#//so after all the shit with my new workplace and the stress this week from my new manager

[tealeavesandthorns]

// just a rant in the tags please ignore lol

[berriweb]

╰┈➤ ❝ FOR ME? ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. johnathan ohnn (the spot) x gn! reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. attempted robbery (don’t steal atms kids), cursing

: ̗̀➛ note. i can’t resist writing for the silly little guy

Ring ring ring.

“Hey, Y/N, when you get a chance do you think you could look over some of the papers? If you’re not busy or anything.”

“Of course!”

Buzz. Buzz.

1 unread message. 1 new voicemail.

“You think you could be a dear and help out with my reports? I’m a little behind and you know how the boss can be…”

“It’s fine, I can help you.”

Ring ring ring.

2 new voicemails.

“Y/N, if you don’t mind-”

“Just leave it on my desk.”

“You’re the best!”

Between the insistent notifications going off on your phone and your coworkers/supervisors approaching you what seemed like every 5 minutes, it was nearly impossible to keep your head on long enough to get everything done.

After the aftermath of the whole disaster with Alchemax, your job seemed to become increasingly more difficult to manage on your own. Less people to help meant more work for you and less time to yourself, on top of the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to any employee that wanted to take advantage of your willingness to take on any assignment the other didn’t feel like finishing. Surely most of your team had caught onto that by now.

You were worked to the bone nearly every day, which was surprising enough considering you weren’t even on a high enough level to be working on any of the big projects, not to say your skills as a scientist were mediocre, but compared to other geniuses you weren’t much of a competition. Your job however, stressful as it was, was the only thing keeping you from ending up homeless on the street, so despite the exhaustion and anxiety-inducing environment, you pushed on. No need to add any more stress to the plate by trying to find someplace else to work.

And to top it all off, there was Johnny.

Letting out a breathe you didn’t even realize you were holding, you practically collapsed into your chair and wheeled yourself to your desk to drop all of the piles of unnecessarily complicated documents you’d need to get done. The moment you allowed yourself to get your shit together before you were back to working like a dog was likely the only chance you’d get to relax, so you took the opportunity to check your phone that had been consistently alerting you for the last 15 minutes.

7 missed calls from J 😘

5 unread messages from J 😘

2 voicemails from J 😘

Your face fell as you scrolled through your notifications bar, a mixture of guit and worry creeping up your neck.

Ever since the accident, you felt an extra need to be there for the man when he showed up late one night at your door, or rather halfway through it (damn those uncontrollable holes) crying that he had nowhere else to go. At least you assumed he would’ve been crying if he had a face to do so, but the tone of his voice was more than enough of an indicator. Prior to the incident, you two had a solid relationship going for years after meeting in the workplace, and to say that you were worried for him after hearing the news of what had happened while sitting at home waiting for him to return that night was an understatement.

He was gone for weeks, and just when you were starting to assume the worst he popped back up in your life in a completely new form. Your heart broke for him when he explained how everyone else had cast him out and how he’d been afraid to return to you out of fear that you’d do the same, and while you admit that seeing him like this took some getting used to, you weren’t going to abandon him too.

Ever since he’s mostly been hiding out in your apartment relying on you for all of his needs, as the few attempts to go out in public in a decent enough disguise didn’t go well, to say the least. You had noticed how he’d become far more reliant on you and clingy as a result, meaning multiple texts and calls a day whenever you were out of the house and he was left alone to his own devices. You tried to be as responsive as you could to avoid making him feel more alone (and because you knew he’d started to harbor some guilt for “leeching” off of you and being part of the reason you had to work more often and pay rent on your own), but sometimes your work duties got the better of you.

You opened the messages first.

J😘: Are you going to be working late again today? I want to plan something for you.

J😘: What do you think of the name, “The Spot”? That sounds menacing enough, right? I’m coming up with something big right now.

J😘: “Holeman” just doesn’t sound as cool, you know? I’ll work on it.

J😘: Sorry I know I’m texting a lot, are you busy?

J😘: I’m going out, might not be home when you make it.

That uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach only intensified, and while the messages themselves weren’t exactly that worrying, something was telling you he was up to no good. And where was he going?

Your thumbs hovered over the screen for what felt like forever before you went to tap on the unopened voicemails.

“Hey babe, I know this is kind of out of the blue but I know how hard you’ve been working at Alchemax for us and I want to do something to repay you for it- just a way to say thank you I guess? I know what you said about not feeling guilty and everything but I really want to do this for you, you know I can’t keep living off of you and staying cooped up in that apartment forever- n-not that I’m ungrateful or anything! You do a lot for us, you did a lot for me and I’ll never be able to repay you for showing me that kindness when nobody else would.”

“I really needed that and I really need you. You’re sort of the only one I really have left, can’t risk losing that by leeching off of you forever, y’know? A-anyway, I saw that figure you’ve been eyeing from those ads, the really expensive one from that series you like? There’s that one gas station around the corner I used to go to that has an ATM, please don’t be mad, technically it’s bank money anyway and the government has plenty so I’m not really stealing from the gas station! I’m testing out my powers today. I’m getting the money for your figure today to surprise you with it! Wait- shit, it’s not a surprise if I’m telling you- oh god I’m rambling again, is there a way to delete this voicemail?! Hold on, wait-” Click.

Staring at your screen, you were unable to process the different emotions running your brain. You clicked the second voicemail.

“P.S., I love you Y/N~. I’ll talk to you later.”

You were left trying to decide whether to find the nearest bathroom before your coworkers caught you crying at the heartfelt message, frown at the idea of him still feeling as though he owes you when he, in fact doesn’t, or panicking when you realize that your boyfriend was about to attempt to rob a gas station for your sake. You chose the latter.

Jumping out of your seat, you went into a frenzy grabbing as many of your important belongings as you could and shoving them into a bag before you made a beeline for the doors and rushed out of your office, ignoring the concerned call outs from your coworkers asking where you were going and wondering whether or not you were going to finish your work for the day.

Alchemax became the least of your concerns, sending your manager a quick text letting her know you were leaving early on the account of an emergency as you raced down the speed walking faster than you probably ever had in his life.

‘Had he already left? What was he thinking?!’

Now it was your turn to spam him with call after call, silently begging the universe to make him pick up but to no avail.

Suddenly your apartment seemed 10 times farther than it normally did during your walks home from work despite your rush, managing to bump into multiple people as you pushed your way through the crowds, which was met by curses shouted at you, complaints, and a few threats that you could only hope would be tamed by the quick apologies you shouted in return.

You were probably mid journey home when your run came to a screeching halt as the tv stationed outside of a pawn shop caught your news. Spider-Man’s latest fight was being broadcasting through the few clips reporters were able to catch during the escapade, showing the many damages left behind and from the chaotic battle, but it wasn’t the iconic vigilante that caught your attention, it was the headline.

“Spider-Man’s latest battle against a new foe, ‘The Spot’, causes city-wide destruction! Who is this new villain on the streets and what’s his motive?”

Your mind seemed to pull you back to just minutes earlier when you were sitting in the lab, reading his messages.

“What do you think of the name, ‘The Spot’? That sounds menacing enough, right?”

Not only was Johnathan an idiot for trying to rob a gas station, he was stupid enough to get caught by Spider-Man!

If not for your unconditional love your your boyfriend and knowledge that he was once a brilliant scientist, you would’ve questioned how you ended up with such a clumsy fool.

This was further confirmed when you returned to racing to your apartment, only for your attention to be grabbed as a familiar black hole opened up above the street and citizens gasped as they caught sight of Spider-Man falling through the hole, followed up by the current criminal, and your boyfriend. His lack of facial features would argue against it, but you could swear that you made eye contact as his head turned to you and the gaping black hole where his face should be met your eyes before both men disappeared into the parallel hole that opened on the ground and it closed behind them. If looks could kill, Johnathan would be far more than six feet under.

For what felt like an eternity you stood there, the shock being enough to paralyze you and leave you glued to the sidewalk. When you snapped back into it, your palm came up to your face and you groaned in frustration, but wasted no time groveling over the situation. There was no point in trying to get home now, instead trying to figure out his location by what was being shown on the news. That was pretty hard to do, however, when he couldn’t control where the fight kept popping up in the city.

It wasn’t until a few minutes and about 50 missed calls later when the dial tone finally ceased and he picked up the phone, long after the news station seemingly lost track of the fight. You almost forgot to speak before the realization set it and you deeply inhaled.

“…before you get mad-”

“JOHNATHAN OHMMS I SWEAR TO GOD if you had ANY idea how much I want to strangle you right now-!”

“I know I know, I’m sorry, look-!”

“A gas station? ARE YOU INSANE?! You know better than this! How could you be so reckless! What were you thinking?!”

“-I wasn’t planning on getting caught-”

“And fighting Spider-Man?! You could’ve gone to jail, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse! What was I going to do then?!”

“I get it! I’m sorry, I swear! It was a bad idea I screwed up, I’ve never robbed anyone before-”

“I’d hope not!”

Taking a second, you lowered your voice and ducked into an empty looking alley so no one could hear your fussing, pinching the bridge of your nose and forcing yourself to calm down. Clearly he already knew he screwed up and the guilt in his voice made your heartache, you weren’t going to keep chastising him for something he regretted when he’d already suffered the consequences. Wait-

“Hold on, Johnny, where are you? And why do you sound so far from your phone?”

You heard a nervous chuckle from the other end of the line, where the portal that had his hand with his phone floated at least a good 10 feet from his face.

“Okay, funny story right? You’re going to laugh, I haven’t been arrested yet-” oh god. “But Spider-Man may have left me in a bit of a tight spot.”

You swore listening to Johnathan explain how he’d been webbed up in a multitude of his own holes thanks to the webbed hero and describing the building in hopes you’d help it out made you swear you’d grow grey hairs in that very moment, but you couldn’t focus on the absurdity when your main concern was getting your boyfriend back.

“-and now I’m sort of stuck and can touch my head with my right foot.”

“Johnny.”

“…yes, Y/N?”

“You’re very lucky I love you.”

He made a noise equivalent to a sigh that was mixed with relief and guilt.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again. We’ll talk later, I’m on my way.”

“This why I love you~”

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 12

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Donnie has been gifted an incredible treat in this week's chapter art by @grumpytheunicorn 🤭

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

“So then Jackie sends me a Slack screenshot of Tina asking if a blatant error on the file is wrong or not.”

“A mistake you made early on in your new position.”

“Exactly! So I immediately own up because why not and Jackie is like, ‘Why didn’t Tina fix it herself? It was obviously a mistake. Why even ask if it was wrong or not?’”

Donnie’s brows rose knowing what came next.

“So I get to say, ‘Tina has always been like that!’”

“The first to gossip in the new department.”

“We finally got one!” You lifted a commiserating fist and then tapped Donnie with it. “That dance to see who’s chill among my new team is so stressful. We’re all bound to hate upper management and each other so let’s just get it out of the way early.”

“Workplace politics I will never understand.” He covered your hand and then brought it down to his side to hold it.

“No, you just scare your work force into submission.”

Donnie gave a bare roll of his eye. “There’s respect as well.”

“Of the ones that haven’t shit themselves.” You snickered.

Donnie shrugged.

You let out a sigh. “Dang, lines really taking a bit.”

“Weather has finally improved.”

“Good point.” You looked up toward the sparsely dotted sky. “Winter never really let go of spring this year and it’s already almost summer…”

“What was the rodent’s prediction?”

You had to think for a moment and then laughed. “Punxsutawney Phil?!”

Donnie stared at you with a dull expression.

“Oh… What did he find out? I can’t remember now!”

You got your phone out to look it up.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like if he was a mutant? Like would Phil embrace it?”

Donnie chuffed.

“I bet he’d be more accurate. He’d be that region’s best meteorologist.” You shook your head at the answer. “’Punxsutawney Phil said we would have an early spring this year.’”

“Show me the table.” He leaned down over your shoulder.

You scrolled a bit. “Yellow is early and blue is six more weeks.”

Donnie hummed lightly. “Rarely early.”

“Right? I’m surprised.”

He reviewed the list a few seconds longer before flashing inward to nip at your ear.

You chomped down on a squeal and giggled away from him. “Hey!”

He churred where he was still bent over.

“Frisky with the weather…” You did a quick check to make sure no one was too annoyed before returning to him for a quick kiss.

He churred agreement.

“Your heat was delayed from the cold so are we thinking you’re gonna to start signaling soon?”

“Perhaps.” Donnie huffed. “Fickle season. A pain.”

“As fickle as the weather, that heat of yours.” You sang lightly.

He was amused enough and straightened to look out.

The line still hadn’t moved and you rolled your neck.

While you felt the pressure to come up with another topic, you were in no rush.

June’s weather was balmy and pleasant.

It felt like ages since you last enjoyed being outside.

After you got your food, you had already picked out a great place where you were going to lean against a wall and eat while bathed in the sun.

You could almost feel the warmth in your hand from the paper tray along with the rays caressing your cheeks.

You were drunk on a daydream when you heard a breathy, “Excuse me…”

You looked to see a heavily pregnant woman addressing the line and almost specifically you since she was right beside you.

“I’m fine.” She huffed out with irritation as if you were bothering her. “I’m just dizzy and I need a spotter.”

“Of course!” You blurted out before anyone else could.

The woman almost glared at you, but her gaze didn’t have enough focus. “Stay there.”

“S-sure…” You tried not to hover.

She took a deep breath that didn’t seem to make it into her body before she pivoted.

The woman in front of you hesitated to leap out to help.

The pregnant woman got her foot down hard and hoisted up against her belly before making a relatively safe line to the wall beside the door. There she stood for a single swaying second before she got her shoulders to the wall. With the tip of her body, she tucked her hands under her stomach for a little heft before she spread her legs out. It gave her a sturdy stance and she let her back press heavy into the brick to share the weight. “That’s the stuff…”

“We just keep an eye out?” You asked.

“Yeah, in case I pass out.” The pregnant woman groaned.

“You’ll pass out!?” A man behind Donnie piped up in horror.

“No!” She cracked one lid open. “I mean maybe, but don’t freak everyone out. I’m fine. It’s just hot.”

The woman in front of you shuffled.

“Stop it.” The pregnant woman zoned in on her. “I’m fine! Ugh, I hate this. I hate that it’s some delicacy thing. I’ll fuck you up, baby or not. I just need a second with this damn heat!”

“I thought the weather was nice.” The man behind Donnie tried to whisper to his companion.

“Hey, pal!” The pregnant woman shot upright with an enraged finger. “You wanna talk to my hormones?! Do you know how much more blood I got pumping through my veins right now!? Don’t fucking tell me it’s nice or not! I’m hot! I’m cold! I think I fucking know how much I-!”

For a single second she was dead silent.

You were in motion before the others.

Her pupils swam and she stumbled one step by the time you caught her shoulders.

“’M fine!” She slurred.

“You are.” You led her back to the wall.

“Pinched nerve. Still here. Dark.” She stunted out. “Walking sucks.”

“Yeah?” You followed along her arm to get her hand and press it to the cool brick.

She groped at it, garnering strength.

“Where were you walking to?” You tried.

She couldn’t snort, but she wheezed on a little breath. “Nunna business…”

“Not at all. Just making conversation. Helps you stay with us.” You moved away from where she had a grip on the wall and supported her other side.

She relented for a long moment before she leaned into you. “Hungry.”

“Cravings?”

Her skin looked pale and her bangs clung to her temple with latent sweat. “Is’hot…”

“What are you craving?”

“Ice cream…”

“What kind?”

“It’s hot.”

You signaled Donnie with a flick of your eye.

It was all it took for the line to move.

The woman who had been in front of you talked her way into the restaurant.

The man behind you turned to calm the others and talked of calling an emergency.

“No ambulance!” The pregnant woman barked.

The man relayed that.

Donnie met your side and produced a handkerchief.

“Got water?” You asked him and took the cloth to blot the pregnant woman’s brow.

“I do!” The woman from in front of you came out with that and a towel.

You fisted the cloth you had and together with the other woman from the queue got a wet towel prepared.

The moment it touched the pregnant woman’s skin, she came alive. “No, wait, this is the stuff.”

“Much cooler.” You agreed.

“Like ice cream!” The woman from the line confirmed.

“Ice cream…” The pregnant woman was wistful and pulled from you to lean against the wall again. “There’s that place…”

The woman from the line perked up. “Where?”

“Up the road with the… Can I have that?” The pregnant woman pinched at the towel pressed to her cheek.

“Of course.” You passed it off.

“Stuffed?” The woman from the line wondered.

The pregnant woman covered her whole face with the wet towel and spoke through it creating a comical bubble. “Yes!”

“Never been.” You added.

“Ugh!” The pregnant woman was sounding more coherent. “The smell makes me puke, but I’ve been eating their durian ice cream by the pound.”

“Durian?” The woman from the line was horrified.

“Cold dulls the smell! I need that nasty fruit and Stuffed delivers.” The pregnant woman tugged down her shroud. “I hate being wet, got a dry one?”

You unfurled the handkerchief from your palm.

She snatched it right up. “Hate needing help.”

“I bet. It drove my sister nuts when she was pregnant.” The woman from the line gave a lopsided grin. “Sometimes, you just need to-”

“I’m gonna stop you there.” The pregnant woman wiped her face. “Don’t give me that ‘sometimes you need to lean on others’ crap. My mom popped me and my brother out alone. My grandma did the same with her and her sisters. If I want ice cream at 2pm, I’m gonna get it. Teddy doesn’t know shit. I’m pregnant, not feeble.”

“Ted…dy?” The woman from the line blinked.

“Hey, is that a turtle with 3D glasses?” The pregnant woman pointed to Donnie with his own handkerchief. “What? Can’t you see in our dimension?”

Donnie’s lids lowered the slightest amount.

“That’s my husband.” You told her. “He is a turtle and the glasses are a style choice.”

“To what?” She scoffed at you. “The 1980s?”

You rolled your eyes in jest.

Donnie sent a minute amount of betrayal through your wedding band.

You brushed him off knowing full well you’d hear all about how the colors helped the many settings.

The pregnant woman got the cup of water from the woman from the line and gulped it down. “Alright…”

“You’re-?” The woman from the line went on high alert.

“I’m fine!” The pregnant woman hissed and tested standing as straight as she could.

You all watched to make sure she was stable. 

When she was satisfied, she gave a curt nod and looked at you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The woman from the line looked betrayed.

“You need to chill, but thank you too.” The pregnant woman turned on her.

“Good luck with your ice cream.” You gave her space.

“I’m getting two pints now.” She gleamed a ferocious smile at you.

The woman from the line’s eyes darted.

“If you follow me, I swear to God.” The pregnant woman rose with ire and slammed the wet towel and empty cup in the woman from the line’s hands.

It dampened her shirt and she held the soak in dismay.

“Who’s is this?” The pregnant woman flapped the hanky.

Donnie held up a hand.

“It’s gross. Good luck…” She passed him the cloth and gestured over him. “... getting back to the future, McFly.”

Donnie’s beak scrunched up in confusion

She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder both to share the joke and to get herself in motion.

Donnie rotated to watch her go.

“She’s referencing a movie.” You offered from behind him.

He returned with the wrinkled hanky in his open palm.

“Wanna throw that out?” You nodded to it.

He didn’t say anything, but had a put out nature as he pocketed it.

You chuckled and walked back to the line where the woman in front of you had already reclaimed her spot.

She was still looking down at the dark spot on her torso in dismay.

“Two more!?” Someone from a distance growled.

“They were in line before they saved a lady! You got a problem!?” The man behind you snarled.

“Maybe I do! I didn’t see that! I saw them cut!”

“Buddy!” The man behind you threatened and shoved his sleeves up.

A few other voices chorused for everyone to calm down.

The anger disengaged and the line finally took a step forward.

You sighed and shook your head.

“She really got so hot she almost passed out.” The man behind you started up to his companion. “My cousin, Gus, you know from the party, he once passed out from heat stroke, you think it’s like that?”

His companion didn’t seem to know.

Donnie looked up the line once before he turned his head. “It was as she said.”

“She did? When?” The man tilted his head.

“Increased blood flow.” Donnie noted.

“Oh yeah…” The man nodded with an oblivious tone.

Donnie reviewed him once before a spiteful air caught him and he launched into a dissertation.

The man, who you deemed to have a good heart, tried his best to keep up though the science that baffled him. Their conversation soon became a Q & A and you could tell the others in line were listening in. It helped pass the time as Donnie rattled off information you had once both rammed into your heads.

Getting pregnant was now a concept that was comfortably seated in the back of your mind. It didn’t nag you and instead tallied up with the usual daily thoughts. When your period came it did so as it had done prior to trying. When you were ovulating, your husband prompted you if he was so inclined, but it wasn’t a guarantee. You had both finally accepted conception’s fickle nature as much as anything else.

The idea of Donnie’s heat had been coming up in conversation since May. His starting window had never been exact and had a chance of occurring anywhere within his species’ season. Over the years, he had settled, just as you had now, into the concept of his heat and it was something of a normality. You both had become apt at dealing with it and you never minded the fuck fest of a vacation it granted you.

It was during one such conversation that you had wondered about Donnie’s birth control overdose. He had once theorized there was danger in impregnating you because his heat caused him to spout excess sperm. Now, however, he didn’t seem as convinced that there was a higher chance of you conceiving during the rut. All your newly gained knowledge about pregnancy had changed his perception. The only new conclusion you came to about his heat was a correlation. 

While the starting time frame appeared as random as the weather, there was a seemingly obvious kick-off point. The month of signaling that led up to his heat seemingly sunk up perfectly with your ovulation cycle. While you didn’t actually have the data of your menstruation from back then, you had it now and with it could give relatively accurate estimation of the past. Donnie felt comfortable enough in the data to say that one of your ovulations readied his body before the next started his heat proper. 

Donnie was more than a little miffed that his alter had figured out how to track your cycle before he consciously had.

The line moved you inside by the time your mate was listening to the man behind you’s companion talk about his wife’s pregnancy. They had gotten onto the topic of cravings and whether or not they correlated with vitamin deficiencies. The man behind you was staunch about it relating to the child’s personality and the other two men were furious each time he brought it up. You thought he might have been trolling them had you not been listening to the rest of his half baked ideas about mothers.

“Next!”

You had to tug Donnie’s elbow to get his attention.

The other men waved him off with especially good tidings.

“Did… you tell them we were trying…?” You asked right in front of the purveyor.

“I deemed it appropriate.” Donnie looked over at you coolly.

His wedding band gave away his giddiness.

“Ahem!” The employee’s head lolled.

“Sorry! The burrito and… the SPB?” You checked with your husband.

He nodded.

“Got it.”

You paid and were told to wait off to the side.

The woman who was in front of you had predictably run off to the restroom after ordering. She emerged just in time to get her food and the two men who had followed Donnie now gave him space as they were debating something new. You leaned against your mate and took in the smells trapped in the smaller building. You felt heightened to them when thinking of the pregnant woman and her durian. You wondered how you would deal with morning sickness when your order was called.

You grabbed it and headed out to that sunny spot.

As you stood facing the light like a flower, Donnie prepared your orders. He expertly swapped half of his wrap and your sandwich between boxes so you could try each other’s. You were an extra set of hands used as a table while he sorted the many condiments. He openly wondered about how to best dole out the four sauce cups and you didn’t particularly care what went with what. It was all going to mix into something delicious and eventually you were given a go ahead.

Your husband had opted to use lids to divvy up dressing and you scooped up your burrito with the intention of pouring some over it. It took some finagling with one hand while the other held the box. You were sure the innards of your dish would fall no matter how exact a bite you took. You dipped down and grabbed a mouthful for an explosion of flavor. You hummed deliciousness to your mate who was half way through his sandwich already. You smiled at him through a drip down your chin.

He chuffed lightly at your mess and juggled his box to pass you a napkin.

His own sauce cups flicked a drip out at his hand and he had to use another. You wiped your mouth clean to chide him, but you had a blowout from the bottom of your burrito. In a comical back and forth, there were just enough napkins to cover the course and you both leaned back in the light while digesting.

The sun was beaming.

You’d been in its direct clutches for a little too long as dampness followed your hair line. You reached up to test if the moisture there was real or imagined and came away with some shine to your fingertips. Donnie watched you and reviewed how he only had soiled napkins in an empty boat. On autopilot, he went for his pocket and produced the equally dirty handkerchief he had gotten back from the pregnant woman.

“We’ll wash it.” You urged him. “Don’t you have another?”

He nodded and handed you his trash. You stacked the mostly empty containers while he searched his coat. He got hold of a newly folded handkerchief and you blotted over your head with some imagery of southern gentlemen. You were just missing a linen suit and a cane, you mused to yourself. A boater hat might complete the look, but you wondered if that would only make you more sweaty. You came away having barely made a mark on the square of fabric.

“We are not built the same.” You joked.

Donnie made a curious noise.

You held your tidy handkerchief up in comparison with the wad of the other.

He made a noise of agreement. 

“Was that just the water?” You were close enough to smell it. “Oh… Eugh! Actually, wait…!”

He had probably smelled it the whole time. “She had especially active sweat glands.”

You held up your hanky as if to block your nose. “Is that just her or…?”

“A possibility, but pregnancy seems likelier. An attempt to keep her cool. Increased blood flow leads to higher basal temperature. Sweat is then produced in excess as balance.”

“But bacteria makes you stink, I thought.”

He juggled thoughts. “There’s some distinction with the hormone balance.”

“Can you smell that she’s pregnant?”

“I don’t make it a policy to sniff pregnant women.”

“That’s a good one to have.” You nodded.

You watched him stall for exactly three seconds before he lifted the dirty handkerchief up to obviously scent.

You pretended your hanky was a notepad. “What do you detect?”

He flicked you a rueful gaze. “I can’t correlate.”

“Name one thing.”

He looked at you expectantly as he had just explained he couldn’t.

“No.” You pursed your lips. “I meant name a hormone she could be producing. From what you know about pregnancy.”

“She was far enough along that corticotropin might be released.”

“Which is that?”

“For stress, aids in onset for labor.”

“Okay, so I definitely don’t have that.” You held your handkerchief out to him. “Mine’s the baseline, how are they different?”

The slight upturn of his smile scolded you. “The bacterial flora on your two skins widely differs.”

You shook the cloth in hand.

“I smell scallions.” He told you playfully.

“I’m trying to train your nose.” You joked in return.

He sighed as if it were a big effort and was particularly delicate in whiffing your handkerchief.

“And back to the tester.” You told him.

He was amused enough to turn his beak the other direction to take another sniff.

He snuffed a few extra times.

Your head tilted.

He went back to your handkerchief.

“Don…?”

“Just… just a moment.” He caught your cloth and pulled the two close for a back and forth comparison.

You cradled your trash in both hands and you watched him sniff the two handkerchiefs with increasing uncertainty.

He then stopped abruptly to glower down at both objects.

You dipped your head to catch his eye.

He looked at you with a staunched expression. “I would like to go home.”

You made a small sound of surprise and gave a tight nod.

“It’s not nothing. It’s not something.” He turned to leave.

You sensed he was about to set a fast pace and readied yourself.

He took a large step forward and you immediately had to jog to keep up.

He wove in and out of people and you were forced to draft behind him.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” He tossed both for himself and over his shoulder at you.

You didn’t bother prompting him.

“We’ve proved time and time again. Humans do not have pheromones. Scent does not dictate internal mechanisms. You can test its make-up! These factors do not have a smell!”

He turned a sharp corner and you stumbled after him.

“Are there some studies!? Yes!” His hand lifted in irritation. “As with all pregnancy literature there is asinine study. Human babies have excellent scent capability. Examinations have found they recognize how to breastfeed by picking up smell from their mother’s armpits. That is not pheromones. There’s no signal. They know the scent of their mother and armpits are repertoires of olfactory pungency!”

He continued at a certain speed before he suddenly stopped.

Instead of allowing you to crash into him, he caught you and steered you into a bodega. “An asinine comparison regardless.”

You were led straight to a cooler and he plucked out your preferred brand of bottled water.

“This?” He offered it to you.

“Sure…?” You looked on owlishly.

He nodded once and swept around an aisle to the register. “You wouldn’t be anywhere near producing prolactin.”

You didn’t dare let yourself think anything on that as you watched him pay for the bottle.

“Drink, please.” He handed it off to you the second the transaction was done.

“Walk a little slower.”

He looked for a moment like he might sob, but he relented with a nod.

“Keep going.” You opened the lid and took a swig.

He waited for you to gulp it down before moving again. “There’s mounting data. Contrarian data!”  

You were drinking the water as you moved.

“One’s forehead! There’s moisturizer! Sunscreen! Hair care products! Make-ups! That woman had mascara on!”

You were getting closer to your apartment as Donnie rattled off every single thing that could skew the smell. It took him into the territory of false positives in pregnancy tests which by proxy spooked him. You walked a few blocks in complete silence until he heard you finish the bottle.

“I could have given you too much… Excess liquid…!”

“We didn’t have drinks with the food or before that.” You reminded him.

“Salt content offset…” He rambled off what sounded like nonsensical math to you, but they were numbers you were sure made sense to him.

You got to your building and were the first through the door as Donnie was caught in a calculation storm. He sorted out what he could quantify and deemed your urine concentration okay before he reviewed the new options between stairs and elevator. He sent you one desperate gaze before you held your limbs out for him to take you. In one smooth rotation, you were hoisted into his arms and he took entire flights of stairs in single leaps.

You were gently set back on your feet at your door and Donnie’s hands shook as he reached for the knob. You resisted settling his wrist for him and he flexed angry fingers before he could get it open. He didn’t bother taking his coat off as he rushed straight through to the bedroom. You followed after, just barely kicked your shoes off, and found him already in the bathroom. He was washing his hands and you kept out of the entry for when he finished.

The moment his hands were dry he flew out the door and you took his spot at the sink. The water ran warm and you scrubbed into your palms with latent thoughts about how you once hadn’t cared about sauce. If you hadn’t  gotten any then you wouldn’t have spilled. If you hadn’t made a mess then you wouldn’t have used all the napkins. If you hadn’t used all the napkins then Donnie wouldn’t have gone for his handkerchief. If that woman hadn’t used it then you would have never thought to compare.

It was a million tiny chances that you could have missed and you were limply holding a washcloth when you felt Donnie appear behind you.

You turned to find his arms stuffed with pregnancy test boxes.

“The water…! Are you-!?” One slipped and he adjusted the load to keep it upright.

“I’m ready. You’ve got duplicates.” You pointed them out. “Lay them out on the counter.”

He nodded miserably as he sorted the boxes by brand.

When he had only one set of each test, you moved to pull your pants down. Donnie opened each box and methodically read through the instructions. You sat on the toilet and he passed you the first stick for you to start. It was a back and forth process of wetting each test, but you soon had them all piled up again amongst a myriad of phone timers.

“Three minutes to fifteen.” Donnie pointed down the line as he had also apparently organized them by time they would take.

“’It’s not nothing. It’s not something.’” You repeated. “But…?”

“You heard all I’ve said.”

You nodded.

“You and her had a similar scent marking. Could be anything.”

You nodded again.

“Could be nothing.”

“Could be something.” You added

He took a shaky breath and the first timer went off.

Donnie had also folded the instruction atop each box so their results key was visible.

Together, you both looked.

Two lines appeared.

You looked at the key.

You looked at Donnie.

Another timer went off.

You moved to the next in line.

Donnie pointed to the similar two lines.

You nodded.

Another beeping signaled.

One by one.

Two dark lines.

Two bold lines.

Mark after mark.

Ticks of a clock.

Comparisons to paper.

All seven tests were taken.

All seven results were read.

You leaned against the far wall in your bathroom.

Donnie had a grip on one half of the sink and the door jamb as he poured over the tests.

His head moved as the only indication he was reading them again and again.

“Morning sickness.” You whispered out from behind your hand.

“We don’t know the timeline.”

“It starts at four weeks.”

“We don’t know the timeline.”

“My ovulation.”

Donnie was silent.

“We don’t know the timeline of conception, but we do know my cycle.”

Donnie’s finger twitched against the counter.

“My last ovulation.”

“Just over two weeks ago.”

Your eyes widened. “My period?!”

Donnie’s head lifted.

A calendar appeared in your face.

He turned to look at it.

You saw his visage through the faint lines and numbers.

You both traced obviously to the projected timeline.

“I’m six days late…” You spoke it first.

He flipped back a month on the calendar.

You held up a haunted finger to where your last period was projected, but no actual dates were logged.

Donnie usually marked those.

He dotted each day you bled with an all too obvious correlating red dot.

The calendar was missing the marks. 

He hadn’t done it last month. 

Your mate appeared pale through a wall of purple neon.

“I’m… 30…? Something… days… late…”

His pupils shook.

“Donnie…”

“Blood test and evaluation.”

“Donnie.”

“I will get you scheduled tomorrow.”

“Don.”

He swiped the calendar away and searched obviously.

You knew he was looking for his phone and caught it from beside the sink before he could.

“Y/N.” He spoke with a voice that was both stuffed and empty.

He couldn’t chance that hope.

Even now.

Even as he stood in front of seven positive pregnancy tests.

Not yet.

He needed something more concrete.

You hugged him.

He stood stoic for one moment before his arms slipped around you.

You felt the fragility and squeezed him tighter.

His hands quaked as they pressed into you.

You crushed him with all your might.

He finally returned the hug.

First with a small hold then a turning coil.

His knees buckled and he went down with you squatting to keep him close.

You tumbled forward so he was on his back and you fell against his plastron. You shared one watery look where a split second smile crashed lightning on Donnie’s face before you kissed.

💜 NEXT 💜

Tomorrow is the last day of my endless eight vacation, but you know I'm always thanking my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 You would think they'd get a more of a break from me but I'm out here plotting 50+ page outlines for a fae concept cause I stay silly. They are MVPs!

[annieqattheperipheral]

Kyle. Hi. Wow. Ok. I'm sad. Wow gonna miss u hard.

Ok so the Brendan Shanahan media availability just ended. Wow, he revealed a fair bit and didn't hide that letting Kyle go was his decision and revealed when he changed his mind from fully working on extending his contract, to ok thank you but bye.

The timeline:

Off-season 2022: shanny tells dubas they're going to wait and see how the 22-23 season goes and then decide on whether or not to extend him. Kyle all cool beans super profesh

Season: goes well normal ups n downs. Owners & board & shanny are happy

Trade deadline 2023: shanny is very pleased and now there's not much else for GMs to do rn so tells dubas we want to extend you. Kyle all cool beans i want that too here's my agent's deets y'all figure it out keep me out of it while i focus on the end of season & playoffs

Friday May 12: Leafs nation crashes and burns out of the playoffs in round 2

Saturday day off

Sunday they all come in for team pictures and shanny & dubas chat and he tells dubas you did well this doesn't change anything we still want to extend you. also everyone will be talking to media tmr you don't have to i won't be. Kyle all cool beans but I'm gonna bc the players & coach have to and i should support them

Monday May 15 - Kyle Dubas speaks to media -> he did not confirm yes/no on whether he wanted to stay as GM, answers with this season was v hard on my family and i have to speak w them before i answer in any way at all

Shanny's brain goes all WTF. Yes we've talked extensively at every conversation about how hard this season has been on your family. But like did not expect that response to the media. So then shanny's all driving home that night thinking ok i have to think about the possibility of next season having a different GM

Tuesday - they don't chat

Wednesday - shanny goes to see dubas. They talk about his Monday media availability cuz shanny got questions cuz like wtf. They talk about pressure on family in this industry both as player and management. Kyle says his agent will contact him tmr and shanny all uhh ok but I'm like still so confused girl

Thursday - dubas agent sends shanny a new contract w different financial package expectations. Kyle emails shanny that night i wanna be ur GM boo🫶 but shanny already got the ick factor going and is so not into it anymore

Friday May 19/today - shanny drove to dubas office at ford performance centre and told him we will not be extending ur contract 😭😭😭

Brendan Shanahan speaks to media

If you've got the urge and u really love kyle highly encourage you watch/listen to both of their press conferences. Shanahan speaks highly of Dubas keeps it profesh there is none of the bad blood we heard about

Kyle is so awesome, open, emotional and possibly its the last time we'll hear from him for awhile since he's no longer with MLSE nor any other org. He said in his media that if he were to not be GM with leafs, in no way would we be seeing him signing with another team like next week. His answer didn't have anything to do w having other job offers.

My overall conclusion:

shanny no longer saw the 100% passion and want for the job anymore from dubas during his Monday press conference. And it's ok if that is how kyle is feeling bc he clearly needs to focus on family for a bit now after just a rollicking season & stressful as shit playoffs. Yes Kyle was in a vulnerable state so soon after playoffs elimination and probably shouldn't have been judged for his contract extension based off of that. But workplaces and jobs are like relationships where if the want to work isn't fully there anymore it is going to turn off your coworkers and boss, and his lack of confirmation of wanting to be GM to the press really drove home that he was still on the fence and iffy about going all in on the job despite the horrible 2nd round loss.

Wherever you go kyle, I'm following you, even if you go to one of my hated teams bc i know you'll fix the org & locker room culture like you did at the leafs💙💙💙

[bengiyo]

Step By Step Ep 2 Stray Thoughts

Last week, we met my new favorite Gay in Pat, and the biggest man we've ever seen in BL in Jeng. Pat is a new employee in the digital department of a large company, and he seems to get a lot of the shit jobs. Jeng is their new manager, and may be the son of the company owner. Pat is going to have beef with his superior, Ying, who tends to thrust her work on him. Pat is so gay and definitely attracted and attractive to Jeng. I'm excited to see where this goes.

Love it. Jeng has taken control of the department because he wants to keep the department viable and keep everyone's jobs. They all hatin' on him and he's got their backs.

I am not someone who does good work with people hovering over me while also under time pressure.

Throwing someone under the bus in a meeting like this generally just makes everyone look bad. I totally get Pat sniping back at her, even if that's also a bad look.

Pat was legit about to swing on this dude for haranguing him.

Pat crying in a stall after being berated repeatedly is so real. Pent up stress from feeling disrespected will do that.

They're literally in a meeting about how they need to work together more, and are cheering because they think Pat will be reprimanded or fired.

They're using the audio really well to keep us informed of Pat's current mental state.

I like Jeng getting Pat out from under his seniors to work on a new project.

There goes that energy. They're still being catty at lunch.

It was a genuine relief to see Pat work successfully with Nan on his presentation. It's amazing how quickly people bounce back when you treat them with professional respect and courtesy.

Do these other folks have nothing better to do than worry about what Pat is up to?

I think Jeng's feedback on the PowerPoint is all valid, but because Pat doesn't really have a holistic vision of his role none of it is connecting for him. He just heard that he's still doing a bad job.

Also, I feel like Jeng should talk to Nan about rumors and not Pat.

UP POOMPAT!!!!! WELCOME BACK!

I don't know what Put and Pat had before, but that was awkward as hell.

"I always have to be dramatic." Me too, Ae. She seems suspicious about Put.

I like sending yourself flowers to tamp down on rumors.

Curious that Pat trusts Nan enough with the fact that he's gay, even though he (very understandably) doesn't want to come out at work.

I'm loving the way Pat's professional life keeps clashing with things in his private life. I suspect Put wanted to be closeted as his star rose, and it became a breaking point for him and Pat. Now he unexpectedly runs into him giving a presentation at a work event.

I'm wondering where Pat went when he left Thailand.

Pat should not have gone rogue in this meeting. You don't blindside your superior like that.

I wish they'd let Pat beat the shit out of this guy. He keeps fucking with Pat and needs to taste some fists.

Jeng has a good seme stance.

Jeng does not seem to deal well with all of these emotions. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to appreciate how worn out Pat is by this hostile working environment.

Hey, now, Pat, don't break your laptop because you're mad. How many times do I have to tell y'all to break your enemy's shit and not your own??

I like Poppy's character. They probably shouldn't be this trashed doing a performance interview, but this scene is surprisingly fun.

I'm excited for the fallout of this peer review.

This show is really fantastic so far. It's been nice having a workplace show that feels grounded in the workplace as the primary setting and as the source of most of the complications and obstacles. I also really like that Pat feels gay in a recognizable world context. I also got to see Up today, and he looked so sad with his yearning after Pat.

[shatterthefragments]

okay is it hot as balls where you live right now, or did you manage to dodge the heat wave???? because I'm borderline dying over here

rest in fucking pieces western canada, smh

It is indeed hot as balls (but (and I’m going to sound exactly like people saying “back in the blizzard of x”) not as overwhelmingly hot as the heat dome of ‘21.)

*hugs you with ice blankets!!!!!!!!* I hope it passes soon for you and it’s tolerable soon!! 🫂🧊

RIFP western Canada indeed 🪦

Honestly I am SO PRIVILEGED bc my workplace is kept pretty cool (it’s a grocery store) (I am 🤏 this close to demanding a fight to the death to the next customer who says it’s nice out (to be fair at 7am it is still nice)) and I have a nice setup to keep cool on my break outside/in the car (it’s nearly a shade box and I have ice packs and a mini fan) even if I still get very warm doing my job. (I am taking it slowly so that I hopefully don’t overdo it)

And I drive. And I can usually get going quick enough that the wind from the open windows isn’t too bad. (I try to park where there’s going to be shade over the car when I get off) and bc mum and I aren’t good in the heat we have many fans already so we have several fans going and with the furnace “cool air fan” as well. the house isn’t that bad either with all the fans going (not about to do more than absolutely necessary or bake anything though)

Like. Tbh. At 6-8 degrees cooler. I felt way hotter last week when I got my new tattoo bc I was walking around in high humidity SWEATING SO MUCH and it couldn’t evaporate until I got a long time to sit under strong cool air. Bc I wasn’t just inside all the time like im making a concerted effort to stay inside right now.

But uh. After the heat dome of ‘21. Definitely got Even More fans. (Some rechargeable portable ones) More cooling bandanas. More ice packs.

Despite the horrors, that is still an adorable picture of you 😁 🥰 May the shade cloak you in coolness soon!!

It’s me!! (With enough fans and access to the concrete floored basement that I can lay on as needed - or sleep on if desperate so far it’s tolerable indoors at least :) …I say as if I haven’t had at least a bit of a headache most days DESPITE holding up at least two of the food/water/sleep triangle of helping to prevent but the Tylenol and Advil are mostly keeping it from getting too bad so far. ) but uh. I’m managing alright as long as I can mostly stay inside I think

(I uh. Totally answered the door in a mesh bra and just the shorts. Oops 🤷🏻‍♂️) it’s. Just about 30 which. Is awful and horrible and Should Not Be. (I remember when 25 was a BIG DEAL bc it wasn’t normal) but at least it hasn’t crossed above 30 yet. And it shouldn’t based on my shitty weather apps’ latest forecast update? We’ll see but I am HOPEFUL!!

Im. Physically. Physically I’m doing better than expected to be honest. But I’ve feared the heat of the summer for a while and EVEN MORE bc of how I had to try to hold it together during the heat dome and how I really couldn’t but had to help mum survive it. I’m mentally not doing great because I am so stressed out and kinda panicking (even though mentally I’m not even panicking im jsut resigned) over it even though I know I’m as prepared as I can reasonably be and I have lots of stuff to help keep cool.

My sister (THE FUCKER) is enjoying it and is actively going outside to lay in the sun 😭 (she wears sunscreen at least)

Uhhhh venty TW for uh. A whole bunch of shit/anything you can think of probably tbh. (Stress, panic, suicide, disordered eating, weight are the big things) Under the cut 😬 (but seriously as long as I survive the heat (and hopefully don’t catch Covid again even though I have to sometimes drink a little bit at work and probably won’t wear a mask (as I do in all indoor spaces) on my ship when I sail tbh) I’ll be okay :))

Like the stress and panic is. Like I don’t mentally feel like I’m panicking. But my body certainly feels like it. It’s awful and horrible and I can’t wait for fall to come. Or the cold wind on the sailboat. Or at least just. Low 20s as the high again.

BC despite what everything in me is saying. I WILL fucking survive this. The alternative doesn’t let me talk to my friends and make silly doodles.

But it’s been a while since I’ve felt so like. Suicidal. but strangely so disconnected from it. (Don’t worry I’ll survive The Thoughts,they’re just an old friend at this point that comes back every once in a while like “STILL? 🙄” even though for the most part I actually like. Want to live and am the happiest I’ve been in my life.

But more than that (bc that’s tolerable and I’m the Most Familiar with that) it’s the fucking. I’m having trouble eating bc of the stress and heat. (I was able to eat my after work dinner though which is good bc I have a board meeting soon)

And with certain people being harder on my food choices than normal I’m just “just lose weight. 50 pounds and nobody could say shit” is PREVALENT and echoing but. I don’t really have the energy to devote to that. And while it may be important to build my strength back up to Portaging again (bc I want to do more paddling) but the thing is there are only two valid reasons right now for me to seek to lose weight (my doctor (who to be fair I rarely see but at least once a year lately for various complaints) hasn’t said anything)

One reason is bc I’d probably fare better in the heat if I were smaller. (The other is maybe I wouldn’t wear out the thighs of my pants so quickly).

But the only two times I tend to ALLEGEDLY lose weight are if I’m stress free walking around on vacation for a While or if I’m basically relapsed into an eating disorder, not otherwise specified. (Nobody knew nobody figured it out but I live i got through it I’m fucking amazing bc I live. And I give myself the fuel to keep going bc fuck it never really worked bc I needed nobody to know so badly that I still needed to eat a bit but even still now even knowing how much harm it could’ve done I’m still fucking proud of the fact that I’ve gone 48 hours without eating anything at all. And I hate that I am. (Or after sailing and then getting covid I did end up losing at least 10, but I don’t keep very good track of my weight generally for my own sanity and wellness)

But unfortunately I don’t have the kind of money to quit my job or reduce hours to part time and just walk everywhere without regard to time.

So I’m at a bit of an impasse.

Im. Mostly okay with my body. It hurts a lot. But generally speaking I can do everything I want or need it to do if I haven’t reached my limit that day.

Im striving for body neutrality and positivity on better days.

Like fuck. Someone else I’d find cute with my body. But because it’s *me*

But it’s fine.

I’ll survive. I’ll read some stuff to cathart.

Hopefully I’ll get some time once it cools down to SHAKE MY ASS to some of the cool new music that I’ve been sent bc tbh I think honestly it would help a LOT. (Finding the joy in movement to letting the music take over FUCK YEAH)

I’ll be okay. It just kinda sucks and the heat just. Seeps in and makes everything worse. Like I’m cooking in all my own insecurities and issues and throwing it on the fire just. Does not help. But I’ll be okay. (I always end up okay)

The scariest part is that I’m not even on any medication that increases heat intolerance. (I probably should be but. Alas)

I’ll be ok.

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

WARNING: talking about covid :') (not the impact it's had globally but the actual sickness itself)

Venting

I'm honestly so stressed bc I have covid and. It's just not going away so I keep having to call in sick to work. And I'm scared I'm gonna get into trouble bc I keep calling in but. I refuse. I fucking REFUSE to contribute to the spread of this shit. And besides, I need the rest to recover!!!! I deserve that!!!!

Thankfully I'm not feeling too terrible— had a mild sore throat for a few days, and some stuffiness/runny nose, but that's mostly gone and now it's largely extreme tiredness and a bad headache which honestly is pretty typical for me anyway —but I'm still fucking contagious, and who knows what might happen if I push myself. My job is really physical and I work in a cooler, meaning, I'm working in the fucking cold!! That won't help me at all!! Those factors combined basically make work the worst place for me to be rn

(And just as a disclaimer, pretty sure I'm having such a mild case bc I've had 4 shots of the vaccine now— and my dad has it and has 2 things against him to make him immunocompromised, and this has mostly been like a bad cold for him, he hasn't needed to go to the hospital. If you can but haven't gotten the vaccine yet, DO IT!!)

But I'm still so stressed about it. I wish I could just recover and test negative so I could go back to work, because it's constantly in the back of my mind that I might get in trouble for calling in sick every single day I'm scheduled to work for over a week, especially during Christmas, which is literally a blackout period for vacations— in other words, you aren't allowed to take vacation during this time of year. This stress is eating at me and I just wanna make it go away. Funnily enough, it's probably making it harder for me to get better 😅

And bc I'm a student, I only work 2 days a week during semesters, and legit this started the DAY after my first day back from this last semester, and my next one starts immediately after new year's, so I'm worried this looks like I'm trying to skip out on work when I otherwise would be doing like 40 hours but I'm really not!!!! I'm just trying to do the right thing 😭 a couple coworkers have long covid, others aren't vaccinated, we have some older people. But even without those factors, I wouldn't wanna go in and spread it around

idk I'm just. I'm very stressed and a tiny part of my mind has legitimately been worried I'll get fired over this. I seriously doubt I will bc it's almost impossible to get fired from my workplace (it's a joke that you have to try lmao) and bc of the good name I've built for myself there. I've been there almost 10 years now, they know I don't pull shit like this just for shits and giggles. But the worry is still there, you know?

Ughhhh I've gotta sleep so I can wake up at 5AM to call work and tell them I still have covid, then go back to sleep bc fuck that shit :')

Wish me luck when I have to get up in like 4 1/4 hours lmaoooo

[nempthis]

Life Update 2023 summary

First of all, last year was complete shit and it's a torture to remember it again right now but for the sake of this blog well, I'm gonna endure it.

J A N U A R Y

- I got accepted at this BPO company that I've been talking about. I worked there for a month until I got sick and was terminated afterwards. Your girl was unemployed for months.

F E B R U A R Y

- After I recovered from being sick, Gek and I went to Pasacao beach for the first time and spent quality time together.

- Also DJ from high school suddenly hit me up but I just ignored it.

- started my online business, sold some pre-loved clothes and Carbonara. It was fun but really challenging

M A R C H

- Van my best friend went for a trip to Europe for 3 months so Gek, Mak and I had to stay together in one apartment without my dad knowing about it. I had to make up a lot of excuses for my dad cuz he's not gonna approve that I was living with 2 men.

- Holy Week? not sure but we got rat infestation here for the first time and ticks from Boris too.

A P R I L

- I started applying for a job and was scheduled for an interview like 2 jobs reached out to me (ADNU and Jollibee) but I didn't show up cuz I got cold feet. (not sure if this was in april, I might be tripping)

- Can't remember shit from this month

- Also started dieting and fasting this month onwards because of you know...

M A Y

- I got hired for a job!!! I went to work on my first day and I didn't feel like working there so after my lunch break, I didn't go back.

- also this might happen in april? I'm tripping again.

- Damn, the apartment got chaotic and awkward because my bff cheated on her man when she was in Europe and I was kinda involved with the drama. That shit was messy, had to deal with it until the both of them moved out.

J U N E

- my bff went back from Europe and she talked with her man and they were fine again but I was left on red notice still and it hasn't been the same for months to come

- I got a job again at this start up company that my bff and I both applied for but spoiler alert, I didn't last long either

J U L Y

- because... I got bullied in this company and my bff told me I was just overreacting but it was so obvious that these fuckers were coming at me. Long story short I lasted for 2 weeks there but I still got paid. Fuck those assholes and C U R S E T H E M.

- took so long to get my period and I was anxious!!! Didn't do it with Gek or anyone but shit was scary when my period was late. Longest cycle ever and it actually affected my performance when I was still working.

A U G U S T

- just unemployed. I barely remember what happened the month.

- probably stayed home ALL THE TIME.

S E P T E M B E R

- Peñafrancia festival just got sad because I had no friends to spend it with unlike the previous year when I used to ride the Vikings with them, this year just hit different.

- Bff and her man finally moved out so my man and I started living together, just the 2 of us.

- Stressed because how the fuck am I gonna pay the rent and bills in my apartment if I was unemployed? but I got it so I am fucking broke right now as we speak.

- Bf resigned from his job to become a delivery man and his schedule was flexible so we spent a lot of time together.

O C T O B E R

- worst fucking month of the year ever

- got a new job again but I lasted for 2 weeks only because I fucked shit up and this experience was probably the worst fucking one cuz literally it broke the remaining spirit I had and paralyzed me to go back in the field again.

- Don't wanna talk about it anymore just FUCK. THIS. MONTH.

N O V E M B E R

- 24th birthday?!?!?! wtf I am old and unemployed again

- still recovering from that hell of experience 💀

- also fuck everyone in that workplace especially Mae Ann fucking fat bitch and Jo soggy tits cunt 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

D E C E M B E R

- Sad Christmas but I bought a round cake and it was the best decision I made the entire year.

- the remaining days of the year were blank and sad and boring. Barely even remember shit

- lol I went shopping for my self-care thing as a gift for myself this Christmas cuz I've had enough bullshit for the entire fucking year.

- and I also binge-watched HxH the entire month on Muse Asia because it was playing on loop so I guess it was a good end of this awful year.

Glad that was over.

That's it. That was my entire year. I got severely sick at the beginning of the year, got unemployed a number of times, got caught up in a drama, relationship with my friends isn't the same anymore, traumatized as fuck and still here. Fuck 2023 and some of the people I met this year. Officially the worst year of my life.

Damn, who would have thought that 2023 was gonna be hell for me? at least the previous year was sort of okay but 2023? NOPE.

[coreytravelogue]

St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada - December 31, 2023

So the day I was dreading since the last time, the day I leave Newfoundland and do not come back for another year. Anyone who reads this blog knows of this, I do this every year and every year I hate it more and more because it hurts more and more leaving. It doesn’t get easier for my parents either as we are all aware that time is getting shorter and shorter for us.

Time has been a big theme for me this year and during my 38th rotation on this earth. The we are on the eve of the new year so it is only fitting that I talk about 2023 now. My past 3 weeks were short but they almost always are but 2023 was long, painful and full of attrition. I did a lot of fighting this year; some I won, some lost and some are undecided.

My first battle has been my longest battle, with the airlines which started with Flair be it the booking, cancelling, rescheduling and cancelling again from Flair on the various flights I tried to book with them.

2023 was supposed to be the year I returned to traveling only to be scared out of it by getting screwed over by every airline around. I traveled to Calgary first which was delayed getting there but all things considered that trip went without a hitch. I had never been to Calgary or I should say explored Calgary before, only ever passed through. I may glad I did as I had lots of fun exploring the place.

Right before my next trip my next battle was with COVID-19. I was able to dodge it for 3 years or so, it was inevitable and to be honest the timing was as good as it could be but enough to make me never want to have it again.

My next trip was Toronto which would be my last truly long distance trip till Edmonton due to all the flight arranging shit fuckery. Of all the times I have been to Toronto I think this time was the best but I came with the a game plan and made the most of my entire time.

My next fight was with my employer via strike where for 2 weeks I walked around in a circle in the rain. While it cost me some of my pay cheque we won and I would not regret it for a second.

Through the summer I would fight airlines while another bit of workplace drama would loom and turn into its only thing but this is not the place I wish to bring that up but it was a source of a great deal of stress (still is) as my workload increased to the point of burn out which led to my Edmonton and Victoria trips to say hellos and possible goodbyes to friends I may not see very often anymore. As I type this it may have been a cry wolf as I expected that I would be moving to NFLD by now but that seems to be an unlikely as being in a relationship at this point.

Closed year 38 in Victoria again in a great trip and ended 2023 now with being in NFLD. I ate a lot, hung out with family a lot, watched a lot of movies and spent a lot of time thinking about 2024.

Reflecting on 2023 it was one of the most stressful years of my 30s, I can’t say it was the darkest that would be 2021/year 36. Despite it all I feel as though I have grown and improved.

My alcohol consumption if you didn’t look at the last 3 weeks was significantly lower in 2023 than it ever has since 2006. I lowered my social media bullshit. In 2023 I went weeks without drinking, I am hoping to go months without drinking this time. I know I can keep myself from being triggered online, this year it is about keeping myself from getting triggered.

I really only have one New Year’s resolution but it is a big and all encompassing one; to improve myself physically and mentally. That is truly it.

2024 is going to be a big year for me, it will be the last year of my 30s, workplace stuff going on, and continued growth. I plan on finally adventuring out of Canada this year be it USA and/or Japan. January will be Montreal but after that is up in the air. I don’t know if I will be able to make any big plans till May when all the smoke with my work clears but I do plan on traveling.

I have always tried to attack the year and try to make it as good as I could and I always find myself leaving too much on the table in fear of other things. This year I need to not have that fear unless it’s big. I doubt I will close my 30s like I closed my 20s but I can try to make it just as fun.

So let’s get 2024 started. Shazbot nanu nanu

[shelleymarietalks]

Happy 6 Years blogging and to celebrate... An angry flare up!

After discovering Topical Steroid Withdrawal, ditching the steroid creams, regular courses of Prednisone and prescribed stuff to control and manage my eczema it has been slowly improving. Don't get me wrong it's been looooong winded taking years but if I look back I have definitely come a long way. There is no cure and ever since I can remember I've suffered severely with eczema especially on my face, neck, creases of my arms and the backs of my legs, which I still suffer with today and I have even gained a few more patches I didn't suffer with before that I struggle with now. However we do have the good days, my skin loves the summer sun and fun but these are the months I dread, the winter and cold and I am here to say I'm not having the best time as of late and am currently experiencing an angry flare up. My face, neck, stomach, my sides, my arms, up my back and the back of my legs are really struggling right now. Everything irritates, clothes, creams, the warmth, the cold, you name it! My skin to touch is so hot yet I am cold (as always) and no matter what I do my skin has become stubborn and has decided to do as it pleases and cause me hell. This morning was the worst I've been for a good few months to the point after having a bath and putting cream on the stress of the flare up brought on another panic attack :( I sometimes forget how bad it used to be and with having more good days than bad lately it hits me harder when I do have a flare up and suffer.

Over the past 2 weeks I have had a lot of stress with being late organising Christmas this year, trying to plan and pay for a wedding and on top of that on Friday I will be leaving my job of 4 years, the place I met my husband to be and will be preparing to start a new job at a different school, in a different area as from January 2024 so I'm pretty sure the above is the cause, and the fact I've had a fair few Gins this weekend to combat it all at a couple of family parties definitely has topped it off!

As you can see I'm pretty inflamed, a little red and very sore which I haven't been for a while now so I am not a happy bunny and as always have taken to the keyboard to document this. With my wedding on the horizon come February 2024 it stresses me out that my skin will flare, I will look awful and it will ruin my big day but with finally getting out of a toxic workplace (despite having the best of friends who are a big support there) and training myself to try keep calm, I'm pushing that fear to the back of my mind and facing 2024 head on!

If you are suffering with a skin condition this winter please don't suffer alone, my inbox is always open and my social media accounts are always running. Speak up and let's face this shit together!

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year...

Xx

[cleverbarefoot-man-blog]

confessions

So, back at it again, writing while I have a joint in my right hand. Taking a puff and confessing to myself that I'm keeping the illusion alive of what smoking does with me. I keep hearing the thought, It helps me at moments that I'm stressed. My system is so convinced of this almost fact, since this system is having a hard time looking 2 weeks in the future and what habit is needed to replace this one, one that is healthier more beneficial in every sense. Financial, physical, mentally ( since now something comes in the place that is beter for my mental health in the long run). I'm noticing that just thinking of a possible future where some other habit takes place for smoking, is giving me a headache. Alright that is one confession out of the way, now there has been this dispute at work with a colleague, that's annoying, but what is more frustrating is that, for me its a sentimental question. I have put a lot of my energy in this company, I have been trough lots of life stages there, basically my whole 20's I have spent here, I had my socials here, my father figure, my mother figure.... everything a healthy person needs to function normally in life. Now with the introduction of a new department manager, everything changed. At first the guy wanted to personally socialise with me, coming from a mental healthcare background I knew this was unacceptable, I was a cliënt there (participant) and this guys decided to light a joint right next to me. that has bothered me a lot, I expected professionality and what I got was someone that was more lonely and disturbed then me, in that period of my life I needed support on how to make a social network next to my workplace. After writing this now, I get confused myself. I have a history with that place and things just didn't turn out the way they where supose to. I feel like I'm trapped in a bubble, the only light is department I'm working, the wood department. I'm done, I just want to get my stuff over to my home and just get it over with. I'm so done with this shit, I don't like the person I am at most times now, since ever that this shit started I am showing behaviour that is just outright wrong to me, but in contrast to how things where managed before shit started to change so much, its only logical I'm behaving like this. I don't really like to speak in these terms but, I lost what I wanted to say. I hope I straighten my act up, behave like a adult and get on with my life. Wake up N, you got this brother. You gonna show them who is a winner, who is gonna get the company wins. belief in you principles and follow them. from now on we straight. Also the best Philosophers are the ones that constantly contradict them self's and act out their hypocrytical side, so the contrast stays in awareness. <3 I love you all I hope you get what you want, but most of al what you need <3

[jupiter235]

A summary under the cut (it might get long:)

So on the work week thing our week goes from Friday to Thursday. The previous week I had been off Friday, had worked Saturday, then had Sunday off, then worked Monday to Thursday. I ended up catching about two hours of overtime that they honestly can't afford to pay me right now because of budget reasons and hadn't realized it until after I left Thursday.

Cue the current week. I was already tired (I'll get to why in a minute) and then this past Friday I wound up clocking nearly eleven hours in one day. Then I got over nine hours yesterday and nine and a half today. That puts me at twenty nine hours and 38 minutes, officially. I still need to tell my boss, because at this rate I might end up having to leave after a couple of hours on either Wednesday or Thursday--I'm off until then--and won't be able to stay long enough to accomplish anything.

Now, as for why I'm so fucking exhausted I want to scream and then sleep for a week:

SO

MANY

KITTENS

And a shit ton of adult cats and dogs, too, but FUCKS SAKE WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY FINDING ALL THESE FUCKING KITTENS???? The majority of the animals we took in last week alone were kittens.

I need to remember we were fortunate that a lot of people wanted to help us out by fostering some of them. It's good for the kittens because an animal shelter really isn't the place for them- they're too prone to diseases that adult animals can bring in with them.

Then there was the drama on top of it. Now, I do my best to avoid workplace drama in general because I'm there to work, not to pick fights with my co-workers over stupid bullshit. So you can imagine how deeply irritating it gets for me when the drama ends up falling into my purview and directly affecting me.

This came in the form of one specific co-worker--I've mentioned him before, he would rather sit around watching YouTube videos on his phone and it's damn near impossible to get him to help out anywhere other than the main cat building--thinking that in all of the chaos of all the incoming animals we were swamped with that instead of actually doing his job, he could just keep right on sitting around watching YouTube videos on his phone.

And it may very well have gotten him fired already and he doesn't even realize it yet. Wednesday afternoon, he was supposed to be helping me to finish the intake building. I was not only trying to finish cleaning kennels, but also set up new ones for the new arrivals. And he just kept vanishing without a word as to where he was going. Our supervisor finally caught him sitting down in the main building, playing on his phone again. And this woman does not get angry easily, so you know she was serious when she went off on him and warned him for the final time about playing on his phone when there was still work to do.

Then Friday was a flat out crazy day. Even more animals were brought in, and me and the woman I was working with that day kept getting stopped. While we didn't end up finishing until almost seven o'clock that night, three cats were adopted and a pretty good chunk of the kittens went to foster homes. I was also scheduled to work with my above-mentioned co-worker again the next day, and was instructed by the shelter director to make sure he left his phone on her desk and that it did not move from there. And if I saw him with it while he was supposed to be working, to contact her immediately.

Fortunately, we were closed to the public yesterday because of Memorial Day. That alleviated some of the stress. And it seemed on the surface that my co-worker was behaving himself--that is, until another one of my co-workers who works in dogs told me he saw him taking his phone off of our shelter director's desk at several points throughout the day and taking it to the bathroom with him. I had originally pulled him aside to give him a heads-up and ask him to help me keep an eye on him when he told me that. He contacted my supervisor and reported it to her after that. So yeah, there's a good possibility this guy has lost his job.

Then on top of all this someone in dogs called in today, so once cats was done we jumped in to help them. Then just before I left, a dog managed to get away from one of my co-workers and escaped nearly a half-mile away from the shelter. Fortunately we were able to get him back; he came right back when he was called.

So yeah, this was my week. I think I'm gonna spend most of tomorrow playing violent video games in between doing my laundry.

Me right now....

[ramp-it-up]

Good and Tight

Part two of The Fit and the Feel

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wardrober! Reader; Henry Cavill x Reader (non-romantic?)

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. SMUT! Read at your own risk. FaceTime sex, Daddy kink, degradation kink, jealousy, pining, innuendo, workplace relationships, size difference, bratty behavior, dirty talk, flirting, size kink, mutual masturbation Not Beta’d. All errors my own. Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Let me know if you liked it by interacting: like, comment and reblog!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Claiming Chris as your Daddy was all fun and games until he got serious about it.

You two were still a secret because you didn’t think it was a good look for him to be dating a member of a film crew, and you also didn’t want the grief from his fans.

Chris was content to keep you and he on the low.

After all, you were just having fun, right?

At first he treated the whole Daddy thing like a joke. It was a fun kink while fucking and a funny joke in your conversations. You were both super busy, so dick appointments when you could hook up was the norm. It was fun and easy, and stress free.

But then you had to go all the way to London for a film a couple of months after you two first hooked up. When you were apart, Chris got way into the Daddy thing.

You agreed to address him as Daddy, unless you were around people, and when he texted, ‘get ready,’ you had five minutes to get to a bathroom and FaceTime him. It didn’t matter if you were on a plane or in a crowded club. And you loved to run to do it. It got to the point that just seeing those words on your screen got you wet.

Chris was addicted to your sweet, hot, tight little pussy. He didn’t want anyone else; being inside your tight pussy made his life complete. He was ruined for anyone else. But you didn’t know that.

This new gig was a big step for you. You were now a Set Costumer on a major movie production. And the movie starred Henry Cavill. Talk about a fine specimen of a man. He and Chris were the same height, but while Chris was a slim guy with a lot of lithe muscle, Henry was naturally beefy and chiseled.

You couldn’t lie, you enjoyed having your hands on him for your job. But you were totally chilling. You had Chris Evans chatting you up every free second he got. You were a lucky individual.

Chris was still in LA working on his latest project. He was proud of you, but he missed you. Envious thoughts invaded his head and he began to wonder about your interactions with Cavill. Especially given how you and he got together.

As he was scrolling his feed one day, Chris saw a paparazzi still of Henry in a street scene with you in the background, out of focus, but watching intently.

He was instantly jealous although he knew what was up; he’d just spoken to you that morning and made you cum twice over the phone. But you had him hard with need after two weeks apart.

He texted you as he went into his trailer and locked the door. He got ready for his closeup. He pulled out his cock and started stroking it slowly.

You made your way to the restroom and got ready for his call. When you saw the notification, you pressed answer right away.

“Oh, shit.”

Seeing his cock so suddenly was a bit of a surprise.

“That’s not my fucking name.”

Chris’ growl indicated that he was in a mood, and you were into it.

“Daddy!”

Your finger was in your mouth next, biting it, your plump lips surrounding it, making him harder as he imagined his cock there.

“Fuck! Three fingers. Get ‘em good and wet and then pull your skirt up and sit on the toilet.”

He’d made you model what you were wearing this morning, which was last night, LA time. Corduroy skirt and thigh high socks with boots. London in December was cold. But no panties.

Chris felt his power as he decided that you’d go without underwear today. It balanced out the need he felt when he missed you.

“Now sit down, stuff your fingers in your pussy, and tell me about your day.”

You winced as you put your fingers inside you. After two weeks without any, it was a tight fit. But the memory of the feel of Chris stretching you out, and the visual of his cock on the screen made it easier for them to ease inside of you.

“Well, we shot some scenes with Henry, and I, I, I…”

Chris angled the phone up so that you could see his face framed behind his cock, hair falling into his eyes as he clenched his jaw and stroked. Jesus, that undercut was gonna be the death of you.

You started rubbing your clit with your fingers when you saw that.

“I said, fit those fingers inside your pussy! And I didn’t say you could touch my clit.”

You shuddered when he said that

A grunt came from him and you saw precum slide out of his shiny pink head. You wanted to teleport.

“Yes Daddy. Sorry Daddy.” You slid your fingers into your hole. “Daddy! I can’t get them as deep as you…”

Chris sat back and combed his hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

“I need you to fucking try.” He sighed as he saw you go knuckle deep.

“That’s better. Now. Were you very busy today?”

His tone was conversational, as if he wasn’t making you do nasty things for him. And as if he wasn’t stroking off to you fucking yourself

“Y-yes Daddy… I fuck! I had to fix a couple of shirts that Hen ripped during his fight scenes…”

You arched your back and moaned, licking your lips.

Chris sneered as he pulled the phone closer so that you had a high definition view of his cock. All the ridges and veins that you could see, you could also feel from memory.

“Hen? Hen? You call him Hen? A little familiar, don’t you think?”

“N-no Daddy. He told me to call him that.He’s been nothing but nice. A perfect gentleman.”

Chris scoffed.

“You know why he’s been nice? He wants that ass. Don’t let the nice guy fool you. I was a nice guy too, before I made you my cock slut.”

You stared into the camera and bit your lip. “Yes, Daddy.”

Chris kept stroking, getting worked up by your reaction

“Does he want you to call him that while he’s fucking my pussy?”

Your eyes started to tear up, partly from the sting of what he said, and partly from desperation to cum. You opened and closed your mouth.

“Do you need something in your mouth?”

“Yes Daddy. And I need to touch my clit so I can cum.”

“Do you want Hen’s dick in your mouth? His fingers on your clit?”

Chris bit the words out, angry that he wasn’t there in London with you.

“Whose job is that?l

“Yours. Only yours Daddy..”

“Fucking right, it’s mine. That’s my tight cock sleeve between your legs. You were tailor made for met. Fit me like a gotdamn glove. Feel so fucking nice around me.”

“I think I will send him one of the pictures I have of you stretched around my dick. How will Hen like that?“

Yoo groaned, desperate now, and safe over 5,000 miles away. You started strumming your clit as you stuffed your fingers into your cunt.

“Oh shit. You’re in big trouble now. You’re touching my clit, probably turned on by the idea of Henry seeing your holes fucked out by me. You want him to see, don’t you. Fucking slut.”

“Sh sh shitttt, Daddy!”

You came like a freight train, your hand a poor substitute for Chris, but his words pushing you over the edge.

“Enjoy it while you can. Because I’m gonna to edge you for a week when I get that ass in my hands again. And you’re gonna take it in every gotdamn hole you got. Holy fuck!”

Chris came all over his hand, collapsing back onto the back of the couch in his trailer.

You both sat there a minute, coming down from the sex high.

You watched Chris get up and wash his hands and fix his pants. You did the same.

“You still meeting me in Massachusetts on the day after Christmas?”

Chris had invited you to spend some time with him at his home. It was sweet. And sexy. You knew he was going to ruin you. You wanted it badly.

Chris’ tone was much gentler. His eyes were soft. You felt…something.

Oh shit.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

You smiled, not wanting to make things more serious than they needed to be. The day after Christmas was the definition of NOT a relationship.

Wasn’t it?

“Good.”

Chris smiled back, trying to keep things light.

“Gotta get back to work.”

“Me too.”

“See ya later.”

“See ya.”

You ended the call reluctantly; the conversation felt unfinished. But you went back to your trailer, counting the days until the 26th of December.

“Hey. This shirt doesn’t feel right, like the seam is off. It’s ripped again. Need you to fix it, Love. I hate this brand of shirt.”

Henry stepped up into your trailer and closed the door closed behind him, raising his eyebrow at you, a frown on those perfect bow lips. He showed you another rip on his sleeve.

The character and the scene required the fit and for the shirt to hold up to the action. You inhaled a whiff of his cologne as you felt the seam that was on the side of his bulging bicep. You looked up into his blue eyes, put off balance by their clarity. You cleared your throat as you turned around to get your sewing kit.

Henry admired your ass. And he didn’t try to hide it. His eyes raked up your form as you turned around. You tried to give him a stern look, but he just smirked at you.

“Can you take off your shirt?”

You put one of the tailor’s pencils that was in your bun between your teeth.

“I’ve been waiting for you to undress me again.”

His silky voice and that accent could do something to you, if you let it.

Henry felt exactly the same about you, but he just clenched his jaw and held back from saying as much as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. You were holding back from him and he wanted to know why. Henry wanted you. But he wanted you to come to him.

“So you can fix the shirt, of course.”

You bit down when you saw his magnificent body emerge from the white material, standing on tiptoe and putting your hands on his shoulders to help him off with his shirt. He handed it to you and looked down on your ass again as you sauntered away.

“It will feel good and fit tight, like it’s supposed to.”

You heard Henry chuckle as you turned around to your work table.

[taechaos]

A Thriller Film

pairing: director!Jungkook x fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, yandere, smut

synopsis: Jungkook's life is his movies, but people don't know his movies are his life. As an anonymous director, no one can suspect him as the villain in a story, but he leaves a clue in his movie about you.

warnings: smoking, stalking, murder, solo masturbation, public fingering

word count: 5.4k

a/n: i don't know why i put so much effort into this but we love to see it flop 🥰

Smoking is bad, but there are worse things in life.

Jungkook noticed you for the first time when a cigarette was hanging off his lips, exhaling the stress from the process of organizing a new thriller film with a less than cooperative crew. Fresh out of high school, you were bright and skipping on the sidewalk in the early hours of the morning. What would such a young woman, applying for colleges left and right, be so happy about?

He didn't know you at the time, but looking at you was like a breath of fresh air. While he survived off of coffee and nicotine, you seemed to have a lot of happiness to share. Your smile was incompatible with his frown.

So he ignored you when you passed him with your earphones blasting a song so loud, he involuntarily caught the lyrics.

Fall... back... in... to... place.

The second time he saw you, he was smoking again and you were just as happy as the day before. How can someone be so in tune with themselves, with life? The same song played from your earphones, the one he listened to on repeat after searching up the lyrics: Space Song. An urge to approach you surged up in him, but he only watched you as you walked past him. A single glance from you was all it took to anticipate tomorrow.

Today, when he recognizes you from your clothing first; colorful, silky, gorgeous. So much personality in one outfit, a polar opposite to his casual black outfit in jeans and a plain shirt. Even your bag is eye-catching, and he flicked the ash off of his cigarette before nodding at you as you passed the bus stop, reaching the front of his studio.

Why did your eyes just widen? You acknowledge him with a friendly smile, and go on your merry way. That is until he lightly taps your shoulder, and you turn instantly.

"Hey," he greets before you can utter a word, "where are you always rushing off to?"

Your lips part in surprise; the man you secretly - guiltily - side-eyed for the past few days noticed you when you weren't looking? "I have an interview. Well, a few," you chuckle.

"For what?" he tilts his head curiously and takes another drag from his stick.

"Career counseling," you plainly reply, but it sounds enthused. "I'm a clueless graduate." Your hands clutch your tote bag before you discreetly check the time on your wrist. You're going to be running late soon.

"You interested in cinematography?" Smoke follows his words, but you aren't fazed.

"I'm interested in all forms of art, why?"

He notices you checking your watch again. "I'm a film director. This is my studio," he cranes his neck behind him. "You can apply for an internship here. Maybe for a stylist even," he points at your floral romper with his chin as his eyes trail.

You shift your weight on your left foot when his stare flusters you, and you consider his flattering suggestion for only a second before saying, "thank you for the offer, but I need to go now," you grimace sheepishly, "can I think about it?"

"Take your time," he reassures with a sly smile and inhales from his stick, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of your perfume alongside.

He doesn't look away when you walk off with a shy wave, entranced by your struts until he's called back in. It's with newfound inspiration that he's inside of his studio.

The storyboard of his upcoming project needs a few tweaks, and he doesn't fail in enhancing his crew with a different idea.

It’s been a week. Okay, it might’ve been shorter, but Jungkook is impatient. Besides, it didn’t help when he saw you holding hands with someone... so less than. It really baffled him to see you with a guy who wore such shabby clothes. He looks like the type that Jungkook would cast for a flop character.

The two of you are like a toy display across his studio in that cutesy, obnoxious café with a smoothie in the middle of your booth. He chuckles as he lights up another stick when he notices the two straws in the single cup. Cliché, cheesy, but cute in a childish sense. Your age shines through the amateur romance between you and that loser.

It especially shows when you look to the side with a laugh and lock eyes with him; so flustered that you gasp and focus back on your date. What makes you so shy about seeing him? You seemed so confident during your conversation two days ago.

He whistles when he notices a stray dog in an alleyway. You look at him as well but don't hear anything beyond the glass wall, but it catches his attention regardless. He whistles again before saying in a hushed voice, "come here girl." It's difficult to suppress a smile when you gaze at him questioningly, as if trying to decipher his words. "Naive little girl," he mouths as he smokes, "what are you doing with that boy?"

He almost chokes when you take out your wallet in front of a waiter; are you paying for him? That's why you ordered one drink - so you could share? Jungkook isn't cruel but, he finds it laughable that your boyfriend is so... unappealing. He can't help but wonder why you're with him; maybe his face? The boy is somewhat handsome, but he only has his facial features to go by. It's rather strange for Jungkook to think about this in the first place, so he gets back inside his workplace after harshly shooing the stray dog away with a stomp of his foot.

"I'd like to start my internship today."

Jungkook runs his eyes up and down your body while leaning against a brick wall. "Paid?"

"I-I'll do it for free. Besides, I don't know if I'll even work in this industry," you twiddle your fingers while smiling up at him. He intimidates you, but this morning you decided you did enough thinking and here you are, an aspiring stylist all of a sudden.

"Get inside," he nods at the door before stubbing his cigarette and following you to his studio. "You know what you're going to do?"

"I'm going to decide the outfits, right?" The place looks cozy to you, with its minimalistic interior design and blunt switch between the stories. The first floor is strictly for business, with lined up cameras, lights and a microphone. There is even a green screen! And the second floor seems to be more of a resting area with its couches and open laptops, but you can't make out much from the entrance. Jungkook starts walking ahead of you, making a beeline for the black stairs. You tail behind him and smile at anyone who notices you, which isn't a lot of people. It's not crowded.

"Right. We're still working on a storyline, haven't finished it yet so it's possible this project might not be published. You with me so far?" he glances at you, and at your firm nod, continues, "when we finish planning, scripting and shit, you come to play."

"So what do I do now?" you innocently inquire and watch him plop down on the red velvet couch. He clicks on the space of his keyboard to light up his screen.

"I have an idea for a character, and I want to know how you would design her," he vaguely explains as he scrolls through his document.

"You want me to sketch it or explain?"

"Let's hear you out first. Irene," he suddenly calls out loudly.

"Yes?" a female responds from downstairs. You see a woman with a grey cap look up at him, her attire nothing short of casual.

"Come here."

She skips a few steps while climbing up the stairs at his command. You're not awkward when you greet her, and she offers a coy smile.

"This girl - what did you say your name was?" he asks you. You tell him and he continues, "she's going to be our intern. I want you to critique her with me."

"What's she in for?" Irene asks before sitting across from him.

"Wardrobe stylist."

Her eyes widen as she takes a second look at you. Your style is definitely unique, but... immature. She has half the mind to not question Jungkook about his choice.

"Okay..." she trails. "I'm Irene, by the way. I'm going to be an executive producer for the upcoming film."

"Nice to meet you," you brightly chirp. "Sir?"

Jungkook smirks at your addressing of him. "Yes?"

"What is your name, if I may ask?"

"I'm Jeon Jungkook, but you may know me for my pen name Shin Dong-hyuk."

Your mouth falls open when you instantly recognize the name. "Wait, what? You directed My Time?" you incredulously wonder aloud.

My Time is a movie that took the world by a storm; it brought recognition to the whole country for its popularity and clever writing. You never knew the name was a pseudonym, however. It's a suspense genre, about the life of a crazed fanboy who is obsessed with a foreign celebrity. He stalks her on the internet, has a fanpage of her and pays a hefty amount of money to strangers to update him on her whereabouts. He's portrayed as a young college student in the story, and inevitably runs out of cash from reckless spending. When she gets into a dating scandal, he goes on a theft spree and flies out to meet and confront her. It ends with her murder when he finds her with another man in a hotel room, and he stabs himself in the heart afterwards. There are a bunch of clues that foreshadow his ending, from his family life to his friendships. It's an amazing thriller, and you researched his name in the credits to find more of his works after seeing the movie but to no avail; there is only one listed.

"That's me," he nonchalantly reveals as if he didn't just give you the shock of your life. "Don't tell anyone though, will you?"

You whimsically put on an imagery zipper over your mouth while trying to recover from your racing heart.

"I don't have a clear outline, but the female lead is going to be naive but charming. She has to stand out, alright? Happy, extraordinary, special."

"We didn't decide on that," Irene butts in with a displeased expression.

"I forgot to tell you, I deleted our previous plan."

"You did wh-"

"What do you think?" he turns to you as he ignores Irene's shrieks. "What color are you imagining?"

You feel nervous when he puts you on the spotlight after revealing his identity. You close your eyes with a deep inhale before answering, "I'm thinking red and green, like Christmas. There should be a hint of white as well."

Jungkook drinks in your outfit before grinning mischievously. "Perfect." All of your colors.

Stalking is bad, but there are worse things in life.

Is it such a bad idea to follow you home when it's dark out? He kept you for a long time in the studio, allowing you to dress up a mannequin with all sorts of costumes you had in mind in the backroom. He's certain you had fun with him when you left with a permanent grin on your face.

You live with your parents, and he knows for sure he's at least 5 years older than you. You look about 19, so he's assuming he's only 8 years older.

A small villa with windows all around, he observes, before glancing back at your bedroom. The lights are on and you're swinging your legs with excitement on your bed after you face planted on the mattress. He didn't see you greet your parents before running off to your room, and he can't help the smile growing on his face at your hyperactivity. It was like an instinct to walk you home in secret and he isn't sure why he is still watching you. He should look away when you get off of your bed and heave your shirt over your chest, but instead he steps away from the lamp post to hide from the light.

You're changing, and he can't take his eyes off of you. As if that wasn't enough, you unclasp your bra without even pulling the curtains. Do you know he's there? The thought excites him, and his pants begin to tighten around his crotch. He lowly whistles at you, but you don't hear him again. You do look outside for a few seconds while stretching your arms, however, and he's certain you have a connection to him.

He leaves when you put on your pajamas with the image of your bare tits imprinted on his mind. He doesn't head home first, as the studio is only a few minutes away from your home and he wants to leave you a gift.

When the familiar building enters his vision, he doesn't waste time in unlocking the door and switching on a single dim light. He rushes to the backroom after locking the entrance for a second time and unzips his jeans as he goes. You were here not too long ago, and he can pinpoint exactly where you stood while striding to each corner with purpose. Bending, crouching, leaning, doing just about anything to tease him.

Now that he can imagine your perky nipples realistically, he immediately takes out his length from his restraints and picks up a random handkerchief to pump himself with. He doesn't stop to think over his actions; he's acting on urges, on impulse. Never has he ever done something like this.

He's rather relaxed as he sits down on an idle stool to close his eyes and run his hand up and down his shaft. What he would do to press your tits against his cock while he slides it up and down, smearing his cum all over your lips while you sleep. You would swallow it without a second thought once he finishes in your gaping mouth, and wonder why there's a dull ache in your breasts the next morning.

His breaths grow shallow the faster he strokes himself, the more he thinks about using every part of you for his pleasure while you're knocked out cold. He involuntarily thrusts into the air while quiet moans slip out of his open mouth. Something about how taboo it would be to fuck you while you're unconscious turns him on so much. Would that be something you're into?

The handkerchief is so soft, so silky against his length, he can almost imagine it to be your hand. He starts twisting his hand around his cock, from the base to the tip as his other hand palms his balls before he begins to reach climax. Strings of cusses fall out of his mouth when he quickens his pace, the fabric against his skin resounding in his ears before he finally spurts out his cum into the cloth.

"Fuck," he exhales as he coats his makeshift glove with his release. White on white doesn't make much of a difference, and he's panting as he folds the handkerchief to rub it evenly so it sinks in completely.

He leaves it on the stool after zipping his pants, and his eyes twinkle under the moonlight on his journey home.

You aren't alone when you walk to work. Jungkook is taking his usual smoke break while watching you swing your interlocked hands back and forth with the guy next to you. Your smiles exude the same aura, and Jungkook sarcastically notes how compatible the two of you are. The boxy grin shines with the sun, but it doesn't hide the boy's worn out clothes.

"Good morning, Jungkook," you greet before introducing your boyfriend. "This is Taehyung, Taehyung meet Jungkook. I'm going to be under his wing until I decide my major."

"Hello, Taehyung," Jungkook coldly says before blowing smoke in his face.

Taehyung scrunches his nose before chirping, "hi!" He then turns to you and whispers, "I thought you wanted to study medicine."

You shake your head dismissively with a light laugh before responding, "it's just an internship." You let go of his hand and bid farewell with a peck on his cheek before going inside the studio.

"Well, have a good day," Taehyung smiles as he's about to leave before Jungkook holds out his hand to block the way.

"Taehyung, who is your girlfriend?"

"Um," he furrows his brows before saying your name.

"And who are you?"

At Jungkook's blunt question, Taehyung pauses and takes a step back. "What do you mean? Like my full name?"

"No, who the fuck are you? What is your contribution to society? What do you do for a living? What are you wearing?"

"Sir, I-" Taehyung's stammering is cut short when Jungkook asks, "how much money for you to stop leeching off of her?"

He scoffs, "excuse me? I'm not leeching off of anyone, and I'm sure as hell not breaking up with her for your money." Taehyung's face heats up from the shameless confrontation, and he starts walking in the opposite direction.

"So you're not going to leave her?"

Taehyung doesn't turn to look at him as he emphasizes, "no."

"Good."

He abruptly stops in his tracks. "What?"

"Your dedication is admirable," Jungkook comments with a shrug. "I'm satisfied with your answer."

"Were you testing me?"

"Bingo."

He starts chuckling before shaking his head. "I always knew directors were crazy; you scared me for a second."

"Where you headed now?" Jungkook smoothly switches the subject, but notes the fact that you've spoken about him to your boyfriend.

"I have a farm two blocks away." When Jungkook raises a brow, he explains, "I stayed the night with her, so I decided to drop her off before leaving."

"Want me to drop you off?"

It's a kind offer, really, but Taehyung is still put off by the insults thrown his way just a minute ago. Doesn't he have work to do anyway? "That's alright, thank you, but I'll just take the bus. Have a good one, Jungkook."

Jungkook doesn't stop him as they both wave goodbye. He doesn't bother putting out his cigarette before going inside.

Where would be a farm only two blocks away from the city center? It has to be a lie.

You're wandering around the place as to not awkwardly wait for Jungkook who sharply inhales at the sight. He calls your name.

"Yes?"

"What do you want to become?"

"I," you look at him funny with a laugh, "I still don't know."

"Then take a gap year."

Your brows shoot up to your hairline. "Why?"

"I want you to be invested in this project completely. Once the planning is finished, I'll give you a salary. What do you think?"

He's asking you to work full-time for him. Not as an intern, but an employee and you are beyond willing after only being here for two days. He's a famous director; how can one pass up this opportunity?

"I'd love that."

You noticed that Jungkook has a very unique way of working. You've heard that he's been keeping his crew until late at night, already having an outline for his plot and he's moved onto screenwriting. He apparently disappears randomly throughout the evening after you leave, and you've had some different experiences with him of your own.

He asked you to steal from the wardrobe of his backroom. "Take everything that you'd wear," he said before stepping out of the room.

When you confusedly compiled all of the clothes that caught your eye under your arm, he took them from you and brought them upstairs with a huge grin. "Keep that one," he pointed at the handkerchief you thought about lacing your neck with.

Taehyung's quiet with you. He doesn't respond to your texts, doesn't call you, doesn't come over. You're too busy spending time with Jungkook to check up on him, and it serves as a well distraction when you keep glancing at your notifications. It hurts, especially when your wallpaper is a picture of you and him. It hurts because he isn't with you in your proudest moments when you were with him even at his parents' funeral.

The only thing keeping you happy is casting. Jungkook asked you to make a list of all the actors that would suit his characters after giving you a vague description of their traits. The budget isn't an issue, and you're having so much fun. He makes you forget your worries without even trying.

Jungkook intimidates you, but he's so lovely.

A mere "aspiring" stylist is casting actors for a movie. How many people can brag about that? You almost stumble on the stairs as you quickly climb up with Jungkook's laptop in your hands. He gave it to you for research purposes as he drew a rough storyboard with Irene.

"I made a list," you exclaim brightly. Heads shoot in your direction and you sheepishly grin at your volume. Jungkook's eyes linger on your covered neck; it's almost like a collar.

He whistles and beckons you to sit next to him. You obey and anxiously present your list to the professionals; you have no idea how to go on about this task, and no one guided you. You're certain you look utterly amateur in front of them.

Irene is inspecting your list without hinting her thoughts as Jungkook asks, "who are your favorites?"

"Well, I think Kim Namjoon is um, suitable for the male lead's role and Joy-"

"It's decided then," he claps his hands twice without hearing out Irene who scowls at him.

"You're not cooperating with us," she voices in a complaint, "why are you always calling the shots on your own? These are major decisions-"

"Ms. Bae, don't take any offence now. I'm taking your opinions into accounts when I make these decisions. Unless you have an issue with something, let's not dwell on this, hm?"

She sighs as you stand there awkwardly. She's upset, but stays silent.

"The two leads are Kim Namjoon and Park Soo-young. The team will decide the rest of the cast, thank you," he informs you with a ghost of a smile.

"Of course," you breathe.

You don't know how long it is supposed to take to shoot a film, but surely it's not this fast paced. Jungkook is relentless with his production; there are hardly any breaks in between takes. There are bags under his eyes from pulling all nighters to work on his scripts.

He is a perfectionist and a hard worker, as you've come to find out. You feel bad for the amount of times the actors recited their lines when they didn't capture a scene right in Jungkook's eyes. It was an honor for you to meet these famous people beyond a screen, and you were strictly ordered to do Joy's makeup only. You are her stylist, but the professional one does help you after she's finished with Namjoon's.

"Cut," Jungkook says into the speaker. You're located in a rented mansion outside of the city, but you can't enjoy it when everyone is so stressed. "Start over from line "he's leeching off of you"."

Even actors can't hide their annoyance from having to do a 25th take of one scene. Jungkook pays them enough to go on with this torture however, so they have no room to complain.

They start over and you force yourself to watch them again and again.

"Oh my god, cut!" You can hardly resist groaning yourself. Everyone on set is overworked, and you know the director has it the worst, but it's overwhelming you too at this point. You flinch when your name is called. "Act Joy's lines, will you?"

"Me?" you point at yourself in surprise.

"Go ahead," he urges with a nod.

You have no idea how to act, and it's nervewracking having to do it in front of A-listers. You pick up the script handed to you from another woman and start reading:

"He's not leeching off of me," you pause to inhale shakily; your hands tremble from the heavy stares on you.

"I'm his family, the only one he has left. No one would know if he was gone, and he trusts me to look after him without having to dangle a dollar bill over his head."

This goes on until the final scene, and the retakes cut down to half.

A few months pass, and it is time for the premiere. The movie, simply titled Pretty Girl, easily got a green light for display in theatres, and it's been heavily promoted on YouTube and TV. You are excited to your core, and watching the celebrities walk the red carpet was a first for you. Jungkook easily blends in with the crowd as he once again didn't reveal his real name in the credits, but his pen name is gaining more and more recognition. You have never seen the movie throughout the editing procedure, but you can't wait to see everyone's efforts show on the big screen.

You're dressed fancily because Jungkook asked you to go with him, and the two of you are sitting in the crowded theatre with not a single empty seat to be seen. Even the entrance is decorated in retro style to fit in with the movie's theme! The jazz music playing in the halls reaches your ears, and your knees are bouncing in anticipation of the movie. Jungkook is smiling as he listens to you ramble.

"I can't believe I played a part in this whole project!" you gush with shaking fists. "I met the best director I know, and I worked for him! This all feels like a dream... No one even likes my style, and yet I became a stylist!"

"I love your style," he denies, "even now you have all the attention in the room."

"Pfft," you roll your eyes playfully, "they all think I must look weird. I tried to wear something classy so I don't stand out, but it hasn't been working out."

"Keep it that way, you're beautiful like this."

Heat creeps up to your cheeks at his compliment and you squeak, "thank you."

He doesn't get to relish your flustered state as everyone goes quiet once the movie starts.

The time period is unclear, as the language is modern but the filter is black and white. The first scene is in a bar, a man in a suit eyeing a woman with a date who is an outcast with his clothes. They're washed out and ugly, but he looks handsome with his dazzling smile at the woman.

An involuntary grin spreads across your face when you hear their dialogue.

"I want to touch someone's shoulder to see how they react. Did you see how they looked at me when I walked in here? I think they think I'm your sugar baby or something," Jimin's character jokes with a laugh.

"I know! They're all so boujee, but I'm willing to be your mommy without sugar," Joy winks. They have fun until Jimin leaves to the bathroom and Namjoon's character approaches her, who has been staring at her ever since they walked in. Joy is offered a modeling career, and she accepts after she's told that her fashion only works with her because of how beautiful she is. She's bashful when Namjoon gives her a business card.

Jungkook's film is only over an hour long, but everything is timed so perfectly. His directory is straightforward, and you admire his work until a song comes on.

"That's my favorite song!" you whisper into his ear. It's Space Song by Beach House.

"Mine too," he whispers back.

There are montages of photo shoots, Joy's rise to fame in the modeling industry, but the trouble is Jimin, her boyfriend. Namjoon confronts him one day when Jimin drops her off to her new workplace.

"How can someone so poor be able to court a woman like her?" he asks rhetorically.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Jimin is offended until Namjoon laughs it off and reveals it was a joke. The audience sighs in relief, and all is fun and games until Jimin is brutally murdered next to a dumpster. You gasp at the gore scene and glance at Jungkook, until something dawns on you.

The story is starting to sound familiar. Was this movie inspired by your encounters? Your eyes light up as you give your utmost attention to the movie. The line between reality and fiction is beginning to blur.

Joy goes to Namjoon's house, where the dialogue you first reenacted comes to play. The shots are gorgeous, the script filled with metaphors on poverty and currency, and the romance is sickly sweet. There is a sex scene not long after... Joy forgets all about her boyfriend in the snap of Namjoon's fingers.

You tilt your head when you remember Taehyung. Where is he? How come your boyfriend didn't even show up to this life-changing experience?

Jungkook's hand slides over your thigh out of nowhere, as he murmurs, "do you mind?"

You stammer when his fingers reach under your dress to poke at your panties. "S-Sorry?"

"I said," he grazes your folds as you tense at the feather light touch, "do you mind if I touch you, pretty girl?"

Your chest heaves as your lashes flutter in a daze, but you nod nonetheless. His low raspy voice already has you clenching your thighs, unintentionally trapping his hand against your pussy. He's gentle, almost curious with the way he runs his fingers over your silky underwear before he moves it to the side. You're shivering with delight and thrill, and you don't take your eyes off of each other as he begins to flick your clit carelessly.

"Looks so pretty on you," he compliments the makeshift choker on your neck. It's his handkerchief you wore for the occasion, unaware that it's dried with cum. He pulls on the knot like it's a collar, and you're entranced. Your pants fan his lips at the close proximity, and he doesn't shy away from slotting his mouth against yours. You quietly moan into the kiss when his thumb starts to rub your clit, and his long finger pokes at your entrance.

"You mind?" he murmurs against your lips, his words slightly slurred as he doesn't stop kissing you. The wet noises are drowned out by the loud volume of the movie, but you can't focus on what's going on.

"I don't," you breathe before he slips in two fingers, exploring your walls with precision. He's multitasking as he circles your sensitive clit, and you're not very experienced in regards to sexual encounters but your hand lands on his hard-on anyway.

"Don't be shy," he chuckles into your neck, "touch it."

You don't know what you're doing when you slip your hand under his pants and palm him over his briefs, but his sigh is encouraging you. You're touching each other in a room of 100 people.

It's embarrassing when his free hand joins yours to help you touch him while simultaneously fingering you. He must have sensed your lack of confidence, because he starts to stroke his erection over your hand. You start to imagine his fingers as the real thing, and with your particularly low stamina, have a hard time suppressing your whines.

"Kiss my neck," he suggests as a solution to your nibbling. You didn't even realize your nether lip is bleeding from how hard you were biting on it. You bury your head in his shoulder and start pecking his neck. He holds back a laugh at how shy you're being, and he feels proud for predicting this moment perfectly in the movie. Joy is having the time of her life with Namjoon, unaware of Jimin decaying in the attic.

He quickens his pace in your cunt, and you bite him rather harshly at the sensation. He hisses with a chuckle; he likes it when you're impulsive. He can pick up the squelches from his thrusts because of how wet you are, and you climax all over his fingers in a matter of seconds with a whimper. You're twitching in your seat, and your hand strokes him faster but he stops you.

"In my studio," he says and you nod tiredly against his shoulder. The issue isn't that he doesn't want to cum in his pants, but the movie needs to become reality. He wants to fuck you on that one stool, with Taehyung's corpse decomposing in the backroom.

Jungkook always adds a pinch of fiction to his stories, but they're mostly based on true events. If you paid attention to the ending, maybe you would've realized that.

Lying is bad, but there are worse things in life.

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety, smidge of angst, fatigue, wormholes, netflix’s terrible original movie

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: i know that a few teachers read this series and i just need to put out the disclaimer that all i’ve written is based on ones that i know irl and the work they do in a completely different education system, please dont come at me for inaccuracies i’ll probably cry

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Bucky thought that with all the technological advancements the world had made in terms of vaccines and mobile phones, ancient practices would be left behind in the past, where they belong.

So when a letter arrives in the official Avengers mailbox, addressed to him, it’s a bit jarring. There’s a wax seal, picture perfect calligraphy and faded edges; a full blast from the past.

Valorous m'rning James,

We shalt meeteth on our regular day at mine own lair, at 11:30am. Doth not beest late.

Bringeth me a presenteth.  Or taketh off thy shirt.

With a heart full of misprise,

Thy sup'rvillain.

He ignores the thinly veiled threat in the first line and the clear flirtation in the third to last. The latter is harder to dismiss, but still.

He wonders if SHIELD has anything to do with the lair you’ve acquired for yourself. After the last conversation about your workplace, he did a little research. For the safety of human kind. 

It’s a little different than what he was expecting. A lot more usage of the words ‘holistic development’ and ‘practical learning’ that he’d ever seen. Then again, the world post-Snap was different. 

The lair door is closed to visitors, so gives three knocks and waits patiently. 

“Who is it?” Your voice floats through the intercom. 

Bucky looks up at the camera. “It’s me.”

“Sarge?” The door swings open a few seconds ago. “You’re here.”

It takes a moment for him to realise you’re not in your usual get-up. Still in your pajamas, as a matter of fact. Strange, but probably a costume for whatever shit you had going on that day.

“Got your letter.” He holds it up as proof, waving it around slightly.

Your eyes squint in confusion before it suddenly hits you.

"Shit, I forgot I sent that." You facepalm. "I mailed it, like, two weeks ago."

The more he takes in your appearance, the more apparent it becomes that something wasn't quite right. 

There was a little crease between your eyebrows that didn't look like they were going anytime soon, the slump of your shoulders and the missing liveliness-

“You okay?” he asks a little awkwardly, gruffer than he wants to sound.

You shift your balance to lean against the door frame. "I'm a little stressed.”

Clearly, if the circles under your eyes were any kind of indication. 

"Anything wrong?" He didn't want to pry but he didn't want to ignore it all together either.

"A lot of missing class prep. The parade thing kinda set me back, I got a lot to make up for."

His lips press together in a straight line. "I thought someone was covering for you."

You half-nod. "Turns out they weren't that great. The kids didn't learn much so I'm doing it again but class starts tomorrow and I have a lot to cover because I also have to do my current prep on top of last week's, and I’m also covering someone else’s classes because she’s out sick, and there’s the stupid play coming up so I have prop work to do-"

You cut yourself off with a small smile. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

He hasn't seen you this... serious ever. He doesn't like it very much.

"Why aren't you at home?"

"Didn't wanna disturb my roommate." You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. "Also it leaves a big mess and Jake doesn't want the cat to accidentally eat a roll of tape or something."

You have a cat, apparently. Every day he learns something new about you.

"Can we reschedule?" you ask, a little embarrassed at the entire situation. "Promise I'll kick your ass next week?"

"Yeah, sure." He doesn't have a problem with that, it's more the fatigue he can see rolling off your body in waves.

"See you later then." The corner of your lips quirk upwards in a smile, ready to get back to hours worth of arts and craft and God knows what else.

Okay, Barnes, you have the whole day to yourself. What plans can you-

"Listen," he blurts out before he can think about what he's going to say.

At the same instance, you open and shut your mouth immediately, instead indicating for him to go on with a flick of your wrist. 

"Do you-" This is not a life or death situation, idiot. "-do you want some help?"

You bite your lip. You were in no place to turn down any additional help. "You sure?"

"I got the time." Not like he has anywhere to be, anyway.

“Making flashcards seems a bit below your pay grade.”

Bucky simply dismisses it with a rise and drop of his shoulders. 

"Well, okay. If you’re sure." You push the door open to let him in.

He nods in confirmation. 

Sure enough, the lair is an absolute mess. There's cardboard, craft paper and markers strewn all over the floor among other things, a laptop half open with a few energy drinks beside it and empty wrappers of food long gone.

"How long have you been at this?” The lair looks less like an evil headquarter and more like an arts and craft section at the local mall.

”Couple of hours.”

”How long is a couple?” he presses, eyes narrowed.

”About six,” you say sheepishly. “Not counting yesterday.”

No wonder you were exhausted. 

He simply picks up an uncapped Sharpie that lay near his feet.

”Where should I start?

You can tell Bucky Barnes is a man of precision, accuracy and efficiency by the fact that he never misses a shot, but more importantly, the way he cuts his cardboard.

He made sure each one was the same size, not even a quarter of an inch off. He wouldn’t have given a shit if it was something he was doing on his own. He probably wouldn’t have even used a bright orange boxcutter, instead relying on his brute force. But these were for someone else, and therefore it was important to make sure they all lined up perfectly. 

He was gonna make sure that these were the best fucking props the school would ever see or at least die trying.

You, on the other hand, were working on lesson plans and a few presentations to use in class. You occasionally lifted your head to look at what he was doing, finding the look of utter focus on his face a bit amusing.

“How many of these do we need?” he asks, looking at the stack of ones he had already finished.

“As many as you can get out of those three sheets.” You point beside him. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“Got it.” He leans over to pull them closer to where he was sitting with his feet crossed on the floor.

You were on a plush armchair, one whose backrest rose high enough to know that it was your version of a villain’s throne. You had offered him the seat but he chose the ground, citing that there was more space to work. You didn’t expect anyone else to stay that long in your lair, let alone do DIY craft on your floor, hence the lack of seating. 

“How’s the day job going?” You don’t look up from your screen and he doesn’t from his measuring either.

“Same as always.”

“No new missions?”

“Not right now.” Classified information, he has to remind himself.

“You haven’t brought me souvenirs yet.” There’s no telling if you’re serious or not. Your focus still remained fixed on the laptop. “I’m pretty sure the letter mentioned that too.”

“I told you,” he begins, dividing the cardboard into squares with a ruler, “there’s nothing there.”

“Nick brought me a pencil once, so I know you’re lying.”

That piqued his interest, serving as a reminder. He had been meaning to ask for a while, ever since the parade fiasco.

“You and Fury are friends.” He didn’t know how else to describe the relationship the both of you had, considering that he had never seen the man act like that with anyone else. “How’d that happen?”

“Actually, I think he just picked it up from his table,” you deflect, tone reminiscent. “I don’t think he genuinely bought me a gift.”

“Okay, fine, but how does he not hate you?” he tries to urge you back on track.

“Man, all you superheroes do is hurt me.” You sigh, still hung up on the falsified gift.

“You’re not gonna answer, are you?”

“I have very secret secrets too, Mr. Barnes.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

He pauses. “Fair enough.”

He wasn’t going to push it. He goes back to his cardboard, painstakingly making sure every cut is in line.

“I send him a casserole every year for Thanksgiving,” you broke in all of a sudden.

Bucky just hums in acknowledgement, not buying the obvious bullshit.

There’s a silence that follows as your fingers click against the keyboard, typing something down. He tries not to disturb you, working as nimbly as he can on his own.

His metal arm makes it easier to work longer, given that it doesn’t strain his muscles. He hasn’t tried the little Feel Squares, a name he found inscribed inside the box, that you gave him yet. He doesn’t know how long it will take him to.

“I invent things for the division he manages,” you pipe up, unprompted.

He looks at you in brief surprise, not really expecting to hear from you again, before what you say registers. You look serious enough to know that you’re not kidding this time.

“You’re-” The gears in his brain turn. “You’re a SHIELD agent?”

“No.” Your nose twitches slightly. “I’m a teacher.”

“But you’re also a SHIELD agent.” 

“Yeah, I’m making this presentation right now for your next mission in Lithuania,” you shoot back instead. “Those Nazi bastards will never know what hit them. Do you think adding WordArt causes extra damage?”

He doesn’t pay attention to your retort. “Fine, are you technically on their payroll?”

“Lead technology consultant,” you clarify. The light from your laptop illuminates your face in series of colours one after the other, currently settling on red. 

“What about your evil shit?” He sets the boxcutter down beside him. “They’re okay with you being a nuisance?” 

“Yeah, as long as they get a blueprint of all my plans.” You shrug. “Generally they use those for their own inventions after tweaking it a little bit and making it look cooler. A lot more neon lights in their versions.”

This arrangement was one of the strangest he’d ever heard.

“Huh,” he states, crossing his arms. “How’d they find out about you?”

“Same way they find out about all of you.”

“They tracked you down?” Or blew up their director’s car with a missile launcher, in Bucky’s case. 

“No, I created a wormhole by mistake and they were at my door in an hour. They were going to take me in for messing with intergalactic legalities but-” You pause for a second, cursing under your breath at the stupid software that fucked up the entire document when you shifted an image. “I started nitpicking their primitive tech and told them I’d send them some new ideas if they let me go.”

“And they listened to you?”

“Do you know how annoying I can be?” He does. “Took, like, two hours to walk out of there with a new job.”

“What about Fury?”

“I’ve worked with him a bunch of times,” you say nonchalantly. “Why else do you think he agreed to let Tony bring me in so quickly? He was going to call me anyway.”

Tony should probably not hear about that. He thought he had all the leverage in that situation. 

“Why do they call you a villain then?” He specifically remembers the briefing he was given. “If you work with them.”

“You have a lot of questions, sarge. I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk,” you observe, voice offhanded.

He can’t even dispute that; it was true. Just- the thought of you being a part of SHIELD was absurd.

“It was a part of my contract. They don’t classify me as a world destroying threat, just a minor one, for now. Can’t really take that off the record once it’s on there.” You squint at the screen. “They assign me an agent to make sure things don’t go overboard, but they keep me around. They realised two or three years ago that I don’t need to be under constant supervision, only partial.”

Totally harmless. Except for when you were going to steal the power of the sun. 

“He gave you a high five,” Bucky brings up instead. A very reluctant one, but Fury did give you a high five.

“You saw that?” you ask, a small smile on your face. “Don’t let him know. He’ll have you eliminated.”

“He hasn’t done that with anyone else.”

“It’s what I get in return when I do him favours,” you explain casually. “I wormed my way into his life. Just like how I’m doing to your heart. And soon your bed.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not a villain.”

“Am too,” you defend. “You’re here to stop me.”

“There’s nothing to stop.” He makes a mention towards the cardboard. “You’re not even evil.”

“Take that back or else I’ll steal the declaration of Independence next week,” you mutter, attention divided again. “I’ll tell them you helped me do it.”

“My arch nemesis is a theatre kid.” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief.

The laptop slams shut dramatically. He looks up.

“Now that’s just hurtful,” you say straightly. “If I’m a theatre kid then you’re president of the goth club.”

He scoffs, going back to cutting cardboard.

Unlike last time, he takes you up on your offer of a soda. It’s been an hour and a half and he’s shifted to calligraphy. It takes him a while to get used to it, given that it wasn’t part of his existing skillset. 

But numbering pieces of coloured paper is more fun than he’d like to admit.

"How’d the parade go?" You're typing away on your laptop, working on a presentation for now. “No security issues?”

"No, it went fine," He’s more focused on carefully controlling each flick of his wrist to make sure there are no stray lines.

"Oh, cool," you say offhandedly. “Did you have fun?”

He spent most of the event trying to coordinate a team of over a hundred agents covering multiple city blocks, so he didn’t get to see a whole lot of the actual parade.

He did eventually find you at some point, but even that was short lived. The giant cotton candy you shoved into his hand and the quick picture you snapped of him holding it in his official work outfit was one of the only instances he actually talked to you, and half of it was spent in him threatening you not to post that anywhere online. Other times he just stood beside you in silence for a few moments before intercepting another message on his comm.

He did try his best though, a subtle way of expressing his gratitude. 

"Kinda." The vibe was positive, people looked like they were having a good time. "Not exactly my idea of it, but t'was nice."

"Yeah? What is your idea of fun then?" you inquire. "From what I see, when you're not on missions you're here, and I can't imagine this is very fun for you."

He looks at the stacks of paper he had already completed. He actually was not hating this.

”I told you, nothing,” he maintained his automatic response. It wasn’t like his answer had changed drastically over the course of a few months. 

”Okay.” You don’t bother arguing with him, instead, returning your focus to the sources you were citing. 

He lets it sit for a second, mind already cringing about how disinterested he sounded. He wasn’t, he just doesn’t talk about himself much. His therapist’s voice rings in his head again about letting himself be seen and breaking down walls. 

“Cook.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart up to his for a second.

“I cook.” His excessive stress baking and the lack of appreciation for it had led him here in the first place, in search of a new way to spend his waking hours. 

“What do you cook?” Generic question, best not to go into details before he shuts down again.

“Stuff.” It’s embarrassing enough to admit it to someone who wasn’t on the team anyway. “’m not very good at it.”

He does not divulge the fact that he could make a killer lasagna, given that he wouldn’t stop making batches of it until he perfected it. 

“You should let me be the judge of that.” Your face is completely neutral but he’s come to realise the signs of when you’re going to hit on him. “Make me dinner on our date.”

There it is. 

“What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?” You sigh at the document when it fucks up again. “Keep in mind, it’s not necessarily your favourite food. Also could be something you made.”

His eyebrows crease when he tries to remember, pinpoint an exact one. Flashes of hot dog vans, a neighbour in Romania who gave him a batch of cookies once when she made extra, his first bite of pizza from Sam’s favourite place downtown, the cupcakes he made once for Wanda’s birthday.

It gets overwhelming abruptly, beginning to feel a little suffocating in his head.

“Don’t know,” he croaks out, not explaining further. 

You don’t test it, noticing the shift in his tone. 

He curses when his Sharpie slips in his grip, drawing a bold line across the piece of paper. Fuckin’ hell.

You tell him it’s okay. 

He picks up another piece wordlessly.

“I swear to- Barnes, I will murder you if you don’t put that down.”

“I know how to use this,” he insists. The glue on and around his hands says otherwise.

“You need the skill to be able to glue two sticks together and you clearly don’t have it.”

“I was a trained assassin, I know how to use guns-”

“Who did you have to assassinate with a glue gun, Bucky?” Prying him away from the hot glue gun was probably the most laborious task you had done all day. “You’re going to burn yourself, you moron.”

“Your glue gun is weak,” he says objectively. The man had managed to stick his fingers together once already and various other objects to the floor. 

Was it out of petty revenge after you took it away from him once? A possibility he would vehemently deny it till the day of his death. This was his vengeance. 

“I’m going to kill you.” You exhale in indignation. “My glue gun isn’t used to being handled by an idiot with a death grip metal arm.”

“Yeah, it’s generally handled by an idiot without a death grip metal arm.” He rolls his eyes.

You’re not even trying to be subtle when you take a step over to grab the rest of the glue sticks, shoving it behind your back on the couch. 

“We’re out of glue sticks,” you say monotonously.

He glares at you and your determination not to budge from your decision. 

Until he has another brilliant idea.

“I’m going to tape this together.” He stretches his arm to pick up the roll that lay a few feet away from him.

“Put down the tape or so help me God-”

The giant wall of screens had its use, but for now, a couple of them were on to function as a mini theatre of sorts. However, the biggest downfall was the movie you had conned him into streaming. You were absolutely resolute that it was important for his cultural expansion.

“I hate this,” he says, not even five minutes into The Kissing Booth.

“You’re gonna love the rest of it.” It had been the longest half an hour, forcing Bucky to, first of all, stop arranging the sketch pens and crayons colour-wise, and then second, convince him to eat something. 

“What do you want to eat?” you asked for the tenth time, one hand on your hip and one hand holding your phone.

“I don’t eat food,” he stated, hoping that it’d end the conversation there.

You pressed your mouth into a thin line. “What do you want then, motor oil? Spare car parts?”

“I don’t eat,” he corrected instead.

You didn’t look impressed.

“I’m getting you pasta,” you decided finally, pulling up the app to order, remembering what he said about it being his preferred choice a while ago.

He opened his mouth to protest but a quick stern look from you and he shut it. 

“I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“You pay for our next date.” You don’t cast him a second glance. “I like very expensive wine and cheap burgers.”

“All of them are fuckin’ annoying.” He can’t tear his eyes away from the train wreck going on in front of him. “Who is that?”

“He’s one of the leads, he’s been here for half the movie already.” You snort, lap acting like support for your cartons of food. 

“This is more painful than whatever the soviets did to me.” He takes a swig of his water and mentally wishes he conjure up a Jesus moment where it turns into vodka. 

“I’ll let Netflix know.” The both of you were leaning against the entrance wall, a considerable distance away from the screen. Your speakers were well placed throughout the lair to let the sound reverberate like a normal movie hall. All in all, it was a pretty good system that he had to give you kudos for. 

“How much longer does this go on for?” He pulls out his phone, switching it on momentarily to check the clock. 

“You know, there’s a sequel.” Good God why. “Also there’s an hour to go and we’re not moving till this is done.”

An hour? What could they possibly be doing for an hour? 

“You are pure evil,” he mumbles, pushing around his leftover pasta. You had gotten him two, knowing his metabolism would have him starving by the time the food arrived. 

“All it took was one showing of The Kissing Booth for you to take back what you said this morning.” Your eyes light up. “You’re easier to convince than I thought.”

Someone in the movie says something stupid again. Someone else gets mad again. Bucky feels like he’s going to start disassociating soon. 

“Isn’t there any other way of spending an hour?” He nearly groans at the borderline abusive lead. “I’m gonna have a brain haemorrhage if that piece of shit opens his mouth one more time.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t spend the last hour of your life watching shitty rom-coms with your best friend?” You lean over to nudge his shoulder.

“No, I wouldn’t.” He glowers at you. “And you’re not my best friend.” Especially not after this.

“Oh right, yeah, my bad,” you backtrack fairly quickly. “I’m the love of your life.” 

He shifts further away from where you’re sitting. He hears you laugh. 

He’s nearly out of garlic bread, which is upsetting, to say the least. Maybe he could make a batch when he got home. 

Speaking of which, he should probably leave, seeing as how he had spent well over four hours there already.

"What would you do if had one hour to live?" you inquire out of the blue, interrupting his train of thought. “Besides watching The Kissing Booth 2 with me, which we’re definitely going to do one day.”

A lot of big questions that day. He can’t say much, considering that he was the one who started the whole thing.

Bucky sighs, taking another bite, chewing on it mindlessly. 

”What would you do?” he asks in return after a while. 

”I don’t know actually.” You shrug. “Maybe lie down on some grass with the people that I actually like. Talk about nothing, but probably have the last thing I say be something cursed so that they’re forced to remember me forever.”

”No creating wormholes?” The light from the movie dances off the cervices of your face but you aren’t looking at him.

”Nah.” You laugh gently. “I think I do enough of that every other day.”

The movie fades into background noise, becoming easier to ignore now that he’s not actively thinking about it. 

"We were in South Dakota for a stealth op once." He pokes at the cherry tomato rolling around in the carton. "Stark’s suit was basically non-functional, Barton's arm was four kinds of fucked up. Wanda was the only one who relatively fine."

"What about you?"

"Hmm?" he breathes, breaking out of his memory.

"Were you fine?" you repeat, eyes no longer glued to the screen.

"Needed a few stitches, nothing major." If he recalls correctly. "But team morale wasn't the highest."

He remembers that the wisecracks and witty one-liners weren't landing that well that night. And once they stopped, things got all the worse.

"We were waiting for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to send over a new quinjet. It was 3am and everyone was whinin' and being little shits and somehow Wanda managed to get us to this small doughnut shop a couple of miles away. Didn’t take a lotta talkin’ to convince him to stay open for a little longer."

"Best damn meal I've ever eaten in my life. Doughnuts and stale coffee." There's a wisp of a smile on his face that you take a liking to. It looks good on him. "We had too much muck on us to be sitting inside and there were maybe five seats outdoors that everyone wanted to put their equipment on. We compromised and I just sat on the stairs outside the shop by myself."

That was nice of him, you think. Or maybe non-confrontational.

"So if I had one hour to live, I'd probably want to spend it there. T'was nice. Quiet."

"That's-" strangely beautiful, a deeper insight than you thought you'd get from him? You don't complete the sentence. "How often do you go there?"

"Haven't been back since then." He shrugs. "Never found the time. I don’t even think I’ve eaten a doughnut that good since then.”

"Well I mean-" you gesture around vaguely. "-there's a Dunkin store a few blocks down. It's not the same, but I'm sure could DoorDash some doughnuts. Try ‘em out.”

He actually laughs at that, freely and louder than an exhale.

It's probably the first you've ever seen him do it. It’s cute.

"Maybe some other time."

“You made me watch that stupid movie. I deserve that glue gun.”

“You are not getting it,” you shot back.

“I did my best work with that,” he argues, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You glued my chair to the ground on purpose.” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “How did you even fucking get that close without me seeing?”

He smirks but neglects to answer your question. “Give me the glue gun.”

“You don’t even have the fuckin’ sticks, I hid them,” you say pointedly.

He reaches behind to his back pocket and pulls out a stash of glue gun sticks. Your jaw drops.

“How did you-”

“Your tape sucks, I want the glue gun.” He eyes it in your hand. Just because he didn’t use all his available skillset on you doesn’t mean he didn’t have them. 

“My tape has stars on them, you-” The tape was pretty but it was useless, the adhesive barely clung onto anything. 

“Glue gun,” he interrupts, annoyingly persistent. 

“No-”

“Glue gun.”

"I will carve your heart out of your chest and eat it like a mango, James.”

Bucky blinks at you. "Jesus Christ."

You look surprised yourself. “That was aggressive.” He nearly cracks up.

“Where did that come from?” He pulls his lips into a straight line in an effort not to.

“Sorry.” You sigh. “I shouldn’t have said that. Take the stupid gun.” 

You toss it at him and he catches it with ease. 

He stops for a second, tilting the gun towards you. “It was creative.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Did it turn you on? Is that a kink?”

“Forget I ever said anything.”

He thinks he’s done the most he can today. He cut, copied, coloured, stuck his way through nearly eight hours of work. 

He was clicking through your presentation with one hand, the other being used to keep his body upright as he sat on the floor. 

You were running through your lesson plan for the week, legs thrown over the armrests of your villain couch. He refused to sit on it out of moral principle and his loyalty towards the good side. 

He remembers some of the concepts you’re teaching about, either from his own school or information he picked up over the years. Things were radically different and he didn’t expect any less, but it still struck him how different his education was.

"You put a lot of effort into these classes," he notes, changing to the next slide.

"Makes it fun for everyone." There’s a pencil tucked behind your ear to mark any changes. "They think I'm cool, I gotta keep that going."

"What would they say about the evil side job?"

"Doubt they'd care that much," you reckoned offhandedly. "Besides, who cares what you do outside the classroom if you put memes in your presentation?"

Right as you say it he comes across something that vaguely looks like a cartoon mouse leaning against a wall for support with tears in its eyes.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" He stares at it, flipping the laptop to show you.

You lift your neck for a second to look at it. "Not without context." 

He nods, flipping it back towards him.

He's seen a few of them. He's liked a few of them, but the majority don't make sense. Peter calls them surreal memes.

He thinks he's getting better at filtering his content on his Instagram. It had finally shifted from cats to German architecture which he, admittedly, didn't know much about, but it was definitely easier to explain. Occasionally a surreal meme would show up and he’d spend 5 minutes trying to deconstruct the meaning behind it.

”Have you always wanted to teach?”

“Yeah.” You don’t even hesitate in answering. 

“Why?”

“It’s just one of those jobs where you can see yourself making a difference every day.” You shift in your place, pulling your legs up to get more comfortable. “Most people don’t realise how important is as a kid to know that someone older is rooting for you.”

He can make out how tired you are by the way your replies get shorter, less detailed. There was still a stack of papers beside you with scripts that had parts that needed to be scratched out or highlighted. He had done a few of them before you said he had done more than enough already.

“Why’d you ask?” you questioned, his sudden interest in your life a bit unusual.

Well.

“It’s important to you.” He shrugs simply, mouth moving faster than his brain.

When he doesn’t receive a reply he glances up through his eyelashes to see if he somehow pushed a boundary he wasn’t supposed to.

You’re looking at him over your file, a soft smile on your face.

He quickly shifts his gaze back down before you can make a dumb joke at his expense. It doesn’t come, but technology has never looked more appealing to him at that moment. 

The presentations themselves are pretty interesting. No wonder you spent so long on them. He thinks the little animation segues are strange but not in a bad way.

He’s about to ask you what the meme of a rabbit in a tuxedo means when he swiftly stops himself. 

You’re asleep, curled up on the couch with the file clutched close to you. 

He takes it as his sign to leave. 

He gets up silently, pulling off bits of tape that stuck itself onto his body over the day. He steps over pieces of discarded material, turning to make sure you’re still asleep when something catches his eye.

The pile of scripts lay unfinished beside you. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

He didn’t want to overstep, but he also knew that that was an hour more of work minimum and you didn’t look like you were in any state to sit do that now.

Fuck it.

Bucky quietly makes his way over to the pile to pick it up, reverting back to his original position on the floor with his back to you. Privacy, or something resembling it at least.

He does his best not to wake you, keeping the noise of rustling papers the lowest he could.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm and soon he doesn’t require a reference either. He just knows what to erase and what to highlight.

Mundane tasks like this give him time to think. His mind floats from subject to subject, not lingering too long on anything specific. It’s calming. Maybe a new coping mechanism. 

You turn over on the couch. He freezes mid page turn, waiting to see if you’d wake up. When you don’t, he continues with his work.

He thinks it was a good day. A productive one, at the minimum. He didn’t really have anything to show that he stopped an evil scheme of yours other than a head full of repressed memories of possibly the worst movie he had seen in months. He thinks that counts as the most heinous thing you’ve ever done. 

He’s more than halfway through the pile when the lights in the lair switch on by themselves. He squints at the sudden exposure, shielding his eyes from the light.

The clock on his phone tells him it’s close to 9pm. He has a few scripts to go and then he’d sneak out of there, probably send you a text to make sure you got home-

“Bucky?” Your groggy voice calls out from behind him.

He flinches, placing the bundle down. “’m sorry, was I too loud?” 

“No, no it was the light. They turn on if it gets dark outside.” You sit up straight, stretching your neck to get rid of the soreness. “What are you doing?”

“Just finishing up some stuff.” He turns around, slowly pushing the stack of scripts in front of him. 

“Are those the-” your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to what you’re seeing. 

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. 

“Oh.” The gesture involuntarily makes you feel a certain way. Something weirdly warm. “Thank you.”

“I thought you could use some sleep.” He pushes himself off the ground when he sees you looking at him with an emotion he can’t quite put his finger on, not wanting to overstay his welcome. “‘m gonna go.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you to the door.” You hop off the couch, shaking your legs to get rid of the pins and needles. 

He obliges, waiting as you jog up to him. There are only a few metres to the exit but you insisted on being chivalrous. It also gives you ample chance for a few more pickup lines.

”Sorry for sticking around this long, wasn’t really much use after lunch.” He inwardly cringes, forcing a stoic face to refrain from showing it physically.

“You were,” you rebuked, “and I was gonna ask you to stay anyway, you just beat me to it.” 

"You’re probably gonna need a new glue gun," he avoids replying to your comment.

“Probably.” You snort. “You know, you’re fun to hang out with sometimes, sarge. You should hang out here more often.”

”I’ll start working on the art skills.” He thinks it’s easier to go back and forth with you now, less guarded than he initially was when he first met you. 

”Or maybe, we can just watch a movie and eat trash takeout,” you suggest instead. “No work involved.”

His mouth clamps shut, finding it a little difficult to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to offer a service for you to spend time around him. No saving the world or making flashcards. Just his generally disgruntled self.

“Okay,” he says simply. “Get some rest. I’ll see you next week.”

“Thank you,” It comes out a little softer than you intend, “for today. I owe you big time.”

He considers it even, actually. “Don’t mention it.”

"Now bring that same glue gun energy to our date.” You switch back within the blink of an eye. “You get real cute when you're possessive.”

He scoffs, spinning around on his heel. “You’re a pest.”

You watch him hastily leave, laughter erupting from your chest and the same warmth from earlier not showing signs of leaving anytime soon. 

in case you want a translation of the letter she sent him in the beginning :)

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

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