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struggling-with-time · 3 years

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How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

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Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He’s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

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pilothusband · 3 years

Text

Abducted Amphora

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol (not to an excess), food mention (they eat pizza), non-explicit tension, mentions of stealing shit, hints at a boss/employee relationship so there’s a slight power balance there, age gap that isn’t mentioned (he has years of service and she’s almost brand new)

Word count: 1,972

Author’s note: Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday! Lightly edited, unbeta’d. This one is pretty tame compared to my other works. Thinking about turning it into a snapshot series. Let me know what you think!

A smattering of footsteps clatter throughout the courtyard, echoing off the old walls that surround you. Sprawling greens adorn almost every inch of the balcony, reaching out to an impossibly blue pool situated in the middle. You can’t help but gawk as you walk through the museum, trailing your boss by a few paces who is currently following the curator, a middle-aged woman with bouncy curls and a wardrobe to die for.

A few minutes prior, she had introduced herself as Vanessa Harrington, given a firm handshake to the two of you, and hastily made her way to the exhibit where an expensive piece of artwork was stolen.

“What’s weird is, this isn’t even the most expensive piece the museum owns,” she says, glancing backwards and waving her hands. How she manages to walk briskly in stiletto heels without looking forwards is a mystery to you.

The stolen piece is a Panathenaic amphora from Hellenistic era Greece. It was most likely used to fill with olive oil to give to Olympic champions. Not to say it isn’t valuable, but it had sat nondescript amongst bright and flashy paintings that were incredibly rare and sought after.

“And the security cameras were disabled prior to the theft?” Your boss, Marcus Pike asks, scribbling in his notepad. Vanessa nods in confirmation. “Then they were enabled right after, as if the thieves knew how to hack into the system.”

“Either they knew how to hack into the security system or they had enough insider knowledge to disable it,” you voice your thoughts, not even aware that you were speaking out loud.

Marcus looks over to you, his warm brown eyes flicking over your face in acknowledgement.

Every time his eyes meet yours, you feel yourself freeze up for a moment. No matter that you’ve been working with him for nearly a year, it’s as if time stops every time you look at him. His jaw, square and strong, along with his soft brown eyes that give away to his emotions at any moment. His broad shoulders always manage to get your pulse going, along with his small waist, showcased by the form-fitting button downs he wore under his suit coat.

“We’re going to need all information regarding museum personnel, as well as any vendors that drop by regularly,” Marcus shifts his attention over to Vanessa, who nods decisively.

“Absolutely. I have that all on my office desktop and can get that to you ASAP.”

Vanessa doles out more details for a few minutes and Marcus jots them down– in his unreadable handwriting no doubt– and then Vanessa bids you adieu and spins on her heel to her office, giving you two free rein over the museum.

There isn’t anymore DNA evidence to go over. The local police already had their personnel collect it days prior and the scene was spotless once you arrived. The thieves had been meticulous in leaving as little evidence as possible. The only fingerprints found were already processed and pending a match. They were most likely from an employee, and there’s a good chance it was just normal prints left behind from dusting priceless artwork.

Once Vanessa is out of the room, Marcus turns and places a big hand on your bicep.

“Good job back there, agent.” He flashes an easy grin. Marcus is an incredible boss. He’s driven, observant, kind, and knows when he has to make the tough calls. He’s a natural-born leader. You haven’t been with the bureau for long, being a junior agent among a team of seasoned professionals, but comparing him to other supervisory agents you have met, he’s warm and kind, always making sure his team is in good shape. He’s the kind of guy who’s prepared for anything, whether it be backup for a shootout with an unsub or someone in the room needs a pen before a staff meeting.

You can’t help but feel flushed at his praise. Despite Marcus’ easygoing nature and his openness with the team, he always seems to keep you at an arms’ length. It was getting to the point where you were wondering if he was regretting hiring you in the first place. Marcus often rotates the team when it comes to working directly with him on cases, and you have only worked directly with him once– your first ever case.

Initially you’re convinced you fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to pair up with you afterwards, but then the case report made its way back to your desk and your evaluation was normal, good even.

“Thank you,” you reply, ducking your face down to hide the growing heat licking its way up your face.

“Let’s grab some lunch, get those files from Mrs. Harringon and start digging.”

You nod in agreement and turn, walking towards the exit. You don’t notice the subtle movement, but Marcus trails you, arm raised as if he’s about to touch your waist, but pauses halfway through and scratches at his chin.

Later on that night, you’re holed up in Marcus’ hotel room, hunched over your laptop reading up on all of the museum employees. Marcus took on the task of reading over vendor files, his shoulders set much straighter.

Your back is screaming at you and your eyes are sapped of all moisture as you blink rapidly, trying to will your tear ducts into submission. It’s too early in the night to fall asleep with the amount of work you have to look forward to, and the longer it takes you to crack the case, the more likely the thieves are to get away with the crime.

“I think we could use a break,” Marcus says from across the room. You look up blearily, noting the look of concern he’s giving you, brow furrowed. He must have caught you in your tired state somehow, between poring over files and jiggling his leg absent-mindedly.

“Can’t argue with that,” you chuckle, rubbing at your eyes.

“I’ll order room service, compliments of the bureau,” he says, smiling sideways. “I’m feeling pizza, what do you think?”

“Pizza sounds heavenly,” you groan.

“What do you want to drink?” Marcus asks, his eyes scanning over the menu unfolded next to his laptop.

“Oh, uh,” you hesitate, trying to decide on caffeine or something healthier. “I think the room has plenty of water.”

“I was thinking something a little stronger,” he says, a small grin making its way over his features. “Nothing too crazy, since we still have work to do.”

“What’s your opinion on red wine?” You ask, wanting to select something you both can agree on.

“I love it,” he says, giving you a toothy smile. “Pinot Noir?”

“Sounds perfect.”

An hour later, you’re both seated on the floor, pizza box spread open between your bodies, munching away at the slices of pepperoni you both decided on and sharing the bottle of wine Marcus ordered.

“Turns out it’s bad optics for the boss to drunkenly sing 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton off-key, and I still get teased for it to this day, which is why I refuse to join the team on karaoke nights,” Marcus finishes. You’re clutching your stomach as you laugh at his story, head thrown back as you giggle.

You’ve only had a glass and a half of wine at this point, but you can already feel a persistent buzzing in your brain, your head feeling much lighter and much heavier simultaneously. This is what you get for skipping breakfast and lunch, opting to replace them with an afternoon snack and a late dinner.

Marcus laughs along with you, shaking his head and looking down at his slice of pizza.

Your laughter dies down and there’s a moment where it’s quiet, the only noise in the room being Marcus chewing on the crust of his pizza slice, and you taking a sip from your glass.

“This is a nice change,” you blurt out, immediately regretting your outburst.

“Mmm,” Marcus hums around the bite in his mouth. He swallows and looks up at you in question.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your eyes meet after he speaks and you can feel your heartbeat accelerating in your chest. God, why did you have to open your big mouth?

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just…”

You don’t continue and Marcus shifts on his knees, leaning forwards to spur you on.

“It’s just what?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You say, studying the box of pizza below you, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Nothing you could ever say is stupid,” he says with conviction. His tone makes you look up at him in wonder.

“Tell me, please,” he adds softly.

“Well, I thought you didn’t like me. Or that you didn’t think I was a good agent.” You can feel your stomach plunging and your cheeks burning at the admission.

“Why would you think that?” Marcus almost looks hurt.

“God, it’s dumb,” you babble. “But I noticed you haven’t had me partner with you on a case in ages, and you seem to get on with the rest of the team so much easier.”

You risk another look into Marcus’ eyes and he looks absolutely crushed. He cards a hand through his locks and his eyes look far away for a moment. You physically deflate, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“Hey,” he says, scooting forward and moving the pizza box aside. “You’re an amazing agent. Everything I put in your evals are the truth.”

You don’t reply, but smile softly at him.

“I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel undervalued,” he puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. The look on his face, much closer to yours now, is absolutely putting you through the ringer.

Marcus looks disheveled, which is rare for him, as he always looks put-together in the office, not a hair or thread out of place in his tailored suits. His hair is sticking up and his tie is loosened. His brow is furrowed in concern and you have the overwhelming urge to soothe your thumb over it.

“I just–,” he starts and pauses, trying to come up with the right words. “I was so distracted during that case with you, and I never want to put you in that kind of danger again. Especially as a junior agent.”

Distracted?

“What do you mean?” You ask, blinking in confusion. What could have possibly distracted him from the case? This man, so motivated, so focused. He was diligent to a fault, at times.

“I–”

He’s cut off by his cell phone, ringing insistently in his pants pocket. He lifts a finger to pause the conversation and answers the phone.

His expression is focused as he listens to the other end of the line, murmuring affirmations as the call continues.

“Okay, sounds good. We’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

He hangs up the phone, shifts his legs and stuffs it back in his pocket.

“We’ve got a lead on the suspects,” he tells you. “A bodega near the museum has a security camera that caught a large utility van parked in front, right around the time the amphora was stolen. The owner said they’re only available to talk before they open, so we have to be there by 5:30 AM.”

You scramble to your feet and shut your laptop while Marcus clears the pizza and wine. You watch him silently as he finishes the task, noting his stiff shoulders and the carefully neutral expression on his face.

You’ll have to ask Marcus about the conversation later, if you can work yourself up to it. For now, you’ll let your imagination run wild and hope someday you can get over this juvenile crush you have on your boss.

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #writer wednesday #marcus pike fanfiction

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

The Stolen Umbrella || Weddings & Funerals --- ꒰ ch. 6 -> a bump in the night ꒱

A Diego Hargreeves x F!Reader Series

❛ [Five] thought to himself, maybe if they found each other again—and they had enough time of course—just maybe they could visit the spot. The spot in the once-city none of them could quite put their finger on but still spoke of often cause damn it, it had to exist;

'Wherever the stars shone the brightest.' ❜

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 just started to set over the horizon; the moon crawling through its dimming rays and into sight and yet all Five has managed to find throughout the entire house is an expired cocoa mix. Yet still, his search continues. He needed the caffeine to keep his mind on one thing at a time. Right now it was all a jumbled mess, and yet somehow caffeine always treated this.

With every empty shelf he came upon, his patience thinned. He was anxious to get to work and more importantly get the hell out of here. The longer he stayed the more likely he was to put the others in danger. He straightened at the thought, moving onto another shelf as he made the mental preparations in his head. Maybe Griddy's was still open.

The walls began to shake around him and the collection of glass jars in front of his nose began to rattle. The symphony of clinks the glass made together seemed to mock him and a frustrated scowl twisted up his entire face. He paused only a moment as his head dropped to his chest and he sighed in great agitation. Not this again. It had to be connected, it just had to be. It was no mistake consistent earthquakes limited only to the estate of the world's only publicly known superheroes have grown more frequent and erratic to the point of near destruction only days away from the horrors he had found in the future.

And yet, the same annoying thought flew across his mind; would he have the time? Would eight days be enough? He shook the slippery slope of a question from his mind. It would have to be. And he'd have to work with what he got. And that included those dear siblings of his that didn't seem to catch on to urgency. Klaus had been trying to pry questions out of him since he cornered him in the kitchen, but Five was an expert in dodging social interactions. Of course, Allison was a bit more persistent.

"Where's Viktor?" She asked.

Klaus hugged the guitar he seemed to have procured out nowhere to his chest and heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, he's gone."

"That's unfortunate--" Five began.

Allison nodded. "Yeah,"

"--an entire square block. Forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms but no, not a single drop of coffee." He finishes.

"Dad hated caffeine,"

"Well, he hated children and he had plenty of us," Klaus fakes a laugh, stopping instantly and eyeing his siblings as he hugs the guitar.

"I'm taking the car," Five says, like his sister, ignoring Klaus's remarks.

The man in question picks his feet up from where they had been lounging on the table and leans forward in his seat, intrigued. "Where are you going?"

"To get a decent cup of coffee,"

"Do you even know how to drive?" Allison asks sounding almost amused.

"I know how to do everything," Five hisses, glaring at the near teasing look in his sister's eye.

A deep and thunderous rumble swallowed the tension sitting in the air and stole away the stage for their petty sibling arguments. Concern spread amongst all of them. Even Diego, who wandered cautiously into the kitchen with a duffle bag found his eyes scanning the room for a headcount. The aftershock settled down into nothing after several lengthy moments, 17.8 seconds to be precise—the longest and loudest tremor yet and it was clear to all; they were getting worse by the hour. When it finally came to a stop, a thoughtful and almost calculating look seemed to fall over Five as if he was choosing his next few words carefully despite the body language of his next actions.

With his hands tucked into his pockets, Five lumbers across the kitchen, throwing a half glance to Allison and Diego before blinking out of the room. "As much as I'd love to stick around and see what happens when this pile of bricks can't take whatever the hell dearest dad did to simulate a DIY earthquake, I've got some coffee to hunt down."

The three of them stand abandoned in the silence left by their brother and the aftershock. The only sound to fill it was the car engine roaring to life outside, signaling Five's departure. They knew all too well he was right. These quakes were only getting worse and with no signs of stopping. And neither of them wanted to find out just how bad they would become.

As if sensing their fears—mocking them—yet another unforeseen tremor hits the house and all inside; the worst one yet. Their entire life's experience with the anomaly not once had they feared for their safety until now. They had all been informed every precaution had been taken to ensure their safety so that they may carry on throughout their day—but this no longer seemed the case.

"Alright, under the table! Everybody, let's move it, come on!" Diego ordered, herding his siblings together and throwing back any chairs that stood in their way.

Klaus let out a fearful cry as he hugged the leg of the table. "What's happening!?"

The three of them huddled in close proximity under what space was given under the table, watching in panic as the world came crumbling apart piece by piece. The glass jars Five had just been rifling through came flying off the shelves, shattering just inches away from their ankles with which miraculously managed to avoid cutting them. The fridge teetered more than usual from where it stood in between the stove and counter but never strayed from where it was bolted to the wall, not unlike all other appliances and giant bookshelves that could become lethal in such instances. But it frightened them nonetheless.

The sound was nearly as bad as the shaking. While all they have ever known was thunderous explosions of noise, this sounded of actual thunder more than it ever had. It crackled and reverberated off the trembling walls, swallowed by its own boisterous echo. Bits of ceiling rained down from the skies in the form of powder and the soft yellow lights illuminating the kitchens flickered exactly six times before going out completely.

The aftershock was as bad as the tremors used to be when they were children but they were just thankful it seemed to be calming.

Several minutes had passed by the time they deemed it safe enough to exit the table and they each clambered to their feet. Allison was the first to break the ice.

"Okay, what the hell?" It comes out in more of an exclamation than a question, and her brothers seem to share her frustrations.

"Five's onto something," Diego says, eyeing the room distrustfully. "I have a feeling whatever is causing this isn't gonna magically fix itself. We should check it out,"

With a grave expression upon her face, Allison seeks out her brother in the darkness and nods. "Then we better get moving,"

An unspoken agreement passes between them and the two make their way through the darkness. Allison reaches the counter first and retrieves four flashlights they had kept stashed for emergencies, handing two of them to her brothers. Diego nods in thanks and takes the lead up the stairs with Allison close on his heels. Neither of them seemed to realize Klaus was reluctant to follow.

He stood clutching the flashlight he miraculously managed to catch in the darkness, the only light aiding him was moonbeams leaking in from across the room. He watches with a pitiful and apprehensive expression on his face, feeling rather trapped. He was not particularly anxious to go stumbling around in the dark in the middle of a series of spontaneous earthquakes, nor was he eager to stand around like a sitting duck in the dark in the midst of a series of spontaneous earthquakes.

"Is anyone else at all suspicious of Five's timing? Cutting it a little close, don't you think?" He calls weakly, frowning down at his flashlight when it doesn't come on.

He gives it a few whacks and a beam of light flickers on. He points it at the stairs where his siblings have disappeared and his shoulders slump. The complaint registers in his ear and he nods at his brother in agreement as they begin their ascent to the first floor after their siblings.

"I know! They can be so callous sometimes, can't they?" he says. Klaus turns his attention to the retreating footsteps in the distance and calls weakly after their siblings. "You know, you could have grabbed Ben a flashlight,"

"Like you ever bother telling them I'm here," remarks the sarcastic voice of the sixth sibling.

Waiting at the top of the first landing, his all-black hoodie and jeans made him near impossible to see in the darkness but he was there all the same. With a tired smirk on his face and mischief in his eyes.

𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

"𝐁𝐄𝐍"

(𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅)

"You know they wouldn't listen," Klaus says. "They always think I'm high,"

"You are always high,"

"Psh," Klaus waves off his brother as he passes him. "Tomato, patato."

Ben sends Klaus's back an eye roll and a smile creeps up on his face as he begrudgingly follows.

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

There were exactly two things about the world that hadn't seemed to have changed a bit since his departure that Five Hargreeves was certain of; shitty drivers and Gritty's Doughnuts. And Five much preferred the latter. In fact, the old doughnut shop hadn't seemed to have aged a day nor did it look as if had been visited since he and his siblings had given the state of the place. And yet all the magic it held in his youth had been sucked dry. But Five preferred the lack of company, it gave him time to think.

He took a seat at the counter and gave the bell inches from his hand a quick ring. All he could do now was wait. Almost instantly, another bell chimes in the quiet atmosphere but it had come from the front door signaling another customer. One over-the-shoulder glance told him it was a trucker just off the late shift. He took a seat just one spot over from himself which struck Five as odd given all the room, but he didn't protest. The man seemed no more eager to chit chat than he was, and in a matter of moments was already reading the paper he had pulled from his vest pocket.

The head waitress scurried out from the back and offered Five and the man an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sink was clogged. So," she gave a polite chuckle and pulled a pen and paper from her uniform and looked between the two of them. "What'll it be?"

"Uh, give me a chocolate eclair," the man said.

"A chocolate eclair, sure," she scribbled into her pad and gestured to Five. "Can I get the kid, uh, a glass of milk or something?"

Five fought a twitch in his eye. "The kid wants coffee. Black."

She laughed nervously, looking back to the man unsure. "Cute kid,"

The man just looked at her, not knowing what to make of the situation. She returned her attention to Five and plastered all over his face was the cheesiest and widest grin he could possibly exaggerate until she left. It seemed to do the trick; her smile quickly fell and she retreated into the shelves and got to work on the coffee.

A great sigh escapes Five's lips and before he realizes what he's doing he finds himself striking up a conversation with the man.

"I don't remember this place being such a shithole," he remarks.

Maybe it was years of emotional fatigue and more than enough baggage to fill an airport weighing down his conscience, or maybe it was because this was a stranger who wouldn't fuss over him like his siblings no doubt would.

Or maybe, it was because Five knew this man had information he wanted and he needed to soften him up a bit before he would help him.

"I used to come here as a kid," he said in a tone as wistful as Five Hargreeves could get. "Used to sneak out with my brothers and sister and eat doughnuts 'till we puked. Simpler times, huh?"

A vacant expression seemed to be all this man could offer anymore. He couldn't make heads or tails of who this kid was or why he was speaking as if he was no older than himself.

"Eh," he shrugged weakly. "I suppose."

His hand dove into his pocket fishing for his wallet just as the waitress made her rounds with a cup of coffee and bagged pastry. The man passed her a ten and polite smile. "I got his."

"Thanks," Five says, genuinely surprised. The man nods.

Five lands another look at the man and judging by the embroidery on his vest—Ismael's Towing—he realized he had been wrong about him being a trucker. But he was right about the man having what he wanted; a decent idea of where anything was in this town.

"You must know your way around the city," Five says.

Five wasn't naive. He knew he had work to get done. Not to mention he'd have a lot of stops to make already, but seeing her was just too much of a temptation. The one who had gotten him through his days as the last man on earth. Finding her in that wasteland was a miracle, and knowing she was somewhere here...

"I hope so," answered the man. "I've been driving it for twenty years."

Five's heart leapt into his throat and he had to kick himself for it. Maybe he was naive. The clock was ticking and here he was out getting coffee, head in the clouds. He could feel his hopes slipping from his fingers where they were grounded and sailing up to the sky like a rogue balloon. But he just couldn't shake the thought of one of their many idle conversations to get through the night. Granted they were rather one-sided but Five knew how to fill the gaps.

'Wherever the stars shone the brightest.'

He thought to himself, maybe if they found each other again—and they had enough time of course—just maybe they could visit the spot. The spot in the once-city none of them could quite put their finger on but they still spoke of often cause damn it, it had to exist;

The memory slipped through his fingertips like quicksand, reminding him all too harshly where and when he was. Hardly any time at all had passed and Five forced a smile.

"Good. I need an address."

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

The man tightens his hat on his head as he steps out into the night. He retrieves his keys from his pocket and unlocks his truck blissfully unaware of the group of soldiers waiting around the corner in all black for the diner to clear out.

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

The coffee barely touches his tongue when Five hears the ring of the customer bell for the third time since he sat down. His eyes fall to the service bell sitting on the counter that acts as a rearview mirror in a pinch where he makes out several men in all black. Figures They'd be dumb enough to send the lowest of the low. These poor saps were no better than interns. They stood no chance.

Five sighs and places his coffee back down on the counter. "I thought I'd have more time before They found me," he wonders aloud.

"Okay," says the agent who was no doubt in charge of this ragtag group of lackeys. There was an edge to his voice. He was nervous and Five wasn't at all surprised. "So let's all be professional about this, yeah?" Five nods along battling an amused smirk all the while. It was like watching a six-year-old trying to order his own meal, trying to act all sophisticated. It was adorable. "On your feet and come with us. They want to talk."

"I've got nothing to say,"

"It doesn't have to go this way. You think I wanna shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscious?"

Okay, now he was annoying.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that," He looks at the man for the first time with a tired smirk plastered all over his face. "You won't be going home."

The man is already dying before he can process the butter knife Five had discreetly plucked from the counter and plunged into one of his major arteries. The machine gun in his hand misfires into one of his partners and as they both collapse to the ground, yet another round of misfired bullets rain down among the empty doughnut shop. The others looked around through the sea of faulty flashing lights in a frenzy.

"Hey, assholes!"

There lounging on one of the tables was none other than their target with a smug look burning in his eyes. The only distinguishing feature of his that wasn't a look of inherent boredom that was otherwise all over his face. But by the time they unleashed fire, he had vanished into thin air leaving an utterly destroyed wall littered with bullet holes behind him. They gaped at the scene, their brains desperately trying to draw up any logical conclusion as to where the kid could have gone or how he could have done it, no matter how far-fetched. Maybe he somehow dove behind the counter?

Or maybe he was already standing behind them waiting patiently for someone to notice as he stood out on the front step just outside.

Who was he kidding? He'd be here all night waiting on these clowns.

He gave a soft knock on the glass of the front door to speed things along and the man closest to him whirled around with a wild look in his eyes. Five sent him a charming smile and a quick salute before the second reign of bullets crashed through the window and out into the street, missing him completely. The man's bewilderment bought Five some time. Not to catch his breath or anything arbitrary like that, no. No, now he had time to ponder, as he blinked back and forth across the shop, if he had time for a bathroom break. Most likely, he concluded, what with how embarrassingly easy this was going.

They knew of his rank and skill set. Were they trying to insult him?

They were finished off within a matter of moments and Five stood amidst the now not-so-technically-empty diner and blinked back the nuisance that was the flickering LED lights. He strolled across the shop and to one of many bodies he had... produced and removed his tie from the man's strangled neck, returning it to its proper place amongst his uniform. He tightened it around his neck, securing it neatly in place and as he did so he noticed the straggler just around the corner. He took quick care of the issue, kneeling over the twitching body and twisting his neck in one swift movement. His eyes didn't fail to notice the glowing device just inches away from the man's hand and he recognized it at once.

A tracking device for rogue agents not unlike himself. Five plucked it from the ground with an inward grimace knowing what he had been dreading since his return was something he could no longer afford to put off.

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

Hawai'i People's Fund

Hate is a Virus Fund

Yemen Human Crisis Carrd:

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

Taglist:

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

Text

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part thirteen

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

When Y/n awoke that morning there was nothing. No terrifying nightmare leaving her in a cold sweat. No hot tears streaking her cheeks as her guilt seeped free of her subconscious. There was only a vague tiredness that came with just waking up and as she slowly gained awareness, she'd realized what had awoken her.

Bucky's arm had latched around her waist in his sleep, the vibranium piece chilling her warmed flesh. She'd been mostly used to the feeling but some nights, especially colder ones where he left his arms atop the covers before drawing them back to her, she found the sensation shocking but pleasant. If anything it was a reminder of him and his frozen past she was thawing more and more each day.

Her fingers overlapped his own, entangling their hands together as she shifted herself to face him. His eyes moved under their lids, some dream that would soon be forgotten playing in his head as he slept. It was peaceful watching the way his chest rose and fell or the way his lips slightly parted with each breath. Admiring the way his lashes barely brushed his cheeks as he stirred, imagining the sea of blue that was hidden from her.

He was beautiful. A kind of beautiful that wasn't shared with the world but a beautiful that was obvious to those around him. A beauty that started in his heart and seeped to each of his features. A beautiful person.

"You okay?" His voice was gruff with sleep and his eyes barely peeked open enough to see her. The question was followed by a long yawn he tried rather pathetically to stop along with the small jerk as he moved closer into her side.

She nodded, smiling lovingly as her hand came to his face, running her palm along his cheek. "I'm fine, go back to sleep." She lulled, her hand trailing up to his short strands and lightly brushing her nails against his scalp.

He leaned into her touch for a moment before sleep took him once more. Sleep had always been something touch and go with them. But tonight it was granted and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was a small mercy for whatever they had to face in the future.

But she refused to allow her thoughts to keep her up.

And as she drifted off to sleep once more she promised herself that the only thing she'd let wake her up in the middle of the night would be the cold limb of her love.

•••

When Y/n awoke again, her head was on Bucky's chest. His breaths were steady but faster than usual sleep would allow so she knew he was awake, probably exploring the new tech she'd put on his phone, fascinated by the advances of 2024.

Moving her hand across his bare chest, she could feel the shape of the muscle there, firm with years of use. Pulling her hand closer toward herself, she could feel the raised scar tissue where they'd attached his arm. She traced the skin there, his arm coming to rub her back as he eased her out of her sleepy daze.

Morning Bucky was a sight to behold. It was like his past hadn't quite caught up with him yet and she could only imagine it was the same for herself. It was like they were still dreaming and this particular morning she wanted to do everything in her power to stay there with him. But Bucky was unaware of such plans.

"You have a meeting in an hour." His words rumbled through his chest and Y/n sighed, half heartedly glaring at him from her lazy position across his torso.

"You're really killing the mood." She hummed, burying herself further into his chest as his metal thumb brushed along her shoulder. There was a soft thud on the bedside table and Y/n guessed he'd set down his phone before moving his other arm to hold her as he chuckled.

"What mood?" He questioned. Y/n didn't even have to look up at him, already picturing his amused but Loving smile.

"The 'sunlight pouring in through the window while laying in the arms of the man you love' mood. In this scenario, they don't usually remind each other of nonsensical things such as meetings." She explained, earning another laugh from him.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind for next time." He promised. A mock gasp slipped from her lips and she dramatically propped herself up, looking at him with playful eyes.

"Next time? After killing the mood like this? Who do you think you are?" She couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips as his eyes mimicked her own teasing manner.

"The man that you love." He answered rather matter of factly. Her cheeks burned at his words but she was too prideful to let him win, even in banter.

So in a cunning and mischievous turn of events, she leaned forward, capturing his lips in a lingering kiss. Their lips moved slow, in no rush for anything but themselves as his hands came to grip her waist. There was a type of passion behind the kiss. It was like a fire but not the type that was fast and destructive. It wasn't wild and certainly showed no sign of going out anytime soon.

It was the type of fire that started slow but once it was started, it burned throughout the night. The kind that kept warm and persistent despite strong winds. A slow burn. A burn Y/n hoped would never go out.

"You're playing dirty." Bucky breathed as she pulled away, his lips still parted as if expecting her lips to return to his own once more.

"I thought you liked that." She retorted making him shake his head.

"As much as I'd like to lay here with you all day, we both have places to be." He changed the subject quickly. Y/n smiled knowing she'd won but nodded in agreement. Like Bucky had so kindly reminded her, she had a meeting with Pepper about budget and as much as she hated it, she needed to attend.

Reluctantly she climbed off of him, allowing him to get up with a long stretch. His sweatpants had sunk a little, just hanging on his hip bones as he walked and while she would gladly watch him walk the rest of his way to the closet, his phone buzzed beside her making her turn her gaze away.

"Sam's texting you." Y/n called after sparing a glance at the notification reading 'Bird Brain'. It was a weak insult but Bucky was pretty proud of it so the name seemed to stick despite Sam's protests.

"Can you answer him, please?" Bucky replied, the quiet shifting of hangers following as he searched for something to wear.

She stretched, detangling herself from the covers before reaching over and grabbing his phone. He didn't have a password which Y/n had advised him against but he didn't seem to listen. Her tech was secure though so she wasn't too worried. Powering it on, she smiled softly at the picture of them he had set as his screen.

"He says he wants you to meet him for coffee. Is that code for something? Is that a mission?" She called, a little excited with the idea of a mission. He'd never allowed her to go with them before, something about not being hired by the government or some nonsense she didn't feel like listening to.

"I think Sam's just got a bit of a caffeine addiction." Bucky chuckled, tugging on his jeans and coming to sit on the bed as he slipped on his socks and shoes.

She frowned playfully, a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to try the new addition to her suit, an advancement she fondly called, 'Hellraiser'.

"I can drop you off at the Tower before I go meet him. That is, if you actually get dressed." Bucky smiled, nudging her leg as he stood back up. He was a morning person and for that she had to condemn him but he had his moments, such as always waking her in time for work.

"I'm gonna shower real quick. Don't leave without me, I wanted to show you what Peter and I have been working on." She explained, climbing up from the bed and rushing off to the bathroom.

Bucky watched her go, smiling at his stolen clothing on her body as he stood and grabbed his phone. He made his way down stairs to the kitchen, swiping through the news app as he did. He tried his best to ignore the news like Y/n told him but sometimes he gave in, sparing a glance at what the media had to say about him.

But before he could read any of the articles, a small white puff of fur pounced in front of him, nearly making him fall down the stairs in an effort to avoid it.

"Alpine!" He cried, a little annoyed but mostly worried for the safety of their kitten. She was a little ball of pure marshmallow and while she seemed too adorable to be the menace she was, Bucky saw through her act, narrowing his eyes on her.

"You're gonna get stepped on one of these days." He frowned, trying in vain to not let her curious, blue gaze melt his heart.

However he eventually gave in and with a sigh he leaned down, plucking her from the ground and letting her sit in the crook of his arm, her little paws hanging over his shoulder. With his only obstacle now secure in his arm, he slipped his phone into his pocket and continued to the kitchen.

The sun had just begun to rise, flooding the space in an orange glow. It was peaceful, a peace Bucky had grown used to in the six months Y/n and him had been together. He knew that was only a short period of time but after all the time they'd been without each other, it almost seemed like they were moving too slow. He would've married her the moment he met her if he could but he knew he didn't have to for her to be his. They needed each other and he was sure there wasn't a thing on Earth that could tear them apart.

The smell of coffee wafted through the air and Bucky smiled, setting Alpine down on the counter and grabbing her bowl. She meowed impatiently, the tiny little sound making him chuckle as he poured some of her food into the bowl. "Oh, I know. Life is so hard having to wait for one of us to feed you every morning." He spoke to her sarcastically. She ignored him, burying her face in her bowl as his hand came to pet her back, running along the soft fur rhythmically.

Soon the coffee machine beeped, a freshly brewed pot of coffee steaming and ready to go. But before Bucky could reach over and pour the cups he'd set out, Y/n slid in next to him, pouring them for him.

"I thought you were going to be late." Bucky remarked, sparing a glance at the clock as he tugged her into his chest playfully. She giggled, shaking her head as she leaned into his touch, brushing an arm past him to pet Alphine.

"Me? Late? Doesn't sound like me." She replied, pecking his lips hastily before pulling away. Her hair was still wet and her make-up was fresh along with her perfume. He felt a little shabby next to her, his hair still ruffled with sleep and his shirt wrinkled.

The suit she wore was her favorite, charcoal and pinstripe, reminding him almost of the mock gangsters of his time from the movies. Her pants were fitting around her waist and loosened toward her legs, making her appear taller, more powerful. It was flattering on her but that wasn't what attracted his attention.

Instead it was her chest. She wore a matching vest along with a similar blazer folded over her arm, ready to wear. The vest came down in a deep V and there were no sleeves, exposing much of her skin and most of her scars.

The purple marks spanned out from her heart like lightning and while he believed it to be graceful and unique, she often didn't share his opinion. He admired them nonetheless. It reminded him of her strength. Her courage. Reminded him why he loved her.

"Uh huh, so that time we were two hours late to our own gala...that wasn't you?" He countered. Y/n sipped her cup, humming as she quickly swallowed to further argue her case.

"Nope. Now come on, you're gonna make us late." She teased, slipping on her blazer and grabbing her cup. He followed her actions, sparing one more scratch to Alpine's head before pacing after her down to the first floor.

"These damned heels." She groaned, pausing momentarily to adjust them as they made their way to the door. He chuckled at her predicament, plucking the keys from the hook as she walked out onto the street.

"Why are you wearing them if they're such torture devices?" Bucky raised his brow at her, grabbing his coat and stepping out onto the street with her. It was a quiet morning and people were just barely beginning to stir out of their homes, heading off to work or dropping off kids at school.

"They were a gift from Wanda and they're gorgeous. Leave me alone so I can suffer in peace as I wear them in." Bucky chuckled at her reply, slipping into the driver's seat and placing his coffee in the cup holder as she did the same.

The drive to the Tower was short on good days. And as they drove Bucky realized that it happened to be one of those days. The drive was long enough for conversation but spared the stressful traffic that usually came with morning commutes.

"Hey, I was gonna drop by and pick up Peter from school today." Y/n mentioned, putting on her earpiece as they drove.

Bucky nodded absently, his focus half on the truck beside them that didn't seem to know how to drive. "Ok. Does he need a ride or something? I could stop by on the way home." He offered, knowing Y/n would have to cancel a meeting or two to get him. Y/n shook her head, waving a dismissive hand.

"Nah, he said he wanted an appearance from Iron Star. He wanted to impress a girl or something." She explained, seeming a bit distracted as something played through her earpiece.

"Ah." Bucky replied, remembering vaguely of his advice to the boy. Of course he'd meant approach her through his alter ego but Bucky supposed having Iron Star show up at his school would definitely attract the attention of the feminist girl he was head over heels for.

"I told him that MJ would admire his personality and intelligence rather than his connections but he didn't seem to think so." Y/n continued, sending a glance toward her soulmate.

He chuckled, knowing he'd been caught. "Can you blame him? He's a 17 year old boy who thinks the best part of him is Spider-Man. He's young and still figuring himself out. He's still figuring out women."

"Figuring out women?" Y/n raised a brow at this. Bucky gave her a look.

"Well, doll, when I was Peter's age I wasn't exactly the smooth talker you know today." He teased. She shook her head with a laugh, muting whatever she was listening to.

"Is that so?"

"God honest truth." Bucky replied, smiling as her hand slipped into his free one.

"So what exactly changed?" Y/n asked, loving the stories he'd tell her. It was like listening to a very young looking grandfather and as weird as it sounded, she often enjoyed it.

"Well, you, actually. When I was young I never sought after girls cause I knew I'd have you. But when I got my countdown…" He trailed off, both knowing the rest. Y/n knew he was still sore but he was a lot better then he had been. At least that's what Steve had told her.

"Maybe we should stop for breakfast." Y/n suggested, trying to take his mind off of the thing that had haunted him most his life.

However Bucky shook his head at this, giving her a soft smile. "No, I don't want to make you late. Shouldn't keep Pepper waiting." He explained, squeezing her hand lovingly. Y/n smiled at him, knowing he was right.

If only they had stopped.

When they arrived at the Tower it was 7 a.m. and the place was beginning to flood with people. As he pulled up on the street in front of the building, a man he recognized as one of Y/n's employees walked toward them, offering to park for him.

Bucky thought nothing of it, as the younger man had done it for them every day. Instead he climbed out, handing the man the keys and walking around to open Y/n's door. She smiled at him, placing her hand in his as she stepped out onto the street.

Once in the building, Y/n was greeted by the secretary along with a few other employees who usually saw her in the mornings. It was normal and Bucky even got a few 'hellos' of his own.

They made their way to the elevator, a private one that led straight to the top floor. It was a penthouse of sorts with three floors separate from the rest of the building and while Pepper explained that they could move into this space, Y/n decided to instead turn it into a lounge for employees. Something about their job being just as hard as hers.

She kept the top floor for her office along with a meeting room for her discussions with Pepper. But the rest of the penthouse space was for employees. Bucky was glad she'd arranged it like so. He quite liked their home in Brooklyn.

Y/n tapped her earpiece lightly as they headed up, her gaze distant and her body tense. A holographic headset had appeared around her and Bucky caught a glimpse of what she'd been looking at last, what had distressed her so.

Omega.

Yet before he could say anything, she swiped it all away, bringing up blueprints for what she'd been working on with Peter.

"So what happens when too much electricity builds up in one place?" She questioned him suddenly as the elevator dinged, stepping out with him at her side.

"It overloads?" He replied, unsure.

"Yes, exactly." She pointed a finger at him, smiling excitedly as she turned back to the hologram. Swiping away the top blueprint she was able to bring up a chart, enlarging it for them both. "Now the energy in the stones is similar to electricity and this is how much energy from each of the stones is in my heart." Y/n started, beginning up the stairs as he studied it.

Each of the stones were on the chart, most with small percentages, which would've put him at ease if he hadn't seen which stones had the greater percentage.

The Power Stone was the greatest. By her calculations there was enough in her to level New York. And if that wasn't concerning enough, the second biggest energy source in her was the Soul Stone, the one stone they didn't truly understand.

"Why are you showing me this?" He asked, his voice low and troubled. Rather than answer him, Y/n simply pulled up another image, one that made them both stop halfway up the staircase. "Is that-?"

"Yeah. It is." A joyful smile graced her lips as he stared at her in disbelief. They nearly fell down the stairs as Bucky crashed into her, hugging her like it was the first time. They let out an airy laugh as relief washed through them both. She would be okay. And Bucky was grateful.

"What are we doing here? We should go to Bruce and have the procedure done now." Bucky demanded, grabbing her hand and beginning to make his way down the stairs.

"Whoa there, hotch." Y/n chuckled, not moving from her step. Bucky looked back at her stunned. "It's still a prototype, genius. That's part of the reason I'm going to get Peter today."

Bucky frowned a little but understood her explanation. He was just so worried. And she knew that. "Buck, look at me." She told him, pulling him closer to her, meeting eye to eye as he stood a few steps below her. Her tender hands came to hold his face, looking at him sternly as her thumbs brushed his cheek.

"I know how important this is, trust me, I do. But I'll survive one more day. I need to do this right or else the energy may react badly. Okay?" She spoke softly, her eyes searching his for acceptance.

Eventually he gave in, ducking his head further into her palms, kissing one gently. "Alright." He sighed softly, looking back up at her. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Y/n confirmed, leaning in carefully and pressing the tenderest of kisses to his lips. He kissed her back but she pulled away too soon upon catching sight of Corey arriving on the floor. Her assistant caught sight of them, making her way over as the two parted.

"Ms. L/n, I have those files you asked for." She told her, handing Y/n a stack of papers. Y/n nodded, smiling gratefully at Corey.

"Thank you." Y/n looked at her watch before sending a quick glance to the conference room. "Any word from Pepper? I was sure she'd be here before me." Y/n wondered, watching as Corey checked the tablet in her arms.

"Ms. Potts is running a bit late. She's asked me to tell you to prep without her." Corey replied. Y/n sighed, a little worried about how the meeting would go with the advisors without Pepper's help but she figured it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She was the owner of the company after all.

"Alright, thank you." Y/n smiled, turning and beginning to make her way up the steps once more. Corey nodded, heading the other direction as Bucky followed Y/n. But then suddenly Y/n stopped, turning back to Corey.

"And Corey?"

The assistant stopped, facing Y/n with her eyebrows pulling into a look of confusion. Y/n paused a moment, calculating her words carefully.

"Good morning." She settled on, giving up on the words she'd wanted to say.

Corey's look of confusion morphed into a shocked one and a hint of a forced smile began to emerge on her face. It was like she hadn't been expecting to smile and for that she seemed more annoyed than cheerful.

"Good morning, ma'am."

And with that she left, heading off to attend to other matters within the Tower that needed her attention. Y/n watched her leave, her eyes trained on the woman's every move.

A feeling she didn't want to acknowledge settled in her gut but she ignored it, instead sharing a look with Bucky and making it the rest of the way to her office.

"Did something happen with you and Corey?" Bucky asked suddenly. Y/n chewed her lip knowing nothing got past her soulmate. It was a troublesome feature but definitely had it's advantages.

"Nothing important." She sighed, not daring to face him. He read her too easily. "Don't you have to meet up with Sam?" Bucky scoffed at her question, moving to follow her to her desk.

"He'll be fine without me for a little while." Bucky ignored her nonsensical worries, taking hold of her hand once it was freed of the papers she'd set down. "Hey, what's the matter?"

Y/n reluctantly looked up at him, unconsciously leaning into him as he stood before her. "What's going on? Is it Omega?" He asked tenderly, not wanting to upset her. She frowned, opening her mouth to reply.

But something behind him caught her gaze and all the air vanished from her lungs. Then suddenly all the bad feelings she'd been getting that morning made sense. "Get down!" She screamed a moment too late.

Before Bucky could even process what she'd said, heat enclosed them, flooding through the room. Flames rampaged around them but Y/n could hardly notice as they were sent flying back toward the window.

All she could see was Bucky as the impact struck him. And only one thought ran through her head.

Omega.

•••

Just moments ago, CEO of R.E.S.T.O.R.E., Y/n L/n and her rumored soulmate, James Buchanan Barnes became the latest victims in the recent chain of bombings linked to the notorious Omega, a believed terrorist. The exact number of casualties in this horrific event is unclear but it is believed that Ms. L/n and Mr. Barnes have been confirmed dead.

•••six months before•••

"Are you sure she's ready for that? I know well enough to trust Stark's plans but she's still young. Are you sure you want to put that kind of responsibility on her?" Fury asked, staring at the lake. The woman they spoke of was strong and definitely too intelligent for her own good. But was she ready for the world to depend on her? Was she ready to rebuild it from the ground up?

"We don't have a choice. And honestly I don't think I'd choose anyone else. I trust Tony and I trust her. She'll figure it out, she just needs our help." Pepper replied, sending a glance back to her daughter who sat on the porch with Happy.

"This isn't about trust. This is about capability. Trust me, I know how much she's grown over the last decade but that doesn't mean she's ready. The world isn't exactly gonna accept her help with open arms. If anything, she'll become a target for the backlash." Fury sighed, this eye patch squeaking in protest as he furrowed his brows.

Pepper frowned, knowing he was right. The world was cruel and despite all they'd done for the world, their mistakes were all that the world seemed to see. And unfortunately as the world began anew, Y/n would be the main figure for that anger.

"Then she'll need our help more than ever."

Part fourteen

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Hoodie Season

F/M Pairing: Y/N X Hwang Hyunjin

Genre: Married Life AU

Warnings: Smut and Language

Word Count: 7K

Note: Another requested Fic! Enjoyyyy

It was a Friday morning and I refused to leave the familiar comforts of my bed. With the addition of the sun hitting just right from the low-slanted window, I was prepared to give up on the possibility of moving from my comfortable position, even if that meant missing work today. After all, I endured an endless barrage of tiring conditions throughout the week, listening to adolescent teenagers gossip and complain about every possible topic. Therefore, this type of treatment was certainly warranted, even if the sounds of the traffic outside proved to be an annoying disturbance.

I let out a yawn, turning onto my side to face away from the street, pausing when I realized that there was something beneath my hand. I reluctantly pried open one eye, glancing down to see what I had just discovered. Irritation boiled beneath my skin when I realized several pregnancy magazines were strewn across the sheets. “What the hell?” I groaned, suddenly losing any prior interest in sleeping. I gathered the magazines together before storming into the kitchen where Hyunjin was sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee in hand. I tossed the magazines onto the empty space in front of him. “You’re not exactly subtle these days,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

My husband glanced up at me over the brim of his coffee mug. “What do you mean?” he asked with innocent eyes.

“I don’t want kids right now, Hyunjin,” I said, glowering at him once more. “Isn’t it enough that we deal with students every day at school?”

“But they’d be our kids, Y/N,” he pouted, attempting to hand me a magazine from atop the messy pile.

I ignored his offering, shaking my head while storming into the kitchen. “I don’t care if they’re our kids, I’m not ready!”

“They’re so cute though,” Hyunjin said, opening one of the covers. “Look at how small they are!”

“Yeah? Well, they won’t stay that small forever,” I said. “And then they’ll be just like those horny high school demons we deal with every day.”

“Aren’t you being dramatic?” he asked which was quite ironic coming from the Hwang Hyunjin, AKA, one of the most over-dramatic people I have ever met in my entire life. The same Hyunjin who demanded that they move Mr. Henderson into a new classroom because he was located right next to the library where I worked and Hyunjin was certain he was flirting with me.

“Babe, you can’t even pretend to be serious,” I said, reaching for the cereal from the top shelf. “I think you’re determined to test me today.”

“Our babies would be so beautiful,” Hyunjin went on as if he was refusing to listen to my counter-arguments.

“You’re only acting like this because one of your friends had a kid.”

“Maybe,” Hyunjin shrugged, joining me in the kitchen as I spooned more Fruit Loops into my mouth. “But you can’t tell me that you weren’t enamored with your nieces at my mom’s Christmas party.”

“I was just being nice,” I grumbled, ignoring the way Hyunjin was now clambering for my attention, arms wrapped around my waist. Hyunjin was always clingy in the mornings, fresh-faced with the lingering effects of sleep clouding his eyes.

“Can you at least pretend to think about it?” Hyunjin whined.

“Maybe if you’re good,” I said, loosening his hold which allowed me to slip through to the other side of the counter. “Don’t forget that your little PR stunt woke me up early this morning, babe, and I don’t forgive easily.”

“Don’t act like you hated it,” Hyunjin said, reaching for the car keys out of the small dish we kept by the door. “Am I driving?”

“How else will I intake my daily caffeine addiction?” I asked, pouring the remaining coffee into a travel mug. “But slow down in the school zone, I don’t think our bank account can take another traffic violation.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “I was barely over the limit.”

I grinned at the way he tried to defend himself. “Give me twenty minutes to make myself look decent.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare the kids, right Y/N?”

“Thin ice, Hyunjin, you’re very close to sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Hyunjin smirked because he knew my threats were empty. I was weak for my husband and he liked to exploit my affections for him at every opportunity possible. For example, last night he pretended to be super excited for the new season of the Bachelor (even though he hates the show) just because he wanted me sat in his lap while he did his best to decorate my neck with colorful marks.

In conclusion, Hyunjin was my kryptonite, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hyunjin and I arrived at school fifteen minutes early, parting ways in the mostly full parking lot because the students definitely didn’t need to see the way he liked to grope my ass when we kissed. Despite working together, I rarely saw Hyunjin throughout the day unless he made-up some excuse to come see me in the library. But this was a rare occurrence since Hyunjin, as a dance teacher, really had no valid reason to need library resources.

Speaking of which, the library, at my personal request, was the glorified version of an introvert’s paradise. It was always quiet, thanks to my meticulous monitoring, and was equipped with a small digital lab and self-named “relaxation room” where students (and staff) could enjoy a variety of stuffed couches and reclinable chairs to simply forget about the other horrors of high school. I was especially proud of the library’s progress, updating equipment and technology yearly due to my persistence in applying for a variety of government grants. Yes, I was satisfied with my status as the school’s “cool” librarian who enforced the strict library rules of conduct while also allowing a smidgen of favoritism when one of my students brought in a candy bar to eat during lunch.

Of course, such sanctity was frequently disrupted by my husband and his friends who demonstrated absolutely no regard for silence. Han Jisung was the worst of them all, waltzing into the library in stride to ask for whatever set of books he needed for his English classes. While I prepared the cart, he would talk relentlessly about everything from his ex-girlfriends to the much-dreaded topic of his endless stories about Hyunjin’s wilder days back in college. “I wish you could’ve been there, Y/N,” Jisung would snort. “Hyunjin took shots like they were water.”

“Yes, I know,” I would grumble while ordering him to leave the library before the remaining students were permanently traumatized.

And when Hyunjin would visit me, which seemed unnecessary considering he taught dance classes, he always made sure to completely take over my office, feet propped up on my desk while pouting at me to sit on his lap. Which was the opposite of professional considering the masses of students lingering around the bookshelves. But that never seemed to deter Hyunjin who always found a new and creative excuse to visit the library.

Like begging me to allow him to use my coffee machine.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin said, following me as I navigated the complicated filing system in the backroom. “I’m only asking because Jisung broke the one in the teacher’s lounge! And you know it might take weeks before they purchase a replacement.”

“Interesting,” I said, thumbing across the file tabs. “We have a coffee machine at home, don’t we, babe?”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment. “But what if I need more coffee later on?”

“One cup should be enough,” I nodded. “Caffeine isn’t good for you.”

“It’s actually great for me,” Hyunjin said. “If I didn’t have coffee, then I would be completely shut down by lunchtime.”

“I seriously doubt that,” I objected with a laugh.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin tried again. “As your husband-”

“- is that supposed to convince me?”

Hyunjin frowned. “I’ll clean the dishes and do the laundry until the machine in the lounge is fixed.”

I perked up instantly. “Well, I suppose I can make an exception for you...”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, starting for the small kitchen connected to my office. “I should have unlimited access.”

“And I should treat all my coworkers the same.”

“I’m offended, Y/N, please don’t tell me you’re sleeping with the other teachers.”

I glared at him. “For your information, you’re the one who's always touting professionalism in the workplace.”

“But that was before I started to miss you during the day,” Hyunjin said, adjusting the settings on my coffee machine. “You have a safe haven in the library.”

“It gets the job done,” I said, joining him at the machine. “Did you know we had a new student at school?”

“Yang Jeongin?” he asked, pulling back his mug to take a sip. “He’s in my first-period dance class.”

“That’s him,” I nodded. “I noticed that always comes in here during lunch. Do you think he has any friends?”

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin mused. “I don’t see him interacting with his classmates.”

I shivered because the topic at hand reminded me too strongly of my own experiences in high school. “I feel bad for him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, babe,” Hyunjin reassured me. “If it makes you feel better, then I could talk to him tomorrow?”

“Would you do that for me?” I asked, holding on to his arm.

“Of course,” Hyunjin said. “Unlike you, I don’t ask for much when I’m doing something nice for my spouse.”

“Who else is going to keep you in check?” I asked him, pushing myself off from the counter.

Hyunjin gave my ass a polite swat on my way out the door. “Remember that we’re meeting Jisung and his new girlfriend for dinner.”

I groaned at the reminder. “Explain to me again, babe, why do we have to do that?”

“Because he’s my best friend,” Hyunjin said. “And he’s trying to make things less awkward.”

“Are we going to show up for all of his dates?” I asked. “To keep things less awkward?”

“You’re honestly just as dramatic as I am,” Hyunjin commented. “He’s only asking me for a small favor, and...” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “If you’re a good girl, then I might reward you when we get home later.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out, hasn’t it?”

Hyunjin grinned at my willing compliance.

Han Jisung’s new girlfriend was...interesting, to say the least. She arrived with her arm tucked securely around Jisung’s while dressed in a bright pink mini-skirt and lime green crop-top that left very little to the imagination. The moment she walked into the restaurant, every pair of eyes watched as she shimmied through the tables, greeting Hyunjin and I like we had known each other since childhood. “You guys look great!” she exclaimed, leaning across the table to offer my cheek a polite tap. “Girl, you have to tell me who does your hair.”

“Oh...” I trailed off, glancing at Hyunjin anxiously because my husband had forgotten to mention that we were meeting an eccentric child. Because Jisung’s girlfriend didn’t look a day over the legal age.

“I’m Hailey,” she announced, smacking her gum obnoxiously.

Meanwhile, Jisung was smiling like an idiot. “I hope we’re not late.”

“Of course not,” Hyunjin said and I rolled my eyes since apparently being half an hour late for your reservation was perfectly acceptable.

“Holy shit, you look like a runway model!” Haily declared, pointing at Hyunjin with exaggerated motions. “Honey, you didn’t tell me that you were friends with someone this gorgeous.”

I frowned at the comment while Hyunjin just shifted uncomfortably next to me. “Thank you?”

“Jinnie’s always been a lady killer,” Jisung said, pulling out Hailey’s chair before taking the seat next to Hyunjin.

“But you’re all married now,” Hailey pouted as if she was actually disappointed with Hyunjin’s marital status despite the fact that she had come here with Jisung.

“2 years,” Hyunjin said with a dramatic flourish of his wrist. “Woohoo!”

“Y’all got kids and stuff right?” Hailey asked, ignoring the waiter who had arrived at our table, clearing his throat to get her attention. Thankfully, Jisung had enough sense to dismiss him with a request for two glasses of water.

“Not yet,” Hyunjin said, more attentive now that the topic had switched to a topic that he favored. “We’re planning on having two or three.”

I kept my mouth firmly shut because Hyujin was clearly living in an alternate universe. “That’s amazing,” Haily gushed, leaning into Jisung. “Did you hear that, Sungie? Isn’t that like the ultimate dream?”

“Is it?” Jisung questioned, offering Haily a gentle kiss. “Do you want kids someday?”

“A whole house full of them,” Hailey exclaimed and Hyunjin offered me a shit-eating grin like that somehow proved that I was in the wrong for denying him any children.

“We’re still talking about it,” I effectively inserted.

“Sungie tells me that you’re both teachers,” she continued, driving the conversation in an entirely new direction.

“I’m a librarian technician,” I said. “Hyunjin teaches dance.”

“Wow,” Hailey gushed. “That’s so cool, Hyunjin.”

I grimaced because apparently, Librarians weren’t as qualified to be considered cool. “I’m lucky that I have such willing students,” Hyunjin said, nodding appreciatively.

Sometimes, Hyunjin loved being the center of attention.

“I’m in like some sort of dance club at my university,” Hailey said and I nearly choked on my wine.

“You’re in college?” Hyunjin asked, flashing Jisung a reprimanding look that sent the younger into a rapid explanation.

“She’s a Senior,” Jisung said as if that made everything better. “You’re graduating soon, right babe?”

“Supposedly,” Hailey said, making a mess of the breadsticks in the center of the table. “I have to somehow pass this boring math lecture first.”

Hyunjin was not convinced and neither was I considering Jisung’s problematic history of dating younger girlfriends. “How long have you been with Jisung?”

“I don’t know,” Haily shrugged indifferently. “Maybe two weeks.”

“And are you staying on campus, Hailey?” I asked the young girl who nodded affirmatively.

“Jisung wants me to move in though,” Hailey said and that was the last straw for Hyunjin who abruptly stood from the table.

“Jisung,” my husband murmured quietly. “Let’s talk outside for a moment.”

Jisung bowed his head, cheeks flushed because he knew that Hyunjin was moments away from one of his famous lectures. “Okay.”

Hailey was silent until they were out of earshot. “That was weird, right?”

I feigned indifference, even as my mind thought up several creative ways to kick Jisung’s ass for trying things out with someone who was at least ten years younger than him. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if said significant other was employed at some kind of big business as opposed to the salon next to her university. But I didn’t want to let Hailey know that anything was amiss, so I reached across to grab her hand. “Everything’s fine.”

Internally, I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

I woke up to the feeling of Hyunjin’s hard erection pressing against my ass. “Babe,” I groaned, attempting to fend off the lingering effects of sleep.

Hyunjin grunted from behind me, drawing his hips in methodical circles. “What?”

“Your dick,” was all I could manage before yawning over my words.

“Fuck, I was having a good dream,” Hyunjin whined. “Remember that bathing suit you wore on our honeymoon?”

“The bikini?”

“Yeah, I still think about it a lot.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re hard because of my bathing suit?”

“More precisely, you in the bathing suit.”

“Whatever,” I said, rubbing my face against my pillow. “The alarm hasn’t gone off yet.”

“That gives us time,” Hyunjin said suggestively, drawing a hand along the contour of my hip bone.

“To sleep.”

“No, Y/N,” Hyunjin countered, presence heavy as he drew himself up higher against the headboard. “You don’t even have to do anything.”

“Fine,” I muttered. “But don’t blame me if I fall asleep.”

“You know my dick’s better than that,” Hyunjin said, fussing over my panties as he pulled them down beneath the sheets. His fingers dug into my thigh, lifting my leg to a more comfortable position over his hip. I could feel his cock, thick and prodding, as he adjusted himself behind me.

“Are you ever gonna put it in?” I asked drowsily, wincing at the sudden penetration of his cock inside. “Shit, slow down you animal!”

“Sorry,” he murmured, slowing drawing out before pushing back in at a more acceptable pace.

“Slow is good,” I continued, adrenaline rushing through my sleep-deprived body, reacting to his advances with tentative thrusts back against him.

“It’s good, right?” Hyunjin asked with a touch of arrogance, reaching around me to play with my clit.

“It’s always good,” I said, deciding to satiate his ego for once, especially now that I was fully aroused, cognizant of the heavy drag of Hyunjin’s cock.

His vacant hand wandered up my shirt, teasing a nipple as he continued to punctuate each heavy drag of his cock with a low grunt of effort. “I feel like it’s been ages since we did this.”

“I guess you’re still horny from the ego boost Jisung’s girlfriend gave you last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

I imitated her voice. “Oh, Hyunjin, you must be in great shape from dancing all the time.”

“She’s right,” Hyunjin said, tightening his hold as he kicked his hips aggressively, slamming into me like he was trying to make a point. “Have you seen my thighs, babe?”

“I like to ride them.”

“Fuck,” Hyunjin cursed, pressing even more insistently at my clit while his cock continued to fill my core. “I feel like a teenager again.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't think I can last much longer either,” I said, panting as Hyunjin started to increase the power of his thrusts, chasing his own orgasm while I focused on the way it felt to be stimulated by his skilled fingers and impressive girth.

“Can I cum inside?” he asked, voice desperate but I remembered that I forgot to take my birth control pill the other day.

“Outside,” I said, reaching back to push against his chest. “I’ll suck your dick.”

“Please,” Hyunjin agreed without hesitation, pulling out with a wince while I tried to steady my shaky legs, straddling his thigh while leaning down for his cock. Hyunjin curled his fingers through my hair, directing my head to the tip, allowing my tongue to get its first taste of his pre-cum.

I hollowed my cheeks, taking in as much of his cock as I could before I felt the tip barely touch the back of my throat. Still, it was enough to make me gag and I pulled back to avoid the risk of walking around school with a sore throat all day. I took the remainder of his cock into my hand, tightening my grip at the base which rewarded me with a loud moan from Hyunjin. Meanwhile, I had slowly started to rock myself back and forth on his thigh, aiming for my own release while trying to encourage Hyunjin to cum down my throat.

“Beautiful,” he said, eyes filled with tears and adoration as he watched me take in more of his cock, nose brushing against his skin.

It only took a few more moments for Hyunjin to finally cum, throwing back his head as his hips jolted against the bed. I swallowed him down with a grimace because I still hated the taste of cum no matter how many times I offered him a blowjob. Pulling off his spent cock, I focused on myself, reaching down to give my clit a few more well-placed strokes before I was following him into a hormone-induced coma.

I fell against his chest, allowing him to run his hand up and down my back. “Babe, you’re my hero.”

I snorted at his comment. “What time is it?”

“We still have five minutes.”

“Good,” I groaned. “I’ll need every second to recover.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Want to take your mind off it?”

“Maybe,” I said, appreciating his warmth. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Jisung,” Hyunjin said. “I gave him a stern lecture last night.”

“You go, babe.”

“Seriously, I can’t believe he’s dating a college student.”

“The Han Jisung? Nothing he does surprises me.”

“He says he really likes this girl.”

“No offense,” I said. “But I hope that was to defend himself because the girl is a nightmare.”

“Might finally put Jisung in his place.”

“Nobody can do that,” I said, using my arms to leverage myself back into a sitting position. “How bad is my hair?”

“My fingers weren’t helpful.”

“A shower then,” I nodded, glancing back at the bathroom. “You wanna join?”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. “I think you’re spoiling me, babe.”

It had become a recurring pattern, watching Jeongin walk into the library during his scheduled lunch period. Every day, he sat down at one of the computers in the lab to play some kind of online game that I didn’t protest since he wasn’t disturbing the other students. Truthfully, I didn’t really care one way or another, but I was starting to feel like Jeongin was intentionally avoiding his classmates. I understood that it was probably hard to transfer schools, but to attend classes by yourself with no friends to support you?

I shuddered at the thought, making up my mind as I carefully approached him. “Jeongin,” I said, awkwardly leaning against the side of the computer desk. “That was the bell for lunch.”

The younger boy glanced up to me timidly. “Oh, well I thought it was okay for students to spend lunch in the library.”

“It is,” I acknowledged. “But I thought you might want to spend some time with your friends.”

Jeongin ducked his head down, cheeks blushing red. “Not really.”

“Okay,” I said, struggling to finish my thoughts before spotting Hyunjin walking into the library. “I’ll be right back,” I said before practically sprinting to meet Hyunjin in my office. “Come here,” I said, pulling him to the side. “We have a problem.”

“I know,” he said with tired eyes. “I have no coffee.”

“Hyunjin,” I chastised him quietly. “That new kid always spends his lunch period in the library. He says he’s not interested in hanging out with anyone.”

“Well, that’s his choice,” Hyunjin said. “Some kids are really shy.”

“I know,” I grumbled. “But you know I was the same way in high school and I regret it now, hiding in the library during lunch because I had nobody to sit with.”

“You were a nerd too,” Hyunjin giggled.

“Do you want to keep using the coffee machine?”

“Sorry, babe.”

“Anyway,” I continued. “I think we should help Jeongin make some new friends. What about group activities in your dance classes?”

“I guess,” Hyunjin relented. “But I don’t want to force him.”

“You assign the groups then,” I said. “And let me know how he reacts.”

“Well, just based on what I’ve seen so far, he definitely prefers to be alone.”

“Then we have to reach out to him,” I said, holding tight to Hyunjin’s arm. “Nobody should be alone all the time.”

“He may not like it if we try to force him into something.”

“Then we back off if he shows any signs of being uncomfortable,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “A compromise.”

“If you really insist,” Hyunjin said, gliding past me for the coffee machine. “I’ll do my best, and I’ll let Chan and the others know.”

“Oh!” I gasped. “That’s a great idea! I can talk to the other teachers in the lounge!”

Hyunjin chuckled. “I thought you hated the teacher’s lounge?”

“Yeah? Well, I’m making an exception for the betterment of a student,” I proclaimed, waiting until Hyunjin finished refilling his coffee mug before ushering him out into the hallway. “Who’s usually in there?” I asked as we walked together.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin said. “Maybe Chan and Felix.”

“Chan and Jisung might be helpful,” I conceded. “What about Felix? Does Jeongin take art classes?”

“Babe, I don’t have his schedule memorized.”

“That’s first on the list,” I said with a nod.

We both paused outside the lounge as I attempted to listen in on the conversation progressing behind closed doors. “Who is that?”

Hyunjin chuckled, reaching past me for the door handle. He pushed it open wide, allowing us enough room to join the small group of teachers loitering between scheduled classes. “Y/N!” Jisung immediately greeted me, waltzing over to take my arm. “You never come in the lounge.”

“I’m making an exception,” I said, allowing Jisung to pull me to the table where Chan, Felix, and Changbin were all sitting together.

“You guys,” I said, sliding into an available seat. “What’s going on?”

Changbin eyed me suspiciously. “You never come here unless you want something.”

From behind my chair, Hyunjin snorted. “It’s one hell of a mission.”

“I knew it!” Felix declared, leaning back in his chair. “What sort of personal vendetta do you have now?”

“I’m offended,” I said, crossing my arms sternly over my chest. “Aren’t we all friends?”

“Of course we are, Y/N,” Chan said soothingly, ever the voice of reason.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “Which is why I need your help.”

Felix groaned, but I quickly jumped in to assure him. “It’s about that new kid, Yang Jeongin.”

“What about him?” Changbin grunted. “Other than the fact that he hates running exercises.”

“He’s taking gym?”

Changbin nodded, picking at the meager salad in front of him. “I don’t understand why.”

“Because it’s destiny,” I said, holding out my arms. “We’re meant to help guide him down the right path.”

“What path is that?” Changbin asked.

“The path of redemption,” I said, elbowing Hyunjin from behind when I heard him laughing. “He’s always in the library during free periods. I don’t think he’s adjusting to the school.”

“It happens with transfers,” Felix shrugged.

“But we can do something to help him,” I said. “Encourage him to make new friends and meet new classmates.”

“You want us to help with your ‘No Child Left’ behind agenda?” Changbin asked.

“I want you to help me lift a student’s self-confidence,” I said. “Jeongin is a sweet kid. He just needs a good push in the right direction.”

“Basically,” Hyunjin interrupted, leaning over me. “Y/N had no friends in high school and she wishes that there was a kind, sweet librarian with a great ass to help guide her way.”

“Don’t bring my ass into this,” I said, ducking away from his hold. “So what do you guys think?”

Felix sipped at his tea. “He’s not in any of my classes, but I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“Why not?” Jisung suddenly commented. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“You’re just trying to make up for last night’s dinner disaster,” I said, “but I’m willing to let you this time.”

Jisung let out a whoop while Changbin and Chan considered my words. “It’s fine with me,” Chan said. “Changbin?”

“Alright,” Changbin relented. “But this is your fault if the kid turns against us.”

“Trust me, nothing bad is gonna happen.”

A few days later, I received an urgent notice from the nurse’s office which was surprising considering the fact that I was usually stuck in the library all day. I sighed over my ever-growing stack of paperwork, gathering my cell phone before leaving the sanctity of my quiet office. There was an order form calling my name that I had been neglecting for several weeks now, but I figured that the unexpected notice could prove to be a legitimate distraction. After all, I was quite curious concerning why I was suddenly needed away from the library.

I paused outside the door to the nurse’s office, trying to listen to the sounds of conversation. Faint voices filtered through the barrier, including one that sounded awfully familiar. I held my breath as I walked inside, discovering my husband lying on top of the examination table. Hyunjin winced as the school nurse wrapped an ice pack around his ankle. “Fuck it hurts.”

“Hyunjin,” I said his name and my husband turned around to face me with a start. “What happened?”

“Y/N,” Hyunjin cried while reaching out for me. “Why did you take so long?”

“Really?” I immediately questioned him. “Babe, you’re the one with a bandage on your foot.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I twisted my ankle.”

I closed my eyes before releasing a sigh. “How did this happen?”

“Student-teacher race,” Hyunjin replied as if that possibly provided enough context for me to understand.

“A race?”

“Changbin thought it might be fun if the students competed against the teachers,” Hyunjin explained. “Like a reward.”

“You’re rewarding the students by putting your life in danger?”

“My life was never in danger, Y/N,” Hyunjin said with a sigh.

“Then why are you hurt?” I asked him, reaching over to land a scolding hit to his arm.

“Hey!” Hyunjin complained, holding his bicep now despite the ice packet still resting over his ankle.

“You idiot,” I groaned. “You aren’t 16 anymore. Why are you trying to outrace a bunch of student-athletes anyway?”

“Maybe I did it for you,” Hyunjin announced dramatically, falling rather ungracefully against the table.

“Why is participating in a race so important to me?”

“You said you wanted to get closer to that Jeongin kid,” Hyunjin explained. “He asked me to run with them.”

“Jeongin did?” I asked, suddenly unable to stop myself from laughing, practically slumping over Hyunjin’s lap.

“What’s so funny?”

“I may have told him a funny story about his dance instructor from your college days.”

Hyunjin gasped. “You didn’t!”

I shrugged. “I was trying to make him feel better.”

“By outing my humiliating secrets?”

“It was a worthy sacrifice, babe,” I said with a grin. “Just be glad I wasn’t there to watch it happen.”

“You’re always so supportive,” Hyunjin said, faintly protesting when I leaned down to offer him a gentle kiss. “Is this an apology?”

“I’m really proud of you, Hyunjin,” I said, reaching down to adjust the pillow propping his ankle.

“Whatever,” Hyunjin grumbled. “The kid was important to you.”

“But you didn’t have to go that far,” I said, gliding my fingers through his hair because I knew he loved the action.

“Maybe you can blow me later and all will be forgiven.”

“Done.”

The following week, I spotted Jeongin walking through the library on his way to class. He paused at one of the bookshelves, fingers skimming the faded spines. “Hey!” I said, catching his attention. “You weren’t in the library yesterday.”

“I know,” he said with a wide smile. “I was eating with some friends.”

My heart warmed at his words. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes trained downward. “They seem pretty cool.”

“Jeongin,” I cooed because it was impossible to resist his adorable smile. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“I know you had something to do with it,” the younger boy said and my smile instantly disappeared. “But it’s okay, I’m really glad you decided to help me.”

“Jeongin..” I started but broke off when I took a moment to study the crooked aspect to his knowing grin.

The doors to the library interrupted the brief silence that had descended between us, and Chan walked in with his eyes scanning over a folder that he held between his hands. “Ah! I’m interrupting something,” he said, looking back and forth between me and Jeongin.

“Oh, I was on my way out,” Jeongin said, bowing respectfully to Chan as he passed him.

Chan watched him go before looking to me for answers. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” I said, quickly switching the subject. “Did you need something?”

“Just a class copy of these books,” Chan said, holding up his folder. “Do you think you can help me bring them back to my classroom?”

“Why not?” I shrugged, taking the folder from Chan. “I have some free time before I have to file a few things.”

I guided Chan around the library to collect the books on his list, casually talking with him about one of the new teachers in the Science department. “Minho?” I said, vacantly scanning the barcodes of a display with textbooks.

“Yeah, he’s starting next week,” Chan said, grunting as he adjusted his hold on the giant stack of books collecting in his arms.

“Should be interesting,” I said, adding one last textbook to the pile in Chan’s arms. “Is this everything?”

“I hope so,” Chan grumbled. “Do you need my teacher ID?”

“I’ll scan it later,” I said, watching him struggle. “Let’s go before these end up on the floor.”

Chan let out a grateful sigh, and I maintained a careful distance at his side to ensure that my precious books wouldn’t suddenly drop from his hold. Thankfully, Chan seemed to have everything under control, like he was prone to do in most aspects of his life for which I was grateful. “Jeongin’s doing much better,” Chan remarked to me in passing as we walked together to his classroom.

“Yeah, he really seems to be opening up, especially after Hyunjin’s stunt in the gym.”

Chan snorted at the reminder. “I wish you could have been there, Y/N. But, if you’re curious, Changbin has the whole incident on video.”

“I’d love to see that...” I trailed off, spotting Hyunjin approaching on his new crutches.

“You know, I could hear you all the way over here!”

“Hyunjin,” I said, meeting him halfway so that he wouldn’t need to walk as far. “I was planning to come by and see you.”

“My arms hurt constantly,” Hyunjin said, adjusting his stance. “Honestly, I don’t even think these things are necessary.”

“Doctor’s orders,” I said swiftly, directing a quick goodbye to Chan before I was redirecting Hyunjin back to his classroom. “And don’t even try to demonstrate any crazy dance choreographies for these kids.”

“How else are they gonna learn?” Hyunjin demanded, even as he leaned more of his weight against my side for additional support.

Later that night, after a rather long day of ensuring that Hyunjin didn’t try to do anything too outrageous, the two of us finally returned home. I was rather proud of myself since Hyunjin was still in one piece. I half-expected to receive another call from the nurse’s office because my husband decided he needed to show off his moonwalk to impress his students.

In any case, what Hyunjin didn’t know was that I had started thinking a lot about the future, especially after everything that he did to help Jeongin. Suddenly, the idea of having kids was a lot less unappealing. This is why I immediately started for the bathroom, a new purpose driving my steps, while Hyunjin carefully made his way across the living room.

I opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve a familiar box, returning to our shared bedroom to find Hyunjin laying in bed, phone in hand as his eyelids fought to stay open. Gingerly, I handed him my current prescription of birth control, watching as he struggled to focus. “What’s this?”

“Surprise!”

“Isn’t there an easier way to tell me that you’re running low?”

I rolled my eyes at his question. “That’s not what I meant.”

Hyunin frowned, taking the box from me. “It’s almost 9:00, Y/N.”

“You’re really bad at subliminal messages,” I said, kneeling down on the bed. “I’m giving the rest of the prescription to you because I’m not taking it anymore.”

Hyunjin’s eyes slowly widened as he processed my words. “But that means...

“I don’t mind the idea of kids anymore,” I said. “Especially if they turn out like Jeongin.”

“Y/N,” Hyunjin grinned, wordlessly tackling me against the bed. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I am,” I informed him, tracing my fingers across his pretty lips. “I want to have kids with you. Preferably a boy, so we should start eating a ton of potassium.”

“What?”

“To increase our chances, Hyunjin,” I said. “There’s science behind the kind of diet you eat.”

“You’re trying to tell me that if I eat more potassium, then we’ll have a boy?”

“Well, it helps our chances.”

Hyunjin still appeared doubtful, but his eyes were warm. “Whatever you want.”

“That’s right,” I agreed brightly, wrapping my arms around his neck to draw him in closer.

“Y/N, I love you,” Hyunjin said, leaning down for a sweet kiss. “You know how much this means to me.”

“I know,” I agreed, snuggling up against his chest. “For the record, I love you more.”

“Should we put that to the test?”

I closed my eyes as I resisted a smile. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stay kids smut #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin smut

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honeybammie · 5 years

Text

momma › jackson wang

↳ babysitting jackson wang’s daughter was not the first option on your list of summer jobs, but it pays well, and how can you complain when you get to see his face every day? ↳ singledad!jackson, fluff ↳ wc: 3,733

Babysitting was not first on my list of potential summer jobs, but “struggling artist” wasn’t paying rent, and my parents were growing tired of my increasing demands, so I had to look elsewhere. Between my list of potential options, including part-time waitress or grocer, Jackson Wang paid the most. I could take care of his two year old throughout the week, he could go to work with peace of mind, and in the evenings I could continue commissioning off my paintings for less than they were worth. Everybody won.

My first obstacle was the tedious interview process. At first, he called over phone to ask the more basic information of his potential applicants. Name, age, previous experience. I would’ve bet I was the oldest of everyone, and with three younger siblings, I hoped for a slight advantage, but I knew nothing of anyone else vying for the job, so I relied on my crossed fingers for luck.

The second step of the process included meeting Jackson in person. A renewed sense of hope flooded my veins when he gave me the follow-up call and explained that he’d like to meet me, but the pressure of knowing he was to meet with four other girls did nothing to salve my nerves. Neither did the caffeine in the coffee I ordered when we met. For many of his questions, I had to gather myself. Why did I want the position? What was I studying in school? I blushed peach when I had to answer that I was an art major. No one ever took that one seriously, but Jackson nodded anyway, and after forty-five minutes—had it really been that long?—he thanked me for my time with a smile.

The third and final step, which came down to me and an eighteen-year-old high school senior, was meeting his daughter, Meilin, the true judge. I met the two of them in a park near his home, Jackson still in his work clothes and Meilin dressed head-to-toe in pink floral. Apparently she picked the outfit herself. The shoes I wore had a flower print, too, one I designed, and this fact pleased her so much I got the job without saying much else. I felt almost guilty. The other candidate may have had every qualification for taking care of a toddler, but two-year-olds cared not for credentials. Evidently, they cared very much for cool shoes. Some things are learned young.

My second obstacle was trying not to fall in love with Jackson.

An obstacle much more difficult than my first, despite how little I saw him after the interview process. Every morning I showed up at 7:30, and upon my arrival he handed me a twenty dollar bill for lunch (which I never spent in its entirety and tried to return at the end of the day, but he always declined), told me any play dates or birthday parties I had to attend, and grabbed his briefcase before heading out the door. When he returned at 4:30, he handed me my daily pay, thanked me, and I returned to my apartment. Our paths barely overlapped.

Still, I dwelled on our meet-up for coffee a number of times. Had he spent so long with the other girls? Maybe he related more to me since I was the oldest, but surely we had little in common other than both being in our twenties. He was a successful single dad, and I had neither success nor children, just an in-progress art degree and an atelier that was just a closet I cleared out for my paintings. Stains covered my carpet even after the immense effort of cleaning, whereas every surface of Jackson’s house was glossy and unmarred. Even if I wanted to have a conversation with him again, I had no idea where to begin.

Until a month into the job, when upon Meilin was playing dress up for the umpteenth time and Jackson called.

“Hello?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder so that I could continue to applaud Meilin as she twirled in circles and fell back into her chair.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighed, breath heavy like he was in pursuit of something. “Can I ask you a favor? I’m caught up at work and need you to watch Meilin for a few more hours. I’ll give you some extra money for dinner and pay you overtime hours.”

“Daddy!” Meilin exclaimed upon hearing his voice, climbing up onto my lap and making grabby hands at my phone

“Hello, honey,” he hummed, like the sound of her voice renewed him after hours of office work.

“Don’t worry about the dinner money. I didn’t spend any for lunch earlier. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“I’ll try to be back by 7:30. Thank you for this. How’s Meilin?”

“Daddy!” she repeated in a similar squeal as earlier, hardly fazed by her father’s news.

“I think she’s holding up. She was in the middle of her debut fashion show, so you ought to be glad she’s not a diva and made time between changes to talk to you,” I tsked, earning a laugh from him, the sound curling around my heart and constricting.

“Tell her I appreciate it very much,” he said, “and thank you. Again. Seriously.”

“It’s no problem. Seriously,” I mocked him, and he hung up in haste. At the loss of her father’s voice, Meilin grabbed the phone out of my hand, looking between me and the device, perplexed.

“Where daddy?” she wondered, turning the phone upside down and flipping it over and over. “Daddy home?”

“Not yet. Daddy’s working late, so you get to spend more time with me!” I threw my hands in the air, and she copied the action with a grin on her face, arms high above her head in the most excited display the world had ever seen.

“Momma!” she giggled.

I lowered my arms with the sudden shock of my title. Usually she called me my name, or various incoherent versions of it, but “momma” was new, and definitely not close to my real name. “Oh, goodness. Uh...no, not momma,” I stuttered.

“Momma! Dress up!” she pulled her princess dress over her head, throwing it down and running into her closet for what I could only imagine would be another dress.

Her newfound favorite manner of addressing me continued through the rest of the evening. Even when I took her to a nearby restaurant and cut up her chicken nuggets with a fork, feeding her one tiny piece at a time, she persisted.

“Yum Yum. Here, momma,” she’d say, picking up a piece and shoving it towards my face. A couple passersby even complimented me on how cute my daughter was, only setting her off more.

I realized I had no idea what happened to Meilin’s mother. Had Jackson been married, or was Meilin perhaps the result of a brief fling? Had her mother died? Abandoned them? I hadn’t considered the possibilities before, but they weighed on my anxious mind as the next few hours passed.

She ran into Jackson’s arms when he returned, oblivious to how late he had gotten off work. “Good evening, hon. What’d you guys do today?”

“Play dress up! With momma!” She clapped her hands, at which Jackson’s eyes widened and landed on me.

“I tried to tell her I’m not momma, but she kept calling me momma and I didn’t know what to do, and then people at the restaurant kept saying I had a cute daughter, and...I’m sorry,” I blurted out all in one breath, afraid the subject might strike a chord.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. No harm done,” he chuckled, setting his daughter down. She scuttled along into the living room to play with some toys while he pulled out a wad of money, counting out double what he usually paid me in a day even though I had only done three hours overtime. “I really appreciate you taking care of her, you know? She goes on about you all the time, most of which I can’t understand, but what I do understand is good. She still loves your shoes.”

I wore the same pair every day, and now I looked down at them with redness flooding my face. “It’s nothing, really. She’s great. She makes me laugh more than most people my age.”

Jackson slipped the cash into my hand, smiling gently at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Do you mind me asking something else?” I added, almost against my own will, but the question had been beating me down all day, and I had to know.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, sliding the jacket of his three-piece suit over his broad shoulders and folding it over one arm.

“Where is her mother?”

“Oh. She doesn’t have one,” he said with a little shrug. Just like that. So nonchalant. I glanced around me for the presence of, perhaps, hidden cameras. Was he messing with me?

“She...left?” I asked in a low whisper, desperately trying not to offend him.

He shook his head at me in amusement, pulling out a stool from the kitchen island and taking a seat. “Meilin has a mother, biologically, but she was a surrogate. I...really wanted to have a baby, so I found someone and after some legal work and nine months of waiting, Meilin was born. I guess a lot of the children’s books we read mention mommies and daddies, and she knew who daddy was, so you must’ve been the closest resemblance to mommy to her.”

“Huh,” I said. Of all answers, I didn’t expect that one, but it was one of the better ones. “I’m glad, then. I was worried her mom passed away or that there was a divorce.”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, “but you’re sweet for being worried.”

I was blushing scarlet now, no longer able to hide it. He was only a few years older than me, but him having his life so put together made me feel like putty in front of him, and the “sweet” rolling off his tongue made me feel like I was stuck in sugary goo.

“I guess I should get going, then,” I said. “See you on Monday, Mr. Wang.”

“Jackson,” he corrected me. “I’m not that much older than you.”

“Most people don’t call their employer by their first name,” I pointed out. Being on a first-name basis with him was too informal, too intimate. “And we’re not friends or anything. Not to be rude, but—”

“No, I understand,” he nodded, eyes travelling to his daughter. This was usually her bedtime, and she wasn’t playing with her toys with the same energy as earlier. “Give me a moment to put her in bed, would you? I’d like to talk for a few more minutes.”

“Uh, sure.” I wasn’t sure if he was going to fire me or somehow promote me or what, but I sat at the kitchen island as he carried Meilin to her room, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“Night, momma.” She waved, and after spending the day denying it, I conceded and waved back, blush still covering my cheeks. I hoped it didn’t secretly bother Jackson.

He was gone maybe five minutes, and the house doesn’t make a sound. I was used to the constant thudding of feet, of pint-sized chaos roaming the halls, but the space was at a standstill and I had to busy myself by picking up the stray toys left on the living room floor.

“Oh, please—no, no, don’t worry,” Jackson said when he found me cleaning up, touching a hand to my elbow so that I stood. There was a doll in my hands but he took it and tossed it into the nearby basket of toys he kept in the living room. “You’ve done enough today.”

“Sorry. Force of habit, I guess.” I folded my hands together to steady myself. Being alone with him was as nerve-wracking now as it was during the interview process. “What did you want to talk about?”

He nodded towards the kitchen, where I returned to my previous seat. I shook my head no when he offered a glass of wine. I’d have to drive home soon, but he proceeded to pour himself a glass and sat down. He always struck me as more of a rum guy—not that I had spent my time thinking about what he liked to drink. Well, not too much time.

“I don’t know that this arrangement is going to work much longer,” Jackson said, reaching across the table to cover one of my hands with his. My skin froze at the proposition.

“Mr. Wang—Jackson, please,” I sputtered in a half-thought out attempt to save my job. Not seeing Meilin or him again? Asking my parents for more money? The thought made my heart lurch. “I adore your daughter, and I need this job because I don’t make near enough from painting to sustain myself. If you’re mad that she’s calling me her mother, I’m sorry, and I’ll try to take care of it, but I can’t lose this position.”

He took a sip from his glass, swirling a finger around the rim. “Earlier, you said we weren’t friends, and it made me think of how I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Ouch.”

He smirked a little, tired from a long day of work but still thinking me amusing nonetheless. “Let me finish. I don’t want to be friends with you, but that’s not because I’m your boss. Hell, I don’t want to be your boss, either. I want to take you out sometime—to an art museum or a play downtown or for another cup of coffee with a different context. Even with what little I see of you, I think about you all the time, and I just…”

Jackson’s voice faded out, words lost to him. I’d never been very good at words, either, hence why I pursued artistry instead of English, but I turned my hand over and slipped his fingers through mine. It felt like a good place to start, despite how much my hands were shaking. “I don’t...really want to be your friend either. Or your employee. Ever since we first met for coffee, I’ve had the stupidest middle school crush.”

“As long as we’re coming clean, I knew after our first meeting that I wanted you to be the one to watch Meilin. I had only met with the other girls for fifteen minutes, maybe, but we talked for how long? An hour? When she ended up choosing you, I was happier than it made sense to be.”

“What if she hadn’t?” I implored, hoping he would indulge me.

He rubbed the back of his neck, contemplative and maybe a little nervous, too, a side of him I decided that I liked. “I...might’ve asked you out sooner, actually, or I might’ve talked myself out of the idea, thinking you’d say no. I guess we don’t have to find out.”

“And I’m glad it was me. Meilin is the highlight of my summer.” I smiled at the thought of her round cheeks and moony eyes staring up at me but remembered a moment later that I do need the job. “Listen Mr. — Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson,” he interrupted, chuckling.

“Shut up,” I scoffed. “This is serious. I need money somehow, and if I’m not watching Meilin, I’m out of luck.”

“Then let me help you with some of your art. I’ll buy a few pieces off of you for however much you need or want for them—just enough to give you a jumpstart and afford rent while you look for another job,” he suggested.

“I want to date you, not for you to be my sugar daddy.”

“I’m not—” he started, but he must’ve seen where I was coming from because he stops short. A pinkish blush started to show on his cheeks. Finally, I wasn’t the only one.

I didn’t want to date him as long as I was making money from him. My parents taught me not to mix work and personal life, and hooking up with my boss sounded too scandalous for my taste.

“Give me time to find another job. It’ll take a few weeks, maybe, but then I’ll quit and we can go on a date. Until then, we should keep things professional.” I realized my hand was still in his, and I slipped my fingers away and held them in my lap.

He was silent for a while, and from the way his eyes flitted all over me, he didn’t seem to want to wait. He’d probably take me out right then if he could, and if he asked, I wasn’t sure I had the willpower to tell him no, despite the front I tried to keep from crumbling. “Can I give a suggestion, then?”

“What is it?”

“Wait here,” he said, running upstairs where I knew he had another bedroom and an office, along with other rooms I had yet to step foot in.

He returned soon after, pressing three business cards into my palm. I filed through, brows furrowed, to see that they were art exhibit coordinators, critics, buyers. Alternatively, all the people I needed to impress.

“Where did you get these?”

“I’ve been to a few showcases in my day. I’m not entirely ignorant to the world of art, and I never turn down a business card. You never know when you might need someone you thought you wouldn’t.”

My mouth hung open, entirely ungraceful and no doubt making me look like a fool in front of him. Then, I shook my head. “It still seems like too much of you to—”

“I’m only giving you their cards. You don’t even have to tell them you know me, just that you’re looking for work. If they hate your paintings, they won’t hire you, and if they love them, that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with your talent.”

I tried to refute him. It still didn’t seem fair, but he had a point, and maybe it was selfish of me but I wanted a date with him soon, and I wanted the validation of someone in the community telling me that I had what it took to make a living from my art. Was that too much to ask?

“Im Jaebum selects artists to showcase at the art gallery each month. He has a soft spot for young artists just trying to find a way in, and if he really likes you, he’ll showcase you more than once. BamBam runs a section of a popular magazine— focused on art, obviously, and he kind of does what Jaebum does: spotlights an artist or two each edition, gets their name published. You never know who might see your name and reach out. Park Jinyoung is the hardest of them to please, but he’s more constructive than harsh, and you’re in great shape if he likes you. He’s a buyer, too, and pays more than I ever could. He’ll tell his friends about you, too, if you want to commission work.”

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered, the cards heavy in my hands with the prospect of chances they might hold, doors they might open. “Thank you, Jackson. Really, I—”

“You can thank me once you book your first showcase. I’d love to be your plus one.”

“Oh? And who said you would be my plus one?” I teased, but it was taking every ounce of my composure not to throw my arms around him and kiss him silly.

“Call it my wishful thinking,” he said. “And until then, you can keep taking care of Meilin, and our relationship can remain strictly professional.”

Right. I had suggested that. So much for kissing him silly. “Yeah. Yes, of course.” I nodded. I’d be sad not to see Meilin every day, but if all went well, I’d continue to see her often.

Jackson looked into the bottom of his wine glass, almost empty, and after a couple beats of silence said, “I’ve probably kept you long enough tonight. I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

You can keep me as long as you want, I thought, snapping back when I caught his eyes on mine. “I’m...yeah. I should be on my way.” We both stood, his movements a mirror of mine. He walked me to the door a few times before, usually while counting my payment, but he had already given me my cash.

“Thank you again for staying late to watch her,” he said while I slipped my shoes on, grabbing my belongings.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, I’d do it any day.” I waved a dismissive hand at him.

He opened the door. I grabbed my keys. Both of us lingered in the threshold, like he was waiting for me to say something, or like I was waiting for him to. The porch lights set his face aglow, warm evening honey.

“Goodnight, then,” he said slowly, like such basic words were a struggle for him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” I took one step, reconsidered, and looked back at him. “Jackson?”

“Yes?” He hadn’t moved, but his eyes widened with some combination of hope and curiosity.

“I’m having this problem where I really want to kiss my boss, but we agreed to keep things strictly professional for the time being, and I was wondering what you think I should do.”

“Hm,” he considered, and I prayed he wouldn’t tell me just to go home. I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye again. “Do you think he wants to kiss you too?”

My breath hitched. “I hope so.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest ripple I barely noticed. He was enjoying himself so, so much. “Only one way to find out.”

I hesitated, momentarily afraid of stepping into a trap, but without any semblance of patience, he was reaching for my waist. My fingers found the pulse of his neck and his lips found mine in the lamplit dark. My second obstacle had been trying not to fall in love with Jackson, and I was failing miserably.

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