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wardenparker · 2 years

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You, Me & Mexico

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16.9k Warnings: Mentions of deceased spouse and child (of course, it’s Jack), previous relationship, cursing, food mentions, alcohol consumption, aggressive use of a baseball bat, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Dad!Jack, unplanned pregnancy (after the fact). Summary: Moving to New York with your teenage daughter would have been a big enough change all on its own. But when your new next-door neighbor rings your doorbell, your whole world is about to get flipped upside down. Notes: This silly little ‘What If?’ is inspired by our dear devotion to the Yeehonk Cowboy of Our Hearts, but also by the fact that I just got the results of my DNA kit back. Enjoy! 🤠🧡

Nothing ever stops moving from being stressful. Not the adventure, the chance to get away from that one annoying coworker in your office, not even being excited for the beautiful brownstone in the West Village that your grandmother left to you in her will. There's always things to worry about no matter how carefully you plan. What if something happens to your furniture on that moving truck? What if something important gets lost? Or left behind? What if the cat freaks out in his carrier because your fourteen-year-old has been playing the same song on repeat for the last two hours and the poor little ball of fluff just can't take it anymore? Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any kind of horrific crisis with this move. At least not yet.

It's a sunny, cool morning in New York City and every passerby on the street seems happy to ignore your existence, leaving you to direct the movers as they bring the last of your things inside the biggest home you've ever owned. Mallory is already up in her room shoving furniture around to find the best configuration in her new room, and no doubt Astro is meowing his approval or disapproval with every change.

Getting settled will take a little time. New York City is nothing like anyplace you have lived before. But with a teenager who desperately wants to be a musician one day and the chance to actually own your own home? Asking your company for a transfer to the Manhattan office had been a no-brainer. "Maybe you'll meet somebody." Your mother had said, when you had told her you were moving. "There's so many men in New York City!" But you had insisted that the only man you needed in your and Mallory's life was your tomcat, and left it at that. There's just no use in pretending that you haven't compared every man in the last fourteen years to the man who gave you your daughter.

******

Groaning, Jack opens his eyes to the sounds of people working outside. Not unusual for a city that is constantly busy, but this is right outside his windows. Right. New people are moving in next door. The sweet old lady that had been his neighbor in passing for the last six years had died. Apparently leaving her house to her granddaughter. Sighing, the Statesman agent rolls out of bed and shuffles towards his bathroom. His body aches and he feels every day of his forty-one years after the beating he had taken on his last mission. For the first time since he had become an agent, Jack Daniels was looking forward to sitting at the office.

******

"Last load." One of the movers tells you, carefully pulling his hand-truck loaded with boxes marked Master Bedroom up the ramp they laid over your front steps when everyone arrived this morning.

“Thank you so much.” At this point there's nothing left for you to do but haul yourself inside, and you take a moment to lean against your front steps and really take it all in. The three-floor brownstone is sandwiched in the middle of a fully populated street and your grandmother's little window boxes are crammed full of cooking herbs and pansies that give the house a welcoming feel. You'll definitely keep those, you think, looking up and down the length of the building. But maybe not the faded floral curtains just inside.

******

The inside of his brownstone had been updated when it was chosen as his residence in New York. Modernized and filled with Statesman technology, but the thing he loves most is the walk-in shower. The hot water on demand beats down on the blooming bruises that ache and the stiff joints. He’s getting old, a realization he hates when he’s lived for the job for twenty years, since he lost the reason for living for someone else. The only other bright spot when he got down in his feels was the month-long interlude to his grief that is something he looks back on with fondness of an old love.

******

It's more than a half an hour later when the movers are vacating your new home, and you can hear Mallory happily crowing inside about having her own bathroom. For a teenager, finally having her own bathroom separate from her mother is the absolute epitome of privacy, and it makes you smile to hear her happy about something relatively simple. She had had to leave her few friends behind to start fresh in the big city, but you're not worried about her making new ones. She had her father's charm, for better or for worse, and people are drawn to her just like you were drawn to him fifteen years ago. With a contented sigh, you pull out your phone to take a few pictures of the front of the house now that it's officially home. You promised your mom that you would send them, after all. At some point today you'll have to search out the nearest grocery store, but not this very moment.

Getting dressed, Jack wonders about the new neighbor. He had been nosy, looking out the windows and saw evidence of a kid, at least a teenager. He chuckles to himself, wondering if the newest residence had been told about the raccoon that frequents the back gardens between the houses and loves to raid the trash cans. As he buttons up his dress shirt, he decides that after work, he’ll be neighborly and introduce himself.

Three Weeks Later:

"Mal, take the groceries in through the kitchen door, sweetie, not the front door." Once a week grocery trips to the market have been a whole different experience than your old chain grocery store used to be, but now you've got a bunch of bags of fresh things that are brand new favourites to fill your kitchen with. The trick is to remember that you technically have two front doors here, and the old servants' entrance to the 120-year-old brownstone leads directly into the kitchen, so you don't have to climb your front steps to go into the parlour-level front door and then down the stairs inside to get to the kitchen.

No neighbors have emerged to introduce themselves in the time since you moved in, but you figure that's just New Yorkers keeping to themselves and you don't worry about it. Mallory's school year has begun and even with the change of location, work is just work. New York isn't feeling all too different from anywhere else so far, except for the neighbors being less nosy. And honestly? That's just fine with you. Tonight you're making Mal's favourite dinner to celebrate finally unpacking the last box, and that required a big grocery trip. You're not inclined to skimp, though, because you really would do anything for your little girl. Even if she's a lot less "little" then she used to be.

******

Living in the city had taken some time to get used to. He was comfortable here now, enjoying the way that he had convenience to everything, but he missed the sense of community he had in Kentucky. While they were spread out, people waved and talked and asked about the family when they saw one another. Here, he didn’t see his neighbors, still not having gotten a look at the new ones that had moved in three weeks ago. That’s partly his fault, getting caught up at work had made it easy to continuously put off going over and introducing himself. So he’s making up for it.

The large white box in his hand holds a selection of – in his opinion – the finest bakery selections in the city. Which is saying something. Jack pops up the steps of the neighboring brownstone, his knees protesting creakily, and rings the bell.

It's surprisingly easy to hear the doorbell from downstairs in the kitchen, although you don't know anyone who would be ringing it. Maybe this is your first taste of door-to-door proselytizing that you never got living in small towns. "I'll be right back," you tell Mallory before hustling up to the front door. When you peak through the peephole in the door there's a man standing on your front step but his back is turned, so you just figure what the hell and pull open the door. "Hi. Can I help you?"

Jack turns around, the charming, easy smile on his face freezing when he comes face to face with you. You’re older, he can tell, but the time has been good to you. Dumbfounded for a moment, he gasps out your name, wondering suddenly if he’s gotten shot in the damn head again and is dreaming.

“Jack?” Swearing you could faint right there on the spot; you swallow down the panic crawling up your throat and try to quell the shock on your face. Of course it’s him. You see those eyes and that smile every single time you look at your daughter. “H—how…I mean…what—what are you doing here?” He has a box in those large hands that you used to know so well, and there are more crow’s feet around those questioning eyes, making you wonder if he came here intentionally. If that goddamn kit you did with Mallory might have sent him to your doorstep somehow. God, how did he get even more handsome? That’s not fair…

“Me? I – you live here?” Jack asks, trying to overcome his surprise at seeing you again. He can’t help but think you are still gorgeous.

“Just moved in.” Still in your work clothes and not yet dressed for comfort, you step outside and pull the front door mostly shut behind you. You can still hear inside if you need to, but this way Astro can’t make a break for it. “How did you find me?” After all, you had searched for years and never managed to find a single trace of him. Not that you knew much in the first place.

The truth is, he didn’t find you. He purposely never went looking for you, not wanting to see the life that he wasn’t a part of. He had been so messed up from Allita’s death, losing his unborn son, that he had vowed to never find that kind of love again. So when he had found himself missing you, he had sworn that he would never go looking. And he hadn’t. “I— uh, well—” Jack flashes you a small smile, as if it was just the most unusual thing. “I’m your neighbor.” He admits, turning to point to the townhouse right to your left. “Lived here for years. Did you— were you related to Mrs. Jones?”

There was a hopefulness alongside the worry in your heart that you hadn’t felt until just now – as it twists in your chest and extinguishes completely. He hadn’t found you at all — this was all an accident. “She was my grandmother.” You tell him honestly, winding your arms around yourself like a shield. “She left me the house when she died.” It was a generous gift, of course, and caused a small amount of family drama, but your grandmother’s will was specific: the West Village brownstone that she had lived in for almost her entire adult life was to go to you and Mallory. “You…uh…you knew her?”

“Not well.” Jack admits, shamefaced. “Work keeps me busy, but I would help her when she needed something moved or when the damn raccoon got trapped in her cans.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, bowled over by the fact that he didn’t know his sweet, older neighbor was your grandmother. Remembering the box, he offers it to you. “Here, this was supposed to be a welcome to the neighborhood gift.” He tells you. “Meant to come introduce myself when you moved in, but – life.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, his stomach clenching at your mere presence. Especially since he remembered there being a teen’s stuff among the moving boxes. He wants to ask about your husband, but he’s afraid he will hate the man on principle alone.

“Raccoon in the trash cans. Got it.” You nod vaguely, not even sure if you want to accept the otherwise very neighborly gift of whatever is in that box marked with a bakery’s logo. Your head is spinning and your throat is dry and you can swear you hear Mallory downstairs calling for you. “That’s—” But can you even bring yourself to explain? “I gotta go,” you mumble instead. The box has somehow made it into your hands, and you feel like a retreating wild animal fleeing the scene. “Thanks for stopping by, I guess.”

“Bye.” Jack stares after you for a moment, bewildered by how quickly you had turned and fled. The immediate happiness of seeing you again turns to confusion and then sours in his stomach. Wondering if you were upset with a past lover being so close to your family. Jack sighs and shoves his hands in pockets, turning around and walking down the steps. Maybe it was going to be better to just be those neighbors that didn’t speak.

The panic attack that comes as soon as you shut the door is not small, and it’s not something you can hide from your daughter when she comes running up the stairs at the sound of her mother crying. “Mom?” She bends down, taking both of your shoulders in her hands and checking you over the same way you used to do with her when she was small. “Who was it? What happened?”

“I—it—” You hiccup back more tears, trying to calm yourself down. “It’s fine, Mal. I’m fine. I just had a tough day at work.”

“That’s bullshit.” Proclaims your headstrong teenager, who has hopped up and grabbed her baseball bat from the umbrella stand by the front door. “You were in an amazing mood five minutes ago.” She’s faster than you, obviously, and pulls the door open to find whoever it was that upset her mother. The only person she sees is the next-door neighbor opening his front door and she fumes. “Hey Asshole!” She screams out, raising the bat.

“Mallory, stop!” You’re too late by a mere hair – unable to pull her back inside before Jack has made eye contact with his daughter.

Jack freezes, his entire body locking up and he couldn’t move if he wanted to. If he had been in danger, he’d be dead. Not that there isn’t significant danger from the teenager, an enraged expression on her face as she charges towards him with a baseball bat. Jesus…she…she looks like him. Jack staggers back slightly at the dark eyes, furious with the same calculating expression he’s seen in his own mirror. But what gets him – the ears. Her ears are curled back on the edges.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jack yelps, looking past her to where you are wide eyed with terror. “You had my kid?!”

It’s Mallory’s turn to freeze now – raised bat dropping to her side like cement as she looks at the man on his front step and then back at you. “Mom?” Her voice is small – almost scared – and you swear the last time she sounded so helpless, she was six years old.

“Everybody in the house.” You direct, in a voice that will not compromise. Waiting until Mallory has passed you and gone inside to look Jack square in the eyes. “I had my kid. You were nowhere to be found.”

Jack grinds his teeth, angry – furious that you had a fucking child and he didn’t know about it. “So that’s how it is?” He demands, the wounds that he had managed to start to close that month with you torn open, a bleeding mess on his heart. He has a child he never met – never knew existed – until she called him an asshole. “It wasn’t like you left a number for me to get up with you either.”

“At least you knew my last name.” You counter, clenching your jaw as he steps up to your front door for the second time. “I knew your first name, a dubious last name, and Kentucky. And it turns out that that not enough for a birth certificate.” All you can do in this moment is shake your head, the weight of fifteen years of missing him far outweighing any residual anger. It was a month, and you were only twenty-one. You had never considered that what you felt for him was real love, or that your life would be so completely changed. “Just…come inside and meet your daughter. Or don’t, if you don’t want to. But can we – please, I’m honestly asking – can we save being mad at each other for when she’s not around? She shouldn’t have to hear whatever you think of me.”

He stares at you for a moment and sighs, remembering that he ‘hadn’t’ given you his last name. Or – he had, but you had been convinced it was fake. And it wasn’t like Jack Daniels was a name people would honestly take seriously if inquiring about it. “I’m not mad.” Jack huffs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m mad, but I’m more upset than anything.”

“You can be upset with me when she goes up to do her homework.” It’s the best you can offer, knowing that Mallory deserves honesty and truth as much as either you or Jack does. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got to throw at me. But…none of it is Mallory’s fault. She’s innocent.”

“Her name is Mallory?” He’s quiet, still trying to process all of this. He’s also a little hurt there’s you think he’s going to punish a child for something she had nothing to do with.

“Mallory Paige.” When you step back inside, the teenager in question is sitting on the bottom of the stairs that lead to the second floor with her cat in her arms and the bat nowhere to be found. “And her best friend there is Astro.”

Mallory is practically beside herself when you close the door, looking between you and Jack with so many questions that she doesn’t know where to start. Well – yes she does. Her mouth is just so dry that she can barely get the words out. “Is…is he…really my dad?”

“Yes, honey.” You sigh softly and nod your head, both hands shoving into your pants pockets nervously. “This is Jack.”

Jack stares at her for a long moment. So many things, different traits from you, from him, have made such a beautiful young woman. He wants to touch her, to make sure she’s real, but he’s a stranger to her. “Jack Daniels.” He tells her quietly. “You have my ears.” The twitch of his mustache is a small smile, pleased and nervous.

“And eyes. And smile.” Mallory nods, her voice as quiet as his is. “I mean…I think. At least…that’s what mom says…” She hasn’t really seen much of a smile from the man in the three minutes she’s known him, so she can’t tell.

“Yeah?” That does make Jack grin, rocking back on his heels and looking between you and Mallory. “I still say you look like your momma. Thank the good Lord. Least you don’t have my nose.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” The offer is an olive branch to Jack, since you were already planning on cooking and it’s that time of day. “Maybe we can all talk while I’m cooking?”

“Only if you are okay with it.” Jack looks back over at you again, aware that you are not happy with him and his reaction to the news. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he also knows you don’t know the full truth of why he was single when the two of you met.

You’re not entirely sure if you are okay, but being heartsick isn’t an excuse to deprive them of knowing each other now that they have a chance. You try for a smile instead, finding it’s waterier than you’re proud of, and you pick up the bakery box from the side table where you had managed to leave it before nearly collapsing in the entry way just a few minutes ago. “Mal got an A on her first Spanish quiz of the year and we finally finished unpacking. We’re celebrating with chicken parmesan.”

“Nice.” Jack nods in approval and looks over at Mallory. “You like chicken parm? It’s one of my favorites.” He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say so he nods towards the bakery box. “That place has the best cookies and Danishes around. I brought you quite a few of them.”

“Mom makes the best.” Mallory takes the box from your hands as the three of you troop down the stairs to the kitchen. “Chicken parm, I mean. Not cookies. Mom’s cookies are like rocks.”

“Hey!” You groan, huffing a little at being ratted out so early in this conversation. “They’re not always rocks.”

“Nah.” Mallory laughs and grins at the man who is apparently her father. Now that she’s had it pointed out, she can see her ears on him, and even her crooked smile. “Sometimes we just eat the dough so you can’t ruin them.”

“I have been known to eat cookie dough myself.” Jack chuckles. “I buy those Tollhouse logs and it’s me and a spoon when I’m feeling the sweet tooth.” He bites his lip. “When’s your birthday, kiddo?”

“March 30.” Mallory sets the bakery box down on the counter when she reaches the kitchen and goes to the refrigerator to retrieve the bottle of iced tea there along with three glasses. “I, uh…I know about Mexico,” she admits quietly, looking over at you. “Mom told me some stuff.”

“She asked me a few years ago why she didn’t have a dad.” It hadn’t been the first time she had asked, but it was the first time you felt that she was old enough to hear some of the truth. “So I told her about how we dated for a little while and then I couldn’t find you to tell you that I was pregnant.” You really and truly cannot busy yourself enough right now, and you are pulling out pans and groceries like a fiend. Anything to not look at him. “I tried for a long time.” And nearly gave a lot of different men named Jack Daniels heart attacks in the process – it had been shocking enough to find out that real men even had that name that it had given you hope, but you never found your Jack.

Dated for a little while. A very innocent term for the month-long torrid affair the two of you had. A month of exploring the locale and each other, you practically living in his cabana when you felt like a third wheel with your friends. “Sorry about that.” He winces and regrets his decision to never look you up. “It can be hard to find me, unless you know the right people.” The intelligence agency he worked for made sure of it.

“Great-gran’s probably laughing.” Mallory predicts, holding out a tall glass of peach iced tea to him. “She loved weird coincidences and Shakespearean stuff.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn’t know much about coincidences, but he has to meddling friend who seems to know everything. “She was a nice lady.”

“So, Jack.” As much as she wants to just dive in, Mallory has never called anyone ‘dad’ and never thought she would. “What do you do? Please tell me it’s cool. Mom’s job is so boring.”

Jack chuckles and shakes his head, knowing that he can’t divulge too much right now. “I work for Statesman. The whiskey company.” He gives her a small shrug. “Acting CEO.”

“You run a booze company?” The teen is clearly delighted, leaning over the kitchen counter where you’ve buried your face in your cooking. “Does that mean I can drink whiskey, Mom? Since it’s like…my birthright or whatever?”

You snort, shaking your head at her. “I’ll buy you the fanciest bottle they make in six and a half years, kiddo. It can be your first legal bottle.”

Jack snorts and doesn’t say a word when Mallory pouts. He’s not going to go against what you say. He’s not crazy.

“You can have one sip if there is ever an open bottle in the house.” Caving when all she does is pout isn’t a good habit, but you don’t like to make things forbidden to her. That makes them mysterious and desirable, and she’s more likely to go behind your back to get it or end up overdoing it. “But that’s it. And we’re not buying a bottle just so you can try it.”

“Yesssss.” Mallory does a small celebration dance before trying to collect herself and look well behaved. “I just want to know,” she explains, eyes gliding back to Jack in embarrassment. “I don’t…know that much about you…”

“Ask me anything you want.” Some things couldn’t be mentioned of course, but as soon as Jack leaves your house tonight, he will be on the phone to Champ. “I’ll answer as honestly as I can.” He wants to offer to help, he’s pretty handy in a kitchen, but you seem to be trying to avoid looking at him. Busying yourself with everything and he doesn’t want to make things even more difficult.

“Do you have another family?” Mallory’s face is screwed up into an expression of determination, meant to mask the fact that what she’s asking is actually her biggest fear. The one that cruel kids taunted and tormented her with mercilessly and has made her glad to leave previous towns she had once loved or considered home. “Is that why you left Mom?”

“Mal!” There is no amount of squeezing your eyes shut or deep breathing that can undo the fact that your daughter just asked that question, and you set down the block of parmesan you were grating carefully. “Just because he said you can ask questions doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

“It’s okay.” Jack assures you, giving Mallory a bittersweet smile. “I don’t have another family.” He admits softly, licking his lips before he decides to explain. “When I met your mom, I had lost my wife and unborn son two years earlier.”

“Oh…” You can feel your shoulders round, stomach flopping and face drawn in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Jack.” You didn’t know. How could you? The two of you had done nothing but live in moments of passion and pleasure the entire time you were together. The insulated bubble of your fantasy affair had had no room for reality.

“You didn’t know.” He jerks his shoulder up, one careless shrug although his entire stance is anything but careless. “It wasn’t something I was…able to talk about.” He admits. Hell, it was hard to talk about it now, but that was after a lot of therapy. He looks back over at Mallory. “So no, there’s no secret family.”

“So then why did you leave?” She asks, her voice quiet and tinged with embarrassment. “Why didn’t you want to see Mom anymore?” The whole ships passing in the night explanation seemed like a bullshit adult excuse to her, but she had never thought that she would have an opportunity to actually ask him.

Jack sighs, leaning against the counter and looking at the daughter he should have known about. “Because I was afraid.” It shocks him when the truth comes out if his mouth. “I— when my wife died – it nearly killed me.” He looks down at his boot, scuffing it on the tile floor. “Your mom, I knew that she was special, but I was terrified that I would lose her somehow.” He chokes out a harsh laugh. “Hard to lose someone when you don’t have them, right?”

“I guess.” It’s hard for her to grasp, but she nods slowly before looking down at Astro between her feet and frowns. “I’m gonna feed the cat.” She announces without segue. “Don’t say anything important until I get back.” She’s gone in a flash, with Astro yowling at her heels as he chases her up to the main floor where his bowls and food are. The air in the room seems to get sucked out after her, though, and your shoulders sag at the counter while you try to figure out what the hell to even say.

“I’m sorry.” Jack props his elbows on the counter and leans over it, closing his eyes with a huge sigh of regret. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He mumbles. “I just honestly never thought I would have a kid after… and then I find out…” He breaks off the comment with a choked sound.

“I’m sorry. I tried for so long and then it seemed like you just didn’t want to be found which is so stupid and I just—” With both of you speaking at once it’s sort of a jumble of apologies, but you shake your head fiercely and wipe your hands on the nearest kitchen towel. “All she’s ever wanted is to know you. You don’t have to be any more involved than you want to be and I’m not going to ask you for money or anything, but…” You shrug your shoulders and lean across the counter so that you’re shoulder to shoulder. “It would be nice if you wanted to come around sometimes. Get to know her a little?”

“I—” Jack turns towards you, his eyes swimming with emotion. “We have a daughter.” He breathes out in awe.

“My birth control wasn’t quite as strong as we thought,” you joke, even though the water in his eyes is bringing tears to your own that make your throat stick and your shoulders feel heavy.

“Darlin’ if I had known….” His eyes close and he sighs, hanging his head. “I didn’t want to find out what you were doing.” He admits softly. “I didn’t want to see you married to some asshole with two point five perfect kids and a dog, so I never looked.”

“Just one perfect kid.” That feeling of being drawn closer to him is so familiar that you could swear it was just yesterday that you were lying in his arms on the beach in Puerto Vallarta. “And the cat. But he can be a jerk if he doesn’t get his breakfast on time.”

“Was it…hard?” He can’t imagine having to raise a child on his own. “Doing it alone? Did you have family to help you?”

“It wasn’t easy.” This close to him, it’s hard not to want to reach out and touch him. You haven’t allowed yourself to, not wanting to know if that magnetism that had existed fifteen years ago is still there. “But my family helped where they could. We lived with my parents for a long time before heading out on our own when Mal was about eight. At that point I could afford to support us on my own.” You sigh softly, watching your hand inch closer to him of its own accord. “Sometimes I wonder if anything I do is remotely right at all, but she’s turning out amazing all on her own.”

“She was going to take on a full-grown man with a baseball bat.” He chuckles before he cocks his head. “What was that about?”

“I—” If it’s possible, you deflate a little further. “She heard me crying after I shut the door,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “And she’s never taken it lightly when I get upset. I guess…” The thought would make you laugh if you weren’t nearly in tears again, and the sound you make is more like a hiccup. “I guess she’s a hell of a lot more protective than I thought. Just be glad she didn’t swing. The kid has a hell of an arm on her.”

Jack snorts and feels pride swelling in his chest at the notion that his daughter would ferociously protect her mother from anyone. “She wouldn’t have hurt me.” He promises, edging closer to you and unable to deny that he wants to touch you, pull you in and inhale you. To see if that scent that was always underlying any perfume – your scent – was still the same.

“She would have tried.” When he shifts closer, the tips of your fingers brush his arm, and you inhale sharply. Apparently, that spark hasn’t faded over time. At least not for you. And you’re not sure if that’s what you were hoping for or dreading. After all, the idea that he might still want you fifteen years later is…well, it’s wishful thinking.

“Good.” The air has shift. Thickened. If it weren’t for the fact that this is not a mission and you are not a target, he would think that someone is about to attack. Maybe they are. “Fuck.” He whispers, looking into your eyes. “I should have stayed.” He murmurs. “I shoulda told Champ to send someone else.”

“Champ?” You feel like you can barely move, fingertips touching his skin and breath mingling between you like no time has passed at all.

“My boss.” Jack straightens up, bringing you with him. “Darlin’, tell me I’m crazy.” He begs softly. “Tell me to step away, or I’m gonna kiss you.”

“I’ve never been known for my good sense when it comes to you.” The two of you are so wrapped up in your own little world as you round the edge of the counter to be closer to him, that you don’t even hear the soft creak of the stairs as Mallory stops in her tracks to give you privacy. “I just…I don’t…” Don’t isn’t very convincing when you’re practically gliding into his arms, and you force yourself to stop – closing your eyes briefly and breathing slowly before you open your eyes again to find his gaze still locked on you. “Don’t do it unless you mean it,” you ask, barely hearing your own voice. “Letting go of you once was hard enough.”

Jack sighs, heavy and deep for the pit of his soul. “I’ve always thought of you.” He confesses softly. “You – being out there, kept me sane sometimes. Thinking about that month, wondering what you had become.” He leans in and nudges his nose against yours. “You seeing anyone, darlin’?”

“No.” You haven’t for years, essentially giving up on dating when no one could ever come close to making you feel the way that Jack did. The way he still does, apparently, with your arms sliding easily around his waist. “No one ever…I-I couldn’t stop comparing them to you…which felt pretty silly until about ten seconds ago.”

“That’s good.” There’s a cockiness to his smirk as he leans in again. “Because you were always the bar no one could reach.”

If being able to touch him again took your breath away, then it’s surely a natural progression that kissing him for the first time in fifteen years makes your heart stop. That part of you that never stopped being in love with him is soaring right now as you curl your fingers into his shirt and hold his softer form flush against you. You’re both older, softer, changed in both large and small ways – but Jack tastes exactly the same as he did so many years ago. He still overwhelms and fills your senses in exactly the same way, and the reassurance that you haven’t been glorifying his memory for fifteen years is enough to have you eagerly seeking to deepen the kiss.

Kissing you was always natural. From the first time on that little dance floor, crowded and sweaty, to right now. He’s been no saint since the two of you parted ways, but there have only been two women that fit into his arms like they were made for him. Now one of them is right here. Jack groans and eagerly slides his tongue into your mouth as you open for him.

You moan softly, pouring the sound into his mouth as the two of you relearn the contours of each other’s mouths and grip the curves of each other’s bodies, lost in the moment in the middle of your kitchen. Years ago, a kiss like this would have had your back up against a wall or tree or door and your dress pulled up to your waist so Jack could push inside you as slowly or as frantically as he pleased – but it builds more slowly tonight. Reminding yourselves of exactly how good things can be.

Maybe its age that’s slowing him down, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want this to end, but Jack doesn’t rush. Which is a good thing when he sees movement out of the corner of his vision and he pulls away hastily, remembering you do have a teenage daughter in the house.

“I…um…” With your entire face on fire and your body lit up with that desperate, aching need for pleasure for the first time in years, you’re relieved to only see Astro when you turn your head. But a creak on the stairs makes you nearly laugh; you bury your face in your hands for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Mal? You can come out of hiding.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” Mallory is chewing on her bottom lip when she emerges, hands stuffed into her pockets and looking sheepish. “It sounded like you guys were talking about something important…” For her entire life she’s dreamed about her dad reappearing and her parents getting back together – wanting that idyllic life of domestic harmony like other kids had and so her mom could be happy. And it sounds like she might actually get it. Or at least she’s a huge step closer than she was even an hour ago.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Jack has the decency to flush at his daughter having to deal with him kissing her mom the first time he meets her. “I didn’t mean to rush that.”

“Does…” Mallory looks between you with poorly disguised hope in her eyes, settling the question on Jack when she recognizes the look on your face as uncertainty. “Does this mean you’re getting back together?”

“I—” Jack looks back at you and then to Mallory again. “That is up to your mom.” He hums softly. “It’s been a long time since she’s had to put up with me.” Flashing a grin at the joke to dispel the tension. You might not want something with him. “She might not want ‘ole Jack.”

“Yes, she does,” Mallory insists quickly. “She—”

“Mal.” You have a feeling that if you don’t stop her, a whole lot of teenage observations will come spilling out of her mouth and you’re not sure how ready you are for any of those truths to be spoken. “Your dad and I have a lot to talk about. How about for now we just set the table and I’ll finish making dinner?” A glance at Jack gets you a nod, and you squeeze his hand gently in your own before letting go. There is a lot to talk about, but having him back beside you has always been your ultimate fantasy.

Instead of haunting you, he helps Mallory. Letting her order him around as the two of them get the table ready to eat. It’s homey and comforting, something he’s not imagined for himself in forever. Learning that his daughter has his observation skills is amusing, along with your artistic side. The flowers that had been on the entry way table magically appearing on the table in a recreated centerpiece. “So, what other questions do you have for me?” He asks her, knowing she wants to know more. He’s already soaking up information about the first fourteen years that’s he’s missed.

“I looked you up when I was feeding Astro.” She admits, holding up her cell phone as she connects her Spotify to the Bluetooth speakers she got for her last birthday to play some music during dinner. “All I could find was your company bio. Born and raised in Kentucky, worked for the company for twenty years, blah blah blah, all that kind of stuff.” Mallory tilts her head at him as she turns on a Florence and the Machine playlist – her favourite that you also love – and shrugs. “What do you do for fun?”

Jack hums, knowing that his main ‘hobby’ is work. “Rope work.” He decides that’s safe enough. “Plus a little sport shooting. I am handy with a whip, a lasso and six shooters.”

Mallory’s nose wrinkles slightly, confusion evident on her face, and she squints at him like she’s inspecting him for a lie. “Didn’t cowboys die out like a hundred years ago?”

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Naw, they’re still out there. Just have to know where to look.”

“It was always kind of your dad’s thing.” And despite the distractingly neat button-down shirt and typically tight jeans he’s wearing, you had noticed that he still wears cowboy boots regardless of living in New York City. “He was the only one walking the beach in boots instead of sandals.”

Jack grins at the way Mallory wrinkles her nose and reaches out to tweak it. “Soft soles.” He huffs. “Sand burned my feet.”

You soundly resist the joke about how that was the only soft part of him back then, and instead hand Jack a bowl brimming with spaghetti in garlicky tomato sauce to put on the table while you bring over the platter of chicken. “How long have you been in New York?”

“Six years.” Jack brings over the bowl and sets it down. “Champ wanted me running the New York office. Knowing I liked to play the stock games.”

“Everybody dig in.” Seeing him sitting at your dinner table like he’s always meant to be there is disorienting in the best kind of way. Like you’ve imagined him and wished him into being there for so long that it finally worked. The whole thing will be enough to make you break right down and cry tonight, but for now you’re going to savor it, and hold on to that fresh feeling of his lips against yours for as long as you can.

It’s quiet for a moment while everyone fills up their plates. Jack keeps looking between you and Mallory, wondering what it would have been like if he had kept in touch, if he had known about her. “We should do something.” He decides. “Some kind of family outing?”

“Can we?” The suggestion energizes your daughter, making her sit up straight in her seat enthusiastically as she digs into her dinner. “There’s a bunch of touristy stuff we want to do since we just got here. Yankees game, Broadway, the Met, Times Square, all the super touristy stuff.”

“Whatever you want to do.” Jack nods. “As long as your mother is okay with me playing your guide.”

“I think there’s something you should do first, though.” Mallory tells him honestly. “You and Mom should go out. Even if it’s not like…a date date. You should spend time together.”

He stares at his daughter for a moment before he chuckles and shakes his head before he looks at you. “I think she’s trying to orchestrate something, but she’s probably right.”

“I shouldn’t have let her watch Parent Trap so many times,” you huff, raising an eyebrow at Mallory as she gives you her best innocent face. “It wouldn’t kill us to have dinner.” There are certainly plenty of things to discuss that aren’t for your fourteen-year-old’s ears, especially after that kiss. “It doesn’t—don’t feel like it has to be a date. We should just take some time to catch up.” The last thing you want him to feel is pressured, no matter how much you were ready to drag him upstairs not too long ago.

“No.” Jack braces his elbows on the edge of the table, that kiss making him confident that you are still feeling the same way you did all those years ago. “I owe you fifteen years of Mother’s Day celebrations. And I want to see if we are still compatible.”

Mallory looks positively triumphant with her mouth full of pasta, and you look at Jack for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.” It’s not exactly hard to agree to, since that kiss screamed compatibility. “Mal’s old enough to stay home alone, so…yeah. I’d like that. Just – let me know when and where.”

“You could always go out tonight!” Mallory chirps. “After dinner. It’s early and this is New York.” Jack bites his lip to keep from laughing at the face of unbridled enthusiasm.

“Your dad might have other plans, honey.” After all, who knows what kind of life he’s leading these days. He had asked you if you were seeing anyone, but you hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask the same.

“I don’t.” Jack supplies quickly. “But your mom may not want to do anything tonight.” He offers, giving you an out of you want it. “It’s been a shocking day.”

“What the hell.” You laugh, shrugging at the absurdity of the entire day on whole. An extremely eventful Thursday if there ever was one. “Why not? The house will be nice and quiet while Mal does her homework.”

He hadn’t expected you to say yes, but he flashes you a grin and nods. “Well, okay darlin’. How’s a stroll through Central Park sound?” He asks. “They have a lot of musicians out in the evenings.”

“Sounds good.” Nothing formal, nothing fussy, and nothing that will be too upsetting to Mal if it doesn’t go well. That seems okay to you.

******

Jack insists on cleaning up the dishes, shooing you away to go get ready and claiming that Mallory can help him if he needs guidance on where to put things. “You know,” he keeps his eyes on the pan he is scrubbing. “You momma may not want to pursue anything with me.” He tells her. “But that don’t mean that you and I aren’t going to get to know one another.” He just doesn’t want her to push for the two of you because she wants to keep him in her life. That was guaranteed the moment he learned about her. Living next door just makes it even easier.

“She misses you.” Mallory dries the glasses and flatware carefully to put away, watching her father as he works. “I know that having me isn’t a guarantee that you’ll get married and live happily ever after. I get that.” She shrugs a little, leaning on the counter and looking up at him. “But she never asks for anything for herself, and I know she wouldn’t ask you for anything either. So…whatever happens is whatever happens. I just don’t want her to regret shit anymore.”

“Damn.” Jack shoots her a grin and looks back down at his pan. “Seems like you inherited my spirit.” He tells her. “Brash, fearsome and reason to fight when it’s something you believe in or want to protect.”

“Mom says we’re a lot alike.” She puts the clean glasses in the cupboard and offers him a small, devious grin. “At least, that’s what she said when I frustrate her by talking my way out of trouble.”

His laugh is full, from the belly and he practically crows at how pleased with herself she looks. “I could always get her madder than a hen having her eggs stolen and then soothe her ruffled feathers.”

“I don’t—” Mallory chews her lip, plopping down on the stool on the other side of the counter to look at him. There are only a few old Polaroids in a shoebox in her mom’s room that she had ever seen him in, and he looks pretty much the same. Just older and all the things that go with age. “I don’t think she ever stopped loving you,” she murmurs, eyes shifting away to look at her own hands the same way you do when you’re nervous or upset. “I mean she’s never said it or anything, but I don’t know why else she would’ve avoided dating like she did.”

Oh. Jack’s shoulders slump and he looks at the daughter the two of you created from a vacation fling. “I—I promise I won’t hurt her.” He vows softly, knowing that she cares about your happiness.

“Okay.” Mallory nods, having said all she has to say for the moment until she remembers one more thing while putting the flatware back in its drawer. “Did you…” she looks back at him apprehensively. “Ever love her?”

“I did.” He murmurs softly. “It’s why I couldn’t be with her. At least why I thought I couldn’t.” His grief over his wife had twisted him and warped his thoughts on love for awhile. “There have been two women I’ve loved, and your mother is one of them.”

******

It took you a solid twenty minutes of staring in your bedroom mirror panicking over not having anything nice enough to wear out on a maybe-but-maybe-not date with the man who fathered your child. You manage to calm yourself down enough to transfer your energy to a pep talk – reminding yourself that you’re just going for a walk and the whole point of this is just to casually spend time together so just put on some damn jeans and a clean blouse and fucking breathe. Is this the first night you’ve refreshed your makeup after work instead of wiping it off in exhaustion? Yes. But you’ll be damned if you don’t go on this totally casually absolutely not-a-big-deal walk and not look nice for the man you – begrudgingly admit to yourself – have been in love with for fifteen years. You just can’t let yourself get your hopes up. Even as good as that kiss was.

Heading back downstairs, you check yourself in the hallway mirror one more time and stop to give Astro a snuggle when you grab your favourite cardigan off the coat hook by the front door. “Knock knock.” Deciding to announce yourself when you get to the bottom of the stairs in case Mallory and Jack are talking about something one of them might consider personal, you pause in the kitchen doorway before turning the corner. “How’s clean up coming?”

Jack is wiping his hands on the dish rag as he turns around. “Done.” He manages before he purses his lips together and lets out a low whistle. “Darlin’, maybe I need to go freshen up to be worthy of walking you around.” He praises as he sets down the towel and takes a step towards you.

“It’s just jeans and a clean shirt, Jack.” Still, that doesn’t stop the warmth from rising in your cheeks, pleased at the praise without letting yourself visibly preen. Not in front of Mal.

He grins, rocking closer and catching a subtle whiff of perfume. “Everything looks good on you, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes at him like you don’t distinctly remember that he used to end that phrase with things like ’especially me’ or ’even nothing’, or look smug about it after painting your skin with his cum. “I remember.”

“You kids have fun, now.” Mallory grins, echoing what you always say to her when you would drop her off at a friend’s house. “Doors will stay locked, no tv until my homework is done, lights out by 11:30, I know the drill.” She practically shoves the two of you toward the kitchen door looking as pleased with herself as humanly possible. “You two stay out as looooong as you want.”

“Why do I have a feeling your daughter wants you on this date more than you want to be on it?” Jack asks as the two of you find yourselves on the stoop.

“That’s not true.” Outside, out of view of your daughter, you feel like you can breathe a little more easily. If only because the baggage you carry is full of things that you try never to shoulder her with. “I’m just…I’ve had a lot of dreams that start with you walking back into our lives and I don’t want to pressure you into anything. That’s all.” Taking a deep breath, you nudge him slightly as you head for the few stairs that will bring you to the sidewalk. “I know she has her hopes up. But you’ve had a lot dropped on you today even before our teenage daughter decided to play matchmaker.” Holding your hand out to him as though it’s proof that you want to be there, you offer him a smile. “For me? I just can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Jack takes your hand, feeling the weight of your fingers resting against his and the warmth of your skin. “I regretted it.” He admits quietly. “Not getting your information, or leaving you a way to get ahold of me if you wanted.” He shakes his head. “I know I didn’t tell you about my wife, I couldn’t.”

“I feel like I should have worked harder to find you, but I tried everything I could think of.” The two of you start down the street together, easily finding that stride together like it hasn’t been more than a decade since you walked hand in hand. “Things would have been so different.”

Jack grunts, fully aware that without a Top Secret clearance, you wouldn’t have been able to find him. “Darlin’, there’s a reason why you weren’t able to find me.” He ventures, squeezing your hand. He knows Champ might be sore at him, but you are the mother of his child. His family legacy. You would find out when he dies, and family who are together get to know.

“What do you mean?” There aren’t many people out right now, or at least a lot fewer than you would have expected for the time of night, and you and Jack stride slowly down the block together even with confusion written on your face.

“Statesman isn’t just a whiskey company, darlin’.” Jack explains. “Beyond the bourbon, we’re an independent intelligence agency.” He looks over to see you frowning even harder in confusion. “I’m a spy, sweetheart.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, it takes every ounce of restraint you have not to just wrench your hand out of his and do something rash like scream. “Jack, if you don’t want to be in our lives, just say so,” you tell him, carefully removing your fingers from their place threaded through his. It feels like you’ve swallowed concrete, the sinking disappointment in your belly pulling you away from him a little more every second. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.” Jack huffs, reaching for you but dropping his hand when you jerk out if his reach. “I’m – hand to God, I am an intelligence officer. Was one when we met.”

“Spies don’t work for distilleries; they work for the government and you are the least likely military man I’ve ever met in my life.” The boiling frustration pouring off of you pushes tears to the surface as you wrap your arms around yourself and shake your head emphatically. “How in the hell am I supposed to believe you, Jack?” It’s like a comic book, too far beyond belief to even entertain. “Is Jack even your name? Or was I right that Jack Daniels was an alias the whole time?” It’s a silly name and you’ve always thought so. Thought he was hiding something. But you went and fell in love with him anyway like a fool.

His lips push into a frown, and he shakes his head. “Come on.” He turns around and starts walking back the same direction you just traveled from. “I’ll prove it since you can’t take my word for it.” He tells himself as he walks with large, determined strides that anyone would have that reaction. Although he had hoped you would ask questions rather than just disbelieve him.

“I guess I’m following you.” Muttering to yourself as you watch him start to walk away, you’re torn between the absolute heartbreak of finally thinking that he truly wants nothing to do with you and being concerned that he might not be well. The percentage possibility that he’s telling the truth is so slim that you immediately push it from your mind. Despite clearly not believing him, you hustle behind the man you were supposed to be taking a nice stroll with until he’s climbing the stairs to his own brownstone right next to yours.

From the outside, Jack’s brownstone looks normal. He opens the outer door and moves over to the wall next to the door. Turning around and making sure you are paying attention before he leans down to peer into the small round orb that looks like a digital thermostat on the wall. Initiating the retinal scan.

“The hell…?” Sheer curiosity has you stepping closer, looking at the panel that he’s staring into but looks like something out of a James Bond movie.

The interior door to the house clicks open and Jack shoves it open so you can walk in. “It’s in my library.” He tells you, leading the way through the wax rubbed paneled hallway and through the original pocket doors into the cozy room.

His house is built exactly the same way as yours, the whole block having been built at the same time well over a hundred years ago, but his library is much grander. Yours is low key at the moment, and is mostly a place for you to read or Mallory to play her guitar. “What is?” You ask, not seeing anything suspicious or out of place in the comfortable space.

When he had moved into the brownstone, he had told the techs that he wanted all the Statesman upgrades to blend into the natural feel of the house. Beyond the retinal scanner, they had done a damn good job. Jack walks over to a bookshelf and presses a button that is hidden in the ornate carving.

A whole panel of the wall starts to move, sinking inward slightly before shifting and sliding to the left so that part of his bookcase gives way to a… “Do you seriously have a wall of weapons?” There are guns of various calibers hanging alongside what looks to be a lasso and a whip like he mentioned earlier. Jesus Christ, you had always just thought he was really into growing up on a ranch…

Jack picks up what looks like just a whip handle, short and practically useless to the common person. “Back up.” He warns you, pressing the well-worn button on the handle as the electrified whip extends and flickers to life, deadly and beautiful.

“The hell?” Stepping back wasn’t quite enough, and you stumble backward a large step more before you steady yourself on a nearby chair. “Is that…electric?” You ask, eyes wide with awe and somehow more confusion.

Jack keeps his eyes on his weapon, knowing it can slice anything in half and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you. The vase, however, he never really liked it. He swings the whip over his head and flicks his wrist, sending the electrified cord out to wrap around the neck of the vase and flowers, neatly slicing them off and letting them topple to the floor. Straightening up when he’s done, he presses the button again and the whip retracts. “It is.” He finally answers, turning back to you.

“Jesus!” Instinctively jumping backward to be even further away from the weapon, you can feel all the blood drain from your face and your jaw drops open in shock. “What—how did—I don’t—” A coherent thought doesn’t seem to be able to form for an exhaustive amount of time and you stand there, dumbfounded, for longer than you’re proud of. “You’re—you’re serious, aren’t you?”

Jack sets the whip down and nods, aware that there is probably a good chance that you will flee. Perhaps keep him away from Mallory. “I wasn’t lying to you, darlin’. I’ve never lied to you. Maybe kept things to myself – like why I was in Mexico – but I never lied.”

“Wh—why were you in Mexico?” It’s overwhelming, and confusing, but your gut is somehow sure that he’s telling you the truth – which might only be adding to the feeling of confusion, you can’t tell yet. “You just said you were on vacation…?”

“I was in a sense.” Jack nods, relaxing slightly now that you are asking questions. The reluctant belief in your eyes making him shuffle slightly closer to you. “I had just finished my first mission. Those bruises you saw weren’t from a bar fight in Jamaica – well, not just a bar fight.” He admits. “I was in Mexico to recuperate and lay low. And celebrate mission success.”

“So you—” Shaking your head only seems to rattle your thoughts more, and you look between him and the secret wall panel of weapons (is that really just a thought you just had?) apprehensively. “You’re like…James Bond with a Stetson?” The phrase is so ridiculous that it almost makes you laugh, but all that comes out is a breathy huff. “Just…going around the world on secret spy missions and sleeping with random women and pretending to sell whiskey?”

“No, I do sell whiskey.” Jack flashes you a grin and lifts his hand to rub through his hatless hair. “Have you seen our stock? As the senior agent, I’m not seducing as much as I might have when I was younger. And I go out on missions only when the young bucks can’t get it done alone.”

You have far, far too many questions all swimming around in your head right now, but the way he’s looking at you is so earnest that you swallow – hard – and look back over at him. “So, what…I couldn’t find you because Jack Daniels is your code name or something?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head and grins at you. “Jack Daniels really is my name.” He tells you. “It’s more that Ginger keeps records of me classified.” He chuckles. “My code name is Whiskey.”

“Of course it is.” With both of your hands waving in the air, you flop backward into the chair you were just leaning on. “I—this is…it’s kind of insane,” you admit, trying to wrap your head around the completely far-fetched idea.

“I’ll admit that.” Jack places the whip back into the panel and slides it closed. “But that’s why you couldn’t find me.” He murmurs softly. “If you decide you don’t want to have anything to do with it, that’s fine.” He would be heartbroken, but that’s not a new sensation.

“If all this were true—” The hurt look on his face makes you pause, and you pinch the bridge of your nose tightly between two fingers. “Let’s say this is all true,” you rephrase. “Wouldn’t you get in a ton of trouble for telling me?”

“Maybe.” Jack can still see that you don’t want to believe him. “Let’s find out.” He opens up a drawer in his desk and tosses you a pair of reading glasses, keeping one for himself. “Put those on, darlin’.”

Sure. A pair of glasses will tell him if he’s in trouble with his super spy bosses. Makes sense. You’re just about willing to admit that your weary heart can’t take a bunch of elaborate lies, but that insistent nagging in your gut tells you to put the damn glasses on and just find out. The image in them is almost instant, as he puts his own pair on and taps the tip of the frames like he’s pushing an On button or something.

“Jack! Burnin’ that midnight oil there?” An older man, broad like Jack but with perhaps ten or fifteen years on him and possessed of a thicker accent, appears in front of your eyes with a cigar in his mouth and a surprised smile on his face that quickly drops into concern. “Jack…” He clears his throat purposefully. “Now, I don’t mind there bein’ a beautiful woman in my office, but I prefer it when they’re by my own invitation.”

“Sorry Champ.” Jack motions towards you and introduces you. “There’s been a development here in New York.”

“Oh?” Champ raises a brow and sets down the cigar, then turns to reach for a bottle of Statesman Reserve. “What seems to be the problem? Nothings coming from the White House.”

Jack shakes his head. “No. This is more of a personal thing.” He explains. “Aww hell, there’s no good way to explain this, Champ. This lady is the mother of my fourteen-year-old daughter that I just learned about.”

Champ pauses, the bottle in his hand poised to pour, and he carefully sets it back down on the desk in front of him. “Ma’am,” he nods to you before looking back at Jack with a sigh. “When I told you to take a little R&R after the Jamaica job, this ain’t really what I meant, son.”

“I know.” Jack barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes, but he does huff. “However, now that I am aware of this, we need to initiate ‘Family Protocol’ for them.” He reminds his boss.

“Ginger’s already got everything set up, she’s just waiting on my go ahead.” Champ admits, leaning forward at his desk. “Ma’am, I understand this must come as a bit of a shock to you, but rest assured you’re in good hands, alright? Ol’ Jack’s the best in the business and we’ll take good care of you.”

“Uh…” The best you can do is nod, bewildered, and reach for Jack’s hand to cling to. As insane as this is, he’s still your port in the storm. “I—okay.”

“Wait…” Jack’s nostrils flair. “How does Ginger already have everything set up?” He demands, fully aware that those kinds of things take time.

“About a week ago, your DNA got pinged in our system—”

“The ancestry kits.” You interrupt, now wide eyed over something completely different. “A couple of weeks ago Mal and I each did one of those ancestry kits where you spit in a tube and the company analyzes your DNA…she hated not being able to fill out those school projects they have the kids do about family history and I—I thought—it could help us find out about where your family came from.”

“And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to let me know?” Jack asks, incredulous that Champ and Ginger would keep this from him.

“I was havin’ Ginger put together a file for you.” Champ admits, picking up the bottle again to pour himself a drink. “Same as we have done for any other agent.” It had happened a few times over the years, but never like this. The existence of those dang DNA tests was turning out to be interesting for the intelligence community. “But that file can be sealed now, since y’all found each other.” His eyes trace between you and Jack for a moment as he takes a sip of his drink. “Why don’t you bring your lady friend and your daughter down to Kentucky on the jet this weekend and we’ll get them squared away. Some of the New York techs can update their home security while you’re here.”

He’s still slightly upset, knowing that Champ knew first-hand about Jack’s past and how it shaped him. Although he can’t be too upset about him withholding information until it was deemed safe. It was the nature of the game he played. Turning to you, he wants to know what you think. “Darlin’?” He asks softly. “It’s your decision.”

“What are ’Family Protocols’?” It was the phrase that Jack had used, but you have no idea what it means and frankly it sounds more threatening than protective to your ears. “And why do we need to update our security? We’re not in danger…are we?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head. “No more than the average person. It’s why Statesman keeps our identities locked down so tight. Even the president doesn’t know who we are.” He doesn’t want to scare you, but he wants you to know the truth. “However, we take our families very seriously, so you are protected as if you were. Kind of like being the First Family, without the Secret Service taking you shopping.”

“This is…” You can’t help but shake your head, brows knitted together as you try to absorb the inherent truth of the situation. Jack didn’t make himself invisible to you for fifteen years – he was that way to everyone. He had kept his life to himself years ago to protect you. To keep you safe from his big, wild world of spies and secrets. “This is a lot,” you murmur finally, squeezing his hand tightly. “But it would be…it would be stupid not to do it, right? Like if someone did figure out Mallory was your daughter and something did happen, then she could be protected?”

“Listen, even if you want nothing to do with this, Mallory will be protected.” He promises fervently. He won’t let his second child down like he did his first. He knows rationally that he couldn’t have prevented the events that took them from him, but he can’t help but wonder if being an agent at the time wouldn’t have helped. “I promise you, Statesman won’t let anything happen to her. Even if you aren’t aware we are around.”

“At the risk of being…sentimental in front of your boss?” Nodding in the older man’s direction, you never talk or your eyes off Jack. “I spent fifteen years with you on my mind every single day, Jack Daniels. I’m not bowing out just because things get weird.” The conversation about what the two of you are to each other still needs to happen, but it’s suddenly feeling even more important than it did when you were only talking about your daughter’s happiness and not her safety.

“This sounds like a mighty fine time for me to say Goodnight.” Champ interjects with a clearing of his throat. “Jack, you tell Ginger when you’re coming, and I’ll have the ranch house made up.” He looks towards you with a polite nod. “Ma’am.” He taps his glasses and his image disappears.

“So…” Flustered and still a little overwhelmed, you take your glasses off and carefully hand them back to Jack. “Your boss seems…nice? Polite, at least.”

“He’s a good man.” Jack admits. “He’s the one that recruited me to Statesman.”

“Our walk got derailed.” You blow out a breath, knowing that that is your fault. “But I think…I think this is more important.”

“I understand that it’s a lot, sweetheart.” Jack acknowledges, moving over to you and rubbing your shoulders soothingly. “We can take the walk now, or we can have a drink and talk.”

“I think it’s only fair that I try that whiskey you sell.” Reaching up for him, your thumb smoothes over his stubbled cheek like you’re trying to reassure him and not yourself. “Central Park will be there the next time we want to take a walk. We should talk about things. I mean…you just found out you have a daughter and I just found you, so…there’s a lot to unpack.”

“Yes it is.” Making his way over to the bar cart gives him something to do. Keeps him from grabbing you and kissing you again. Talking needs to happen. “You really have thought about me since then?” He asks, picking up a bottle of Reserve.

The urge to chuckle is one you can stifle, and you walk across the room to the sofa beside his elaborate bar. “Of course I have.” You tell him honestly. “You—you changed my life, Jack. Even if you hadn’t given me Mallory, you still would have changed everything for me.”

“Cursing me for leaving you alone isn’t the same as wanting me there.” He smirks as he pours you both a double and brings the glasses and the bottle over to the couch.

“There was more wanting than cursing.” The glass he hands you is heavy, the liquor inside a rich and syrupy deep brown. “Although I probably would have said some pretty unkind things to you during the actual labor so maybe it’s better that you missed that part.”

Jack chuckles and sits down beside you. “Every woman has the right to curse the person who did that to her as much as she wants.” He reasons before he holds his glass out to you. “To being neighbors.”

“Neighbors.” The glasses make a pretty clinking sound and the warm, smoky sweet burn of your first sip of Statesman makes you hum pleasantly. “I have all kinds of photo albums and home videos. You can took a look whenever you want.”

“I will.” Jack wants that more than anything. “I want to see whatever you’ve got. I’ve always wanted kids…before.” He admits quietly. “Wanted five or six of them.”

“I always thought I’d have two or three.” Though obviously neither of you had ever anticipated having them together. “Mal used to ask me for a little sister for Christmas every year…” You shrug a little, staring into your glass. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to your wife, but I—if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

“No.” Jack sighs softly. “You deserve to hear about it. Despite what you think, I was in the military.” He tells you. “My wife, she was eight months pregnant with our baby boy and she went to the convenience store to get me another pack of cigarettes. I was about to go out into the field for the weekend and wanted to make sure I had enough.” Bitter guilt rises in the back of his throat thinking about how he was packing for a fucking field op while his wife and child lay dying. “She— two fucking meth head out freaks came in to rob the place.” His voice wavers and he coughs. “She was caught up in the crossfire.”

“Oh, Jack…” You set your glass down on the nearest table and reach for him instead. “I’m so sorry.” Losing him to the wild and unknown world was hard enough. You can’t even imagine the heartbreak of knowing there was no chance you could ever have him back again. “And I…I didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant – the only military men I’ve known were uptight. Sticklers. And you were…you were so free when I knew you. But I guess…I guess we actually have a lot to learn about each other.”

“I was kind of a rule breaker in the military.” He admits with a grin. “It was join Statesman or going to the brig.”

“That sounds more like the man I knew.” It makes you smile, despite the ache on his behalf for the loss of his wife and first child. Losing Mallory would completely destroy you.

“I— when we met, I was sure that no one would ever touch my heart again.” He takes another sip of his whiskey. “And when you did, you scared the shit out of me.”

“If it’s any consolation, you surprised me, too.” Picking up your glass again seems to be the best way to keep yourself from holding onto him like a lifeline so you cradle it in both hands and look down into the amber liquid so you don’t have to see if he reacts badly to what you’re about to say. “I didn’t exactly think that I was going to meet the only man I’d ever love at 21.”

“Did you try to move on, darlin’?” He asks quietly. “Surely there someone that had captured your interest?”

“I tried.” You nod but hesitate to look up at him, afraid of being overly emotional while you talk. “But nothing really came of any of it. Finding a man my own age was out because none of them wanted to be fathers so young, and after I while I realized that none…none of them compared to you anyway. And Mal doesn’t deserve to have some half-assed excuse for a stepfather just because I miss sharing a bed with someone. I love her too much to bring anyone into her life that isn’t worthy of her.”

“That’s good.” Jack can’t fault you for your view. “I haven’t found anyone either. One-night stands are as close to a connection as I’ve made in the past fifteen years.”

“Well.” When you shrug again it is accompanied by a lopsided smile. “You had your secret life to protect. Can’t fault you for being picky about who you share it with.”

“It wasn’t because of that.” He murmurs softly. “It was because of someone else.”

“You…met someone else?” It shouldn’t surprise you. And it shouldn’t hurt as badly as it does. But you can feel every single one of those long-seen hopes breaking in half as you take a long drink of that whiskey he’s now known for.

Jack looks at you for a moment before he snorts and shakes his head. “Sweetheart…” he shuffles closer. “I was talking about you.”

“You—?” Shock paints your face yet again, and your head shoots up to find him looking down at you so softly that you could just break right down and cry. It makes your voice soft and your shoulders round, and your eyebrows raise up in bewildered surprise. “You really loved me that much?”

His hand comes up to stroke your cheek, wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss away your surprise, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks into your eyes and nods seriously. “Darlin’ I left my heart with you in Mexico. You— you made me realize I could love again, and you swiped it right up and took it with you when we went our own way.”

“I took a little bit more of you with me than just that,” you remind him, shifting slightly so you can thread your fingers through his other hand. “But you…I guess you never knew that you carried my heart all these years, like I didn’t know I carried yours.” It’s sobering, an irony of the glass you have in your hand, and you move that much closer to him on the couch. “We were so caught up in having the best temporary moments together that we didn’t consider letting it be more.”

“I don’t know if I woulda been good for you until I got my head on straight.” Jacks admits, knowing he had to work through some issues to admit his feelings for you back then.

“Seems an awful lot like a second chance.” You’re almost afraid to say it, but the echo of that kiss in your kitchen and the shy graze of his calloused fingertips on your cheek give you so much hope that you’re bursting with it.

“It seems like.” He hums, enjoying the way your eyes flutter slightly. “It would be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?” He asks, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip before he leans in and kisses you again.

It would be a damn shame to waste it, you could not agree more. You’re so eager not to waste it that you barely get your glass onto the nearest table, abandoning it entirely to run your fingers through Jack’s thick hair and pull him closer.

There is a groan that rumbles from his mouth, into yours. Passionate and lusty while his own hand fumbles to deposit the nearly empty glass so he can wrap his hand around your back and tug you back towards him. It's what he's wanted for so long. Needed for so long and it's finally here.

You’re not sure which one of you loses balance first, but the result of desperately clinging to each other and refusing to let go lies in Jack toppling backward and taking you with him. It is by no means the first time you have ended up sprawled out across his chest in a fit of passion, but it has been long enough since the last time that it makes both of you smile into the kiss. You might have laughed if you weren’t so hungry to swallow every other sound he feeds you.

Jack grunts, grinning against your lips and he takes advantage by sliding his hand down to cup your ass. Rocking you on the steadily hardening bulge in the front of his jeans.

Whimpering in response, you plant your knees easily on either side of his trim hips to steady yourself and let all your sounds of approval drip into his mouth. It’s been years since you so much as kissed someone, let alone was in such a compromising position with anyone, but you soak it up with glee – because it’s him.

Suddenly it’s fifteen years ago. Both of you greedy and unable to get enough of each other. Keeping his lips on yours while he’s kicking at his boots, trying to toe them off so he can move on to removing other clothing. Unless you want him too, he’s not stopping.

Needy moans and sighs fill the room, elevating the sound of pants and labored breathing to a favourite symphony. His boots and your shoes hit the floor gracelessly, letting your balance shift once more to focus on unbuttoning his shirt even though your hands are clumsy and eager.

“Jesus.” Once the two of you come up for air, it’s a race to see who can get more buttons undone, or ripped. Jack doesn’t give a shit. The sacrifice of a shirt is a small price to pay for being able to touch you. Reaching between you when you get it opened, he flicks the button of your jeans open and drags down your zipper.

“Should’ve— fuck— worn a dress,” you grumble, hating the few seconds that you have to lift off of him to actually pull your clothing off. Your favourite shirt and most flattering jeans hit the floor with an unceremonious thunk, and you wish like hell that you had thought to put on cuter underwear for a split second before getting self-conscious. This isn’t the same body he knew – you’ve changed since pregnancy and childbirth, filled out with age. There is always a chance, however slim, that he might not be attracted to you as much as he used to be.

“Fucking hell.” Jack moans as he grabs onto your hips, larger and softer than they were before. Matured. He loves it. “Still fucking gorgeous.” He thought you were a knockout fifteen years ago, but you are even more beautiful now. Maybe it’s because you’re the mother of his child, or still hold his heart, but you are everything he wants in a woman.

That answers that, you think with a grin, as Jack practically pulls you back into his lap. “Jeans,” you mumble against his lips, your fingers already working to pull his belt buckle open. The man has never owned a single pair of jeans that wasn’t a damn second skin – not then and not now – and you love it.

Jack growls when you start to push and tug his jeans down. "Fuck, I'll do it, take off your fucking shirt." He begs, gently pushing you off of him so he can leap up off the couch and start to peel the jeans down his thighs.

You have never minded taking orders when they’re that eager, and twenty seconds later you’re standing completely naked next to the couch as he finishes kicking off his jeans and pulling off the undershirt that he was wearing under his plaid. He’s softer now, a slight belly where there used to be flat abs, and his thighs thicker with that little bit of inevitable padding that has kept strong muscles safe over the years. The body of a god right up to the cowboy pornstache and it makes you grin wickedly. “Lie back, baby,” you insist, moving to get back on the sofa and straddle his waist again.

He fucking loved, loved, when you rode him. Always teasing that he was your broncin' buck and you were trying to break him in. Laying down and reaching for you, noticing your breasts have changed and loving that fact. Giving him the daughter that is next door changed your body and when he gets the chance, he's going to kiss and praise each change individually. "Jesus, I don't remember the last time I've been this hard." He groans, cock twitching against his stomach.

“Probably the last time I was this wet.” Rolling your hips forward in his lap drags your dripping cunt along the underside of his cock and makes you both moan. “Fuck, Jack.” Actually having him beneath you again and not just imagining him with your fingers between your thighs is a head rush of the highest order, making you wish you could still swivel your hips like you used to, to just slide him right inside you.

"Yeah?" Jack grunts, tensing his stomach muscles and making his cock lift a few inches off his belly. "You like the feel of that cock against your pussy, sweetheart?" He moans himself when you grind down against him a little harder. "You— you should feel it inside you again, just to be sure you like it."

Steadying yourself with one hand on the back of the sofa, your other wraps around his thick length eagerly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance when you lift your hips. It’s all a series of relatively small movements, but sinking down on him – slowly, because shit you forgot how thick he is – is that perfect, sinful version of heaven you’ve been missing for years and years. The way your pussy has to stretch to accommodate him makes you cry out in pleasure, head dropping back while all your focus jumps to the twitching cock inside you.

Hissing between his clenched teeth, Jack tries to stay still. To not buck up and bury himself deep as your tight walls slide over him. He's already about to bust and he will curse himself blue if he disappoints you like that. Needing to make sure that you cum at least twice before he lets go himself. Especially since he hadn't eaten that pretty little cunt like he should have. After, he'll do that after. Right now, his hands are clawing at your hips and his feet are pushing against the end of the sofa so hard the damn thing creaks in protest.

There is no wasted time here, no pause to absorb or adjust, just the greedy rhythm of rise and fall as you set a slow pace riding him. He looks exquisite underneath you – like some kind of pornographic Renaissance painting – and you let yourself fall forward to press another earnest, sloppy kiss to his lips.

Jack pants against your lips, eyes fixed on you as you bounce on his cock. His hands helping you rise and sink down on him. Encouraging you to ride him at your pace but also encouraging you when your pace falters.

“M-missed you so fucking much.” It falls from your lips without thinking, the roar of your pounding blood too much to blot out the rambling of your heart. “Always l-loved you.”

"God, I love you." He breathes out, feeling like he's drowning at how harshly he's breathing and still cannot get air. He loves it. Winding his arms around you like steel bands and dragging you down to his chest while he starts to thrust up into you.

Fingertips grasping his chest for purchase mean your nails scrape over his nipples, making him gasp and you grin. He always liked just a touch of pain with his pleasure, the roughness being a gorgeous byproduct of how needy you both always were for each other.

“Fuck!” Jack bucks his hips up, dragging you down to bite on your bottom lip and grind up into you. Sex with you was always unrestrained and it seems like nothing has changed. Sure the parts are aged, but the two of you seem to work like a well-oiled machine together. The memories come back in a flood with every touch – what he liked best and the things you had discovered together. Your skin burns under his attention, his tongue tracing searing circles on your neck and chest and large hands imprinting themselves on your sides as he clutches you against him.

Groaning against your skin, he reacquaints himself with your taste. There’s nothing like it, intoxicating and completely you. “Good girl.” He pants. “You’re just as sweet as the first time I had you.”

You keen at the praise, never having been shy about loving it from him, and grind yourself down on his cock with a gasp. The extra friction of coarse hair at the base of his shaft on your sensitive clit makes you buck and whine, as your thighs starting to shake and the tightening coil in your belly heralds an orgasm like you haven’t felt in years.

“That’s it. That’s it.” Jack growls, watching you fall apart in awe. You’ve always been breathtaking when you cum, but this time is punching him in the gut. Making him lunge up and capture your lips with his own, swallowing your cries for himself.

Shaking in his arms isn’t a new sensation for you, but it’s like you’re feeling it for the first time all over again. Sobbing his own name into that kiss is like a prayer, and you feel for a moment like you’re floating on the most wonderful cloud in the world as he fucks you slowly through the aftershocks.

Jack hums, slowly lowering himself back down to the couch and sighing, stroking your back gently as you pant on his chest. “Like riding the best bike.”

“Not done yet,” you hum, regaining the rise and fall rhythm after the moment you need to catch your breath.

Jack chuckles and slides his hand down to grip your ass. “What if I told you I came?” He asks playfully.

“No you didn’t.” Your chuckle is throaty and deep. “You’re still hard, and you didn’t do the thing with your eyebrows.” The thing happens every time, or at least it used to, and the way his forehead would knit together in intense concentration only for his eyebrows to raise up fully in relaxation afterward became one of your favorite little quirks of his.

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he wonders how you know him so well. "Guilty." He strokes your back and hums. "I just don't want you too sore, darlin'."

“If you really don’t want to fill me up, I guess I understand.” Rolling your hips in a figure right in his lap draws a sharp gasp from him and you grin. “But I’ll be glad to be sore from taking you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He groans and grins at you. “Make me cum.” He orders, slapping your hip playfully.

“You’d love to go out with your cock wet.” Nipping at his bottom lip, you only pull away so you can sit up in his lap. It gives him the best view of your tits as you ramp up your pace, bouncing on his cock with renewed vigor.

“Only if it’s your juices on my cock.” He huffs, reaching up and cupping one of your tits. “Fuck baby.” He watches you with wonder. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

It’s a race now, fingertips finding your clit and rubbing fierce circles over the swollen nub to see if you can find a second peak along with him. “Come on, baby.” There’s no better feeling than this one, right here, and you keep your eyes steady on him despite how badly they want to flutter shut. “Cum in me. F—fuck! Fill me up, Jack.”

His hips are bucking up off the sofa, his arms the only thing keeping you anchored and not flying off his cock. Whining at how good you feel around him. When he cums, blood rushes into his ears and his shout is loud and pleasure filled.

You collapse easily into his chest, panting for breath in the wake of that rushed second orgasm that just barely followed his. The combination of your own cum with his paints your pussy just as assuredly as sweat has beaded on his chest, but you lean up to kiss the space between his eyebrows with a grin. That ecstatic expression on his face when his eyebrows raise will never get old.

Humming, he purses his lips at you until you kiss him. Relaxing into the sofa now that both of you are satisfied. “Still batting a thousand.” He jokes, remembering the small teasing way you had set up a scoring system on sex.

Huffing playfully, you can’t help but grin at him. “Does it help or hurt your average that you actually fucked me so hard that you bypassed my birth control?”

“I think that counts as a grand slam.” He jokes, sliding his hands up and down your back slowly as the two of you relax. “Technically speaking, I did exactly what the act is supposed to do.”

“Technically.” You can’t really disagree with that, so you just snuggle happily into his arms and giggle slightly to yourself. “Way better than a walk.”

“Yes it was.” He agrees with a smirk, leaning up to kiss the top of your head. “Although, we do still need to talk.” It’s a hell of an ice breaker though, considering his cock is still inside you.

“I guess.” The exaggerated roll of your eyes is only to make him smile, and you draw yourself away from him reluctantly. “Give me just a minute to use the bathroom and then we can pretend to be rational adults?”

“It should be in the same location as yours.” He agrees, sitting up as you stand. “No weird tech watching you in there.” He promises with a wink. “Just old-fashioned leering on my part.”

“You’re allowed.” You promise him, striding off to his downstairs bathroom to clean yourself up and steal a moment of composure. However this conversation goes, it’s sure to be emotional.

While you're gone, Jack tugs on his boxer briefs and pours the two of you another round of whiskey. He hadn't expected the sex, even though it was great. He had truly meant for the two of you talk. He picks up your clothes and folds them neatly to set on a chair for you to dress or not, and turns on the gas fireplace. He misses the wood burning fireplace in Kentucky but can't fault the convenience of this.

When you return just a few minutes later, a self-consciousness has set in that has stolen the sway from your hips and made you grateful that Jack had stacked your clothes because it makes it a hell of a lot faster to pull them on. Not that that reunion wasn’t amazing – but you were supposed to be talking.

As disappointed as he is that you are dressing, he understands it. After you button the last button, he saunters over to you and hands you the whiskey glass. “So, what do you want, darlin’?” He asks softly. “Perfect world.”

“Perfect world?” You sip the amber liquid with a sigh – Statesman is actually incredibly tasty – and let your eyes shut for just a moment on the fantasy. The one you’ve had thousands of times over the years. “You.” You murmur, buying yourself a moment with another small sip. “Us. Our family together.”

“Okay.” He’s a little relieved that you are making it so easy for him. “I want to make sure that we make the right choices, and our daughter is priority.” He doesn’t want to fuck up or make some kind of mistake with her. “Let me know what kind of role you want me to have.”

“I want you to be as involved as you want to be.” It seems like a pithy answer, but it’s honest. You don’t have any idea how demanding his life is, or what his completely insane job might necessitate. “In a perfect world – the fantasy one – we would decide we can’t live without each other and we’d get married, and you’d be there for everything. But your life is…it’s more complicated than that. And I don’t know what is realistic to ask of you.”

Jack nods, understanding what you are saying. “I think that marriage would be the goal for us.” He says honestly. “But I do want you to see if you can handle the life I live. Date me and see if I match the memory in your pretty head.”

“I might not match what you remember, either.” Or, your worst fear, he may decide he doesn’t want to be a father after all. Actually make the conscious decision to leave you and Mallory. “Dating seems like the smart plan.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Changed some, maybe less partying and semipublic sex, but I doubt you are much different that the girl I fell in love with.”

“Definitely less public sex.” There’s no debating that, and you practically snort into your drink as you shake your head. “My life is Mallory now. I go to the office, and I have Mal. That’s it.”

He nods, knowing that his own life is just work. “When I’m not on assignment, I’m normally just in the office every day.”

“But when you are…” Your eyes tick up to his. “You’re in danger.”

“Sometimes.” He admits but shoots you a grin. “But I’m real good at my job, darlin’.”

“So what happens when you go on a mission?” It’s the thing you can’t really wrap your head around, for obvious reasons. “I’m assuming it’s not all…shoot ups and seductions like in the movies?” At least you hope not.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “A lot of times it’s boring intel gathering.” He explains. “And to be honest, the seduction gets old after a while. Some of these women look like little girls!” He huffs. “I’m getting old, starting to leave that to Tequila. He’s still a young buck.”

“Tequila?” The code name makes you laugh, snorting softly at how silly it sounds to your untrained ear. “Are you all named after liquor?”

“Champ is short for Champagne.” He tells you with a grin. “But don’t let him hear you callin’ him that.”

“He didn’t strike me as a champagne guy, but that was just a first impression.” Sitting back down on the couch, you draw your legs up beside you and wrap both hands around your glass with a tentative expression on your face. “So…you wouldn’t be getting shot at or sleeping with other women every time?”

“If we are together, I won’t be sleeping with anyone but you.” Jack assures you. “I’m too old to play games. Never was a man who liked a cheat.”

“Okay.” You reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I…I wouldn’t have stopped you from doing your job. But it would have made me uncomfortable.”

He understands, if the roles were reversed, he would feel the same. “So we date, and we make sure that we are giving our daughter a healthy relationship to look up to.” Jack chuckles. “It’s a damn good thing you live next door.”

“We’re honest with each other and we communicate.” Never in your life have you sat and methodically plotted out your relationship like this, but maybe that was okay. Maybe doing something different was key. After all, none of those other relationships had stuck, had they? There must have been a reason. “All she’s ever wanted is to have her dad in her life. She’s going to be thrilled.”

“Darlin’, you’ve—” Jack chokes up slightly and slides closer to you. Setting his glass down so he can cup your cheek. His eyes are slightly watery but he doesn’t give a damn. “You’ve given me the best gift I could have ever imagine.” He chokes out softly. “You’re back in my life and you’ve given me a daughter, a family.”

“I hope you’re ready for baseball games and Taylor Swift concerts.” Smiling against his hand is the easiest feeling in the world, lighting you up from the inside out. “And Disney and horror movies in equal measure.”

“I’m ready for it all.” Jack grins. “Statesman has season tickets to the Yankees.”

"If you weren't already her dad, that would make you her favourite person." Setting your glass down again, you can allow yourself the luxury of sinking into his arms and inhaling the comforting smell of his cologne and whatever makes up him – along with the smell of sex that always seems to accompany you. Especially back then. "I love you, Jack." You murmur, roping your arms around him. "Always have."

“I love you too, darlin’.” Jack presses his lips to your forehead and sighs softly. “I love you so much, and I promises you – now that I’ve got you back in my arms again – I’m never lettin’ you go.”

______

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omegaplus · 9 months

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#4,438

July 21, 2022 Playlist.

The biggest music haul ever had been made. So big that I needed two visits to the same store, Jesus, and fucking Mary to pull it off. High Fidelity’s stock has gotten so stuffed that there were piles and piles of disorganized vinyl records, discs, and cassettes all over the place. Under the bins, on top of the bins, on the floor, up high on the wall that you can’t reach. Mark the owner was so bad with overstock that he moved two blocks down to a bigger space and that wasn’t enough. His downstairs stock room he once boasted was off-limits and even a stack of vinyl records almost fell on me from above. It was a literal death hazard - but I survived. You’d think that two round-trips and $893.00 spent would be the penultimate event to cap off another intensive record-store victory tour. No.

There were two other stores I’d yet to visit. Plainview’s Vinyl Bay 777 and Amangansett’s Innersleeve Records. The one time I went to Vinyl Bay- was when I walked out empty-handed because they marked all of their stock three to four times more what other stores sold. There was no reason for me to pay more than I should for a vinyl record I could find elsewhere for a third or fourth of the price. Vinyl Bay was disqualified. That left Innersleeve Records a place of interest. I didn’t go in the previous round and had considered making the ninety-minute trip out to the East End to check it out - until I saw their latest social media post. Ouch! Their prices were even higher than that of Vinyl Bay’s and on new pressings. Vinyl-price cockfighting at its finest. I wanted no part of it. That moment I declared my island run of stores done. Nope. That’s it. I don’t want to hear it any more. La la la la la la fuck you.

Though, there was one store in New York City I was meaning to visit. That was Greenpoint’s Captured Tracks. My show Omega WUSB had just done a three-hour label tribute about the feel-good label and we always played their artists when we found them. They were around for years with no sign of stopping, so why not come take a ride and check it out? Let’s have another bonus round with another city jaunt, shall we?

Late July’s weather isn’t the most colorful but it’s certainly the brightest when it has cloud cover. I stood at the Central Islip platform and look up to see the lit white skies in 80*F weather. I board the train westward to Penn Station and…what a surprise? It’s thunder-storming and raining mercilessly. I didn’t see this coming, so I have no choice but to deal with it.

Deal with it I did. God didn’t give me lemons but instead gave me a 9/2 offsuit. I arrived at Penn Station and transferred to catch the ‘E’ line. It was insufferable. This was a sneak preview of the 7th Circle Of Hell. Everyone dealt with post-rain humidity in a limited underground space and were dying like dogs. I was drenched in sweat and felt like my clothes were falling off. The ‘E’ arrived and what a saving grace. I felt the cold chill of the air conditioner settling on me, erasing the half-an-hour of disgusting unease. The ‘E’ ended its travel and I transfer to the ‘G’ line to Greenpoint. In five minutes it was all over.

I walk up the stairs to Manhattan Ave. and I see nothing but hazy blue skies and sharp sunshine beaming on me, as if the rainstorm never even happened. I’m back at my element. I walk south on Manhattan Ave. to observe and breathe in what was Brooklyn to me. Two blonde women in Polish tongues walk past me as I process the storefronts, the graffiti, sticker vandalism, and cramped crooked sidewalks. I approach and turn the corner on Calyer Street only to learn that I walked past Captured Tracks?! I turn around and I finally found it. The way to The House of Mike Sniper was downstairs. It was a dream, was it? I never had to take a downwards path to any establishment. I hobbled below and here we are: a dense but neatly-packed music store with plenty of boxes of 45”, pricey first- and rare pressings, bins to fumble through, and several lower shelves of records not for sale designated for their Discogs store. It was going to be another intense day digging in the bins.

Three hours and $117.00 later, I finally declared my record-store victory tour of ‘22 finished for good. Nothing else fitting to cap it off with another perfect day in Greenpoint. I walk up Manhattan Avenue with my tote of vinyl records away from the clear sharp sun as its intensive rays bake into my skin. The skies bluer and the air much dryer. Then I notice something I didn’t expect to find: Sunshine Laundromat. Here’s another place I was dying to visit since my post-operation; one which my radio station friends decided to go without me. I’m here, so why not? I’m about to walk into a surreal dream - in reality.

I walk in and I couldn’t believe it. It’s the first time I walked into a laundromat since my stay in Lindenhurst. I walk down the narrow space past the rogue pinball tables and there was the secret door disguised as stackable units that led into the back room arcade. A speak-easy if I ever saw one. All that stood between me and that Murphy door was the nice lady who ran the place. She told me they would re-open the pinball speakeasy as soon as the city OKs their alcohol license. Sounds hopeful if you ask me. I thanked her for the good news and walked out knowing there will be another reason to come back to Brooklyn.

I head on to the ‘G’ to transfer and ride on the ‘E’ line back to Penn Station. It’s 7PM and the visible sun is coming down for the day; slowly sinking against the perfectly clean sky blue backdrop with no clouds in sight. I board the train back home and take a window seat moving backwards. The train motions and the blinding sun peeks through the window as I feel the frigid blanket of the air conditioner. There’s a sparse placement of riders in the same car as me. I can sit and relax knowing that my entire run of spending money all over New York City and Long Island has come to a satisfying end.

New Mexico Stargazers: “Santa Fe Cruiser”

Did You Die: “We Can Do Whatever”

True Dreams: “Reaching”

Vasco Rossi: “Siamo Soli”

Queensway: “Return To Dirt”

Pinch Points: “Am I Feeling OK?”

Public Service: “O Sabine”

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Snags”

Grimes: “Shinigami Eyes”

Schedule 1: “Show Your Children”

Mom: “Things Come Into Place”

Paper Dollhouse: “Swans”

Bad Kiss: “Gimme Action”

Strangers With Guns: “Somebody Needs A Hug’

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Color”

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Dead Air”

Deeper: “Only A Shadow”

Totally Unicorn: “All”

Paper Dollhouse: “Moon”

Spellling: “Queen Of Wands”

Krallice: “Crystaline Exhaustion”

Daniel Johnston: “In A Lifetime”

Sasami: “Say It”

INVSN: “Slow Disco”

Traps PS: “Voids”

Life In Vacuum: “9 To 5”

Jesus Fucking Christ: “Sadistic Madness”

Black Dresses: “Hertz”

Free Love: “May You Be The Mother”

Belk: “Question Of Stress”

Michael Berdan: “God Won’t Help Me (Cause Man Won’t)”

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #industrial #d.i.y.#post-punk #electronic #punk #d-beat #metal #noise rock #folk #experimental #personal #NYC #New York City #Long Island

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jerryantiques · 1 year

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tawaifeddiediaz · 2 years

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in a name

I wasn’t supposed to write this fic with all the others I have lined up but here it is anyway, girldads!Buddie for @bieddiediaz :)) (inspired by this post)

[AO3 Link]

Word Count: 4540 words They don’t mean for it to happen.

Of course they don’t.

It’s just…a strange consequence that they don’t really see coming, of course.

“Papa!”

Vera flies into Buck’s arms as soon as he and Eddie walk into her preschool, her loud yell earning them more than a few stares. Buck can’t bring it in himself to care as he wraps his arms around his daughter, hauling her up into a huge hug.

This is hardly the first time he’s picked her up from preschool, but it never seems to get easier to have her out of his sight for the four hour school day, or Christopher for his seven hour one. His heart stays in his throat until he sees both their kids in front of them, safe and sound.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he laughs, tickling her sides as she wiggles in his arms. “How was school?”

Eddie’s hand lands at the small of his back, heavy and familiar as he leans in to ruffle their daughter’s hair. “Get into trouble today?”

“No! I’m a good girl,” Vera pouts, even as she reaches for Eddie.

“The best,” Buck agrees, carefully transferring her into his husband’s arms. Vera’s satisfied with his answer, and smooths her finger along Eddie’s eyebrow, endlessly fascinated with her father’s face. Buck laughs as the mock annoyance in his husband’s expression turns playful and he smacks a loud kiss on her cheek. Vera dissolves into peals of laughter as she clings to Eddie’s neck, and Buck leans into them, casting a look around the room.

Which, to put it lightly, looks like a tornado ripped through it.

Messes of toys are scattered all over the place. Building blocks lay strewn on the colorful carpet, cards are scattered over the small tables and if Buck looks closely, he can see a couple juice box spills on the desks. One man weaves around the tables, picking up all the fall hazards as quickly as he can with the other parents approaching, practically chucking them into the big bin in the corner of the room.

One of Vera’s teachers approaches the three of them, her kind face cheery and smiling. Ms. Roshan, Buck remembers as he reaches out to shake her hand.

“You’re both here today!” she exclaims, looking between them.

“Yeah, we got off shift early,” Eddie explains, tugging Vera’s sticky fingers free from his hair. Buck swallows the laughter that threatens to burst out of him at the section now yanked out of place, like the world’s worst cowlick. “Thought we both should be here for her first parent-teacher conference.”

“Well you’re right on time, because I think you were the first to arrive. Why don’t we get settled in my office? Vera, do you want to play out here while I talk to your dads?”

“No, I have to go with Daddy.” She tightens her grip on Eddie’s collar, her tiny nails digging into his neck. Buck winces, knowing exactly how those scratches feel, and makes a mental note to trim them down before tomorrow. “I have to.”

He knows that tone, and knows that there will probably be hell to pay in the form of stomping feet and huffing.

“Okay, you can come,” Buck assures, glancing at Ms. Roshan apologetically.

She doesn’t look put off by it, only beckoning them through a pair of double doors into a small corner office. Before they go in, Buck quickly smooths Eddie’s hair from the side, offering his husband a quick smile as they walk in.

Roshan Armaan hangs on the wall behind her chair in a dotted letter font. The laminated placard is complete with a triad of she/her/hers pronouns and two bright yellow pencils below the name. There’s not much more than a computer, a framed picture and a few chairs, but it’s cozy — as spacious as it can be with most of the room allotted to the actual classroom.

Vera picks up the Rubik’s Cube sitting on her teacher’s desk, immediately too engrossed in playing around with it to pay attention to their conversation. Buck has to smile — her hand isn’t even as big as one of the faces of the cube.

“So? How’s Vera liking preschool?” Roshan asks, pressing a few buttons on her keyboard. “I remember the first few days she was apprehensive about being here.”

That is a massive understatement.

“Uh, she’s moved past it, for sure,” Buck answers, propping his arms around their daughter when Vera deigns to sit on both Buck and Eddie, who are sitting close enough to press their thighs into a makeshift seat for her.

“She’s always so excited to come here now, it’s hard to believe she hated the idea at the beginning,” Eddie adds.

The first days were hell on them. Vera had screamed, cried, pulled at them and thrown multiple tantrums of epic proportions both the night before and the day of preschool. Buck and Eddie had both gone to drop her off, and she��d cried so much that both of them were teary eyed by the time they finally managed to drop her off.

She hadn’t lasted an hour the first day.

Buck had gone to pick her up, her face blotchy and scowling. She’d been mad enough that she hadn’t even let him take her in his arms. He had no idea what to do with it, so he’d elected to wait it out until they at least got to the car. A couple breathing exercises and he finally managed to calm her down enough to drive them home.

(He might’ve also had to bribe her with a soft pretzel and ice cream, but that’s between him and the heartbroken, betrayed look on his daughter’s face that Buck is eternally weak for.)

It was the same story the second day — Eddie ended up running out of their shift early because Vera wouldn’t stop crying. Bobby had immediately let him go, but Buck’s heart had been in his throat until he got home from his own shift to find Vera sleeping soundly on top of an exhausted Eddie’s chest.

“She’s scared,” Eddie had said, his hand tracing absent patterns on their daughter’s back. Her fists had been curled tightly in her father’s shirt, her shock of dark curls spilling all over her face as she slept on peacefully.

“New things are always scary. How do we make it less scary, especially for a kid?” Buck had asked.

“I don’t know.” And Eddie’s voice had cracked, having always felt their kids’ pain like it was his own, and that marked the end of the conversation until at least after dinner.

At the end of the day, it was Chris who managed to convince her to stay for the full four hours, just to see how she would like it. Vera almost always listened to her older brother, and that night had been no different.

Buck and Eddie still don’t know what magic he’d spun, but she’d come home from the next day a whole new person, suddenly excited to go to preschool because of all her new friends and the playground and the snacks . The fear hadn’t vanished overnight, but it grew smaller and smaller until she was comfortable enough to streak from the car towards Caden and Priscilla, who waited for her at drop-off every day, without even a glance back at them.

Her instant friendship with the two kids was proof enough of how she’d learned to adjust so quickly, and Buck knew that it was the same for Caden and Priscilla, too. Priscilla’s dad had told them that his daughter was having the same meltdowns up until she found her new friends in the class. Caden’s moms had approached them about a playdate within the second week, just because their son wouldn’t stop talking about his two new friends.

The three kids had become a tight-knit group, clearly supporting each other in a way that only four-year-olds could, and for that, Buck and Eddie were grateful.

“Most kids experience a form of separation anxiety when they start preschool, because they’re away from their parents, or other primary guardians for the first time. It’s fully expected, but she’s a well-adjusted child.” Roshan smiles at her. Underneath the table, Buck reaches past Vera’s legs to tangle his fingers with Eddie’s, uncaring of how sweaty both their palms are.

Roshan talks about the curriculum, pulling out a folder with all of Vera’s drawings and worksheets as she explains what they’ve been doing in class since August. “We’ve been working our way through colors and basic shapes. We’ve also started teaching the kids one letter a day, trying to familiarize them with the alphabet and how each letter sounds. Vera seems to recognize them on an above average level, and is even able to give examples.”

Buck looks over at where Eddie’s flipping through the various papers. All the worksheets have a gold sticker stuck to the corner of them, crayon following dotted lines to form letters of the alphabet.

“Looks like Chris’ artistry rubbed off on her,” Eddie observes, his smile that particular curve that only their kids brought out in him. Buck had deemed it his “Christopher smile” when he’d first met him, but now, he sees it as something that both their kids brought out in him.

Eddie passes the paper he’s holding to Buck, who finds himself looking down at a particularly colorful dinosaur. Every part of the drawing is a different color, but somehow, she’s made it work.

Or maybe Buck’s just biased.

“Yeah, that’s for Chris.” Vera nods, taking hold of the paper and setting it away from the folder before going back to the Rubik’s Cube. Buck watches her for a second before gesturing towards the paper.

“Can we take that home?”

“You can take the whole folder, actually. We have copies of anything we’ll need. Uh, let’s see,” Roshan turns back to her computer, scrolling through something. “During the next few weeks, we’ll be focusing on things like our community and the people who work in it. We’ll also be talking about weather, two-letter sounds. But as of now, none of us have any special concerns about Vera. She’s a joy to have in the class, and gets along so well with the other students.”

If Buck’s chest puffs out a little more from pride, that’s between him, the husband currently squeezing his hand, and God.

He doesn’t have to look over at Eddie to know that he’s in a similar state, having sat up straighter in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, Buck can see the proud grin on his husband’s face, and squeezes his fingers tighter in response.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is there anything we can do at home to help her prepare for the units?” Eddie asks.

Roshan shakes her head. “Just what you’re already doing! Reading, practicing the letters and sounds, helping your child identify things about themselves and reviewing previous concepts from the last nine weeks are all ways you can keep on top of the curriculum, so she doesn’t start to forget. Practice is important.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Eddie nods, clearly taking mental notes of everything the teacher tells them. If not for Vera in his lap, Buck would’ve been scrawling a million notes, but lucky for him, Eddie’s memory is sharper than the tip of an arrow.

“Anything else?”

“Uh, no, I think we’re good,” Buck says, exchanging a look with his husband. Eddie shrugs in turn, agreeing with him.

“Alright, then let’s head out?” Roshan gets out of her chair to hold the door open for them.

Vera crawls back into Buck’s arms, while Eddie tries to pry the Rubik’s cube from her hands.

“No!”

“Kiddo, that’s Ms. Roshan’s. Can you give it back to her, please?”

Vera only barely pouts before Buck levels her with a firm look. She hands the cube over to her teacher, sighing dramatically and nearly bending over backwards with her theatrics. It takes quick reflexes and a mini heart attack from Buck to stop her from falling out of his grasp, but for her part, all she does is giggle.

“She gets those dramatics from you,” Buck grumbles to Eddie as he supports her head, carefully walking out the door lest Vera decide to jump out of his arms again. The grin on her face is a spitting image of Eddie when he thinks he’s gotten away with something under Buck’s nose.

“Right,” Eddie replies, sarcasm high in his voice. “Nothing to do with all you’ve taught Chris over the years.”

“I plead the fifth,” Buck sniffs.

Roshan’s laugh sounds behind them, startling them out of their reverie. Buck hadn’t realized she was following them out. “You know, you’ll have to forgive me for saying this, but it’s a good thing we have your names on our forms. Otherwise, we’d think your names were babe , love or sweetheart .”

Buck feels the moment Eddie goes ramrod stiff, a similar embarrassment rushing down his own spine as they turn to face their daughter’s teacher. “Excuse me?”

“Our first unit focused on the kid’s talking about themselves and their families. And when we asked her what her parents’ names were, and she said ‘babe’ and ‘love,’ and I quote, ‘but sometimes their names are sweetheart, too,’”

“Oh my god.” Eddie’s voice is strangled in his throat, and Buck feels his face turn beet red as he looks at his mischievous child, who’s grinning like nothing ever happened as she pokes his now flaming cheeks.

“They are! Daddy calls you that all the time,” Vera tells Buck matter-of-factually. Eddie does use the pet names all the time, but almost never outside their house — something private for them, just the way they like it.

Something private that’s now public to their daughter’s preschool class.

His four-year-old is going to be the death of him.

“Er…” Buck tries to search for words, only to come up empty.

Death by embarrassment, of all things.

Roshan only laughs again, kindly saying, “Don’t worry. It was sweet, and we always get at least one kid per year who thinks their parents’ names are endearments. Just thought you’d like to know! I’m glad she has that model in front of her. Growing up in a nurturing family is important, especially at her age.”

That only makes it marginally better, that they’re not the only ones, but Eddie’s face is stuck in a warped smile that makes him look strange, and Buck’s sure he’s not faring much better.

“Can we go home now?” Vera demands when the silence turns too awkward, linking her arms around Buck’s neck. “Is Chris at home?” He can hear the drowsy tone in her voice, and knows she’s probably going to go down for a nap after this.

“He’s still at school,” Eddie answers automatically, because this is a question she asks every time they pick her up. He still looks horrified for being exposed to a whole class of preschoolers as a secret romantic, as if they’re going to tell everyone.

Buck’s sympathetic to his cause, because the embarrassment has crept down his spine and rooted itself there.

“Better get this one home, then. Thanks for everything, Ms. Roshan,” he says lamely, trying to excuse them as fast as possible. He reaches for Eddie’s hand almost on auto-pilot before thinking better of it, saying his goodbyes and excusing himself.

From the sounds of it, Eddie’s not far behind but Buck’s poor husband looks mortified, even as he buckles Vera into her car seat. Buck switches the AC on full blast to cool some of the heat in his face as he waits for Eddie to slide into the passenger seat. Sandalwood cologne precedes him, the familiar scent grounding enough for Buck to settle back in his seat.

“She’s a menace on wheels,” Eddie mutters quietly, pressing his palms to his face and groaning loudly into them, now that they’re in the safety of their car. “Do we really use pet names that much?”

Buck pulls out of the preschool parking lot, thinking of how to answer. “Well, I don’t know? I guess? How are we supposed to know? It’s not like we’re counting.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Eddie groans again, slumping in his chair as he peeks in the rearview mirror at a blissfully unaware Vera, staring up at the TV playing old Popeye cartoons in the backseat.

“At least she’s growing up knowing her parents love each other,” Buck points out, remembering Roshan’s words. “Remember what her teacher said?”

Both Buck and Eddie grew up with parents who barely tolerated each other most of the time, so they both know what it’s like to never see love between them. Being able to set a healthy example for their kids is gratifying to a part of Buck that always fears that he’s messing this whole parenting thing up, and he knows it’s the same for Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie concedes, his hand dropping to Buck’s knee. Buck’s free hand comes up to slot in the spaces between his spread fingers. “I’m still mortified, though. I’m never going to be able to look at her teachers ever again.”

Eddie, who feels embarrassment more keenly than most, is probably going to lament about this for the next sixty years.

“If you stop using them, I’ll kill you,” Buck threatens, only half-joking. He refuses to let this incident take away the gooey feeling that even six years of marriage and countless reiterations hasn’t been able to take away from the pet names.

Eddie grins at him, and Buck relaxes in his seat, spinning Eddie’s wedding ring around between his thumb and index finger as he drives. “It’ll take much more than a class of preschoolers to make me stop.”

“Chris is going to get a kick out of this, though,” Buck tells him as he pulls into their driveway, clocking the time. An hour yet until their oldest gets home, which is plenty of time for them to get over the secondhand embarrassment of being caught out as a pair of saps.

(Or, so he thinks.)

They manage to push the incident from their mind for the rest of the afternoon, Eddie carrying a sleepy Vera into the house while Buck trails after them, locking the car and disappearing into their room to change into comfortable clothes.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to join him on the couch, now wearing a bedraggled old T-shirt of Buck’s as he flops down beside him. Buck immediately drops his head into his husband’s lap and gets comfy with his legs stretched over the arm of the couch, smiling when Eddie’s fingers automatically weave through his hair.

“She falls asleep so quickly. I’m jealous of my own four-year-old,” Eddie tells him, tugging absently on Buck’s hair as he talks. His nails scrape back and forth in a pattern that lulls Buck towards oblivion, sparks trickling down his spine with each pass. Warmth unfolds at the quiet act of intimacy, and Buck thinks that if he could, he’d be purring right now.

“ I’m probably going to fall asleep on you if you keep doing that,” Buck replies, wrapping his hand around Eddie’s wrist to hold onto his partner instead. Eddie moves to splay his palm across Buck’s chest instead, turning the TV on.

“Well, at least we’re raising two young, popular, funny geniuses. Chris used to get pretty much the same comments from his teachers,” Eddie says after a while.

Buck tears his eyes away from where a contestant on Eddie’s baking show just burned her cake, peering up at his husband. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve heard the puns Carla and I had to put up with during his first parent-teacher meeting. The one where we found out that Chris was telling his classmates that tsunamis aren’t scary.”

Buck remembers laughing over the puns with Carla, staring incredulously at Eddie and cringes a little at the memory as he looks back at the TV.

During that year, if someone had told Buck that one day, he and Eddie would go to their daughter’s parent-teacher meeting together, married and in love, he would’ve laughed in their face. The thought of marrying his best friend, and getting Chris and Eddie in his life permanently, would've been nothing more than a pipe dream.

Buck still can't believe the sheer number of turns their lives took after that one conference. Even after all these years of being Eddie’s partner in every way, he sometimes can’t believe it, even though he wears the proof on his finger.

With Vera asleep, the house is silent enough that the afternoon passes slowly, Eddie tracing the lines on Buck’s graphic T-shirt and Buck pressing back into him for this rare moment of peace.

“Is it really that embarrassing?” he asks after another contestant drops his entire bowl of frosting on the floor. “If they know?”

He wonders it out loud, because now that it’s ebbing off, Buck feels a weird sort of pride settle in his chest, wrapping around the places Eddie lives in him. It feels like they’ve reached some sort of benchmark, a goal that Buck’s always yearned for without any expectation of actually meeting it.

Eddie snorts. “Nah. Now that I think about it, I like the idea of Chris and Vera seeing us like this — in love and happy.”

His husband’s expression matches the thoughts running through Buck’s head, his warm eyes a shade darker than usual as he looks down at Buck. E ddie’s fingers tap out Buck’s heartbeat over where it lies in his chest. The words make something swell in Buck’s chest at being loved like Eddie loves him, of having this family where he doesn’t repeat the mistakes his parents made with him and Maddie.

The look on his face is peaceful, serene and content, but Buck can’t help but remember the very start of their relationship, where pulling those confessions from either of them would’ve been like pulling teeth. So much to risk, after everything they’d been through, but somehow, it was that stipulation that got them together in the end, anyway.

“We deserve to be happy, too,” Eddie had whispered over a mountain of soapy dishes, his hair falling in his eyes from his shower and entirely vulnerable as he met Buck’s gaze with his own. “And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“You make me happy,” Buck had said, and kissed him.

That had been that. Eddie admitting that he was happy was worth far more than any grand proposal or love confession, because all Buck had ever wanted to do was see that contentment in his best friend.

He just didn’t know it could come about because of him.

“Yeah, me too,” Buck says now, working around the lump in his throat at the memories Eddie’s words bring back. Eddie’s fingers slot with his own, his ring bumping against Buck’s, and absently, Buck presses his lips to his knuckles.

Despite their conversation, the mortification of being caught out by their daughter’s teacher comes back in full force when Chris comes home.

“How’d the meeting go?” Chris asks, dropping into the chair across from them. He drops his bag haphazardly on the coffee table, but it only takes one look from Eddie for him to set it carefully next to the couch instead.

(Even if he rolls his eyes as he does it.)

“Vera has stuff to show you,” Buck tells him, gesturing to the folder lying on the table. Chris makes no move to pick it up, nodding along as if he knows that only Vera’s allowed to show him, on her own time.

“Apparently, Buck and I are too in love for the little menace,” Eddie grumbles, amusement belaying his true feelings on the matter.

“Oh, the pet names,” he nods knowingly, leaning back to flick through his phone like nothing’s ever happened.

Buck sits up instantly, turning a glare on their oldest. “You knew? ”

“Of course I knew,” he scoffs. “Vera asked me what your names were after she came home from school that day, which was a weird question until she told me what happened.”

Eddie covers his face with a hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about meddling children and how they’re too clever for him to keep up with. Through his fingers, Buck can see the bright red flush that seems to be a permanent addition to Eddie’s face as of two hours ago.

Buck thinks that maybe he shouldn’t really be surprised. Chris and Vera are as thick as thieves, and there are hardly any secrets between them. More than once, Buck and Eddie have found themselves overpowered by the sheer might of their kids, and the two know it, absolutely unabashed in exploiting their weaknesses.

“You could’ve warned us!” Buck throws his hands up, entirely exasperated.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Sixteen has apparently brought out Christopher’s inner comedian, because he grins cheekily, entirely unrepentant and most likely enjoying just how fidgety Eddie’s getting. Buck smacks his husband’s shin to get him to settle down, flopping back onto Eddie’s lap. This time, he lets Eddie take the weight of his shoulders, too — like the weighted stuffed animal Chim got him one year — in hopes of calming whatever lingering anxiety he can sense radiating off of him.

“What about everything else?”

“All good,” Eddie tells him, recalling what Roshan had told them. “We just need to keep practicing the things she’s already learned so she doesn’t forget them.”

“Chris!” Vera’s yell echoes through the house, clearly having clocked her brother’s presence. Buck mentally counts the seconds as her little footfalls race down the hallway.

“That’s too much energy for just waking up,” Eddie mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. “We’re going to regret that when she doesn’t sleep tonight.”

“Took her five seconds,” Buck whispers back, watching as their daughter ignores them completely to jump onto the sofa next to her brother.

Eddie wraps an arm tighter around Buck as they abandon the baking show to watch Vera excitedly show Chris all the drawings and worksheets in the folder. The couch isn’t big enough to handle her excitement, and papers flutter uselessly to the ground as Chris fawns over each one.

Buck’s a little starstruck, if he’s honest, because this is his family and he gets to have this after years and years of feeling alone — after years of searching for where he belongs, only to end up back with the man who’s made him feel like something from the day he entered Buck’s life.

He thinks the universe cut him a pretty damn good deal.

“I would take being mortified in front of the entire damn world if it means we get this,” Eddie whispers to him, turning a bright smile down on Buck — the one that softens the planes of his face and lights up his eyes.

Buck reaches up to trace the dimple that creases his cheek, pulling him into a chaste kiss before turning back towards their kids.

“I know, babe. I know.”

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 years

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Dare: Challenge Chests

Getting to the chest was only half the test, getting it open is going to be even less straightforward

Opening treasure chests is one of the most iconic moments in d&d, as recognizable a keystone of fantasy gaming as impractical weapons, dragons hanging off of towers, and spellcasters with impractical fashion sense. Every game that apes d&d uses treasure chests in its iconography, and the addictive game design practice of “loot boxes” traces its lineage back to this archetypal aspect of the hobby.

How weird is it then that there isn’t more mechanical design surrounding these glorious vessels of gold and gain?

Oh sure, you’ve got your occasional trapped chest, and we’ve all learned the trick by now of poking any prospective chest with a stick to see if its a mimic first, but there’s a real opportunity for us dungeonmasters here to mix things up After all, almost EVERY dungeon delve features multiple opportunities to grab treasure, which means multiple opportunities to have an encounter based around the treasure itself.

Here are a few “modifiers” you can apply to chests to make them the centerpiece of an interesting encounter, though I advise only doing this once per dungeon/dungeon level, reserving it for one of the BIG treasure drops, as the extra struggle will make the reward worth it. Under the cut I’ve got a few other design ideas, including a lockpicking minigame

Challenge Chests:

Heavy: Made of metal, weighed with stone, or simply impractically large, this chest requires two people to move comfortably (or one person with goliath level strength) . Combine this reduction in functional party size with a chase scene for added tension, or force the players to test their luck with rickety bridges or thinning ice as they navigate their way out of the dungeon with their loot.

Alarming: when opened or moved this chest releases a screech or scream that deafens those nearby it while sounding the alarm for everyone nearby, effectively turning a heist into an uncoordinated ambush.

Weeping: cursed with the spirits of the drowned, this chest constantly snivels, producing a trail of brackish water that’s easily tracked. For extra fun, give it to your pirate players and inform them some time later that their ship is unexpectedly taking on water..... or suppise them as their bag of holding suddenly explodes, its capacity reached by gallons of tears.

Red handed: like the weeping chest, but this curse produces blood or dye which stains the thieves hands for days in addition to leaving a trail, perfect for identification by authorities.

Vulcan’s ire: a rune carved into this chest causes any treasure taken out of it to become instantly red hot. This will burn most delicate items while making coins and other treasures scarring to the touch. Beware of causing fires when dividing up loot at the inn, smart players will find a stone room to dump the treasure out in to let it cool before transfering to a new container.

Unlucky: whether through noise, smell, or simple misfortune, this chest causes the party to face more random encounters, attracting monsters through bad luck and foiling the party’s stealth rolls.

Wandering: This chest is actually an animated object, unintelligent, but programmed to wander off if it senses that its not being directly looked at. Likely to wander off during a dungeon if the party doesn’t send someone to babysit it, or to skulk of at night while the party is sleeping at camp, forcing the group to track it down.

Fleeting: Once removed from its place, this chest (and its contents) are on a time limit. One made of magical ice in a fire dungeon may eventually break and scatter its contents everywhere, whereas one constructed of moonlight in a fey prince’s palace returns to its place every dawn, potentially negating the entire haul.

Gooey: Alternatively sticky, slippery, or caustic to the touch, an ooze has infected the boards of this chest, making it difficult to move. Breaking the chest may inadvertently release the ooze for a fight, potentially spawning a gelatinous ooze or other harmful slime right on top of the party.

Some notes on chests:

Isn’t this making things a bit complicated? Yes, but specifically highlighting your player’s struggles with ONE chest helps sell the fantasy of being treasure hunters that’s so core to the d&d experiance. At the same time, keeping these encounters tight and focused saves us from the grognard glorydays where the DM made you assemble a wagon train to get every copper out of the dungeon.

Why not just smash the chest? Generally I presume smashing a chest to be a bad move: you may damage materials inside it, or set off a trap. Better to move it to a secure location and give the party’s burglar a chance to disarm it calmly, rather than waiting around in the middle of a dungeon for a random encounter to wander by. Likewise, Unless you have a bag of holding ready, smashing a chest means you’re now in possession of a whole pile of loose treasure and missing one container perfectly sized to carry it. The Smash n grab technique is for parties that go loud and don’t have time to pick through everything on the way back.

Isn’t this kinda like Sea of Thieves? I won’t lie, I got the idea for chests as part of encounter design ( as well as the notion for the weeping chest) from watching the reviews of that game. Inspiration comes in everywhere!

My Advanced Lockpicking system:

intended as a quick way to simulate a character putting effort into all the fiddly details of disarming a mechanism without the strict pass fail of a d20 roll

The character rolls a number of d6s = to their dex mod and proficiency in slight of hand. At the same time, they roll an intelligence check based on how complex the locking mechanism is. (standard dc calculation)

The goal of the d6 roll is to get a contiguous run (ex: 2, 3, 4) or a matched set (ex: 5, 5, 5) of numbers ,the length of which is determined by the difficulty of the lock. ( 2 very easy, 3 easy, 4 medium, etc).

The goal of the intelligence check is to circumvent the multitude of information gathering rolls a player might make before trying to open the lock ( how much does it weigh, is it trapped? can I roll to remember how to disarm this trap? ). Failing this roll does things like damage the character’s tools, set off traps, or lock them out of further attempts. Success on this roll provides rerolls (1+1 for every 3 you beat the DC by) for the d6s made to attempt opening the box.

While It may sound complicated, it’s no more complex than a mid level 2handed fighter using great weapon master on one of their attacks. It can also be used for traps and engineering as well as lockpicking, and with a little reskinning it can be used for codebreaking, advanced magic, martial arts training, and exorcisms.

Note that this system was bastardized from a recent video from Zipperon Disney, go check him out:

youtube

#D&D #D&D adventure #Homebrew Adventure #Adventure #DnD #adventure design #treasure #dm advice #thief #dare

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stolethekey · 3 years

Text

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

#b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #this one was fun i hope u guys like it!#i can't believe this show is almost over #i'm gonna miss it very much #my fics #my b99 fics #jake peralta x amy santiago #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99

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queenbirbs · 3 years

Text

on this winter night with you | Ethan Ramsey x MC

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Summary: Ethan attempts to decorate his apartment for Christmas and worries himself into the ground about it, as per usual.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: alcohol mention

Notes: Takes place during book two. Title from Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night.”

------

“This looks stupid,” he mutters to himself for what might be the fortieth time.

Still, Ethan can’t resist reaching out and shifting the small pile of presents again. As if another inch to the right will suddenly make them fit in amongst the other decor on his mantle. They should be in their traditional place under the tree, but Jenner nearly consumed an entire bow when he turned his back. And with how much time he wasted watching wrapping tutorials on his phone -- twenty-seven minutes, according to the video length and the amount of times he replayed it -- he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that again.

Especially when he’s spent so much of the afternoon fighting with the lights. When he pulled them from the dark tomb of his guest bedroom closet, they were wrapped neatly around a divider -- thanks to his dad, who gifted them to him years ago. Somehow, in the short trek to the living room, Ethan managed to tangle them into an incomprehensible mess.

And there went another sixteen minutes.

He has studies published in several dozen medical journals; he wrote his own textbook before the age of 27; he’s been the keynote speaker at the North American Diagnostics Conference for two of the past five years. But Ethan doesn’t even want to know how long he struggled with wrapping the lights around the tree, before he realized he could just pull the damn thing away from the corner. After wrestling it back into said corner, he plugged in the cord. Only to find that the lights were set on some bizarre, rapid blinking pattern that he couldn’t seem to switch off.

There must be a joke out there about a doctor reading a wikiHow article on how to set up a Christmas tree. He sure isn’t laughing, though. Because for all his troubles, his apartment looks like the set of a low-budget holiday special.

“This looks stupid.”

From the floor, behind the makeshift barricade around the tree, Jenner grunts in agreement. Ethan bites back the sigh that begs to form, figuring that he’s met his quota already. It’s irrational to be nervous about something so trivial -- it’s all tinsel and plastic pine needles, after all. But that’s not counting for what’s at the bottom of the box on the coffee table. Which is why he wants this to be perfect. Which is why he should stop worrying over the decor and see to dinner.

He’s only gotten to slicing the tomatoes when Jenner races to the front door.

“--the state with the worst drivers, I swear,” Sloane says to no one in particular as she opens the door. “I read an article about it in The Atlantic.”

Bundled up in her coat and his scarf, she shakes the snow from her hair. Fat drops of ice plod onto the rug. She bypasses the coat rack and drapes hers across a barstool, then dumps her bag and scarf onto the island, muttering all the while about Massachusetts drivers. Her heels clatter to the floor as she kicks them off and moans in relief. It should be silly that, despite the panic he feels at her early arrival and the slight annoyance at the mess she’s made of the foyer, he’s still hit with that familiar pang of affection for this woman. He likes being on this side of the fence when it comes to their relationship. The side where it’s just the two of them, with no workplace rules or curious onlookers to spy on them. The sex is fantastic, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something thrilling about the domesticity. He certainly wasn’t ever able to say that about his other relationships.

Now, if he could emit any sort of verbal greeting from where he’s frozen in place at the counter.

“You’re early,” he declares, wincing at the lack of subtlety.

“Patient transfer went without a hitch. Must’ve been one of those Christmas miracles I hear so much about. So Naveen said I could head out.”

Sloane pops open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. Passing behind him, she gives his hip a quick squeeze before locating the corkscrew. She glances up through the curtain of her hair at him and grins, reading his nervous energy as easily as a book. He’s never been good at hiding much from her which, looking back, was probably for the best. “I texted you.”

“I… you did?”

Popping the cork, she shoots him another look as she pours them each a glass. He takes his and tries not to seem too eager to have a sip. Reflections on the bottle pull her attention from him and to the odd light show playing in the living room. Ethan watches as she rounds the couch and lets out an amused chuckle.

“What’s with the textbooks?”

“Jenner kept trying to eat the ornaments. And the tree skirt. And the tree.”

“Most people get those weird, little fences.”

“I’ll get a ‘weird, little fence’ next year.”

“Don’t. I like it. It’s very…” she tips her head to the side, as if she’s assessing an art piece and not the Great Wall of Oxford University Press, “...you.”

“Thanks. I think.” Coming to stand beside her, he gestures to a plastic storage bin on the coffee table. “I didn’t have a chance to hang the ornaments yet.”

“Good. We can do it together.” Bumping her nose against his arm, she drops a kiss to the fabric there, and then another on his jaw. “After dinner, though, because I’m starving.”

Leaning down, he hauls her close with his arm around her waist and captures her lips with his own. After a long, long moment, he pulls away and lets them both catch their breath.

“Me too,” he says, grinning when she rolls her eyes at his antics.

“Yeah, I got that. C’mon, you take care of the main course and I’ll handle dessert.”

------

“Isn’t this supposed to accompany dessert?” he questions as he reads the label.

“Hush. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re both adults with high-stress jobs working on a veritable sinking ship that we’re choosing to go down with.” Sloane ticks off the reasons with her fingers, though she only gets as far as those two before he passes the bottle of Marchese dell’Elsa to her. “And it’s Christmas Eve.”

“You already said that.”

“Enough backtalk.” She uses her stern voice, but the effect is diminished by the sleeves of his sweater sliding back down over her hands. “It’s time for the best part.”

Reaching into the plastic bin, she pulls an ornament free from the tissue paper. It’s a green, silk ball, shot through with a gold stitching that’s coming loose. Ethan thinks it’s old enough to be his paternal grandmother’s. A woman he has few memories of, but the ones he has -- orange parquet floors, low, throaty laughs, and the spicy scent of menthol cream -- are fond. Sloane moves over to the tree and settles it near the top.

Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album and the hiss of the gas fireplace accompany them as they make slow work of emptying out the bin. Glittery snowflakes and chipping snowmen hang amongst the cheesy doctor phrases his dad insists on gifting him.

“Aww look at you,” Sloane drags out the word as he lifts out one of the last ornaments. Crafted from popsicle sticks glued together, the makeshift frame holds a glossy picture of Ethan clutching a first place trophy for the fourth grade science fair. “What was your project?”

“A lemon volcano.”

“That’s so cute. Mine was on the different decomposition rates of plastic in fresh versus saltwater.”

“Nobody likes a braggart,” he mumbles, prompting a laugh from her as she snatches the ornament from his hand and hangs it dead center on the tree.

She turns back to rifle through the bin for any small baubles they may have missed, only for her to lift out a gold key tied with a ribbon. Confusion draws her brows together as she inspects it. Though he despises hyperbole, he can’t deny the near-feeling of his heart in his throat. He gulps down what’s left in his glass and sucks in a breath. Sloane moves to place it on the tree when he reaches out to stop her.

“No, wait -- it’s… it’s for you,” he manages to stutter out.

She shifts to face him.

“What?”

“This year has been challenging. Probably the hardest and most grueling in a long time.” Ethan rubs his palm along his jaw, unable to suppress the smile that comes with his next words. “But you -- you made it all worth it. I can’t help but be thankful that I’m here with you, at the end of this awful year. And I know that we don’t know what’s going to happen with the hospital, or where we might be next year, but I don’t really care about any of that right now.”

And hadn’t that been a revelation, that the career he’d spent a decade dedicating his life to cultivating had fallen to the wayside when it came to his future with Sloane. Because that’s what he wants, at the end of the day, at the end of this mess. “Having you here with me -- I’ve gotten used to it. And I’d like for you to continue being here with me. If you want to, that is.”

Her green eyes are wide as they flicker from his face to the key and back again. The lights shimmer against the auburn waves that have come loose from her bun. She clears her throat and gives her head a little shake, as if waking herself from a daydream.

“I -- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I lied about needing to donate my clothes. I mean, I am still doing that, but the reason wasn’t just for a yuletide cleaning. I was making space. For you to move in with me.”

He steps forward and settles his hands on her waist, kissing her once on the forehead. The smirk appears on his face, unbidden. “I thought I was being pretty obvious, what with leaving the top drawers empty and moving my suits to the guest closet.”

“I thought you were going to embrace the leather jacket look you picked up in Brazil and expand your wardrobe beyond grandpa sweaters and khakis,” she serves right back.

Ethan rolls his eyes at the dig.

“Big talk for the thief currently wearing one of these so-called ‘grandpa sweaters.’”

Sloane snuggles close, right into the space where she fits so well against his chest. Her fingers trace over the key.

“My answer is yes, by the way.”

The confirmation warms him, right down to the center of his chest. Or maybe a little to the left. Cupping her face, he slides his lips along hers, sighing with content when she deepens the kiss.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

Another fic that’s mostly dialogue? Absolutely unheard of from me. Another fic that should’ve been posted in a timely manner? Yet here we are, day after Christmas. Oh well.

Was the hospital talk vague enough for it to be obvious that I… haven’t exactly finished book 2? I got to chapter 14 and then work hit me like a category five hurricane for two and a half months, so I haven’t gotten a chance to actually play the last few chapters. I’ll get around to them eventually.

Also: the Atlantic article is fake, though MA did receive the worst driver award back in 2014. As of 2020, Massachusetts was rated as the best for drivers (using data from 2017 through 2019).

Happy holidays and warm wishes to everyone still chugging through this wild, wild year.

#Kaila writes things #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #haven't posted in a while so we get to play the age old game of will this show up in the tags #ooh how fun #f: on this winter night with you

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rpsocsandcanonohmy · 3 years

Text

Hiding in Plain Sight

Summary: 15 years after Cordell ran away from home, he returns to Austin with his wife and new life. He just wants to live his life without worrying about what he left being. Unfortunately, he moved in right next door to his little brother.

Whumptober prompt filled: Day 25- Flight

Written for whumptober and posted here for the @whumptober-archive

---------

May 2nd 2021

Cordell sighed as he parked the U-Haul in front of their new house. It was a nice house, better than anything they’d lived in before. It had a decent-sized backyard for the price, in a nice neighborhood, and it was the perfect driving distance to Ranger HQ for Micki. He didn’t have a job yet but he’d figure something out eventually. Really, his only hang-up was being back in Austin but that shouldn’t be a big deal, not really.

“It’s not too late to back out.” He felt his wife’s hand on his knee. “I can still request a transfer to somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. This is good for you and I’m backing you all the way.” His smile felt tight and it clearly looked that way too because she leaned up to press their foreheads together.

“It’s been fifteen years,” Micki murmured. “We’re in a different part of the city and you have a different name now. You’re safe here, okay? I got you.”

“I know. It’s just...weird being back. Kinda hard to believe it’s been that long.”

Fifteen years. Fifteen years since he ran away from home. Fifteen years since he’d seen his parents or his brother. Fifteen years since he allowed himself to lie about who he was. Fifteen years since he met the love of his life in a dirty gas station bathroom. What a ride it had been.

He sighed again and pulled back to open the car door. “Come on; the sooner we get started, the sooner we can have a bed to sleep in tonight.”

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have just hired movers,” Micki muttered, following him out.

“Because we don’t need to pay other people to do something we’re perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are such a guy, Cordi.”

He smiled and opened up the back of the U-Haul. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and most of the boxes were still intact. It was a good day for a move. It was a good day for new beginnings.

May 2nd, 2006

“Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re a beautiful young woman, Cordelia. Why would you want to destroy that?”

“I’m not a lady! And I’m not beautiful!” He couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face. Somehow, he’d known it was going to end this way. He’d just prayed it would go differently.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that. I don’t want to hear anymore about this transgender nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense! I-I know it’s not easy to understand but-”

“I said, I don’t want to hear it. Now, you either apologise and get yourself straight or get out of my house!”

“Daddy, I-”

“I mean it, Cordelia Annie Walker. It’s bad enough you going around town dressed in whatever crap you found at the thrift store but this is a step too far! What are people going to say when you start asking them to call you a man?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I just thought-”

“You clearly didn’t think at all. We’re done with this conversation.”

“Daddy-”

“I said, we’re done!”

His father’s words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He couldn’t stay here, not anymore. He couldn’t stay here with his father’s judgment and his mother’s ignorance and his brother sitting off to the side not saying a damn word. He had to leave and he had to leave tonight or he might not make it another day.

He was on a bus to anywhere by dawn.

May 2nd, 2021

Liam fixed his tie, pointedly not looking at the picture stuck in the corner of the mirror. Even now, it was too painful to think about.

15 years ago, to the date, his big sister ran away from home and left a hole that could never be filled. Cordelia had been his best friend since they were kids and then she just vanished after a fight with their parents. He couldn't remember what it was about now, but he remembered it ended in a lot of tears and she'd been gone the next morning.

He'd spent a long time trying to find her but nothing came up. Every call he made was blocked until the number went out of service and any attempts to find her usually hit a dead end pretty quickly. 15 years later, Liam still hadn't given up. He just wished he knew where to look. As far as the world was concerned, Cordelia Walker stopped existing 14 years and 9 months ago.

He didn't like to think about why that might be.

He heard a truck pull up outside and looked out of his front window. It seemed the new neighbors were finally moving in. Looking at the clock, he saw he had a little time before work; he should stop by and introduce himself while he had the chance. But first, he had a coffee to finish.

He left his house in time to see them unloading some smaller boxes. “Hey,” he called, raising his hand in a small wave. “You the new neighbors?”

“That’s us.” A small woman grinned at him from her spot being the truck. “My name’s Michelle. My husband, Cordell, is hiding in the truck because meeting new people is scary for him.”

“Is not!”

“Sure, babe.” She chuckled softly. “And you are?”

“William Walker. But my friends call me Liam. Please call me Liam.”

A strange look flicked over Michelle’s face just as a crash sounded from within the truck. “I-I should check on that,” she said. “But it was nice meeting you, Liam. We should get together sometime. We’re new in town and we don’t really know anyone in the area….”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve got a few friends around town I could introduce you to. Once you’re all settled in of course.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She graced him with one last smile before turning and climbing into the truck to see what her husband got himself into. “See you around, Liam.”

“You too.” Liam waved and walked to his own car, feeling a little lighter than he had just a few minutes ago. He didn’t know much about them yet, but he had a good feeling about Michelle and Cordell.

#whumptober2021 #no.25 #flight #walker #fic #transphobia #run away #ftm trans #trans!cordell #micki/cordell #liam walker

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mrs-hollandstan · 5 years

Text

Make Me Love You || Frat Boy!Tom [one]

Pairing: Frat Boy!Tom x Student!Reader

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex that almost aren't mentions of sex, fuckboy Tom, mentions of domestic issues, a small confrontation

Word Count: 7,299

Author's Note: The teaser did really well for it being a teaser and I am SO glad. If you enjoy, lemme know what you think of it!

Series Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

There are drastic differences between Los Angeles and Seattle like the weather, traffic, even the population, but there are also many similarities that make a transition from one city to the next, just the smallest bit easier. They always say that finding friends in Seattle is harder because the non-stop gloom, for a record breaking five months straight makes the locals reclusive. Of course, the heat in LA makes people just as reclusive, but the chance of meeting someone with your interests and mentality in the nearly 4 million population is more likely and easier to obtain compared to Seattle's 742,000. That is of course if you don't have ties already in one of the cities already.

One of the easiest transitioning factors for you, transferring from a community college in Los Angeles to a four year college up north in Seattle was your older brother Cole, who'd seemingly abandoned the half assed family you claimed and the muggy city the both of you had grown up in. It was nothing personal against you and you knew that, but the new person your father had become after the death of your mother shifted the feeling of your once love filled, perfect family, home to hostile and toxic. Your father and Cole hadn't gotten along the few months leading up to Cole leaving for Seattle and as you neared the transfer period for college, it was either tagging along with your dad and his new girlfriend to busy New York, or reunite with Cole after two long years and live in chilly Seattle. Not that either were a bad idea, but it came down to which of the men you grew up around was more tolerable and which school was best for you and your major. The end choice was Cole and Seattle, both of which seemed to invite you with open arms.

The plane ride saw a lot of rain and landing in a cold and dreary Seattle airport to be met with the soft, kind features of your older brother was something that excited and comforted you. His muscular arms encircled you and you squealed as he sighed, holding your body extremely close with a kiss to your temple. After gathering the rest of your belongings that hadn't already been shipped to Cole's house, he leads you out to the same car he drove up in, driving you to the small house you'd only seen in pictures and showing you to what would be your room when you stayed with him and not in your dorm with the roommates you'd already started conversing with. Despite being very protective and loving, Cole was willing to let you take the reigns on your own life and make all the adult decisions needed to get you your degree, whilst also supporting you and providing you the necessities to live if need be. Because he knew what it was like to be pressured and he made damn sure that you would never feel that with him. Which is part of the reason you chose him and Seattle over your father and Manhattan.

---

"So you said you've already talked to these girls like via text? They're cool? Because-"

"I have your place if I need it and I can always transfer to a different university if I feel pressured. I know Coleslaw." You complete your older brother's statement, his eyebrows knitting in a line at the nickname as you glance over your shoulder at him. You smile and bump his shoulder as you carry a box up towards your dorm room, navigating the endless, tan hallways of a place you'll be calling a second home for the next two years.

"Yes Cole, I'm in a group chat with the three of them. We're already good friends and I haven't even moved in yet." You explain to him as he hauls two more boxes after you, pausing to bring his knee up and get a more firm grip on the boxes in his hands. Dark curls fall onto his forehead, escapees from the mop atop his head that you've been begging him to cut for two months,

"What are their names? I-I can only remember Scarlett." He asks, hazel eyes trained on the bobbing lid of the top box he holds. You nod,

"Scarlett, Phoebe, and Ivey. Supposedly one of them has a boyfri- oh my god I'm so sorry!" You squeal, bouncing back into your brother who has the wind knocked out of him as you run into the front of a tall, dirty blonde boy, stunning crystalline eyes darting between you and Cole,

"S'alright love, no harm done. To me at least." The boy speaks up in a thick British accent, punctuating the statement with a chuckle as he watches Cole lean your boxes against a wall, supporting them on a knee again. He gives a tight lipped smile to the other boy as you glance between them,

"Sorry... I should really watch where I'm going." You reply through a small laugh. The blonde shakes his head as he looks down, chuckling softly, playfully,

"I'm alright. Came around the corner a little fast. You're all good." You nod and smile, brushing past him. You turn to each other, flashing one more kind smile before he passes Cole with a small greeting and heads down the hall you just came up. Cole nods at the boy before sighing and rolling his eyes,

"If that was your first introduction to college, I'd hate to see what the rest of it consists of." He mumbles. Narrowing your eyes, you cock you head and gesture to the boxes now bowing at his weight,

"I knew I shoulda stacked a third on there for you." You joke. He cocks his head, mockingly laughing along with you before he gestures down the hall and starts to follow again, watching you pause and check a small piece of paper in your hand before knocking at a grey door. It swings open with almost no time in between and a girl about your height with ombre hair that goes from an almost black to auburn and blonde at the tips and down the front of her shoulders, smiles,

"Y/N?" She asks as you set the box you carry on the floor and nod, her smile widening before she steps out into the hallway and pulls you into a hug, rocking you back and forth and squealing,

"Its about time you showed up." She says. Leaning back, she glances over your shoulder at Cole,

"Come on in you guys, your room's the first room on the right." She says as you step aside for Cole and follow him in once you pick up your own abandoned box. He sets the two he carries on the tan carpet, placing his hands on his hips with a sigh,

"Its nice. It's real open." He says as you set your own box beside his. You nod and smile, turning to your roommates as they crowd in the room. The two other girls share their hugs with you as Phoebe introduces herself to Cole now that she's already met you both at the front door. Ivey's skin is tan and the dark brown hair that's cut to rest at her shoulders, frames a beautiful, caked face that sparkles with every move. Scarlett's dark skin is just as shiny and beautiful as Ivey's and her hair is tied up with a bandana wrapped around the crown of her head. They stand back, one of Scarlett's hands in yours, one of Ivey's hands rested on your arm as you have your first, in person interaction with them. The small group shifts to Phoebe and Cole, Ivey and Scarlett introducing themselves to the taller boy. You stand in a small, comfortable circle before Scarlett sighs,

"Well... you're getting your first taste of peer pressure. We're taking you to a frat party tonight. It's like their little intro party before club rush and initiation and all that. This party sort of shows guys what its like before they make the pledge." She explains, watching you nod. Cole scoffs,

"Like she'll need the peer pressure. Can she pledge? She could be there keg king." He jokes, making the other girls in the room laugh as you look at him and mockingly laugh,

"Oh ha ha, wonder where I learned that shit? Got it from my party animal big brother." You say, watching Cole stick his tongue out as you playfully punch his ribs. He chuckles and runs the area before heading for the door,

"Why don't you guys finish getting acquainted and get Y/N comfortable while I get the two other boxes." He says. You nod, as do the other girls before he leaves the room and the three of them turn back to you,

"Are you excited? Finally living on campus and getting into that college life. Its cool right?" Ivey asks. You nod,

"Yeah, it's a little scary being... away from home, but LA isn't even where my dad is living anymore so, home is technically here now. Mostly with Cole but... here too, with the three of you." You nervously explain. They all smile at you as you look between them, already warm and inviting. Phoebe holds her hand out and you take it, letting her pull you through your door and further down the hall. She points to a closed door on the left at the very end of the hallway,

"My room," She says as she opens it to show off an already decorated and beautiful white room, fairy lights lining the roof, "this is where we have movie nights cause I have a projector." She says, her nose crinkling. You nod and smile, spinning on your heels to follow her as she opens the door across from her own,

"Scarlett's room. This is where you'll most likely find hair or makeup products you need. Maybe your own, who knows." She jokes, smiling wider as Scarlett scoffs and you look around the room, nodding at the organized vanity and makeup selection set up strategically in a corner of the room. Leaving that door open as well, Phoebe brushes past you to open the second door down,

"Bathroom. Nothing too special. We kinda all share body washes and toothpastes and stuff. It's a community." Phoebe says with a shrug, closing the door before walking to the room just across from yours,

"And here," She says in a sigh, "is Ivey's room. She's got a boyfriend so... we have to warn you in advance that any howling or screaming you hear isn't a virgin being sacrificed, it's just Ivey and her thing. Also, we have to warn that anything you find that might be disturbing is... grounds for therapy so, we're here for you." She jokes yet again, laying a hand over your shoulder. You giggle as Ivey swipes a hand over her face, mumbling explicits and disgraced words. She crosses her arms with a flat expression,

"We very rarely do anything here and there is nothing that we do that will get us caught by any of you. In the two years we've lived together, I have never been caught." She explains. You, Scarlett, and Phoebe smile and giggle at her before she swallows,

"We haven't been caught here at least. But to be fair, his brothers are nosey and don't knock." She justifies as the other two girls giggle and snicker. You frown,

"Brothers?" You quiz. Ivey nods, moving back and forth from her toes to her heels,

"He's in a frat. The frat party we're going to tonight, it's his frat." She explains. You nod and turn to Scarlett as she starts to speak,

"His brothers are pretty hot but goddamn they're like little boys. Some of them have that whole douchebag thing goin, but for the most part they're all pretty hot." She says with a wink. You nod again as she looks you over, glancing up when Cole returns with two more boxes,

"You don't happen to have a smashing dress to wear in those boxes, do you?" Scarlett asks. You shrug, glancing back at Cole when he emerges from your room before you turn back the the group with a shake of your head,

"Guess not. I have some cute clothes but I don't know if they're frat boy impressing worthy." You say. The girls smile as Cole sighs behind you,

"We're already looking for frat boys to impress?" He asks, somewhat breathless. You shrug,

"Ivey's boyfriend is part of the frat that's throwing the party tonight and the girls all say his brothers are pretty good looking." You explain. He nods, looking between the four of you. Scarlett cocks her head,

“You’re so much more willing and open-minded than most older brothers who hear this kinda stuff talked about with their younger sisters.” She says. His eyes linger on her for a moment before he shrugs,

“I’m living my own life. I don’t have time to live vicariously through her too.” He says. You smile, binding your arms around his waist. He kisses your temple,

“BUT… I will kill someone that hurts her. I will kill a frat guy.” He adds making the girls smile. You glance up at him, crinkling your nose. There’s a moment of silence before Phoebe sighs,

"Well, going back to the outfit thing, if you wanna borrow some of our clothes to piece together a rockin outfit, you're more than welcome. We can take you shopping soon." She says. You smile and nod, thanking the group collectively before Cole reaches up to rub your shoulders,

"Wanna come get your bag from my car, walk me out?" He asks. You nod, turning with him and following him down the same hallways as before until you're standing at the curb, closing the passenger side door after retrieving your duffel and regular backpack. Cole sighs, hands tucked in his pockets,

"So when do I get custody?" He jokes. You smile, playfully leaning in to punch his stomach this time,

"I'll uhh... I'll come back Sunday maybe. I dunno yet. Depends on how I cope with all this new life stuff." You say with a shrug. He nods, chewing the inside of his cheek. He looks up, searching your face for a moment as you think,

"Just have fun tonight if you go. Let loose and make new friends, ya know? Don't think that college is strictly academic. But... just be careful. Don't set your drink down anywhere, anything like that. Ya never know who you're dealin with." He warns. You nod along to him, rolling your eyes,

"Common sense Cole." You say. He nods, pulling you into him, arms wrapped around your shoulders,

"I know, I know, but if you're drugged the first day you're here with me, dad'll most definitely force you up there in New York." He tells you. Holding him with your arms wrapped around his waist, you sigh,

"I'm not gettin drugged. I'll be careful." You reason. He nods again, kissing your temple before he releases you,

"Just do me a favor and text me when you go places if you can remember. Try to remember to text me like... at least five times a day so I know you're alive." You smile up at your mother hen like older brother who holds your hand, dragging out the last few moments you have together, today. You purse your lips,

"Yeah Cole, I will. When dad texts me asking if I'm alive every twenty minutes I'll make sure to shoot you a text." He chuckles softly,

"Alright, good. I love you." You stand on your toes to kiss his cheek,

"Love you too. I'll maybe see you Sunday." You remind. He nods as he let's go of your hand and starts to round the car,

"Maybe Sunday." He repeats before climbing into his car and starting it, driving off as you stand at the curb. Despite the short distance from his house to the college, your heart aches a little. Not just because he's leaving you after only having you in his home for a day and a half, but because after he left California, you two practically never talked. He texted you and called you every once in a while but that older brother that you talked about was all a myth once he came to Seattle and you were fearful of the same thing happening this time around.

Not dwelling on it to long, you make your trip back up to your dorm room with ease, nudging the door open with your shoulder. As you kick the front door closed and head down the hall, Ivey peeks her head out of her room, smiling at you. The rest of her body appears and she sighs,

"We're all just gonna be in our rooms. When you're ready you can come raid our closets. Something cute that shows you're available but still shows that you... mean business." She explains with a shrug. You nod and set your bags just inside the door,

"Cool. Thanks. I uhm... I'm gonna do some unpacking you say, suddenly nervous now that Cole's comfort and protection isn't there. She smiles again, nodding back,

"We're leavin here at six thirty, just be ready, okay?" You give a silent okay back before heading into your own room and unpacking what you can before they bombard you with twenty questions on what you're wearing. Settling on an oversized jean jacket and white tube top from Ivey and an army green suede skirt from Scarlett, the four of you are taking mirror selfies and heading out to Scarlett's car in record time, your heart thumping loudly in pure nerves as you head into the unknown. The second you pull up in front of the Psi Sigma Tau frat house, you seem to get lightheaded as your nerves amp up. Climbing from the car, Ivey rubs your shoulders,

"The boys are gonna love you. And trust us... none of them are... too bad of assholes. Tom is probably the worse but he won't fuck with new blood." Ivey informs. You nod, following Scarlett and Phoebe up to the open front door, watching Scarlett open the screen door and walk inside, the three of them never leaving you as they lead you to the kitchen. A group of boys turn, one of them, the same you and Cole ran into earlier. He smiles as Ivey approaches him, wrapping her in his arms. They share a kiss before he looks up, eyebrows furrowing as he spots you,

"You ran into me earlier." He reminds you, watching a smile cover your face as Ivey looks to you and he chuckles,

"You did?" She asks. You nod, tucking your hands in the pockets of the jean jacket you wear,

"Uhh, yeah, I did. Cole and I were coming around a corner, the same time he was and I bumped into him." You reminisce, your cheeks burning at the thought of always seeing him now that you know one of your roommates is dating him when you made a complete ass of yourself. He chuckles again, draping his arm around Ivey's shoulders as she wraps her arms around his lean torso,

"'S alright. I told you that already. No harm, no foul." He says, smirk never leaving his lips as his frost colored eyes linger on you. You smile and nod as Ivey sighs, reaching up to proudly place her hand over his stomach,

"This is my boyfriend, Harrison. He and his best friend Tom came here together from London." She explains, looking up at him. His eyes pull away from you to look down at her. He purses his lips as he hums, satisfied,

"Got watched by this one in English so I snatched her up. Left Tom as eligible bachelor. He was pretty pissed about that one but," he glances up at you again, "he's a little bit of a ladies man. Decent enough to be the douchebag one night stand guy." He says. You nod to show that you've been listening before Harrison looks you over,

"And… not that he has a particular type or anything, but you fit the curriculum for someone he'd be into." He adds. You shake your head,

"I'm not a one night stand type of girl. If anything, I want a boyfriend. So," you look around the kitchen and living room, "which one is Tom so I know to steer clear?" You ask, letting Phoebe turn you and point through the small crowd that's already started to form in the dark, strobe lit living room. Through it, you can see a perky blonde in a tight dress leaned against a wall, talking to a striking young brunette, tight fitted tee and jeans clinging to every muscular limb that he has to offer, a black cap hanging off his head, backwards, his cute yet prominent ears poking up past the hat. You swallow your tongue at the sight of him. He's gorgeous and you can already tell that it's easier said than done with that one when it comes to steering clear of him. As if he can hear your thoughts, he glances up, spotting you and Phoebe. Your heart stops as a smile crosses his lips and he waves softly, excusing himself from the blonde to head your way. Phoebe hums before releasing you and stepping forward to hug him when he steps into the kitchen. He sets his drink down on the counter, pressing his free hand to her lower back, the two of them talking back and forth, too quiet for you to hear over the music. All you can do is stare at his beautiful face in the new light.

He truly is stunning, cream colored face stealing your breath straight from your lungs. His skin, specifically his somewhat crooked nose and full cheeks are littered with cocoa colored freckles. He practically lacks an upper lip, but his bottom lip is somewhat plump and berry colored, kissable if need be. His nose is perfect despite the bend and cute, but his eyes are what really set you off. He has beautiful dark brown eyes that are accentuated through long, angelic lashes that flutter every few words uttered from his lips or to him from Phoebe's and they almost meet his thick, trimmed eyebrows, the end of one of them tapering up wildly. His forehead is nearly covered by the dark brown hair that is voluminous and fluffy and looks completely inviting despite the snapback he wears.

His eyes cut to you suddenly like he can feel yours on him, a soft, almost demonic, hungry smile crossing his face as his tongue comes out to wet his lips. The shift in focus to you has Phoebe turning to face you, eyes still locked on Tom to gauge his reactions to you. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, looking you over, the piercing dark eyes he's blessed with making you feel small in that one moment. And then he speaks in a somewhat deep voice enriched with a similar, tranquilizing European accent to Harrison's that makes your knees weak,

"And who do we have here?" You're broken from your thoughts by him. Phoebe turns to you,

"This is Y/N, Tom. It's the roommate Scar, Ivey, and I were talking about coming in today. She's at her first frat party ever." She replies, sultrily as Tom's eyebrows raising,

"Wow, look at you darling. Little daredevil like your roomies. Well... welcome. Your girls are some of the best here, I suppose you won't be any different." He directs to you. You swallow and smile, watching Phoebe cock her head,

"He doesn't bite Y/N." She says, her hand pressed to his stomach similar to the way Ivey did to Harrison. Tom closes his mouth to give a tight lipped smile,

"Unless you want me to." He jokes making Phoebe giggle. You nod and reach up to tuck hair behind your ear,

"Sorry... uhm... yeah, I wasn't gonna not come. I actually... think I need a drink." You say, suddenly flushed. Tom hums, looking over your shoulder,

"Why don't we slam some shots then, yeah?" He poses, pressing his hand to your lower back when you nod and follow, watching him and Phoebe pour out a row of shots. The three of you, Harrison, Scarlett, Ivey and a few other boys raise them. Phoebe sighs,

"To our ever growing group of friends." She says. You all say cheers before clinking the glasses and downing your shots. Most of the group shivers and retches at the sting, but you and Tom are primarily the only ones that don't and you don't catch it, but Tom watches you, his heart skipping a beat when all you do is set the shot glass down and lick your lips to ensure you got all of the alcohol your glass contained. You sigh before looking up wide eyed at Tom when he snaps at you,

"You're my kinda girl, get your pretty little ass over here and let's do a shot together." He demands. You glance around the group that's starting to break out into laughter before snorting,

"What?" The group laughs along with you, Tom's own face turning up into a smile,

"You didn't even flinch when you took that. Most people do. I like when a girl doesn't overreact. So let's take another shot together." He elaborates. After another moment, you nod, switching spots with Phoebe and watching Tom pour two more shots before he hands you one. You take it, only to have him lock arms with you, raising his eyebrows before the both of you throw your shots back, only hissing as it burns your chests. He steps back, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he looks at you again,

"Where the fuck have you been all my life?" He asks. You giggle, taking an opened beer from Scarlett and raising it to your lips,

"California, little British boy." You reply back snarkily, raising your eyebrows as he does, letting him watch you take a swig from the bottle you hold. A beer is offered to Tom, but he shakes his head,

"Nah, I got a game Sunday morning. With my luck I'll still be hungover for it, won't be able to focus." He explains, his attention shifting to the party in full swing out in the living room. You walk to lean back against the counter beside Ivey, the both of you leaning so she can be the only one to hear you whisper.

"Game? So he's the stereotypical douchebag frat boy that plays football or something?" You pose. She giggles, shaking her head,

"No, he's actually pretty cool, really. He and Haz play golf so they a game Sunday. I should force you to come so we can support them." She replies with a knowing smile. You hum, sipping more from your beer bottle as Phoebe and Scarlett talk Tom up, allowing you to get a better view of him without him knowing you're staring. You swallow, Ivey giggling again as she watches you watch him. You glance at her, searching her face,

"What?" You ask. She shakes her head,

"Nothin. Need a distraction from a cute little British boy?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. You nod quickly, Ivey moving from under Harrison's arm, tugging him after her and headed straight for Scarlett and Phoebe,

"Girl dilemma ladies, its dance time." She informs the two other girls, both of their eyes landing on you before they nod and the group is excused from Tom to the middle of the living room where you find your rhythm with your roommates and Harrison, you holding Scarlett's arms around you as the two of you start to dance together.

Unbeknownst to you, Tom never strayed far. After the group abandoned him, he wandered to lean against the kitchen's doorway, eyes glued to your figure, lost in the music and your roommates. You've forgotten about him temporarily, but his mind is still fixed on you. He can't believe that the one girl that he wants more than anything just based off the concoction of sheer beauty, intelligence, boldness and valor, has just almost brushed him off. Most girls throw themselves at him and he doesn't have to ask for it, but you're different. And that's what attracts Tom the most. You're independent, tenacious and confident. You know what you want and he knows that you're the type to get it, thanks to your dad's own stubbornness you seemed to have inherited. If you were any other girl, he could've had his quick fix and been onto the next, but the way you entice him without even meaning to is what draws him in and keeps him in your clutches.

"Its impolite to stare." Another frat brother, Jeremiah jokes, bumping Tom's shoulder and effectively breaking him from his thoughts. His eyes don't leave you, but he licks his lips, Jeremiah following his eyes to your figure. Jeremiah hums,

"Who's the new girl?"

"Her name's Y/N." Tom replies almost immediately. Jeremiah blinks in surprise at the suddenness, looking Tom over. His eyes sparkle in the rainbow strobe lights that light the living room up as he watches you dance with your roommates. Jeremiah chuckles, Tom finally looking at him,

"What?" He asks. Jeremiah shrugs,

"You're the type to seduce a girl, take her to bed for one night and never talk to her again and here you are starin at this one like a fuckin tiger watchin a gazelle. What's so special about her?" Jeremiah asks. Tom shrugs, crossing his arms,

"She didn't even... care about me. Did two shots together and she didn't even care about how I started to come onto her." He mutters. Jeremiah hums, sipping the concoction in his cup, eyes crinkling at the sting,

"So she's smart. She stays away from you, she doesn't have to deal with the shit." Tom clicks his tongue, frowning as he looks at Jeremiah again,

"I'm not that bad."

"You made Delilah Rhodes cry like a middle schooler two weeks ago because you didn't call her back and she'd given you everything, including her virginity. You told her that you'd always be there for her just to get into her pants and the second you did, you dropped her." Jeremiah recalls, eyes finding you the same Tom's do. You're prettier than some of the girls Tom chooses. But he knows Tom. The second he gets you into his bed, he'll get over you. But it's about getting you there that Tom's obsessed with. Seducing you, knowing he's good enough to get any girl he wants and if he can't have you, his ego is gonna suffer a severe beating. Tom nods after a moment,

"I know, I remember." He replies nonchalantly. Jeremiah scoffs,

"What makes her different than Delilah then? Why couldn'tyou have stayed with her?" He asks. Tom's eyes linger on you for a few moments more before he looks to Jeremiah, eyes sparkling in mischief as he clears his throat,

"She doesn't want me right now like all the other girls, including Delilah did. You get that girl a little tipsy and she's out." He informs. Jeremiah looks his friend over, watching his attention divert to you again before he looks that way, sighing to himself,

"Poor girl isn't gonna know what hit her when you're done." He mutters, finishing off the drink in his hand before turning to the array of bottles behind him to make a new one. Tom is still entranced by you, unable to pull his eyes from your figure in the almost half an hour. A number of his brothers approach him and leave him to his stalking, and eventually Ivey is the first to spot him staring, leaning back to whisper in Harrison's ear. Gis hands wandering her body as he looks at his best friend, giving you a quick look over before he gives a soft chuckle and let's her lean forward into you, Scarlett, and Phoebe,

"Don't all look at once but... there's a creep watching you, Y/N, at your three o'clock." She informs. Glancing to your right, you catch Tom's eye, watching him lick his lips and purse them before looking away, almost as if he's embarassed that he's been caught. Scarlett clears hair from your shoulder,

"So what's the plan here babes? Are you giving him a show or inviting him?" She asks in your ear. You're panting, breathless from dancing. You let Phoebe slip your jacket from your shoulders, letting it hang in your elbows, her eyes locked in yours. The corners of her lips quirk,

"Fuck him... let him gawk." She says. You nod, holding her hands and feeling Scarlett's hands wander your hips. Your heart beats a little faster and you can't tell if it's because of the fact you're being watched by someone like Tom or because of the way you've been dancing since you got out here. One thing is for certain, you need another drink. Pulling Phoebe's hands, you tell her, watching her nod and hold your hand, leading you in Tom's direction. If he'd claimed that his heart didn't skip a beat when you and Phoebe beelined for him, he'd definitely be lying and he was convinced it showed in his face. Phoebe raised an eyebrow as you passed him, Tom's body turning with you, watching you sort through the alcohol on the counter and pour a drink of your choice in your cup. She leans across the counter across from him, crossing her arms and looking him over as he watches you again.

"Its creepy to stare Tom. Especially if it's a girl that doesn't know how you operate. How do you know she wants to be stared at?"

"There's nothing wrong with looking at her." Tom defends himself, eyes cutting back to her and then to you again when you shift to see the both of them. You look between them before throwing back the alcohol in the bottom of your cup before filling it with more and walking forward,

“So what, I’m like another target for you? New concubine because I don’t know who you are?” You ask. His eyebrows knit together before he scoffs and pushes himself off of the cupboard behind him, turning to face you and Phoebe,

"Did I say that? Just cause I'm looking, doesn't mean I wanna fuck you."

"So if I asked you to take me upstairs to your room, you wouldn't and then tomorrow morning, after I leave, you wouldn't completely ditch me?" You ask, standing against the counter full of alcohol. He looks between you before shaking his head softly,

“What makes you think you're my type to take you upstairs in the first place?"

"Oh please, you'd fuck a hole in a wall Holland." Phoebe chastises. Tom scoffs again, crossing his arms defensively,

"You know what, fuck you both.” He bites back before pushing through the crowd and heading upstairs, disappearing down the hall. You and Phoebe look to each other, your roommate giggling softly before she shakes her head in unsaid words. You feel instant remorse, concluding something about a man you’d just met. You were just following the lead of your girls, but it wasn’t right to be teasing him so early on. Especially when you didn’t know what he actually thought of you. Phoebe waits until you set your cup down to reach out,

“Come on. Forget about it, he’ll get over it.” She says, seeming to read your mind. You’re weary, but you take her hand and follow her back out to the dance floor, finding Scarlett, Ivey, and Harrison immediately,

“What was said?” Ivey asks worriedly, gesturing up the stairs. Harrison is just as interested and as you look between them, Phoebe catches on and steps in front of them, dragging your hands up to her shoulders,

“Drop it. He’s a sensitive little pussy and just like everything else, he’ll get over it.” She replies, eyes locked in yours. You focus back on her and Scarlett as she holds your hips again. And for another hour, you’re lost in the fun of a frat party with your new friends. There’s a dozen songs and a dozen drinks that your small group goes through. Phoebe, presenting herself now as the Tom of your small group discovers a guy that seems to take a liking to her, ditching you and Scarlett, not far, for him. Ivey and Harrison whisper back and forth a few times before they sneak off and its the three of you, plus one, tiredness starting to sink in not long after. You, Scarlett, and Phoebe find solace on a couch, sweaty and panting, Phoebe’s dancing partner long gone. She sighs, checking her phone,

“Should go find Ivey and get out of here.” She says, looking to you and Scarlett. You nod, standing,

“I’ll do it. I have to pee anyways.” You mutter, finding your way to the staircase and to a bathroom. Afterwards, you look between the two closed doors that line the hallway. Choosing the closest to the stairs, it clicks open and you push through it just slightly to peek in. Tom sits at a desk, small side lamp on. He looks up at the disturbance, frowning as you stand there, mouth slightly ajar. He surprised that seeing your face doesn't bother him considering your last interaction. But considering the number of fights he and Phoebe have had and they're still friends, he's not too surprised.

“Oh… uhm… sorry, I was looking for Harrison and Ivey.” You start. He hums and nods in understanding. He gestures over his shoulder with his chin,

“Next door. But uhm… I don’t recommend barging in like that. His headboard’s bumped the wall a few times already and trust me... walking in on them is terrifying. It's not like in the movies. They don't hide it.” He informs. You giggle, nodding, hand tightening around the doorknob as you anticipate what to say next as he focuses back at the work before him for a moment. He glances back up when you don’t move from the room. Swiveling in his chair, he faces you with furrowed brows,

“Was there something else?” He asks. Not wanting to push your boundaries too far, you straighten your body out, closing the door a small bit behind you for more privacy from the drunks in the hallway,

“Yeah. Uhm… I wanted to apologize for earlier. I-I thought it’d just be a joke, what I said, but… it was insensitive. I don’t know you and I’m sorry for joking with you and making it so personal.” You smooth out. He leans forward slightly, clasping his hands together. He gives a gentle nod,

“‘S alright. I shouldn’t have been staring. I was bein a creep.”

“No… no, I don’t mind. It’s kind of endearing and I just… I slandered you. My brother would’ve smacked the shit out of me for that one. So… I’m sorry. Hopefully we can… start over and get off on the right foot.” You clarify. He smiles softly, standing and starting towards you as you lean against the wall at your back. He sighs, pausing a few steps away,

“I appreciate it and I accept your apology. I think you and I will be A okay love. Just gotta get a little more socializing behind us.” He says, somewhat quietly. You smile and nod, pivoting on your feet,

“I like the way that sounds. You seem really cool.” You say. You share a smile, standing staring at each other for a moment. He tucks his hands in his pockets, shoulders tensing as he looks at his feet,

"I do want to officially apologize to you and I want you to accept my apology. It was creepy of me to stare and I shouldn't have been. So I'm sorry for that. I promise not to be a creep in our future endeavors." He swears. You smile and nod, reaching up to tuck hair behind your ear,

"Of course I accept your apology. We're starting over." You reassure, letting silence permeate for a few moments after Tom chuckles and nods before you sigh,

“Well… I’ll uhh… I’ll see you around then. I gotta… get Ivey.” You remind, watching him nod before you turn and open the door, closing it behind you and heading further down the hall. Knocking at the other closed door, you wait a few minutes until Harrison pulls it open, somewhat breathless and shirtless, skin flushed,

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?”

“Hey, uhm… I’m looking for Ivey. The other girls are ready to go home so… I just thought I’d come and see if she was uhh… ready or anything?” You explain, face reddening at how stupid the explaination sounds considering you know what your roommate and her boyfriend are up to and he knows you know. He smiles, glancing over his shoulder, behind the door,

“Uhm… yeah, I think I’ll bring her home later. We’re kinda busy at the moment.” He responds with a soft chuckle. You swallow and nod, cheeks burning in embarrassment,

"Right, yeah, sorry. Uhm... just... tell her I'll see her later and uhh... goodnight to you." You reply kindly, Harrison nodding and coolly reassuring you he will before he closes the door and leaves you to head back into the crowds downstairs, finding Phoebe and Scarlett, jackets back on and leaned against cabinets, waiting for you. When you approach, they both stand up straight,

"So what's up? Did you join them or something? You were gone a while." Phoebe chastises. You click your tongue, shooting her an unamused look as Scarlett giggles softly,

"No, I ran into Tom before I found them. He and I... cleared things up. We're starting over and giving a friendship another go." You say proudly, both girls nodding, impressed,

"Nice. He's a good friend to have but uhh... you better put your hormones back in their box. You end up as more than friends, he could break your heart." Scarlett warns. You nod, pivoting on your feet and soaking the information in. She sighs to break the silence between the three of you,

"Anyways, let's get home. We're takin you shopping tomorrow once Prince Charming drops Ivey off." She says, headed for the door with you and Phoebe in tow.

It was fun letting loose for the night before classes start. Your welcome party was successful and less drunk and destructive as the movies make it out. Though somewhat dramatic with Tom, you enjoyed meeting new people and establishing relationships you wouldn't have if you'd been a hermit. But Scarlett's words weigh on you somewhat. No matter what, you and Tom would have some sort of relationship. Whether you took the bait or not and spiraled into a love affair with the beautiful curly haired boy would change your life completely. It scared you, but the idea of getting in some trouble excites you and who knows, maybe you could establish a friends with benefits type of relationship with him for a little bit of fun without the stress of a strings attached relationship. To focus on school and all of the other life changing things that were being thrusted your way, maybe it would be nice to have someone to fool around with and rant to if need be. And why not make it the pretty little British boy that you know has his eyes on you? There wouldn't be any harm in that, right?

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

Text

Assassin For Hire 3

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: None in this chapter

A/N: Another series along the same line of Birthday Treat and Moving Parts

When you came out of the bathroom the next morning, Steve and Bucky were going over a table full of equipment. Cameras, distance microphones, tablet computers lay scattered among the copies of information provided by the little girl. More photos of the guy filled the television screen, his DMV photo, a booking photo and others.

“Is that a juvenile arrest file?” You stood at Bucky’s knee, running your fingers through his hair. “Are you accessing sealed files without authorization?”

He pulled you down onto his knee for your teasing, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You going to tell on me, Doll?”

“Course not.” You pressed a kiss into his temple before looking over at Steve. “So, what’s the plan?”

“This guy is Michael Abruzzo. According to his file he goes by Snap.” Cap began. Bucky snorted. “Anyway, he’s been busted for stealing cars, and possession. Pretty much a thug, although his record is a couple years old. The associates on that list she provided indicates ties with drug rings and credit card theft. He may be a big fish in a little pond.”

“We still don’t see a tie to Sarah.” Bucky sighed. He pulled you a little closer, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. “Something in that kid really shook me, you know? Someone so young shouldn’t be so serious.”

“After today we’ll have a better idea what’s going on.” Steve briefly squeezed Buck’s shoulder. “You and I will go case Abruzzo. Sweetheart, I think you should go watch over Sarah.”

You pulled away from Bucky enough to pick up one of the tablets with Sarah’s picture. Her address, school, and family information scrolled over the screen. “I can do that.”

“I don’t think we should make ourselves known yet.” Bucky settled further back in the sofa, pulling you with him. “We still don’t know if this is real or some sick game.”

“Agreed.” Steve got up to refill his coffee. “I’ve checked out a couple of cars from the compound fleet for us. We should get going soon.”

“Let’s keep in contact today, just to figure out when we’re all coming in.” Bucky’s hand rubbed the inside of your thigh. “I have that thing with Natasha tonight, right?”

“Yeah, night testing for the agent’s requalification certs.” You kissed his jaw. “You probably won’t be done until one or two in the morning. Long day.”

“No problem.” He kissed you back. “Besides, Stevie can let me nap in the car.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” Steve chuckled, coming closer again, his fingers combing through your hair.

“Alight, let me up.” You tried to get out of Bucky’s lap. “Which stuff is for me? I’m going to get moving. I need to swing by and grab some popcorn.”

“What?” Bucky let you go a chuckled.

“If I’m just sitting around and watching something all day, I need snacks.” You smiled.

Steve laughed as he loaded a camera and other equipment in a backpack for you.

You watched Sarah run out of the building hauling a backpack that looked as if it weighed as much as she did. Kids laughed and waved, heading to bus stops and family cars. She, however, darted between the SUVs and sedans to the edge of the parking lot. A bright green, lowered Civic opened its door. Music rolled out as the little girl hopped in.

Taking pictured with the high power camera, you read off the plate number. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. could you give me the details?”

Her voice sounded tinny coming from the speaker on the small tablet. “The license plate is registered to a 1984 Buick Regal owned by Caroline Jones, age 84.”

“Stolen.” You sighed. “Can you enhance these pictures and get a good image of the driver?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good,” Transfer them to the file. “I’m following.”

You followed the Civic to a nearby high school sports center. Sarah and a young man, definitely a teenager, got out. He carried a gym bag with a High School logo on it. He looked to be about Barton’s height and strong. His brown hair, hanging low over his eyes, did not hide the shiner on the left side.

Mixing in with the crowd coming and going from the building, you discovered it was a wrestling match. The guy with Sarah made his way to the mats while she darted for the bleachers. You found a spot in the corner where you could easily watch. Thankfully, everyone held up their phones, so recording and not making eye contact seemed to be the way for the adults in the room.

Sarah chatted with a woman for moment, but soon she left her backpack and began running. Seemingly just playing, she jumped from level to level among the seats and spectators. As you watched, her face went serious and she ducked under the bleachers.

The small girl’s hands skillfully slipped between legs and into purses. She swiped credit cards against a little block box from her glittery Hello Kitty purse and returned them with no one being the wiser. The little one had quite the light fingers.

You hung back and watched for a while. Sarah’s brother wrestled pretty well, but your experienced eye caught the fact that he favored his right side. There were likely more injuries than the black eye. A very haggard looking woman in hospital scrubs arrived midway through the match. She saw Sarah and her tired face brightened, changing her whole appearance.

Sarah cuddled close to her mom, talking animatedly. This child, bright and happy, looked nothing like the little thief sneaking under the bleachers. Bucky was right, this was not normal behavior for a young girl.

From your car, you watched Sarah leave with her mom but you decided to follow the brother. You dialed Bucky’s phone. Steve answered. “Well, we can tell Buck the little girl is swiping card info.”

“Disappointing.” Steve sighed.

“I’m going to follow her brother. He driving a hyped up street racer with stolen plates. I’m not sure, Steve, he may have taken a beating recently. It could be from wrestling, but that’s not what my gut is telling me.”

“Be safe, Sweetheart.”

“Steve,” You chuckled. “I’m casing a teenager, not a Hydra assault unit.”

“Hey, I don’t care if your following Morgan through the compound. I’m always going to want my best girl to be safe.”

“Steve,” You grinned. “You are such a sap.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.” You listened to his chuckle. “Where’s Buck?”

“He’s on the roof of the building checking things out.”

“Through a sniper scope.” You laughed.

He huffed.

“Oh my god! He is! Isn’t he?!” You gasped. “Bucky is up there with his rifle.”

Steve replied, tone dry. “He promised not to shoot anyone.”

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#stucky x reader #stucky fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #stucky fanfic

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vin-taege · 5 years

Text

low expectations

summary: after disappearing for six years to pursue law, you come back to Seoul, only to be hired by Jeon Jungkook, tattoo artist on the rise, and your high school ex

genre: angst, eventual smut, l2e2l (lovers to enemies [kinda?] to lovers)

pairing: tattoo artist!jungkook x lawyer!reader

words: 4 700+

Scattered boxes lay on your newly bought apartment. Some opened, most of them unopened. The only decent room as of now was your bedroom, and even that looked plain. Considering how organized you usually were, this was a severely chaotic. Even though the move to Seoul has been rough - some of your belongings even ending up in Daegu, but thankfully back where they belong now - you were ecstatic. Mainly because you were now far away from your overbearing mother. The increase in salary remained as a mere bonus. To say things between you and your mother were rocky was a bit of an understatement. She was heartless, manipulative, the perfect CEO. You had lived with your father after the divorce, and appreciated his company more. Life wasn't as luxuries as it was with your mom, but he cares for you more than anything. She did her part in paying for child support, funding most of your needs, compared to your father's salary as a small cafe owner. Going back to Korea has always been on your mind, ever since you graduated law school. If it weren't for the aforementioned salary increase, your mother would've never let you get that plane ticket. The new firm you transferred to was more than welcoming. They gave you a three week grace period so you can settle down, and even assigned you an assistant. It was just your luck that person happened to be Namjoon, your best friend since college. After graduating, you split ways. It was ironic how your reasons for going back to Seoul were direct opposites - him to return to his family, and you to escape from yours. He was probably the only person who had his shit together more than you. Not even two days after you landed, he already had your schedule organized for the next month. Even you didn't have enough patience to do that. Admittedly, you were a bit scared to go back. The last memory you had here was one in Busan, and it was far from pleasant.

You refreshed your emails again, not used to the absence of the usual influx of "urgent" files. The first thing you unpacked was of course the coffee machine. The other labeled boxes still had packing tape on, and you were dreading to open them up. Your phone has been on silent mode ever since midnight. You'd rather deal with your mother later than answering all her pressing texts now. Thank God she didn't know your Skype account.

Sluggish from the jet lag, you began picking at the packing tape, finding the edge of it and ripping the package open. In all honesty, you could’ve finished all the rooms in one day, and even have time for a manicure and pedicure afterwards. But this day just seemed so slow.

You never were used to a non-busy schedule.

Box after box, you made your way through your belongings. Throw pillows, small vases, the succulent collection you had. You didn’t have time for a pet, but your cacti were the perfect substitute. They made you feel needed on a deeper level, even though they only needed you to water them once a week.

Lofi music played in the background, giving you a more relaxing atmosphere. You slowly got in the zone, not noticing the hours pass by until you finally decided to take a break and check your phone.

Immediately, you were bombarded with six phone calls from Namjoon. Panicked, you quickly called him back. “Hey, Joon! I’m sorry, my phone was on silent. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” In contrary to what he said, his voice sounded distressed. “I know it’s your week off, but there’s just this really pushy client. He’s demanding a meeting with you as soon as possible. I told him I’d give you a call, and here I am.”

You grimaced. This client was already leaving a bad impression on you. If anything, you hated unprofessional clients and often turned them down, but you felt sorry for Namjoon. “Does he want to meet today?”

“I can schedule him for next week if you want. Put him on the priority list. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You considered it for a moment. You didn’t have anything to do tonight except to unpack, and your body was itching for work. “No, I’m free tonight. Did he give a time or a place.”

“He left me an address. Told me to come whenever. I looked the place up, and it’s a tattoo parlor. The customer reviews were nice, and it’s pretty popular here in Seoul too.” Here comes the unprofessionalism again.

“Wanna go at seven and have dinner after?”

“Sure. As your best friend, I wouldn’t mind catching up. As your assistant, I couldn’t let you die unless I want to get fired,” you both laughed. You heard typing in the background, followed by a few mouse clicks. “-And his case file’s done. Pick you up at six?”

“Damn, how long has this guy been bothering you? Case files take hours.”

“Ever since 7 am. This better be some god-tier dinner to make up for it,” he chuckled on the other line.

Somehow, the tattoo parlor reminded you of him again. He always wanted to run one, and you wondered if he ended up doing so. The call ended, and you started to get ready. Surely the client wouldn’t mind you dressing casually, it was a week off after all.

Namjoon picked you up exactly at six, pulling over in his freshly car-washed Mercedes Benz. He was donning a black turtleneck and jeans, mirroring your casual style. It was clear you both just didn’t give a shit anymore. A pair of black glasses sat atop his nose.

“Nice car. When did you start being a popular kid?” He scoffed at your teasing, remembering his skewed fashion choices back in college.

"Ever since I started hauling your drunk ass home after parties. Ever since I started making you nachos on thesis nights. Ever since-"

"Okay Namjoon, I get it. College ___ was a hot mess," you conceded. "You got that case file ready?" "Yeah. I forwarded it to your email," You checked your inbox, and indeed received the file from him. You browsed through it quickly, skipping client details and diving straight into the case. False accusations of tax evasion and illegal substance import. The case seemed simple enough, could be handled with a few counter-suits here and there. Just as you finished the case details, you decided to finally check the client info. "You know what makes this case so complicated?" Namjoon spoke up, ripping your attention away from the file. "What?" "Evidence tampering. From the rival tattoo shop, I think," You scoffed. Typical behavior from two business trying to climb to the top. "They, what, planted cocaine packets under the ink refills or something?" Outside, the sun started to set. It's been a while since you've last seen a sunset, long work hours demanding you to be in your office more. It was one of the things you missed in Korea, especially from Busan. "Yeah, something like that. The guy seems too young to be the head of the shop. Must be very good at what he does." You opened the file again, checking the client info. Jeon- "We're here." Sighing, you closed the file again, getting out of the car. You'll have to read up more on him later. Not even a month back in Seoul and you already have a possibly big case on your hands. This could really make or break your career. However, that name sounded familiar. Familiar enough to leave a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Jeon. The memory of soft brown hair came back to you, long enough to frame his big brown eyes. The same eyes that would crinkle each time he showed his bunny smile. There was a pained twinge in your heart. Namjoon knocked on the glass door. There was a purple neon sign hooked on it, blaring a bright "open" to entice customers to come in. On top of the building was a huge sign, lit up by LED lights. "Seoul Ink." The shop had a large glass pane next to the door, resembling a barbershop style. The inside was dimly lit with light pink, giving the shop a retro vibe. You could faintly hear music blaring from the inside. Not long after, the door was opened, revealing a short, yet muscular man. His hair was a vibrant pink, in contrast to the dark tattoo sleeve spanning his left arm. A worn tank top draped from his torso, not doing much to hide his skin. The man looked like the shop personified. "Good evening, we're here for Mr. Jeon. He told my assistant to set an appointment for today." "Oh, you're the lawyer he hired? Come in, please," He stepped aside, making way for you. "Jungkook! Our lawyer's here!" You froze. No, this can't be the same Jeon Jungkook from high school. Who knew how many Jeon Jungkooks were out here in Seoul? You were hoping, praying, he wasn’t the Jungkook you knew. "Wait. Goddammit, Jimin I told you to sterilise the needles." A lean, young man came out from the curtain-covered hallway. His hair was black, swept back to show his forehead. Sharp, doe eyes stared straight at you. His features became more angular, but it was clear he was the same boy you knew all those years ago. "___?" His eyes widened, expression hardening. "___. Pleasure." "You two know each other?" Namjoon whispered to you, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "We went to high school together," He dead-panned, leaving it at that. Your cheeks heated up, the atmosphere soon turning awkward. "Come inside. We have a lot to discuss." He led you through the same hallway, pink lighting kept uniform throughout the whole building. Tattoo designs were plastered on the walls; Designs of the same motif grouped together on each tattoo booth. Each door had a different feel to it; one monochromatic, another one clipped with Polaroids and fairy lights. They really brought out each tattoo artist's identity, gave you an idea of their style and aesthetic. You counted four of them in total, including Jungkook and Jimin. Jungkook stopped at the last door. Just one look at it and you knew it was his. Lush roses were stuck to the black-painted wood. At the very center of it was a small, golden bell with two red ribbons tied to it. You were too busy staring at it, not noticing the rest of the boys come inside. "___," Namjoon called you. "Yes. Sorry," Jungkook stared at you, eyes glassy. You were the first to break eye contact, shutting the door. °°° 6 years ago "You told me it was my turn to pick the movie!" You whined, Jungkook only laughing at your annoyance. It was your annual Friday movie night. You usually took turns picking the movie, but Jungkook already had one prepared when you came to his dorm. "But this one's really good, I promise," he pouted. "I'll let you pick two movies next time. His offer sounded tempting enough, prompting you to begrudgingly accept it. It was another anime rom-com. You recognized it, seeing enough pictures of the poster saved in Jungkook's phone gallery. He'd talk about it a lot, the mere existence of it shaping his entire understanding of true love. "Your Name?" He grunted, arm wrapped around your waist. You were cuddling on the couch, body on top of him. The popcorn bowl was neatly balanced on your back. "I've always wanted to watch this with you," he whispered, fingers threading through your hair. "Accidentally downloaded a shit-ton of viruses on Tae's laptop just trying to pirate this." "Hey, support artists. Pay for art," You repeated his motto. He rolled his eyes, bringing you closer to his chest. "I want to. I just wish I didn't fall in the stereotypical broke art student category," His tone was sharp. You knew better than to push it, knew this conversation would only lead back to his unsupportive parents. The moment Jungkook told his parents he wanted to open up a tattoo parlor, they shut him out. He didn't talk about them much, but you knew enough to know he didn't exactly have the best relationship with them. His brother helped him pay his high school fees, but only up to that point. Once Jungkook hits college, he'll have to support himself. He's picked up a few commissions here and there to save up, but it was nowhere near the money he needed to take an arts course. "Hey," you brought your shifted, bringing your hand to his chest. "My mom's offering me a part-time job in her firm. She could get you a spot if-" "I don't want to," His eyes were on the screen, though you felt him tense up. "Leave it, ___." "The pay is good. I'm just saying, you should look into it, Kookie," you frowned. It was always difficult to talk to him when money or jobs were involved. You couldn’t even recall how many times you fought over either college or job-related problems. He was so hell-bent on taking an arts course, but too stubborn to accept any help, especially from your mother. He exhaled deeply, dropping his arm from your hair. "Leave it." You watched almost half the movie in silence. He was right next to you, but sometimes he just felt so unreachable. You felt his soft lips against the crown of your head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not in the best mood to talk about that stuff." You reached over, pausing the movie. He sat up, mirroring you. "What's wrong?" His eyes were dull, refusing to look back at you. "Jungkook." "Nothing," he rubbed his eyes, running both hands through his hair. "It's nothing." "Tell me," you placed your hand over his, him enveloping it immediately in his large ones. His thumb drew small circles on your knuckles, just like he did when he was nervous. "My dad is signing me up for a med college in Seoul. I don't want to leave Busan. I don't want to leave you," he lowered his voice in the last part. You cupped his cheek with one hand. "You won't. We'll be together until college, and until after college. You'll always be my own Da Vinci, I'll always be your-" "Muse," he finished, lovingly meeting your gaze. "You'll always be my muse." °°° "So they did plant cocaine packets in the ink refills!" Namjoon burst out. You facepalmed a little, gaining weird looks from the boys. "Ignore him. Where did you say you got your refills from?" "California," Jimin responded. So far, over the course of the discussion, Jungkook remained silent, arms folded as he stared at the table. Jimin was more than enthusiastic to cooperate with you, answering your questions as detailed as he could. "We've been getting our refills from there for three years now. Taehyung knows the dealer, and we're all positive there's no way in hell he shipped us that." "Taehyung?" you glanced at Jungkook, whose mouth remained pinched in a thin line. You were relieved to find out they remained best friends after everything that happened. You knew Jungkook needed a strong support system, and Taehyung was more than enough for that. "Yeah. He just finished his shift today, but if you need to talk to him, I can give him a call," Jimin offered. "No, it's fine. I talk to him in personal some other time," you scribbled some notes on a scrap piece of paper. "The drugs must've been planted here in Korea. If it were from abroad, it wouldn't get pass customs." "That's exactly what we've been telling the police, but they wouldn't listen to us without a lawyer," he rolled his eyes. "Any suspects?" "Minho. Jung Minho," Jungkook's voice surprised you. He sat up, placing his hands on the table. "He runs the tattoo parlor down the street, that sleazy son of a bitch." "Must've gotten a hold of the package before we did," he continued. He was twiddling with his thumbs, a habit you recognized he never got rid off. "Don't jump to conclusions." "I'm not, but sometimes we have to make decisions, ___." He spat, voice raising slightly. He noticed the everyone staring at him uneasily and slid back down on his chair. "I mean, no one else would've done it aside from them." "Do you have any evidence, at least?" you passed Namjoon the notes so far from your hour-long discussion. He took his laptop out to summarize everything in a single document. "No. But we got the coke bags out. Made sure to use gloves so we won't leave prints behind and give the police the wrong idea," Oh so now he wanted to talk. Though you felt guilty for everything that happened in the past, you can’t help but get annoyed at his attitude right now. He was the one who wanted your help in the first place. "I see. I'll take a look at them after this," you looked over to Namjoon, who returned a curt nod. He was still focused on his laptop. "We appreciate your cooperation," your sarcasm directed to Jungkook. He scoffed, abruptly standing to rustle at his desk. He aimlessly picked up pencils and markers, putting them in their respective holders. "We'd appreciate it more if you won this case." With just one statement, Jungkook managed to push all your buttons. You stood up as well, Namjoon holding your arm down. "Why don't you check on the cocaine bags while I interrogate Jungkook more? Mr. Park-" "Jimin's just fine," The pink-haired boy offered a kind smile. "Jimin, please guide the way." One of Namjoon's winning traits was being calm under pressure. He was the one to hold you back before fights erupted, or the one to retrieve deleted files whenever the computer crashed and you had a presentation in two hours. Basically the one to keep you impulsiveness and short temper on watch. You followed Jimin out Jungkook's workplace. He led you back into the waiting area, and into the employees only room. The room itself resembled more of a hangout than an employee lounge. They had all their stocks and spare equipment neatly placed in cabinets off to one side. The center had a round table covered in sketch designs and discarded pencils. Those were about the only things that made the room look professional. The other side of the room was a whole different world. On the opposite side was a small vending machine next to an arcade game of Tekken. You recognized a D.Va styled jacket slung on one of the chairs. The walls had video game labels and band posters plastered all around. "Oh wow, how you did you get all this?" You blushed, immediately realizing how arrogant you must have sounded. Jimin didn't mind though, even laughing at your awe-struck expression. "The tattoo shop burst in popularity two years ago. We had money to spare, so Jungkook thought he'd pamper the employee lounge a bit," He put a black glove on and reached into one of the drawers, bringing a small sealable bag out. You picked up a stray glove, wearing it before picking the baggie up. It looked about five grams. You crinkled your nose in disgust. After finding some tissue, you carefully wrapped it up and placed it in your bag. Jimin let you check the lounge once more, patiently giving you space. "I'm Jimin, by the way," you looked at him questioningly. "I mean, I know you already know my name, but I wanted to give you a proper introduction." "Hello, Jimin. I'm ___," you smiled. "I'm a lawyer who used to be America-based, but as you can see, I moved here to escape from my insufferable mother." He laughed again, eyes crinkling. You never truly got a good look at him. His cheeks were full, like his plump lips. Although he was shorter than Jungkook, he looked older. It was clear he worked out, but you soon found out he was also very open as a person. "I'm a tattoo artist who specializes in traditional and blackwork styles. We each have our own thing here in Seoul Ink. Tae's good in watercolor and illustrative styles. If you like monochromatic designs, the right person to go to is Yoongi hyung." "How about Jungkook?" you told yourself you were asking out of curiosity, and only curiosity. You were to remain professional, to not get involved with your ex. "He's a well-rounded guy, but likes realism and new-school designs more. Not to pry, but is everything okay with you guys?" he gestured for you to sit on one of the chairs. "Well, I suppose we do need to be open with our clients." Jimin waited for you to continue, the pink light making his features softer. "We used to date in high school. It ended right before college, and I'm pretty sure it ended badly." "I'm pretty sure it ended badly too." You gave him a pointed look, to which he held his hands up in defense. "I mean, you looked like you were gonna tear his throat off a while ago." "I was trying to be civil. I guess I didn't know any better and thought he'd grown out of his childishness or something." "Maybe he didn't get over the breakup? That usually happens when it ends badly." He didn't know, but Jimin got it straight on. Even you haven't gotten over it yourself. You always wished the best for him. A selfish part of you even wanted to get him back, even after all those years. But you weren't here to get him back. You were here to finish the job. You had to push your feelings away. Jimin noticed your silence. "Do you believe in fate?" "I think?" Truthfully, you used to a dreamer, like Jungkook. Law school beat it out of you, giving you a cold facade to put on. "I want to believe in fate." "Maybe fate brought you here so you two could have a second chance then." he smirked. You glared at him, wiping the smile off his face. "At least make up a little. We couldn't get through this if you're constantly at each other's throats." "I'll talk to him." "Great! He already gave Namjoon his number, but here's mine for when you can't contact him," You gave him your phone, his fingers tapping away to input his number. "Thanks for putting up with us," His eyes were filled with sincerity, and you couldn't help but give him a small grin. "Of course." It's my job, you wanted to say, but couldn't find the heart to. You met Namjoon in the waiting area, laptop tucked away in his satchel. He was checking out one of the designs - a man wearing a suit, a bouquet of roses sprouting from his neck instead of a head. "Do you wanna get one or...?" He jolted at your voice. "Jesus Christ, ___." He never really grew out of his nerdy persona. Maybe people never truly change. "Jungkook seems like a nice guy. Lay off him a little, okay?" "I was actually planning to talk to him real quick, thank you very much." With that, you disappeared behind the hallway curtain again, leaving Namjoon with Jimin. You quickly found his room, knocking thrice before opening the door. You gasped, shutting it quickly again. Jungkook was sitting by his desk, shirt off and tattoos on full display. You didn't see much aside from a blur of black and splashes of reds and blues. Your cheeks were heating over, and you guess you must've surprised him as well. There was a thud behind the door, along with rapid footsteps. Slowly, the door opened slightly, enough to reveal a shirted Jungkook "Can I talk to you for a second?" you murmured. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. Wordlessly, you let yourself in, awkwardly standing behind him when he sat back on the swivel chair. "Hey." "Hey," he replied plainly. He always got this difficult sometimes, even back then. "How are you?" You settled for the customer seat, attached to a tray holding needles and a tattoo gun. You took a closer look around his workplace, recognizing messy sketches pinned on a corkboard. The same designs he used to draw back then. He fidgeted for a bit, eyes downcast on the floor. "Good. Been running the shop for a while. My brother calls me twice every month now." He looked up at you, eyes dark. You couldn't tell whether was anger or pain. Or both. He let out a long sigh. "I made it, ___." "I'm sorry," you choked out. You didn't know what else to say. You cursed yourself for not asking Namjoon for more information on the client before accepting the case. But did you really want to give this away? "I never stopped thinking of you." "Do you expect a thank you?" he folded his arms again. Why did he have to act so difficult? You shamed yourself for having these thoughts. It was your fault after all. He had every right to be angry at you. "Jungkook, I'm sorry," you tried again, tone softer this time. He blinked back what looked like tears, or he could've had something in his eye. The light made it hard to see. "Let's just act like adults, okay? Finish the case. And if you want to talk about more personal things, we can do that after." "You never did change, huh? As goal-oriented as ever," he smiled bitterly. “Job over everything else.” "You're still as stubborn as before," you grimaced at him. He chuckled, leaning back, tilting his chin up to the ceiling. He hummed, stretching his back. "I miss you," He opened an eye, peering at you. Your facade has crumpled, and you felt like the same girl six years ago after the breakup. He didn't say anything. Jungkook had so many thing running through his mind. Out of all the lawyers in Seoul, he just had to get you. Even after all those years, he still wanted to see you. But now that you were right in front of him, he felt nothing but pain and sadness. He loved you so much, but now that you were here, the only thing he could remember was the day you ran away from him. The day you left him. He shifted in his seat. Jungkook knew he had to get himself together for the tattoo parlor, for his friends. He thought he cut you off already a long time ago. "You can win this thing, right? I worked too hard for too long just to lose this. I crawled my way up here. I’m finally doing something I love," His voice was low, masking his wavering tone. You nodded determinedly. You weren't going to disappoint him again. "I know you can, ___. I've always believed in you. Would've appreciated it if you believed in me too," The way he said it was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. But you did. It felt like he wanted to say something else, like he was ready to tell you everything that happened after the day you left, but he stopped himself. He spun the chair, facing away from you. "I have a full schedule tomorrow. I should finish the rest of these designs." You slowly got up. Your chest felt heavy, heart in your throat. All the pent-up emotion hit you all at once. "It's good to see you again," he lightly said. You looked back, seeing a sad smile on his lips. The second you got in the car, Namjoon was looking at you worriedly. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to cry." "The lighting was too much for me," you lied. You've made your mind up. Case or no case, you were glad to see Jungkook again. And you weren't willing to let him go this time. “Let’s get that god-tier dinner.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bangtan smut #bts #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #bangtan scenarios #bts au #bts angst

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bloodandpaintchips · 3 years

Text

A Second Draft

Tagging→ Andrea Sheldon, Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame→ November 4, 2020 Location→ Sangren, Colorado General Notes→ The blue tape had to come down eventually.

The bed in Andrea’s new room at Johnny’s was like a giant pillow. She’d only left once, to look at the moon and to find someone to feed on (a nondescript patron at Ted’s who she merely compelled to forget that 10 minutes so he could keep drinking). Now she was back in this really soft bed and alone with her thoughts. And now that she was back in town, those thoughts were drifting to Gunnar a lot. It was a sore spot, as she couldn’t think of him without thinking about August and the things August took from her. She got to feel the things she felt with Gunnar after the fact, and she’d so often find herself closing her eyes and trying to place herself in the murky memories. She had to get out of this bed. That buzz from having just fed was right under her skin and she knew just laying around missing him, miles away from where she remembered he stayed, was a little ridiculous. She was in her van in moments, driving to her father’s house and hoping he’d been long asleep. Her features changed momentarily and she could feel it. She had a lot of emotions to regulate, especially looking at her old house, but she was here with a purpose -- in and out.

Climbing the side of the house near her bedroom was incredibly easy and she briefly thought about how she’d probably be getting used to random discoveries of what she was capable of for a long time. The window was open, considering Frank probably just avoided the room, even when he was waiting for her to come back. Slipping inside, Andrea scanned the area and quickly gathered her work boxes, one full of graphite and brushes and markers, the other full of bulky acrylic paint tubes. All right where she left them. She was back outside in moments, tossing the boxes in the passenger seat before getting in, starting the engine and taking off to Gunnar’s. Not wanting to waste time when his place came into view, she got out, grabbed the boxes and locked the van before making her way up to his door. A few seconds were spent wondering how he’d even react or how she’d explain showing up years later to make good on an art promise, but she shook her head finally and knocked.

Gunnar had spent the better part of the hour hauling in a brand new television. And he wasn't sure if that was responsible or a little bit sad. A rare day off and when he'd left the auto shop he'd decided shopping was a good idea. Granted, he needed the new TV but the normalcy of it all was odd. And oddly comforting. The large flat screen was set up, cable installed, and he was settled on the couch with some mindless comedy when he heard the knock.

Strange, that. He sniffed the air, finding no trace of something unfamiliar or unwanted (no cloying honeyed smoke), and shuffled to the door. Whoever, whatever it was, it wasn't like he couldn't handle it. More than likely some poor sod selling something that knocking on any other door would've gotten him a bite for his troubles. He wasn't, however, expecting to see her. The arched brow was the only indicator of surprise, eyes unreadable as they studied the pretty features of the girl who had disappeared in a cloud of mystery and remained as such for so long, Gunnar wasn't sure what to believe about the why and when, if ever she was going to return. But there she stood. Different, but not. Changed, yes. And so he stepped aside and gave her a short nod. "Come in."

When he opened the door, even though she had no clue what to expect, she smiled a little. True, she missed him and seeing his face again just reminded her how much. He looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. Still thick, though. Eyes still very blue. At his invitation, she walked in and set the boxes down in the nearest convenient spot before facing him completely. “So um,” she started, kicking her foot toward where she set the boxes. “I came to work on that.” She turned her head to look around the space, eyebrows raising when her gaze landed on the gridded blue tape -- still there. Fixing her eyes back on him, her smile returned despite her efforts to keep it subdued. “Fuck.” With that, she bounded toward him, practically jumping up to wrap her arms around him in a hug that she hoped would transfer all her feelings. “I’m sorry. I missed you,” she said into his shirt.

He watched her enter his space, eyes shifting briefly to the box and then to the wall. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about the blue tape still outlining the long-abandoned art project. Hard to, considering it took up the entire length of it. He'd long stopped tossing the odd and errant glance at the thing and eventually it faded into the background, usually only coming up whenever a visitor, rare that that was, had inquired. And he'd never actually give a response, simply shrugged. But there she was, the prodigal artist returned. No worse for wear, barring the change in diet.

And the strength. Jesus. That was wholly unfamiliar. Odd to place to the very human, very delicate Andy of old. This one, still pretty, but with a considerably stronger grip. He returned the hug, instinct not to put his full strength behind it. Difficult to break, the old habit. Andy, less so. He didn't understand the apology at all, and his lips lifted into a brief smile that he pressed into her hair. "Only a little late," came his reply, the dry humor of it all hidden in his hug. "Missed you too."

Laughing at his words, she held onto him a little longer before pulling away and running a hand through her hair. “I would’ve been on time, but some stuff happened,” she replied, smirking and giving a small shrug. “I probably should have called. Or something. I don’t really know what’s polite. But I brought all my crap with me to paint. I also figured I should tell you what happened. Well not should, but I want to tell you. If you’re still willing to have me talk your ear off and put creepy stuff on your wall.” She found herself taking him in, possibly trying to fill in those memories again. “I like your hair.”

"Figured as much," he replied, letting his smile linger as she pulled away. "Don't worry about it. What's done is done. Still glad to see you." Calling probably would've been the right thing to do. But Gunnar could understand the urgency that came with getting the hell away. Andy had ties, though. And she hadn't struck him as the type to disappear into the night. But all things considered, he got it. "Don't mind either. The talking or the art." Her compliment made him laugh, a short gruff sound and he raked a hand through the shorn blond locks. "Thanks. Got tired of combing it. Needed a change. See you did too." He nodded towards her own hair. "Suits, though. You want something to drink? Beer? Tea? Do tea now. Big changes."

She picked up her boxes and walked over to the wall, setting them down and looking it over to get a feel of just how big the space was. “Good.” She thought about all of the things she wanted to tell him, where she would start, and how to say it all. The idea to paint the wall was honestly a way for her to figure all that out without just taking up space in his loft. Working with her hands also just opened her up in a way she’d never been able to explain. “Beer is cool. Thanks,” she replied, getting her graphite sticks out and a small piece of tarp to set them on the floor. “So I’m just gonna go with my gut on this and hope you don’t regret still letting me do this. I used to have a plan but those are kind of leading me to shitty places lately, so I’m gonna go with the flow.” She smiled, turning to look at him. “I think I’m in the right place for it.”

Gunnar left her to sort out her supplies and headed to the kitchen to retrieve their beers. "Don't think I would've kept the tape up if I changed my mind," he told her once he returned, handing off one of the chilled bottles. "Been some time, but I still remember you're a dab hand with paint and art. Sure that hasn't changed." The 'right place' part was interesting, and Gunnar was sure she wasn't just talking about the wall. He wondered what other places she encountered and what had finally brought her back to this one. "Not much you could do that I wouldn't like."

Taking the bottle, she brought it to her lips and downed most of it before setting it on the floor near her supplies. “Guess I was thirsty,” she said, smiling briefly before grabbing a piece of graphite and picking a corner of the grid to start mindlessly outlining a figure. Her hands worked quickly, weirdly keeping time with her brain in a way that she wasn’t used to. She filled in shadows until finally, she spoke again, not tearing her gaze away from what she was doing. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” She had things she wanted to say but she wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes about it yet. So she kept sketching.

"Looks like." His own bottle rested comfortably on his denim covered knee once he settled back on the couch. Gunnar sipped his beer and chuckled. Knocking back beers; another newly acquired quirk. The television was on, saving them from a long gap of silence while she worked and posed a question that Gunnar had wondered himself, plenty of times. Still, he didn't answer right away. Curious about the way her fingers moved easily, as if no time had passed. Or the way she asked without actually looking at him. "Been some time, pet" he answered honestly. "You wanting to know something specific?" He paused, taking another sip from his bottle. "Think it was when we were out on my bike. Took us for a ride."

She was already finishing up on a figure outline, moving on to another as she gave him time to answer. When he did, she stopped, setting the graphite down and turning to him. “Yeah, it was when you took us for a ride,” she replied. The memory was a happy one, but it didn’t make her smile. “I remember too. And after you brought me home, I got roughed up real nice, fed on, and then compelled by August to believe it was him. Again.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and sat against the wall, facing where he was across the area on the couch. “Actually, every time I was with you, barring the first time, was...in my mind, with August. I guess he was grooming me or something. He’d been changing my thoughts repetitively for months and I had no clue, until he took the trust I had in you and tried to use it to take my virginity. Well he didn’t try. He did. And this happened,” she said, quickly gesturing at her face as it turned, only for a moment. “The wedding’s off though,” she joked, the smile not reaching her eyes. She didn’t look at Gunnar yet, unsure of how her word vomit would land and trying to subdue the flecks of anger she already felt describing it all.

Gunnar let her talk, expression unchanging as the words hung in the air. The truth of the matter that had left them both confused (and much anger on his part) finally revealed. The haze of those happenings had bothered the hell out of him. Knowing something was amiss with the dandy that seemed intensely occupied with Andy. And now he knew why. Her bouts of forgetfulness. The bruises. Christ, her face. He knew that, of course. Sussed it out from Johnny, what August had done to the girl. And part of that rage lingered in him. Angry with himself, for not noticing who and what the asshole was, put the pieces together in time. It'd been too late for Andy then. She was different now. He tried to suss out where her emotions lie, difficult in the almost clinical way she spoke of August twisting her mind and taking and tainting the memories. Nothing to that smile, or the gallows humor. But then he sensed it, fleeting spark of anger. Familiar in feeling, but foreign coming from Andy. But understandable. A justified rage, metered but not mindless. Nothing less than what she owed to herself, and the unfortunate situation she was put into, against her will. He pushed the beer bottle to the coffee table, and regarded her, unsure of what to say.

When she finally looked up, grabbing a piece of graphite to twirl in her hand, she kept going. “I know this is a lot. There’s like, no way to make it not a lot, if that made sense. But yeah.” Sometimes she liked being able to cry, but as liquid began to burn at her lids, this wasn’t one of those times. She didn’t even know what kind of tears they were — angry, remorseful, etc, she just wiped them away quickly. “He’s dead now, I killed him pretty much immediately. Before I even registered that I could kill anything. But all I felt was red, for months. Like I couldn’t even control it or my actions, and when I was finally able to, I was still fucking lost. I was afraid of what I would do but most of all I just felt shame?” She met his eyes, hers a bit bloodshot. “And once my mind was clear enough to really assess what happened...why every time I was with him it felt like a copy of something, why I was telling myself I was in love with him but I kept trying to leave with you somehow, I felt...stupid kinda. Like it was my fault. I know logically it wasn’t but I couldn’t even be here. I made up some great journey in my head to find my mom but it was all me trying to run from the reality of what happened. I think I still am a little, but I needed to come home. I left a lot here.”

No one could fault her for taking off. Gunnar surely didn't. Mostly. He knew what it was like, having that kind of rage inside, first glimpse of it, and the impulsive need to get the hell away from everything. Gunnar watched her, the tears she brushed away, and he felt nothing but grim satisfaction at August's end by her hand. Learning the full truth, the dandy deserved far worse. His fingers twitched against his denim-covered knees but he didn't furl them into fists. It wasn't needed. Andy didn't need his anger. Words, words were better. Even though they were never really easy for him, he liked trying for her. "Know you wouldn't leave if you didn't have a reason. Same for coming back. S'not your fault. Even if you know it, doesn't hurt to hear it. Did what you had to do. What you thought you had to do. Just glad you remembered you had things worth coming back to."

She let a tear fall and smiled, genuinely this time as she listened to him grumble out those things she really needed to hear from him. Andy knew he wasn’t much for words; he expressed himself in other ways, but he tried for her and it was evident. It made her feel happy to be back and regretful at the same time. “I did think I had to do it. I thought I had to do a lot. I’m always thinking. Vampirism didn’t get rid of that, unfortunately.” She put the piece of graphite in her hand back on the tarp and pushed herself off of the floor to go sit next to him on the couch. “I’ll probably finish the wall in a week. It’s gonna be all the faceless things I always saw in my head. Easy to duplicate, the eyes and hands and just, curtains of darkness. I’ve committed it to memory. But right now I wanna sit here,” she told him, tugging at a band on her wrist. She was quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts again. “I’m sorry. I know that might sound silly to you but I don’t know how else to express the things I feel, one foot away from you. I just have these memories of you that feel like they’re fifteen years away because they were so fucked with and maybe I’m just sorry in general. I feel like it’s all a bunch of sorry. But I won’t bore you with all of my regrets and sorries. I just wanted to say it one more time I guess. Now I have to move forward and I’m...not great at that,” she said, turning to look at him and smiling again.

"Might be a good thing, that Andy overthinking. Balance out the impulse control." His lips lifted in a light grin. "No rush on the wall. I'm around mostly, and I'll give you the spare key. Pop in whenever." Gunnar shifted slightly when she sat beside him, glad the distance was reduced. She'd been far away long enough. Carrying, from what he gathered, a pretty heavy weight. August. Her road trip. Something about her mother. What happened with them didn't need to be another one of her burdens. "S'not silly. Can't say I think you need to atone for anything, least with me. Sometimes moving forward, might be better." He exhaled and reached out, stilling the fingers that were still tugging at the band on her wrist. "Can't undo what he did, taking those memories. It's proper fucked up. Still us, though. Some changes. Give it some time. You work on your wall. We'll be alright."

Her fingers stopped moving under his and she blew out a breath, sinking into the couch a little more and feeling a relief she didn’t even know she was searching for. “I feel like I forgot what it feels like to relax,” she said quietly, letting herself slump over and rest her head on his shoulder. “Everything happened so fast, and then I was just feeding and running and searching in an endless loop. Always so much energy directed in different places...now I’m talking about making art again, something I haven’t even thought about since I left. And I’m here, and your place smells the same and you smell the same. I was almost getting used to the upheaval, but I’m remembering what content feels like again,” she explained, laughing a little. “It’s nice to not be freaking out about something for a bit.”

"Not much to freak out about here," he told her, surprised that it was true, for the most part. Things in Sangren were always strange, but familiar in its weirdness. Human Andy was always so cautious. This new Andy lacked the body heat but was no less warm in actions. Head on his shoulder. Rambling. Not the same, but similar in the ways that mattered. In the Andy ways he'd missed. "Pretty new for you, pet. Feeding, and the like." His smile was brief at the sound of her laughter. "'Spect you'll fall into the rhythm again. Different now, you being all super strength. Can't make you tremble anymore if we ever spar again."

She nodded against his shoulder, silently agreeing. She had become her own greatest fear, so while Sangren felt so familiar, it also felt like a completely new place for her to get to know. But having a place to stay in Johnny’s home where she felt so safe, and sitting here with Gunnar and feeling the warmth and activity under his skin -- it wasn’t overwhelming. “Feeding...yeah. I’m still not totally used to it but it’s interesting being able to just…” she started to focus on his arm, running her fingers down his veins and turning into his neck a little more. “Smell and feel everything? And hear everything.” She paused, taking in what he said and laughing a little. “Super strength or not, that’s still very much a possibility. The trembling was attributed to a few things there.”

He hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but hearing Andy admit to the trembling being more than just their afternoon spar made him laugh. "Guess that's true enough. Gave you plenty to tremble about." It was strange to think about her feeding. Not in a bad way, just a wholly different picture of the girl he'd last seen. The timid one who wouldn't have been as bold, tucking her face into his neck or initiating touches. "Do I have to worry about you sizing me up for a meal or for a fight?" he asked, the question dripping with amusement as he dipped his head, letting his faint grin brush the top of her head in a brief touch. "Takes getting used to, I'll bet. Senses in HD. Blood is a rush. That I know. Guess you're less about the spilling than the savoring, though."

Andrea thought about how much that would have made her blush before, but it just made her smile. “As for nervous trembles, you’d probably still get those. A little. Despite this practically new body, I haven’t…” She stopped, biting her lip and trying to find the right words. “Sparred like I probably could. I haven’t even felt the hunt since those first couple months when I couldn’t control it, and that was like just seeing a dissociative red for an extended period of time. I don’t know my strength yet, which anyone could tell from my now-crinkled steering wheel.” Honestly, she was afraid to know it -- the scope of what she could do. It was like she didn’t know her own hands anymore, the only thing making her think that wasn’t true being the way she just eased into working on the wall again. It told her maybe she was different but not entirely, and maybe she could know herself fully again. Maybe more than she did before all this. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to eat you. I may like your scent more than usual and maybe I can hear the blood flow in and out of your heart, but I don’t wanna eat you. Maybe taste but only with consent,” she joked, shaking her head. “But you’re right. Feels like an understatement actually. Trying to balance living life still, but through this whole new lens.” She didn’t comment on the last part, knowing her feeding method was so inefficient and probably wouldn’t last her. But she didn’t want to talk about that.

"Yeah? What makes you nervous lately?" He listened as she recalled her experience, seeing red and feeling that out of control strength and something like understanding tugged at Gunnar, because he got it. Knew the thrill, the taste and feel of it, and the slippery sensation of fear that went with it. "Like to tell that you get used to it, but you don't. Adapt, though. That happens. Evolve with the change. Takes some time. Test your limits. I could help with that. If you're ever feeling like you need a show of strength. Work out that energy." That...well perhaps that was meant a few ways. Gunnar smiled at her little joke, letting his fingers slide through her slender ones. "You smell different. Not bad. New, is all. Few days of playing in paint, remind me of that Andy scent." His fingers brushed her knuckles, eyes holding a thinking look as he considered his words. "Dunno if tasting's a good idea, pet," he rumbled. "Never had a vamp at my neck. No telling what my blood'll do. Wouldn't want this mess in here to harm you."

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but mostly I make me nervous. It’s weird knowing you’re capable of a lot, but not what exactly.” She appreciated his honesty, and the fact that it was from a reliable source -- they weren’t the same, but there was a bit of overlap and it made her happy to at least be talking to someone who knew what it was like to have to subdue something all consuming; to know that not being able to regulate emotions could lead to carnage. He’d felt that for so long, and she felt like she was joining a fucked up club. For a moment she remembered the fear in her father’s eyes when he saw her change and sighed. “It’s time for me to adapt to a few new things.”

She leaned up a little to meet his eyes, searching them for a moment before smiling a little. “That could be fun, having my limits tested. I constantly have more energy than I know what to do with. You should definitely help me out.” She cleared her throat, getting distracted at the feel of his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Just wait till I’m covered in paint. It’ll happen very soon considering how many layers of it I’m gonna need for what I have in mind.” She glanced over at the wall, smiling and feeling a little spark at the thought of creating something big again, still bigger than anything she’d done. His little warning made her swipe the skin of his neck with her nose again, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away slightly, smirk in place. “Just say no to Gunnar blood. Got it. Wouldn’t wanna lose myself.”

"S'good, you having that bit of nerves," Gunnar said with a short nod. "Means you're not far gone. Can always come back to yourself. Seen plenty of types lost to the wildness. Nearly been there myself." He shrugged. The sigh that followed was curious, but Gunnar wasn't one to pry. Andy would talk on her own time. He liked the easy flow of their talks. Missed it over the years. And he wasn't surprised that she'd readily agreed to his offer. He could sense her strength, the raw power rolling off her in waves. That kind of energy always called to his own, even if it wasn't exactly the same. "Whenever you want us, then. I'm around." Andy's excitement about the wall and diving back into her art was infectious. It'd been so long since nothing but that blue grid, a strange reminder to that time that seemed forever ago. It felt full circle to have her back like this. Sitting with him and talking art...the blood chatter, that was new.

There was more boldness, the brush of her nose against the line of his neck, keen sense of smell making his skin twitch. She was definitely full of power, and that was a curious, new thing. "Aye. Wouldn't say no to a nibble or two. But drawing blood, no telling what's to be made of that. Always been curious about it. Not curious enough to risk you, though."

“Can always come back to myself,” she mumbled, repeating him. “I think I’ve wanted to hear that for a while, Gunnar.” She sat with that for a moment, thinking about how for someone who usually didn’t chat too much, sometimes he said exactly what she needed to hear in the most succinct way. She pursed her lips at his words, listening and nodding in agreement. “Nibbles good. Bites bad. Best to leave the unknown where it is.” Some of his words stuck out to her and she inhaled a little, circling back to something he said. “Anytime I want? You promise?” She finally let her free hand wander, running her fingers through his hair, liking the smell of that too. “Cause sometimes people regret stuff like that.”

"Glad I could help." It was sincere and he backed it with a brief smile. It was good she'd agreed about the blood. There was enough already to sort with her memories of their previous encounters. Not to mention the bloodlust. He wasn't entirely sure where she was with control, and the last thing anyone needed was a test. The raseri didn't burn as hotly now and he hadn't dulled it with drugs in some time. But he was always aware. Always cautious. He did lean into the caress of her fingers. That was nice and familiar. He was amused by her playfulness, the suggestive of it all. "Promise. Haven't regretted anything we've done so far. No need to start. Especially since you remember now."

Andrea had been testing her limits, afraid to cross boundaries although she knew by merely coming to see him, the heightened aspect of it all mixed with her attraction would be intense. And he looked at her like he wanted her, and she could smell his breath, and his hair was soft on her fingers. She felt it all so acutely. His response only established some things, especially his mention of her memories. She wanted one that was clear, hers and never muddled with. Yes, she got them back but it was through a fog. She couldn’t remember how he felt. So she leaned up, tilting his head gently by his hair before brushing her lips against his. The contact made her want more immediately so she kissed him, releasing his hand so she could lean against his form and touch his face. “I’m sorry, I just,” she whispered once she was able to pull herself away, lips a little puffy from her excitement. “You just...I should probably be good and work on the wall.”

Gunnar accepted the kiss with a small grunt, more surprise than instinct. It was brief, and then Andy was pulling away, with apologies and an energy that was very much like her former self, so much that Gunnar could've smiled. Instead he reached for her, long fingers skimming her jaw, lifting her face to his so he could give her another kiss. Lips slanting over her own, soft and cool and he savored the feel of her mouth, dropping feather light presses before shifting back. "No thinking Andy," he told her, paralleling the impulsive words he'd given her on one of those muddled nights long ago. Daring her delicate human self to give in to those base instincts. He dropped his hands, letting his arm flop across the back of the couch as he regarded her. "Go be good now. Work on your wall. Don't wanna stand in the way of art. I'll be over here."

#p #para: a second draft #ch: gunnar leidolf #gunnardown

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maknaesdancersrappers · 5 years

Text

Devoted 2

part 6

Overall warning/s: kinkier smut (eg. voyeurism, exhibition, etc.) character death, dark themes

TRIGGER WARNING: dubious consent & possible drug use

Just how devoted is Jaehyun to you?

prev: Part 5

wc: 9.4k

“So you’re trying to get pregnant, Ms. [L/N]?” Dr. Ahn asks after pleasantries, going through your chart as she sits beside you. She’s been your gynecologist since you were a teenager; she was nice and funny, kept you comfortable throughout your appointments, she spoke to you like a wise friend instead of a condescending adult.

“Yes. My fiance and I would like to have kids soon.” You fold your hands over your lap after smoothing out your gownie.

“Oh, congratulations! Well, according to your cycle, you’ll be ovulating in a week. If you had unprotected sex recently, you can get pregnant since sperm can live in the vagina for up to 5 days.”

“This early? I thought it would take months.”

Dr. Ahn shrugs her shoulders, “Yes, but you seem to have a very active sex life, Ms. [L/N]. If you think it’s too early for you to get pregnant, I suggest you switch to pills or use a condom; or just abstain from sex for a few days just to let your body adjust to the sudden change, but you’ll have a higher chance of getting pregnant with than an IUD. I can prescribe some pills later after we get this Mirena out - if you still want to remove it.”

“Oh...” You hesitated, “Is it better to have it taken out when we’re trying for a baby immediately?”

She nods, “If you’re worried about getting pregnant before the big day and having a swollen belly, I’d suggest we keep the IUD in. But it’s all up to you, Ms. [L/N].”

You were right about your colleagues throwing you a farewell party; giggling a bit as you finish your small speech of gratitude with a toast to top off the night. Your boss coordinated everything - much to your surprise. He always seemed strict during work hours; drowning in paperwork and phone calls when he’s not overseeing projects.

“[Y/N], you’ve made so many projects under the company, I’d like to have them compiled under one major portfolio for you. Consider it a token of appreciation from us.” Your boss raised his glass of champagne at you.

“Oh, sir, you don’t have to.”

“Too late, dear, it’s already in production and has been paid for. We’ll have it delivered to you.”

“Thank you, sir. But we might be moving soon, I’ll send the new address once we move.”

“Alright. Congratulations again, [Y/N].”

He moves away from you, and you’re willing to bet he’s slowly making his way back into his own office because he’s a serial workaholic, more than Sicheng and Jaehyun combined.

Kyungwon had hooked her arm around yours by the time your (former) boss had left and she nuzzles the side of your head, “I miss you already!”

“Kyung, we’re still working on a project together.”

She whines, making it obvious she’s drank more than she could handle, “Your last project! After that, I’ll be all alone until you steal me away.”

You hush her, although you’re laughing at her words, “Shh, okay, no one knows I’m starting my own company; let alone taking you away. I have to wait until I actually start it before I can hire you.”

Kyungwon nuzzles the side of your head while clinking your glass at the same time, “‘till the day comes!”

She murmurs about needing help to the ladies’ room and you sling her arm around you to haul to the bathroom. When she’s in her cubicle, you enter the adjacent one to take care of your own business.

“It’s sad that [Y/N] is leaving.” You hear a female coworker say after the distinct sound of the door swinging open and close.

This makes you blush; flattered by their sentiments on your resignation.

“I know! Jeongin from the accounting said the other guys will be re-hired now that she’s gone.”

This, however, makes your brows arch in confusion.

“Ugh, they shouldn’t be re-hired. They’re sleazy and misogynists!” Another woman grumbles, “Maybe if I had a powerful fiance like [Y/N], then maybe every other sexual predator in this company gets booted.”

You swing the cubicle door open and your co-workers jumped at the sudden action. They’re blushing, hands frozen on their faces as they were trying to powder themselves. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop! But… what are you guys talking about?”

Your co-workers, Jihyo and Nayoung, share a look with one another. Jihyo cocks her head at you, “Wait, didn’t you request Choi Jinho and the others to be transferred for being… inappropriate?”

“Choi Jinho?” You repeat. You remember him; he left last year all of a sudden. He was very affectionate and quite flirty, he liked to throw his arms around everyone - including you. “No. I was shocked when he left. He was one of the most sought after architects in the company.”

Nayoung scoffed, “Yeah, but he’s a serial molester. Rumor has it that it was your fiance that had him pulled out of the company.”

You blinked at them; it was highly possible that it was Jaehyun’s doing, but how did he even know? You never talked about Jinho at all to him. “N-no… I don’t know anything about that.”

“Well,” Jihyo shrugs her shoulders, “They’re all coming back since you’re leaving. Whether or not your fiance had anything to do about it, it sounds awfully coincidental, doesn’t it?”

It does sound coincidental, but given Jaehyun’s power and personality, he probably did do something about the sudden resignations and transfers of your former male co-workers.

“Regardless, we really are going to miss you, [Y/N]. Us women in the company felt a lot safer when you started working here, I just wish our boss wouldn’t re-hire those jerks.” Nayoung offers you a sad smile before stuffing her cushion back into her purse.

“Fear not!” Kyungwon kicks the cubicle door she was in open, startling all three of you, “[Y/N] can save us all!”

She stumbles forward and you worriedly called out her name while stepping forward to help support her.

“Kyungwon really has low tolerance, huh?” Nayoung giggles, taking Kyungwon’s other hand and draping it around her shoulders to help you with her weight.

“She’s also right, I suppose.” You paused, “Give me… a month or two. I’m leaving the company to start my own and I’m aiming it to be a predominantly female company. I’d hire all of you in a heartbeat if you’d want to join me.”

Jihyo gasps and claps her hands, “Really? [Y/N], that’s amazing! Of course we’d love to! I’m willing to bet everything is going back the same way it was before you entered the company now that you’re leaving. Haven’t you realized that the guys don’t talk to you unless it’s work-related?”

You did realize this, but you always excused it because Jaehyun often picked you up from work and accompanied you during functions or parties. You had his picture on your desk; anyone could tell you were off the market and that’s the reason why your male co-workers didn’t bother with you like they did with your other female colleagues.

“Now that you mention it…” You trailed off, casting your eyes downwards.

“You’re so lucky that you have someone who constantly looks out for you.” Jihyo sighs, “My ex broke up with me because he thought I was cheating on him, when really the guy kept messaging me even though he knew I was taken.”

If they only knew the real reason behind why Jaehyun did those. You gave her a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry about that, Jihyo.”

“Don’t apologize, [Y/N]. It’s okay, if he can’t even trust me with guys that I only see as friends or colleagues, then he doesn’t deserve me. What’s the point of a relationship without trust, right?”

Her words pricked your heart for some reason, but you shrugged and nodded halfheartedly.

Nayoung offers to take Kyungwon home, after she heaves the alcohol out of her stomach and sobers up with a few glasses of water, and Jihyo volunteers to help her. They accompany you to where Mr. Kyung was already waiting with your boxed items already in the backseat and bid you farewell.

When you get home, you dropped your stuff at your home office and sat on the couch; too drained and tipsy to make it all the way to the bedroom. You don’t feel good - not in the sense you want to vomit after drinking. It was what Jihyo and Nayoung talked about in the bathroom. Did Jaehyun have control of your surroundings even at work? How did he even know? You had so many questions and it only made your head ache.

Staring at the 77” LG OLED TV, you frown at your reflection. Your mind is taking you back to three years ago: when Jaehyun had made it seemed you had a stalker. The fear is still fresh in your heart and it made the little hairs on your arms rise up. As if the world was playing a cruel joke on you, your phone rings and drained the color from your face. But instead of an unknown number, it was Yuta’s.

Calming yourself down, you pick up his call. “Hello?”

“[Y/N], I-I’m sorry, but you know how I invited Sicheng and Jaehyun out for some drinks?”

“...Yeah? Is something wrong? What happened?”

Yuta nervously chuckles, “Nothing… particularly bad. They’re just… really drunk and I was planning to book them each a suite at the hotel I’m staying at, but Jaehyun is adamant about going home to you.”

This alarms you; Jaehyun probably has one of the highest alcohol tolerance among the people you know. He could down beer and soju one after the other and still end up being a little goofy - but never shitfaced wasted.

“Oh my god, okay, uhm… I’ll text you our address.”

“Okay, thanks, [Y/N]. Don’t worry, I’m not driving. We’ll call for a cab.”

It was barely 11PM when you hung up on Yuta and it was just odd that Jaehyun would get that drunk so early in the night. Maybe they had more hard liquor than the usual mix he goes for.

An hour later, there’s a knock on the door and you’re sprinting towards it. Before you open it, you could hear Jaehyun arguing in slurred words that he doesn’t want to wake you up and he could open it with his house keys. Opening the door wide, you’re greeted by Yuta supporting both Jaehyun and Sicheng on either shoulder with a tired, apologetic look on his face.

When Jaehyun sees you, his face brightens up immediately. “Baby!”

“H-hey. You had fun, babe?” You stifle your laughter as he lunges forward and wraps his arms around you, hugging your figure as tight as he can. Turning to Yuta, you sigh “Yuta, I think you and Sicheng should stay the night. We have a guest room with twin beds for both of you and I’m sure I can find some clothes for both of you to wear.”

“Oh, maybe Sicheng, but I can still go home.”

“Please, I insist. It’s late and you look just as hammered as these two.”

Yuta finally relents and you usher them inside. Jaehyun slumps down on an armchair while Yuta sits Sicheng down on the couch and takes the space beside him afterwards.

You bring them bottled water; opening it for Jaehyun while Yuta does it for Sicheng. “What did you guys drink and how much of it did it take for Jaehyun to be even this wasted?”

The question was directed to Yuta, who was obviously more sober than the two, but Jaehyun answers anyways in a giddy voice, “The whole bar! Sans wine because there are hundreds of those there…. Oh, babe, I had the best scotch there.”

You hum, bringing the bottle up to his lips so he could drink water.

In your peripheral vision, you catch Yuta fondly watching both of you. “Must be nice to have someone waiting at home for you; ready to take care of you when you need them, huh?” He comments.

“Are you retiring early from the bachelor life? Your bachelor pad isn’t even complete yet.” You tease, running your fingers through Jaehyun’s hair to push it back from his face and he gives you a sleepy, childish grin.

“No, I’m gonna enjoy it a little longer. But I can’t be a bachelor forever, [Y/N].”

You excuse yourself to get clothes for them and brought back some shorts and shirts Jaehyun doesn’t use often. You direct them to the guest room where Yuta hauls Sicheng to the bed and promises to help him change after the latter whined about being too lazy. You wish them a good night and made your way back to Jaehyun.

As you close the door, you gasp to see Jaehyun already beside you, leaning his weight against the adjacent wall. “Babe! Oh my god, come on let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s get you to bed.” He repeats with a chuckle, nose scrunching at you.

You warily eyed him, you’ve never seen him in this kind of state before - and that’s saying something. There was one time you both endlessly drank until you (just you) were throwing up and even then, Jaehyun was still his right state of mind to take care of you.

He holds your hand and lets you lead him to the bedroom, “You’re pretty.”

“I’m pretty?” You stop in your tracks, just a little past the doorway and turn at him with an incredulous expression. “The last time you called me pretty was seven years ago; when we first started dating.”

“I stopped calling you pretty?”

“No, you just used other adjectives.”

“Like?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Like beautiful, gorgeous, sexy… and the likes.”

Jaehyun cocks his head and grins, “You’re all of that.”

“Thank you, Jaehyun. Now let’s get you-” He cuts you off with a kiss, bringing his hands on your hips to pull you towards him. You entertain it for a moment, slinging your arms around him and even tiptoeing to push yourself up. But in the back of your mind, you remember the conversation with your former colleagues and you’re pulling away from him.

Jaehyun doesn’t get the hint and continues to press his lips on your skin, “I love you so much, [Y/N]. I’ve wanted you for so, so, so long and now you’re here; a few months away from being my wife.”

“I love you, too, Jae,” You try to stop him but he holds you with a firm grasp, “I think we should get to bed now.”

He hums in approval, bringing his lips back over yours all of a sudden; catching you off guard when he forces his tongue into your mouth and you could taste the variety of alcohol he’s consumed. He’s nudging you back until you’re by the bed and he pushes you down onto it.

“Jaehyun, wait,” Your eyes fall to the unclosed door, worried that your sudden guests would hear or need something and stumble into a salacious scene. You hate how that turns you on; how the idea of someone walking into you and Jaehyun fucking gets you wet from the get go. But you’re not keen on doing anything tonight; not when he’s too drunk and especially not after what the girls told you. “I’m not in the mood.”

Your words fell on deaf ears as Jaehyun hooks his fingers on the band of your pajama bottoms and underwear that you changed into while waiting for them and yanked them both off your legs. You try to shut your legs, but Jaehyun just wrenches them apart and dives face first into your pussy.

A gasp leaves you, your back arching off the bed and your hand shooting to grab hold of his hair. “Jae, please- wait a minute, I-”

He directs his attention to your clit; engorged and throbbing to be touched, sending pleasurable waves coursing through your veins with every lick and suck Jaehyun does.

Moments later, you feel him slip two fingers into you without any forewarning.

“You’re always so wet for me.” He grumbles, giving you a few more drawn out pumps from his fingers and kitten licks on your clit before standing to unbuckle his belt.

You take this as an opportunity to move away from him, scooting up the bed and sitting up. “Jaehyun, can you just wait for one-oh!”

He chuckles at you, grabbing onto your ankles and pulling you back near him; hovering above your frame with a mischievous smile. “Hi.”

“Hi…”

He just smiles at you; a lazy, mellow grin on his puffy face.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, touching his arms and running your hands over them in a soothing manner.

He nods, “I’m just happy.”

“I can see that.” You giggle for a second, eyes darting from his upturned lips to the hot, hard cock resting on your thigh, before your face falls. He’s acting really weird. “We should really go to sleep, Jaehyun.”

“But I’m horny.” He pushes your shirt up to expose your bare chest to him, “And you’re so hot. I can only get off on you.”

You bite down on your lower lip when his hands grab each of your breasts and gave each a good squeeze, thumbs stimulating your nipples until they were hard peaks. You look up at him, watching his eyes glint with lust at the sight in front of him. He looked so different… he doesn’t seem like himself - at least his persona of this age. It was like he was back in his early twenties, trying to get into your pants for the third time.

Jaehyun reaches over his head to remove his shirt, tossing it aside as fast as he could. He’s sweating for some reason, although the entire apartment is air-conditioned. His muscles are tensed when you hold his arms.

“Jae, are you okay?”

“Never better.” He grits out, capturing your lips into an open kiss.

When he pulls you closer, you could feel his heart beating drumming onto your chest. You pull away, “Jaehyun, your pulse is going insane.”

“Of course, it is.” He dismisses, pushing your legs apart. “It’s because of you.”

Feeling dismissed, you sigh, “Okay, Jaehyun, just one round - ah!”

You get cut off, loudly moaning when he surges forward and his cock pierces into you with minimal difficulty.

You woke up sore and aching; especially lower half. Last night, you came about five times after 3 rounds one after the other. Jaehyun was insatiable; unrelenting to your soft pleas for even a quick break. He just… wasn’t himself - at all.

With much struggle, you sit up the bed and pull up the sheets to your naked body. The clock on the nightstand reads it’s about 7AM which means you’ve been asleep for a measly 3 hours. You ought to take a shower; you slept drenched in sweat and not to mention both yours and Jaehyun’s cum dried up and crusty all over your nether regions.

A pained moan leaves you once you tried to get up; you hiss, “Damn, am I getting old?”

Holding the sheets to your body, you trudge to the bathroom but the door suddenly opens and Jaehyun steps out, paler than usual.

“Jaehyun?”

He jumps a little at your voice and he stares at you, wide eyed. He releases a sigh, eyes furrowed in the middle of his forehead. Before you could ask what’s wrong, he takes a step forward and pulls you into a tight hug.

“[Y/N], I’m so sorry.” Jaehyun mumbles into the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“What?”

He kneels in front of you, taking one of your hands into his and kissing your fingers repeatedly. “I’m sorry, baby, I really am. I - it was like I had no control of myself. I’m a monster.”

You hunched down and cup his face, “Jaehyun, stop, what are you talking about?”

“You,” He almost snaps, “You didn’t want to have sex last night, but I insisted. I forced myself on you; I-”

“Jaehyun, it’s okay.”

“That’s not okay, [Y/N].” He cuts you off, “You said ‘no’ and I ignored it. I’m a monster, [Y/N], I practically ra-”

You grabbed his shoulders, “Don’t even say it! I wasn’t in the mood in the beginning, sure, but I still enjoyed myself… you should know, I came a lot.”

“But,” He tries to argue, but you hushed him.

“You know I wouldn’t go down without a fight; if I really didn’t want to, I would have made it very clear.”

“But,” Jaehyun looks at you with doubt, prompting you to give him a loving kiss on the lips. “If you had resisted… I think it would have been even worse.”

You pull away at his words, trying to search for an explanation in his face, but he has his eyes looking down to his lap. Swallowing hard, you kiss his cheek, “Monsters don’t know what’s good and bad; they don’t apologize for what they’ve done. You have, though, you know what’s right and wrong. I’m not mad or disgusted by you, Jae, I still love you.”

He finally looks at you, “I don’t deserve you, but I love you, too.”

Pulling you into a hug, he kisses your shoulder over and over again while you soothe his back with your hands.

“Although,” You trail off, leaning back on your legs, “Last night… it felt like you weren’t even here. Y-you were completely different. What were you drinking last night?”

Jaehyun sighs, “Too much of everything… I’ll ask the guys if they remember what we had so I can avoid it next time. They should be hungry now if they’re awake. I’ll go make breakfast.”

“Okay, I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

He leaves you to bathe after sharing another kiss and you wait until he’s gone before you lumber into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

As warm water cascades down your body, you let out a sigh of relief as you feel your muscles relax under the steam. You still had to question Jaehyun about what Jihyo and Nayoung had told you, but it had to wait until your guests leave.

You’re in and out of the shower in 10 minutes, putting on proper clothing after drying off and applying some moisturizer. You tame your hair down until you’re decent enough to present yourself in front of Sicheng and Yuta and you walk out to the dining room where Sicheng exaggeratedly calls for you.

“Jiejie!” He cries, “I wanted to eat your cooking for breakfast.”

“Maybe next time?” You sympathize, glancing at Yuta as he looks through framed pictures on the shelves with a steaming cup in hand. “Are you guys alright? I hope the hangovers aren’t too bad.”

Yuta shrugs at you, “Bearable. I don’t know about these two, they were hit the hardest.” He gestures to them with his mug before taking a long sip.

“Did we drink anything you didn’t?” Jaehyun calls out from the kitchen, pausing from his cooking to ask him. “Because I’m not humble bragging or anything, but I have a very high alcohol tolerance - higher than Sicheng.”

The latter cradles his head and sighs, “I don’t even want to contest to that.”

“Hmm…” Yuta gives it a thought, approaching the table and sitting beside Sicheng. “The rum one, perhaps? I don’t like coconut that much so I didn’t even try it.”

You made yourself a cup of coffee, frowning at what Yuta had said because you’re certain that Jaehyun had downed that in a minute. Peeking at him, with the way his brows furrowed and arms crossed while watching the soup simmer, told you that he did remember the drink. You walk to him and lean your head on his shoulder, “Was it good at least?”

“Yeah, it was.” He grumbles, stirring the dried pollack soup he makes for anyone with a hangover (usually you.)

“There had to be something in it.” Sicheng pounds on the table like it was a gavel.

Yuta sits back on his seat, “Like drugs?”

“It’s the only possible reason why Jaehyun and I were so out of it; I mean, if it were only me, then it wouldn’t raise suspicion, but the fact Jaehyun…”

“We should take drug tests, Cheng, and if we come out positive; then we’ll sue the bar.” Jaehyun turns the stove off and you help him serve the soup to them. After giving a hefty portion each to the boys, you and Jaehyun serve yourselves and sit across them.

Sicheng moans at the first spoonful of soup, “I still think [Y/N]’s version is better.”

You let out a little laugh while Jaehyun scowls at him, “We use the same recipe.”

But the Chinese national just rolls his eyes and continues to eat, Yuta on the other hand, nods his head as he chews. “Wow, is there anything you can’t do?”

“He’s annoying, isn’t he?” You teased, “I used to think he was too perfect for me.”

Jaehyun nudges your leg with his, shooting you playful disapproving look.

“No flaws at all?” Yuta wonders out loud.

“Of course, I have flaws.” He defends, “Everyone does. Don’t you?”

“Oh!” Yuta dramatically exclaims, “Ask all my exes.”

Everyone chuckles at him - even Jaehyun, to your surprise; it looks like he isn’t as apprehensive towards Yuta anymore. Maybe the night out allowed them to get closer, open up a bit more about each other rather than being business associates. You reach under the table to squeeze his thigh, making him glance at you, and you simpered at him.

He returns it with his hand covering your own to hold it momentarily before both of you resume eating and entertain your guests with stories from the night before.

Yuta and Sicheng don’t extend their stay any longer and began preparing to head back to their respective homes after breakfast, dressing themselves back in their soiled clothing from the night before and were gracious enough to throw the clothes they borrowed into the laundry themselves.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Jaehyun,” Yuta sighs, nodding at him and then at you, “[Y/N].”

“Don’t mention it.” You lean onto Jaehyun as he lays his arm over your shoulders, “It’s been awhile since we had people stay the night.”

“Until next time, then!” Sicheng jokes, tossing his coat over his shoulder.

“A tamer next time; perhaps we’ll tackle their wine collection?” Yuta raises a brow at Jaehyun.

He hums, halfheartedly shrugging, “Until a tamer next time.”

Both of you see them off and once Jaehyun shuts the door, you step away from him and walked away with crossed arms. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, following after you tentatively. “[Y/N]?”

You spin on your heels and scowled at him, “Did you have my boss fire men at the company?”

He blinks at you, “Yes…?”

“Jaehyun! Why would you do that?”

“Kyungwon said they were inappropriate and disrespectful; not only towards you, but the rest of the women at your work. I had only suggested doing something about it in passing, but she seemed to like the idea.”

You reel back and let your arms fall to your sides, “Kyungwon?”

Jaehyun nodded, “Although, she was a little drunk that time… when we first went out to drink with her and your other colleagues. She was complaining about how one of the men kept trying to touch her. I had to do something, [Y/N], it would be for your sake, too.”

“Oh.” You felt guilty now; you were ready to give him an earful for meddling in your corporate life but now you know the truth, you’re admittedly a little speechless.

“Did Kyungwon tell you? I asked her not to tell you because I’m sure you wouldn’t like it, but-”

“No,” You shake your head, “She didn’t. I overheard it in the bathroom. It seems like they’re rehiring those people now that I’m gone. I’m worried about Kyungwon and the others now; I need to start the company now so I can hire them.”

Jaehyun frowns, “I can hold the rehiring until then, baby. For now, how about I handle on your start-up to make it a little quicker? You just worry about Yuta’s apartment and our new house?”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty busy these days.”

“I have people to handle the paperwork. They’ll need your approval and signatures, but that would be it.”

“Okay.” You bite down on your lip, “Thank you.”

He chuckles, tipping your chin upwards so he could kiss you, “Anything for my everything.”

Your arms slip over his strong built, pushing yourself to hug him and press your cheek on his chest where you could feel his steady heartbeat thumping. You feel his fingers combing through your hair while his other hand rested over the small of your back.

“Is something else bothering you?”

“I just wanted to hug you…” You murmured, “But… I suppose it’s bothering me that I feel so… dependent on you. I don’t even know how different my life would be without you. You solve all my problems with a wave of your hand or snap of your fingers - to be frank,” You abruptly pull away from him with a pout, “You solve it through your wallet.”

He sighs, “[Y/N], you know money isn’t an issue to me or my family. I understand it can be overwhelming and almost impudent to solve all our problems with money, but it’s more efficient that way. My family… your future family has a steady flow of income; enough to sustain our lives and those who need it.”

“Those who need it?”

Jaehyun cocks his head, “We have plenty of charities, and provide sponsorships and scholarships, [Y/N]. The Jungs aren’t that greedy. Each of us donate to our respective charities twice a year.”

“What’s your charity?”

He hesitates, “I regularly donate to a rehabilitation center that deals with people who need psychotherapy that cannot afford it and…”

“And?”

“I also donate to the Golden Acres nursing home.”

You gasp, hands flying to your lips, “Golden Acres? That’s where…”

He nods, “Your mother mentioned about how your grandmother had been there since you were in high school. Don’t you want to visit her?”

“She doesn’t remember me.” You sadly tell him. Your grandmother had early onset Alzheimer’s at the age of 62. Your parents were working so hard to even support everyone in the house that no one could take care of her. By the next year, they had decided to move her into Golden Acres where she could be cared for 24/7. “Or at least she doesn’t remember that I’ve grown; I’m basically a stranger to her.”

“But she was an artist, yes?” Jaehyun’s hands rubs your shoulders, “You got your artistic skills from her.”

“Yeah,” You let yourself smile; when you were younger, your grandmother always encouraged you to draw or paint when she’d watch over you for your parents while they were away. “I miss her, though.”

“Then let’s visit her one day. Invite her to the wedding; whether she remembers you or not.” He kisses your forehead and pulls you back in for a hug. “What do you want to do today?”

You hum, trying to decide until you remembered that it was Sunday. You jump away from him with a gasp, “We were supposed to meet with my parents and Kun today for dinner! I haven’t contacted him at all last week.”

Jaehyun couldn’t help but chuckle at you as you briskly walk back into the bedroom. He saunters after you, crossing his arms and leans against the door frame while he watches you type on your phone. “Did you tell your parents at least?”

You glance up at him, “Yeah, of course I did.”

“So you genuinely forgot the man of the hour?”

You roll your eyes, hitting send after composing a message and picking out Kun’s contact number. “Okay, you know what? My mind has been everywhere the past couple of days; from designing a loft-type bachelor pad to a full sized home - that we haven’t even chose yet - resigning from my job and starting my own to save my female colleagues from pervs; cut me some slack, Jae. I can’t even start thinking about our wedding, although I really, really want to.”

He lightheartedly scoffs, approaching you on your seat at the bed and kneeling in front of you, “Baby, you know I was just teasing you. Don’t think about your company just yet, I’ll take care of that. How about we spend the rest of the morning planning for the wedding together and after lunch, we could browse through the catalogs of the Jung Properties’ real estate.”

“Sometimes I forget that your family is actually in real estate. You guys have too many business branches and different agencies.”

“We’re a conglomerate for a reason.” He gathers your hands into his and kisses your ring, “Soon, we’ll have a design agency under your name and ownership; which in retrospect, should be a smart business move. We have all these lands and properties, subdivisions and condominiums, yet we rely on other companies to build and design them.”

“So it all works out in the end?”

He hums in agreement, standing to his feet. “Well, should I get your laptop for you or do we work on our wedding in your office?”

Considering the fact that you’ll both not end up doing what needs to be done if you were to work on the bed, you chose the latter and he helps you stand up after you grab your phone. He holds your hand and swings them as you make your way to your office; grinning like a child and it’s so contagious that the same grin forms on your face.

In your office, he insists that you sit between his legs as he scoots further into your high back office chair to make room for you. Once comfortable, he rests his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist as you open your iMac.

“You wanted an intimate wedding, yeah?” He kisses your neck, “So around 50 guests or less?”

“Does it sound too little for you?”

“No. What matters to me is that we’re both present with our parents. I don’t mind a civil wedding, either.”

You whined, “Where’s the fun in that?”

His chuckle reverberates onto your back, “I suppose. So at a church? Hotel function room? A beach? The casino?”

“We’re not getting married at the casino.”

“Hey,” He tightens his hold around you for a second, “Lucky 7’s function rooms are quite nice.”

“Doesn’t change my mind on it.” You shrug, “I can’t choose between a garden wedding or a beach wedding; so you choose.”

On the monitor screen, you pull up the pinterest board you’ve compiled everything wedding related and Jaehyun hums in contemplation as you slowly scroll through them. “How about a garden wedding with a beach view?”

You twist around to look at him, “We can do that?”

“I’m sure it’s possible.” He presses his lips on your jaw, “We’ll make it possible.”

“Okay, well if it’s technically a garden wedding, then I think it’s fitting that the theme would be a little casual, but still romantic.” You type the keywords into the search bar and show him what you meant.

“Weddings like these are perfect for spring.” He comments, “Would you like to set a date for when the cherry blossoms have bloomed?”

“It would be nice, but that would mean we’d only have 6 months or so to plan this wedding - and that’s if we make it our priority. We’re both so busy.”

He leans back on the chair and massages your shoulders, “Babe, you’re worrying too much again. Remember, we might be busy; but my mom won’t be. She’ll gladly take care of this as an event planner. She’s been waiting to plan my wedding before I even learned to walk.”

You snort at him, shaking your head in disbelief, but move on with the planning; “Would you like to suggest a color scheme? Don’t you dare fucking say black just because it’s your favorite color.”

He lets out a laugh, “Gray, then. Something neutral.”

“Garden weddings typically have purples and pinks for color schemes; like pastel shades, or lavender and peaches.”

“I like that,” He interjects, “Peaches or coral.”

You look back at him for a moment, “Alright, then. Let’s pick out some photos and print them out.”

As you save photos you both agreed on and print them out, Jaehyun makes himself a little more comfortable by cuddling you and pulling you flush against him. As you wait for the rest of the photos to print out, you run your hands along his arms, feeling the little hairs on them.

He mumbled something incoherent on your neck, tickling you slightly.

“What was that?”

“I said,” He pulls away a little, but his lips are still brushing against your skin as he speaks, “I can’t wait to see you in a wedding dress.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the image of you in a flowy white dress, hair styled to your liking, walking down the aisle where Jaehyun waited in his own white dress shirt and black pants.

“Do you have any requests on what my dress should look like?”

“Anything would look good on you.” He leans back and forces you to lie back on him, “It could be the sluttiest dress ever or the most matronly piece - I don’t care.”

You shift to face him, cupping his jaw and moving your thumb over his cheek. His own hand mimics your actions, lightly caressing your thigh. There’s a comforting silence that takes over; lulling you closer to each other until your lips are pressed and melding together. There wasn't any urgency or desperation, nor was it hasty and in passing.

He took his time with you, nibbling on your lower lip and steadily bringing the soft flesh between his. The printer made a sound that signaled its’ done it’s job and he pulls away but you hold him steady, whimpering a sound of disapproval that makes him chuckle.

He continues to kiss you, running his tongue along your lower lip to ask for entrance and you grant it. Teasingly, he slips the wet muscle into your mouth and sliding it along your own. He tasted like coffee: a good kind of bitter with a hint of sweetness, the kind you get addicted to.

Your hand falls to his chest and you could feel his pulse with your fingers, beating steadily with calm thumps.

Both of you pulled away for air, resting your foreheads together. He has a ghost of a smile on his lips and you give it a little peck to make it wider.

“I love you.”

You’ve exchanged these words so many times already yet it never lost its meaning. It still sent warmth spreading across your face, made your stomach giddy, and made your heart feel full. “I love you, too.”

Jaehyun leans back down, opting to kiss your cheek while combing his fingers through your hair.

After a few more minutes of basking in each other’s presence in absolute peace, you break off from each other to pin the printed photos onto the corkboard you had hanging in your home office. It was a nice way to spend the rest of the morning before ordering lunch; it felt a little recreational but also exciting. By the time the food Jaehyun had ordered arrive, the board was practically filled with your ideas for the wedding.

You discussed it some more over lunch and he managed to squeeze in a little talk about the honeymoon, chowing down on your meals on the couch.

“Venice? Greece?” He feeds you some of his pork dumplings and you hum at both the savory flavor and his suggestions, “I already know a place in Greece I’d like to take you to.”

“Wherever, Jaehyun,” You roll your eyes, scooting your body closer to him and draping your legs over his lap. “I’m sure I’ll love wherever you’ll take me.”

“A month?”

You snort at him, “That’s too long; two weeks max.”

He pouts down as he mixes his fried rice around in the take-out cup, letting out a little grumble, “Okay.”

Once finished with your lunch, he volunteers to clean up the mess and tells you to go into his office, instructing you to open his computer and open the new email from their real estate office. You give him a quick smooch on the cheek, thanking him for cleaning up, and made your way into his office.

You sat in front of his desk; turned on his iMac, typed in his password, and waited for his mail to load when you pulled the window up. You weren’t the type to snoop or pry through his business life, but your eyes glazed over his other emails. It as oddly satisfying how he kept it so organized; having different email addresses for work, personal life, and such. But one email handle caught your eye; it was for a Jeong Yoonoh. For spam mail, perhaps? A little voice at the back of your head told you to open it, but before you could even reach for the mouse; Jaehyun comes into the room with a glass of white wine in each hand.

“Have you opened it?” He asks, using the back of his hand to close the door.

“Not yet,” You quickly clicked on the email from Jung Properties and stood up to let him sit before making yourself comfortable on his lap like earlier. You took a sip from the wine he offered and almost spat it out when he opened up the digital brochure on the screen, “These are all mansions.”

He hums, “Yes, they are. Too big?”

“How many rooms do we need? It’s just going to be the two of us.”

“For now.” Jaehyun chuckles in your ear, playfully biting your lobe.

You gasp, perking up from your seat before twisting around to send him a glare. “Don’t.”

He continues to chuckle to himself, browsing through the houses while drinking from his glass. “Don’t what, baby? We’ve talked about children before.”

“We still don’t need all that space.” You argue, mumbling into your glass.

“Yes, we do. We’ll need it for our private offices, a few guest rooms, our children’s playroom…” Jaehyun’s free hand runs over your stomach, “Our playroom.”

“We’re not going to have a playroom if we’re going to have children.” You flinch away from him but he holds you against him, making you gasp.

“You mean, we’re going to have children because of the playroom.” His hand has now unabashedly slipped under your shirt to cup your boob.

You put your wine glass down on the table, afraid to drop it. “You’re insatiable.”

He merely laughs, following after you and setting his glass by yours. “Have you seen yourself, baby? How aren’t you turned on by your own reflection?”

He reaches past you to grab the wireless mouse and opens the photo booth app, your bodies being projected on the monitor. “Look at yourself.”

His hands push your shirt over your chest and pull your bra down; his brows giving away his annoyance towards the clothing article. He’s watching the screen with you, using it like a mirror to figure out where your nipples were to roll between his fingers.

You let out a mewl, arching into his touch and holding onto his knees. The bulge in his pants grew beneath you, slotting perfectly under your clothed mound.

“Do you want to see me fuck you, [Y/N]?” He peppers small kisses on your nape, still kneading your breasts with his palms.

“I-” Your voice hitches when you began to grind on him, “I want you to record it.”

Jaehyun stops, “What? You want to make a sex tape-”

“Yes,” You whined, stretching your arm out to start recording on his computer before removing your shirt and bra.

“You’re such a naughty girl, [Y/N], hm?” Jaehyun dryly laughs, pulling you back against him and maneuvering your wanton body so his mouth had access to your chest. He licks your pert nipple a couple of times and bites the patch of skin by it. His hand had jammed itself past the garter of both your leggings and underwear, drawing a circular pattern over your clit. “You want to make a sex tape, yeah? What if someone gets a hold of the file, huh?”

“Then they’d see how good you make me feel; how you fuck me so good.”

An approving croon vibrates from his chest, sitting back for a moment to watch you grind yourself on him and although he’d love to put music on to complete the lap dance, he would have to ask you for one some other time. He gently nudges you off him, tugging at your leggings. “Off.”

You push your pants down with your underwear and toss them aside while Jaehyun just pushes his down enough to free his erection. He guides you to sit on his cock after giving himself a few pumps with his fist. Once you were eased in, he forces your legs apart by draping them over his knees and spread his legs wider.

“Smile for the camera, baby.”

Dinner with your parents and Kun had been going smoothly; you have to admit that even Jaehyun seemed to be enjoying himself while listening to Kun’s med school stories. You were midway through finishing your glass of sangria when your mother comments about how Kun and his family suddenly moved back to China.

“Ah,” Kun swallows his food and brings the napkin from his lap to wipe his lips, “It was rushed, for some reason. All they told me was they were both offered better paying jobs back at home; it would have been churlish to decline it, especially since it guarantees full payment of my tuition.”

You caught Jaehyun mindlessly nodding to Kun. You bump your knee against him and once he looks at you, you pointedly question his actions with a cock of a brow.

“Hm? Oh,” He clears his throat, “I would have done the same if I were in your parents’ shoes. No matter how great the sacrifice to be made is.”

Kun’s eyes glanced at you; he seemed melancholic as he agrees with Jaehyun’s words. You don’t know how to feel about his expression, choosing to busy yourself by cutting up your steak into even smaller pieces.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you and [Y/N] meet?”

Jaehyun chuckles and you’re already rolling your eyes because you know how he likes to answer this question.

“She slapped me with her hair.”

Your parents join him in laughing as if they didn’t know the story already while Kun was nice enough to bite back his own laughter. You huff, “We were classmates during freshman year. He tapped my shoulder to ask something and I turned to face him too quickly so my hair smacked him, okay?”

“I see.” Kun grins, probably imagining the scenario in his head. “Peculiar way of falling in love.”

“Love at first smack.” Jaehyun jokes and you step on his foot under the table, “Ow!”

“I could have ignored you, you know.” You threatened as if it would make a difference.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “I would have kept bothering you, then. It’s not like I could ask the next table for help.”

Your father turns to Kun, “How about you, Kun? Any lady in your life?”

Kun’s face flushes into a soft pink, “No. I’m too focused on school and work. It would also feel weird to have a girlfriend while my specialization involves putting my hands between another woman’s legs.”

“How did you even end up in obstetrics?” You stab one of the steak pieces and bring it to your mouth, remembering how Kun got shy whenever you were in a promiscuous position while making out. Now he had to work with vaginas.

“My cousin passed away because of childbirth.” He solemnly admits, “It was a high-risk pregnancy and there weren’t any obstetricians in our hometown that specialized in it, so we lost both her and the baby.”

“My god,” Your mother gasps, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“It was years ago. She acted as an older sister to me, so losing her really left a mark. She’s the reason why I took up obstetrics. I plan to go back home to my country in a few years and set up a clinic there.”

You’re chewing slowly, trying to remember if he had ever mentioned to you about his cousin. You hear your name and you blink up at Kun, who was looking at you with curiosity. Swallowing, you cough a little, “What was that?”

He smiles, “You’re an interior designer, right? Doyoung mentioned about you working at a firm near the hospital.”

“I am and I was.” You wash down your food with a swig of water, “I quit my job a few days ago and I’ll be starting my own.”

“Soon.” Jaehyun quips, “Very soon.”

“That’s amazing.” Kun nods, “My dad had always wondered how that worked out for you.

You feel yourself blanching at the memory of his father the last time you saw them, “Your dad?”

“My grandfather, his dad, was an architect so he worked closely with interior designers.”

“Oh.” You lick your lips, trying to remain passive. Unable to shake the thought that if his grandfather was an architect, why were his parents so against you and your career choices?

“How are your parents, by the way? Did they move back here with you?” Your father inquires, reminding you that he and Kun’s father used to drink together with Doyoung’s dad.

“They didn’t move back with me, but they planning to visit for a few days next month or so. We should have dinner again with them.” He suggests and your parents express their enthusiasm towards him, “However, my mother…”

You peer up a him through your lashes when his voice trails off.

“She was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s a year ago. But don’t get me wrong! She’s doing wonderful, the symptoms are there; barely noticeable, really. She’s receiving therapy back at home and her lifestyle has completely changed for the better.”

You feel the urge to cry, remembering your own grandmother.

“That’s good to hear.” You’re grateful you mom reaches over to squeeze his hand before you could, “Although truly unfortunate; is it genetic?”

“I hope not.” Kun warily smiles, “I’m cutting back on a lot of potential vices, I keep follow a strict diet and workout routine.”

“No wonder you’ve lost weight.” You comment in an attempt to turn the somber mood around , finishing off your meal and putting your cutlery down. “I assumed it was from the all-nighters brought by med school.”

Kun chuckles, bringing out the dimples he had - dimples you remember loving. “Mayhaps that, too.”

Dinner shortly ends after sharing a small platter of seasonal fruits and you’re seeing your parents off as they enter their car. “Drive safe, dad. I love you guys.” You kiss your mom’s cheek through the open car window give a flying kiss to your dad.

“We love you, too, [Y/N]. You and Jaehyun drive home safely as well, okay?”

You pull away and wave at them, watching your dad put the car in reverse and drive off after nodding at you. Looking back to where you left Jaehyun and Kun, you feel uneasy at how they were conversing while sneaking glances at you. When you walk back to them, they both smile at you. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Kun was just telling me about that one time in high school-” Jaehyun sniggers and you gasp, smacking Kun’s arm out of habit.

“What did you tell him?!”

Kun yelps, reeling back and grabbing his arm. “I didn’t say anything!”

Jaehyun scoffs, “I was joking! He didn’t tell me anything… yet.”

You huffed, backhanding Jaehyun’s chest and he, too, cries softly in pain.

“Okay! I was just asking Kun if he could be your obstetrician - especially if there are complications in your pregnancy.” Jaehyun massages his chest with a pout, “I’d prefer having someone we both trust than just someone who’s just good at their job; so I asked Kun.”

“And I’d love to.” Kun adds, “I get to hold my nieces and nephews before Doyoung.”

You tittered at them, rolling your eyes. “It’s getting late.”

“Ah,” Kun nods to your observations, “I have an early shift tomorrow. Thanks for dinner. It was great seeing you again, [Y/N], and it was great meeting you!”

Jaehyun grins as he shakes the hand Kun offers to him, “You, too. We should do this again next time; you can tell me everything embarrassing [Y/N] did back in high school.”

You slap his shoulder, but he merely laughs with Kun.

“I’d love to! We should invite Doyoung, too.”

After a few more pleasantries, you and Jaehyun see Kun off as he gets into his car and drives away. Jaehyun opens your side of the car door for you and shuts it once you were seated inside before rounding to enter the driver’s side. While he starts the car, you put your seatbelt on and watch him with pursed lips.

He notices after he secures his own seatbelt, leaning over the center console to kiss you. He asks, “Are you okay?”

“Did you like Kun?”

Jaehyun laughs, sitting back properly to start driving. “Yeah. He’s a good man; family-oriented, a loving son... So, you like guys with dimples?”

“Shut up! I swear, that’s just a coincidence.” You crossed your arms, “So you mean everything you said? About meeting up with him and all?”

“Yes, [Y/N], I actually genuinely like the guy.” He rolls his eyes, but his voice drops into a murmur, “I understand why he’s your first love… he’d be a better option than-”

You put your hand over his while it gripped the gear stick to stop him from talking, “But I don’t love him anymore, you know that right? You can only call it first love because it ended. There’s only you for me now and forever.”

He smiles, moving his hand so he could bring yours up to his lips while keeping his attention on the road. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You watch him concentrate on driving for a few minutes, relieved at how the night turned out. You were expecting Jaehyun to be petty or at least sulky; but he initiated and held conversations with Kun - more than you did - as if they were the ones rekindling a friendship. Pride and love blooms in your chest. Jaehyun really is doing his best in correcting his flaws. “By the way,”

“Hm?”

“You basically gave my ex access to my vagina.”

He sneers at you, “The only time he’ll actually have access is when it’s dilating and pushing a baby out; doubt he’d do anything else, babe.”

A grimace makes its way onto your face, albeit you agree with him. It felt a little awkward thinking about it now, but you’re sure you’ll be in too much pain from going through labor to even care about having Kun deal with your ‘down under'.

“You have plans tomorrow, right? IKEA with Yuta and Kyungwon?”

“Yeah, after lunch.”

“Oh, good.” Jaehyun hums, “Would you like to go to therapy with me tomorrow morning?”

You snap your head towards him, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, “Unless you want some other day; that’s fine, too.”

“No, I’d like to go. I can’t wait.” You affirm, letting your thoughts drift off to wonder what it would be like to attend Jaehyun’s therapy with him. You knew he had a mental disorder, but he wasn’t comfortable telling you what it was back then so you never really pressed him. It never really bothered you that you didn’t know what exact disorder he had because he seemed to be getting a better control of it. But now the topic is resurfacing and you can’t help but ponder on it. Will knowing what it is have an impact on your relationship?

Trepidation stirs within you; if it does have an impact, then how badly will it affect you? You’re trying to convince yourself that nothing will change your perspective of Jaehyun. This man has been trying so hard to change for you; trying so hard to be an open book to you like you are to him. The least you could do is learn and understand his flaws, right?

a/n: yay for update. buT WAIT !! the next part is the much awaited therapy session!! i’ll let you guys send in some questions you’d like to be tackled during the therapy session (pls dont send these with an open forum ask)

next: part 7

~ buy me a peach? but why?

#nct smut #devoted au #jaehyun smut

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