind your ear, nodding your head as you take out your textbook from under the desk. “did you get a reply then?” 

your mind started to take you back to the mysterious encounter that you had last night. “mhm.” you reply simply. “though the only thing i remember because it seems to be the only relevant information is that the person’s name is mark.” soyoung gasped loudly, making you crease your forehead as you watch her overreacting again. 

“your soulmate’s name is mark then.” soyoung concludes, folding her arms confidently as if she made a great discovery. you laugh, rolling your eyes sarcastically. “isnt it obvious?” soyoung frowns fakely. 

your mouth gapes open as you hit soyoung’s arm lightly. “buy me my milk tea!” you demanded with a wide smile. soyoung places her notebook on your table and nods constantly. “i will you addict.” she groans. you happily say thank you as your teacher comes into the classroom and class began. 

“what are you going to do about it now though?” as you recieved the question from soyoung, you kept silent for a moment, giving time to think of an answer.

 “ill write something back? i dont know.. ill have to read the letter again when i get back home.” you whispe to soyoung. she nods in reply as the two of you payed your attention to the front again. it surprised you that soyoung was paying attention but you only assumed that she wanted to do better in class and shrug your shouders, writing down the notes youve missed while talking to soyoung.

as for you, your concentration in class dipped slightly because now, the thing that is occupying your head the most is the thought that the sticky notes theory might actually be real and you cant say its not possible anymore, making you even more shocked than you did last night.

lucky for you, today is the only day of the week where your class ends the earliest, along with two other lower ranked classes. you and soyoung quickly pack up to go to the mall to get your reward. after soyoung buys you your drink, you and soyoung went your separate ways.

after about 30 minutes of taking the bus and walking, you finally arrived at home. you place your drink on the living room table and proceed to place your bag in the room and head for the showers.

once you were done showering, you walk out of the bathroom to head to your room while drying your hair with a small towel. opening the door, you enter and went straight to your clothing rack. just when you were about to grab a shirt from the hanger, you heard the same noise last night. another piece of paper has fallen on the floor.

you turn your head and look down. this time, you found another sticky note right in front of your feet. the colour of the sticky note changed from yellow to a light blue. you tilt your head as you pick up the stick note from the floor, finding it odd as you wonder how the colour of the sticky note changed.

you take a deep breath before reading it, noticing that the handwriting was similar to the one you read last night. a little messier, but still readable.

hi again.. im not sure if you’ll recieve this since its the afternoon and i know people are busy with work or school. i skipped school today so haha. um i just wanted to write to you, despite me not knowing a single thing about you. its odd really. its like i feel the need to write something to an unknown identity that people assume to be my soulmate. i still dont know your name, so i hope youll reply soon. take your time and take care :)

- mark

“skip school? what is he, a bad boy?” you scoff to yourself. you try to take in whatever’s on the note, but another thought comes to mind. you walk over to your desk and saw that the yellow sticky note with mark’s reply was still there. you find everything about this weird and just odd in general. a lot of questions sprouted, but you didn’t want to think of it since you were afraid you would complicate your thoughts and just throw yourself into a stress hole.

you continue to dry your hair with one hand while the other held onto the light blue sticky note. you bit your lip and gulp. after letting out a long sigh, you place the sticky note next to the other one and changed into your clothes, as well as bringing your drink from the living room table to your room, placing it on the desk as you sat down.

you take out your pencilcase from your bag and brought out your fresh new black pen that you just bought at the school’s stationery store. the previous pen you had was full of ink till soyoung was dumb enough to drop it, spoiling the pen and was unable to be used again.

peeling off another yellow stick note from the stack at the edge of your desk, you were about to put your pen on paper when you realise you dont even know what to write. what do you say to this person you barely know about? you continuously tap the edge of the pen against your desk as you take a sip of your drink. you look over to the two sticky notes with the messages that the person has left. its funny how you have to think so hard just to write a short message.

hey again. i actually ended school early today. my name’s raven. but my friends call me ray. i honestly don’t know what to say to you. im still dumbfounded over the fact that you’re my soulmate and we’re here communicating over sticky notes. the world really does work in a strange way. if you dont mind, i guess i want to know how old you are and you’re education status?

you held out the sticky note in front of you and sigh in satisfaction. why? it’s because of your neat handwriting. it was always a trait of yours that you deeply appreciate. you place the sticky note on the wall and advert your attention to the other sticky notes, placing them on the wall beside the new one you have just written.

“will this drive me insane? i might end up with a whole wall of this.” you say to yourself, rubbing your face with your palm before going to your bed and laying down, wanting to have your evening nap.

“this is awesome!”

“no its scary.”

mark and his group of friends stared at the sticky note that has a message written with beautiful handwriting. mark flinched when he felt an arm on his shoulder, turning around to notice it was chenle’s. “when did you write your previous sticky note?” renjun suddenly asked. mark tilts his head as he tried to find an answer.

“less than an hour before you guys came i guess?” mark shrugs, standing up from his desk and taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside jaemin and haechan. “this raven girl is your soulmate then.” chenle walks towards mark and stands in front of him. mark nods slowly. the room grew silent again with everyone having the similar thoughts.

“you know what would be funny?” haechan smacks mark’s thigh, the sound making everyone turn their attention to mark and haechan. “what?” mark asked with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“why dont we prank her and say you’re a sugar daddy and live in a mansion?!” everyone gave yuta weird looks, making haechan laugh hysterically. “are you crazy? do you think i want to chase my soulmate away?” mark scolded haechan, smacking him hard on the chest, resulting in haechan’s back falling onto the bed.

“you’re always asking for a beating i swear.” renjun comments, walking towards haechan and balling his hand into a fist and acting as if he was about to attack. jaemin laughs to try and calm them down. “kids let’s not fight.” jaemin announced, looking over to jeno only to find him standing there watching quietly.

“go ahead, mark. you should write something. we cant keep her waiting.” jeno finally spoke up, grabbing the sticky notepad and a random pen from mark’s table and passing it over to him.

mark stared at the blank paper while the others were talking about what to have for dinner. it didn’t take him long to decide what to write. when mark starts writing and began to be in full concentration, everyone crowds around him to see what he’s writing.

sup raven! i wont call you ray since we aren’t friends yet. im still shocked. like the possibility of things like this being possible is just another possibility that can possibly happen. but anyways, to answer you question, im a high schooler from dream high. im in my third year. its kind of awkward for me while im writing this since my friends are reading every word im taking down. i guess i should ask you the same question back then. hope to hear from you soon.

“will you guys stop being nosy?” mark groans, standing up and pasting the sticky note on his wall, along with the other sticky notes he received from you. “you didn’t have to say that we’re here.” haechan retorts. mark rolls his eyes. “jesus..” mark mutters under his breathe. “anyways, yall are paying for dinner since you guys bribed me to write back.” mark sticks his tongue out playfully and runs out to the living room. everyone follows suit.. except for jeno.

jeno slowly walks towards the wall and leans forward to get a closer look of the sticky notes, specifically the two others beside the new one that mark just wrote. “raven? why does that sound so familiar? the handwriting...” jeno brings his finger up and lightly hovers them over the uniquely written words. it looked like calligraphy, and retro looking. jeno felt as though he had seen it before somewhere, or knew someone who wrote like that.

jeno snapped out of his deep thoughts when jaemin called out to him, making him walk towards the door and glancing at the sticky notes once more before joining the others in the living room.

you were currently video calling your friends when you heard the crackling of a piece of paper. of course you knew what that meant. you peered down the the floor from your bed and reached your hand out to pick up the sticky note. “ray?” doyoung called out to you when he noticed your face wasnt on screen. you lay back down on the floor and brought your phone up to show your face.

“what was that sound earlier?” lucas asked, currently sounding hyper. “the mysterious mark sent me another sticky note.” you reply sarcastically, waving the sticky note to the camera to let everyone look at it. everyone nodded their heads at the some time, some letting out a long ‘ah’ as well. “read it out loud!” yuta shouted.

“the fuck no!” you shouted back. you stared at the sticky note, but didn’t bother to read it. you thought of doing that once you’re done video calling them.

“how was today for you guys?” you asked, wanting to know how they’re doing.

“its tiring! we had dance practice, then we have to do recordings for our new albums. we barely get any sleep.” ten whines, his tone filled with stress. you laugh loudly. it made everyone frown and pout. you sigh. “pursuing your NCT world domination is never easy.” you commented, highlighting the word ‘world domination’ with a change of tone.

everyone lets out a long sigh and started to complain one by one, making the whole video call chaotic for almost 10 minutes. you could only smile and shake your head.

after about an hour or so of talking about basically everything and catching up with each other, everyone decided that they should end the call here since it was beginning to get dark and they needed to start practice soon. you bid your goodbye to them once more and ended the call.

you now adverted your attention to the sticky note. reading the letter, you raise both eyebrows. “dream high? that’s not far from here..” you mumbled to yourself. you started to think about everything you know about dream high. you know it’s was about an hour’s journey from where you live. it wasnt really well known either. the overall vibe of the school was mediocre.

however, you felt like you were missing something. something about that school is somehow related to you. you just couldn’t think of an answer despite squeezing all thoughts that you have in your brain. you groan and stood up from your bed and to your desk, proceeding to wanting to write a reply to mark.

hey. sorry if you get this quite late. i was busy video calling my friends. to answer your question, im a third year as well from jookin high. i would ask for your number so we dont have to do this all the time but my friend would scold me saying “but you’re removing the fun out of it.” but anyways, mark aka my soulmate, tell me about yourself, to start off.

you stick the note onto the wall, looking at the row of messages you’ve had recieved so far. you found it weird how the first time you’ve sent the note and got a reply back, it was on the same sticky note, just different handwriting. but you had to write on a new sticky note to send a new message only to get the same sticky note with a different message in return.

you only see his answers lined up on your wall. you started to wonder how this mark guy looked like. is he good looking? what are his hobbies? his attitude towards school? you really wished you could just text him through instagram and not have to go through all this trouble. but that option would earn you a large smack on the back by soyoung and your really didn’t want that.

“do we really need to be here now? like now?!”soyoung whined, while pushing the cart and following behind you while you tossed some packets of frozen bacon. you stopped walking and turn around, nodding your head intensely. soyoung groans and took out her phone, proceeding to use it while still pushing the cart.

you walk around the supermarket, trying to find the ingredients listed on your notes in your phone. it was the weekends and you’re parents were going to be away for a business trip for a week so you thought of inviting soyoung over and making home cooked meals as a bonding session for you two.

after about 30 minutes of gathering the ingredients and having soyoung constantly screaming and fangirling over tiktok edits of jaehyun from NCT. one note: she has yet to know that you know them and that they’re your friends. you figured that it would be best to not let anyone know so as to avoid any situation that would put your friends in a tight spot, since well they’re idols, you were looking for one last item that you had trouble finding.

“soyoung help me! stop watching tiktoks!” you groan, snatching soyoung’s phone away and shoving it in her back pocket. soyoung rolls her eyes lazily and the two of you proceeded to scan the different isles and shelves, looking over every item.

while you were too concentrated looking at the bottom shelves, you felt that you have bumped into someone. you squat down, letting out a soft ‘ouch’ before standing up and looking to see who you bumped into.

“wait. jaemin?” you furrow your eyebrows as you tilt your head, pointing your finger at the guy in front of you. “raven!” you noticed that it was jaemin after all, and both your faces lit up and the same time, grinning widely at each other.

“uhhh..” soyoung says out loud, you and jaemin turn your heads to face soyoung who was behind you. “oh! this is jaemin. we used to be neighbourhood friends before he moved out 4 years ago.” you introduced jaemin to soyoung. jaemin nodded and gave her a bright smile. soyoung only shrugged her shoulders and took out her phone. you turn your attention back to jaemin.

“why are you even here? dont you live quite far?” you ask, your fingers interlocked behind your back. jaemin nods, running a hand through his hair.

“well yes. but we came here to find something that only this supermarket sells.” jaemin replied back, his warm smile never leaving his lips. you smile, reached your hand out to ruffle his hair, laughing softly afterwards. “we? who’re you with?” you stared at jaemin with eyes of suspicion. jaemin started pinching your cheeks, making you whine and begging him to let go.

“with my friend, ray chill. im still single.” jaemin pulled away and folded his arms, pouting. “im sure you’ll find one soon.” you reached out to ruffle his hair and give off a wide smile.

while you and jaemin were catching up and being in your own world, soyoung got too bored of watching the two of you and decided to walk around the supermarket, leaving the cart behind you.

just as she was looking at the drinks isle to get her favourite sweet drink, she sees someone picking up a bunch of bottles one by one and placing them back on the shelve. out of kindness, she decided to help, picking up a bottle and placing it on fhe shelve before looking up to face the guy, who had a straight face while looking at her.

“i was just trying to help. im soyoung.” soyoung smiled, reaching her hand out and waiting for thr guy to greet back. he looked at her but doesn’t respond, proceeding to pick up the last bottle that was seen on the floor. “im jeno.” jeno stands up and nods his head to greet soyoung. soyoung nods back, walking down the isle to grab her drink from the shelve. “have a nice day.” soyoung says before leaving the isle and disappearing out of jeno’s sight. he only shrugged in response and went to do his own thing.

“you met who?!” haechan asks as he takes a sip of his ice cold water. everyone had their heads turned to jaemin, who raised an eyebrow at everyone’s weird expression. “i met my old friend raven. what’s so shocking?” jaemin asks back casually, picking up a few pieces of fries and dipping it into the sauce before shoving it in his mouth.

“dude that’s the name of mark’s soulmate!” haechan screams, making everyone flinch due to the loud noise. “i highly doubt it. there’s plenty of girls in the world with the name raven.” jaemin protests with his mouth full and chugging down gulps of coca cola.

“i mean that’s true. jeno you were with jaemin, right? dont you suspect anything?” renjun starts to question jeno, who was silently playing with his phone. looking up at the others, he gulps.

“i didn’t know he met his friend. i was picking out drinks. i just met a girl named soyoung.” jeno shrugs, taking a bite of his burger. mark scratches the back of his head, now starting to think of the fact that jaemin might have met his soulmate. though he also thought about how that could not be totally possible.

“nah i dont think its her. like really ‘raven’ could be anyone.” mark says, siding with jaemin. haechan tilts his head in awe. “jaemin do you know what school she’s going to?” jaemin only shakes his head.

“i lost all contact with her when i left her neighbourhood. plus we were young. i barely knew her honestly.” the living room falls silent, everyone trying to think of a conclusion to this.

chenle groans, standing up from his seat and slamming his hands on the table, gathering everyone’s attention as their heads shot up. “instead of pondering as if yall are solving some crime, why dont mark just ask her through the sticky note god dammit?” chenle pinches the bridge of his nose.

everyone’s mouths gape open as the room was suddenly filled with ‘ah’s all over. chenle shakes his head. everyone was now looking intensively at mark. mark furrows his eyebrows. “okay guys hold up ill grab the stick note.” mark stands up and takes one bite of his burger before going into his room for awhile and coming out with a sticky note and a pen.

jaemin noticed jeno being silent the whole way. and althought thats normal since its jeno’s nature and personality to not be so outspoken like the others, jaemin could sense that jeno was off and seem to be in deep thoughts.

and jaemin was right. jeno couldnt stop thinking about jaemin’s encounter with ‘raven’. the name sounded so familiar. he tried to recall every girl he has came into contact with during his life. why did he feel like the name was tied to the handwriting he saw on the sticky notes?

“jeno.” jaemin nudged him in the shoulder. jeno mumbled a soft ‘oh’ before turning his attention to mark just like the others. “she didn’t send me a reply after my last one though.” mark says, looking up.

“its fine. she probably didn’t see it. just write already.” chenle says in anticipation. mark shakes his head. “calm the heck down its not like we can get an answer immediately.” mark rolls his eyes and began to write.

hey raven. um i know this may sound weird. but have you gone to a supermarket and met a guy names jaemin? im not a stalker i swear. its just that he’s my friend and apparently you know him. though i dont think that such a coincidence and come by just like that. hope you hear from you soon.

jeno stared at the sticky note that mark proceeded to place at a random wall of the living room while everyone continued to eat and chat. his thoughts finally linked and a imaginary lightbulb appeared on above his head when he finally realises why he was so drawn to mark’s soulmate.

you were focused on wanting to solve a math question when the sticky note above your desk’s wall had fallen in front of you, revealing a new message. you place your pen down and let out a sigh, remembering that you hsve forgotten to write a reply and that mark probably sent you another one.

you tied your hair in a messy low bun before picking up the sticky note to get a closer view. you blink your eyes rapidly as your eyes furrow in awe. what the note said really shocked you and made you freeze in your spot. jaemin is friends with your soulmate? there’s no way.

you sat there for awhile as you constantly read over the words, still in shock with your moutb hanging open. you just couldn’t believe it. was it really what it seemed to be? another thought came to your mind as well. the thought of just who is this friend of jaemin’s? could it be mark? was your soulmate literally in the same place as you yet you never knew?

you grab a fresh new piece of sticky note and proceeded to write a reply after staring at it for so long and thought that it was finally time that you do something.

okay what you wrote really was weird. jaemin’s my old neighbourhood friend. its such a coincidence how you know him. i guess the connections are there. so haha yeah. damn. im very mind blown right now.

you take a look at your handwriting again, smiling to yourself. “i really do love my handwriting.” you mumble under your breath. you stuck the sticky note on the wall and resumed doing your homework, hoping that mark would reply soon.

while the boys were immersed in the horror movie they were watching on friday night, everyone turned their heads to each other when they heard the noise of a piece of paper falling onto the floor. in unison, everyone turned their head to where the noise came from and seeing the sticky note that fell.

jisung grabs the controller and pauses the movie. “we’re watching a scary movie and creepy stuff like that happens?!” jisung asks, stuttering out of complete fear.

mark decided to be the brave one after seeing everyone’s terrified face and stands up to pick up the sticky note, going back to take his seat on the couch soon after. “d-does that always happen?” mark shrugs. “well duh. that’s how i know she sent a reply. it wouldn’t be this scary if we weren’t watching a horror movie.”

everyone’s heads once again gather around mark as he read the note out loud. everyone gapes their mouth open, some covered their mouths while jeno could only stare at it in disbelief. “i guess we’ve confirmed its her.” mark breathes out, placing the sticky note on the table.

jeno reaches out to grab the sticky note to have a look. the unique handwriting that he suspected would belong to you really was yours. out of anger, he tears the sticky notes into two. everyone had their eyes widened at jeno’s sudden shocking action. mark snatches the now torn note back, looking down at them before facing jeno.

“what the heck was that for?!”

“dont talk to her anymore. she’s trouble.”

everyone lets out a sigh in unison except for mark, looking at everyone’s weird reaction. “what do you mean trouble? and why does it look like you all know something except me?” mark furrows his eyes as everyone exchanged glances continuously for a moment.

“she’s just not someone you should be with. that’s all.” jeno stands up and walks to his room, slamming the door shut and produring a piercing noise. the room was silent for awhile until mark speaks up.

“what am i missing here you guys?”

no one replies.

“we’ve been friends for a year and you guys are all keeping secrets for me?” mark scoffs in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“we arent in the position to tell you. its jeno.” jaemin murmurs under his breath, looking down on the ground just like the others.

marks keeps silent and stands up from the couch, the palm the torn note was in is balled into a fist as he goes into his room as well.

haechan sighs. “jeno has to tell the truth. he’s been holding onto that grudge almost forever now.”

everyone nods their heads in agreement. “if not, he’s going to live in despair now that he knows she’s his best friend’s soulmate..” jisung adds on. 

everyone could only silently hope that things could go well. 

after that day you’ve sent a reply, you havent heard from mark since. you dont know why. due to your lack of information on him, it felt as if he disappeared into thin air. although only a week has past by, you felt concerned and somewhat worried for him. did something happen to him? what made him cut off his connection with you? its not like you did anything wrong. 

out of pure desperation, you decided to skip school today. youve never skipped school before, and you felt so rebellious and bad. why did you do this? so you could go to dream high and meet mark in person. youve had enough of the sticky notes. you just wanted to see how he was like in real life, not having to think about it through notes. 

with a little help from jaemin by texting him on instagram, you knew that mark’s class should be ending by 4pm, and you were there at 3:50 in the canteen where jaemin told you to wait. funny how the security guard lets a student from another school come in with a pass or anything.

you slowly start seeing groups of students going down the flight of stairs that lead to the canteen which had a path leading to the front gates. some eyes glanced at you as they notice someone who doesnt belong at their school, you couldnt care less though. your thoughts were only filled with mark. how he looked like, how he would carry himself. your anticipation was the only thing you felt.

you wore your headphones yet you could suddenly hear a lot of squealing and shouting. you look up, turning you attention to the stairs. a large group of girls crowding around another group of people, who you assumed to be guys. you scoffed, thinking about how there’s always that one group of good looking guys all girls seem to go crazy for. you watch as the group of guys push through the large crowd.

once you got a closer look, you tilt your head to the side. you slowly bring your headphone down from your ears and let them rest on your neck, getting intrigued by how the girls were getting so crazy, even more crazy than the ones from your school.

“its mark! he’s so cute!” 

you widen your eyes as you heard the word ‘mark’. you stood up from your seat, peering your head up to find which one is the girl referring to. you only see two guys walking. one smiling sheepishly while the other kept a straight and cold face. just which one is mark?

suddenly, you felt an arm grabbing yours and pulling you back. you jump out of fear and turn around noticing it was jaemin. you calmed your breathing as you look at jaemin. 

“meet mark under the block nearby. its too hectic here for you to talk to him.”

jaemin dragged you out of the school grounds and to a secluded block where only a few students where walking past and left you there. you were lost in confusion but decided to trust whatever jaemin was doing, sitting down at a random bench.

“jaemin told us to meet him here where is-” 

“raven.”

“what?”

you immediately stood in front of the two guys you saw at the canteen as you notice a familiar face. you werent able to get a clear look at them before, but now you realise that you knew one of them. “jeno..” you look at a different direction a you tried avoiding his gaze, though you knew you couldnt, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

mark looks at the both of you, utterly confused as his attention shifts from you to jeno constantly. “this raven?” mark points at you, tilting his head. you nod slowly as your turn your head to face mark. you observed his body up and down. he was good looking, just like jeno.. yet his aura told you that he was way more outgoing and open than jeno. 

“you look...”

everyone was silent.

you gulp in nervousness. “im busy. bye mark.” before jeno could go, mark pulled on his arm to bring him back to stand beside him, earning a glare from jeno. the one you could never forget. “stay. i know something happened. you were always quiet whenever we talked about this girl. and i also know you all kept something from me.”

you slowly turned to jeno. you could he was annoyed whenever he looked at you. you felt it through his eyes, and it was terrifying. jeno took a deep breath in, folding his arms and placing his weight on one leg. 

“if you remember clearly, chenle told you that before we became friends with you, we had a fight and didnt talk to each other for a long time. we didnt tell you this, but it was her who caused it. she brought chaos into our group. everyone forgotten about it clearly, but i cant. after what she did.. i cant forgive her.”

you opened your mouth, wanting to reply but your words were somehow stuck in your throat. you didnt exactly know what to say or do in this awkward situation.

“it.. it was a long time ago jeno, please. my feelings for you were real, even if we werent meant to be. i dont know how many times you need me to say sorry.” you pleaded, biting your lip as you waited for jeno’s reaction.

jeno sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he lets out a huff of rustration. “then why did you leave? you left me stranded, and because of you, i almost left my friends becaused i lived in agony since i missed you so much. i almost pushed everyone away.” you shivered as jeno’s voice started to raise. 

 you also glanced at mark, who still kept his confused expression on his face. through his gaze never left you as you felt his eyes scanning you body up and down. 

“you two used date?” mark asks. you nod in reply.

“we were kids. we didnt know about all this soulmate stuff. but now..” 

“you know what? be together. im not going to leave my friends just because of my pent up grudge and feelings. i cant control fate either.” 

years had now past since you met mark. it really was fate. the two of you became close in no time and now.. you were fianally married. you couldnt be more happy to be with mark. who you were destined to be really was made for you, and you only. and to think this all escalated due to a note you sent out in pure curiosity.

you still remember what happened with jeno after that day, despite the lack of interaction between you two, jeno was open enough to accept you as his friend again. you are now living a happy life with mark, and always being able to hang out with his group of friends. today was no different. 

“haechan get the chilli sauce!” you hear mark shout as you smile widely, feeling his arm snaking around your waist to pull you close. having a barbeque was a great idea to celebrate jisung’s birthday. 

you soon see haechan with the bottle of chilli sause, placing it on the table where everyone gathered around the table which had jisung’s birthday cake. “before we do anything with the cake, let me announce my wish.” jisung announces proudly. you raise an eyebrow. “you cant say you birthday wish out loud!” you scolded jisung, but everyone laughs.

“his wish is something we all know.” jeno says, winking playfully at you. you tilt your head in confusion when you suddenly feel mark’s arm leaving you waist. you look over to mark who was shoving his hand into his pocket as if to find something.

you were completely clueless when mark nods towards jisung, to show some kind of signal. “i wish for mark and raven to get married!” jisung shouts. 

you gaped your mouth open in shock when mark pulls out a small box, opening it in front of you to show a ring. you cover your mouth in disbelief. “did you guys really-”

“please marry me, raven. my sticky note soulmate.” you hear everyone clapping s a tear of happiness drips from your cheek. you quickly wipe it away as you heard the nickname that mark gave you. “we wouldnt normally do this but it was jeno that suggested this.”

you look over to jeno who had a soft smile on his face as he nod his head. looking back at mark, you grin widely as more tears started flowing out. “of course ill marry you, you dork.”

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut: 

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation. 

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.” 

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend. 

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response. 

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship. 

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex. 

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.” 

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation. 

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.” 

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots. 

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence. 

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.” 

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?” 

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well. 

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway. 

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.” 

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.” 

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.” 

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?” 

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book. 

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.” 

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs. 

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs. 

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”    

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.” 

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”  

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?” 

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.” 

“But?” 

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.” 

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.” 

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”    

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.” 

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast. 

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later. 

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins. 

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.” 

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm. 

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.” 

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.” 

“Why do I hang out with you again?” 

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection. 

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart. 

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting. 

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.” 

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke. 

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.” 

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks. 

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t. 

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music. 

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely. 

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that. 

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt. 

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke. 

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both. 

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing. 

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers. 

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates. 

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke. 

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop. 

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is. 

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.” 

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront. 

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”  

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs. 

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending. 

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”  

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke. 

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”  

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.” 

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?” 

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space. 

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.” 

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored. 

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her. 

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip. 

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”   

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.” 

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss. 

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything. 

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts. 

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts. 

“I just wanted to … check in.” 

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp. 

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.” 

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best. 

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?” 

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.” 

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.” 

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.” 

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.” 

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.” 

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.” 

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing. 

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck. 

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea. 

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication. 

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her. 

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways. 

But, not with Clarke. 

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.  

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted. 

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.” 

“Good. Because I want to take you out.” 

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.” 

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.” 

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days. 

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship. 

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.” 

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.” 

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.” 

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.” 

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling. 

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.” 

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride. 

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.” 

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.” 

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.” 

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her. 

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure. 

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.” 

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers. 

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.” 

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.” 

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—” 

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.  

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.” 

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase. 

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back. 

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.” 

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded. 

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs. 

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.” 

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.” 

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.” 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods. 

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment. 

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her. 

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again. 

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs. 

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank. 

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later. 

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out. 

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight. 

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep. 

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.” 

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple. 

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth. 

“Yes, fuck.” 

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity. 

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back. 

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. 

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?” 

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?” 

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts. 

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.” 

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home. 

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back. 

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.” 

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.” 

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.   

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins. 

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.” 

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—” 

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.” 

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.” 

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.” 

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.” 

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate. 

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response. 

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.” 

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”   

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them. 

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles. 

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli. 

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach. 

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile. 

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?” 

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them. 

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.” 

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming. 

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?” 

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense. 

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?” 

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.” 

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.” 

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?” 

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.” 

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.” 

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers. 

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath. 

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.” 

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.” 

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame. 

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.” 

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft. 

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.” 

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness. 

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.” 

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer. 

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”   

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.” 

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting. 

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked. 

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks. 

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?” 

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping. 

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer. 

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?” 

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.” 

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away. 

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same. 

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed. 

They make it as far as the sofa. 

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water. 

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable. 

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go. 

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause. 

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.” 

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt. 

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm. 

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips. 

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.” 

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.” 

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.” 

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs. 

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.” 

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.” 

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense. 

:::

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch15: That Tie Looks Real Expensive

Summary: On the run from SHIELD, Katie and Steve find Natasha at the hospital when they head back for the memory drive. Their search for the truth leads Steve on yet another trip down memory lane and, as more truths bubble to the surface, the three of them are left running for their lives and are forced to seek help…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Violence, and someone gets pushed off a roof but he’s Hydra so, meh.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Not one but TWO edits from @angrybirdcr​ in this one!!

Chapter 14

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 After a bit of a skirmish on the bridge out of the Triskellion involving a Quinjet and some nasty looking road blocks, they made it out relatively unscathed all things considered and headed to the boxing gym they trained at so Steve could change. Katie told him to leave his suit behind in the hope that the tracking systems would give whoever came looking for them a bit of a detour. At her suggestion, in an attempt to keep them as unnoticeable as possible, he also locked his shield in his locker, with the view they’d collect it when it was safe to do so.

They reached the hospital with no further issues. Katie was feeling the effects of the fight in the elevator and the leap of faith they’d taken out of it and was stiff and bruised but she did her best to keep pace with Steve as they strode down the corridor. When they reached the vending machine, Steve stopped and peered into it, frowning as he realised the row where he had hidden the stick was empty. Then someone appeared behind them, and he saw Natasha’s reflection in the machine, blowing bubbles from the gum she’d obviously bought to retrieve the stick.

Steve spun round, temper reaching boiling point as he grabbed her by the neck in a display of anger Katie had rarely seen from him, pushing her into a room opposite.

“What happened to you?” She looked at Katie’s face, her eyes taking in the bruising around her left cheekbone and the split in her lip.

“Rumlow.” Katie snapped back, unwilling to discuss any further. Her patience with this whole situation was running thin and she was sick of not knowing who she could trust. She had resigned from SHIELD for this precise reason, and here she was, getting dragged once more back into their shit.

“Where is it?” Steve demanded, looking at Nat as he reached up and threw down his hood.

“Safe.”

“Do better.” Katie suggested, glaring at the woman she thought was her friend, not sure anymore whether or not to trust the red-head.

“Where did you get it?” Natasha asked.

“Why would I tell you?” Steve countered.

“Fury gave it to you,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

“What’s on it?” Steve ask, ignoring her question.

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered.

 Steve lightly slammed her against the wall his patience thinning quickly, anger blazing from every inch of his body. “Stop lying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I only act like I know everything, Rogers.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?” Katie said, looking at her.

“Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in…”

Katie let out a frustrated laugh before she spun around away from Natasha, groaning.

“I’m not gonna ask you again,” Steve threatened.

“I know who killed Fury.” Natasha spoke as Katie turned to face her again. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So he’s a ghost story.” Steve concluded releasing her and taking a step back.

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran and somebody shot out my tires near Odessa.” She said, looking him straight in the eyes “We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him, straight through me.”

Natasha pulled up her shirt, revealing a scar on her lower left abdomen.

“Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye bye, bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.” Steve half joked.

“Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried.” Nat stated before she pulled out the thumb drive and held it out for all of them to see.

Steve eyed her before taking it and putting it in his pocket before he looked at Katie then back to Natasha.

“Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

*****

“You know you could have picked something a little more subtle.” Nat hummed as she lounged in the backseat of the truck that they had taken from an industrial estate opposite the gym when they had stopped to pick up Steve’s shield and ditch Nat’s Corvette on their way out to New Jersey.

They had gotten what they needed from the Mall, including the location of where the AI that kept countering Natasha’s commands on the pen drive was coming from, which to Steve’s shock had been Camp Lehigh, the place he had trained and been selected for Operation Rebirth. After a close shave with the STRIKE team, in which Katie and Natasha’s stealth skills really had been put to the test, although Steve hadn’t objected to one part in particular where he’d had to kiss his girl on the escalator, they had bolted for Natasha’s car and made it out, unscathed and thankfully with a few new changes of clothes each.

“It’s a truck, lots of men drive trucks.” Steve replied, as he comfortably drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, eyes focussed on the road.

“Because they think it looks cool when in fact it just makes them look like douchebags who are compensating for something.” Nat responded.

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help but quip back playfully. “Maybe I am.” “Well I know that’s not true” Nat replied, her voice full of a smirk. “Katie told me.”

Steve felt his cheeks flush as Katie shifted in the seat beside him, whipping her head round to face the woman. “Jesus, Nat!”

“What were your exact words?” Natasha continued, a teasing expression on her face. “Oh yeah, if that thing wasn’t enhanced by the-“ “If you don’t shut up I’m gonna come back there and slap you into next week.” Katie hastily cut her off. She turned back round, glancing at Steve. His cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment but there was a faint trace of a smirk on his face, his eyes still focussed ahead. He could tell she was looking at him so he kept his eyes on the road, fully aware he blushing. But as far as discussing their sex life with her friend went, he supposed that there were far worse things she could be saying.

“So where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” Natasha asked a few minutes later as Katie noticed that they were passing a sign welcoming them to New Jersey. All things considered they’d made pretty good time.

“Nazi Germany” Steve looked over his shoulder at her. “And we’re borrowing, take your feet off the seat.“

Natasha eyed him in the mirror, but did as she was told before she leant forward between the two front seats.

"Alright, I have a question for you both, which you do not have to answer. But I feel if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

“What?” Steve asked exasperatedly.

“So before in the Apple store… you guys were like engaged…” She began a hint of a smirk on her face. “Any chance of that happening for real?”

Katie moaned and, upon hearing her, Steve felt something in his stomach tighten.

"That bad an idea huh?” He asked stealing a glance over at her.

“I didn’t say that.” Katie sighed.

“No but it kinda sounded like that’s what you meant.” Steve continued.

“I not even gracing that with a response” Katie shot him a look.

“You gonna grace my other question with a response?”

“Which was?”

“Whether you’re gonna move in with me or not.” He stole another glance at her but before she could reply he felt Nat shift a little.

“You asked her?” She aised her eyebrows. “Will you fuck off?” Katie snapped. She’d had enough and well and truly reached her fill of Natasha’s sarcasm, of SHIELD, of everything.

“Take it easy Stark.” Nat drawled back, nonplussed. “You know, if you don’t want to answer a question straight you could try making something up.”

“What, like you?”  Katie scoffed, looking at her over her shoulder

“You know the truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

"That’s a hard way to live,” Steve commented as he took in the red-heads words. Besides him Katie shifted, agitatedly and he knew she was pissed. Natasha was supposed to be her friend and all this had shaken her trust.

“It’s a good way not to die, though.” Natasha mused unconcerned.

“You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.” Katie shot the red head a pointed look and Steve held his breath for the sarcastic response he was expecting back. He really didn’t want to have to split up a fight between the two. But knowing his girl as he did, he had a horrible feeling it would go that way if Natasha bit back. Thankfully, she didn’t, her tone was soft, almost wistful when she answered

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, looking through the window. “Who do you want me to be?”

“How about a friend?” Steve jumped in.

“Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” Natasha smirked returning to her comfortable position in the backseat.

They sat in silence for a bit and Katie turned to look at Steve. If there was one person in all this she could trust, she knew it was him. She had no idea what they were going to find, what they were going to walk into but she trusted him with her life, and loved him with every inch of her being. And she wanted him to know, in case this all went wrong, just how much.

Steve shifted in his seat as he could feel her eyes on him for a while before she spoke finally.

“I’m not gonna move in with you.”

Steve’s head whipped round, his mouth dry at her refusal, before he returned his attention to the road, trying not to read too much into her rejection, as she continued to speak.

“Your flat is full of bullet holes, your bed is in the wrong place and frankly it’s too small for all my stuff. You’ll have to move in with me.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t a refusal. 

He looked at her, aware a grin was spreading across his face. “Seriously?”

She nodded, returning her gaze to the front, and he did the same as her fingers tangled into his right hand where it was resting on the pillar between their seats, gently pulling it into her lap so she could trace shapes on his palm.

And, surprisingly, there was no sarcastic comment from the back seats.

*****

“It’s some kind of recording,” Natasha frowned as she tried to make sense of what was happening in front of them. They’d scoured the camp and after a long search, just as they were ready to give up, Steve had spotted that the munitions building was in the wrong place. Further investigations had led them into a huge, underground bunker and, after an hour or so more of searching, they had discovered a secret Elevator that led down to a huge room full of ancient computers…and a more modern USB terminal.

Natasha had plugged in the USB device into the port, which had activated the system and now, well, now Katie had no idea what the fuck they were looking at.

“I am not a recording, Fraulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945.”

Steve sighed heavily as the computer screen showed a black and white photo of a familiar odd looking man with round glasses. Zola.

“Who is that?” Katie asked as Steve glared at the photo on the computer screen.

“Do you know this thing?” Natasha questioned sceptically.

“Armin Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years,” Steve explained shortly as he walked round the back of the screen, looking for anything that would explain how it was working.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving. Two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” Zola explained.

“How did you get here?” Steve questioned, returning to the front of the television monitor.

“I was invited.”

“Operation Paperclip.” Natasha supplied as her and Katie exchanged a look.

“What?” Steve asked.

“After the War Shield recruited German scientists with strategic value.” Katie replied, her eyes still on the screen.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.” Zola continued.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull,” Steve snapped.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Zola said confidently

“Prove it.” Steve challenged and Katie had to stifle a sigh as she was pretty sure they were going to regret that.

“Accessing archive.”

The computer screen began to screen old footage of the Red Skull and of the original SHIELD founders.

“HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.”

Various photos flashed up as he spoke of events through the course of modern history. Besides him Katie gulped when they reached the assassination of JFK, and the photo zoomed in on a grainy image of the masked man with the metal arm in the distance, aiming his rifle, The Winter Soldier.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Natasha said quickly countering the computer.

“Accidents will happen.” The computer screen then revealed a very familiar item, the newspaper reporting Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths. Steve felt his mouth go dry as he realised what Zola was telling him, whilst besides him, Katie took a deep breath as she looked at the screen, her Parent’s faces looking back at her in black and white print. And then the ringing started in her ears.

Her parents had been killed. By HYDRA.

When she spoke again, her voice was as desperate as she was. Desperate for this to be nonsense. “No, that’s not… they died in an accident… it was a car crash…”

“Things are not what they seem.” The screen drawled back

“You killed them?” Katie’s chest was heaving, the anger now evident in her voice as it coursed through her veins, her voice loud as she balled her fists “HYDRA killed my parents? Why?”

A photo of Director Fury flashed up.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security.” Pictures of three helicarriers were shown next, and Steve feltl the angry heat spread up his neck, blistering and raw. “Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.”

Steve’s anger boiled over, and it appeared Katie’s had as well as the pair of them surged forward. Katie lashed out with her right foot kicking over a chair in anger and Steve brought his right hand crashing into the TV, smashing the screen. It only resulted in silencing the Swiss man for a moment, before he spoke cockily once again from a different monitor

“As I was saying…”

"What’s on this drive?” Natasha asked quickly stepping in front of both Katie and Steve to avoid the pair of them destroying anything else.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.”

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Katie demanded.

“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.”

Suddenly, the doors they came through started to close. Steve threw his shield attempting to catch them before they shut completely but it missed and he caught it as it ricocheted back.

“Guys, we got a bogey, short-range ballistics. Thirty seconds tops.” Natasha announced looking at her phone, her voice earnest.

“Who fired it?” asked Steve, as he starting to look for an alternative escape route.

“SHIELD.” She looked at him, then to Katie.

“Admit it Captain, it’s better this way. We’re both of us, out of time.” Warned Zola.

Katie looked around for any sign of a way out, knowing it was pointless. She spotted a grate in the floor not too far from where we were and yelled at Steve. Catching on to what she was saying, he easily threw the top off as Natasha pulled the drive out of the port that was on the desk.

“Get in!” Steve yelled. Natasha hopped down into the space, then Katie followed, the two girls getting as close to one another as they could to make room for Steve in the small space. He jumped down and pulled them both in close before holding his shield over their heads.

The missile hit a split second later. Instantly, heat, smoke and pressure surrounded the three of them. Steve could feel the ash in his throat and he had to fight with all his strength to keep his shield above them, as the debris from the collapsing building above rained down into the space they were hiding in. Letting out a groan he braced himself and simply stayed as strong as he could, and eventually the noise subsided. He could hear Katie’s heavy breathing as she struggled to maintain her calm, coughing slightly as she spoke.

“Nat?”

No answer.

Steve grunted again as he pushed against his shield trying to clear away the debris on top of it just enough to get out. He let out a sigh of relief as, following a third huge heave, light flooded down into the chamber. With another almighty shove, he managed to clear a path for him to climb out. He scrambled up, checked around to make sure it was safe and the he glanced down at the two women.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am, but Nat’s passed out.” Katie blinked up at him, awkwardly shifting Natasha around carefully in order so Steve could lift her out. Carefully he set her down on the floor and then wrapped his hand around his girl’s wrist and pulled her out of the hole. Immediately she crouched next to Nat.

“Her pulse is strong. I think she just fainted, she doesn’t do well in tight spaces, like me.”  Katie coughed harshly before she paused at the sound of a familiar hum growing steadily closer.

“Quinjets.” Her eyes grew wide.

“Let’s go.” Steve ordered quietly, scooping Natasha up in his arms. Ensuring Katie was in front of him at all times, they quickly began navigating their way out of the rubble as they headed back to the truck.

Katie climbed into the backseat and Steve laid Natasha down so that her head rested in Katie’s lap before he jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the car and taking off down the dirt road.

Neither of them spoke for a good five minutes. Katie was still trying to make sense of what Zola had said. HYDRA had killed her parents, for no other reason that she could think of bar the fact her dad had worked tirelessly against everything they stood for, as part of SHIELD. Her eyes misted over and she tried to blink back the tears, keeping her breathing even. She knew if she started crying, after everything that had happened, she wouldn’t stop. 

In the front of the truck, Steve’s head was also reeling. All this time, HYDRA had grown within SHIELD, he’d gone into the ice for what? He wiped his hand over his face and glanced in the rear view mirror. Katie was looking down at Natasha, gently carding her hands through her friend’s hair, but he could see her eyes were wet. He felt another flash of anger. How could Fury have not noticed? How could Peggy have not noticed? So many goddamned questions.

“What…” Natasha’s voice was croaky and Steve glanced back again to see the red head’s eyes fluttering as she looked around.

“You passed out” Katie looked down at her. “We’re alright now, we got out ok.”

She sat upright and blinked again, “Thanks…”

Steve turned back to the windscreen as the car fell into silence.

“So, where to now?” Nat asked the question. No one answered which caused her to suggest “Tony?”

“No” Steve and Katie both said at the same time.

“For one thing he isn’t in the country.” Katie shook her head. “He’s in Aus working on some deal.”

“And they’ll be watching the Tower.” Steve continued, “It’s not safe”

“We need to get hold of Hill.” Katie licked her lips. “She’s the only one in any of this I trust now.”

Steve pondered, and then had to concede she was right. “Alright, but we need to lay low whilst we do. Any ideas?”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “And it’s a crazy one, but one that no one will ever suspect as no on in SHIELD knows the guy exists. Not yet anyway.”  Steve shot her a questioning glance in the mirror, which turned into one of realisation as she finished. “Sam Wilson.”

“Honey we hardly know the guy.” Steve shook his head.

“Well trusting people we do know hasn’t exactly worked for us so far, has it?” Katie snapped back, a little tetchily. Steve opened his mouth to argue but Natasha cut him off.

“Nova’s right. Sometimes the person you have to trust is a stranger.” *********

Once they had tracked down Sam’s address, which was fairly easy to figure out when you had access to JARVIS via a StarkPhone, Sam let them in without so much as a question, the fact that the three of them were battered, bruised and filthy declaring everyone they knew was trying to kill them told him all he needed to know. He offered up his guestroom and Steve, being the gentleman that he was, let both Natasha and Katie go before him, giving Sam a brief overview of what had happened.

Katie and Natasha both showered quickly, and now they were currently sat quietly in the guestroom while Steve used the en-suite. He washed his face and looked in the mirror, letting out a sigh as he glanced back at his reflection, various bruises already covered his arms and upper body thanks to his accelerated healing but that wasn’t what bothered him. He was completely and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, he opened the door and saw Katie sitting behind Nat on the bed, drying the back of the woman’s red hair. He locked eyes with her, gave her a small smile and then looked at Natasha who was staring into space.

“You okay?" 

"Yeah,” She replied quickly, too quickly.

Steve set down the towel he was drying his hands with and entered the room then sat on the chair across from the girls. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at Natasha carefully. “What’s going on?”

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra,” Natasha confessed, looking down at her hands. “I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.” Katie teased earning a small smile from the redhead.

“I owe you.” Natasha sighed quietly, “Both of you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve smiled.

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your lives – and be honest with me – would you trust me to do it?” She asked quietly, her green eyes locked onto Steve’s.

“I would now,” said Steve. “And I’m always honest.”

“Without question.” Katie added as Nat turned to her, a smile growing on her lips.

“Well,” She said as she looked back at Steve. “You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing.”

“Well, guess I just like to know who I’m fighting,” Steve sighed in response, although she had hit a nerve.

“I made breakfast,” Sam’s voice came and the three looked to see him leaning up against the doorframe. “If you guys, eat that sort of thing.” He added as he left.

Steve inclined his head slightly, smiling as Natasha stood up and left the room, shouting after Sam to see if he had a hair dryer, earning her a sarcastic response about him not having had an afro since the late eighties. Katie made to follow her but Steve caught her arm gently as he too rose from his chair.

“Doll.” He started, wanting to talk to her about the discovery but she cut him off, shaking her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too painful and the fear of what Tony would say was eating her up.

“You know, after mom and dad died, Tony lost it.” Katie sighed gently, voicing her fears. “When he finds out they were murdered it could push him over the edge again.”

“Don’t tell him then.” Steve found himself suggesting. He didn’t approve of lying, but sometimes if knowing the truth was detrimental then…

“And then if he does find out, and then realises I knew and didn’t tell him?” Katie swallowed, shaking her head “I don’t know what’s worse, Steve.”

She looked utterly lost and broken and Steve felt a lump catch in his throat as he pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. He was desperately trying to think of something that would raise her mood, and then he found himself for some strange reason thinking back to the banter the three had shared in the truck and he knew just how to do it.

“Did you really tell Natasha I had a big…” He looked down at his girl as she gave a small chuckle, the sound music to his ears.

“No I said you were a big dick…she must have misheard me”

He rolled his eyes and a sarcastic “ha ha” fell from his mouth as she smiled, sliding her hands up his chest.

“What I actually said was that if that thing…”she glanced down at his crotch before looking back up. “wasn’t supersized at the same time you were, I have no idea how you managed to stand upright before the serum.”

Jesus she was incorrigible at times. But Steve loved her for that. And he was also secretly pleased she thought he was packing, so to speak. He smirked as his hands slid to her hips. “You’re a nightmare.”

“Yeah but you love me.” She grinned.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” His lips met hers in a soft kiss before the pair of them sighed, the moment of humour and good nature slipping away as they both remembered exactly where they were and why they were there.

“Come on.” Steve took her hand and together they headed down the hall into the kitchen area, the smell of food hitting his nostrils made his stomach grumble.  

“You all look a hell of a lot better.” Sam commented as Katie grabbed a few things for her plate- a couple of pancakes, fruit and toast. Steve smiled a bit at the quasi-compliment before he sighed, biting into a piece of toast.

“Well, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours.” He responded as he slipped into a chair.

“I aint got anywhere to be.” Sam shrugged as he looked at Steve “I know you gave me the overview but how about you give me the details?”

Katie sat down next to Steve at the table and looked at him, then to Natasha before they launched into a detailed explanation of what had happened as Sam listened intently asking questions and serving coffee out to them as they continued explaining over the next thirty minutes or so.

“So, the question is, who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” Natasha asked from where she was stood, leaning comfortably back against Sam’s countertops.

“Alexander Pierce,” Katie confidently answered, finishing her coffee. It was amazing how much of the situation now was starting to slot into place following food and caffeine.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Natasha walked towards the table, standing behind Katie, almost snorting at the irony of the situation.

“He’s not working alone, Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.” Steve continued.

“And you told me that Jasper Sitwell was too.” Katie added, as the three of them shared a glance. There was another piece of the puzzle.

“So, the real question is,” Steve looked at Katie then to Nat “How do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is, you don’t.” Sam dropped a file on to the table to the right of Katie.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, standing up as Natasha picked up the file.

“Call it a resume.”

Katie stood up as well so the three of them could look at the file.

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission-that was you?” Natasha asked and Sam nodded. She then turned to Steve. “You didn’t say he was a para rescue.”

“Riley?” Katie asked nodding to the photo of Sam and another man.

“Yeah.” Sam answered gently.

“I heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPGs,” Natasha recalled. “What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“No. These.”

Sam handed Steve another file and he opened it, his eyes growing wide as they looked down at  Sam soaring through the air using what could only describe as a pair of mechanical wings. He shared an impressed look with Katie before he glanced at Sam.

“I thought you said you’re a pilot?”

“I never said a pilot.” Sam countered with a little chuckle and a smirk.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” Steve shook his head.

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.” Sam almost scoffed.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Katie asked, looking up.

“The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve inch steel wall.” Sam supplied, his tone a little dejected.

Steve looked to Natasha who nodded with a shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He almost smiled, looking at Sam with a smirk before he turned to Katie. “Reckon you can track down Sitwell?”

“Sam, you got a Laptop?” Katie looked to the man who nodded. “Then yeah, I can track him down.” She affirmed, dropping her StarkPhone onto the table.

********

The plan was as solid as they could make it. Steve and Nat were taking Sam’s car to Fort Meade to break out his kit whilst Sam and Katie stayed behind to track down Sitwell. It wasn’t ideal splitting up, but it was the best option they had. All four of them travelling would have attracted attention, plus this way if two of them did get caught, the other two still had a chance of getting the job done.

Steve drove the truck down the freeway, Nat lounging in the front seat as she looked at the plans of the base that they now had courtesy of some expert searching via Google Maps.

“If we go in from the East Side we should have the element of surprise.” She spoke and Steve nodded.

“Right, we get in, we get out, minimum casualties, minimum fuss.”

Natasha hummed her agreement as Steve stopped at a red light.

“So, you actually asked Stark to move in?” Nat grinned.

“Yeah.” “I’m impressed. Your forty’s programming has been well and truly broken.” Steve rolled his eyes “Well I figured I want to spend the rest of my life with her so what does it matter?” He realised what he’d said instantly and let out a groan as Natasha grinned.

“You wanna marry her…” She said in a sing-song voice.

“People don’t always get married now.” Steve tried to shrug it off and Nat snorted.

“Bullshit Rogers! Soon as you can get a ring on it we all know you’re gonna.”

“Who’s we?”

“Everyone.” Natasha added sagely. “You two are like ultimate couple goals. It’s cute.”

Steve took a deep breath, staring ahead as he drove before he took a deep breath. “You know I kinda already asked her.” He looked back at Natasha who turned to him, mouth open. He had no idea why he was telling her this, absolutely no idea, other than the fact it felt nice to talk about something positive. “Well, not properly, but when I asked her to move in she was teasing me about us not being married so I said we could get married if she wanted, and-” “Great proposal.” Nat cut him off with a snigger. “What did she say?” “Told me to ask again with a, and I quote, big, fuck off tiffany diamond.”

“Every girl deserves a bit of sparkle.” Nat mused. “Unlucky for you, you’ve chosen a Billionaire to date.” “She’s not like that.” Steve instantly jumped to his girl’s defence.

“I know.” Nat soothed with a smile. “I know.”

They fell into silence for the rest of the way and, upon arriving at the base, they crept round to the best point of entry, following the heat scanners on Nat’s phone. Steve easily dispatched three guards, Natasha another two before they reached the room they were looking at. Natasha easily hacked the security codes thanks to something on her phone, Steve didn’t ask what, and they met no one on their way out.

Frankly, it went far too smoothly for Steve’s liking but he wasn’t going to complain. He just hoped Katie had got on as well with locating Sitwell.

***** Once Steve and Nat had left, Sam fired up the laptop for Katie and she plugged the end of her StarkPhone into the USB port.

“So you know this guy we’re looking for?” Sam asked, placing a coffee down next to her as she waited for the programme to run its magic.

“Vaguely.” She sighed out, knowing it would be easier if she knew him better. “But I can work with what I have.”

“So using what you have, how do we find him?”

“Simple, I’m going to check his work calendar.” Katie nodded at the laptop

 “And you can do that?” Sam asked

“Not on my own.” She grinned

“Good morning again Miss Stark.” JARVIS’ voice rang out from the laptop, causing Sam to slop coffee down his shirt in surprise.

“Hey JAR, I need a favour. Again. And it’s urgent.” “Of course.” “I need you to by-pass the SHIELD firewall and access someone’s calendar without them noticing.”

“Certainly, but permit me to ask,is everything ok Miss Stark?”

“Nope it is not…” she sighed “I’m in trouble J, but I’m hoping this is gonna help…”

“Should I alert Mr Stark? Maybe call him back from Australia?” “Absolutely not.” Katie shook her head. “There’s no time, in fact I forbid it…”

Once she had explained what she needed, JARVIS set to work, informing her he was going to scramble the IP address and set up a ghost server which would, in turn, allow him to access the information without being detected.

It didn’t take long. Fifteen or so minutes later Sitwell’s calendar flashed up and Katie gave a little yell of triumph.

“JARVIS, you are a genius, buddy!”

“Why thank you, Miss Stark. But I only have about sixty seconds before I will need to close down the connection.”

“Understood. Right let’s see where you’re at, you fucker.” Katie mused, as Sam peered over her shoulder.

“Look, briefing over lunch with Senator Stern at Occidental… 13:00 hours…” He read, pointing at the screen.

“Then he has another meeting at 14:30 back at the Triskellion… so Lunch is our window.” Katie looked up at Sam.

“Gives us an hour and a half.”

“Cutting it fine.” Katie mused. “Ok, thanks J, you can disconnect.”  “Certainly Miss Stark. Good luck.”

Just as the AI had shut the link down her mobile rang.

“We got it.” Nat’s voice instantly spoke as she put the phone on speaker. “All ok your side?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Katie replied

“Any luck finding Sitwell?” this time it was Steve

“Yeah, he’s having lunch at Occidental with Senator Stern at 1pm.”

“Oh, how nice, they have a Senator involved.” Nat snorted sarcastically.

“And that’s going to be our only window before he’s back at the Triskellion at two-thirty.”

“Doesn’t give us much time…” Steve mused.

“What’s your ETA?”  Sam asked.

“About twenty five minutes.” 

“Okay, so let’s do the brain storming whilst you’re on the phone.”  Katie tapped at Sam’s laptop.  “The restaurant they’re going to is in the Business District, so we need somewhere secure that’s close by to take him for a little chat.”

She brought up the Google Map images so Sam could see.

“There.” Sam tapped at the screen, “There’s a multi-storey parking lot a few blocks down. We can take him up high…”

“And kick him off the edge.” Katie nodded.

“Stark, I like your style.” Nat replied, and Katie could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Okay so we got the where, now we need the how.” Steve sighed. “We can’t just pick him up at lunch. If the Senator’s there security will be a nightmare.”

"So we wait until he’s finished.” Sam shrugged

”But how do you get him to get in the car?”

“Simple. We give him a choice.” Katie eyed her gun where it lay on the table. “Do it or die.”

***** It turns out fear of death is a very, very good motivator.

Their plan went off perfectly. Natasha spoofed a phone number which Sam used to call Sitwell once he emerged from the restaurant after lunch. As predicted, Sitwell had been his usual cocky little shit of a self, asking Sam why on Earth he would what he was being instructed to do.

And then Katie had aimed her gun sight at him from her hiding place, the red laser sight clear in the middle of Sitwell’s chest.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up.” Sam smirked.

Sitwell, resigned to his face, followed Sam instructions and as he left the little plaza upon which the restaurant was situated, Katie stepped out from her hiding place behind the wall of the bar Sam was sat at and pressed the muzzle of her gun into Sitwell’s lower back.

“One move and this goes straight into your spine. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t kill you, just leaves you with no feeling from the neck down…” She informed him, her voice low. Sitwell instantly tensed. "Miss Stark.” He grumbled out, seemingly more annoyed than scared. “Of course you’re involved with this.”

She took in a breath and glanced around, making sure none of the security team with him had realized what had happened. Sam was a few paces behind them and he gave her a nod to say they were clear before she turned back to Sitwell.

“You made me a wanted fugitive.” She shrugged. “Didn’t have much choice.” She stopped walking. “Now, get in the car.” She ordered, sternly.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Get in the car.” She repeated. Sitwell stared at her, looked down at the gun before he swallowed and decided to do as he was told.

"We good?” Sam asked. Katie let out a breath and swiped a loose hair away from her face.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They drove two blocks away and pulled up outside the large Starbucks on the main road.

“You know I could have got a coffee at the Restaurant.” Sitwell sighed, sarcastically. But his cocky demeanour soon dropped when both the rear car doors opened and Steve slid in one side, Natasha in the other.

“Good afternoon Agent Sitwell…” Steve turned to him, aviator shades covering his eyes. Sitwell looked at Steve, then to Natasha before his shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“Shit.”

******

Sitwell really was an arrogant little bastard, Steve had to give him that. The soldier easily manhandled the Agent onto the top of the Car Park roof, demanding to know what the Algorithm was, backing him up right to the edge where Sitwell had almost laughed, stating that it wasn’t Steve’s style to throw people off the edge.

Well, he had a point.

“You’re right. It’s not.” Steve released Sitwell, smoothing out his suit, letting the man nearly sigh in relief. Katie exchanged a glance with Natasha behind Steve’s back, the corner of her mouth twitched up slightly as Nat looked back. They were both going to enjoy this.

“It’s theirs.” Steve finished, before standing aside as both Katie and Natasha aimed strong kicks to Sitwell’s chest, sending him tumbling over the edge.

“So you’re definitely moving in together, then huh?”  Natasha asked, peering over the edge as Steve and Katie did the same, listening to Sitwell’s screams growing fainter.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled, looking down off the side of the room, hands in his pockets. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to cope surrounded by mess.”

Katie rolled her eyes, as Sitwell’s screams started getting louder again and suddenly Sam flew over with him in his grasp and dropped him back onto the roof, before landing a few feet away. The three of them turned toward Sitwell and he stuck his hands up in surrender, telling them everything.

"Zola’s algorithm is a program, for choosing Insight’s targets!” He rushed out.

“What targets?” Steve demands.

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who’s a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future,” Sitwell continued to rush out failing to catch his breath.

“The future? How could it know?” Steve asked in confusion. At this Sitwell laughed as he stumbled back to his feet, looking at Katie before he glanced at Steve.

“How could it not? The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it,” He said getting confused looks from the Soldier in return, “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e‐mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores! Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ past to predict their future.”

Steve swallowed. He’d heard and seen more unbelievable things.

“And what then?” He asked, already thinking he knew but didn’t want to know the answer. Sitwell shook his head in disbelief as Katie exchanged a glance with Sam who was stood behind Sitwell. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh, my god. Pierce is gonna kill me.” He mumbled to himself and he tried to back away from the advancing super-solider but Sam reached out, holding him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What then?” Steve demanded louder.

Sitwell sighed as he looked at Steve. “Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

**** Chapter 16

**Original Posting**