#whoever said office jobs were fun were lying

[sass-squat]

Genuinely curious to see people's opinions! Feel free to comment if your favorite isn't listed!

[avengersfantasies]

Series Summary: When you were little, your life was changed forever. Your parents were brutally murdered before you, and the doctors said it was a miracle that you survived. Now, almost 22 years later, you come across the man who took everything from you.

Chapter Summary: Your therapist thinks she knows the perfect person to help you move past your trauma.

What to expect: therapy, trauma, ptsd, angst?

taglist: @felicitylemon @lostinth3echo

Series masterlist: Here

You sat on the large couch across from the therapist that you were being forced to see. The silence filled the room as you stared off toward her direction, tuning out everything she was saying. 

“Sergeant,” her voice faded back in, causing you to blink and shake your head.

“Sorry, what?” you asked flatly. 

She scribbled down a note, and you rolled your eyes. “I asked if you have had any nightmares recently.”

6 Months Ago

“We have to go!” Corporal Jordanson called out through the sound of heavy explosions. 

You yelled back. “Not until we get what we came for!”

“Jordanson’s right!” Corporal Lansing backed his fellow soldier up. “We need to go before it’s too late.”

This was your first time leading a mission, and the last thing you wanted was to fail it. 

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Lansing,” you hissed, determined to complete the job. “We aren’t going until we find it!”

Reluctantly, the group of four soldiers that you led followed your orders as you made your way into the collapsing structure. You were sure you’d be out before it was too late. All you would do is grab what you were sent for and evacuate. 

That was the plan, but plans don’t always go accordingly. 

Present Day

“Nope,” you lied with no emotion in your voice and exhausted from lack of sleep. “Nothing but sunshine and rainbows.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying,” the doctor reminded you, not buying your claim for one second.

She scribbled down a few more notes. “You know…there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she announced almost hesitantly. “You remind me of him. I think you two would relate to each other…understand one another.”

You rolled your eyes. “This should be good.”

“Come back here at 5,” the doctor said. “I’ll arrange to have the two of you meet.”

Once you were back at your apartment, you lazed around for the next few hours - making yourself lunch and watching television. 

You felt yourself beginning to zone out - the well-known thousand-yard stare encompassing you. Your mind knew that thinking about the trauma in your life would bring you pain, so whenever you were reminded of your parents or your time in the military, you often became detached from any emotions tied to them. 

It had become a self-preservation technique. 

Snapping you out of your daze was the alarm you set on your phone. The time read 4:30, so you had 30 minutes to get to your therapist’s office to meet whoever she wanted you to meet. The only reason you had agreed to it in the first place was because you were genuinely curious as to who else could possibly relate to your past. You pulled yourself off the sofa and headed out, walking the few blocks to the office. You arrived a few minutes early, but you went ahead and knocked on her office door anyway.

“Dr. Raynor?” you called out, opening the cracked door. “I’m –”

The sight in front of you had you stopping in your tracks. It was him. It was Bucky Barnes yet again.

“Come in,” she waved you over. You gently shut the door and walked over to where the two of them were sitting. Keeping your eyes on Bucky, you made sure to sit with a distance in between. “This is James Barnes,” she introduced him. “He was –”

“I know,” you interrupted, taking your eyes off Bucky and looking to Dr. Raynor with the same apathetic tone and emotionless eyes that had become your signature almost. “Who do you think is the face that haunts my nightmares?” Dr. Raynor looked down, and Bucky stayed silent. “Is this fun for you?” you snapped. “Were you this desperate to get me to show some sort of emotion that you dug this deep?”

“That’s not what this is abou–” she began to defend herself before being cut off by you.

“No,” you hissed, chuckling incredulously. “I don’t know what kind of game the two of you are playing, but I’m not interested.” 

Before Dr. Raynor could respond, you beelined it toward the door. 

“Wait, hang on,” Bucky called out, getting up and following you out and onto the street outside. “I didn’t know this was what she had planned!” You didn’t respond; instead, you shook your head and kept walking back toward your apartment. “Would you just listen for a second?!”

The entire walk back to your apartment was filled with Bucky calling out after you and you ignoring him completely. The sergeant was so determined to get you to believe and listen to him that he didn’t realize he had followed you all the way into your apartment. Finally, though, you stopped and turned to face him.

“What is so important that you had to follow me all the way into my apartment for?” you snapped. “Not done tryin’ to help Raynor stir up some emotions?”

“No,” Bucky exhaled, “I swear I had no idea that she was going to do that,” he explained. “She texted me and told me to come by at 5 because she had someone for me to meet that she thought I may be able to help.” 

Instead of arguing anymore, he pulled his phone out and showed you the text, letting you read over it. 

“You help me?” you scoffed. “Right.” 

You poured yourself a glass of whiskey, walked over to the couch, and sat down - sipping your glass of whiskey. Hesitantly, Bucky sat down beside you. 

“Look,” he began softly, watching as you started to let yourself zone out again and put the glass down on a small box that sat on the coffee table, “I did awful things to you…your family…and –”

“It wasn’t you,” you cut him off softly.

Bucky looked down and inhaled. “I don’t know what you’ve been through. I don’t know how you grew up. I don’t know what your life has been like. I don’t know what happened before you were discharged. I don’t know how, but I wanna do anything I can to help you.”

You let out a small chuckle, not being able to believe that this was the conversation you were having. Instead of answering, you reached for the glass again and took a sip. That’s when Bucky noticed it.

“What this?” he asked, reaching for the small box. 

“Purple heart,” you stated flatly.

“A purple…,” he trailed off, opening the box and looking at the medal. “And you’re using it as a coaster?”

You shrugged. “Don’t know what else to do with it.”

Bucky held the medal with care, awestruck at what you must have gone through during your time serving your country. 

“This is something to be treasured,” he said, concerned and confused as to why you were using it as a coaster.

“Not for me, it’s not,” you mumbled back, knowing full well that he heard you. Taking his silence as the opportunity to speak, you continued. “I was the only one that survived the mission I was leading,” you explained. “So, they gave me this little medal that only serves to make me remember every single goddamn day about how I was the one responsible for those four lives ending.”

Bucky looked down at the medal in his hand, stroking it gently. “It’s a reminder.”

[kidmachinate]

Expectations

At work one week, a co-worker said upon me replying to my boss the following:

"You know one of these days he's gonna sound less forgiving or nice"

"I'm waiting for it"

I didn't take anything from this and it was all in good fun, because my latest line of work tends to ask a lot of us on any given day...but still I press on. No one wants to get fired, right? To be clear, I mostly like my current line of work but here's the issue. The joke (or maybe they do want to see me break one day) is the other side of the coin. What it looks like when you do lose your patience. When you don't is the expectation. In the middle is a potential realization. Am I just being taken for granted?

Unfortunately, I don't always succeed at this expectation. I've unleashed hell in the way my Dad would at times. It feels bad to say this knowing over time, Dad and I grew to understand one another, but fresh in my mind are times that weren't so great. Times where simply voicing logic and reason went out the window. Where proving what the energy efficient temperature for the A/C is with hard evidence, and still being told nope, you're wrong. Maybe I presented "my facts" or "fake news" so therefore I wasn't considered. Really thought real evidence would solve the problem. Proof. Something you also need in a principals office to get out of trouble, but you can't prove things done or said to you without video evidence or a recording. They were never gonna believe you because the other person is much better at explaining themselves. They lie for a living. Principal's office is home. It's a place or panic for you. If after days, weeks, or months you then react, you're still at fault? Well...yes...and I struggle with that. I don't want revenge at the core but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to dish it back when someone want to talk smack on a small level or yell at a higher one.

Trying to develop boundaries later in life is hard. You don't want to disappoint because you don't want the problems. The having to constantly defend your yourself. Just make everyone happy. If we take trauma out of it, what's simply wrong with making people happy other than to a jealous person? Putting a smile on ones face is always worth it. The problem with these expectations are they aren't realistic and they are all over our lives. You need a degree to do an entry level job. You need to be better than your parents because they realize they messed up somewhere, and you need to correct that. You need to suppress your feelings so you can dedicate yourself entirely to emotional leeches. You need to not let money control your life when literally everything revolves around it...and we as a country are closing off freedom ramps for digital currencies as we speak, while continuing to buy it up behind the scenes, to control it. How can any one person possibly meets the expectations of the world, let alone a single individual. It's impossible. So where do you go from here? There's always burn the bridge or let them down gently.

The above are certainly options. What if you care? Is there another way? Things aren't always black and white. We can't assume everyone functions on the same level. I'm blessed by a family that mostly loves me, although we rarely talk, and enough learned to keep life in order to not be homeless. My traumas on a scale, aren't much. I've suffered more trauma through failed friendships/relationships than my childhood. My lesser than traumas doesn't make them invisible. I just don't want to let them bleed into daily life. Comparing life situations sometimes misses the mark, especially if whoever you are speaking with has their own set of traumas, mental issues, or even just life kicking you in the pants. You can kiss and make up and try again and that's all dandy but patterns are what last. If it isn't the norm for someone to just attack you, maybe it is worth a second look. I've been on both sides of the fence here, but repeated attempts at apologies to repeat the same thing? That's not the ideal scenario. A scenario is which at worst you can agree to disagree, a safe space to express, and healthy measures of filling missing voids or releasing anger (probably not at whoever you are talking to) in a way that makes you productive and helps yourself. Pulls you back. Stop the top from spinning, it's okay.

Nobody likes forced plans, playing by the rules to get screwed over, being yelled at, or even just minor inconveniences. It's a huge weight to carry when expected to just push through all of it. That the expectation. You're not gonna bat 100% at this. No one will. The issue is trying to create the environment to thrive as often as possible. Finding someone to vent to if needed. Being in a growth mindset. In a world asking for so much how do you make time for you...and not just to do whatever is distracting you from life. To just sit and think and process. We all, myself included, from time to time, need to slow down. If anything should be the expectation in life, it should be that. Not the hidden ones laid down by people confronted on a daily basis for life obligations. Stability. Consistency. Can't always rush life in the face and see what happens...and I finally thing to say this at the end of the post, where the rest can seem like a dark but truthful tale.

When making these, I attempt to accomplish a few things. Letting it out is the biggest thing. Someone seeing the vulnerabilities in a post and/or inspiration to take action. A reminder that yes you can, even with the odds stacked against you. Speaking of which, whoever you are, the world isn't against you and if you think that, pretend it is against us all. What are you doing to fight against it? Need help? Gather a party who will bring you up.

The only one who should be making expectations that I hope you meet is you. In us wanting life to be as easy as possible and stress free, we can lose the plot of our own stories or place that burden on others. I suck at reaching out but I know I can and have done this to others before. I'm sorry. I've been rediscovering myself for a longer time than I'd like and need to process how to best that best version and less of a mess. Point stands however, set your own goals/expectations.

[universalchaostick]

I couldn't understand how my father had been so stupid as to fall for my mother. How he left the company to the hands of that traitorous witch and wasted away when my mother never gave him a second glance.

And I couldn't understand why they kept trying it with me.

Day after day, I mysteriously "hired" these new employees. I would notice their names pop into my dashboard with pictures and their records. I couldn't recall ever meeting them, yet there they were.

My genuine employees always teased me as to why I kept "hiring" redheads and brunettes, features considered "pretty" by my officers. After a while, whoever was working behind the curtain began sending other women. It got quite funny to watch for a while.

Until their works as weapon manufacturers raised their ranks in the company and they ended up in my office, dressed in impractical manners and standing in postured that rendered defense or escape useless. I knew then that they had no place here.

They kept saying such strange things too. I asked my brother about it and he said they were flirting with me. He said that I would be wise not to engage in a long term relationship, but still have fun, because I was so powerful.

So I messed with these strange women. I sent them on roundabout errands or gave them orders that made no practical sense. The issue was, they completed these fake missions and assignments with ease and returned in yet another outfit slit higher and higher, necklines moving lower and lower.

It boiled down that one night when the tall one (Rebecca, was her name?) approached me in my office one night wearing a plushy bathrobe.

"Sir, I've noticed you have no wife, nor husband. Is your bed cold? May I offer you companionship?"

I payed her no heed, focusing on the numbers I calculated, budgeting finances. She frowned and stepped closer.

"Sir?"

"Miss, your hours are long over. Why not retire to your home?" I had asked.

"Because my home is dull without company to brighten my life. And you, sir, make my heart beat with the power of the sun."

My eyes flicked to another sheet of paper. "Is that so? Perhaps you should get that checked out."

Something thumped softly on the ground, triggering my defensive alert. I jumped up to face her.

The soft down of her robe was lying on the ground and I saw that she had nothing on underneath. Her face was flushed. She looked proud.

"Well, sir? Do you wish to spend a night with me?"

I turned my head down to my papers. "Please cover yourself, ma'am. And don't return tomorrow. Consider yourself fired."

She turned with a huff and left. What were they thinking, sending someone like that? I called the hiring office to find out.

"Yes, sir, we received word that she was to be perfect for the job."

I asked who gave the recommendation and slammed the receiver down when I got the name. Of course. Of course the neighboring companies AND the police would send spies. Weapon manufacturers always got a bad rep. My company was laced with corruption.

I didn't let people into my office after that. I didn't want nor need any foolish attempts to swindle seduction and intelligence from my lips.

It didn't stop them. I would find red hearts and gifts in my home, gasps and swoons when I held company meetings. Father had fallen for one of these deceptive women. I could not.

Three weeks ago, one of them found me in my sleep and lay with me. They took my valuables and possessions and had their way while I slept, aided by my nightly insomnia medication. When I awoke, I felt anger like I had never before.

They couldn't seduce me, so they stressed me. The company disbanded today. I couldn't deal with it.

Hopefully a quiet life in prison will be quainter.

You are an asexual kingpin, and dealing with all the femme fatales sent to spy on you by your enemies is getting really uncomfortable.

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.���

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[honklore]

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[masterwords]

as the crow flies (part two)

Summary: After a journalist does the BAU dirty, Derek is forced to take the job at the New York Field Office. Hotch is forced to deal. (AU where Hotch and Haley have a daughter instead of a son. Based on this story.)

Warnings: Lo-Fi/Mayhem explosion/injuries, bloody nose, throwing up, Derek has a few brief nsfw moments (cut early because one happens right away)

Words: 5.6k

Notes: Now that we have some plot established, I'll slow down updates to about once a week and keep them about this length. Are we having fun? Giving Hotch the ol' Will Graham Tattler treatment here.

** CHAPTER LIST **

**

The sheets were pooled around Hotch's deeply bruised hips, and Derek traced delicate lines there mindlessly while he considered getting up. He could stay here, he had time. But if he got up now he could move through his routine without any real hurry. Brushing his teeth, showering, cranking one out because those bruises on Hotch's back told him just about all he needed to know about the future of his sex life. It was fine, he wasn't worried, he could take care of himself just fine for a while.

His thoughts turned to a night at the club once he was in the shower. Sweaty, dancing, writhing beneath pulsing lights and pounding beats. Hotch had been uncomfortable, rigid, nervous around Derek's friends for the first time. He was shy jokes and timid smiles, stiff shifting from foot to foot on the dance floor until he had just the right number of beers in him. The magic number where his hips unlocked and he slithered and became a creature made of sweat and hands and that smile wasn't shy anymore, it was full of vivid temptation and downright sinful. It was a side of Hotch he'd never seen before and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a pretty consistent fantasy of his since it happened. When he told Penelope about it, she got cartoon hearts in her eyes and said it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard that he fantasized about his own boyfriend. Well, yeah, maybe...not like it was his only fantasy, but right now it was hitting the spot. They'd been on the outs for more than a week so it felt a little forbidden.

It was an easy quickie once he started humming a little Jodeci.

Every freakin night and every freakin' day... Derek's hand was sliding easily up and down, his eyes closed against the hot water that coursed over his skin. Over and over, keeping speed in time with the song he hummed, mumbled, his hips moving and swaying to the beat. He didn't need much, he was a simple man with simple pleasures. A pretty face, a sexy beat and he was off to the races. I wanna freak you baby in every freakin' way...

He heard Hotch's phone through the din of the shower and poked his head out to listen for movement or a voice. It rang and rang with no answer, eventually stopping. He popped back in and lathered up, moving quickly. Whoever was calling Hotch might start calling him next and it was going to take a little too much explanation if neither of them picked up. The cat's out of the bag, Emily had said to him when her unbelievable nose detected his cologne on Hotch's shirt. Sure, people knew, but not everyone. There was still a lot of careful misdirection and discretion involved here. Hotch staying over...Hotch still sleeping...could have ramifications he wasn't prepared for.

Shaving his head, he listened for the phone. Still nothing. Radio silence, maybe it had been Jessica or Sean, someone just calling to hear his voice. The steady scraping sound of the razor over his head was soothing, and he stood naked still humming Jodeci while he worked.

By the time he finished and gave himself a once over, Hotch was stirring. He thought maybe he'd wake up, check his messages so he craned his head around the corner to peer into the room. A small groan, a whimper, and then silence again. Still as a statue like he'd never moved, the magic had worn off and the sleeping spell returned. He'd fought to maintain that spell all night and was paying for it now with a bone deep exhaustion. Every little whimper and every deep groan when he shifted woke Derek and he was all hands, trying to help him move, to get comfortable. Pillows fluffed and strategically placed, blankets being untangled, and Hotch stayed somehow asleep through it all but Derek's heart raced each time.

It was easy to ignore his injuries when he was upright and running around with adrenaline pushing him forward. He chased down a suspect, he was up and down stairs, he was fine. Until he wasn't, until the crash. It happened just after he got in bed. It was like everything ceased working at once and he could barely move. That was fine, though, they were in bed. It only got scary when his nose started gushing blood again. It wouldn't stop, it slowed for a while and Derek would stop watching, start drifting into his own mellow lullaby and then he'd see wet blood on the pillow again.

A trip to the front desk for a plastic bag, a stop at the ice machine and they were set. Ice on the bridge of his nose, wrapped in the already messy pillow case and pressed against his face while he stared up at the ceiling. The world was bathed in eerie silence. They didn't speak. There wasn't anything to say, anyway. It was apparent right away that Hotch wasn't hearing much and what he did hear seemed to cause almost immediate sharp pain.

They opened the window and let in some air, watched the traffic that never died in the streets. A few people shouted obscenities at each other, a car alarm wailed and Hotch flinched against Derek's arm but said nothing. They lay beside each other, shoulder to shoulder wondering but not asking about the other's thoughts.

It was a bad night.

A bad week.

One for the record books, but they were here together and that had to mean something. No matter how upset Derek had been, he came back. Hell, he came running. And no matter how hurt Hotch had been, he showed up at Derek's door.

Apologies died on their lips.

This quiet comfort had to mean something. Or everything. The world was crumbling to shit around them, but the storm was easier to weather side by side. Hotch had slipped his hand inside of Derek's and closed his eyes, let sleep do its worst. Ten minutes or ten hours, he had no way of predicting what his body would give him but he wasn't going to fight it. Not this time.

Derek thought about all of this as he watched Hotch sleep. It ran through his mind on a loop, interspersed with the heat and flame of the ambulance exploding while he rushed away from it faster than he'd ever run in his life. Diving like some action hero at that last moment, covering as much ground as he could. Duck and cover. Blow up the ambulance now, explain later.

They still had almost two hours before they had to check out and hit the road. Two hours was plenty of time for him to slide back into those sheets, curl around Hotch, and fall back asleep. So he did. Falling asleep was easy, even around the dull ache in his ribs and the headache that was settling in behind his eyes.

Derek woke to the sound of his phone ringing. It was the third call, he hadn't even heard it the first two times he'd fallen so deep into some sunlight drenched morning sex dream. Hotch didn't stir. Not even a little, and while Derek reached over him to grab his phone he wasn't ashamed to say he also felt the gentle rise and fall of his back to make sure he was still breathing.

“JJ,” Derek growled, sliding out of the sweaty sheets and arching his aching back. His body, all at once, reminded him that he had been in an explosion the night before, not having all sorts of raunchy sex in the VIP room. “This better be good. I was having this dream you wouldn't believe...” The dream wasn't exactly about Hotch, but he didn't think the other man would mind, he had his moment in the shower earlier. When it really counted.

“Gross. I'm sick enough as it is,” she replied quickly, but she didn't sound like she was in the mood for jokes. “Is Hotch still in your room?”

He frowned. “Yeah...” he said, dragging it out a little longer than necessary. His suspicion was aroused even more than he was after that dream. “How'd you know he was here?”

“I'd like to say it was intuition,” she started reluctantly. “But it's more than that. What's your room number? I need to talk to you both. In person, right now.”

“He's sleeping...” He said it with conviction. Like he thought she might care. Say never mind, we can talk later. Because that would mean whatever she was calling for wasn't that important...she didn't take the bait.

“If it wasn't important, I wouldn't bother him. You know that. But this is...he needs to see this. You both do. Give me your room number and wake him up.”

He sucked in a breath and glanced at Hotch still dead to the world. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him.

“And Derek? Clothes. I expect you both fully clothed.”

When she showed up, there was no smile to greet him. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts, no shirt, but it was clothed enough. And in his defense, he'd given his last clean t-shirt to Hotch because the last thing that either of them needed was to field questions or concern about his condition. They just wanted to know what could be so urgent.

Hotch was barely sitting, propped up against a few pillows at the head of the bed, his legs stretched out before him. He'd tried to get up, to work the kinks out and wake up his muscles but his back was locked tight and the pressure change made his head pound harder than it had the night before. He could hear again, though, that was something. Not well, and not without pain, but the world was no longer silent. He almost missed it, that eerie quiet that came with the first night snow blanketed the town and everything was insulated and reverent. Now he could hear, and the ringing accompanied all of it.

His headache was a raging inferno behind his eyes.

“You don't look well,” JJ said, glancing at Hotch briefly. He shrugged.

“I was blown up last night,” was his reply, an attempt at levity to make her smile. She looked like she needed one. The way her features were drawn and serious made him nervous. “What is it JJ?”

“Sir,” she started, taking a seat. “I have a contact with The New York Post. They sent me an advance copy, sort of a heads up? It's already being printed, set to hit newsstands tonight.” She handed him the sheet of paper, just a print of the cover and his veins ran with ice. The cover was a photo of Derek's ambulance exploding in a plume of red and gold like out of season fireworks right in the sea of Central Park's emerald. Inset, right down in the corner, was a photo of him in a hospital gown. “There's a six page story about what happened last night. Most of the details are exaggerated, some are outright lies, but there's enough truth there to give it merit. The Director is going to have a fit. In the spread, they have a photo of you and Kate in the street, a photo of you in the hospital...and you and Derek in this doorway.” She let her words hang there a moment, worming their way through the empty spaces in the room. Derek spoke first.

“They were following him.”

“Well,” she said softly. “No. Not exactly. The photo from the street was taken by a cell phone and texted. They're getting me the number now but I have a feeling I already know who it was.”

“Sam,” Derek said. JJ nodded solemnly.

“He deleted some of his history right away but that's my best guess. But there was also someone in the hospital trying to scoop the story on the patient in the OR,” JJ added, pacing from one end of Derek's room to the other with her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. “They have pictures of the Secret Service guys dead in the elevator. They basically tied it all together, made it look like Hotch is the reason for the Secret Service and the hospital bypass and the death threat. Like Hotch was the target.”

“Where the hell were they?” Derek asked, but it didn't matter. There are plenty of hiding places in hospitals, and all they needed was a camera with a decent zoom and a recording device, the BAU provided them with everything else. “Fucking tabloid snakes.”

“It's The Post, Derek,” JJ stopped short, pressing her hand to the small swell in her belly that was feeding her a little extra hormonal piss and vinegar this morning. And sickness. Lots of that. She'd already thrown up about four times and she was nearly ready to excuse herself for the fifth. “It's on every newsstand in this city tonight. Nothing I can do to stop it.”

She looked like she wanted to say more. It was right on the tip of her tongue. “Out with it, mama.” Derek was in no mood to play these coy little word games. He was watching Hotch try to hold it together, try to remain neutral while thinking about the intensity of his violation. He was used to having a target painted on his back but this was a new feeling. A photo of him half naked in the hospital? That was new.

He didn't like new.

“They also have a photo of you Derek, after the ambulance. At the crime scene. So you can imagine what they might have...that they maybe were drawing a connection...” she didn't want to say it. Both men understood it plainly.

“There are plenty of reasonable explanations for my knocking on his door,” Hotch said, voice hardly above a whisper. “Their conclusions will always be extreme. It sells more copies if there's a scandal, we all know that.”

“Chief Strauss wants to talk to you both. The Director is going to demand answers and she wants to get ahead of him.” She'd already called and alerted her after Hotch didn't answer his phone, after Derek didn't answer. She had no choice. Neither of them said a word to her about it.

“It wasn't anything we could have hidden,” Hotch offered in a morose tone. “An explosion in the middle of the city and another at Central Park, no casualties.” He looked down at his hands that had begun to shake while he blinked back painful tears. “One casualty,” he corrected, sucking in a breath. “It was an ending that the Director should take little issue with. We did our jobs. Tabloids will always sensationalize things.” Whether he was quiet to off-set the pain in his head, or if he was just so angry he was afraid that raising his voice would result in yelling was anyone's guess. JJ wasn't about to ask.

“That's true. I'm not worried about that. I'll draft a letter to correct the lies, my contact said they'll run the corrected story but Hotch...that photo of you...” She'd never seen him look so vulnerable in her life. It was upsetting. “They were in your room.”

He didn't like it either, but he was a little flattered that she cared so deeply. The heat of humiliation burned in his lungs and clouded his vision. “What's done is done.”

She couldn't bear the look of him, how sad and defeated he was. The bomb was bad enough but this...yep, she was going to be sick. That did it. “Excuse me,” she muttered, rushing toward their bathroom. She managed to flip the fan on just in time to drown out the sound of her retching. Derek she didn't mind, he'd held her hair back more than once after a night out but Hotch...she couldn't stand it.

Not that he could have heard it anyway.

“You believe this?” Derek asked, and Hotch only stared at him. Or through him. His eyes were unfocused and a little scary, deep set beneath his somber frown. When JJ emerged from the bathroom minutes later smelling like soap and mouth wash, she smiled. It was an eerie, almost scary smile. Derek liked it.

“Give me today in the city, Hotch. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, I'll see what I can do.”

(x)

JJ hadn't been able to do much. One day back, one day out of work and the first thing Derek had to contend with was an early morning meeting with Strauss.

“Effective when?” Derek asked, unable to wipe a look of complete shock from his features. Shock was better than contempt, which was his only other mode when it came to this woman and her antics. Strauss sat across from him in her picture perfect Bureaucratic suit of lies and pursed lips. As JJ predicted, heads were rolling. The Post ran its story and the shock waves were felt for miles. Fix this was all The Director had said to Strauss, and she knew exactly what that meant.

“Immediately, Agent Morgan. They're anticipating your arrival by the end of the week. This is an Executive Decision, it comes from above my head.” Meaning she wouldn't do anything to change it. Nor could she if she wanted to, which she really didn't.

He was being reassigned to the New York Field Office and he had no say. Promoted, she reminded him. This is a good thing. Indignant flames flickered in his eyes at the thought that he'd be sitting at the desk of a woman not even in the ground yet. Hotch was at home now on the phone with the funeral home, helping get her body transported from New York back to England for interment.

There was nothing he could do. This was coming down from the Director himself, and with Hotch on medical leave there was no one to fight on his behalf. It never would have worked anyway, they had a vacancy in New York and the BAU was under heavy scrutiny after that story in The Post. Strauss either played the game or she would find herself in need of a few liquor store boxes to empty her own desk into, that much was made clear to her the minute she argued that this was being blown out of proportion. “There isn't anything wrong with those photos from the Bureau's perspective,” she'd said. She took them to the PR department, she took them to anyone whose opinion might make a difference but the Director couldn't be convinced. She really had tried. “They are humiliating for Agent Hotchner, not the Bureau.” Besides, they were blatant lies and it could be easily proven that those bombs were never meant for Hotch, that there would be no need for Secret Service to shut down a hospital on his behalf...it was all smoke and mirrors, JJ was working on that and it still didn't matter. Pick the low hanging fruit, that's what she knew they would do. Remove one part of the equation and kill the entire thing. She was in front of the firing squad and this wasn't a fight she wanted to take on. She'd already done herself plenty harm saying what she had.

“Yes ma'am.”

Only a week left with the BAU, a week left of his dream job. He could barely contain himself. What he wanted to do was trash it all, break a few windows, take a bat to the copy machine, trash all his years of service over something so asinine as a journalist's fabrications. But he didn't. What he did do was run down to the liquor store on the corner, buy himself a few bottles of whiskey, and snag three empty boxes on the way out. His desk wouldn't take long to clear. He might not come back this week, might just take some personal time. What were they going to do, fire him? He belonged to New York now.

“I'll take care of it,” Spencer offered with tears in his eyes, watching Derek empty out his personal drawers. “I guess it'll give me a reason to come visit you in New York.”

“Yeah, you can come up now whether we...whether you have a case or not, huh?”

That change from we to you hit Spencer square in the gut and he thought he might never catch his breath from it. This couldn't be real. He'd already argued with Derek. They can't just take you away, he'd whispered, but they could. They could do it to any of them at any time and they never even needed a reason. This stupid tabloid story was proof, and it was making JJ almost unbearable to be around. She was so mad one minute and crying the next because she hadn't done her job...if she'd been there she would have seen the reporter, she just knew it. They could all tell her it wasn't true until they were blue in the face but she simply couldn't believe it. She should have stopped it.

Her resignation was already typed up and ready to submit, but something kept her from printing it. Maybe she just wouldn't come back after maternity leave.

“What about Hotch?”

Derek shrugged and looked anywhere but at Spencer whose tears were falling down his cheeks now, right there in the middle of the bullpen. He'd tried to hold it in, it just wouldn't work. This feeling was too big. It was huge and it was bursting from everywhere.

“He's got other things he's dealing with right now, he doesn't have time to worry about this too. We'll figure it out later.”

“What things?” Spencer's voice had gone soft, too quiet. He was shrinking in on himself, his shoulders slumping in utter defeat. His family was being torn apart and he had no control over any of it. The idea that Hotch had no control...that was beyond his capacity to handle.

“I don't know kid, he just got blown up a few days ago and his friend died. He's got his own problems.”

Spencer huffed. “I bet he'd think this was pretty important.”

Derek leveled his glare and sighed. “It'll be fine. A new opportunity, right?” He had to walk away before he started crying. He couldn't hold it together much longer.

(x)

“Hotch?”

He glanced up from his paperwork and squinted into the room. Bleak, dimly lit, more like a cave than an office. He was sneaking in and working at night to try and help the team out, to keep then on track with paperwork. It was either that or wallow in misery at home and he really wasn't much for wallowing. Besides, working at night meant he could be on the phone with Kate's family during their daytime hours, helping them with arrangements for her body, for her apartment, whatever he could. He wasn't responsible, they kept telling him that, but he wouldn't hear it. He survived, she didn't. That was the only thing he could think.

Night was better for the intense haze that his headache was clouding the world with. It's your ears, they'd said at his appointment that morning after an MRI that nearly drove him to the brink of madness considering all of the shrapnel they'd pulled out of him and what if they left one piece inside? It'll only get worse without surgery. Well, he didn't want surgery. But he also didn't want this.

Those pesky nosebleeds, like the one he'd just cleaned up, couldn't have been his ears but he wasn't talking about those. The pain in his head that wouldn't let up and the constant nose bleeds didn't leave him much time to worry about his back, so there was a silver lining. Maybe not silver, maybe a dull gray, but a lining of some kind anyway.

“Yes JJ?”

“I spoke to my contact at The Post and she said the photos were submitted by someone they outsource to, one of their roving reporters, you know the type. They operate under pseuds so their credibility remains in tact. He probably works for a bigger publication but the Post pays more for stuff like this. Tabloids are good money.”

He hummed, having figured as much. He wasn't as good as JJ when it came to press relations but he knew a few things. Enough that he'd managed to avoid any major scandals or problems with the press...until now.

“The good thing is, your face isn't clearly visible and they didn't have any real details about your injuries or Kate, they made most of that up and the Bureau is threatening The Post with defamation if they don't correct the inaccuracies. The bad thing is, Derek said your full name when he barged into the hospital looking for you so...”

“Keep an eye out for anyone digging around. Got it. Thank you JJ.”

“Sir, are you alright? You seem...”

“I'm okay. It's been a rough week.”

“Yeah. You can say that again.”

She could see a smear of blood on the back of his hand even in the dark room, it looked like he'd tried to wash it off but missed a spot. It didn't alarm her, and the realization that it didn't alarm her settled funny in her stomach. Right beside the little popcorn feeling of the baby moving in there. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

He peered at her through the thick shield of his lashes and put on the best smile he could. It made his head throb to move his face like that and he knew then that it probably was his ears causing all of the trouble. Smiling shouldn't hurt. “Always,” he lied.

He had to pull over on the way home. Another nosebleed, this time it was all down his front before he had a place to stop so he could rifle through the glove compartment for some napkins or tissue. He'd used his tie, of all things, just to make it to a safe place to pull over. This was getting really irritating. They'd told him it could last a while. Nothing to worry about, just the trauma from the explosion. Humans aren't made to withstand that sort of thing. You're lucky Agent. Well he'd ruined three perfectly good shirts (and one very expensive tie) now for this pesky little nothing.

“Another nosebleed?” Derek asked, looking up from the game of solitaire he was playing on the coffee table when Hotch walked through the door looking like he'd just escaped a slasher film chase scene. Solitaire meant stress. He didn't like Hotch going in after hours, for starters, and told him no more than two hours or he'd march down there and drag him out. He stayed two hours on the dot. “How many today?”

“You heard the doctor yesterday. It's nothing as long as they stop.”

“How many?” Derek pressed, slapping down a two of clubs with a little more force than necessary. Hotch flinched involuntarily and sighed, hanging up his jacket beside the door.

“Three,” he replied in a too quiet voice. “They were short. I think it's getting better.”

Derek huffed and went back to his game while Hotch kicked out of his shoes and made for the kitchen. It was late, he wanted coffee but settled for tea and a handful of grapes. “Is everything alright?”

“Strauss gave me my walkin' papers today.” He tossed a stack of papers that had been on the couch beside him across the room, hurled them like a frisbee and watched them land on a dining room chair. He'd been going for the table but it could have been worse. While Hotch's water heated up in the kettle he flipped through the pages and felt his headache intensify with every word. “Read 'em and weep. Yoko's breaking up the band.”

The Beatles reference should have made him smile, but smiling hurt and this didn't feel like a time to chance it. “I'll talk to her.” He was leaning hard against the counter, staring down at the pages while his back throbbed loud and deep. No longer willing to be ignored, the third wheel, it forced its way front and center.

“No use. She said it's an executive decision. Above your pay grade, man.”

“Derek, I'll call her. I have a few favors I can call in.”

“Yeah, sure...go ahead...” he sounded sad, angry and unconvinced. Hotch almost didn't hear his kettle whistle he was so lost in the papers, in the agony of his head, of his heart breaking. “Don't get your hopes up.”

He pretended to sleep until Derek drifted off and then made his way to the couch with his laptop ready to draft a letter to Strauss. By the time dawn was streaking across the sky and blotting out the night, his eyes were barely open and he had nothing more on his screen than the ramblings of a desperate man afraid to let go. Nothing he could show to anyone. It might as well be pathetic beat poetry, heartbreak in prose. He'd already lost Haley and that was his own fault but this...it was different. By the time Haley was gone he'd realized he was ready, they were better apart than they had been together but he didn't think it was the same with Derek.

He wasn't ready for this.

This felt an awful lot like breaking up.

“One of the last nights we get to sleep in the same bed and you don't even stay?” Derek asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could tell Hotch had been on the couch most of the night. There was a pillow and a blanket rumpled beside him, like he'd tried to sleep and couldn't manage it. An empty coffee cup sat beside his computer and Derek walked by, snagging it so he could refill it alongside his own. “Writing the novel that's gonna make you rich so we never have to work again?”

“I,” he started, narrowing his eyes to squint at the screen. His contacts were drying out, hurting his eyes. “No.” Derek laughed.

“Whatever you wrote there won't change Strauss' mind. You know that right?”

“I do.”

“Then why?”

Hotch went quiet and his gaze lost all focus. He was just staring into nothing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only thing that would even alert Derek to him being more than a statue.

“I'm not ready for this,” he said finally, tears burning in his eyes. “I thought we would have more time.”

“You think I'm breaking up with you because I have to move?” Derek asked, flopping himself down right beside Hotch and hooking his arm around the other man's shoulders. “You aren't getting off that easy, Hotchner. I said I wanted a commitment right away, I told you this wasn't a rebound from your broken marriage, remember? If it was, I wasn't interested. You think that's changed?”

Hotch closed his eyes against the pounding in his temples. “No.”

“You think I'm gonna let Strauss and the Director and all those other assholes with their ties so tight it cuts off the oxygen to their brains...” he was speaking through gritted teeth now and had to stop himself, had to calm down. “They can change my job but that's all they get.”

“New York is a long way,” Hotch whispered and he felt a familiar tickle in the bridge of his nose. Shit.

“A few hours on the train isn't a long way.”

Blood trickled slow over his lips and Hotch reached up to swipe at it, to stop it before it hit the couch or Derek's leg but he was too late. A small drop, a splash of red against Derek's skin and they both stared mesmerized for a minute. “I'll get the ice,” Derek said, wiping the spot with his thumb and pulling his shirt off so Hotch could shove it up against his nose to stop the bleeding. They would need all new wardrobes by the time this ordeal was over.

With ice on his face, Hotch could barely think. It was soothing his headache and stopping the bleed, really the most pleasant feeling he could manage for the time being. “You want me to come to the doctor with you today?”

Hotch almost said no. He wanted to, because he didn't need Derek with him but something nagged at him, pulled at the empty spaces in his chest and he nodded. “Would you?” They didn't have much time left together, not this kind of easy time anyway, and Derek was right...one of the last nights they had to spend in bed together and he'd been up on the couch the whole time. He wouldn't be so careless with what they had left again.

“Sure. I'd love an excuse to be late. Fuck Strauss. Which doc are we seeing today?”

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ~

Part I

© sailorhyunjinz 2021; Rights Reserved

All picture rights to their respective owners.

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥: Photographer!hyunjin, fem!model!reader, manager!Bangchan, stylist!Jisung, agedup!straykids, SMUT IN LATER PARTS, fluff, character driven story, strangers to lovers, summer au, mentions of insecurity, love at first sight.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3,5 k  

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: I have never written a series before so please understand if it’s lacking heh... and yes the title does relate to the kooks song with the same title so do give it a listen because it’s really good and fits the story c: 

also this starts slowly LMAO MORE FUN THINGS ARE COMING UP I SWEAR <33

If you have any feedback I’m more than happy to receive it! <3

Taking pictures of you - MASTERLIST

ONE｜TWO｜THREE

Working as a model was not easy. The complaining managers and the expectations by others was too much to handle. Heck, even getting to the shooting locations was a hastle most of the time. 

You tilted your head against the window in the backseat of the taxi. It was a calm august wednesday. The late summer breeze made it’s way into the cab thorugh the window that was opened on the drivers side. Your phone screen lit up, multiple notification from Instagram. 

“omg! slay bbygrl”

“her face is crazy pretty”

“beautiful”

You’ve heard these words too many times. If you’re told the same thing over and over again they eventually mean nothing. You scrolled through the other comments on your latest instagram post, a photo from your last photoshoot. A picture of you lying in a bed of white flowers, your skin glowing and your body covered by a white sheer dress that accentuated your neck. It’s not a bad photo but was I really worth the attention? “There are a thousands of other girls way prettier than me.” you though and with a sulken expression you watched life run by outside the window. 

15 minutes later you arrived at your agency. You smiled your model smile at the taxi driver to which he smiled back and responded: “My pleasure, miss y/n”.

A big shadow was cast from the building in which the modeling agency was. The beige renaissance building was surrounded by green bushes and a black fence. The big oak entryway had golden lion knockers and an ingraved golden sign. “Eccellente Modeling Agency” it said with bold black letters, contrasting nicely with the gold plate. You rang the doorbell next to the sign and in a matter of seconds the oak gates opened with a loud creak.

“Y/n!! You look stunning as always!” said your manager Bangchan as he hugged you. The smell of his aftershave violated your olfactory sense as usual, making you scrunch your nose. He was always dressed business casual, his white polo shirt and light brown dress pants being a good example but today his poloshirt had a great amount of buttons unbuttoned. 

The both of you made your way into his office. A room with a high ceiling and a chandelier worth more than your career. You sat down in the leather couch across the desk, Bangchan sitting on the other side of it. 

“Give me a moment.... Just pulling up some files for the new photoshoot I’ve planned! I promise, you’re not gonna be disappointed.” he says smiling, the desktop screen reflecting in his brown eyes.

He turns his computer screen towards you. Your eyes scan the pictures that pop up. 

“May I present to you the profile of Hwang Hyunjin. One of the most renowned photographers of this age”. Bangchan looks at you, reading your expression. 

The pictures are truly beautiful. Everything, from the outfits to the lightning was perfect.

“Bangchan, you’re insane” you say, smiling widely as you made eye contact with the dark haired manager. “These pictures are so stunning!” you squeal. “How did you even get in contact with him?”

“Nothing for you to worry about y/n, I have my contacts. I’m a manager after all”. He scoffs whilst scrolling through the profile. The next picture getting better than the previous one.

“So... when is the shoot and what concept have you planned?” you say whilst your eyes are glued to the computer screen. 

“Mr, Hwang works for a multitude of companies but Styliz needed a model for their new pastel collection which I immedietly snatched onto. We all know how beautiful you look in pastels y/n” he said attentively to which you smiled, adoring the interest he has for his work. 

“Oh.. I also cheked your schedule and you seem free tomorrow so how about then?” he added. 

“Yes! I’d love too” you said with a small nod.

“Not that you have much choice, Mr Hwang’s time is worth gold y/n” he laughed and reached for something in his cabinet drawers.

“Here, take this” he said while sliding over a light grey business card.

‘Hwang Hyunjin, Photographer’ was written in dark grey letters. A black border decorating the edges of the card.

♡

The morning sun shined thorugh the curtains blinding you temporarily. You felt after your phone on the nightstand with you hand, your eyes still closed. ‘8:05 am’ the screen showed against the background picture of your family.

You missed them, moving to a different city across the country at the young age of 18 was scary. You’ve aged, that’s for sure but you still missed them dearly. Dragging your lifeless body to the shower you hope for a day with happiness whilst the warm water hits your bare skin. It was a big day after all. A photoshoot with photographer Hwang Hyunjin. “Me... on Hyunjins work? It must be a dream...” you thought, grabbing the towel hanging on the cold, silver rack.

You dryed off your thick hair with a light pink towel with one hand whilst the other hand held your phone. “I have to look at his photos again” you thought, tapping on the Instagram icon and typing “Hwang Hyunjin” in the search bar, hoping and praying that his work was published on the social media platform.

“@ photographerHwang” was the first result to pop up and you tapped it instantly being just as surprised as you were yesterday of the beauty that his photos carried. Bumping into the table on your way to the kitchen you noticed a different photo on his feed. It didn’t look like any of the other photos because it was a selfie. You dropped your towel on the floor. No... it can’t be him... or could it?

His face looked like a work of art. Not only was the photo nicely edited with warm light emitting from your screen but the person was even more eyecatching. “It’s probably one of his models” you though as you placed your phone on the kitchen counter and grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge.

But what if it’s really him?

♡

You threw on a grey hoodie and biker shorts before you flew out to the taxi waiting for you outside the apartment. 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting sir! Here!” you said while panting, quickly pulling up a text message you got from Bangchan sharing the location of the photoshoot. 

“Please, Miss y/n! No need to apologize” laughed the middle aged taxi driver softly. You were now on your way to the shoot. 

Your brain was scattered. One part of you hoped that Mr Hwang really was the boy you saw on his instagram. His long, blond locks slightly covering his sharp jaw. His skin clear as day and rosy lips plump like two rose petals. The other part shut everything down, convinced that it’s one of his models that happened to be to your liking. 

You opened his instagram page again. 

“He must be famous for his perfect features...” you said under your breath, staring at his lips.

The whole taxi ride was filled with thoughts of him, whoever he was. 

“Soon there miss y/n” the taxi driver said after 10 minutes of driving. The taxi slowed down and looking outside the window you saw Bangchan standing infront of a building that looked similar to the agency building. You waved slightly and he waved back at you.

You turned around to the driver and said; “Thank you so much sir”, giving him a generous tip and exiting the vehicle. A warm breeze latches on to you, making your hair flutter in the motions of the wind.

“Y/n! Perfectly on time” Bangchan said and hugged you.

You hugged him back, asking him about his day so far to which he responded;

“Good but going to be even better after this legendary photoshoot is done and we have the most perfect photos taken by the most influential photographer!” he sounded like a little child in a candy shop.

Your ears heated up due to his words and you smiled slightly.

“Let’s go to the second floor and get your outfit and makeup ready. A introduction with Styliz manager won’t be needed since he already knows your delightful personality” he laughed at his corny remarks and you did the same.

“You seem even more excited than me” you remarked, pressing the elevator button.

“When you see the end result you will be floored” Bangchan said and winked at you. 

The elevator clanged. “Second floor”. The metal doors slided open. The eyes of a dozen stylists and makeup artists caught onto you. A slightly potbellied man in a navy colored suit approached you.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see work with you again.” His voice was hoarse due to his age but his personality being the total opposite. You knew him well since Styliz’s chief was one of the first to offer you a modeling job in a foreign city, you only being a teenager with a big dreams at the time.

“Mr. Styliz! It’s lovely to meet you again” you smiled and sat down in a makeup chair, a girl with blond hair and big hoop earrings starting to brush powder across your nose. You saw Bangchans figure leave behind a door in the reflection of the mirror. 

“Mr. Styliz, might I ask you a question?” You regretted the words as soon as the came out of your mouth. You didn’t need more information about the mysterious boy you saw on Hwang’s instagram page but you simply had to know who is was. 

“Well of course y/n” said Mr. Styliz, his warm breath touched your cheek as he stood right by your side, smelling of morning coffee and looking at you through the mirror. 

“Could I please get more information about Mr.Hwang?” you said, making eye contact with the old man. 

“y/n, you’ll meet him soon! Then you can ask him how much you would like about his life but I must warn you... He is quite the secretive type”. The coffee breath was accentuated as he laughed.

You tried to play along, laughing a fake laugh as the hair designer started to brush out your locks. A wave of embarrassment washed through you. 

The lights of the makeup mirror were getting hot, tiny sweat drops beading on your forehead which the makeup artist wiped off. 

“We are done, Miss y/n” said the makeup artist, her earrings reflecting the light in the studio. You thanked her and saw Bangchan standing at the door where the cameras were. 

“y/n, not much time left. Please go down the hallway and into the second door on your left, the stylist is in there fixing your outfit”. One reason as to why you loved Bangchan as your manager was his calm temper. Even in a time crunch, he always made sure to talk to you in a serene tone. After years in the modeling industry you still couldn’t get used to the ill-tempered staff. Too many times you had been forcefully dragged down corridors and streets whilst they muttered swear words at you. Even thinking about it sends shivers down your spine. 

Your shoes tapped the white linoleum as you made your way down the narrow hallway, knocking on the second door to your left just as Bangchan said. 

A familiar voice said; “Come in!” to which you turned the golden doorknob on  the white wooden door. The tall figure was rummaging in a big plastic container filled with clothes but upon your arrival the figure greeted you with warm eyes. 

“No way!! It’s y/n!” screeched Jisung. He pulled you in to a hug, his belt buckle hit your stomach through the grey hoodie. 

Jisung was a stylist and worked closely with Mr. Styliz therefore you’d gotten close to him. Not only did you like him for his exquisite fashion sense which had a whole different concept each time you saw him but also for his friendliness, always being polite. 

“I’ve missed you so much Jisungie” you said with a pout. 

“I though it was onesided but I guess not haha”

“Don’t be silly! How could I not miss that smile of your Sungie?” you hit him playfully on the arm to which he blushed. 

“Go behind that  and I’ll throw some clothes for you.” he pointed at the wooden divider standing in the corner of the white room filled with clothes racks and colorful clothing. 

You started undressing behind the divider and suddenly a pile of clothing was thrown on your head over the divider. You heard Jisung snicker at the yelp that came out of your mouth as you drowned in the clothes

“Jisung, you are so dead when I’m done” you said whilst putting on the last details to the outfit.

“I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry” he said pleadingly while laughing hysterically. 

You stood on the podium infront of the full lenght mirrors in the room as Jisung observed you and pinned the clothes slightly. 

“Not gonna lie, it’s looks really good on you. The pastels matches perfectly with your skintone.” Jisung looked on the pleaded white skirt you had on. 

You looked in the mirror and shook your head in agreement. The pastel purple sweater with the white collar poking out made you look youthful and innocent. You had on patent mary jane shoes in the same purple color as your sweater. The white kneesocks were slipping down as you moved slightly, almost looking like a school girl as you bend down to lift the socks up. 

“Do you like it?” Jisung looked at you through the reflection on the mirror, standing on the floor making him a head shorter than you. 

“Yea! You’ve never given me a bad outfit Sungie, they’re always adorable. My favorite stylist but don’t tell that to Bangchan” you smirked to which Jisung laughed.

♡

“y/n, Jisung did a great job! You fit the concept to a tee” Bangchan stood infront of two wide dark green doors which led to the photostudio. He smiled shyly and pushed the doors open, a bright white light blinding you as you stepped in.

You squinted and held your hand infront of your eyes as you entered the studio, the air stuffy from all the white boxlights that have been working for a while.

“Miss y/n is here now, Mr. Hwang” Bangchan announced.

Your eyes felt blurry and the lights created a bokeh effect, your vision feeling like a filter. The first thing you saw was him. Hwang Hyunjin.

The shock froze your feet in one position. It was him. The selfie was Hyunjin. And he was hotter in real life.

A tall, slender figure stood on one foot, the other one behind his leg with the tip of the shoe pointing towards the floor. 

“Are you ready, miss y/l/n?”.

His voice was sweeter than honeysuckle, you melted upon hearing him speak. Bangchan looked at you confused when you didn’t move, just observing the presence of the blonde boy infront of you. 

“y/n?” Bangchan had a worried expression on his face as your face broke out in a massive blush. 

“yeah..uh-mm..yes” you only managed to get that out before you were infront of the camera. 

His willowy fingers wrapped around the black Canon camera, it fit perfectly in his hands as if it was made for him. You gulped upon seeing the veins that ran up his exposed arms, the white shirt bunched up by his elbows. 

“Everything good miss? You seem distant” he said in that raspy but sweet voice. 

“Uhm...yeah totally..” you looked awkward with your hands by your side as you saw Bangchan observing you with a confused gaze. 

“Please tilt your head to the right and stand broad with your feet” Hyunjin commanded to which you complied. The flash of the big studio lights didn’t effect you as much anymore since you were used to this but what did effect you was how concentrated Hyunjin looked. Like a true photographer. It was obvious that he enjoyed his job by the way his eyes shined when he looked at the monitor and corrected every detail. Luckily you could stare at his figure all that you wanted since it looked like you were keeping eye contact with the camera and not him. Glancing over to the left of the photographer you saw Bangchan smiling his bright smile, signaling that he’s proud over you. 

Flash

Flash

And another flash before Hyunjin looked at the monitor displaying the photos he just took, a smirk crept onto his face. 

“Good job y/l/n. Could you please grab that chair over there and sit on the edge of it?” he said whilst pointing towards a small wooden stool. Reacting instantly to his soft voice and gestures you pulled the stool towards the x on the ground, making sure you were in frame. 

“One leg over the other” Hyunjin said without even looking towards you, his pale veiny hands were now twisting and turning some buttons on both the camera and monitor. You shook your head up and down slightly in agreement before doing as told and as Hyunjin turned back his chocolatey brown eyes landed on yours. Now it was impossible to hide your burning cheeks, Hyunjin noticed since he laughed stiffly before grabbing the camera off the camera stand and going down on one knee to capture an angle from below. Numerous amounts of sparks from the big box lights were emitted and after every spark Hyunjin turned around to the screen which displayed your figure. Staring at him you smiled slowly, feeling your heart beat faster. Why do I feel like this by just looking at him? Your head was clouded with millions of other thoughts. Just as you started tuning out the room Hyunjin clapped his hands hard, the sound ringing in your ears. You jumped slightly which made Bangchan laugh.

“All done! Nice work everybody” Hyunjin announced loudly before bowing down to the other staff members in the room and to you as well. You returned his gesture by a slight bow of the head and quickly scurried of to Bangchan, your face hot.

“Are you sure you’re not ill?” Bangchan said softly before putting the back of his hand towards your forehead. Shaking your head from side to side you pushed his hand away. 

“No, I’m fine... just so hot with the box lights you know?” you laughed fumblingly, not knowing where to rest your gaze. 

You felt someone tap you on your left shoulder and you almost fainted when you turned around. Hyunjin was standing three footsteps from you, the scent of his cologne making you swoon. He smiled as he saw your shy expression and sparkling eyes.

“I though that it must have been hot, here have this”

He casually held out a waterbottle which you received with both hands as a gesture of thankfulness. 

“y/n, I’m just gonna head off to Jisung to discuss something. Meet me at the changing rooms in about 10, ok?” Bangchan said, slightly leaning towards your ear. 

“Yeah, see you in 10!” you said while the managers back disappeared through the broad doors of the studio. Turning back to Hyunjin his blond locks were draped infront of his eyes and as he spoke he tucked those light pieces behind his ear, revealing his small silver hoop earrings.

“I’m gonna pack up the cords now but it was a pleasure to work with you, miss y/l/n” 

The corners of your mouth went upwards at his formality.

“Please, call me y/n” you said quietly, being too shy to look him in the eyes.

“Sure, see you around y/n” Hyunjin said as he lifted up his hand to shake yours. His lanky fingers were filled with bold rings, many of which were designer. A slight panic rushed through your mind as you didn’t want to scare him away with your clammy hands. The sweaty hands and the churning of your stomach was all due to Hyunjin nearness. Hesitantly you streched the tips of your fingers against the blond haired boy and his hand emitted warmth when being met with your fingertips. He smiled before turning back, his eyes forming into half moons as charming dimples errupted on his lean cheeks.

You bowed to the other staff members on your way out of the building on your way to meet Bangchan and Jisung in the changing room. The waterbottle in your hand almost slipped as you took another clunck of the fresh water and that’s when you noticed something. Stopping in the hallway where the stylists room was located you inspected the waterbottle and saw a black marker scribble on the wrapper around the bottle. Upon removing it your heart stopped. Your knees could give up at any moment from the sheer shock. Am I losing my mind? A number was loosely doodled on the white plastic wrapper and underneath it there was a message. 

Call me 

// Hyunjin

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@vogueinnie @that-anxious-bisexual @putmetogetheragain13 @hyunsluvv @lawleighette @meow-minho @minaamhh @ohmysparkle @hwangi @rindomo​ @fleeingreality @nycol-ie @jisungsplatforms

[onechicago-upsteadrhekker]

the trouble with wanting (is i want you) - upstead two-shot

Hey guys! Back with something I started back in April when the season was cut short and Hailey was last seen in NYC. I just now got around to finishing it (finally!) and it has turned into two parts so be on the lookout for chapter two in the near future!

It’s no ‘Heartbeat on the Highline’ by @fromiftowhen (which you should read if you haven’t), but it’s a juicy little New York scenario that I have had a lot of fun with! 

I also have to give a huge huge shoutout to @mashleighh​ for always being there to scream over upstead and fanfiction! Thanks for all the help and being a great listener, friend!

I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Read on AO3

Five weeks. That’s how long Hailey has been gone.

It’s been five weeks since she’d shown up at his door at midnight to stiffly tell him she was going to New York to help out the FBI for a couple of weeks.

It was only for a couple of weeks. That’s what she’d told him.

He would be lying if he said that when Hailey told him she was leaving that his heart didn’t stop in his chest. And that when two weeks turned into three then four and then five, he didn’t feel like he’d been punched in the stomach? Well, he’d be lying then too.

Because the truth is, he feels like he’s been holding his breath ever since she’d stepped out of his house that night.

And despite her assurances that she’d be back as soon as the FBI would let her, he still couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts of maybe she would like it better in New York. That she did, in fact, like how the feds did things. That she did like the extra pay and the nice suits after all.

But when she’d called him a few nights ago and told him she was absolutely sure that she was on her last case with the FBI and would be home as soon as she was finished, he couldn’t seem to wipe the permanent grin off his face and the feeling of utter relief.

He isn’t going acknowledge how much longer the past few days have seemed; even longer than they did before, or the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that she still had time to decide to stay in New York because he knew she was good police—the best, and he knew Platt was right.

The feds did have a way of holding onto good people.

He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost Hailey to New York.

In the few weeks that Hailey’s been gone, he has come to realize exactly how much he relies on her, how much he craves for her presence and not only at work, when he’s off duty too. It took her being gone for him to understand how much she filled his every day.

His heart aches when he walks into the bullpen to see her chair empty, pushed under her desk with no coat hanging from the back. He feels strange only ordering one coffee instead of two and he doesn’t like how lonely it is in his truck without her in the passenger seat.

When he’s doing his paperwork, he looks up and expects to find blue eyes that aren’t there, and he feels cold sitting on her desk without her comforting presence beside him.

And he doesn’t much like the way Rojas keeps looking at him with knowing eyes ever since Hailey left and the officer filled her spot as his temporary partner. She’s quick on her feet and she provides him with sufficient backup, but it just isn’t the same. It isn’t Hailey.

He feels like a piece of him is missing. The piece that knows what he’s thinking without words. The piece that understands him with a single look. The solid feel of her right there next to him, watching his back literally and figuratively.

A few times he’d found himself driving towards her house to see if she wanted a drink or to watch some TV only to remember she wasn’t there.

She’s in New York. With the FBI.

And God, did he miss her.

*

When Jay woke that morning, something just hadn’t felt right. Things just felt off. It was the same feeling he’d gotten hundreds of times before; in Afghanistan, in Chicago, before shootouts and raids that didn’t go exactly according to plan.

He had that feeling that something bad had happened or was about to and he just couldn’t seem to shake it even though everything seemed normal.

But his skin still felt prickly and the hairs were still standing up on the back of neck and he still heard that little voice in the back of his head whispering that something wasn’t quite right.

He pushed it to the back of his mind as he went through his morning routine of running, working out and showering, hoping that it would go away before he got to work.

When he got to the district, nothing seemed amiss. Trudy was there to greet him with her usual no-nonsense attitude and a stack of paperwork, and his friends called out cheery ‘good morning’s’ as he walked into the bullpen. Adam had just gotten there too, slapping Jay on the back as a way to say ‘hello’ before they each joined the others at their respective desks to fill out paperwork from the case they’d finished the day before and Voight was holed away in his office as usual.

The only thing that was out of place was the empty chair across from him, missing the bright smile and sparkling blue eyes.

Sighing, Jay pulled out his chair, dropping the stack of paperwork on his desk as he sat down, reaching for one of Hailey’s pens because his were always missing. He was about half a page through his report when that bad feeling flared up again, Voight coming out of his office with a hint of worry on his face.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell that something was off if he didn’t know Voight so well or if he hadn’t been hyper-aware of everything this morning. That and the fact Voight stood at the head of the room, silently waiting till everyone’s attention was on him with his hands in his pockets and that look on his face. The one that said something was wrong.

Everyone pretty much immediately picked up on the change of atmosphere; the once comfortable silence turning into a tense one with alarmed looks quickly being shared.

Jay was about to say something when Kim beat him to it, “What’s wrong, sarge?”

“I just got a call from New York.”

Jay’s stomach dropped and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Voight glanced at him before addressing Intelligence as a whole, “It’s Hailey. She got hurt last night during an undercover assignment. She’s in the hospital.”

Blood was rushing through his ears and Jay felt like he was about to pass out.

Hailey was hurt. She was in the hospital. And he wasn’t there.

When Jay remembered to breathe, he felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

He’d known something like this was going to happen. It was his job to protect her and he wasn’t there. He never should have let her go without him because if he had been there, he would’ve never let her get hurt.

She was his partner.

He clenched his fists, anger filling him alongside the worry and panic. Anger at whoever the hell was supposed to be looking out for her because they obviously hadn’t done a very good job.

How could anyone be so careless with her safety?

In the back of his mind, Jay knew that it probably wasn’t anyone’s fault. He knew better than most that getting injured on the job was just par the course, but he still couldn’t help the icy fear that gripped him and the need to blame someone and the feeling that she wouldn’t be hurt if he had been there.

Because if anything ever happened to her… He would never forgive himself.

“Hurt? What does that mean?” It was Vanessa’s slightly distressed voice speaking up that broke him out of the trance he’d been in.

Jay’s eyes quickly snapped to Voight’s face. His boss shook his head in uncharacteristic concern, “I don’t know. I didn’t get the details. Whoever called didn’t know, just that she was in the hospital, but I’ve got calls in with the Special Agent in Charge of the field team Hailey’s with. I’ll find out.”

He met all their worried gazes, “But in the meantime,” Voight turned to Jay, pausing, “I want you on the next plane out of here going to New York.”

He didn’t have to tell him twice. Jay was already standing up and grabbing his coat, fully intending to go straight to the airport when Voight caught his gaze again, a slightly strange expression on his face.

A protective look that Jay didn’t entirely understand passed between them.

“Go get our girl. Bring her home.”

*

“Jay?” Vanessa hesitantly poked her head around the corner of the row of lockers.

He looked up from where he was shoveling random clothes he happened to have in his locker into a duffel bag. He had no intentions of going back to his apartment because Platt was working on getting him on the next flight into JFK and he didn’t want to risk missing the plane.

“She’s gonna be okay. You know that, right?” Vanessa’s voice was small and vulnerable in a way that reminded Jay just how new she was to the life of being a cop. Especially a cop in Chicago; in Intelligence.

But this didn’t happen in Chicago. And it didn’t happen while she was working in Intelligence. Hailey got hurt in New York working with the FBI; Without them. Without him.

She was alone and that thought by itself was enough to make Jay panic because as tough as he knew Hailey was, he knew she didn’t like being vulnerable in front of others. Especially people she didn’t know.

“Yeah, of course. I know that.” It was more clipped than he’d wanted to sound. His voice was strained even to his own ears and he knew he wasn’t convincing either of them.

Because the truth was, they didn’t know if it was going to be okay. They had no idea exactly how injured she was. Who knew? Jay might be in New York for quite a while depending on her injuries.

Or very little time. Long enough for arrangements to be made.

Jay blinked, shaking that thought out of his head as quick as he could. He forced himself to control his breathing and he could feel Vanessa’s eyes on him. That same gaze she’d had ever since Hailey left.

He refrained from snapping at her because she knew he was just as worried as he was. Hailey was her friend, and he wagered the closest thing she had to a sister so he went about his business, shoving random things he might need into his bag.

“You love her, don’t you?” Her words stopped him in his tracks.

He worked his throat; his heart picking up speed. He looked at her, “Of course I love her. She’s my partner.”

An odd little grin sprung onto Vanessa’s face and if Jay hadn’t been so panicked about Hailey, he might have asked why she was looking at him like that. That, and the fact that Trudy just appeared in the doorway behind Rojas.

“You’re on the 10:15 flight out of O’Hare so you’d better get a move on,” Her face was set in her usual stoic mask, but Jay could detect just a hint of worry hiding behind the older woman’s eyes as she held out his printed plane ticket.

Jay reached for it before grabbing a few more things to shove in his duffel, zipping it up and throwing it over his shoulder. Platt and Vanessa moved out of the doorway so he could get by.

Platt grabbed his hand, catching his eyes in a steadfast gaze, “Jay.”

Jay swallowed hard at the rare emotions swimming in the older woman’s gaze, “Call us, okay.”

Giving a firm nod, Jay squeezed Trudy’s hand before quickly turning to practically sprint down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Vanessa and Trudy stood there for a few long seconds looking in the direction Jay had gone. There was a quiet sniff and Platt glanced over to the young officer standing beside her with tears in her eyes.

The Sargent placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders for a quick second, “Hailey’s strong. She’ll get through it, whatever it is. And she has Jay. She’ll be fine.”

*

The plane ride was torturous.

Gut-wrenching fear consumed him, his thoughts running through every scenario he could think of.

Had she been shot? Or was it another on-the-job related injury?

If she had been shot, then where?

Did she need surgery? Was she in surgery now?

Was she scared? Was she in pain? Was she lonely?

Did she need him? Did she want him?

Vanessa’s words took over his thoughts, echoing over and over in his head.

You love her, don’t you?

You love her…

You love her.

He loves her.

Of course, he loves her. All he cares about is her.

And somewhere along the line, he’s fallen in love with her. Somewhere between longing glances, tugging heartstrings and flying bullets.

He’s been in love with her for over a year now, but he hadn’t truly realized it until now.

Not until she’d left him. Not until she’d gotten hurt and he was eight hundred miles away. Not until Vanessa Rojas looked him straight into the eyes and voiced an irrevocable truth he had been scared of.

And now, he might be too late.

What if she dies? What if she’d already died?

He muffled a sob and his leg bounced even harder much to the consternation of the lady beside him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice the strange look that she sent his way.

Because all he cared about was Hailey, and the very real possibility that he could lose her before he even had a chance to have her consumed his thoughts.

How could he have been so stupid? Why had he let his fears get in the way of him telling her how he felt when it was clear that she reciprocated the feelings at least to a point.

He’d noticed the way she had become clingier after he’d gotten shot. And when he’d gotten better, how brightly she beamed at him.

He hadn’t wanted to read too much into it or get his hopes up, but those fears seemed silly now when death was on the line.

When life was so fragile, especially in their line of work.

His heart pounded in his chest and he literally felt sick with worry as he hung his head, clenched his sweaty fists and prayed as hard as he could.

Please let her be okay.

I love her.

I need her.

I can’t live without her.

*

As soon as the plane touched down, Jay was practically jumping out of his seat and squeezing by the person sitting next to him before grabbing his duffle that he’d shoved in the overhead storage. He used his badge to bypass the deboarding procedure, practically running down the gangway as soon as it was connected to the plane.

Voight had texted him the name of the hospital Hailey was at right before he’d boarded, but that was the only thing he had managed to find out so far.

And that was what was so agonizing. The not knowing.

Part of him wanted to know exactly what he was walking into, but the other part of him was scared to find out because then he wouldn’t be able to pretend it wasn’t that bad if he found out otherwise.

But then his brain would manifest all of these terrifying scenarios and images and he thinks nothing could be worse than what he was imagining.

It was a never-ending cycle of panic that wouldn’t end until he knew Hailey’s condition. And even then, it might not be ending for a while.

Jay pushed a few bills at the taxi driver, sliding out of the backseat with an urgency that could rival most New Yorkers. Shouldering his duffle, he forced himself to walk calmly into the hospital and up to the front desk.

“What room is Hailey Upton in?” He didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but he couldn’t waste a single second. Not when he was so close to seeing her.

The lady at the desk didn’t seem to be bothered by it though, probably used to worried family members demanding to know where their loved ones were.

In fact, she smiled at him kindly if not a little sympathetically and he briefly wondered if he looked as harried as he felt.

“Let me see here,” She trailed off, her fingers clacking at the keyboard as she focused her attention on the screen in front of her.

Jay refrained from tapping his fingers on the desk even though he desperately wanted too, his fingers twitching for something to do.

A rifle in his hands or Hailey by his side; the two things that calmed him down the most effectively.

“She’s in room 308,” The words were barely out of her mouth before Jay tossed a breathy ‘thank you’ over his shoulder, following the signs pointing him in the direction of the stairs. He slammed into the push-door, bounding up the stairs three at a time.

The erratic beating of his heart had nothing to do with exerting himself, but with the thought of what he might find when he got to room 308. He was running now, passing a couple of nurse’s stations till he found the hospital rooms. His eyes scanned the room numbers, finding 308 and his breath was knocked right out of his chest.

Because there she was. And it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

The curtain was pushed to the side so he could clearly see into her room. She was sitting up in the bed, her face was a little pale and her hair looked a little disheveled, but none of that mattered.

All that mattered was that she was alive. Awake. Talking. And it didn’t matter that she was in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. She was still the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

There were a few people in standing in the room, talking to her and Jay assumed they were part of the FBI team she’d been working with, but the only person he had eyes for was Hailey.

After letting the initial relief course through his body at the sight of Hailey sitting up, Jay snapped out of it, taking long strides towards her room.

He was in the sliding glass door frame before anyone noticed him. Hailey turned her head and they locked gazes. Jay felt tears spring into his eyes at the sight of her sparkling blue irises. He dropped his duffle, taking a few short steps to be at her bedside, “God, Hailey,” Was the only thing he managed to whisper.

He desperately wanted to scoop her up in his embrace, or maybe even kiss her, but he didn’t know the extent of her injuries and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, so he settled for rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Hailey blinked hard, wondering if she’d maybe hit her head last night or if the anesthesia was possibly making her hallucinate, but when she opened her eyes again, her partner who she hadn’t seen in over a month was still standing beside her, his face drawn with worry and relief.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat when Jay met her gaze again, tears clearly swimming in his green eyes, “What happened, Hailey? When we got the word, we called and texted, but we didn’t know anything other than you got hurt last night.”

Hailey was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Jay was here, in the flesh and standing beside her, his familiar presence comforting. She didn’t know how many times she’d craved for his warm, solid form beside her over her time in New York and even more so since last night and he was here.

Tears started pooling in her own eyes and she didn’t know if it was the fact that she’d just had a brush with death or if she’d just missed him so much or if it was all the drugs pumping through her veins, but she reached out to grab his elbow and tugged him closer to her as hard as she could even though OA, Emily and Kristen were watching.

Jay was clearly not expecting it, his arm automatically reaching out to brace himself on the bed so he didn’t fall on top of her, but Hailey didn’t care. She threw her arms around him, clutching onto his well-worn, black jacket desperately.

She hated hospitals as much as he did. The only difference was that she wasn’t a pain about it (or at least she tried very hard not to be).

But more than that, it had been five weeks. And she had missed him.

While that hadn’t been too surprising given her growing feelings towards him, she wasn’t entirely prepared for the unexpected shift in their relationship. Being gone had almost drawn them closer in a way with sleepy facetime calls and frequent texts that walked the very thin line of partners to something more.

The closer she got to being sent home the more she had been anticipating a warm reunion and a long overdue talk with Jay. A talk that she could sense Jay wanted to have in the subtle ways he let her know how much her being gone from him meant.

Hailey supposed it was true. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

But then she’d gotten hurt and she’d seen the scary possibility that she may never get to tell him how she feels flash before her eyes. That they may never have more than what they had been cultivating over her five week-long absence.

And then she’d woken up in a strange hospital with strange doctors and nurses and the wrong person at her side.

She didn’t think she’d ever wanted Jay as much as she had in those hazy drugged up moments and it wasn’t a lusty want. It wasn’t that at all. She wanted—no, she needed his comforting, sure presence beside her. It was like she didn’t know how to function, how to breathe, how to live without him and she’d almost had a panic attack as her foggy mind registered what had happened.

Promptly, she’d been given something to help her calm down that had put her to sleep before she’d had the chance to demand to see her phone so she could call Jay. She just needed to hear his voice, that was all.

When she’d woken back up for the second time, she felt much more in control of her facilities. She didn’t freak out at being in a hospital—one that was just as unfamiliar as the FBI office she’d been sent to. She forced herself to stay calm when she opened her eyes to find a team that she’d only met five weeks ago. And she forced herself not to show how desperately she needed her partner who was 800 miles away.

So, she’d smiled wanly as she pushed herself to sit up on the bed; OA, Kristen and Emily rushing to help her as she tried to hide a wince at the pain searing her torso. She’d even made a few jokes, playing off the fact that she felt like she was drowning because she was injured in a strange city, confined to a strange hospital and away from the people she loved.

But before she had a chance to ask if anyone had contacted her team or ask for her phone so she could call Jay—at least so she could feel like he was close to her, she’d looked up and he was there.

She’d never seen anything more beautiful.

And then she was hugging him, and she couldn’t care less that she was clutching onto him for dear life in front of OA, Kristen and Emily.

It was a shorter hug then either one of them really wanted but Hailey could feel her stitches pulling and she was having to breathe shallowly in order to avoid too much pain, so she pulled back. Her eyes instantly met green, overflowing with a number of emotions that made her already shallow breathing speed up.

Jay seemed to realize that there were other people in the hospital room at about the same time Hailey remembered a few members of her NYC team were still there.

He glanced between their slightly confused expressions and her a few times before he finally broke the awkward silence that was starting to descend upon the group, “What happened?”

Hailey could tell by the way he glanced in the direction of Emily, Kristen and OA (or more specifically OA) that he wasn’t too sure about their involvement and why they had let her land in the hospital. She gave him a look that told him it wasn’t their fault and after a brief battle of the eyes, he accepted it, but she could still detect a suspicious glint in his gaze.

“Nothing, really,” Hailey tried to smile convincingly enough to make Jay’s concerned expression disappear but when it didn’t, she added, “I’m fine. I promise.”

He was still staring her down when OA cleared his throat and Jay turned to him, slowly grasping OA’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake.

OA glanced at her before raising his eyebrows and addressing Jay as he withdrew his hand, “Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t say that she’s fine. She got shot last night and she literally just got out of surgery like an hour ago.”

Hailey frowned, shooting her temporary partner a look before meeting her actual partner’s openly distressed expression, “But I’m fine,” She stressed.

Jay shook his head, running a hand over his face, “Hailey, you scared the crap out of me.”

Not that she’d ever admit it, but her heart skipped a couple of beats at hearing that.

Recovering quickly, she fired back, “Well, now you know how it feels.”

Jay’s eyebrow furrowed as he frowned, “That’s not funny.”

“Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you go and get yourself shot,” Hailey responded smartly with a raised eyebrow.

Their eyes locked again, silently communicating as if they were the only two people in the world.

A throat clearing drew them out of the trance they’d fallen into, Hailey glancing over to a sheepish looking OA while Kristen and Emily traded a raised eyebrow.

“I’m OA and this,” He gestured to the girls standing beside him, “is Kristen and Emily.”

Hailey supposed that was her cue to introduce Jay so before he could do it himself, Hailey looked at her FBI team, nodding to the man that flew all the way from Chicago to be there, “This is Jay. My partner.”

Wow. She let that thought sink in. He flew all the way from Chicago just to see her. She felt tears prick her eyes and she wanted to just chalk it up to being overly tired and doped up on pain killers, but she knew it was more than that.

Turning her head so no one would notice her slightly wet eyes, she heard OA give Jay a warm greeting and he responded mostly in kind if not a little icy. She blinked a few times, returning her gaze to the people in her slightly crowded hospital room.

After a brief conversation of friendly banter, Kristen made a show of looking at her phone, “Looks like we’re needed back at HQ.”

OA nodded before looking between Hailey and Jay then settling his gaze on Hailey, “You get some rest, okay? We’ll talk later.”

She gave him a nod as Emily and Kristen made their way out of the small room, OA behind them and then suddenly, it was just her and Jay.

The room seemed even smaller somehow and had it always been this warm?

Slowly, she slid her gaze to the man standing beside her bed, not surprised to find his green eyes already trained on her. Green met blue and, in that moment, it felt like everything was right in the world again.

Because that ache for home, the longing in their souls; it’s funny how they were eight-hundred miles from their houses and yet it felt like they were finally coming home. That they were where they belonged.

Once again, unexpected tears pricked Hailey’s eyes and it hit her that she could have never seen him ever again. She could have died, and she would have never seen him looking at her with something that looked a lot like love.

She opened her mouth to say something. What, she didn’t know; how much she missed him while she was here, how when she’d gotten shot all she wanted was him, maybe even an ‘I love you’, but before any of that could leave her mouth, an enthusiastic nurse bustled through the door.

“Hi there, dear! My name’s Jeanie and I’ll be your nurse for the next little while,” The older lady chirped to Hailey in greeting, totally oblivious that she’d just interrupted a charged moment between the two detectives.

“How’s the pain level?” She continued brightly, messing with the computer in the corner of the room before turning her attention towards Hailey and that’s when she noticed Jay.

A mega-watt smile broke out on Jeanie’s face, “You must be the husband!” She declared cheerfully.

Hailey’s eyes went wide, and she tried not to choak on her own spit, expecting to hear Jay quickly correcting her, but he didn’t say anything. Before she could splutter out an interjection of her own, Jeanie turned her attention back to her.

The nurse gave her a wink and in a not so quiet whisper, she said, “What a hunk! If I weren’t so old, I’d jump his bones! What fun you two must have!”

She felt her cheeks flush at that, and she didn’t have to look to know that Jay’s ears were probably turning pink.

Jeanie opened her mouth to continue and Hailey wished that Jay would open his mouth to refute the claim he was her husband before the nurse had the chance to keep talking, but she wasn’t that lucky.

Giving her an impressed look, Jeanie nodded conspiratorially the grin still plastered on her face, “Well done for landing such a hottie.”

Hailey was starting to hope that a hole would open up and swallow her whole when there was a knock on the doorframe. Hailey’s head snapped towards the sound and was relieved to see a doctor entering the room, a tablet in hand.

“Detective Upton,” The man in surgical scrubs greeted her warmly. He noticed Jay and extended an arm to shake his hand before turning to address them both, “I’m Doctor Nunez.”

He looked at Jay, clearly waiting for an introduction. Hailey glanced over at him for the first time since Jeanie interrupted them.

She watched as he seemed to realize what Doctor Nunez was asking for, rubbing his hands on his jeans before answering, “My name’s Jay,” He paused, giving his head a little jerk in her direction, “I’m, uh…I’m her husband.”

Hailey blinked in shock. That was the last thing she thought he’d say.

She caught his gaze, giving him a ‘what the hell’ expression. He gave her a little shrug and looked almost as confused as she was as to why he went along with Jeanie’s assumption.

Dr. Nunez continued on, not noticing their silent exchange, “I performed your wife’s surgery, and I was hoping that we could discuss the extent of Detective Upton’s injuries with both of you and go over what I did to repair them.”

For the next half hour, Hailey and Jay listened to the doctor’s recount of removing the bullet that had lodged itself in Hailey’s side last night. The good news was that she would be discharged from the hospital in a couple of days, the bad news was that she was recommended not to fly for at least 8-10.

But for some reason, Hailey didn’t really mind the delay in getting back.

Yesterday, she was anxious and counting down the days till she could hop on a plane bound for Chicago. Today, sitting in a hospital bed, sore and tired from being shot, looking over at her partner who was hanging onto every word Dr. Nunez was saying about her recovery, she suddenly couldn’t care less about getting home.

Sure, she missed Chicago. She missed her apartment. And she missed her team, but that wasn’t what she’d been craving ever since landing in New York five weeks ago.

She’d been homesick, but not for a place because when she looked at Jay, she knew she was home even if she was still eight-hundred miles away from the only city she’d known.

Part two coming soon! Comment if you’d like a tag!

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

You Marked More Than Just My Skin - Supercorp

Read it on AO3

Kara’s first instinct was to blame Alex because, if she was going to be honest, Alex was the one to blame for many of her stupid decisions. Sisters' competitive nature or something like that. That's what their mother would say when they were teenagers and they randomly started a fight. A just adopted Kara who had just lost her parents was not letting an overly cocky Alex win without fighting back.

So, naturally, she was going to blame Alex for this. However, Alex had nothing to do with Kara walking down the street from her job one day and entering the tattoo shop she walked past by every day on her way home. No, it had started with Winn, her best friend, saying that Kara wasn’t the type of person to do things out of impulse. Which he wasn’t exactly wrong, although he hit a sore spot because "I can be very spontaneous!" had been Kara’s answer and everyone around them gave her that look that made it pretty clear no one believed her.

Then, just about a week after that, Nia was walking home with her after a stop at Noonan's for their killer milkshake and saw the tattoo shop still open even if it was past 10 pm. There was no one inside that they could see, but the sign read "open" in neon letters and Nia did a double-take when she saw the walls covered in drawings.

"Oh, my God! Look at that thing!" she had screamed. And that thing was a fairly beautiful drawing of a girl lying in bed with a cloud above her head as though she was dreaming about a myriad of things.

Nia grabbed her arm, dragged her inside and, ten minutes later, she was sitting on a chair while a young man that couldn't be older than Kara permanently marked the skin on her forearm with the same drawing.

"Did you draw it?" Nia asked and Kara could tell she was just a little bit in pain because she was clutching the arm of the chair and hadn’t stopped babbling for two seconds. Not that Nia ever stopped talking, actually.

"No," the man replied in an excited voice. Like he was happy to be doing a tattoo on a girl that had just ten minutes prior decided she wanted one. But Kara held back her tongue, took some pictures while Nia made her goofy faces and sat on a stool at the corner like the good friend she was. "My boss did. She does most of the drawings we have available."

"Well, she has a hell of a talent!" Nia exclaimed, bit her lip when the needle hit a soft spot and flashed another smile once it was gone. "You should tell her she's amazing!"

Jack, that was his name, Kara reminded herself, laughed like that was a big joke that only he was aware of, but nodded all the same. "She's in the office right now, maybe she will stop by to hear you say that. She loves when people pick her drawings, but she will never say it out loud."

The woman, whoever she was, didn’t leave her office, not even when they left, way past midnight, listening to Jack's careful instructions on how to take care of Nia's arm for the next week. In the end, Kara had to admit Jack was a nice guy. And he did an excellent job. Nia's tattoo was perfect. Perfect for her and perfectly done, and her friend had no problem showing it off the next day.

"Holy crap!" Winn screamed when he saw it on game night on Friday. "I didn't know you were into tattoos. It looks awesome!"

"Thank you! And I just decided to do it," Nia shrugged, as though deciding to do a tattoo on a Wednesday night at 10 pm after getting a milkshake was a normal thing. "Thank Goddess Kara was with me so she could keep me company."

"Wait," Winn eyed Kara with the same incredulous expression from a week before and she immediately felt defensive. "Kara was there and didn't try to stop you?"

"She did say I might regret it," Nia conceded with a smile. "About ten times, but she stayed with me."

Kara rolled her eyes, picked up the pizza box and sulked on the couch while her friends made fun of her lack of spontaneous nature. Kara was a planner. And she had learned her lesson when she decided to walk to the park instead of going home one day after school and returned to the Danvers' household to find out three police cars parked at the street and a frantic Eliza giving them a photo of her and saying she had disappeared. So, yes, Kara wasn't one to do things out of the blue anymore, but that was hardly a bad thing.

She tried to tell that to herself for the next week while everyone still awed and cooed at Nia's tattoo. She tried to remind herself of Eliza's panicked face while James, with his impressive looking dragon tattoo on his back, said Kara would never be one to make a tattoo because she would keep changing her mind. She tried to picture Alex's disapproving stare while Nia's boyfriend, Querl, made comments on how he loved Nia's carefree and spontaneous nature.

In the end, what pushed her to do it was her boss and Kara couldn’t even blame her, or Alex, or any of her friends. But she would, anyway.

"Kiera, the reason why people hardly remember your name-" she wanted to point out that Cat was the only one who had a hard time remembering her name but bit her tongue instead "-is because you are so... blank."

"Blank?" Kara had asked, trying and failing not to look so offended.

And Cat nodded because she knew how to get to her. "Nothing remarkable. You use terrible sweaters and write articles that everyone could write. Did you ever do something, I don’t know, remotely spontaneous in your life?"

Kara was sure - or almost sure because you can never know with Cat Grant - that her boss was trying to push her to fly to Midvale to write about the scandal surrounding some tech company there even though Snapper had decided William would cover that for CatCo. It was either that or to make her wear something that wasn’t in pastel color.

Well, all it did was send Kara straight to a tattoo shop where she hoped to find Jack and demand he did something as spectacular as Nia's tattoo. And she went on a mission, marching down the ten blocks from CatCo to the tattoo shop - that only that day she stopped to read the name of and what weird name they chose, Le Vintage Ink - her feet hitting the ground with a purpose, her hand pushing the door open with a vengeance, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses with one goal in mind.

It wasn't Jack she saw, however. She didn't see anyone at first, actually. The shop was empty like it was a week before and very silent, with the air conditioner doing a soft hum and nothing else.

The anti climax moment was enough to make all her determination wave off. Her shoulders dropped, her eyes rounded, her feet started to stamp and her determination, well, she didn’t quite remember it anymore. Nobody needed to know, Kara told to herself. Nobody knew she was going to do it, so she could just turn around, leave, go back to her apartment and try to do some online shopping. Maybe buy a red dress for once. None of her friends would ever believe she went back to the tattoo shop, so there would be no problem...

No. That was exactly the problem. They wouldn’t even believe her if she told them. They would laugh, call it a bluff, and keep teasing Kara for not being adventurous like they were. Alex does this long motorbike drives all over the state sometimes, and James goes hiking and jumps from planes from time to time. Winn would point out that the last thing Kara did without meticulous planning was to change pizza night for potstickers and that was only because the pizza place she always orders from was out of pineapples.

However, Kara reasoned with herself, instead of doing a tattoo, she could just go with Alex on her next trip. Maybe she could ask James to teach her how to hike. Querl adopted a cat he found behind his building, so maybe that could be Kara’s unplanned moment too. And what did Winn do so adventurous or spontaneous that he had the right to make fun of Kara? She couldn’t remember.

Yes, any of those things would be more reasonable. She could even do an impromptu visit to her mother. It would count for something. She knew Eliza would be happy and she loved making her mom happy. She could even pick Alex's old helmet so her sister could use it to ride with her girlfriend, Kelly, and Eliza makes a killer chocolate pecan pie too.

Already dreaming with the taste of the pie crust in her mouth Kara turned around. She must have been inside the tattoo shop for less than ten seconds and Jack hadn’t shown up yet, so that was a plus and a sign, even if she wanted to greet him and tell how nice Nia's tattoo looked after a week.

The second her back was turned to the counter, though, she heard a door opening and then a voice filled the silence. "Can I help you?"

That wasn’t Jack's voice. That much she knew. What she didn’t know was that someone could sound so... husky and still be so clear on the words. What she also didn’t know was why her body froze like she had been hit with lightning. Or why she ever decided to leave when a voice like that was inside the shop.

It would be rude to just keep walking, Kara told herself and even she knew it was a lame excuse for wanting to see the owner of that voice. But she still turned around, eyes blinking fast as she tried not to miss a second of what she was about to see, and then immediately felt her soul leave her body. That was the only explanation on why her mouth fell open and why her brain's function slowed down at least 30%.

Because the voice's owner was... for the lack of a better word, striking. It was a woman, looking a few years younger than Kara, with dark as coal wavy hair falling down her shoulders, green piercing eyes framed by some heavy eyeliner and plump lips painted with red lipstick. The woman was wearing a black t-shirt from a band Kara had never heard of, the v-cut being deep enough that she could see a black bra under it. The shirt looked like she had been cut at home - maybe she wasn't designed to have such a deep v-neck, maybe she had sleeves at some point and maybe the deep cuts by each side also weren't a part of the initial product. But, damn, it looked great on her. Since she had no sleeves and the shirt moved as she walked and showed a great expanse of her sides, Kara could see that the woman’s body was covered in tattoos.

Her arms, from shoulder to wrist, were almost totally covered. Her left arm almost looked like a flower shop, with dozens of flowers in different colors drawn all over it. Her right arm had tattoos from her shoulder to her elbow, and they were a mix of chemical elements and computer parts that, somehow, worked together in all black and white. Kara got just a few glimpses of the tattoos on her side - something that looked like a cartoon character, another one that assembled a lake, a few words that Kara couldn’t read from that far - but that was enough to make her lick her lips and try to picture what else was there. There were no tattoos on her chest area, that Kara could see, but there was a small musical chord on the left side of her neck, and Kara wondered if she had any tattoos on her legs. She couldn't see them from where the woman was standing behind the counter, and something dragged her feet forward before she could stop herself.

"H-hi," she choked out and her face immediately heated up with embarrassment. Her sister would call it 'gay panic' and make fun of her for three days, and Kara was suddenly very thankful for being alone. "I, uh..." The woman blinked, Kara mimicked her, and lost every coherent thought inside her head. "Jack."

The woman arched one perfect eyebrow, resting her hands flat against the counter, and Kara’s blue eyes were suddenly very interested in the long fingers spread over some papers. The papers, she noticed as a second thought, were unfinished drawings, but she could hardly tell what they were. Feeling her face get even hotter, Kara demanded that her eyes moved up and she was almost proud of herself when they paused for only a second at the woman’s cleavage. Of course, as soon as her eyes met the woman’s face again, she had a tiny smirk like she knew Kara was having a hard time being in the same space as her.

"I'm sorry, love," she said and Kara noticed an accent behind the last word, like she had spent years trying to get rid of it but still couldn't brush it off some words. "Jack doesn't work here on Tuesdays."

Oh. Well, that's a bit of a relief, Kara wasn't going to lie. No Jack, no tattoo, and she still could say she tried. She still wanted to say ‘hi’ but...

"Can I help you instead?"

Oh, boy. Kara almost turned around and ran away right then and there because the things she was thinking this stranger could help her with were kind of mortifying. Instead, Kara bit her bottom lip so hard that it went numb instantly, and leaned forward until she was resting her hands in front of the woman's fingers. She dared to glance down really quick, just to find out the woman was wearing black jeans and boots, before she looked up again - with a quick stop at the cleavage because good lord.

"I don't know, I..." Kara couldn’t even say her own name if the woman asked at that moment, let alone remember what she was doing there and where there even was.

The woman chuckled then. A deep, husky sound from the back of her throat that brought a small smile to her lips, and then she ducked her head - as though she had no idea that was the most blinding smile Kara had ever seen in her twenty-six years of living. Neither the chuckle nor the smile was mockingly, and her green eyes were just a little bit amused when she looked back at Kara.

"Don't get me wrong but... you don't look like the type of person that would get a tattoo."

Okay, what is it with people just assuming Kara is too boring to do something? Kara took a look at her own clothes. She wasn't even wearing a sweater that day! Sure, beige trousers and a blue button up hardly screamed "living on the edge" but come on! Was it the glasses? Alex always said she should use contact lenses, but she liked the glassed!

Feeling a new wave of determination, Kara set up her jaw and crossed her arms. "Well, that's exactly what I came here to do."

The woman raised both eyebrows now, clearly amused. "To get a tattoo?" She asked like there was any other reason for Kara to be inside a tattoo shop on a Tuesday night.

So Kara nodded, her blonde hair wiggling from side to side on her ponytail, and straightened up her back like she was about to enter a fight. Not that she ever fought before, not even when the cruel kids at her new school would call her weird and push her inside her locker. Alex would beat them up for her, so she didn’t have to, it was fine.

"Yes," she said and her voice only trembled for a second. "To get a tattoo," she confirmed like there was any other reason for her to be inside a tattoo shop on a Tuesday night.

"Okay," the woman said, clicking her tongue once before she picked up a pen from the desk, a smirk permanently spread on her lips. "Do you have any idea of what you want?"

Shit. Kara hadn’t gone that far. Maybe not even her own brain thought she would do it because she had neglected the most important part of the entire process. She had no idea what she wanted permanently marked on her skin.

(Permanently marked also sent a thousand of red lights inside her head because, you know, it was permanent)

It must have shown on her face because the woman’s smirk became more of a smile, not exactly gentle but not mockery either. "What's your name?"

"Kara." She was so glad her brain hadn’t come up with something ridiculous to say. She could remember when she met her cousin's sister-in-law and answered the same question with "mashed potatoes" for some reason she would never be able to grasp. Lucy never let her forget that embarassing moment.

"Well, Kara," and Holy Goddess of all the universe and beyond, how could her name roll out of her lips like that? "why don’t you take a look at the drawings we have here, see if you like one. If you don't, we can always come up with something for you."

She then pushed some heavy black portfolio across the counter towards Kara and opened the leather front cover to show her the first drawing. They were all separated by plastic, and she started the task of turning the pages while trying very hard to look at the drawings and not at the woman in front of her. She wasn't sure because she wouldn’t dare to look up, but she could feel green eyes staring at her and her blush returned full force.

"So..." she heard after a couple of minutes in silence. "What kind of dare you lost?"

Kara took full offense on that, glaring at her for a moment before going back to the portfolio. She had gotten on the dragon section and decided to skip it all together. "There was no dare."

The woman hummed, watched her for another minute, and then leaned over with her forearms touching the counter. She reached out, taking the plastic from Kara's fingers, and started skipping the pages until they reached the flowers. Kara looked up, catching a glimpse of the woman's arm, before meeting green eyes with a light glare.

The woman shrugged. "You look like a flower kind of girl."

"What else do I look like to you?" Kara mumbled back and stubbornly went back to the drawing she was seeing before - the ships and anchors section - even though she left a finger marking the flowers page.

The brunette seemed even more amused now, barely able to hide her smile, and she chuckled once when Kara turned the page to see another ship. "Like you randomly decided to get a tattoo because someone pissed you off."

Kara tried not to give her the satisfaction of being right, deciding to focus on studying every ship and every anchor. She heard another chuckle, but the woman wisely didn’t push the subject.

"You could save us a lot of time by just going to the flowers."

Fine, maybe she was right about that too. Kara would never pick a ship, or a dragon, or a coffee cup, or any other drawing she saw before. Although Kara never thought what type of drawing she would get tattooed. With a sigh, she went back to the flowers, throwing the woman a dirty look when she huffed a laugh.

"Hey," she said, raising her hands in playful defense, "if I'm going to do something that you will regret tomorrow, at least let me help."

"Aren't you going to try to talk me out of this?" Kara asked, remembering when Jack asked Nia five times if she was sure before touching her skin with the needle.

"No," another shrug. "I will get my money and you will get the regret. Works fine by me."

Kara scoffed and shook her head, but finally spotted something she liked. It was a rose, not larger than a paper ball, black and white with a few leafs to the side. She was almost pointing that one out when she heard a deep sigh and looked up. The brunette was staring down at the drawing with enough judgment that Kara changed her mind in a blink.

"What?" She still asked because it was a beautiful flower.

"Nothing, it's just... does that even mean something to you?"

Kara looked back at the rose and frowned. "I like roses," she defended herself.

"I like kale, but I won’t tattoo that."

"You like kale?" Kara didn’t mean to sound so disgusted by it but it was stronger than her. Her face twisted in a grimace, shocked more than anything.

The other woman laughed a real laugh this time, and Kara felt the sound into her xcvery core. "Please, don't ask me to tattoo a burger on you. You're too pretty for that."

It was like she knew exactly what those words would do to Kara because she winked right after, making her blush ten times more. "What do you suggest, then?"

The tattooed brunette smiled and tapped her finger on top of the rose. "If you liked this one, it's fine, but I would go with..." She let her voice die as she started turning the pages until she found what she was looking for. "This one."

Kara looked at the drawing and was immediately sold to the idea. It wasn't just any flower. It was a plumeria. Well, two plumerias side by side, with a few leafs to the sides and a mandala carefully placed behind them like it was the third flower. She knew she wanted that one the second her eyes landed on it.

"It would look good on you," she kept talking. "I wouldn’t add any color, though." Kara kept nodding although she was only half paying attention now that she had found the right one. Her silence must have sent twisted signals because the woman’s voice became softer. "I know I said I wouldn’t try to talk you out of this but... are you sure?"

Kara’s eyes moved up then, metting slightly concerned green eyes, and she smiled. "Yes. I'm sure."

The woman studied her face for a few seconds before she nodded once. "Okay, then. Where do you want it?"

Shit.

The panic on her face told her out again and the woman’s laugh filled the space around them like a melody. "Come on, we can figure it out inside."

‘Inside’ being a closed room very similar to the one Nia had gotten her tattoo, albeit it was clear that that one wasn't Jack's. First, it lacked the smell of cigars and heavy cologne that Kara smelled last time and made her nose itch. But it also held a more personal touch like more drawings and a few words scribbled on the black walls. Kara didn’t feel nervous while the woman turned the sign from open to close, explaining that she was the only one who worked on Tuesdays' nights. She also didn’t feel nervous when she entered the room and spotted the comfortable chair she would be sitting on. What made her nervous again was taking her shirt off so she could decide where she wanted the plumerias to be.

She placed the printed drawing on several parts of both of her arms, her shoulders and asked the brunette to hold it at some spots on her back as well. But Kara was only satisfied when she put the paper against the right side of her ribs, a few centimeters below her bra. The woman gave her a knowing look and arched one eyebrow when she said that was the place she wanted her tattoo.

"Are you sure? It can be quite a painful area to get a tattoo, especially if it's your first one."

Again, she wasn't making fun of Kara and she appreciated it, but she also wasn't going to change her mind. "I'm sure."

"Okay. I will put the outlines, then."

It was only when the brunette had her hands against her side and her face a few inches from her chest that Kara realized she didn’t even know who she was. "Hey, I, uh, I didn't catch your name before."

Green eyes glanced up, bright and slightly amused, before they returned to the task of perfectly positioning the flowers on her ribs. "Lena."

"Lena," Kara found herself echoing the name in a whisper before she could stop herself. Lena looked up again, even more amused than before, and Kara felt herself blushing. "It... it suits you."

She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Lena smiled and tilted her head to the side. "Thanks." She pushed back the stool she was sitting on. "Take a look at the mirror and see if that's what you want."

Kara took a step closer to see her reflection and tried very hard to ignore the fact that she was standing in front of a stranger in her bra. The plumerias were exactly what she wanted and exactly where she wanted them, and she said that to Lena, who told her to lay down after turning the chair into an improvised bed. While Kara tried to find a comfortable place to lay, she heard Lena slipping on rubber gloves and moving a few things around before approaching her again. She was half expecting her to ask one more time if she was sure, but Lena said nothing when she touched her skin with the black gloves, and raised the needle to her eyes level to make sure it was ready to go.

Kara wasn’t sure if the shivers were from nervousness, the chill air of the room, or the fact that this very attractive woman was touching her just below her breast, but she did her best to ignore it. Lena had pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, Kara realized, and she could see her sharp jawline more easily now. She also spotted five different piercings on the woman’s right ear. For a second, she wondered if Lena could feel her heart beating under her skin or if she could maybe even hear it.

"Be ready for some pain, but try not to move," Lena said while she lowered the needle to her skin. "It will take longer if you keep moving. You also don't want me to fuck this up," she offered Kara a smile to let her know she was joking - at least that's what the blonde hoped for. "Tell me if you need a break."

So, Lena wasn't lying when she said it would hurt. Nia neglected to tell her about the painful part and Kara would make her pay for it by typing down her next article, but, holy crap, it hurt. The first touch of the needle made her jump and hiss, and Lena pulled it away like she knew it was going to happen, giving her a few seconds to recover.

"Sorry," Kara whispered once her body relaxed again.

"It's fine," the brunette mumbled back, totally concentrated on her job now.

It went like that for a few minutes - Kara squeezing her eyes shut, biting her lips, clutching the sides of the chair slash bed, and hissing under her breath whenever she couldn’t hold it back anymore. Until she started to get used to the pain and allowed herself to focus on other things. Her eyes trailed to the few drawings hanging on the walls, taking in the delicate traces and the lack of colors from all of them. She decided that talking would help her with the pain.

"Jack said his boss makes those drawings," she commented lightly.

There was a brief pause before Lena answered her. "That would be me."

"Oh," the blonde breathed out in shock. "So, you..."

"I'm the owner, yes." There was another pause while Lena cleaned her skin with a soft paper. "I used to work for a tattoo artist back in Metropolis before I decided to open my own business. Jack followed me."

"Well, you certainly have talent. Your drawings are beautiful."

"On paper," Lena teased and Kara didn’t need to look at her to know she was smirking. "Let's see how it translate to your skin."

Kara wanted to play along and tell her to ‘please, don't make something awful that would be permanently marked on my skin’, but she found herself saying something entirely different. "Plumerias were my mom's favorite flowers. My dad would bring them to her every Saturday after work because those were the first flowers he ever gave her." She could still remember her father getting back home on Saturdays right before lunch with a bouquet in his hand to her mom and a box of chocolate for her, all smiles and offering hugs. If she tried hard enough, Kara could still remember the smell of her mom's stew mixed with the flowers' smell, could still taste the chocolate. "They died almost fifteen years ago."

Kara had no idea why she was sharing those things with this stranger wearing black rubber gloves and breathing too close to her ribs, but she also couldn't stop. Maybe it was a tattoo thing, like sharing too much about your relationships while cutting your hair.

Lena didn’t shy away, though. She made sure their eyes were locked before saying, "Let's make sure those are perfect, then," and went back to work.

Kara felt herself relaxing more after that, although she didn’t say anything else for a few minutes. "I work as a reporter to a magazine," she found herself saying. "My boss is... both of them are impossible to deal with. I dream about throwing them into space sometimes, but... I love my job. One of them is the reason I'm here today."

"Who should I be thanking?"

Kara blushed one more time, even if she wasn't sure it was said to be flirtatious or if she was just imagining it. "Cat means well, she just... push some buttons sometimes."

"Well," Lena stopped her movements to look at Kara again, this time with a soft smile. "I will be sending this Cat some flowers anyway."

The blonde chuckled at that. "Go back to work. I don't want to end up with a dragon on my ribs."

Lena hummed, eyes dropping back to the outlines of the flowers and needle touching skin again. "I wouldn’t draw a dragon on you," she contemplated. "You're more of an iguana kind of girl."

Kara gasped in faked offense and turned her head to fully stare at Lena with narrowed eyes. "How dare you? You know nothing about me!"

The tattoo artist shrugged, not bothered by her explosion. "Maybe a kitty." Kara huffed and puffed, letting her body fall back on the chair, and did her best to keep frowning. "Definitely a kitty," she heard Lena whispering under her breath, playfully and amused, and Kara was soon smiling. "So... will your boyfriend approve this?"

"Are you fishing for information about me?" Kara teased.

"Huh," Lena sighed. "You didn’t sound this confident when you were stumbling over your words when you first saw me."

She was sure her entire body turned pink with that and she mumbled weakly that: "I was nervous about getting a tattoo."

"Yes, of course," Lena replied and Kara blushed again.

"No boyfriend," she ended up replying because the other alternative was to dig a bigger hole to herself. "Or a girlfriend."

She was ready for another teasing from the other woman, but Lena pulled back instead and eyed her tattoo with her head tilted to the side. "I need you to hold your breath for a few seconds, okay? I'm getting to a delicate part and it would be better if you hold it for, like, ten seconds."

Kara nodded and got ready to pull in a breath to hold it while Lena got her needle ready to go again. When the other woman said so, Kara took in a large intake of breath but, as soon as the needle touched her again, she exhaled in surprise when the pain shot to every nerve in her body.

"I know," Lena said. "It's the hardest part. I promise to be done with it as fast as possible. Can we try again?"

There weren't many options since Kara was already in the middle of getting her tattoo done, so she nodded and waited for the new signal. Kara grabbed the chair with both of her hands, pressed her eyes tightly shut, bit her bottom lip and held her breath for the longest ten seconds of her life before Lena tapped her skin and pulled away with a smile.

"There," she declared in her husky tone. "Good girl."

It was embarrassing how those two words made Kara react. She gasped, the breath still stuck in her lungs almost causing her to choke, and her entire body went stiff when a shiver left goosebumps all over her skin on its way down her spine. She couldn't see Lena and that was a blessing because she could feel the pause that her reaction gave the brunette. So, maybe that was a weird way to find out a praise kink, Kara decided while praying that Lena would brush it as a perfectly normal reaction to have.

"That was interesting," Lena whispered and, this time, the blonde knew she wasn't supposed to have heard that.

The blonde bit her bottom lip so hard that she could feel the taste of blood and she was totally sure that Lena could hear how fast her heart was beating. She could probably feel it, and, God, that was so embarrassing. Kara had half a piece of mind to just pull back her shirt, leave and never go back there, but the other woman didn’t give her time to react before she was once more piercing her skin with the needle. It was still painful, although the mortification she felt numbed it a little bit.

Lena didn’t sound so cocky when she spoke again and she even had to clear her throat so the words would come out less hoarse and more audible. “Just a while longer and we will be done. Can you handle it or should we finish it another day?”

Kara didn’t trust herself to ever come back – and not just because of what had just happened but also because she didn’t think she would be brave enough to get any tattoo needle to ever touch her again. So, she exhaled slowly and nodded. Lena went back to the draw immediately after that and they fell in a half comfortable silence until the trickiest part was over. Or, at least, that’s what Kara thought the trickiest part was because it hurt like hell and Lena had this crinkle between her brows when she glanced back that made her look... cute. Even with the tattoos and the five different piercing sets on her ears, the black clothes, the black room and her undeniable confidence.

It wasn’t until Lena leaned away to get more ink that she spoke again. “Plumerias were very common where I lived.”

Kara thought back on their conversation and wondered aloud, “Metropolis?”

“Ireland,” she corrected gently.

“Oh,” Kara breathed out and then hissed when the needle was back to her ribs.

“Not many people know I’m Irish, so I’m trusting you with this secret, Kara.”

She could hear the joke in the woman’s voice and Lena even poked her side playfully, and Kara heard herself giggling like a schoolgirl. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” Lena declared with a huff. “Now you need to tell me a secret of yours.”

“What?”

“Yes, so we’re even and I can make sure you will never tell anyone what I just told you.”

“It’s not like you just confessed a murder,” Kara argued with an eye roll that was quite too fond to be directed to someone who she had met only two or three hours before.

Lena looked up for a second and their eyes met, making Kara’s face flush red. She was pulling a very uncomfortable position to keep her head raised and turned to the side so she could watch the other woman, and she had just been caught doing that one more time. “No? Well, you shouldn’t go to my office then.”

Kara hummed, trying to sound unimpressed by the joke while fighting back a laugh, and shrugged. “I knew it was weird I didn’t see Jack.”

The brunette let out a breathy chuckle, her hot breath hitting Kara’s side and making her shiver again, before she pursed her lips. “I see you’re too fond of Jack already.”

“Jealous?”

Lena quirked one dark eyebrow and gave her a look – the type of look that Kara tried to pull out her entire life while trying to look all sexy and misterious and was never able to do it – that made the blonde’s entire body warm up. “I’m the one poking your skin with a needle right now, so I think he should be the jealous one.”

Yes, Kara couldn’t keep up with that. She was weird, she rambled, she stuttered more times than not, and just, overall, was terrible at the whole flirting thing. Lena, on the other hand, seemed to be a master on it. Kara didn’t really stand a chance against it, not even for a second. She could try, pull out a word or a phrase here and there, but, in the end, Lena would find a way to leave her blushing and flustered so easily that made her head spin.

(She couldn’t be sure if Lena was just that good or if Kara was just super gay, but, whatever it was, it was working wonderfully)

“Now, come on, spill a secret,” Lena said after a long silence that stretched between them while they just stared at each other’s eyes.

Kara felt hypnotized by the green eyes and that was so unfair. So, damn, unfair. “I get my boss’ coffee order wrong every day.”

Lena stopped with the tattoo again to blink at her a couple of times in what seemed to be confusion. Then, she tilted her head to the side, glanced to the ceiling and opened her mouth as if she was going to say something. No sound came out, she closed her mouth again, and she looked so adorable that Kara felt her rambling coming to the surface again.

“Cat has this really complicated order at Starbucks that makes my head hurt just to think about. 3% fat, quarter milk, a spoon and a half of organic sugar, or whatever that is. It’s my job to get her coffee every morning and there’s no Starbucks close to my apartment, so I stop at another place called Noonan’s and get an order from there.” Lena still hadn’t said anything and Kara couldn’t bring herself to stop talking. “I used to work there, so I have a discount. I can buy a coffee for myself too with the same amount of money I would spend at Starbucks. And she never noticed it!”

There was a pause where Kara tried to come up with more things to say before a loud laugh cut the space around her. She looked at Lena with wide eyes and only slightly offended by her reaction, but the other woman was too busy laughing at her expense to notice it. The brunette used the back of her hand to cover her mouth while she shook her head and kept laughing freely.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, waving her hand, before being interrupted by her own laugh. “It’s just... Fuck! That’s the worse thing you ever did in your life?” The tattoo artist looked at her again with her eyes crinkling at the sides and Kara felt her anger melting away.

“What? Did you expect a murder?”

“I was hoping that you would say you spit on her coffee, at least.”

Kara gasped. “I would never do that!”

Lena narrowed her eyes at her, a tiny smirk adorning her lips. “But you think about it, don’t you?”

“Every day,” she admitted with a groan, letting her head fall back against the chair.

The brunette laughed again and a cold hand came to rest against her thigh, making Kara’s body vibrate from head to toe. “I won’t tell your secret if you don’t tell mine.” Lena winked – winked – at her and Kara felt her throat too dry all of sudden. The woman chuckled again when the blonde gulped before she gently tapped the hard muscle of Kara’s thigh. “We’re done here.”

“Oh.” Kara blinked in surprise and her eyes immediately fell to her ribs. The skin was red and swollen, but she could see the delicate lines of the flowers and the leaves, and she was hit by the urge to cry all at once. She felt like a little girl again, being six or seven, and running to the door to meet her father, seeing the plumerias in his left hand and the chocolate on his right.

“Hey,” Lena called her gently, ducking her head to be able to catch the blue eyes again. “You're fine over there? I had people regretting tattoos before, but not so fast.”

Kara laughed and shook her head, trying to discreetly brush a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Everything is fine. It’s really beautiful.”

“Well, don’t say that before you take a better look,” Lena pushed her stool away and got up with a refreshed excitement. “Come on, stand up so you can look at it in the mirror.”

That’s what Kara did, sliding off the chair and walking with slightly trembling legs to the full body mirror that she had seen before. The fact that she still didn’t have her shirt on was in the back of her mind while her eyes traced the ink. It looked even better on her ribs than it looked on the paper and she made sure to tell the other woman that, earning a smile that she doubted she would ever be able to forget.

"Here." She turned around to see Lena's hand reaching out a piece of white chalk between her long fingers and sporting a kind of smile that Kara hadn’t seen on her yet - satisfied, the type of smile you give after accomplishing a task that meant something to you. "All of my clients have to write something on the walls. It's tradition," Lena shrugged in the end.

Kara’s eyes swept through the room again, taking in the black walls and words written in almost every inch available under a new light. There were small praises, thanks, some jokes and even a few doodles, and Kara wondered what she could write that could sum up her entire experience inside Lena's tattoo shop. She took the chalk more out of instinct, her brain still working on finding the right words, and Kara took a few steps around the room until she found the right place to write.

It was just below one of Lena's drawings that were hanging from a string, between a Scooby-Doo doodle and the message of someone saying they loved their new rose tattoo. Kara’s handwriting wasn't the best one - sloppy and crooked - and it looked even worse when she was trying to write on a wall, but she managed to write her first and last name to make it look readable. Then, she added her phone number under it and put the chalk inside the small box she found just beside her. Kara turned around making sure her body would cover what she had just written, suddenly feeling too nervous about it, and accepted the plastic foil paper Lena handed her.

"Remember to put on the ointment I told you about and keep it covered so it heals. It should be all healed in a week, tops. You're free to call if you have any doubts."

Lena led the way out of the room and they found themselves once again at the reception desk. Lena picked up the pen she had played with before and scribbled something on a piece of paper beside the computer while Kara reached out for her wallet in the pocket of her trousers. Their fingers brushed when she handed Lena the money and her face flushed red for the millionth time that night. Lena gave her a knowing smile before putting the money away and just like that they realized that they would part ways soon. A small part of Kara, primal and shameless, tried to come up with any reason that would make her stay for a while longer. Anything would do, really.

Even so, there was no reason for her to stay and Kara tried to mask her unjustified sadness by joining her hands in front of her body and forcing a smile to look real. “Thank you again.”

Lena waved a hand dismissively, the pen still hanging between two fingers, before her hand came to rest on top of the other one on the desk. “It was my pleasure.”

“If I regret it in the morning, I will come back with a vengeance,” Kara joked, swaying on her heels, and the laugh that came from the other woman was worth any type of regret she might end up having in the near future.

“As much as I would like to see you again, I would hate for that to be the reason you came back.”

Lena winked at her and Kara’s mouth hang open before she could stop herself. That made the brunette laugh in delight, made a deep blush rise from her neck to her cheeks, and Kara started taking steps back before she could embarrass herself anymore. Alex, Nia and all of their friends were right: she’s a gay disaster. None of them would be able to judge her if they just saw Lena though, of that she was sure.

Stumbling over one of the chairs, Kara let out a nervous laugh and, to her utter terror, she pointed finger guns at Lena. “Have, ah, have a good night, ma’am.”

She missed the door handle twice before she was able to open the door and, by the time she looked at Lena again, the other woman was smiling broadly at her. Ducking her head, Kara walked out the door and let it close behind her. Once the slightly chill air of the night hit her face, she closed her eyes and resisted the urge to hit herself for some very stupid decisions made inside that shop. She wondered if she would ever be able to live it down if any of her friends ever found out she just did finger guns at a beautiful woman as a way to say goodbye.

Well, to be fair, she wasn’t sure any of her friends would let her live it down when they found out about her very spontaneous tattoo.

God, Alex was going to kill her. Not for getting a tattoo, but for doing so without giving it enough thought. And, for Christ’s sake, Alex could be a real pain in the ass when she decided to lecture her for whatever reason it was. She was so not ready to deal with that.

It was only when she opened her eyes again that she realized she was still standing outside the tattoo shop – and that Lena could still very easily see her from her place behind the counter – and, with another blush, Kara pushed herself to start walking. Her apartment was only five more blocks down the street and she took that time to clear her mind from anything negative she was thinking about.

If her crazy and very unusual night taught her anything was that she had the thing inside her that could make her do some very adventurous things. She was capable of doing those things. Maybe randomly getting a tattoo wasn’t the ideal way to prove that to herself, but, damn, she had just renewed faith in herself.

Her poor attempts at flirting were the last thing on her mind when she pushed the door to her studio apartment open and stepped inside, making a beeline to where she had left her laptop earlier that day on the small kitchen table. She pulled a chair after turning the computer on and, reaching out for an apple inside the fruit bowl, she waited for the laptop to come to life so she could open a new file to start typing. She had an article to write, and a trip to plan.

 XxxxxxxX

 It was two days later – after Alex had scolded her for making decisions in a rush, after Nia took pictures of their tattoos side by side to post on her Instagram, after Querl had awkwardly given her a thumbs up, after James raised his eyebrows, after Winn yelped in shock – that something changed.

Kara was lazily reading something Nia had written so she could suggest some corrections before the girl submitted it to Snapper’s approval, when her phone buzzed from its place beside her mousepad – her rainbow mousepad, thanks to Winn. She picked it up, thinking it was Alex inviting her for lunch so she could yell at her a few more times, but the number who had texted her was an unsaved one. She frowned, but didn’t give it much thought before unlocking her screen to read it.

“Since you didn’t barge inside my shop to kill me, I take it that you didn’t regret it?”

The smile that curled her lips up came from within her and it was apparently too obvious because Nia, who was sitting across from her, gave her a weird look and arched one eyebrow in question. Kara shook her head, biting her bottom lip, and turned her chair around so the girl couldn’t see her anymore before typing a reply.

“I never said I was going to kill you.”

“The threat was clear to me,” came the next text just a few seconds later and Kara chuckled to herself.

“Please, don’t tell me you were scared.”

“Why do you think it took me two days to reach out?”

Kara paused at that. She had spent the last two days being sure that, despite their easy flirt with each other, Lena didn’t actually want to talk or see her again. So, to have her texting her now was really... reawakening something inside her.

“Who are you texting?”

Kara jumped on her chair, startled by Nia’s voice so close to her ear all of sudden, her phone almost slipping from her fingers and crashing on the floor. Thankfully, her reflexes were still working and she was able to grab it, but not without throwing a glare at Nia for scaring her like that. The girl gave her a sheepish smile, although she shrugged and didn’t back away from where she had perched on the corner of Kara’s desk to look over her shoulder.

“No one,” came the childish, and not at all convincing, reply and Kara didn’t need to look at her friend again to know she was busted. Now Nia was not going to let it down.

“Really? Because you have been smiling to your phone for five minutes and you just smile like that when Alex says she’s bringing extra potstickers for game night.” Nia smirked and leaned over, trying to read the texts again, but Kara quickly pressed the phone against her chest to block her view.

“Alex just invited me for lunch,” Kara attempted to throw her off.

However, Nia arched her eyebrows. “Really? Because I just texted Kelly asking her to go to that vegan place with me and she said she already has plans.” A pause. “With Alex.” Another pause. “For lunch.”

Kara groaned and turned her chair so she was facing her computer again, slipping her phone screen down on the table. “Fine, it wasn’t Alex, but I’m not going to say anything.”

“Okay.” Her friend gave up way too faster than usual and Kara watched her with narrowed eyes as the girl jumped from her desk to turn the corner back to her own cubicle. Nia was about to sit down when she tried to snatch Kara’s phone away with one surprisingly fast move, but the blonde was even faster, taking it out of her reach in the last second. “Damn.”

Kara rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, throwing it over her shoulders and slipping her phone inside one of the pockets, and threw an overly sweet, clearly fake, smile at Nia. “Now you will have to eat alone because I won’t have lunch with you either.”

Nia stuck her tongue out at her. “I will call Querl!”

Kara waited until she was safely inside the elevator before opening her texts again. There were three more texts since the last time she looked and a smile immediately spread over her face when she read them.

“Okay, I confess, I was a little nervous.”

“You still there? You didn’t change your mind, did you?”

“About the tattoo, not the... leaving your name and number on my wall thing.”

She barely noticed when someone entered the elevator a few floors below, too focused on replying to the texts.

“You? Nervous? You don’t look like the type of girl that gets nervous. And no, I didn’t change my mind about any of those things, actually.”

A new text only came after she was already walking down the street to Noonan’s, but she wrote a quick text to invite Winn for lunch before opening Lena’s text.

“I’m also not the type to text any of the numbers left on my walls. And good.”

“Do you get a lot of numbers on your walls?” Kara asked and she had to make a conscious effort to cross the street to Noonan’s instead of walking straight for a few more blocks to the tattoo shop. She could picture Lena leaning against the counter with her gorgeous smirk and her impressive tattoos – and even more impressive cleavage.

“Jack enjoys them more than I do.”

Kara was about to make a comment about Jack but another text came in before she could and she stopped in her tracks so suddenly that the man walking behind her shoved against her shoulder. She tripped over a few steps, but quickly held herself again to read the words over and over in disbelief. She hoped, of course, but that was... wow.

“I don’t want to be too straightforward here, or overly confident or something, but I have a client coming in five minutes, so I don’t have much time. This won’t sound romantic at all, but would you like to have dinner with me? Tomorrow?”

Kara didn’t have to think too much about her answer, of course. Alex would give her a piece of her mind for agreeing to go out with someone she barely knew – and ‘that’s the whole point of going out to meet people’ was not a good argument on her sister’s book – but Kara would deal with it later. Right now, she had a very gorgeous woman asking her out and she already knew what her answer would be.

“I would love to.”

“What? Really?” Kara chuckled at the rushed text she received back, but another one came just a second later. “Pretend you didn’t read that. I meant ‘okay, great!’.”

Chuckling again, Kara typed a new message. “I know you were the one who asked me out, but may I suggest a place? I don’t have a car and it’s close to both of our workplaces.”

“Whatever you want, just text me address. Let’s say, tomorrow at 7 pm?”

“Can’t wait.”

 XxxxxxxX

 “Hey, Kara?”

“Yes?” She asked, not taking her eyes away from her computer screen and typing away as fast as she could to be able to put all the ideas in her new article. She had never written like that before, but she wasn’t about to complain about small inspirations spikes.

“The front desk called and said there’s a pack for Cat downstairs. Can you pick it up?”

With a small sigh, not because she was mad at Winn for interrupting her but because she would have to go all out of the way to pick a pack she didn’t even know was going to come in, Kara saved her file and pushed her chair back. Nia glanced up and was about to remove her earphones, ready to follow Kara to whatever she was going to learn more about the journalism world, but the blonde made some gestures with her hand that she hoped meant ‘boring things, stay here’ before she started making her way to the elevator.

Jenny, the woman that stayed at the front desk, was kind, around Eliza’s age, and very chatty, which worked fine with Kara when she wanted to waste a few minutes talking along. “Good morning, Kara! How are you?”

“I’m great, Jenny. And you?”

“I’m fine. What happened? I recognize that smile.”

Kara tilted her head to the side, although she couldn’t stop smiling, doesn’t matter how hard she was trying. “What smile?”

Jenny narrowed her eyes and waved a finger at her playfully. “That’s the smile of someone who had a very good night.”

The blonde could feel her face heating up and a nervous chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop herself. She had been leaning against the counter, but she leaned her torso back and tapped her fingers against the hard surface nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Jenny scoffed, rolled her eyes and started pulling out the packages that she would need to take upstairs with her. There was a yellow thing that was sent by one of the photographers of the last shooting they made, some letters and a few small boxes, which made Kara believe Jenny had been holding those things with her for at least a few days. Cat hadn’t asked for any of that, so it wasn’t a problem. “Don’t tell me then. You don’t have to. Is all over your face.”

Blushing even harder, Kara huffed an anxious laugh and looked down at the counter. She put one hand on her hip as the other one raised to push her glasses up her nose, but she kept her eyes down to avoid seeing the smirk on Jenny’s face. She would have to agree with her, if she did. Because she knew it was, in fact, written all over her face. She hadn’t been able to stop smiling since she woke up that morning – who was she kidding? It had been like that since dinner last night.

It had a reason – and the reason had a name – but she was not going to share any personal details about her life with Jenny. The old woman had the tendency to share everyone’s secrets – which was another reason Kara liked to talk with her so much, but she would never admit to being a gossip girl. She did tell Nia, mostly because her friend wouldn’t stop asking why Kara was fifteen minutes late that morning, though she had made the girl promise not to tell anyone.

It was still pretty new, she had argued.

“If you two slept together, it’s not that new,” Nia had teased back, making her face turn red so fast that James, that had been coming back from the bathroom, asked if she was feeling well.

Even if the whole ‘sleeping together on the first date’ thing was new to her, Kara hadn’t regretted it in the morning. Much like the tattoo. Although, it would be remarkably harder to regret sleeping with Lena when the said woman was spooning her from behind than it was to regret a tattoo that recquired a lot of afterward care. Either way, Kara was living the best morning in her life and it clearly showed on her face.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s having a great time.” Jenny’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and Kara looked up in time to see the woman pulling a big bouquet from under the counter.

The flowers looked cheap and scruffy, which made it seem like someone had just thrown them together without much care. They were yellow and pink daisies, the colors clashed and didn’t work well together, but the card hidden between the flowers was black and easy to see. She knew she shouldn’t because it had her boss’ name outside the card and it was clearly not for her to see, but curiosity took the best of her – that and the fact that the card had been clearly already open, and by Jenny’s face she knew who had done it.

“Thank you – L”

Well, that wasn’t helpful at all.

Sighing and feeling silly for stealing a look, she put the card back and started to try to find a way to pick everything she needed to take back with her. She knew there was a small cart some other companies in the building used to transport stocks and other products, but she was sure she could use her hands if she just pilled everything right. Kara had just come up with a plan when Jenny spoke again.

“There’s also this one. It doesn’t have a card, but it came with the bouquet. Same delivery. The guy couldn’t say anything about it, but I’m sure we can find something if we call the shop and...”

“I think there’s no need,” Kara interrupted gently, without looking up from the growing pile in one of her hands, but she raised her head eventually.

Only to lose track of every thought she was having.

Jenny had put a single plumeria on top of the counter. As the woman had said, there was no card or any type of identification – who it came from or who was supposed to receive it – but Kara connected the dots quite easily. Smiling, she reached over to grab the simple flower and brought it closer to her face to smell it.

“Oh, I see.”

“I have to go!” Kara said suddenly, knowing everyone in the building would know she had just randomly smelled a flower at the front desk that morning. “See you, Jen!”

The look on Cat’s face when Kara gave her the bouquet, not offering any other explanation othan than that there was a card attached to it, was worth every step on the stairs she had to walk up, holding the woman’s coffee every morning. As soon as she was back to her desk, Kara pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a text before Nia could start asking any questions.

“Thought you said that you’re not good with romance.”

The reply didn’t come right away, Kara ended up putting her phone to the side and went back to work. However, as soon as it rang beside her, she grabbed it.

“Guess we’re both learning new things about ourselves. Want to have lunch together?”

And, yes, she totally did.

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

[calpalirwin]

Diplomatic Affairs

Summary: Being Queen as a figure-head position is almost a walk in the park. If one can look past having dinner with the newly elected officials of government, some of whom happen to be ex-boyfriends.

A/N: Part 2 to The Suitors

Word Count: 2.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

5 Years Later

“Ma’am, the King is requesting your presence,” Michael said, his head peering through the doorway.

You straightened your necklace, before smoothing your hands down the skirt of your dress, giving yourself one last lookover in the mirror. “Where is he?”

“Office, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Michael,” you smiled as you moved past him. “How long until the guests arrive?”

Michael checked his watch. “A half hour.”

“Perfect.” 

While it would have been customary for Michael to accompany you down to the offices, and announce your arrival to the King, Michael knew you preferred the less formal approaches when the circumstances permitted. You rapped your knuckles once against the door, waiting for the call of “Come in,” before pushing your way into the room.

The King had his back to you, staring out the window. His suit jacket lay neatly across the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his button down were rolled midway up his forearms. It was his preferred way of wearing his suit when he could, and you couldn’t disagree with the choice. “You sent for me?” you prompted when he still didn’t turn his attention from the window.

He turned then, a warm smile on his face. “Yes, I-” he paused to clear his throat, his cheeks coloring. “You look amazing, darling.”

“Looking pretty sharp yourself, Cal,” you returned the compliment as you each crossed the room to each other, meeting in the middle.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, his tone a low rasp you knew well. “You look like we’re bound to get in trouble if we’re alone much longer.”

You sighed, titling your head to the side as his lips found your neck. “Michael did say something about there being a spare half hour.”

“The things I have in mind will require much longer,” Calum said, before straightening up and clearing his throat.

You sighed again, this time in discontent. “Well, I suspect we’ll find time to finish that particular business later?” you asked, your fingers grazing where his mouth had just been, wishing it was still there.

“Earliest convenience, promise,” he winked.

“And what’s this particular meeting about then?”

“Right. Yes. Uh, it’s the guest list.” He went around to his desk, shuffling through papers, his fingers trailing down one of them.

“What about it?” you asked, moving to stand by his side, looking at whatever held his interest.

“It's dinner with members of Parliament.”

“I’m aware. What of it?”

“None of these names look familiar to you?”

You glanced down at the list. Prime Minister Lord James. Secretary of Commerce Duke Charles. And Secretary of Defense Lord Sebastian. “Oh, it’ll be lovely to see James and Charles again! I’m glad their elections went in their favor.”

“Yes, the more amiable of your ex-boyfriends. And then there’s…” Calum let his sentence trail off, and you could easily guess the words of disdain for the newest Secretary of Defense.

“Our favorite person,” you deadpanned. “Pleasant.”

“False. Collectively, our favorite person happens to be the Prince. Individually, you’re my favorite person.”

“I would certainly hope your wife and son would top the list of your favorite people,” you laughed.

“Speaking of our son, where is he?”

“Either with the nanny, or running security ragged. Most likely both.”

“We should go rescue them, huh?”

“We definitely should.”

“Oh, look! There’s Mommy and Daddy!” Kaykay, the nanny, breathed in relief as you and Calum came out to the garden in search of your son.

“There is a god,” Ashton, the head of security, joked, clasping his hands together and thanking the sky, making both you and Calum laugh as Noah ran straight for you and Calum with a shriek of “Mommy! Daddy!”

“Well, don’t you look handsome!” you cooed at the boy as Calum lifted him up in his arms. “Just like Daddy.”

“All clean!” the three year old beamed.

“Yes, you did stay clean for dinner. Great job, bud,” Calum told him, and you each mouthed thanks to Ashton and Kaykay knowing they had more to do with keeping Noah clean than Noah did.

“Want to play,” Noah said sadly.

“All day tomorrow,” Calum said.

“With you?!”

“Yes, bud. All day tomorrow. Me, you, and Mommy.”

“Pwomise?”

“Promise,” you smiled sweetly at him. Then, “Are you ready to meet your guests?”

“Weady!”

Perhaps it wasn’t the standard to have a three year old sit in on a stuffy dinner, congratulating the newly elected officials in government. But with how busy you and Calum could become, you both liked to include Noah in your affairs whenever possible. And the idea of subjecting the young boy to a dinner without his parents wasn’t an idea that you found all that appealing, having remembered growing up with about as many dinners with members of staff as your own parents. A childhood you didn’t want to subject your son to if you could help it. And, as the Queen, you could.

As luck would have it, as you all made your way inside, you spotted Michael rushing your way. “First guest is here, ma’am.”

“So it begins,” you said, putting on a smile. And begin it did, because when the door opened to let in the first guest, Lord Sebastian was on the other side. Punctual bastard…

~~~

“Is there a spare bedroom or…?” Calum let the sentence hang in the air between the two of you.

“There are several. But when I asked you to stay over, I meant with me in my room if that’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright with me. I don’t want there to be any insinuation. There’s already going to be a scandal with the Little Lord as is.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Lord Sebastian had a lapse in judgment, and then you escorted me home. That’s my side of the story anyway. What say you?”

“I say you’re already thinking like a queen.”

Quietly, the two of you made your way into the castle and towards your room. “Can you, erm…” You twirled your index finger in a circle.

“Yeah, of course,” Calum nodded, closing his eyes and facing away from you. “Just say when.”

Quickly, you changed for bed and got yourself situated under the covers. “Okay, you can look now.”

“And I suppose now it’s my turn to ask you to close your eyes?”

You covered your eyes with your hands, peeking out at him through your fingers. “Cheeky thing, you are,” he laughed, stripping out of his clothes and lying them neatly on a chair. “Is this what I have to look forward to in the future? You peeking at me through your fingers?”

“Well, there are separate bedrooms for the King and Queen, so you could have your own privacy if you wish.”

“Mmm, now where’s the fun in that?” he asked, and you felt the bed dip as he got in next to you.

“A remaining product of when the castle was built, unfortunately. Although, they were kind enough to make them adjoining rooms. In recent years, not much use has been made of the Queen’s room, as one can imagine why.”

“Well, when I’m King, my first order of business is to have that wall taken down. A remodel for the modern age.”

“If you’re King,” you corrected in a teasing tone. “Don’t consider yourself safe simply because you’re the only one I’m seeing now.”

He chuckled softly. “If I’m King,” he said, “it’ll be the greatest title I ever hold to my name. Not because it's the title of King, mind you. But because it means you’re my Queen.”

“Keep talking like that, and that day may come sooner than you think.”

“What you call talking, I call making plans.”

“In that case, I can talk all night.”

Calum chuckled again, drawing you close to him. “As much as I would love that, we’ve had an eventful night, and no doubt have an eventful morning ahead of us. Try and get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, settling into the pillows and Calum, feeling the exhaustion set in. “G’night.”

“G’night, darling.”

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, nor if you had even fallen asleep at all before you were startling awake. Adrenaline pounded through your veins as you oriented yourself, realizing you weren’t in fact still stuck with Sebastian in a horrible nightmare. However, your relief at waking from the dream was short-lived when you calmed down enough to be aware of an extra body in your bed. You froze in terror, not daring to make a sound, while also contemplating screaming at the top of your lungs.

The body next to you stirred, and you scurried from bed, breathing heavily, both ready to confront whoever was with you, and run for your life if necessary. “Darling?” Calum’s voice rasped heavily with sleep. “You alright?”

Your body went weak with relief, and you put out your hands to catch yourself on the bed before shakily crawling back in. “That… Was terrifying.”

“Mmm, what happened?” he asked, trying to rouse himself awake.

“Nightmare coupled with forgetting you were here.”

Calum stiffened. “That bastard… You sure you’re alright?”

“Better than I was a few moments ago,” you answered honestly.

“I know the nightmares will probably persist for a while, but know that future King or not, I’m never going to let him get close enough to you for him to even think of laying a hand on you ever again.”

“Between you and the new security detail I’ll no doubt be assigned by my father once he learns what happened, not only will I be the most protected heir in history, but having any sort of nightmare will feel incredibly foolish. In fact, it already feels foolish. I know I’m safe.”

“It’s not foolish. However you have to process this event is however you have to process it. And I’ll be here to help you through it as long as you let me.”

~~~

“Your Majesties,” Lord Sebastian greeted with a bow.

“Your Lordship,” you and Calum each returned, you with a small curtsy, and Calum with a bow of his own.

“Your Royal Highness,” Lord Sebastian then bowed to the Prince.

“Your Wordship,” Noah replied, with his own little bow.

“Raising him well, I see,” Sebastian commented offhandedly.

“Never too young to learn how to behave Princely,” you smiled sweetly.

The blue sea stormed over briefly at the dig, then Sebastian cleared his throat. “Yes, well.”

“What my wife meant to say was congratulations on your election. We wish you success in your new position,” Calum stepped in.

“Yes, of course,” you nodded.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, turning his attention to Calum. “And I suppose I should offer you the same congratulations on your successes since we last saw each other. A wedding, a coronation, and a son. Quite the list of accomplishments.”

“Congratulations carry the notion that I won something, Your Lordship. I assure you that my accomplishments, as you call them, are the natural progression of living my life. A natural progression I’m sure would have befallen anyone else in my position.”

“Yes, quite. Although, some would consider marrying into the most royal of families a win of the highest regard.”

“Some lesser minded folk, I’m certain.”

“Ah, yes. A reluctant king, how could I have forgotten.”

Calum’s jaw ticked slightly, and for a moment, the three of you were five years younger on a London street, Calum and Sebastian one insult away from pummeling each other. “Reluctancy suggests that there was hesitance, of which I assure you there was none on my part whenever it came to the Queen. In fact, if memory serves, it was you who was the hesitant one. Now remind me, what were your hesitancies with becoming King again? An archaic notion of gender norms, was it not? Pity. However, I suppose your position with the military, and now your newest rank brings you great joy. Not a lot of women to outrank you in your current status I assume. Yes, a great joy indeed for you, isn’t it?”

“Are you suggesting I have a problem with women in positions in power?”

“No, of course not. It’s not a suggestion at all. One needs to barely glance your direction to come to that conclusion for oneself.”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened again, and his mouth twisted to continue trading insults with Calum, but Michael came in to announce the arrival of more guests at the same time Luke came from the kitchens to announce dinner was ready.

“Foot hurt?” Noah asked with concern as you all made your way into the dining room, pointing a little finger at the way Lord Sebastian’s right foot slightly dragged.

“Residual effect of a training exercise gone awry a few years back. Likes to flare up from time to time is all,” Sebastian explained, more for your and Calum’s benefit than Noah’s.

“How terrible,” Calum deadpanned.

“Otay?” Noah checked.

“Yes, Lord Sebastian’s foot is fine, sweet one,” you told your son.

~~~

“Well, are we right in assuming that Lord Sebastian would put out a statement about how the Princess attacked him?” your mother asked, after you and Calum had relayed the story the following morning.

“Attacked him?! Oh, please…” you scoffed.

“If Lord Sebastian puts out a statement, that could very well be the story he leads with, at the very least. At most, he puts forth a statement that he was attacked both by you and Calum,” your father put in.

“So, what are our options because that’s exactly what he’ll do,” Calum asked.

“Lord Sebastian is the military one, yes?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Hmm. I can work with that.”

“And the Princess’ wrist and her nightmares?” Calum pressed.

“It’s a small bruise, Cal. Nothing that won’t fade in a week’s time, or that a little makeup can’t cover,” you assured him.

“And the nightmares?” he continued to press anyway.

“I suspect the nightmares will subside in their own time. But there will be a new security detail assigned to you,” your father directed at you.

~~~

“Well, that was…” you started as you and Calum got ready for bed, but faltered on what words you wanted to use.

“Dreadfully boring?” Calum supplied.

“So dreadfully boring. Men and their politics are always the same. Grandiose are the plans they promise to the people for advancement or change. All for it to die on the Parliament floor. If any change is made at all, it’s only to secure a re-election, and it’s subtle and underhanded in just the right way that nothing actually becomes of it. A complete mockery of what it’s supposed to be.”

“Usually, I’d be in agreement with you. That the original intention of the government was to do what the crown neglected to do. But, as the crown, we now have the power to make sure the government is responsible to the people it governs. After all, isn’t that the function of a constitutional monarchy? For the crown and the government to hold each other accountable?”

“In an ideal system, yes. However, for that to work, it would require us to play nicely with a certain Lord Sebastian, and I quite despise the man.”

“Yes, that will prove to be an obstacle. But he’s one man in comparison to the rest of the government. Surely we can institute change without needing him on our side.”

“I suppose you’re right. But, all that business can wait until later, as we have plans with the Prince tomorrow.”

“That we do. And if I remember correctly, we also have unfinished business ourselves that needed attending to.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, carding your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “And, remind me. What business was that precisely?”

“I think this might help jog your memory,” he rasped, before his lips attacked the sweet spot just above your collarbone. Then, his hands were guiding you to jump in his arms, where you carried you to the bed, giggles and then sighs echoing off the walls, as his mouth trailed a path lower and lower on your body.

__

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[jiminrings]

hi hannah! i may have a request 🥺 i've been watching too much tiktok and this two made me want some jungkook skater au 😳 like the reader saw him and went like love at first sight so she purposely buys a skate and goes everyday to the skatepark and start learning just to impress that hot tattooed skater that kinda looks like a bad boy but he's actually a softie. ♡

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSm5Huop/

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSm55usm/

late skate

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 7k

glimpse: jungkook would rather wash down his grip tape than spend another hour seeing you land on yOUR ass, a smitten y/n and love at first sight, and tae almost losing his bearings (in all aspects) <3 // gif is from pinterest :D

note: thank you so much for the request babie!!! also i’m sorry since i’ve done this a month late hee-hee bUT but it’s here now!!! fun fact: i used to skate but one time i fell on my ass so hard doing an ollie that i quit ( ˙-˙ )

there is nothing

there is absolutely nothing you hate more than walking home alone and at-

wait u need to shudder

night

times like these make you both angry and scared because fIRST of all

you’re angry because if oNLY (you’re still hoping that u win the lottery soon) you were born to wealth and ease (if you see park jimin one more time in a billboard you’re about to lose it), you wouldn’t have to worry!! or even work for that matter!!!!

you could have a car by now!!!

but you don’t have a car and you’re still saving up for that because you have to keep up with your bills and this nice and decent apartment that you’re living in right now

well if you’re being honest, you are splitting it with yoongi and that cuts back your expenses significantly but that’s besides the point

which is why you’re being extra thrifty!! save up all the money that you could so you could by yourself a car amongst other financial decisions and nOT be scared shitless when walking home

you’re working at the animal shelter most of the time and it’s very fulfilling because of cOURSE!! your job is to care for animals and give them a better chance at everything :D

the pay is more than decent but it’s not the highest sO what you do on your spare time is pick up any job you could!!

and the income that you need is more and more than decent because taking care of chimmy is not an easy feat

chimmy, your alaskan malamute!!! he’s the first puppy you’ve properly taken care of in the shelter and you’ve fallen head over heels for him

he kept bumping into the wall when he scrambles after you call for him but eH you love the clumsy giant still!!

so much so that you file your adoption form for him and run over to mr. kim’s office hurriedly :D

your boss seokjin’s pretty sweet after all but at the same time he’s intimidating!! too sweet and intimidating at the same time that when he approves your form without much question, you almost kiss his cheek

...

.... hehe

jin beat you to it and instead he gave you a side-hug with a very strict warning to take care of chimmy and provide everything that he needs

he eats 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓊𝓂 dog food and you could only assume the amount that he needs because of how he towers

the treats?? one time yoongi got overly-excited to take a picture of him and accidentally left the bag on the ground, and when he came back?? chimmy’s managed to inhale all of them

thankfully he’s only loyal to one (1) toy and it’s to this brown angry... entity..? with one tooth that yoongi’s made by himself

but he constantly has to replace the stuffing because chimmy nOTICES when it’s flat and unstuffed from his own doings

hehehe the grooming.....

you thank your lucky stars that jin gives you a discount to have chimmy groomed!! 

one time you were about to have a breakdown because a $100 grooming session simply didn’t click well with your ongoing budget and you decided to do it yourself :D

spoiler alert: chimmy kept barking at you when you held up the mirror to his face because wOOF did you just... d-did you give him bangs.... how was that possible....

and then sECOND of all is that well.,.,.,

you’re scared and that’s it

there is every possible reason for you to be scared :D

you get off from work at 5!! but now it’s quarter to 8 and you totally should’ve booked an uber but it completely slipped your mind

normally, you wouldn’t walk home alone though because chimmy comes with you to the shelter, and then he serves as a therapy dog of sorts to help ease and calm down the new rescues!!

he even has his own little ID oh my god :’)

but he doesn’t come in everyday and well you remember,.,.

no actually, yoongi REMINDS you that today is his day-off at work and explictly implied that he’d very much love to cuddle with a giant alaskan malamute as he gets his well-deserved rest

and yoongs has been the reason to why you don’t unravel every single day and you owe him for your life so yea okay you can have chimmy whenever you need this giant pillow of support <3

but no

no 

you don’t have chimmy with you and you don’t have anyone to bark and be willing to growl n intimidate any creepy dudes you could possibly encounter on this twenty-minute walk home

the extra coffee you’ve drank at 6 in lieu of dinner does not help at ALL

what if you just... run

that way you get home faster and you won’t have to be that antsy!!!

ok maybe just a light jog would do

you wanna go home so badly and take a shower and be sandwiched between your warm sheets and sleep all the way

you miss chimmy and yoongi and you just hOPE that he’d already cooked dinner and you won’t have processed food again for the third time in a week

and after dinner maybE you could treat yourself to online shopping because yoongs has also been pestering you to let yourself indulge once in a while

your thoughts are jumbled once panicked and it reminds you that yes you should definitely get a car and you know what??? you probably should-

wait fUCK

...

....

oh

wait

hold on a second

did you just manage to narrowly dodge what seems to be a skateboard in mid-air??????

“taehyung, you dumbass!!”

said taehyung is jumping down and crouching to pick up the deck at your feet and squeaks an “oop sorry ‘bout that!!” before going back and

well...

mr. “taehyung, you dumbass!!” is who you presume to be the speaker,, because well no one eLSE is in this skatepark at 9 in the evening,,,, is standing RIGHT underneath the light and is right at your line of sight

it’s as if the clouds are opening up and chimmy’s barking could be heard and everything you deem perfect is ringing right in your ears because god.... holy shit.....

he looks and probably feels like a warm-sized bed that smells of baby powder and fresh linen

he has a hoodie on with the sleeves scrunched up and you tHANK yourself that you’ve saved up enough to get lasik eye surgery because those tattoos...,.,. you r positive that they would be your demise

mr. TYD has a loose bucket hat on yet you could still see his features clearly and you aren’t lying when you say he is perhaps the most breathtaking thing you’d ever seen

even more breathtaking than seeing chimmy in the laundry room and having fished for your one good perfect bra in his mouth

oh

huh

you’re pretty sure this is what love at first sight must feel like

suddenly, you aren’t anxious at all and you’re instantly gravitating towards the ramp without much complaint

there’s a bench conveniently placed in which you could see him but he won’t see you

you find yourself sticking around and smiling when you see him goofing around in all good fun

hopefully you don’t look like a cREEP because you swear you aren’t!!!! and hopefully they don’t notice you either and find out then and there that you’re here in a skatepark withOut a skateboard,,, just sitting,,, to see him

this may not be your best idea yet lmao yes you’re gonna admit that

but it’s probably the first and last time that you’re ever gonna see him so might as well watch him for awhile!! that’s all!!!!

ok wait

this is definitely a bad idea because yoongi calls you and you forgOt to put it on silent and it’s his voice that greets you very rudely as soon as you pick up

“y/n where the FUCK are you???”

oh lmao it’s quarter to 10 already

“jeez, i’m coming home!! calm down!!”

“yeah tell that to chimmy who’s been worried sick with me and won’t stop hOWLING!!!”

you’re scrambling to gather your duffel and sneak oNE last look at him and ur practically pouting as you say goodbye to him under your breath 

:((

“... aw, you worry about me?”

you resume back to jogging on your way home and this time for rEAL

you’re gonna miss him

he’s like one of the random dudes you see in the mall that are sO breathtaking and you know you’re never gonna see them again

you didn’t even manage to catch his name :((

but whoever he is, he feels a little more different than a dude in a mall because this time, you feel like you’re gonna cRY at the thought of it

little did you know that jungkook could see you all this time and he’s sad to see you go 

:D

chimmy is the first to leap at you as soon as you come through the door

and if you didn’t anticipate the giant, then you’d probably be toppled over by now

yoongi finds it weird that there’s this lingering gentle smile on your face

well he shouldn’t be so shOcked because he sees you talking to yourself when you’re watching documentaries and cooking

(( he always checks if there’s a camera hidden somewhere in the kitchen and you were vlogging or something but nO!!! ))

it’s like you’re a third-grader again that goes fERAL at just the thought of their crush

you hope mr. tyd has already eaten breakfast and hasn’t had any injuries with his skateboarding

you’re trying to rationalize with yourself that it’s just a stOOpid and pathetic crush to harbor in less than a day and stop thinking about him

the universe must seem to hate aND love you at the same time because well would you look at tHAT

it’s 5 in the afternoon and you have chimmy beside you and you’re walking home

and that’s practically your routine ever since you’ve gotten this job

it would only differ if a situation like last night happens or when you’re too tired to walk home oR when it’s raining

but right now it’s your normal workday, and you’re walking home, and it’s sunny, aND THIS IS THE SECOND TIME YOU’VE SEEN HIM

this is also the first time that you’ve seen him in such a situation that you didn’t expect :O

the fact that you’ve mayhaps watched kimi no nawa last night with yoongi and perhaps 98 times before that, does not help at all

“you uh, y-you wanna go for a run on the grass, chim??”

there’s this mini field besides the skatepark and chimmy happily jUMPS at the mention of grass :D

aha oh well :D would you look at that :D your dog wants to go run on the grass that’s a couple feet away from the skatepark :D who are you to stop him anyways?? :D

chimmy’s more than happy to comply with your wish and vice versa because he’s having the time of his life clearly

he’s your pawman and the perfect variable so you wouldn’t seem like a third-grader with a helpless crush on anOther third-grader

it seems that hE’S more excited than you though because chimmy runs to the ramp instead of the grass!!!

and in the process he goes UP to greet a guy like he does with you whenever you come home!!! it’s harmless pouncing per se

but it’s not entirely harmless because it feels like chimmy knows EXACTLY what’s in your mind and what he’s doing

“chimmy!!!”

.....

...... of course

chimmy has to of cOurse pounce on him

jungkook wasn’t surely expecting a giant and overly-friendly alaskan malamute to pounce on him right when he was about to drop-in

it’s a pleasant surprise either because it’s-

wait

oh my god

is this yOU?????

listen.,.

jungkook was in the skatepark last night with taehyung and they took advantage of it because they were the only ones there!!

tae surely wasn’t kidding when he said that he was a novice because holy sHIT how was it possible that he sent a skateboard flying mid-air after a failed trick??

kook flinches when he follows it in his line of sight and notices that there’s someone down there who might be literally dECKED out of tae’s stupidity

he’s about to yell for this passer-by to dodge and-

time seems to move quicker because you’re already stopping yourself and flinching in place and then looking up

you’re rIGHT underneath this street lamp and jungkook sighs a breath of relief when he realized that you weren’t hit

but at the same time he’s gasping again because wow

t-that’s uhm-

okay

wHEW he has never felt this pressure in his chest ever since he joined a quizbee in 8th grade

would it be-

ok nevermind

WOULD IT BE TOO FORWARD FOR HIM TO SAY THAT HE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU ALREADY

you’re really beautiful??? and frankly he has to look away for a second because you’re tOO beautiful that he doesn’t know what to do with himself

that’s it u are under arrest for being too pretty >:(

jungkook’s flustered because there’s just these types of people that put a knot on his chest unknowingly and he doesn’t know how to act normally

you are the equivalent of him not being able to look at the screen because the kdrama was that good and he feels unworthy to even watch it

it’s goosebumps all over his skin and he’d be lying when he says his cheeks are not heating up at aLL

“taehyung, you dumbass!!”

his first instinct is to scold taehyung because what iF he ended up hurting you with his skateboard, hmm?? and tHEN what

he expected you to leave after that close-call and if everyone must know, jungkook has an incredible talent at being able to scope out things in his peripheral vision

he could look straight ahead and be able to see what you were also doing at the side

he doesn’t know if that’s a talent or uH everyone has it but whatever he can do that!!!

and you were clearly still there and in fact, even sIT down on the bench

he could see you smiling and giggling and a ginormous part of him assumes that it’s because of him

he prays to god that it’s NOT the guy who almost decked you with a skateboard ://

jungkook was acting weird and he kept smiling and laughing mORE than necessary and taehyung can see right through him

“bro all i did was walk towards you wtf are you laughing,,.,”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHHA tae you’re so silly XD”

alrighty then,, maybe jungkook just binge-ate his vitamin gummies which is why he keeps beaming for an unknown reason

koo was so grumpy literally just before he had his skateboard flying and now he’s ???? weird

jungkook was ultimately sad to see you get up and he knows he’s probably never gonna see you again ok alright time to mope

but this

this

he’s beyond surprised to see that said owner of giant dog happens to be yOU!! of all the people!!!!

it’s you!

“i’m so so sorry about him!! he’s just excited to make friends with everyone and i don’t have the sLIGHTEST clue why he came to you!!”

you pointedly look at chimmy and he has the audacity to howl before looking away

it hasn’t dawned on you that you’re talking and apologizing to him but it certainly did on jungkook which is why he’s charmingly laughing already

“no, no. it’s okay, i don’t mind!! his name’s chimmy, then?”

you’re blinking profusely because yes.. right.. HE is talking to you

“yeah, uh, correct!! his name’s chimmy :)”

“that’s cute. anyways, i’m jungkook :)”

aha :D

koo would like to think that he is smooth

and yes you agree

you immediately shake his hand tOO eagerly with a smile on your face as you’re trying to take this all in

“i’m y/n :)”

jungkook’s hand is bigger than yours and your hand fits sNUGLY right into his hold

he has some tattoos on his hands and there’s some peaking from underneath his hoodie

but even with ur lasik vision you cAN’T focus because omg are you seriously holding jungkook’s hand.,.,

jungkook as in THEE jungkook that you’ve immediately clocked and crushed on last night in an instant

your lil moment of just holding each other’s hands is interrupted when taehyung pops out of nOwhere

(( actually he’s been there for the past two minutes and he kept switching between cooing and laughing ))

“yO i’m taehyung!!! you must be y/n, i didn’t nick you last night, did i?”

he takes it upon himself to hug you right then and there

well he’s warm and he passes the internal vibe check yoongi’s hotwired into your brain so you reciprocate!! you like hugs anyway and taehyung’s just like chimmy but in human form

jungkook practically squawks and stammers in his place because w-why.. w-what...... no

chimmy bARKS at taehyung and koo is tempted to do the same too because no man you simply do nOt hug my crush that you know absolutely nothing about

“he’s asking for you.”

kook points to chimmy who’s obviously pouncing on you to come run with him

you excuse yourself so you could go satisfy the giant and jungkook felt like his heart was gonna fall out of his aSS

tae wiggles his eyebrows and has his lips pursed and it’s the shit-eating grin that he immediately flips off as soon as he sees it

“what was that all about?”

you are convinced

you are 100% convinced

your head is fully-set into the game and in no way are you gonna back out

“min yoongi!!”

ah there it is

yoongi’s having the time of his life playing fetch with chimmy! what could possibly be any more important in this world than that

“what did i do now?”

you only call out his full name when a) you’re agitated and when b) he’s ignoring you and you’ve had enough of it

he really doesn’t recall giving you the cold shoulder recently

and he certainly didn’t agitated you when all he’s done is play with chimmy and sleep!!!

“please click this for me pls. click. please. pls click.”

aH yoongi should’ve brought his glasses instead of leaving them on the couch

you’re holding out your laptop to him with your arms outstretched and he has to come really close to decipher and-

... huh

“a skateboard?”

pardon him but he’s really lost on this one ok

he is as lost as he was when walmart decided to completely rearrange the whole store

“... and what do you need a skateboard for? y/n when i said that you should get yourself a four-wheeler, i didn’t mean a skateboard-”

in what part does a skateboard look like an SUV

whY are you like this

“it’s for uh... it’s for fun purposes!!”

you’re trying not to raise any more questions in yoongi’s mind but his head is miles miles away now lol

???? you hate trying new things though ???

one time you traded in your beef ramen for pork ramen because the first one was out of stock and throughout the whole meal you kept thinking how much you regretted it

and besides, skateboarding would be the last thing you’d get into!!!

yoongi distinctly remembers that you’d rather choke on chewing gum rather than get your knees scraped

why was that?? because when your knees get scraped, walking and doing everything else?? impossible 

nice try sherlock but the moment you do so much as to not stand up straight?? sIT down?? yeah your knees would give out 

what has got to be something so special that you’d wanna get into skateboarding and risk yourself into getting your knees scraped??

....

....

omg is that what he thinks it is

“... it’s a crush, isn’t it?”

the way you instantly shut him down and practically have to beg him just to press the check out button.,..

aha 

yeah yoongi’s gotten his answer alright :D

whatever this is

or whatever that’s going on

you’re sure that you’ve never felt this content for a long time

you now bring a change of clothes so you wouldn’t go skating in your uniform because that just honestly sucks

you may be too tired to walk to the skatepark which is why sometimes you’d book a ride, but no you’re never tOO tired to skate and see jungkook :D

it’s frustrating enough as it is

yoongi used to skate and that’s the reason why you’ve found this shortcut in the first place because this was where the park was!! you’d always think at the back of your head on wHY was yoongi struggling!!!

smh that’s so easy yoongs </3

joke’s on you now though because trying to balance on the board in the first place scared you shitless because hOW were you supposed to do this??

you can ride a bike and that has tWO wheels and this has fOUR bearings!!! how come you can’t balance yourself??

even managing to stand up on the board without panicking for more than ten seconds AND managing to shift from left to right even if it’s albeit shaky at first, took you a wHOLE evening

but you’re so proud of yourself and so is jungkook :D

jungkook finds it the highlight of his night when you’d hold onto him

yes he knOws you have it under control now and you barely hold onto him for support

“just so you won’t fall, that’s all.”

he always evades your eyes when you go look up at him dreamily like that because how could he not???

you’ve covered the basics of pushing yourself then simultaneously riding the skateboard!!

you do that for one WHOLE week and both jungkook and tae (and yoongi) think it’s time that you do something else besides skate in one straight line and occasionally to a left and a right

ok you’re kind of scared shitless because you already fell a couple of times but y’know what?? it’s time!!

society has progressed past the need of you skating in a straight path

the society NEEDS you to do tricks now

.....

........

confession time:

dear diary the kickflip is simply not kicking the board in an attempt to flip it by itself. it is not. it is not as easy as it sounds. it is the bane of my existence

it’s evident that you’re stalling out of your way with this one but you just need oNE success and that’s it!!! one win to woo jungkook from his feet and then you’d stop

tae has already shut you up too because you keep talking about how your day went when you already is set four times before that

and it must’ve been a lucky first time because you absolutely nAIL it on the first try!!!

you honestly thought you’d land square on your ass and see bruises on it later in the shower but N-O!! you’ve done it perfectly and-

jungkook’s not looking

he didn’t see your feat!!

or maybe he didn’t see it because he chosE not to!!!

OR

maybe doing a kickflip is nothing impressive and it’s obvious that he’s a pro at this compared to you who’s even more of a novice that makes taehyung look like a god

you can’t have that :((

ok ok hOW can you impress jungkook

there must be something you could do to impress him!!

omg

that’s it

this is practically perfect!!

you’re gonna do your first drop-in at a pipe that is nowhere gOOD for a beginner like you :D

one, two, th-

“easy, doll.”

jungkook materializes out of nowhere and you expected him to be skating at the far end!! not mere inches away from your face holding your hANDS

this is the first time you’ve seen jungkook actually this close and you just have this urge to kiss his cheek

he has you whipped for him and he hasn’t even done anything to you!!!

“not the best idea to go down an eight-foot tall half-pipe for your first time, hm?”

he scrunches his nose at your absurd thoughts because absolutely wHY would you do that??

how could you fall in love with him even mORE

“do the two-feet tall one first. go have taehyung teach you.”

the grin in your face goes as fast as it came

no offense to taehyung but he’s not the one your head-over-heels for :((

practically everyone knows about your crush on jungkook BESIDES jungkook himself

you’re tapping tae on the shoulder to come and teach you while you just watch kook shred it at the other side of the park by himself

it’s okay!! progress is progress and you’re gonna get far with jungkook!!

going to the skatepark right after work is now your new routine

sometimes you even come with yoongi when he’s free and he takes all his time to gloat on how you used to make fun of him when he was skating avidly back then

that gives you a grand total of three (3) people teaching you how to skate and giving you pointers

jungkook also now holds conversation from time to time :D

he’d ask you how your day went and you’d have to pretend that you didn’t wait for him to ask so you’re not spilling detail after detail

he now does this thing of pinching your cHEEK when you get something right 

your heart after doing an ollie goes bEEP when he pinches your cheek and tells you eagerly that you did such a good job

yoongi’s laid off his teasing for you and jungkook but god he can’t deny that he gets these weird vibes from him

eh it’s probably nothing

today you’re especially excited because it was an outfit that you just bought and you feel gREAT in it!!!

tbh your day was the absolute worst but jungkook is always a great pick-me-up to whatever day you could have :)

a tennis skirt with shorts already built underneath is the greatest save of ur life

it’s a little on the more expensive side because it IS a name-brand and those don’t come cheap but it’s ok :D it’s gonna be worth it :D it better be :D

oh uhm

jungkook seems different today.... ?

you were used to him looking intimidating and mad even if he wasn’t, but this time it just felt emphasized even more

taehyung’s here but he’s not the only one!!! there’s two guys with jungkook on the other side of the ramp

“those are his friends, i guess?? i don’t know, he hasn’t introduced them to me.”

so you’re nOT the only one who’s lost

jungkook will probably come around later and you could all hang out again :))

chimmy happily chuffs at your side and that just gives taehyung the most wonderful idea he’s ever had this day

“hEY which one of us do you think could out-skate chimmy???”

jungkook is utterly and without a doubt stressed 

he knew that hoseok and namjoon would come over, but he didn’t expect that they’d visit him while he was in the park!!!!

and he already knows what they’re here for and that just makes him grimace :((

“why don’t you want to go pro?”

koo’s ears feel like bleeding when hobi asks him that for the nth time

god it’s always just the sAME question!! he could practically sniff the air on what they’re gonna say next

“jungkook, i think we all know that you’re more than qualified to be a pro!! look at you!!”

it’s the same conversation over and over again

the next things they’d say are that he’s a natural and he’s wasting all his talent doing this thing cASUALLY

he’s not the next tony hawk or anything like that!!! he’s not gonna book a sponsorship and a collaboration with vans!!! but hobi and joon kEEP insisting that he’s that good

“hyung, i think we’ve already talked about this-...”

“yes and you refusE to listen!! why can’t you just accept the fact that you have a much better future in this??”

jungkook’s currently a freelance graphic designer which means he works from home and he’s in charge of his oWN schedule

but it doesn’t necessarily mean that every single day he gets a new commission or anything grand like that

he’s gonna be honest and say that yES he has thought of being a pro skater!! but he’s trying to be as rational as possible about it

because not every competition would be a win and not competitions don’t happen as frequent as a typical job is!!

and what iF jungkook gets injured?? something of an injury that would lay him off from skating 

and being unable to skate??? = he basically gets nOTHING

he feels pressures because hobi and joon are pro skaters already!! and that gives them all the more reason to make jungkook into one

not to flex but uh they’re both quite already kNOWN

and jungkook hasn’t even started his pro career but he’s already known!!! both by his skills and the fact that he’s friends with these two champions

“i literally do not care if you beat me!! just come take the leap and be a pRO already, jungkook!!! it’s a loss as it is that you still consider yourself an amateur.”

their words, not his 

ok uhm what if

what if jungkook opens a skate clinic?? he can do what he loves and in the same time, earn money!!

... yeah

okay! 

that could work!! and if he feels extra prepared, then yeah maybe he’d be a pro

or would a skate clinic be useless if he isn’t a pro by then???

oh my god

jungkook’s so frustrated with all this sudden bombarding and it makes him want to tug at his hair

as much as he loves his hyungs, sometimes they just can’t seem to know when to back oFF and realize that their nudging is more like shoving

“do something productive and worth your time, jungkook. stop babysitting.”

namjoon says with an edge and that tames jungkook

what makes it worse was what they were implying in the first place

hoseok doesn’t make it discreet to look at taehyung and you

“tae, tae, look!! i’m doing it, i’m doing it!!”

you’re saying over your shoulder because omg you’re getting the lead and chimmy’s slowed down for some reason

well actually taehyung’s took it upon himself to stop behind you

“guys?”

you get an immediate answer when you feel someone effectively hALT you still and you almost fall on your ass just by the sheer strength of someone holding you up

jungkook’s holding you down and his hands are quite heAVy on your arms

there’s this unexplainable look on his face but you’re positive that it’s not one of happiness

“you should probably stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing.”

oh

to be honest you’re unsure of how to react

but the way that jungkook looks like he’s mad at you and retreats back to those two guys with a scoff in his step -- 

it’s enough

it’s truly enough for you to reevaluate every decision you’ve ever made

maybe it’s simply not just a bad day for you and a case of overthinking thigs,, and it’s perhaps the fact that he want you to stop

stop whatever that is happening

you probably must be frozen in place because chimmy bounds and pounces at you

you probably must’ve looked like an utter fool,, skating in a tennis skirt and trying to outrace a damn dog in a fucking skatepark,, right in front of jungkook and his friends

“y/n, you uh, y’okay?”

tae’s worried because there’s an instant shift to your mood and he could only assume what you were feeling

tears prick at the back of your eyes and that’s the signal for you to gather your things in a flash because the last thing you’d want is to cRY in front of him

“y-yeah! i’m gonna go home, tae. chimmy’s looking for yoongi.”

the dog in question tilts his head because w hat now,,,.,., wha t,.,. he is???

you learned that dogs could smell emotions and that makes you even sadder

chimmy was behaved the whole time; didn’t even try straying you around when he keeps seeing umbrellas on the street even if he loves them

you’re okay

:)

you should be okay

....

there’s something definitely off

yoongi’s cleaned everything and did his share of chores

the tv is still mounted and the microwave’s clean!!

chimmy didn’t have a toilet accident because if he did, he would’ve already picked it up

there’s definitely something off with yOU

because first of all, why are you here???

“not coming to the park?”

if he can recall correctly, no matter how knackered you were after work, you’d still go to the skatepark!!

... not unless you were injured??

nah because if you were injured then you’d be whining to him now

“nope :)”

you’re lying on the couch where he usually lies nowadays because you weren’t around!!

and you’re drinking from your mug that he’s claimed as his mug

and chimmy’s squished in between the tiny gap of you and the far edge of the couch

“and why?”

he’s always had answers for everything but his mind’s bLANK for this

“wanna spend time with you guys :)”

oh

okay

that’s gotta be the answer, right???

this is definitely weird

for starters, it’s already 11 PM and jungkook’s still in the skatepark and he’s not even skating anymore

he’s just waiting

weird... you aren’t here.......

aH it’s nothing :D you’re probably just tired and didn’t want to go skate

oh and.. you’re not here the next day

or the next

or the nEXT

jungkook spends almost the entirety of his time in the park

he goes there at 3 in the afternoon and comes home at 11 in the evening

no big deal

half of the time is just spent him actually skating and the other is figuring out wHERE you are

uh maybe you’ve started to take ubers now every time you come home??

you’re not walking home anymore and the car would pass by the skatepark and jungkook wouldn’t have a single clue where you are

it’s also this time that it dawns on him that he has no means whatsoever to contact you

he didn’t ask for your number and didn’t exchange socials so he could only gUESS

he can’t come over to your apartment either because he hasn’t walked you home and therefore he wouldn’t know your address

holy shit he’s so dumb and jungkook misses you a lot

like a whole whole lot

he misses you holding onto his shoulders for support and misses your excited grin whenever you nail a trick and had a perfect run

there’s nothing that jungkook could dO besides wait

and miss you so much

and mope

kook doesn’t want to give up and miss a day because what iF you pass by when he’s not there???

he can’t have that and he wON’t have that

he’s just so antsy and he hasn’t had his fix of chimmy bounding towards him and the malamute intentionally pouncing on him whenever he’d drop-in so he could lose his balance

he just needs to see you and your duffel bag and the precious yet beat-up wristwatch you have and-

WAIT

THAT’S YOU!!!

jungkook’s brought his perfume the past few days because he wouldn’t want to be aND smell sweaty when he sees you again

he’s wearing a shirt this time and nOT a hoodie and it’s actually a nice shirt!! the pale orange makes his tattoos pop

he’s also wearing a watch so he could look business-ish and composed and he kinda hATES watches because uhhhh you ever heard of a phone, buddy??

you’re walking striaght and paying no mind at all and to your surrounding and-

there’s suddenly this cRASH in front of you and it makes you recall in response because that came out of nowhere

... and this feels oddly familiar

only this time though, it’s intentional and it’s jungkook who literally tHREW his skateboard down on the spot in front of you

“y/n? wow, what a coincidence!”

you didn’t expect to see jungkook as soOn as you anticipated that he wouldn’t be here

he laughs nervously and he tries not to overanalyze the fact that your face is blank

:|

“yup. totally.”

you’re avoiding his gaze and meanwhile he’s searching desperately for yours 

what is he feeling and why is it hurt and longing at the same time

“can i walk you home?”

the words tumble out of his mouth before he could even ponder over them longer

“i uh, i rEALLY can’t believe i never asked to walk you home!! or even ask for your number!!! but uHhhh it’s late at night and to be honest i don’t have your number and i just need to know that you’re safe and-”

he stops his rambling right there because he realizes that he’s a stuttering nervous mess

you’re a bit speechless because normally you’re the chatty one but this one.,.,,. this one’s a pleasant surprise

“yeah, yeah. okay :)”

he can’t believe either that you agreed to it but he’s immediately gathering himself and swoops your duffel for him to hold

he’s not gonna entertain a single complaint <3

it’s not exactly the most tensioned silence ever but it’s definitely nOT comfortable

“why didn’t you come to the park?”

okay well sHIT you didn’t expect him to be this straightforward

wait no 

you shouldn’t be surprised!! after all, he probably did mean what he said the last time you’ve seen him

what are u gonna say now

well you coulD say that you’re busy and he’d probably fall for it!!

or reiterate the truth that he’s implied and say it with a straight face

“oh. i started intentionally falling on my ass because i missed you,” jungkook spills out of nowhere while waiting for your answer and he now realizes that might’ve been a little awkward

after all he dID admit that he missed you

ahem

“did i uhm... did i say something?”

he rephrases his question and he knows that this was the more appropriate one

your coping mechanism is to kick on the ground as if there were leaves and there are absolutely nO leaves <3

“jungkook, you told me to stop.”

he blinks rapidly at that as he tries to digest your words

he’s trying to backtrack as much as possible and it wasn’t that!!

he simply doesn’t wanna see you hurt

“i can’t explain it but holy shiT i can’t see you hurt!! a-and i know that being hurt in skating is normal but for sOME reason i can’t stand it when i see you in pain o-or-...”

jungkook just can’t explaiN what he feels

“i just -- i just don’t gEt why you’d want to be hurt?? whY are you doing this to yourself??”

you find him ridiculous and this whole situation is just rIDICULOUS

“jesus christ jungkook i did it to try and impress a guy!!”

that earns you a snort and you immediately go defensive

he seems irked and his eyes are just beGGING to be rolled

“who?? taehyung?? the guy who would’ve wiped you out if he did end up hitting you on the head with the deck just a little harder??”

“what? taehyung???” you’re so confused and jungkook hates it even more, “yeah, taehyung!!”

“i like you, jungkook!”

o-oh

uhm

a.....ha

“me?”

he points to himself to which you eagerly nod your head to

“can you excuse me for one second?”

he barely gives you the time to respond because he’s already walking away and biting his arm

he’s actually sCREAMING

you throw your head back because omg did the two of you just basically admit that you liked each other

jungkook jogs back to where you stand a presses a hefty kISS right on your cheek

he’s on too much of a high that he holds your hand and practically drags you along with him because he’s almost skIPPING from how happy he is

“okay. good. nice. very good!!!” he could now sigh in relief because whEW that robbed him off his breath

“because i fell for you when i first saw you.”

jungkook basically has nO filter now and it’s adorable because god he’s just so soft and you now know what’s going and this wouldn’t be just whatever

“huh. imagine if yOU fell for me too at the same time,,,, that would make me piss my pants.”

he cackles because wow he dO be funny :D

he’s turning to look at you to gauge at your reaction and the waY that you’re holding your eye contact with him is all-telling for your answer

oh my god

jungkook is wrapped around your pinky :’)

[bqstqnbruin]

Paper Rings

So yes, it is 2 am and here I am just finishing this, but oh well (ignore typos, I’ll probably reread it in the morning and catch them all. Or point them out, I’m fine with that). But keep supporting the Black Lives Matter movement! If you want or need any resources I’m totally happy to help you find them! OR you have any that you wanna share, please do!

Shout out to @bandgirlsclub​ for helping me with the Instagram part, she’s the greatest and you should read all her stuff!!

This was requested and inspired by Paper Rings by Taylor Swift. I hope you like it!

____________________

March

“We’ve been here for twenty minutes and they’re already stoned out of their minds?” you say to your friend, your voice high like it does when you can’t believe the world around you. You weren’t one to smoke, and normally you didn’t care if people did, but when you didn’t know anyone around you besides your friend from work, you started to worry.

“We were late, and they live here. It’s no big deal. Like you always say, you don’t care if people do it as long as they’re safe and they don’t make you do it if you say no,” she says, going to join them. You stood off in the corner, just watching the scene unfold; you hated being the only sober one at a party, but it looks like that was going to happen tonight. 

“So you’re not one to smoke, either?” someone says, startling you.

“Oh, my god. Uh, no, clearly I’m paranoid enough as it is.” 

You both start laughing, him handing you the drink that was in his hand. You look down at the clear liquid, not sure what it is. You look back up at him, eyebrow raised, lifting the cup to your nose to see if it smelled like vodka.

“It’s just water. Something tells me you need to stay sober tonight, too.” He gestures over to your friend, whos already giggling like nobody’s business. Apparently, you were either going to be staying over at whoever’s place this was, or you were going to have to get her home. 

“Are you the babysitter tonight?” you ask.

He nods his head, his curls bouncing as he does, “That and I have to be up early tomorrow and something tells me that a hangover and traveling across the country isn’t the best combination.”

“You get to travel for work? I would love a job like that.” 

“Uh, yeah. What do you do?” 

You roll your eyes, exhaling. “I’m an HR rep for an insurance company. It’s so exciting,” you say with the most sarcastic tone. You didn’t hate your job, but you would give anything to do something else if the money wasn’t so good. “What do you do?”

“I play for the Avalanche.” 

You nearly spit out the water right in his face, “Like the hockey team?”

“Do you know of another Avalanche I could play for?”

“Touche.” 

You spend the rest of the night talking to Tyson, as he said his name was, while everyone around you just kept smoking whatever they had. You ended up on the balcony of the apartment, looking up at the sky, a breeze cooling you off in what was otherwise an unseasonably warm night for the end of March. 

“It’s amazing how many stars you can see considering how close we are to the city,” you say, breathing in the clean air. You couldn’t remember the last time you say the sky this clear and naturally bright. It was calming, the moon bringing out a more tranquil presence than you had expected. 

“Sometimes when we don’t stay directly in the city we’re playing in I’ll go up to the roof at night and just look up. It’s easy to get lost in the stars even when you’re down on Earth.” 

“For a hockey player, you sure have a way with words,” you tease, knocking your shoulder against him as the two of you lean on the railing of the balcony.

“And for someone in HR, you’re surprisingly likeable.”

You turn to him, not sure if you should be shocked or flattered, “How many unlikeable HR people do you know?”

“I’m basing everything off Toby from The Office.” 

“Toby was not that bad! He was just...weird.” You both laugh and launch yourselves into a debate about the TV show, talking for hours until the sun starts to come up. 

“Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late. Early?” you say, turning to look inside. Everyone was still your, your friend on the couch while the guys around her were on the floor, all asleep. 

“Yeah, but I’m guessing you don’t need to be up in,” he runs his hand through his hair, checking the time on his phone, “Fuck, I need to be with the guys in less than an hour! I have to go!” He gets up, reaching for his keys in his pocket. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I really do hope we can see each other again.” And just like that, he leaves.

You sit there, shocked that the night actually just happened. That was easily the best night you’ve had in a while. The last time you stayed up like that was probably the night after your high school prom, talking with your best friend and now ex-boyfriend. You want to see him again, but if he’s a professional athlete who couldn’t even get your information, then what was the point?

“Hey, babe. Do you want to go back to your place or mine?” You practically jump out of the chair that you had been sitting in, falling asleep after finding Tyson on Instagram and following him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

“Wanna get food first? I was promised dinner last night and ended up drinking a lot of water instead,” you say, checking your phone. 

Tyson Jost (josty17) started following you.

“Sure. The dinner down the street from work?” she suggests, pulling you up out of the chair, going back inside. 

As you’re careful not to step on anyone who’s still asleep on the floor, your phone dings with another notification from Instagram: josty17 sent you a message.

“I’m down.”

June

Four. Four books was all he had on his nightstand, and all he seemed to have in his entire apartment. “We need a trip to Barnes and Noble or something, you need more stuff to read for me,” you whine, picking up one of the books you’ve already read twice since starting to date Tyson. You were lying on your back in his bed, holding the book up over your face and praying that you don’t drop it on yourself.

“Am I supposed to buy books for you?” he asks, flipping through the channels to find something to watch.

“Well, no, you could buy books for yourself and then I’ll read them once you’re done.”

“I don’t really read that much.”

“But reading’s fun!” you say as he looks at you, his eyebrow raised. “Oh, stop that, you just need to find the right book.” 

“And I’m assuming you have a list of books that you want me to get?” he teases, jabbing his hand into your side to tickle you.

“Yes, stop that!” you let out, not hiding your laughter but almost kicking him in the face in the meantime out of reflex, “Fiction or nonfiction?”

“You’re gonna tell me both, aren’t you?” He looks at you, smiling as you nod your head. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Go ahead.”

“Well I personally love Educated by Tara Westover, Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston-”

“Woah there,” he cuts you off, putting his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking, “I need more than just titles here if I’m gonna buy them. You don’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

“Gross, cliches. But you actually want to hear me sit here and talk about the books I like?”

“You’re cute when you talk about things you’re passionate about, and you hate your job so it doesn’t happen often.” 

“Two cliches in like five minutes? That’s gotta be a new record for you, Josty.”

You both start laughing as he turns his attention back to his TV, finally picking a channel to settle on before turning back to you. “I know it’s only been a few months, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his third cliche. Third time really is the charm. “So,” you kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can turn and kiss you more, “Invisible Man is about an unnamed narrator; he’s a black man living in America before the Civil Rights movement, and it’s about how he feels as a black man in white America.” You spend the rest of the night telling him about all your favorite books, him nodding along and smiling as you don’t shut up, knowing that he won’t remember any of the book titles that you told him.

He just loved the way you got excited over stuff like this. 

January

“I feel like two gallons of paint is a lot for one room,” Tyson says, handing you the blue paint your brother asked you to pick up. He grabs the rest of the supplies from the back seat of your car to lug up to your brother’s new place. He bought it as his first home with his new wife and asked you to help them paint it. It was getting you a free dinner, so why not?

“We’re only doing his bedroom today and apparently two gallons is enough for a standard-sized room, whatever that means.” You walk up the path to his new house. It was the first time you had seen it, so you were excited to go in even though you knew everything was covered in tarps and plastic.

“My little sister!” Tommy yells as soon as you approach the door. You didn’t even have the chance to knock, him startling you and causing you to almost drop the cans of paint right on his porch.

“Hey, jackass,” you say, bitter that he scared you.

“And you must be Tyson,” Tommy says, taking some of the supplies from him and leading you into the house. 

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet, you,” he responds, clearly a little confused by the ‘jackass’ greeting. You might have forgotten some details about yours and your brother’s relationship on the drive over. It was the one where insults like jackass and dumb shit were terms of endearment. 

“Shit, bub, you have a nice place!” you look around, admiring it. “Erica must have been so happy when you found this.” 

“She was ecstatic. She was even happier when you agreed to help paint for the price of some dinner.” 

“Painting is calming and food tastes even better when it’s free, how can I say no?” 

He opens the door to the room at the end of the hall. “This is the master. Do you guys want to paint here while Erica and I finish the guest room and work on the living room?” 

“Yeah, works for us,” Tyson answers for you. 

Tommy leaves the two of you alone to start painting the entire room. You open the can of paint, revealing a light blue paint. 

“Remember that night last month when one of the guys dared us to jump in the pool?” you ask Tyson as he pours the paint into the tray.

“Yeah, why?”

“This is the color of blue that I thought we were going to turn if we stayed in the water any longer.”

“Ya know, you’re the only girl I’ve dated that would complain about being in the water with such a hot guy,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, so you’ve dated actual psychopaths?” You joke, rolling the first coat of paint on the wall. 

“I’ve only dated one psychopath, and that’s you. But everyone’s a little crazy, most people just call it unique.” 

“Can I ask you how many girls you’ve actually dated?”

“You can ask but do I have to answer?” he says, your backs facing each other as you paint opposite walls.

“Please? I’ll tell you mine. Oh come on, what couple doesn’t talk about their old relationships?”

“Healthy ones?”

“Tys.”

“Fine. I’ve been in three serious relationships, or I guess relationships lasting more than four months, not including ours, and one really serious relationship.”

“What’s the difference between the serious ones and the really serious one?”

“Wait, no. Your count and then I’ll tell you.”

You roll your eyes knowing that he can’t see you, letting out a sigh. “A boyfriend in highschool and one in college. Now you.” 

“No way,” he says, turning towards you to get more paint. 

“What do you mean? I’m not the type to date around. If I’m going to date the guy I want to make sure it has potential for something that’s more than a fling.”

“Well, how can you grow as a person if you don’t give other people a chance? Isn’t it an important part of life to get hurt sometimes?”

“I’m not saying I’ve never gotten hurt before, I just wasn’t in a relationship when I did.” 

“How does that work?”

“I thought this was I ask, you answer, you ask, I answer?” you ask, whipping around. Tyson was already facing you when the excess paint comes flying off your roller and splatters across Tyson’s face and chest. “I am so sorry!” 

He gets a mischievous look on his face as he dips his hand in the can of paint, “No, no, no!” you screech as he splatters you with paint. The two of you start throwing paint at each other, at one point Tyson grabbing you by the face right after he put his hands in the can. 

You’ve wasted half a can of paint on each other when Tommy comes knocking on the door, “What the hell are you two doing? Is this some sort of kinky sex thing?”

You scream, grabbing onto Tyson out of reflex, “That is not something I would talk about with you, and no! Go back to your wife!” Tommy just shrugs and leaves, closing the door slowly behind him. “Was this a fight?” you ask Tyson once you hear your brother go down the stairs.

“Maybe? We can say yes. What kind of couple doesn’t fit?”

“Weird ones,” you say, both of you laughing as your dripping with paint. 

“I love you,” he says, “And I want to kiss you, but I don’t think the paint would taste good.”

“I love you, too. But yeah, no. Please don’t eat the paint.” 

December

“Why are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” Tyson asks, walking hand in hand with you through the streets of Denver. 

You stop and pull him aside, “I don’t think you understand what the cold shoulder is.” 

“It’s when someone is intentionally unfriendly.” 

“Am I being unfriendly”?

“You haven’t talked to me since we left the restaurant.” 

“I’ve been thinking!” you defend yourself. When you get deep in thought, you sort of shut down from the world around you. You still move about like a normal person, but the interaction between you and other people is minimal. 

“Thinking about what?” He lifts your chin, trying to get you to look at him. You bite your bottom lip. He knows you’re thinking about something that’s bothering you.

“How long is this going to last since you’re always going to practice and traveling?” 

Since that night you met, you had been talking nonstop. You feel hard and fast for this boy who was never home at the start of whatever relationship you had with him. Once his season was over, he started taking you out on dates; the two of you probably went on actual dates at least twice a week, and hung out the other five nights at your apartment, his apartment, or at whatever party one of you had been invited to. He was your boyfriend in every sense of the word, but would that end once the season starts. 

“What do you want to happen?” he says, smiling, pulling you closer to him.

“Well, I like what we have. I don’t want it to end.” 

“I wasn’t planning on ending it, where you?”

“No.” 

“Then why worry?”

“I mean, do you want this last?”

“Of course I do. Come on.” He puts his arm around your shoulder, leading you down the street. He takes you into a Target, “Whatever you want, I will buy you.” 

“That’s dangerous, bud. You know what I’m like in Target,” you tell him as he steers you towards the jewelry department. 

“What about this?” he says holding up a ring.

“Is that just a ring, or is that a promise ring?”

“What do you want it to be?” 

“It’s going to be nothing if you don’t start making decisions!” You both start laughing as he slips the ring onto your right ring finger. 

“I like a promise ring.” 

“Wait, actually,” you say, taking the ring off and grabbing Tyson’s hand, “Come with me.”

You lead him to the party section of the store, down the aisle with all the tissue paper. “Pick a color.”

He looks at all the options, the solid colors, striped pastels, polka dots, rainbow, scalloped paper. “I like the red.”

“No. Green,” you ignore him, picking up the package of green tissue paper and pulling him down on the floor to sit with you.

“Then why did you ask?” he cries as you tear open the package, “Um, isn’t this stealing?” 

“No, you’re gonna pay for this. What you’ve never opened a bag of chips and snacked while shopping before?” He laughs at you as you start folding the paper into strips. You reach for his right hand, wrapping and folding the paper so that it stays on his ring finger. You do the same thing for yourself, holding your hand up to admire it.

“What is this?” he asks, smiling, shifting his gaze between the ring and you.

“Paper rings. I like these better. I don’t need something flashy from you to prove that you want to stay with me,” you say as he pulls you up off the floor, pulling you into a hug, “Plus $1.59 is a lot less of a financial burden than any ring that I probably wouldn’t wear.” 

“I love it,” he says, kissing the top of your head as you walk to the register to buy your rings. 

September, three years later

“Happy anniversary, babe,” you say, hugging Tyson from behind and kissing him on the cheek as he sits at the kitchen table, the dinner he made sitting in front of him.

“Happy anniversary, my beautiful wife.”

“Can you believe we’ve already been married for a year?”

“And yet it feels like I’ve known you forever.” 

You start laughing, nearly spitting out the wine that you were drinking. “There’s that cliche crap I love from you.” 

“Do we want to do presents now or after we finish eating?”

“That depends: is the gift something that actually can be given right now before the food gets cold?”

He stops for a moment before realizing what you mean, “One of them yes, the other is definitely in the bedroom.” He puts a large box on the table, wrapped neatly with a bow.

“I have to go get yours, wait!” you say, running down the hall to the closet where you were keeping his.

“Open yours first!”

You take off the bow, ripping through the paper. Inside the box are a bunch of books: Their Eyes Were Watching God, Educated, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Blind Side, and Native Son. “Are these all the books that I suggested to you years ago?”

“Some of them, yeah. The others I actually got and have been reading on the road using the Kindle App on my phone. Who would have thought books were good?”

“You sound like an idiot. But I love this! I can’t believe you remembered!” You get up and kiss him, shoving the gift you got him in his face. “Now it’s your turn!”

He opens the bag, his face lighting up when he sees what it is. Last season, the Avalanche won the division, winning the Campbell trophy. You and some of the other wives and girlfriends were allowed on the ice, you jumping into Tyson’s arms as he lifted you up and kissed you. Someone got a series of pictures of that night, and you got them framed for him. “Babe. I love this.” 

“I think we set the bar too high for anniversary gifts,” you say as he kisses your cheek. 

“Yeah, next year I’m just going to sleep with you.”

“Tyson!” you squeal, throwing a piece of lettuce at him from the bowl of salad that was in front of you. “That’s so crude!”

“Yeah, maybe. But I have one more gift for you tonight.” 

He puts a small box on the table in front of you. “What is this?”

“Well, open it!” 

You shake your head, smiling at how eager he was. What could it be? Inside the box are two green pieces of paper. “Are these the paper rings we made at Target? You kept these?”

“Yeah. You said that you didn’t need jewelry to know that we were going to stay together. That was the night I knew you were the one, craziness and all.”

You can’t help but start crying over how sweet that was. You couldn’t believe he had kept something like two pieces of tissue paper. How many people can say paper rings were a symbol of their relationship?

[mlovesstories]

Assisting the Assistant

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Harley is Jensen’s assistant on the set of Supernatural.  It wasn’t what she expected. 

AN: Thanks to my amazing love @cherryblossomflowers for editing!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault

Words; 1600

Jensen x platonic reader

Jared x platonic reader

“So, what are you doing here, kid? How old are you?” Jensen asked in one of the production offices, interviewing for his set assistant. 

“I don’t see why that matters, but I’m twenty.  I feel like I can be of great help, and I have a few years experience in-“ 

“Do you know who I am?” 

“A guy… needing an assistant?” 

“You got the job. Welcome aboard,” he stood and shook her hand. 

“Excuse me?” Harley gasped. 

“You’re confident and not intimidated by a Hollywood actor, so to say.”

“Should I be?” She cocked her head to the side. 

“No, but that’s the point.” Jensen smiled. 

“Okay…” 

“We start shooting the next episode tomorrow. Be here at 6am, kid.” 

“You don’t know my name, do you?” 

“You’re a kid, at least compared to me.” Jensen shrugged. 

“Then I withdraw my application.” Harley snarled. 

“Hey, wait!” Jensen chased after her in the office. “I’m sorry, it’s Harley, right?” 

“Yeah, and I’m not a kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

—————-

“Morning, Mr. Ackles,” Harley caught up to Jensen as he exited the van dropping him off. 

“Hi,” he smiled. “Follow me.” Jensen hastily walked toward his trailer. After they entered, he said, “take a seat.” 

Harley slid onto the couch. 

“Rules.” 

“Woah- I’m not-” 

“Stop being so defensive, kid,” Jensen laughed. “I’m not stuck up. Don’t wait on me hand and foot, and don’t follow me around like a puppy.” 

“I can handle that,” she smiled. 

“The PAs will get you settled. Go out and turn left. You’ll see the PA trailer.” 

“Any other rules?” Harley looked to him. 

“Plenty, but those can wait til later.” Jensen winked. 

“Right…” Harley stood, unimpressed. “I’ll check in with you when I’m done,” she said matter-of-factly. 

A few minutes later, Harley knocked on Jensen’s door.  He opened it and she entered.  

“You look official with your radio and clipboard,” he smiled.  Harley offered a fake smile, not impressed.  “What?” 

“Nothing, Mr. Ackles.  I’m just here to do a job that I’ve done before.  I’m not new at this, and you don’t care about assistants.” 

“Says who?” 

“All the big stars don’t even do small talk with the staff. That’s just how it works in the industry.” Harley shrugged. 

“Kid, I’m not like whoever you worked with before.  Do your job and do it well, but ya gotta have fun too! Now that we got that out of the way, the PAs will give you the schedule for the day, it’s your job to make sure I show up at the right time.  Can you do that?” 

“Well, I can tell you, but it is really up to you whether you show up.” Harley grinned, joking. 

“You’ll fit in just fine,” Jensen laughed. 

Harley easily fit into the awesome that was Supernatural. This was the best set she had ever been on. Jensen talked to her and treated her with respect. 

“Ackles! Makeup!” She yelled to him as she walked to the set from the wardrobe trailer. 

“Stop bossing me around!” He groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“I refuse to get you gum if you don’t listen to me, Jensen!” Harley yelled back. 

“FINE, you ass.” He playfully whined. Jensen turned and walked toward her and was about to pass her when she stopped him. 

“Here, you earned it.” She gave him his favorite gum. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he bowed. 

“Oh, shut up,” Harley laughed. “Go!” She pushed him toward the trailer. 

____________

“Harley,” Jensen nudged his assistant on set. 

“Huh?” She snapped at his voice, clipboard almost dropping on his foot. 

“Can you PLEASE,” he whined. “Get me a cup of coffee from that place down the street?” 

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes playfully at Jensen. “You’re due in Wardrobe in fifteen minutes, don’t forget.” 

“Thank you,” he winked at her. 

“Whatever, Winchester,” she laughed. 

“I love you,” he thanked her. 

“You better!” Harley yelled back as she walked away. 

When she returned, she handed him and Jared each a cup of coffee. 

“I get one too?” Jared looked at the cup in his hand. “Thanks, bud.” 

“Jensen’s credit card paid for it, but your welcome,” Harley laughed. 

“Hey!” Jensen gasped, ornery. “Next time take his card! Not fair!” 

“Cool your jets, Jensen. You would have bought him coffee if you were getting it yourself anyway.” 

“Hey, bud. What’s up with you?” Jared walked to Harley while Jensen was doing a scene. 

“Huh?” She looked up at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“You’re… quiet.” 

“I’m fine,” she gave him a short smile. 

“If you say so.” He gave the expression back.  

————

“Hey, Jensen,” Harley greeted him. As he exited the van, he noticed she backed away from him as he went in to give her a hug. 

“You okay?” 

“Yep! Sorry, a little jumpy today.” Taking her clipboard, she read off the schedule to him for the day. “Here are your sides.” Harley handed him a few stapled half-pages. She turned to walk with him toward his trailer when she gasped. 

“What?” Jensen looked at her face. 

“Umm. Forgot to unplug my curling iron. I’ll call my roommate if you don’t mind.” 

“Uh. Sure.” He narrowed his eyes at her. He saw a large figure turn the corner of a trailer. 

“Hey, Max. How ya doing?” Jensen shook the actor’s hand. 

“Glad I got a few episodes out of this gig. It’s the least you people could do for me.” 

Jensen froze the handshake and gave the man a serious face. 

“Right,” Jensen let go of the man’s hand and told Harley to follow him. “See you on set, Max.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Max scoffed. 

“Ass.” Jensen whispered. Harley bit her lip. “Come on. Is Jared here yet?” Harley nodded her head. “Can you go get him for me? I need to go over some lines.” As he said that, rain started to fall, “and get in my trailer ASAP. I don’t need you all soaked or borrowing one of my sweatshirts.” He chuckled. 

“You’re stupid.” Harley ran off to Jared’s trailer. 

“Hey, Jared,” Harley knocked on his trailer. “Jensen said he wanted to talk to you. Runs lines or something.” He slowly grabbed a jacket. “Will you hurry? I’m getting wet!” Jared laughed. 

“Okay, lets go.”

“I told you not to get wet,” Jensen groaned. “Here,” he tossed her a large sweatshirt that smelled like his cologne. 

“Moose decided to be a slowpoke so I got rained on!” She ran into his trailer followed by Jared.

“Sorry!” The taller man hurried up the steps. 

“Hey, you notice Max Green being a shithead?” Jensen sat down next to Harley. Jared sat across from them. “He was a jerk to me.”

“He seems like a stuck up tool to me. He’s been rude. Said that he’s so well-known, and he’s that way. So much for ‘we’re lucky to have him’” Jared huffed. 

“Here,” Jensen handed Harley a cup of coffee. 

“What?” She accepted it. 

“You need it more than me. Get warm.” Jensen smiled. 

“Aw. Thanks, Ackles.” She gratefully sipped the drink. . 

————-

Jared saw Harley from across the lot. 

“Hey, Harley!” He waved. Jared saw her wipe her fingers under her eyes. He walked up to her, no one else around.”what are you doing? You okay?” 

“Bye, Harley!” The two turned to see Max Green leaving through a gate. With a smile and a nod, he walked to his car. 

Jared saw her shutter. 

“What happened? He hasn’t been that nice to anyone since he got here,” Jared chuckled. 

When she didn’t respond, he dragged her by her sleeve to his trailer and left for a moment. “JACK!” He called for his friend.

Jensen threw open his trailer door. 

“What, man? You’re ruining my-“ Jensen faked annoyance until he saw Jared’s face. “What?” He followed Jared back to the younger Winchester’s trailer. 

Harley looked up when the two entered. 

“What is going on?” Jensen looked at Harley, a serious, blank look on her face. 

“She’s acting funny.” Jared answered. Harley wiped a hand over her face. 

“I’m okay. Just got some news this morn-“ 

“Nah, that’s not it,” Jared stated.  “She’s freaked out every time she is near Mr. Big Shot.” 

“Max?” Jensen looked to Harley. 

“Did Max have anything to do with you not acting like you?” Jared asked. 

“No, just sad.” 

“You’ve been with us for too long. Talk to us.” Jensen told her plainly. “Did he hurt you?” 

“Not really.” Harley whispered. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Jared shot up out of his chair. 

“No!” Harley shouted. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything.” 

“You’re lying! I can tell!” Jensen growled. Harley burst into tears. 

“He- he grabbed my ass and touched my-“ Harley fell over into her own lap, tears hitting her jeans. Jared ran out of the trailer, and he slammed the door. Jensen ran to her side and pulled her into him “no, I’m fine,” YN said. When she sat up, Jared bounded through the door.

“Security escorted him off the lot. He won’t be bothering you anymore.” 

“Thanks, Jared.” She stood and wrapped her skinny arms around his waist. Feeling his large body next to hers, she felt safe again.

Forever Friends (Everything):

@katymacsupernatural  @unicornblood4ever  @supernatural-crazed-girl

@fangirl-moment-x  @empirialwolf @winchesters-favorite-girl  @super100012  

 @percywinchester27  @waywardsuns  @supernatural-jackles  

@mcallmestiles @sdavid09  @kingandrear  @bellero @skylarraker

@seality @jaycc7983 @luci-in-trenchcoats 

@cherryblossomflowers @because-you-never-know-when 

@sleepylunarwolf @choosemyname 

@internationalmusicteacher​

@encounterthepast​  @torn-and-frayed​ 

@giggles1026​ @xiumin-girl99​ 

@mangueweaschester​

@idksupernatural​  @silverstripe101a​

@thevelvetseries​ @jennawinchester152a​ * @samsgirl93​ *    @supernatural3002​ *

@tmiships4life * @breereadsthings​ * @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​ *

@a-magey​ @vicmc624​ @hookedinto-fictionalworlds​   @beatifuldisaster018​

@miraclesoflove​ @myopiamystical​ @fallen-wolf22​

@waywardnewcomer​