#I’ll get the scans as an email and then I can pick up the prints later

[gaytobymeres]

Photos tomorrow!! (Hopefully) (sometimes there’s a delay)

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[pingutats]

be this close, forever and ever

you and harry have been together for a while. your nights at home are quiet and comfortable, and, well, you’re both just so in love.

warnings: sexual content (soft giggly sex), mostly fluff

word count: 2.5k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

Living with Harry, the two of you start to fall into the same rhythm. It’s not easy with his schedule as chaotic as it often is and your lives so profoundly different, but the nights when he’s home are the quiet sanctuary you need from all of those stresses. His little rituals seep into your own. The evenings are for being together, enjoying each other’s company without distraction or pressure. It’s just you and him, and the routine you’ve constructed so delicately together.

It starts with a face mask. Just because he’s so famous, he receives packages from different companies hoping for endorsements. He doesn’t really do those but he keeps the boxes anyway and most nights the two of you pick out one to try. He reads through the ingredients while you wait for the prescribed fifteen minutes to pass: pumpkin extract, baobab oil, a white flower extract.

“Which white flower?” Harry asks, looking up at you. 

His mask is wrinkled between his brows where he’s frowning and you reach up to smooth it out again, your hands coming away sticky. You wipe them on his sweatpants, which just makes him frown again. “Dunno,” you say, “but it must be a pretty powerful flower if it—” you snatch the packet out of his hand ���—de-puffs, hydrates, and brightens our skin.” You scan the printed text for a moment. “I think this one’s supposed to be used in the morning.”

“Oh, fuck. The moon’s out. Was this all for nothing?”

After peeling off the masks carefully in the bathroom, you coo over each other’s soft skin ridiculously and move back into the living room for the next unspoken event of your night. Harry is borderline religious about meditating, somehow possessing the discipline to do it for twenty minutes day and night. You aren’t like him, but sometimes you join in. It is good for you, after all.

The two of you sit on the carpet, legs crossed and backs straight, side by side and within arms reach. The itch to reach out and touch him or lean over to put your head on his shoulder is strong, but you know it annoys him when you do that. He is so serious about it — “It doesn’t work if you keep poking me, the point is to be completely focused” — and even if you’ve never reached his fanaticism about the practise, you respect it so you keep your distance. Two minutes in, though, you’re starting to get bored. He can meditate for ages: twenty minutes is his standard, and you simply don’t have it in you to sit still for that long. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, you uncross your legs and stand up, padding across the soft carpet into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

When the soft alarm he’s set on his phone rings and brings him back to reality, he blinks open his eyes to see you in front of him, holding two steaming mugs. It’s the tea he buys especially to have before bed, something a friend recommended to relax him. You aren’t sure if it really does anything, but it tastes good so you always have a cup too. When you think about it, you do almost always have a good sleep the nights that you drink it. Those nights are the ones you’re sleeping with Harry, though, so maybe it isn’t the tea. You set the mugs on the table nearby. 

“Thank you, love,” he says softly. He reaches to take hold of your hand and then suddenly drags you down to the floor, a tangle of limbs as you collapse on top of him. 

You giggle and then shriek as his fingers find the ticklish spot along your ribs. “Harry! Get off!”

His attack ceases very quickly when you accidentally elbow him in the stomach in your attempts to escape.

“Sorry, H.”

“’S alright. Probably deserved it.”

“You did.”

But he’s mostly quiet in the evenings — doesn’t like to talk too much as he decompresses from the busy-ness of his days, so he shows his affection more through his actions. As the two of you sip your tea (still on the floor, because with the plushy carpet he has it’s just as comfortable down here as on the couch) he reaches out to drum his fingers over your knee while he tries to remember all the things he needs to do tomorrow. He’s always written himself to-do lists and he got you hooked on them too. You were sceptical at first, but they do make life easier. The little thrill of ticking off boxes in your black notebook with your initials monogrammed on the bottom right corner (Harry’s gift) is a bonus. He’s less driven by those superficial rewards, so he chooses to keep his on his laptop, which is rose gold. His hand leaves you only to type the next line of his to-do list, then he’s back to tracing patterns over the fabric of your borrowed sweatpants. He emails the list to himself when he’s finished. You’ve always found that funny, and you tease him for being grandpa-ish, but it’s just another one of his eccentricities that makes him more endearing.

You probably wear his clothes just as much as you wear your own. He loves seeing you in his stuff. He’s practically throwing t-shirts at you as soon as you walk into the house. He’ll take your stuff, too, sometimes. Dating Harry comes with an unspoken agreement to merge your wardrobes. There are a couple of pieces — a hoodie or two, sweatpants that are too big for either of you, a pair of extremely fluffy socks — that have been passed between you for so long that you can barely remember who owned them first. The sweatpants you’re wearing right now (paired with just a sports bra) are his. The old band tee he has on is yours.

He carries the empty mugs back to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher while you finish the last of your planning. There’s no discussion around it, just like no one asked you to make the tea in the first place. The two of you just now how to work together now, with all the times you’ve practised this routine. Sometimes it’s him who makes the tea, sometimes you finish your list first, but you never really have to talk. Harry usually picks out an album to play in the background over these moments, and that’s the only thing you need to listen to. It’s good. It makes you feel more connected to him, like you understand each other on a deeper level than just being able to talk.  You know Harry like the back of your hand. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. It’s a quiet kind of euphoria, to love and be loved back. You don’t need the fanfares and the grandiose displays. You just need each other.

Later, you pull faces at each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth, bumping hips as you giggle around your toothbrushes. He’s finished in the bathroom before you are, so he lies in bed  in just his boxers and watches you through the open doorway while you do your last couple of skincare and hair rituals. Satisfied, you switch the bathroom light off and enter the bedroom that you share, decorated with framed artworks you both chose, a bedspread that you picked out together. You quickly change into just a long loose shirt, then collapse into bed with him and crawl under the covers, his greedy arms pulling you to nestle into his side while he presses a kiss to your forehead. He likes to read before he sleeps, but you aren’t in the mood for that. You shuffle down until your head is at his chest and you throw your arm and leg over him, letting him rest his paperback against your bare thigh while he reads with you wrapped around him.

After a couple of minutes of just the sound of pages turning and your soft breaths, you start to sponge kisses over his bare chest. He ignores you at first, but you hear his breathing stutter as you move up to his collarbone.

“Let me just finish this chapter,” he murmurs. “Just a couple pages left.” His eyes don’t leave the page, but he gropes around until he finds your hand and brings your fingers to his mouth, kissing them before he lets your intertwined hands drop.

You don’t reply. You pull your hand out of his loose grasp and run your fingertips up the subtly defined lines of his abs, softened by the way he’s sitting. You trace the wings of the butterfly tattooed over his stomach, then draw a constellation between his four nipples — he chuckles and pulls your hand away, holding it tighter this time.

“Baby,” he says, a little firmer this time.

You kiss his shoulder again.

He sighs, closing the book (he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the page until it’s fully closed and you almost feel bad for distracting him until —

He throws the book on the nightstand and reaches over your body to plant his hand on the mattress, pushing himself up so he’s hovering above you. “You’re a pest,” he says, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours. 

You giggle and bite your lip, wrapping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer to you. “Kiss me?”

He obliges, pressing his lips against yours. “That all you wanted?” His tone is slightly teasing. He’s always liked to see you squirm.

You shake your head, wrapping your other leg around him. You can feel the bulge underneath his boxers against your crotch and it sets a fire in your core. You thread a hand into his hair and pull him down to kiss him again, less chastely this time. You roll your hips against him, just slightly, and smile against his kiss when you feel him twitch.

He breaks away from the kiss and smears his lips over your cheekbone to your ear. “Tell me, angel, tell me what you want you want and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers.

You barely contain a whimper at how deep his voice has gotten. “Fuck me,” you say, gasping as he starts to place hot openmouthed kisses down your neck. When you first slept together, you were too embarrassed to ask him so openly. You don’t get embarrassed around him anymore. “Harry, please fuck me.”

He pulls back suddenly, smiling down at you. “See? All you had to do was ask nicely.”

“Harry!”

He’s laughing as he pulls his boxers down to free his cock, but his giggles fade into a low moan as he takes hold of himself and strokes a couple times. “Ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes into you with one fluid motion, making your eyes roll back. He fills you so perfectly. Every single time he’s in you is better than the last, it never gets old — there’s no feeling that’s as good as how he feels. Sometimes it’s explosive, sometimes he’s brutal in how he fucks you, or passionate and needy, or the both of you get caught up in the roles you make up to play, but you treasure the times like this. The times where he’s on top of you, face-to-face, alternating between kisses and whispers and little giggles — this is where you feel the most love for Harry.

He takes his time, in no hurry to end this moment. The pace he sets is slow but he reaches deep into you on each thrust, his breath coming out increasingly ragged every time he buries himself to the hilt. You have your hands in his hair and splayed across his back — he has one clutching the pillow beside your head to hold himself up, the other roaming over your chest. It’s like he can’t decide what he wants to do with his mouth: he’ll kiss your lips, then along your jaw, down your neck, then back up to your ear where he whispers all the sweet little nothings he can think of.

“So pretty, baby, love you so much, taking me so well, always my good girl, my best girl, my girl, always feel so good…” He chants it like a prayer, his words taking on a firmer tone each time he thrusts in, starting to pick up the pace a bit. “Touch yourself for me, darling, want to see you cum underneath me.”

You moan and reach down between your legs, rubbing little circles around your clit while he starts to fuck you at a faster pace. “Feels so good, Harry,” you say, your words choked slightly by the intensity of what you’re feeling right now.

“I know it does,” he replies, kissing you again, swallowing your moans. That edge of cockiness, the way he knows how to take care of you, when you just need his mouth on you and he can’t keep off you — you love all these little traits. You love him. And he loves you. That’s maybe the feeling to triumph over all the others.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you chant, the hand on his back digging fingernail marks into his skin as the warm feeling in your core rises, threatening to explode.

He thrusts into you faster, his rhythm growing slightly sloppy. “Yeah? Let go for me, baby, let go, I’m right behind you.”

You cum, legs shaking around him and brows pinched as you stare up at him, while he watches you cum undone with an intensity behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. You say his name, over and over, trying to put all you want to say into just that one word. You hope it’s enough. You think it is. He gets you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, words cut off by a pant, as you feel the aftershocks of your own orgasm and the growing over-sensitivity. “You feel so good, baby, gonna cum so hard…”

You feel him spill into you as he cries out, his body collapsing over yours so his entire body is pressed against yours. You thread your fingers through his hair until he starts to come down from his high and rolls off you, his cock slipping out and you hiss at the slight friction.

“God…” he murmurs into the air. “That was so good.”

You giggle, twisting around and propping your head up with your hand so you can look down at him. “You say that every time.”

“It’s good every fucking time,” he says, a smile spreading across his face.

You poke his dimple and he tries to catch your finger with his mouth, biting the air playfully, but you pull it away. “You’re such a weirdo.”

He pouts for a second, but then his features soften. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You drop your head back down to the pillow, watching him stretch his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp. After a couple of swats at the switch, he finally manages it, and brings the same arm back over to drape over your body. It’s totally dark now. “Love you so much,” he tells you, kisses your forehead.

“Love you more. Goodnight, H. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, angel. Sleep well.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

hope you enjoyed -- let me know if u did, i like reading ur replies/tags !! i rlly loved writing this fic, it’s just so domestic and sweet and happy. the meditating and the to-do list (including the emailing !! ) is from the real harry. 

btw !! my ask box is open for requests & general chatter, so come say hi :D

[kaimelia]

can you write a fic about amelink having multiples, like twins or triplets?

overjoyed

a/n: hi! thank you for the prompt! i hope you enjoy it <3

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

"Maggie! Let me in, please!" Amelia knocked on the door again, banging her knuckles against the surface. "Maggie, come on!" The door opened to reveal Winston standing inside, his eyebrows raised. "You're not Maggie."

"Nope. She's in the shower. You okay?" Amelia let out a breath, shrugging her shoulders.

"I need Maggie."

"You can wait for her." He held the door open further for her, and Amelia quickly walked inside, tossing her coat on the floor and dropping onto the couch. Winston picked up her coat and hung it up before walking towards the bathroom. "Amelia's here," he shouted, and the shower turned off. Maggie walked out a minute later with a towel wrapped around her body; concern spread across her face.

"Are you okay? I didn't know you were coming over," Maggie muttered, adjusting the towel on her head.

"I told Link I was coming here, and I can't lie to him, so I came here." Amelia looked down at her nails, picking at a hangnail.

"Let me go change, and then I'll be back, okay?" Maggie hurried into the bedroom, leaving Amelia alone with her brother-in-law.

"Can I get you something? Water, maybe?" The neurosurgeon looked up, nodding her head.

"Yeah, water would be great. Thank you." He handed her a glass after a moment passed, Amelia taking a large sip before settling the glass down on the coffee table.

"Okay, what's going on?" Maggie ran back out, dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans. "Are we mad at Link?" Amelia shook her head, slumping down further into the couch cushions.

"No, I just think I'm pregnant." Maggie raised her eyebrows, glancing back at Winston, who raised his hands up in defense before leaving the room.

"Are we not happy about this? I thought you two were starting to try for another kid?"

"I just didn't think it would happen so soon, you know? And I know that Link is gonna be over the moon about this, and I kinda need a minute to freak out before I tell him," she rolled her head to the side, making eye contact with her sister. "He's super understanding about everything, but I want it to be a happy moment when I tell him, so I came here to get all of my anxiety out." Maggie placed her hand on Amelia's shoulder.

"Have you taken a test yet?" The brunette shook her head, letting out a heavy breath.

"Nope. A little scared to do that."

"Well, why don't we go to the store and get some, and then we can come back here so you can take them. And whatever it says, you can freak out or cry, and I'll go with it." Amelia's lip turned up into a small smile.

"Thank you."

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

"I mean, Scout's only a year old. So he and the baby would be what, 20 months apart?"

"Depends on how pregnant you are. The timer's got a minute left." Amelia sighed, continuing her pacing around the couch. "Hey, you and Link are incredible parents. You parented a newborn, Zola, Bailey, and Ellis, for months last year. So, if you're pregnant, I know that you two will be able to figure it out," Maggie consoled, watching her sister purse her lips tightly, clasping her hands together gently.

"I know. I just really wasn't expecting this." She froze as the timer on Maggie's phone sounded, the ringing loud in the living room. "Okay, here we go," she muttered, picking up the two plastic sticks from the table. She flipped them over one by one, her mouth dropping at the sight. "I'm pregnant," fell from her mouth as a whisper, a hand subconsciously moving to her stomach. She felt Maggie's arms around her, pulling her into a side hug. "Oh my god."

"Is this a happy oh my god, or a 'my life is falling apart' oh my god?"

"Happy, happy," Amelia muttered, tears rolling down her face. "I was super anxious before, but right now? I feel like everything is right. Like everything in my life is the way it's supposed to be." Maggie grinned, wiping her sister's eyes.

"I see the hormones are already kicking in." Amelia nudged her, standing up from the couch.

"Okay, I need to go tell Link. I can't keep this from him any longer," she spoke through tears, grabbing her coat from the rack. "Thank you for staying with me, Maggie."

"Of course. Let me know when I can get an ultrasound photo of my niece or nephew."

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

Amelia pushed the front door of her and Link's house open, a small three-bedroom place they'd purchased after Meredith's recovery. A smile spread across her face at the thought of the third bedroom being filled. Link grinned at her from inside, sitting on the floor with Scout. "Hey, everything with Maggie go okay? You seemed a little stressed when you left." Amelia nodded, walking over to her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around him as he stood.

"I love you so much," she whispered, feeling Link's arm around her.

"Are you okay?" Amelia pulled back, his arm remaining around her waist as she beamed.

"I'm pregnant," she raised her eyebrows, watching as his face froze as he processed what she said. "And, I was a little freaked out at first, but now, I'm super happy."

"Are you serious? We're having another baby?" She nodded, laughing as he pressed his lips against hers, her hands resting on the sides of his face.

"Totally serious," Amelia felt his lips turning into a grin. She pulled away, her hands falling down to his chest, opening her eyes to see his watering. "Don't cry; I'm supposed to be the hormonal one here."

"I love you." A tear rolled down his cheek, and Amelia brought her hand up to wipe it away. "There are happy tears, I promise."

"I know. I had my own share of them earlier," she laughed, kissing him again.

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

"Now, we know who the father is this time, right?" Carina joked, pulling the ultrasound machine towards the table. Amelia groaned.

"No question now. Unless there's something you need to tell me," Link joked, receiving a slap on his chest in response.

"Just Link." She rolled up her scrub top to reveal her stomach, the slightest curve of a bump forming over the past weeks.

"Alright. It'll be a little cold," Amelia winced as the gel was placed on her stomach, and Link watched Carina shift the wand around. "Okay, Amelia, it looks like you're about seven weeks along," she smiled, pausing her movements of the ultrasound, her face freezing.

"What's that face?" Amelia's voice was laced with concern as she watched her fellow doctor's eyes scan the screen. "Carina, if something's wrong, I need to know." Link squeezed his girlfriend's hand reassuringly.

"Nothing's wrong, Amelia. I just need to make sure that what I'm seeing is right." The mother shifted uncomfortably, her grip on Link's hand tightening. The OB turned the screen to face the couple, her finger pointing towards something Link couldn't quite make out. "You're pregnant with twins. You can see baby one right here," she pointed towards a gray blob on the screen, "and baby two hiding here, behind their sibling." Amelia's mouth dropped open, her hand slapping Link's chest again.

"You asshole!"

"What did I do?" He asked defensively, pulling her fingers away from his chest.

"You impregnated me with twins! How are we supposed to handle three kids under the age of two?" Carina laughed at them, hitting some buttons on the machine, wiping Amelia's stomach clean.

"I'm going to leave you two to figure some things out," she handed them a few printed photos, "but the nurse will help you schedule your next appointment. I want to see you in two weeks since this is considered a more high-risk pregnancy now. I'll email you some prenatal suggestions and websites with good information about multiples." Her hand squeezed Amelia's shoulder before she excused herself, congratulating the couple.

"How are we going to do this?"

"I honestly don't know," he breathed out a laugh, "but I know that we can figure it out. I mean, we dealt with four kids during a global pandemic for months. Whatever happens, we got it." Her eyes locked with his, her breaths steadying. He reached out to roll her shirt back down. "This explains why you have a bump already, though." Amelia's mouth dropped again.

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"No! You know I love the little baby bump," he placed his hand on her shirt. "You didn't start showing with Scout until your second trimester. You're like, halfway through your first, and I can already see the bump." He grinned toothily.

"You look so overjoyed," Amelia muttered, using Link's hand to balance herself as she stood. "Because you're not the one who has to push two babies out of your vagina, now." She brought the ultrasound photo up to her face. "This is going to be insane," her voice was quiet, and Link's arm wrapped around her waist.

"It is. But, you're a superhero, both as a mom and a person. So, we've got this."

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1370 Synopsis: You can’t help but feel drawn to the cute customer who keeps coming in during your shifts.

It was a quiet day at the shop when he came in. Soft hair dripping from the rain, glasses fogged up. But you didn’t notice that at first, not until he approached the front desk where you were stationed.

“The Phantom Tollbooth?” he asked, eyeing the blue book whose pages you were tumbling through.

“It’s a childhood favorite of mind,” you said, still not looking up. Setting the book down, you typed a few things into the front desk’s computer. “Can I help you find something today?”

“Yes, I ordered a few books and I received an email saying they were in. They should be under the name Akaashi Keiji.”

You typed the name into the computer’s system and waited for it to load. “Sorry it’s taking so long. This thing’s really old.” You rubbed the side of the chunky computer.

The man nodded and made a noise out of understanding.

You hated interactions like this, when the computer was taking a very long time and there was just a moment of awkward silence between you and the customer in front of you. And all you want to do is pick your book up and continue reading but you can’t because that would be rude to the customer. So instead you pretended to scroll along the web page as if you were looking for something in particular.

The customer fiddled with the cap on a stray pen left on the front desk. He grabbed one of the free bookmarks you keep next to the computer and stuck it in his bag.

“All right,” you said when the computer had finally loaded. “Let’s see. It looks like your books came in this morning. I’ll grab them from the back.” You left your spot and the front desk and went to the back room where book orders and other supplies sat on shelves wrapped in brown paper and twine. You grabbed the one labeled “Akaashi K.” and ran back to your waiting customer. “Here you go.”

As you sat them on the counter, he thumbed around the package, feeling to make sure all three books were snug inside.

“That’ll be 4200 yen,” you said, finally looking up at your customer for the first time. And at that moment, you couldn’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” He looked puzzled and quite frankly annoyed.

“No,” you giggled. “I’m sorry I know I’m being mean. It’s just, you’re soaking wet and you’re getting water everywhere.”

Puzzled, he turned around and saw the trail of rain drops he had led into the store. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize–”

“No no it’s fine,” you cut him off. “As long as the books stay dry you’re all right.”

He nodded and looked down at his soaked through sneakers. “Thank you. Um, here’s my card.”

You took his debit card and swiped it through the machine. “You’re all set.” You handed him back his card and his receipt which he gladly folded and stuck in his wallet. “Have a good day and, um, stay dry.” You couldn’t help but let out a fleeting giggle as you watched him walk out the door and back into the pouring rain.

It was dry out, and even sunny, at the start of your shift the next day. Although cool wind blew past you and the only thing you had to keep your hands from falling off was the latte you had just ordered from the coffee house next door.

“I’m here,” you called to your fellow coworkers as you made your grand entrance through the front door.

“Thank god.” Hanamaki, one of the coworkers you favor least, took off his uniform apron and balled it up. “Enjoy your hell duty.”

You would not consider this job to be hellish in the slightest. You loved the smell of the decaying glue holding the books, old and new, together. It was such a peaceful environment which you were happy spending hours upon hours in.

The door of the shop opened, and the twinkling of the jingle bells tied to the handle pulled your attention to the front door.

Kicking the soles of his shoes against the store’s welcome mat was the customer you had met yesterday, the one who had left his trail of rain water leading right to the front desk.

“Don’t tell me you finished all three books already,” you said, astonished by his presence so soon after your first encounter.

“No,” he said, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “Just the first one. The other two are gifts for friends.”

You nodded in response. “Well what can I help you find?”

“Just browsing,” he dismissed. And with that, he disappeared into the isles stacked floor to ceiling with non-fiction, gothic literature, YA novellas and so much more. He emerged twenty minutes later with a small stack of books.

“Find what you were looking for?” You set down your half drunk latte and began scanning each book, smiling at some of the titles you recognized.

“It’s a dangerous place in there,” he admitted. “Never thought I’d come out with this many books.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “I’ve spent way too much money here, even with my discount.” You finished ringing him up. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He shook his head and handed you his card. “Actually, there is something you can do for me,” he said as you handed him the small paper bag with the store’s logo printed on the side. “Could I by chance get your number?”

You froze and eyed the man in front of you. He wore a black and white flannel shirt and tight dark jeans that seemed to outline his figure in indescribable ways. He looked at you patiently with a nonchalant expression that told you he would be fine with either a yes or no answer. “Why?”

“Well, you seem to have good tastes in books,” he started. There was a brief pause before he met your gaze and continued speaking. “Also, I think you are very pretty and my stubborn roommate thinks that I should be dating more.”

You felt a bit light headed. This seemingly perfect stranger, someone you have barely had a full conversation with, was being so bold with his words. You wanted to speak but you couldn’t find the words. The seconds hand on the clock behind you ticked at an abnormally slow pace. The bell jingled but you didn’t look away from the man and the way he rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth between his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he broke the silence. “That was incredibly rude of me. I don’t even know your name.” He bowed his head down and turned around, ready to leave and possibly never come back.

“It’s (Y/n),” you sputtered. You finally took a big long breath as he turned around again. “And I’m assuming you’re Akaashi?” you asked, remembering the name on the order he picked up during your shift yesterday.

“That’s right.” He walked back over to the front desk. “So you’re (Y/n), your favorite book from childhood is The Phantom Tollbooth, and from the sweater you are wearing I can assume you’re a student?”

You looked down at the sweater with your school’s name and logo on the chest. “That’s right,” you chuckled. “And you’re Akaashi, I’m guessing you love reading more than anything in the world and you’re bold enough to ask a stranger for their number.”

You found the blush dusting his cheeks to be adorable, and your smirk lifted up until your face began to hurt. “I guess I am,” he mumbled.

“Well good.” You folded your hands in each other and rested your chin on them. “Because I’m not confident enough to do so.” You grabbed a pen from the cup holder to your side and wrote your number on a post-it.

“Thank you,” he said when you slid it towards him. “I’ll text you.”

You watched as he bid farewell, turned around and left. This seemingly perfect stranger who had asked such a bold question. The butterflies in your stomach would never seem to calm down.

[sxfterhearts]

33. [12:12 pm]

➳ pairing: mark x reader

➳ genre/warnings: fluff, office worker!mark

➳ word count: 1,348 words

➳ summary: 33. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

➳ author's note: apologies in advanced for any mistakes (it's so late rn ㅠㅠ) please enjoy another timestamp featuring descriptions of fooddd

//

“Let's dig in!” Mark chirped with a huge smile on his face before tucking his silver skinny tie into his plain, light blue button-up and grabbing a mouthful of jjamppong, his beloved spicy seafood noodles.

You could only offer a weak nod in response. Picking up your chopsticks, you poked lightly at the large bowl of jjajangmyeon that was patiently waiting for you to dig in. You didn’t have the heart to do so, however. Physically, you were seated next to Mark in your usual cramped corner of the Korean-Chinese restaurant frequented by nearly every office worker within its vicinity, eating your lunch. Mentally, though, you were still back at your office desk, scanning through every single cell of your Excel spreadsheet.

It was when Mark had to pause his meal for a drink that he finally realised your less-than-enthusiastic mood. “Y/N,” He called over the aggressive clanging of the kitchen’s woks and the lunchtime chatter of the other patrons.

You shook your head in an attempt to dispel your worrying thoughts, your hands moving to mix the glistening, black soybean sauce with the egg noodles underneath at a snail’s pace. Even such simple actions required more effort than usual, perhaps due to the constant tension in your muscles that left you exhausted.

“Hey, something’s up. What is it?” Mark eyed you attentively, taking in your slumped figure, dark eyebags and bitten nails. It was clear that you were under a lot of pressure. “You’re not mixing it right, let me do it for you. In the meantime,” He said, exchanging his jjamppong for your jjajangmyeon. “Have some of mine.”

“Thank you.” You replied, taking a sip of the red hot soup. This restaurant’s jjamppong was known to be spicier than average, but your tastebuds welcomed the tingling sensation. Its flavour was comforting and tempted you to go back for more.

The familiar squelching sound of jjajangmyeon being mixed could be heard as Mark stirred the hot contents, his tongue sticking out in concentration. “So?” He asked expectantly. “You haven’t told me what you’re stressed about.”

Grunting in protest, you hurriedly chewed and swallowed a crunchy piece of prawn. “Who said I was stressed?” You were met with a look of disbelief. “I’m just… concerned.”

“Go on, talk to me.” Mark promptly returned your meals to its original positions when he caught you stealing another prawn. “I’m here to listen, feel free to offload all your complaints on me. That’s what a boyfriend is for, right?”

“Boyfriend?” Your hand stopped mid-air, your mouth agape as noodles dangled off your chopsticks. “What… What do you mean by boyfriend?”

Now it was his turn to pause while reaching for the plate of tangsuyuk sitting between you. The crispy sweet and sour pieces of pork would have to wait for now. “I mean me, your boyfriend.” He emphasised. “Why are you even asking that question?” Mark paused for a few moments, the two of you just staring dumbfoundedly at each other before he waved his hands in front of you. “Anyways, we’ll save that for later. Continue what you were saying earlier.”

You narrowed your eyes at home, a bit annoyed at his nonchalant dismissal of the discussion of your relationship. That would have to wait. You heaved a sigh. “It’s just, the client told us about a change in their fringe benefits at the very last minute, which wasn’t captured in the tax return we already filed, which means we’ll have to submit an amended return, but I can’t seem to find any evidence of this and this client is such a pain in the ass! Their tax department is so damn slow at replying to my emails and it’s going to take forever–”

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice cut through your rambling, firm. “Y/N, take a deep breath for me, okay? Yeah, just breath in, and out. Again, in, hold it, and out. That’s my girl. You’re doing great. Feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, still a little breathless from your earlier ordeal. “Yeah, thank you. It feels good to let it out.”

Mark responded with a knowing smile. “Good. Eat your noodles, it’s going to get cold.” He urged, turning towards his lunch. “I have to admit, I didn’t understand most of what you said after ‘fringe benefits’, but it sounds like you have a deadline to meet and a client who’s not very responsive?” The IT worker guessed with his scarce knowledge of your profession.

“That’s basically it.” You sulked internally, taking bigger mouthfuls of noodles as your appetite slowly returned.

“How long do you have to submit your work?”

“Technically, the tax office allows three years. My manager will probably want it done by the end of the week.” It was already Thursday. You winced. “Maybe earlier, I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why? You need to tell her, Y/N.”

“I know, but like, I don’t want her to get mad at me, you know? I've never submitted an amended return before…”

“Y/N, clearly this whole thing is giving you a lot of stress. You need to tell your manager so that she can ask someone to guide you or reassign your other tasks to your colleagues. The longer you sit on this, the worse it gets. Tell her.”

As you processed his words, you began to realise that he was right. It was times like this that you truly appreciated his presence. While your first response to situations was usually fuelled by raging emotions, Mark always faced everything with a level-headed, logical approach that you admired. “Okay, I will.”

“And even if, and that’s a big if, she does get mad at you, I’ll help to make up for it.”

“How?”

His face scrunched up into a mischievous smile. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Without even sparing it a second thought, you followed his instructions exactly. You trusted him.

“Like this,” Mark said, sounding much closer to you than before, as you felt his larger hand grasp your smaller ones securely. Your breath hitched when his warm, moist lips melted against yours, engaging in a short yet graceful dance. When he pulled away, you curiously licked your lips, enjoying the lingering taste of jjamppong he left. “And this.” He announced, lifting his hand away.

It was then that you realised he had placed a piece of colourful paper on your hand. Holding it closer, you recognised the logo printed on the top of what seemed like a buy one get one free coupon. It was for the dessert place where you had your first date. “Free bingsu?” You wondered. Your insides were bubbling in excitement.

“Wow, I'm going to take you on a date to the place we first went out and all you can say is free bingsu?” Mark teased, his ears still a bright, noticeable shade of pink from your shared kiss.

“You can't blame me for that, it's unfair! You didn't even tell me that we're boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“What?!” Mark shrieked in pure shock. “What did you think we were? I've took you out on like at least ten dates already, we've held hands, kissed and everything, how—”

“Yeah, you took me out on dates, Mark. We never discussed anything which means we're just dating.”

“Who cares about labels?” He sighed exasperatedly, but went silent at your pointed gaze. “Well, that's a bit of a shame. All this time you thought we were just dating when I was going around telling everyone you're my girlfriend.”

“What… Really?” You stared at him unblinkingly.

Mark couldn't hold in his laughter when he met your dazed look. Each and every expression you wore on your face was adorable to him. “Yes, girlfriend. And if you really don't start eating now you won't finish your lunch, which, as your boyfriend, will make me very worried.”

“Stop teasing…” You mumbled weakly before stuffing your face with jjajangmyeon. Your tummy may not be full but your heart was filled with pure adoration for the man sitting next to you, chuckling amusedly to himself at your cuteness.

[softowlhours]

paperclip chains

akaashi keiji (officeAU!)

a collection of scenarios following you and akaashi as you try and finesse the art of navigating life as working adults.

genre: a bit sad at times, but hopefully fluffier in the future.

a/n: my first piece of writing and this is pure self indulgent because work is hard and nothing makes sense sometimes. hope you all enjoy and find some comfort in it. 

word count: 3500~

pt. one 🦋 blank like a sheet of paper. 🦋

[friday. 3:00 p.m.]

someone had cracked open the window. the air inside the office had been much too oppressive, stale with the smell of the murky, insipid coffee you could get from the cafeteria. for free. staff privileges, they call it. late afternoon sun pours in through the large square windows. it ignites the office, dying it in the shades of an inferno. however, the warmth of it does not reach akaashi’s heart. the way the rays set everything aglow was in contrast to the chill crisp autumn air. akaashi could hear the leaves rustle, clinging to the branches waiting for that particular gust of wind, strong enough to blow them off. the leaves would then twirl and twirl until they’d softly land on the damp earth becoming one with it again. he wishes he were a leaf.

He tries to focus on nature’s gentle melody, but the hubbub of the office is overbearing. the incessant clicking of alphabets on the keyboards, the murmur of pages being turned, someone sneezes loudly and it is immediately followed by lazy ‘bless you’s’. his ears are attuned to the low electric groan of the printer, and he hopes someone would get up and unclog the jam of papers before the white noise drives him insane. he ends up doing it himself, almost losing a finger in the process as he tries to pull out a badly stuck paper from the printers’ rollers. today had been one of those days where nothing had gone right, a domino of disasters triggered the moment he’d opened his eyes. these days had been coming by way too often lately for his taste. he felt tired.

none of these turmoils showed on his exterior though, he wore a calm, unbothered mask. despite his depressing inner monologue, he diligently read through the manuscript highlighting bits he’d like to go over with the author at their next meeting.

it wasn’t like akaashi hated his job, infact, this was his dream job. he loved what he did but sometimes his love for his work was eclipsed by the politics the workplace was entrenched in. the naivety from when he had first joined almost a year ago had worn off quickly. it took him a mere week in the workforce to understand that a job demanded more than the list of skills and tasks specified in the job description. in any office, beneath the veneer of civility, there always remains an undercurrent of competition, jealousy, idle minds looking for entertainment at the expense of each other. there were people who did not love their job, the free loaders who somehow never did their share but managed to take home their bag of coins. they would slack and slack some more until the burden of their neglect would be shifted upon the shoulders of the new comers. too timid to resist. he pulls out his leather bound planner, a gift from his friend to celebrate him landing the role of an assistant editor all those months ago. it is almost filled from start to finish with his scribbles and the leather is soft with constant handling. his eyes scan past all the work he had wrapped up for the day, until one of his seniors had dumped an endless stack of files containing short stories that had been sent in for the monthly writing contests. they’re not short anymore when you have a hundred of them to read at once. apparently, the senior had a date he’d forgotten about and had to leave early. akaashi couldn’t report this to the boss, he knew how offices worked. its venomous hierarchies slithered like snakes ready to diss whoever defied them. rookies must act like rookies. akaashi quickly jots down in his planner a list of things he must get done over the weekend and the bulleted list slowly fills up two entire pages.

when he wasn’t picking up after someone’s mess akaashi did enjoy what he did. he enjoyed being on top of his work, found an euphoric satisfaction in duties well done. while his colleagues took it easy during the day and whined as they worked overtime in the evenings to meet deadlines, akaashi was most probably done for the day by then and already at home; fresh out of the shower and lighting his favourite candles that made his bedroom smell like cinnamon. he’d curl up under his soft comforter letting the tension of a busy day dissipate from his body. he kept his favorite books on the nightstand and would read them as he waited for sleep to come.  

“akaashi-chan,” he hears the soothing voice of his supervisor, an old well natured man in his sixties who had worked here for almost thirty years. he walks upto akaashi’s desk, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile as he takes in the mess that was his desk.  “its difficult being a rookie, huh?” hatori-san says. “i would’ve just let you gone home, but the design and printing departments are an anxious bunch. they’re breathing down our necks for the final draft of the magazine two weeks before the release date.”

“please don’t apologise, hatori-san. It’s always like this towards the end of the month.” you aren’t the one who should be apologising.

“hmm...” the elderly muses, “maybe you should dilly dally like your colleagues, afterall, who is to blame you? the youth are meant to be reckless. ”

“but hatori-san if i did that not even a quarter of our magazine will be ready by the end of this month!” akaashi’s voice is filled with amusement, and mild terror.

hatori-san chuckles. “yes, yes i’m aware. i’ll rely on you then akaashi-chan. i do have a bit of good news for you though.” a bonus-

“we’re getting another assistant editor on monday, hopefully your workload can be halved from then on and a be little more manageable. i’m worried you’re starting to look older than me akaashi-chan.” he jokes. “i’ll leave her in your care.”

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[friday. 8:20 p.m.]

he stays in the office until late that night, finishing as much of his work he can before the words on the screen begin to blur and he can feel his brain churn in his head. he packs the documents he needed to read over the weekend, putting them neatly in his black briefcase. the temperatures have dropped quite low and with his tan coat on and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he steps out into the world. outside, tokyo is buzzing with life, the lights twinkle and a bubbly atmosphere engulfs even this usually grim and dull part of the city; where most companies found their home. salary men and women chatter excitedly as they pour into the office district from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass. groups of people stand on the sidewalk chatting amicably, smoke rises from cigarettes, plans to go hangout at karaokes, bars and restaurants float in the air.

it wasn’t that akaashi did not have friends, or ever had trouble making any. he was easy going, attentive and though not the loudest in the room, he was enigmatic. people were drawn to him. especially the weird and loud ones. not that he minded. not that he ever judged. which is what made people open up their hearts to him so easily. they knew he’d take them for who they were. but, like earlier today he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that clawed at him. he had his dream job but the hours he spent on his desk day after day, the endless exchange of apathetic emails, the unlimited cups of coffee, had all amalgamated into a kind of hollowness. he felt empty instead of fulfilled. he idly wonders if bokuto-san ever felt this way, or knowing him, did he charge straight ahead without any inhibitions? if you asked bokuto whether he could see himself playing volleyball for the next twenty or fifty years, bokuto would say ‘yes, ofcourse!!!’ in a heartbeat. and akaashi knew bokuto would mean it.

he wonders how hatori-san had spent his entire life in that office. could i do the same?

akaashi considers hanging out with some of his friends from university, maybe take hatori-san’s advice and just let go and forget everything for a while. he could be your typical 20 something, going to the bars with his 20 something friends where they’d shit talk their rude colleagues. He could console that one friend who wouldn’t stop crying over his ex-girlfriend who left him 3 years ago, every time he’s drunk. he could go home with that girl at the opposite end of the bar who wouldn’t stop looking his way, and who in his drunken haze, he thinks to be pretty. but eventually akaashi decides he is too tired to do any of that.

much later, when he settles into bed, he mindlessly picks up a book from his nightstand. he starts reading from where he had left off the night before but his eyes don’t really register a single word. for all he knew, he could’ve been staring at a blank sheet of paper. after a few more minutes of seeing nothing, he puts the book away and buries himself deep underneath the covers.

he feels the tears fall.

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[monday, 9:45 a.m.]

its odd. akaashi feels well rested. very very well rested.

his eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is the blue sky peeking from the gap between his curtains. he’s afraid to look at the time.

9:45 A.M. well, shit.

akaashi feels winded by the time he makes it to the floor where his office was.from the door he sees hatori-san standing next to akaashi’s chair, his back towards him. akaashi’s heart is in his throat, an apology that sounds fake dances on his tongue. he then hears hatori-san chuckle. a soft female voice says something he cannot catch. ah, the new assistant editor.

“good morning” he calls hoarsely, as he approaches them.

“Ah, hello akaashi-san,” his supervisor beams, “meet y/n. hopefully, your new partner in crime.”

“i was told i’m supposed to help slow down your aging process.” her voice is soft, and despite the shyness there is a mischievous lilt to her tone.  “i’ll do my best. please do guide me.”

hatori-san excuses himself. she’s practically buzzing with excitement, akaashi notices. before he can say anything, she pulls out a brand-new notepad from her bag, pen clicking open. she looks ready to take on the world.

he has to bite back a smile. she’s cute, cheeks flush and lips in a pout as she  jots down something on it. he genuinely wonders what it is she writes, considering he hasn’t even spoken yet. her hair is neatly tied away from her face but a few stray tendrils fall and delicately frame her face.

he wonders if this is how he had looked on his first day at work. face pink and eyes bright. probably not as cute though, oh no, definitely not cute. he internally cringes at the memory of his awkwardness.

but you miss it. that excitement.

“it’s fine.” he says, “please just sit down and relax, i’ll guide you as we go through our daily routine.” he gives her a small smile.

they spend the morning, going through the basics of the trade, she's a fast learner, he notes. and later during the lunch hour he divulges to her the little ‘how to survive in this office 101s’. he tells her how how she mustn’t drink the free coffee they hand out at the cafeteria (even though he’s come to accept it himself, for he welcomes caffeine in any state and form). he suspects they reuse the coffee grounds more times than considered acceptable. how if you ever jammed the printer, try and leave before anyone realises it was you if you don’t want to be the recipient of death glares from colleagues all day long. He tells her which restrooms are the best and which elevators reach their destinations the fastest. the grimmer and more ruthless bits of working here can wait, he thinks.

passion was something he lost some time ago and hasn’t been able to find ever since.

“make sure to take it easy.” he mumbles to her as they are putting away their trays, “if work gets too much, you can always place the manuscripts and drafts  on my desk when i’m not looking.”

she looks at him incredulously. laughter bubbles from her lips as she tells him with mock indignance that she’s better than that. she asks the cafeteria lady for two cups of the infamous coffee, offering him one.

“lets toast!” y/n proposes .

“to what?”

“to all the times we’ll be the the last two brain cells holding up this company. together.” she jokes, touching her paper cup to his. 

he likes the sound of ‘together’.

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

[tk9336]

My Curatorial Internship at the Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago!

I began my Curatorial Internship on 6/7/21 bright and early as I drove my first day waking up at 5AM as I live in Wauconda, IL a northwest suburb of Chicago. MSI is in the heart of downtown Chicago, so the drive is usually an hour and half accounting for traffic. That sucked big time, so I took the train for the rest of my time so far. Luckily I only have to be in the office Monday/Tuesday which is bittersweet: my train ticket is $10 a day, parking at Barrington Station is $3.50 daily but what kicks my wallet in the teeth if my Lyft bill, usually around $50 from Ogilvie Transportation Center in downtown Chicago to MSI and back. Thankfully my internship is paid thanks to Studio Institute which is my sponsor, a grant MSI received and SI how I found out about the position for the summer. I thought I would be working with a team of interns since this is a big project I am a part of, but believe it or not I am the sole Curatorial intern! It felt good to know that I did well in my interview and it wasn’t just a hunch, and to have the honor of being the sole recipient! Its been a number of years since there was a curatorial intern and with this in mind I knew I was going to work hard to pay them back for their faith in me. I do not say this lightly, as I am 28 years old now and opportunities like this I have learned are not offered to just any one off the street.

The Project? MSI is digitizing roughly 1,000 artifacts to be shown online on their website (COVID was a strong motivator for this as it hit Museums all over the world. They are passionate about reaching their audience!) Collections has over 35,000 artifacts to keep track of, and all it’s history is just written or printed in a large Accession’s Archive, and there is digital archive to work with. I am going to help with what I am assigned with gaining invaluable professional research experience, with a strong focus as well in writing for labels and anything else that is thrown my way! I am also making this blog conjunction for my school, Loyola University Chicago of which helped me get this position. This will be a long post, so buckle in as I share my weeks to bring you, and me up to date for next week, 7/19/21!

Week 1: 6/7-11/2021 | This position is 4 days a week, for a total of 28 hours. Part-time. My round-trip however with commuting turns a 7 hour work day into a 12 hour day from when I wake up until I drive home from Barrington Station. Thankfully the two days I work from home is a bit easier on commuting from upstairs to downstairs!

Monday: HR/Orientation/Introduction to Collections by Alexis, the talent manager at MSI. Your standard job introduction, but my first at a Museum.

Tuesday: In-depth Museum tour/explaining the research and writing work I would be doing/assisting Kathleen (Collections Director) in the vault*(storage, vault sounds cooler) cataloging.

Wednesday: Photographing Bike exhibit for transcription/beginning research work on first Accessions project on Firefighting artifacts by find corresponding files in Accessions archive, reading the materials in each folder to find relevant material to write in description about the item to put online. I scan the documents I find relevant, so that I can do that additional research and writing at home. This will be the plan going forward (research/cataloging the vault on Monday and Tuesdays) but there are plans to have me assist on additional projects and duties within the department and MSI as a whole.

Thursday: With the information gathered from scanning documents from each accessions folder, then at home I can look over each stapled bunch of materials of each item and then add bullet points of relevant information in a word document. That can then be shared with the Director, Curator and assistant curator to help them use the most relevant materials to weave the labels needed to put online for this historic artifacts.

Week 2: 6/14/18/2021 | Fridays are not included as that’s when I attend Zoom meetings with the program directors and liaison for Studio Institute which has over 40 interns around the country in Museums across the United States. I won’t lie... I got the best assignment in my opinion! This was tailor made for me! As an older student I am FULLY aware of what a incredible privilege it is to be paid to do something you truly love down to your bones.

Monday: I start at 9:15 but my train was late to unforeseen circumstances. I emailed my supervisor I would be in a hour later than usual and she appreciated the heads up. I continued pulling folders from the accessions archive, then scanning relevant materials. I would then staple the gathered materials and kept my work in order to mirror the worksheet log I was given for the artifacts in the fire fighting exhibit.

Tuesday: Getting in at my normal time I continued, and finished the worksheet log I was given for the Fire Fighting exhibit. I now have a large amount of material to review on my days working from home to provide bulleted points of relevant material that will assist the Collections team create the labels needed when selected materials are uploaded online. I would do five files at a time to stay organized and not bite off more than I could and get "lost in the sauce" as we would say in the Army. That way, a steady rhythm was established and I could better gauge my time per batch.

Wednesday: I worked from home continuing my task of added bulleted information points on artifacts. I am assuming that the items that have a extensive amount of reference materials will be those making the cut to be uploaded online once the project gets to that point. Made up the hour lost on Monday due to my train out of Barrington, IL running late.

Thursday: Still grinding away by going through the research materials I assembled from the archives in MSI to add bulleted points of relevant information on artifacts to make the lives of the Director, Curator, and assistant easier allowing them to focus on more advanced research and other duties.

Week 3: 6/21-25/2021

Monday: Continued transcription of the Fire Fighting Exhibit. Nearly finished with it. Working from home is getting better as I am getting a better pace of work and less distractions.

Tuesday: I was able to get some opportunities for front-facing guest interaction and educations as I gave my first MSI tour. Two individuals from my organization, the 501st Legion, came down from Green Bay for a Chicago vacation. They had seen my positive posts about being at MSI and wanted to come see it for themselves. I asked Dr. Saridakis if I could learn how to give a tour on my own, to which she agreed. In my inaugural tour I took them around the great hall's exhibits, being careful to focus on items of which I had some background in to better give a small education on the artifacts. My strength is in the Hall of Transportation in which houses the Spitfire, Stuka and new Boeing 727. On the floor I pointed out the Millburn and Tesla electric cars as well. After going at what seemed a quick pace, we made our way over to the Hall of Bicycles, and weaved back to the floor. I took them to U-505 which is my strongest exhibit. Military history is my focus, and I don't ever tire of going to see U-505. In the most surprise to my guests, they were granted a behind the scenes walk-through of Collections in which Dr. Saridakis kindly donated her time to open the vault for us. She accompanied me, but gave me the reigns to get a feel for my first guided walk-through of Collections which is a duty all in the department should be familiar, and comfortable doing. I feel I did well for my first time, and gained experience in doing the same for the following day for a larger, planned tour by mHub. I took my guests out to lunch where my supervisors did a few weeks ago. It ran over time, so I'll make up the hour later at home.

Wednesday: Today was the day of the big planned of tour by Chicago tech company, mHub. My supervisor was not available in the morning so I filled out some other documents and found other work to do until she came in. This was sorting through the former archivist's boxes of files and articles looking for relevant materials that would be of use to the registrar. I had been doing this the day before as well before my guests came in at 11AM. There was a A LOT of material, but there was plenty of relevant stuff, including a complete file on the cars, and motorcycles in the MSI collection which included a recent appraisal of each item in inventory. I found the motorcycles of interest and made copies for myself to be of use on future behind the scenes tours (you pick a handful of items scattered at various checkpoints to engage with guests about. There just isn't enough time to go row by row.) mHub was scheduled for 3:30, but didn't not come until 4ish. My recent work with the fire fighting artifacts proved critically relevant as one of the guests was working on technology for fire fighters to pull up a 3D schematic on a app to see where the beams, and wiring is without them having to hack through the walls to find it. He was very much interested in the various fire fighting artifacts and thankfully I was a part of his group throughout the tour. Exhibitions engineer Jeff brought out two 1930's Ediphones, and while he was setting up I had a lengthy chat with him regarding his duties and responsibilities at MSI which proved insightful.

Thursday:  I wasn't as productive today as I wanted to be in part to some distractions in my personal life. I will make this time up on Saturday. Continued work on transcription of relevant facts to the fire fighting exhibit

Saturday: I finally finished the fire fighting exhibit items and look forward to trying my hand at writing short labels based on returning to the material I have. This label writing experience will be invaluable in such a professional capacity. It will be nice to have this skills honed, refined and on a professional level. I trudged the remaining artifacts, and put more time off the clock to finish so I can begin on my favorite exhibit, U505 on Monday!

Week 4: 6/28-7/2/2021

Monday: I came in and had my weekly 10AM meeting with Voula, and moved onto U-505/WWII items. Same as with the fire exhibit, finding files in the accession archive, scanning relevant materials to take home for work at home.

Tuesday: I continued scanning, and gather materials. At 1:00 PM I took photos of all the labels in the U-505 exhibit for transcription by one of the volunteers, Mary. I then at 2:30 I worked with Director McCarthy cataloguing some more artifact ranks in storage. At 4:10PM I asked if I could get a photo handling a textile artifact for both the experience of doing so and seeing one of U-505's flags not only in person, but to carefully handle, and touch. Director McCarthy and Dr. Saridakis both kindly indulged my request and it was a truly awesome experience for me. I also learned that there is a later train than I usually take. That bit of info is helpful just in case I ever miss the 5 o'clock train out of Chicago back to my home train station of Barrington, IL!

Wednesday: As I did with the firefighting exhibit and items, I continued bulleting down relevant facts and information. I created a new word doc just as I done previously with the Fire Fighting artifacts.

Thursday: Continued transcription. I look forward to trying my hand at writing some labels and short descriptions. I still can barely believe I am being paid to work on items I already love learning about. 

Saturday: Made up 1 hour from Thursday.

Week 5: 7/5-9/2021

Monday: Unpaid holiday for MSI employees. I am going to work half a day today so I only have to work 4 hours later in the week to make up for today. I am going to look over my U505/WWII artifacts and see if any really stand out as candidates for getting labels and descriptions.

Tuesday: I came in Tuesday and had my weekly meeting with Voula. Since the program is half-way over at this point the decision for now is for me to focus on the U-505/WWII artifacts and to also focus on writing a few labels for some of the Fire Fighting exhibit artifacts. I also took photos of all the labels in the U-505 and will transcribe that exhibit to it is available in a word doc to be transferred to the digital site - one day. I then worked with Kathleen in storage to continue cataloging artifacts, in three hours we nearly inputted over 200 artifacts.

Wednesday: I came in and got to work on transcription since there are no more additional accession files to pull and scan. MSI has just brought on a new assistant curator for a year to help with the digitization of the archives and storage. It is a daunting task! But one that will streamline Collections at MSI and make pulling artifacts extremely easy and hopefully foster some excitement from the public online to see items that otherwise sit in a dark, temperature controlled room. I also had the honor of getting to write a pitch to put up a "pop up" U-505 exhibit up in downtown. That was very exciting to me, along with the confidence gained because of the trust to do that. I wrote a few drafts to which the Director edited down. Very happy to be useful with a project that is extremely relevant to my interests.

Thursday: Continued transcription of the U-505 exhibit and writing a few labels that will then be edited by the Curator. Being directly involved in what the public will learn from a artifact is very cool to me. Improving on working remotely, efficiently - making a decision right away in the morning after a shower to begin work is a great guard against procrastination and working late to fairly submit the hours for the day. A regular schedule when self set and stuck to is extremely effective. 

Saturday: Continued work on the U-505 items from home.

Week 6: 7/12-16/2021

Monday: I started working right away after waking up. I want to finish my transcription of the U-505 exhibit which includes every wall panel, all artifacts and everything else in between. I went past midnight and just hit a stride, "in the zone, so to speak."

Tuesday: I worked through the night while on a roll. I didn't look at the clock, I just kept going! Reminded me of the old all-nighters I used to pull. I was excited to be finally complete with this project. I took it upon myself to transcribe the entire exhibit since it only existed on the walls and printed material. With it digitized this will be a tremendous help to the department. I finished it and even double checked Flickr for any photos I may have missed taking myself. I only missed only small panel, but all quotes, stories, artifacts... everything came to a 50 page, 20,000 word document. I look forward to seeing Voula's reaction when I print it out tomorrow! I also made a copy of just the artifacts for MSI so when they want to put some online they'll know what is theirs outright. In my previous job I worked 10 hour shifts so this felt familiar, I enjoy doing four 10-hour days to hit 40 back then and enjoy 3-day weekends. This is less hours, but I am grateful none-the-less to have the time to use for other projects, books and hobbies.

Wednesday: Voula's reaction to the massive transcription was great. I also placed the document in SharePoint so that anyone in Collections can access it. I am sure it will be a great aid in the future when a quick reference is needed for U-505. Today was also the MSI Employee picnic which was great. I took a couple pictures and video. Sodexo made me a Angus half pound burger which was great. I sat by myself since I came after our intern/departmental MSI zoom meeting held by Talent so we could learn how MSI is a collaborative effort and chat with the heads of other departments which was cool. I followed and email Mike Welsh to set up a tour of what Construction and Grounds does around the Museum. Most folks went to the picnic at noon, and our meeting didn't conclude until 1:10PM. Thankfully though Voula stayed a little after and we chatted at the table I was at. MSI redid the Smart Home area and it's a very nice shaded, little park. Definitely never been there before as a guest. Very cool to be a part of the "in-crowd." I took a longer lunch to take it all in.

Thursday: Since I busted my butt Monday into Tuesday and enjoyed yesterday I only had to do two hours today. I sat in the other half of the MSI intern/departmental Zoom meeting which featured Collections/Exhibitions and HR. I had the best chat with Exhibitions and the public relations managers. I will send emails to follow up with both of them as I find their work fascinating, and might as well - only here for a short time and it be an absolute waste to not take utter advantage of it. I cleaned up some of my Word documents and doubled check for syntax errors.

Thats it! You, and me, are now all up to date! I will continue to make weekly postings until its conclusion! I will also add some photos in the following posts, this is a long post so stay tuned, it will be less dense.

[rae-is-typing]

Scars

Original request from @sorrybutimtrying: Can you do one where Chris Evans or Paul Rudd meets a fan, sees her scars and tries to help her. Or something like that

Description: You win one of those contests where you and some other people get to meet and fraternize with a celebrity. This time, it’s Paul Rudd. He notices something you wished he hadn’t.

Characters: reader, original female and male characters (Sophia the Marvel person, Olivia the other teen girl, and a lot of unnamed men and women), Paul Rudd

Warnings: swearing, implied self-harm, self-harm scars, being sexually harassed at work, mentioned cat calling

Word count: 3.8k

See Ant-Man three weeks early, hang out with the one and only Paul Rudd, play laser tag, and pizza together on an all expenses paid trip to LA! Enter now! 12 lucky fans will be chosen. Entries close in three hours. 

You take a moment to stop scrolling. Your heart speeds up; it always does when opportunities arise. You always apply, but you never win. Glancing at the clock, you see you still have ten minutes on break. 

What the heck, might as well enter. There's nothing to lose. 

Entering takes the rest of your break. You were asked questions, and had to enter your phone number and email address a few times. You submit your entry as soon as your break ended. Sighing, you push yourself to your feet. Back to serving customers and getting yelled at by your manager. 

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

Life gets hard and you completely forget that you ever entered in the first place. 

You aren't proud of what you do to cope. Hell, you've managed to stop doing it completely for a few months. But sometimes it's so hard. Too hard to do anything else. 

You don't show off your scars. By sticking to long sleeve shirts, concealer, and strategically placed bracelets, you can easily make it seems like there are a few birthmarks on your wrists instead anything self-inflicted. 

Unfortunately, you can't afford to see a professional. Both you and your mother are working multiple jobs so you can eat and have a place to live. Deep down, you know you should tell her. Deep down, you want to tell her. But you can't bring yourself to. It'll only stress her out. Between two jobs and going back to school to finish her degree, you don’t want to bring her more stress. But your always hopeful for the day where she'd be able to help you through your hard days. 

Speaking of hard days, you hate being a waitress. You work in a particularly sleazy part of town where the guys like to call out anything resembling a female body. Walking down the street brings you one cat call after another, and waitressing isn't any better. You get called every pet name under the sun. Sweetie, babe, baby girl, jujubee. Someone even called you, a 16-year-old wearing some of the baggiest clothes imaginable, sugartits. Your manager had fun with him. 

After getting home, you flop on your bed and fight the urge to cry. You made a whopping fifteen dollars in tips that night for working 4 hours, a customer yelled at you for giving them iced tea with ice in it, and a guy started following you home until he got bored. It was not a good night. 

Then your phone starts to ring. Maroon 5 reverberates in your room, simultaneously annoying you and making you feel a tiny bit better. Without looking at the caller ID, you pick up the phone. 

"Hello?" You ask, voice muffled by the pillow your head is still buried in. 

"Hi there! I'm looking for a Y/N Y/L/N." A feminine voice chirps through the phone.

"Yeah, that's me." You roll onto your back so you can speak clearer. 

"Great. My name is Sophia Ramsey, I'm the one organizing the event with Paul Rudd. I'm so excited to let you know that you won! You will be one of twelve to be flown out to LA to meet with him and spend the day with him."

A huge smile tugs at your lips, so much so your face starts to hurt. "What?" You laugh. "Are you serious?"

"I sure am! Some blank documents have been sent to the email you provided in your entry. I need you to fill them out and either fax them to the number listed on them, mail them to the address listed, or scan them and email them to that same email address."

"I-I can totally do that!"

"Now this event is an all expenses paid, so everything will be provided for you. You'll be flown out the day of and flown back home after it ends. It will be held June seventh."

"Thank you so much!"

She laughs at your enthusiasm. "Of course. Once we get those documents we will be organizing your flights. We will be in touch."

"Awesome, wonderful. Thanks so much!"

"You're so welcome. Bye bye now."

You pull the phone away from your ear, sporting a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat himself. You won! You won you won you won! You're going to meet one of your favorite actors!

You pull up your email on your phone immediately. Spotting the email, you skim through the PDFs quickly. Since you're a minor, there are a lot of things your mom has to sign. 

I need to print these. You think, biting your lip. You don't want to wait for the next at school, you want to fill these out now. Grabbing your wallet and apartment keys, you run (yes, run) down to the library that's a few blocks away. A lot of students gather there for studying and the free wifi.

You wave at a few of your classmates, and they nod back. You print the documents off quickly, paying a small fee for the paper, and you run (yes, run) back home. 

You bounce into your apartment, still giddy (and sweaty). 

"Mom! Mom, you'll never guess what happened!" You exclaim upon seeing your mother sitting on the couch in the living room. 

She looks up from the book she was reading with a tired smile. "What happened, sweetie?"

"Remember that thing I entered? That event Marvel was hosting?" You ask, vibrating with excitement. 

"I do."

"I won! I won Mom! I get to meet Paul Rudd!" 

A grin broke out on your mom's face. "Oh, Y/N, that's awesome."

"I know! I have to fill out these documents. Do we have somewhere we can fax things? Do you know how to fax? I don't know how to fax."

She laughs. "I'll teach you how to fax things, don't you worry." 

------

You get everything taken care of the day after. After another call with Sophia, you manage scheduling flights and times for the drivers (you get a driver! how awesome!)

In the weeks leading up to the event, all your extra effort is put into a gift for Paul. You have a knack for art that you don't have much time for anymore. Between school and work, it's also hard to find energy to put into it. 

However, you said 'screw school' and began an art project: a hand-drawn collage of all Paul Rudd's characters, including Ant-Man. It takes all the time leading up to the event, but you manage to make it look amazing. Along with the collage, you write him a letter. You don't believe it to be anything very special, but you hope he will appreciate it. You detail your own struggles and how much looking up to him has helped you. 

Then the day comes.

You barely sleep at all the night before. Adrenaline and an unhealthy amount of caffeine replace any semblance of rest you may have gotten. 

The driver arrives at your apartment at 4:30 AM to take you to the nearest airport. After triple checking your stuff and a quick goodbye with your mom, you're off.

The car is so nice. You have no idea what make or model it is, but you're sure it very expensive. The drive doesn't take a long time; the roads are practically empty and there is little traffic, which is great. 

However, you're left on your own in the airport, which is not great. A lot of zombie-esque people are there, a few crying children, and some drug dogs even joined the party. You bite your lip, scratching at your concealed wrists. It's something you always do when you're nervous. 

You don't have any bags other than a backpack, so you don't need to check anything. Looking around, you try to spot someone that looks like they know what they're doing. You eventually do, and follow them to security.

The line is long, and after moderate hassle with the agents, you're through and on the way to your gate. Once you get there, you closely examine your ticket. First class. Your eyebrows shoot up. The first time you're flying and you get first class. Damn. Okay, you'll take it.

The flight was good: no babies cried, the flight people were all super nice, and you even got the entire row to yourself.

After the flight, you're off to the venue. You meet your new driver at the exit and get to another very expensive looking car. 

LA traffic is everything you've heard and more. The streets are packed, and it takes quite a while for you to get where you're supposed to be. But when you do, it is incredible. 

The building is huge. It's wall to wall one way glass. The sun bounces off the silver accents, almost blinding you. Out of pure impulse, you take a picture. You almost don't believe that you're here. 

After thanking the driver, you hop out of the car and walk into the glass building. The interior is even prettier. 

It's clean, with dark oak floors and chairs and tables lining the wall. A small group of excited people are gathered by a longer table full of stuff. Your anxiety spikes. This is actually happening. You're going to meet one of your heroes and give him some of your art. This cannot be happening. You nails find your wrist again.

After making your way to the small group, they immediately welcome you into the circle. They each introduce themselves for probably the millionth time, and one of them informs you that everyone is here. 

After a few minutes of pure small talk, a woman walks into the lobby area. 

"Hi everyone!" You all turn to her. She's dressed in a red sleeveless blouse, black slacks and high heels. Her face is done up nicely, as is her hair. She stands proudly with a charismatic smile gracing her face."I'm Sophia, the manager of this event. I'm so excited to get started! First things first, we'll start with the meet and greet. Each one of you will get 15 minutes with Paul. After that, there'll be a few games of laser tag, and finally, the screening of the new Ant-Man movie! We at Marvel ask that you keep all the movie details to yourself so everyone can enjoy the movie when it comes out."

Murmurs of agreement spread through the room. 

“If you all follow me, we can get started," Sophia leads the group to a different room. Paul is sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him. 

Excitement spreads through you. He looks so much more real in person, as weird as that sounds. You bite your lip, keeping your mouth shut. Excited calls from the other fans make him smile widely. 

You keep your place near the back, slowly building up courage and thinking out what you're going to say. You certainly don't want to look like an idiot when you meet one of your heroes. 

"Nice bracelets." The voice of a girl pulls you from your thoughts. 

"Oh, thank you." You say, turning to see her. She has short black hair, blue eyes and pale skin. 

"Yeah. I love Panic! At the Disco. Their music is amazing."

"For real, they're so good!"

The two of you share small talk until it's her turn. For twelve people each getting fifteen minutes, time went by very fast. She talks to him excitedly, something that he reciprocates. Another wave of anxiety comes over you. Your heart speeds up, your hands get a little sweaty. Holy shit! You're actually meeting him.You fight the urge to scratch at your wrist.

Finally, it's your turn. 

You go up to the table with an anxious smile on your face. He smiles back. 

"Hi there!" He says. "I'm so glad you won."

"Thank you!" You say, sitting down in the chair. "I actually brought something."

"Oh thank you! That's awesome."

You pull out the small framed collage, placing it on the table with the enveloped letter on top. There's a small stack of stuff on the other side of him. He carefully sets the envelope to the side, now examining the poster. 

"Wow! This is so good!" He exclaims. "Did you draw this?"

You can only nod shyly. 

"This is great, really. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."

The two of you talk for the rest of the time. He signs a couple of things for you, and you take a few pictures. At the end, you want to take a funny selfie for your instagram. While taking the picture, your bracelets slide up your arm. Your heart stops for a split second when you see a fresher scar. You pull back the bracelets immediately, and play it off as soon as possible. 

But it was too late, Paul saw some of the scars. His face falls into something more solemn, concerned almost. He opens his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted. 

"Alright everyone! It is time to move on to the next event."

Paul put a smile on his face, but he gave you a worried glance at you while he stood up. He walks by Sophia as you're led through the building. The interior continued to take your breath away. Postmodern design flooded your sight as everyone crams into an elevator. 

You're taken up a few floors and the elevator opens to a small room with vests and guns attached to said vests. A blank scoreboard hangs proudly above everything. You glance around. Everyone is sporting grins. 

"Let's do girls against boys!" Olivia, the girl you were talking to before, exclaims. 

"You sure?" One of the guys pipes up. "I think there are more guys than girls," 

"There's like one more guy. We should do at least one battle of the sexes." She grins. 

"I'm cool with it," A woman in her mid twenties smirks. 

"Me too," You shrug. More murmurs of agreement spread through the group.

“Alright, suit up everyone. Girls will be red and boys will be green." Sophia says. 

"I will leave you to Ralph, he is our resident lazer tag expert." 

"Alright everyone, your goal is to destroy the other team’s base. You do that by destroying the power supply in the deepest part of the opposing team’s base. It looks like a dinosaur egg off of Jurassic Park, and it lights up. I have a few ground rules. No fighting, no sprinting, no food or drink near the equipment. But most importantly, have fun! There are large towers on each side where you have to charge your gun. Your vest will beep at you when you need to recharge. Good luck. Boys, enter to the left, girls on your right." With Ralph ending his spiel, everyone hustles into the room. 

You follow behind one of your teammates to the back of the base. The room is absolutely massive. There's a large structure running through the middle of the floor with at least four sets of stairs. The supporting poles are lit up by green and red lights. You clutch your gun to your chest. It's not the very first time you're playing laser tag, but it is the first time in a long while. 

You go off on your own, jogging up the stairs on the large structure. You speed walk quietly, ducking behind large foam covers that were spread sporadically throughout the entire floor when you suspect one of the boys had spotted you.You climb to the top. You hold your gun by your thigh, keeping your finger on the trigger. Slowly walking in circles, you try to spot the egg like power supply that Ralph had described on the ground below. 

Suddenly, someone bumped into you. You jump, barely holding back a yelp. 

"Oh, my god. I’m so sorry." Olivia quickly apologized. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you just scared the shit out of me though," You laugh. 

"I'm sorry... Y/N, right?" 

"Yeah yeah yeah, and you're Olivia, right?"

"Mhm, what are you looking for?"

"I'm trying to find the power supply." 

"Same girl. I think I saw it over there." She says, gesturing to your left. "But I'm not sure."

"Let's go check it out."

The two of you venture to the left, moving as quickly and quietly as before. Soon enough, you're able to spot the power supply through the guard rails. Only one guy is standing guard. You share a small low-five and split up to attack it. 

Olivia jogs down the stairs to ground level and you go to the second floor for better range. 

You crouch close to the floor, poking your gun through the guard rails and wait until you see Olivia come up behind the guard and start shooting. You join her immediately, and together you almost destroy it. However, your gun runs out of charge. 

Cursing under your breath, you jog as fast as you can (almost running) down to a charging base, where you run into Olivia again. 

"Dude, that was fucking crazy." She laughs. "We almost had them."

Laughing breathlessly, you agree. "For real though. We got them this time. Same plan?"

"Hell yeah,"

"What plan?" A new voice cuts in. The woman in her mid twenties pops up out of nowhere. 

"We found their supply. I went low and she went to the second floor. If we have one more person, I think we got this. We'll have to hurry though."

A grin spreads on the woman's face. "Let's do it. I'll head to the first floor on the other side."

The three of you jog together back to the same place as before. You show the woman where to go, then you leave to go up one floor. 

Once again, you start to shoot when Olivia does. The woman joins in soon after. 

You hear the guards frustrated cries as he tries to fend off all three of you at once. A few of the other guys come running back, but it was too late. Girls won! 

You laugh, throwing your hands up. "Hell yeah!" 

Olivia cheers, and the woman whoops. The lights come on, making you wince.

"Game over. Red team has claimed their victory! Congratulations, ladies!" Ralph's voice comes over intercoms you didn't know were there. 

You make your way down to ground level, meeting up with the other women. You congratulate each other. 

"Let's do it again! Same team?”

The lot of you end up playing three more games: girls vs. boys, old people vs. young people, and Paul vs. Everyone else. Boys won, young people won, and the last one was a tie. (You and Olivia ended up teaming up with Paul anyways, but no one else needs to know that.)

After that, everyone was crammed into an elevator yet again. This time smelling a lot less pleasant after running and sneaking around.

All of you are lead to another floor. This one resembled a movie theater more than anything else. A huge table of food is set up in front of the door to the screening room. 

Everyone begins to get their dinner, most of them being hungry from the hour and a half spent running around in the dark shooting at each other. 

Before you could grab a plate, however, someone places a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Paul standing behind you.

You smile up at him. "Hi."

"Hey. I wanna talk to you, could we step out?" That look of concern from before is etched onto his face. 

"Sure," You say, the slightest bit of hesitation seeping into your voice. You step into a smaller, unoccupied corner of the hall. Before you can ask any questions, he starts speaking. 

"Look, I don't know your situation, I don't know you, and I don't know what you've been through, but I saw your wrist. I know what it's like to be low, and I just wanted to tell you that it gets better. Everything is going to work the way it's meant to. Everything is going to be okay. And if you need help, don't be afraid to ask. Mental pain is just as serious and debilitating as physical pain is. I hate to see anyone go through this, especially my fans."

Tears prick at you eyes at his words. No one has ever taken you aside and spoken to you like this before. All the anxiety and trepidation leaves your body, and your left with this warmth and reassurance. 

You can only bite your lip and nod. He smiles again and opens his arms. You hug briefly before leaving the corner and getting your food. 

Everything after that is all smiles and laughter. The food is some of the best you've ever had; they certainly spared no expense. 

The movie is incredible. You have no doubt in your mind that you'll save your tips and take your mom to see it one night after it comes out.

Truth be told, you're sad this is over. You want to do more with everyone, but you're so undeniably grateful that you got this opportunity. More pictures are taken, social media is exchanged, and soon you're all on your separate ways home.

When you get home, you pass out on your face, shoes barely kicked off your feet. You never expected to wake up to what you did though. 

A DM from Paul Rudd. 

Hey Y/N! It was so nice meeting you! I'm so glad you had the opportunity to attend the event. It's always so wonderful to spend time with fans. I wanted to tell you that your collage is amazing! You have a real knack for art. You should definitely keep it up if you can. Thank you for sharing your story in the letter. It really moved me. I also wanted to let you know one last time that things do get better, things do improve. Stay strong for yourself and your future. You got this.

[keikoyue]

I know it's been years, but I finaly came around to finish this little ficlet.

@castiel-left-his-mark-on-me prompted this with this post. 

____

Castiel looks up as the little doorbell rings for the hundredth time of this day. This means, a new customer just entered the shop. A smile lights up his face – genuine, not as any sales pitch – as he sees the man walking towards the counter.  

Castiel remembers when he saw him the first time, three days ago. There are often soldiers from the military station nearby, who orders their meal here. So does said man. He stood in line, waiting to give up his order, in his neat military uniform and a stern expression on his face. It took Castiel a simple smile to break it, though. He was amazed how the deep green eyes lit up, as he smiled back at him. Castiel couldn’t help but looking after the man, as he left.  

He ordered his food daily since then.

“Hi, how are you doing today?”, Castiel greets him friendly.

“I’m alright, and yourself?” The man’s voice is rough. He coughs slightly.

“I’m doing better… now.” It’s true. The day was hectic and Castiel yearns for closing time. But seeing a friendly – and damn good looking – face lights up his mood.

The man’s cheeks colors in a slight red and he immediately looks up to the menu boards above.

“I… I’ll take the cheeseburger. And some fries.”, he orders, still scanning the range.

Castiel enters the order into the register. “Extra bacon?”, he asks, remembering how he insisted on this the last days.

“Uhm.. sure! Yeah, extra bacon, totally!” He smiles thankfully.

“I remembered.” Castiel winks at him, seeing how his opposite blushes a bit more. “Do you want anything else – need anything else?”

“No, that’s it, thank you.”

“Okay”, Castiel completes the order in the register, “and, what’s your name?” He will give it a try.

The man looks at him, hesitating a moment, but then smiles again. “Dean. I’m Dean.”

Castiel gives him a once over while confessing “That’s a really pretty name.”

“Uh, thank you… had it for a little while”, Dean responds with a shrug, still blushing.

Castiel giggles. He doesn’t know if Dean means to be funny or just hasn’t thought about his words, but he likes it nevertheless.

For a moment, Dean looks at him wary, then joins the laughter, head-shaking about the situation.

“Are you gonna give me that order or do I need to read your mind?”, Castiel’s boss barks from out of the kitchen.

“Sorry, Chuck!”, Castiel replies, pushing the right button to print the order. He smiles again before turning to hand the paper into the back. When he faces the counter again, he sees Dean standing some steps aside.  

Unfortunately, there are more customers who want to order, so Castiel gets back to work. He stares regularly at Dean, though. He observes Castiel’s movements the whole time.  

A ring signals Castiel that another order is ready. For a second he hesitates, checking out Dean one more time. The man, gathering some more self-assurance through the distance, winks at him. That’s all Castiel needs to finally pick up the pen, actually meant to mark different meals in same packages, and write down his phone number on the paper bag.

He hands it to Dean, who stepped closer to the counter again. Dean rolls his eyes funnily as he sees the big numerics.

“Have a nice day”, Castiel wishes in the typical salesman manner, which causes Dean to chuckle.  

The next day, Castiel has a day off. His phone doesn’t ring once. He won’t admit it, but he’s slightly disappointed.

Dean comes back the day after.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hi…“, Dean pauses, looking down at Castiel’s chest. “…Castiel”, he finishes his greeting.

“You only now looked on my name tag?”

“Well… I got distracted” Dean smirks, then nods towards the menu boards. “I’ll take the same again.”

“Of course.” Castiel passes Dean’s order to Chuck. When he returns, Dean has stepped aside far enough for the next customer, but is leaning heavily on the counter.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”

“Don’t I deserve a day off?” It’s clear that it dawns on Dean just now that Cas doesn’t spent every day at his work and he smiles awkwardly.  

“I just missed you.”

“Good that we are both here today then”, Cas answers in between his work routine of taking orders and giving the food out.  

Dean searches for an answer, but doesn’t seem to find the right words, so he settles for a small nod. They just smile at each other every now and then. When Dean’s food is ready, Castiel grabs the pen again. Maybe Dean is more of a writing guy. He scribbles down his email address to hand it over with a wink. He clearly sees Dean blush before he makes off.  

“Hello Dean.” Castiel’s smile isn’t as bright as it was the last times. There was neither an e-mail nor a call from Dean and he gets that unspoken message. He decides to switch to a professional worker-customer-relationship before he’s making an even bigger idiot out of himself. “Cheeseburger with extra bacon and fries, right?”

Before he can answer, a redhaired girl next to him interposes. “Make that two!”, she says with a bright smile. “We’ll sit right over there”, and with that she drags Dean to the nearest table.  

Castiel blinks. Well, now he knows, why Dean didn’t contact him. He still feels like a total dumbass now. To further not any more embarrassments, he tries his best to focus on the upcoming orders. He doesn’t dare to look over to them and ignores the giggling coming from their table, which he doesn’t consider part of his workplace for now.  

Admittedly his plan doesn’t work out, when their order is ready and he needs to call them over.

“Order is ready”, he announces and places their plates to the side, hoping they will just pick them up, but neither Dean nor his company reacts. They are too focused on their conversation.

“Two cheeseburger, extra bacon with fries”, Castiel declares, louder this time. Still no reaction. Castiel feels lost behind the counter. There is no other work to busy himself with and clearly, he’s responsible that the customers are getting their food hot.  

Dean and the girl are whispering with each other. Neither of them takes notice of their food. Castiel takes a deep breath before he calls: “Dean”.  

Dean’s head shoots up and he looks at Castiel like a deer caught in the headlight.  

“Your food’s ready”, Castiel declares and point at the plates. For a split second he panics he might have to serve him his order, but the girl kicks him very clearly against the shin with a bright grin and Dean gets up to come over.   “Thanks”, he mumbles and avoids looking at Castiel. He can’t blame him.  

“Hey!”, Chuck’s voice catches him off guard, “It’s pretty quiet. Take your break now!”

Castiel would rather not, but there is no use in debating with Chuck. Besides, he appreciates to sit down for a while. He takes some of the French fries as his break meal, puts his little apron aside and sits down at the different end of the diner. He doesn’t want to look over to Dean and the girl, but with how wild they are gesticulating while whispering suspiciously low, it’s impossible not to be distracted. The girl is pointing clearly at Castiel and Dean pushes her hand down again and again. He tries just as much not to look at Castiel as he does vice versa. Neither of them succeeds.  

Before Castiel can decide if it’s worth it to eat his fries in the constant rain outside, the girl leaves Dean’s table, only to come over and take a seat at Castiel’s table.  

“Hi!”

She grins wide; he tilts his head in confusion.

Dean, who followed involuntarily, clears his throat as he sits down next to her, right in front of Castiel.  

“Um, this is Charlie”, he introduces.

“I’m his best friend”, Charlie declares and winks at Castiel.

Castiel can’t help but share the genuine smile. He likes her.

“Hi Charlie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m-”

“Cas, yes, I know”, she interrupts him, “Dean already chew my ear off about you.”

Dean looks like he’d like to strangle his best friend right here and now.  

“Oh no!”, Charlie announces dramatically even before she takes a look at her watch. “I totally forgot the time. I have to go, have fun!” And with that she’s already gone.  

Both of them stay in awkward silence for a moment, unsure what to do now.

“Sorry about her, she’s a Chatty Cathy.”

“Just like you, it seems.” Dean breaks into a laugh about Cas’ words. Cas enjoys the sound of it and continues with his meal. Without invitation Dean takes some of his fries to.  

“So, what are you doing?”, he asks.

“That’s what I want to know!”, Chuck yells from the counter. “I’m not paying you to sit around all day!”

A look on his watch reveals, that Cas indeed overrun his fifteen-minute break.  

“I have to work”, he declares and shoves the rest of his meal to Dean and puts his apron back on. Before he steps behind the counter, he turns to Dean once again. “I’ll be off at 9, though.” Dean winks at him.

It’s a quarter past nine when Cas finally leaves the diner. Just as he breathes in the fresh air, his phone rings. He answers with a smile.

“Hello Dean.”

Read on AO3

[writers-post]

Tu eres la unica ~ Javier Pena

Not a request but don’t be afraid to drop something in my inbox. @siempre-pedro​

Warnings: Fluff and little bit of Angsty (This does involve Plus size reader)

Spanish Translations: 

Oye, Por que te pone tan molesta cuando te llamo que no te gustan mis llamadas // Hey why do you get upset when I call you? Do you not like my calls? 

Claro que me encantan tus llamadas pero tengo trabajo que hacer// Yes I love your calls but I have work to do.

te ves tan hermosa// You look so beautiful

por que yo? for que te gusto una chica gordita como yo?// Why me? why do you like a chubby girl like me?

Te ves guapo// You look Handsome

Working at the DEA was a tough job even for a receptionist, working long days and nights. But for Y/N it is a different story, she loves the fact that she has a job. Answering phone calls from agents on a mission or just in their office being a ass lazy, to completing and printing out paper work for her boss and the agents, Handing out profiles to agents. It is like being the maid of the DEA. 

“This is Y/N L/N from the DEA, How may I assist you?” She spoke in a such uplifting tone.

“Damn mi amor you sound like that every time?” Javier spoke from the other end. Y/N let out a sigh gently rolling her eyes.

“Javier this is the third time today, and yes that is how I sound I can’t sound like I don’t like my job.” 

“Oye, Por que te pone tan molesta cuando te llamo que no te gustan mis llamadas?” Javier spoke with an offended tone.

“Claro que me encantan tus llamadas pero tengo trabajo que hacer.” 

“Your Spanish is improving good job.” 

“wow thanks Javier nice to know that you don’t like the way I speak Spanish even though I'm Hispanic just like you.” She scoffed through the phone.

“Calm down mi amor it was just a joke.” He let out a small laugh. 

“Alright well I’ll talk with you later I really do have a lot to do and plus you have a meeting this afternoon with the boss I'm getting all the stuff ready.” 

“Okay I'll see you around Y/N” 

“Bye Javier.” She placed the phone down and covered her face with her hands. Y/N has had a long time crush on Javier since she first got the job. But she still doesn’t know if Javier is into Chubby girls like herself. there had been times where she has felt that her body wasn’t sexy enough. 

The meeting was about the start, Y/N grabbed all the papers and headed out to the meeting room 5 minutes early. She neatly set down the papers neatly smiling at her boss. 

“Do I need to stay to take notes?” 

“Yes Miss. L/N I would like that, you can sit up front next to Javier.” A blush flushed her cheeks as she nodded. 

“Yes sir.” She walked over with her note pad and pen having a seat in one of the comfy chairs. She dated her paper and got everything set up. 

“Is Miss. L/N staying for notes?” Javier’s voice boomed the room, Y/N flinched but gave him a soft smile. 

“Hello Mr. Pena and yes I am.” She gave him other soft smile. The Meeting was long as always but soon ended, Y/N looked at her watch and it was already 8:30pm. 

“Late night?” Javier lean over getting close the Y/N.

“Yeah another late night..” She sighed and closed her note pad. 

“I can stay late too so you won’t have to close up all on your own.” 

“Really? Wow. Okay but you have to help me with some of my stuff when the boss leaves.” Y/N smiled and got up from the chair pushing it in. 

“Of course I’ll help you anytime Mi amor.” He winked at her leaving the room, leaving Y/N with flushed cheeks once again. she walked back to the front and started working on clearing her desk and putting flies back. 

“the boss has left.” Javier popped out in front of her causing her to drop some papers from her flinching. 

“Javier.” She sighed softly reaching down to pick it up. 

“No let me I’m sorry..” He stopped her and fixed everything

“Okay pull up a chair you can organize this files for me really quick..” She grabbed some files that had papers from every angle all messed up placing them in front of him. Javier went to grab a chair and sat down getting to work. 

“So Y/N I actually had something to ask you..” He spoke while fixing the flies. Y/N stopped moving and sat down next to him.

“Sure what’s up?” She smiled softly at him.

“Well you know how we have the DEA promotion event every year?” He looked up at her. 

“Yeah?” 

“I Don’t have a date so I was thinking maybe this year you could be my date?” 

“Oh..Javier but I never go because I don’t look good in dresses once I went and everyone was judging my dress that my tits were too big and revealing and Honestly I just embarrassed myself..” She sighed looking down.

“I don’t think your breasts are revealing I mean they are perfect.” He winked again. 

“Javier.” She playfully punch his arm. “I guess I will go with you I think I would have a good time.” 

“Great I guess I'll meet you there tomorrow at 7pm?” He smiled at her. 

“Yup I’ll see you there and I’ll wear the nicest dress just for you.” Y/N giggled and smiled. 

“Sounds like a good plan.” He laughed.

“Alright finish those so I can put them up.” I got on the computer to check emails before logging off and locking up the building. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the event all morning, she couldn’t help but feel nervous as well. She soon went to the store to find the nicest dress that wouldn’t be too revealing but make her stand out. After she went to get her hair done while doing some of her makeup. When she got home it was already 6:30pm. 

“Shit.” Y/N went to put on the dress and did last touches before grabbing her phone and purse getting in her car driving off. She had gotten there a little late and let valet take her car. She walked inside thinking the nerves would kick it, sure enough it hit her hard. 

As she continued walking in, she scanned the room looking for Javier and finally she found him. She started walking up smiling softly until she saw the young girl standing next to him touching him. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks and she felt a sharp pain in her heart. She closed her eyes and continued walking towards him.

“So it looks like your already having a good time.” I interrupted the girl as she was speaking while Javier turn to look at me. 

“Y/N..” He spoke looking at her from head to toe. 

“Javi? Who is this chick?” The girl ruined the moment making Javier snap out of his thoughts. 

“Javi? Honey you don’t have the right to call him that, I came up with that nickname for him.” Y/N looked at her with a look of disgust.

“I can call him whatever I want, besides why would Javier ask a chubby looking girl like you? He is into fit and skinny girls like me.” The girl started sipping on her drink. Y/N didn’t know what to say, she was offended and looked over at Javier with tears building up her eyes. 

“Now I see the truth, you used me--..” She finally let out a tiny sob. 

“Oh my gosh are you crying? suck it up your such a huge baby--..”

“ALENA SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Javier rose his voice snapping at her making the girl flinch, meanwhile some of the guest turn to look at what was going on. 

“Javier, it’s fine please don’t make a scene for me. I’m not even a woman to fight for I mean look at me. Nobody wants a chubby girl, Just have fun I'll see you at work on Monday.” Y/N spoke turning away letting the tears fall. She got outside and waited for the valet to drive her car to the front. 

“Y/N..” Javier came running to the front and she turn to look but then looked away. 

“I don’t want to talk to you Javier.” She wiped her eyes gently not messing up her makeup. 

“Please let me talk, this was all a misunderstanding just hear me out please.” Javier reached up grabbing the girls hands. 

“Okay.” Y/N sniffed gently. 

“First of all..Te ves tan hermosa..” Javier kissed her hand softly. 

“Yeah, beautifully fat.” Y/N scoffed and looked away. 

“No Y/N, You look so beautiful like an angel. But anyway I didn’t ask for her to come she is my Ex I left her because she cheated on me, She was flirting and I told her you were coming but she wouldn’t listen..” Javier looked at her eyes with an apology look in his eyes. 

“Javi, I’m sorry I started the whole scene I should have just handled it like a grow ass woman..” 

“No, No non of this was your fault you don’t have to apologize mi amor.” Javier reached out and cup my cheek gently. 

“Te ves Guapo.” Y/N spoke and a blush flushed her cheeks as they began to heat up. 

“Gracias mi amor.” He leaned in kissing her lips gently.

“Javier I’m sorry I have to ask this but por que yo? for que te gusto una chica gordita como yo?” She looked in his eyes. 

“I love you for you Y/N I don’t care how you look I care about your personality. and plus I don’t care if your chubby you look so beautiful either way and I love the fact that you are so brave enough to put on such a beautiful gown showing all those curves and those handles are my weakness..” Javier reached down grabbing her handles giving them a loving squeeze.

“Your such a flirt Javi..” She continued to blush and cover her face with her hand before looking back up at him. 

“Ma'am your car?” The nice gentleman handed Y/N her keys with a smile. 

“Thank you.” She grabbed her keys. 

“No problem have a great night..” He walked back to his desk. 

“Let me make it up to you mi amor how about a nice dinner at my place and you can stay the night.” He held her body close kissing her neck. 

“Alright but you drive I'm the queen of the night.” Y/N giggled and handed him her keys and he unlocked it opening the door for her. 

“Your always going to be my queen.” He winked and kissed her lips.

[f1united]

THE CEO’s - ceo calum/luke part 5

Summary: You are Luke’s PA and have a thing for his rival Calum after meeting him in a bar one night, but you don’t know who he is

Word Count: 3.35k

For a minute, you stood in shock staring towards the door that Calum had just gone through. Calum had said he had his own business, but you weren’t expecting it to be anything to do with the field that you worked in, let alone be at your office and in the meeting room you needed to be in. Grabbing the empty glass, you headed over to the water machine. Calum had been in a suit when you’d met him, but this time was different. He looked more professional, the buttons were all the way up and a red tie hugged his neck. His blazer was the perfect fit round his shoulders, making them look toned even through the layers of fabric.

You shook you head to try and get him out your mind as the water almost spilled over the top of the glass. Walking towards the meeting room, you felt your heart beat slightly faster. Why the hell was Calum in your meeting room? As you entered, you were glad that it wasn’t just Luke and Calum in there. Around 15 people sat along the long table. You made your way straight towards Luke and sat in the seat next to him, taking your laptop out from under your arm and placing it on the desk with your glass. Opposite you was Melissa, one of the director’s assistants that worked just below Luke. You gave them a small smile, grateful that you didn't have to be sat directly in front of Calum for the duration of the meeting.

You tapped the buttons impatiently as you waited for the screen to load so you could type in your password. You printed the documents for all Luke’s meeting which included lists of people attending, Calum had to be on there somewhere. You eventually got to the folder and opened a couple of the documents. The first to load was an email attachment you had received from Hood Co.

You scrolled down the document searching for his name. It was an email about planning the meetings from a few weeks ago. Your eyes widened as you reached the signature of the email.

Kind Regards,

Benny Lane

On Behalf of Calum Hood

Hood Co.

‘CALUM HOOD’ you thought. He’s the CEO. Luke’s 'rival'. You've spent the day fantasising about your company's biggest competitor and he's now in the same room as you and your boss.

Luke nudged you under the table with his knee and your eyes immediately shot to his. He mouthed a ‘you alright’, a concerned look plastered on his face. You nodded in response and loosened yourself in your chair slightly, leaning back and making yourself more comfortable. You scanned the room for Calum, noticing he was sat at the other end of the table on the opposite side. Your eyes caught his as you looked up, his face still plastered with a cheeky smirk from the kitchen. You gave him a smile back. Jesus, he looked good.

‘Right’ Luke spoke up, you were thankful for him breaking the silence in the room. ‘Let’s just pick up where we left off. This is Y/N, she’s my assistant. She’ll be helping with any admin and technical bits. I'm sure you all have her email by now’.

After Luke introduced you, you tried to keep your eyes locked on the computer screen from then onwards, hoping that your focus would be on the meeting.

Calum was the first to start talking as you caught up on some of the meeting notes from earlier on. It didn’t take long; Luke wasn’t very good at making notes as well as leading a meeting when there were this many people here talking.

You continued making notes as the group spoke, grateful for the fast-flowing conversations as it meant that you could think about nothing other than typing the words you were hearing. As the meeting went on, you understood what Luke meant about trying to befriend each other rather than being rivals. As two of the leading engineering companies in Australia, they often competed for clients. If they were working together for some jobs, then the bigger team would mean there was less pressure and more resources. It made sense and it was probably the biggest decision that Luke had made since you'd joined. Maybe even in his entire career. So, perfecting a contract for the two companies to merge for certain jobs was a big deal.

The meeting lasted a few hours. Your stomach was starting to growl slightly and the thought of your sandwich back in the office wasn't helping so when it was dismissed with a plan to pick up where you'd left off tomorrow morning you let out a huge sigh of relief. You stayed seated as Calum and his employees began gathering up their things.

'Thank you for that' Luke looked more relaxed now and seemed a bit cheerier than before.

'My pleasure' you turned slightly to face him and gave him a smile. It had been nice to do something different today. Sure, you'd sat in plenty of meetings, but this was something new for the company and something you were excited for after learning more about this afternoon, although there were many different reasons for that.

You and Luke headed back to your office; you didn't look at Calum on the way past just in case he caught you staring. On the way back Luke asked Amy, one of the new interns, to show Hood Co. out. She happily obliged and who wouldn't? No one says no to Luke and she also got to stare at Calum.

The sandwich sat on the coffee table didn't look as appetising as it did when you'd got it earlier, and to be honest, eating dodgy food wasn't something that you wanted to experience. You screwed your face up as you picked it off the table and chucked it in the bin, it didn't smell great either.

'Did you not get a chance to eat?' Luke nodded towards the sandwich as he placed his laptop on his desk.

'No, I grabbed it at lunch' You glanced over at the clock. 5:17. You'd done your hours for the day and didn't really have anything major to do for now.

'You can go home Y/N'

You looked back over to Luke.

'Are you sure? I can stay for longer if you need me' you never liked leaving without it being okay with him.

'Not much more can be done tonight, thank you for all your help today'

'Anytime Luke'

'Well in that case, would you mind sitting in the rest of the meetings for this deal? You made it so much easier today, and Melissa does a good job, but she has he own work to focus on too. You just somehow always manage to get everything done perfectly first time anyway!' Luke looked almost as apprehensive as he had done when he'd asked you earlier. Melissa was one of Luke's newer employees who dealt with some of the Directors admin. As you'd gradually got busier, Melissa was the one that Luke called on to attend his meeting, make notes and sometimes even travel with him when you couldn't make it.

'Of course, I don't' you smiled. 'I don't want to take away Melissa's role though' you picked your bag up from your desk and rummaged around for your keys. Checking you had your phone with you to and that your laptop was charging for tomorrow you headed to the door.

'You won't be' he assured you. 'We've promoted another employee to become a director so she will have even less time to focus on this now anyway, and it's a big deal that needs a lot of time and attention'

'Okay well thanks for the extra work' you joked earning a smile from him. 'Don't stay too late Luke, I don't want to be dealing with a grumpy you tomorrow morning'

'Grumpy? Me? Never!' a laugh escaped his lips.

'Night Luke' your eyes rolled at his comment

'Have a good evening' he replied. As you walked out into the corridor you noticed that the office had started to empty. It was crazy how having someone important in the office made people put in extra work and stayed longer.  Walking towards the lift your thoughts wondered back to Calum. You checked your phone to see if he'd messaged you and to your surprise he had.

'I'll pick you up at 7?'

You never really let people pick you up, always just insisted that you'd just met them wherever planned, but Calum already knew where you lived, and it would just be easier.

You smiled stupidly at your phone typing a 'sounds great x', ditching the smiley face for a kiss at the end, as you went through the door and pushed the down button at the lifts. Your drive home took longer than usual as you hit all the rush hour traffic and by the time you got home you didn't have long to get ready. You put on some make up to make yourself look a bit more alive and changed into a skirt and a nice top, slipping on some high-top converse to make it slightly more casual, hoping that you weren't going anywhere extremely fancy.

It wasn't your usual Monday night, you'd usually get home and do a workout or go straight to the gym and then cook, shower and sleep, all ready to repeat the next day. As you applied a thin coat of lip gloss, your phone rang.

'Hey gorgeous, I'm outside' well that made your heart beat faster!

'Okay I'll come down now' You grabbed your small bag that you usually used for going out-out and went to the front of your building. You thought that maybe you'd at least have to try and spot Calum's car but no, the huge brand-new Rolls Royce that he was stood next to didn't really make him blend in with your apartment complex norm. You probably should’ve guessed that he had a nice car as Luke had plenty, and each time he purchased one he always invited you along to help him pick some of the design features. You loved it, you loved driving but could definitely not afford a Rolls Royce, so helping design Luke’s was the closest you’d ever really get.

He was wearing black jeans and a Guess t-shirt which made you thank yourself that you’d made your outfit more casual. As you approached the car, he opened the door for you before walking round to the driver’s side and getting in. You both smiled at each other before you broke the silence.

‘So, you’re Mr Hood huh?’ you still couldn’t quite believe that you’d been in a meeting with him earlier.

‘Well I don’t like to boast about it, plus, who knows the name of someone who runs a construction business?’

‘Oh, is that why you decided to pick me up in this car?’ you asked, ‘So that you can lie low’. He knew you were being sarcastic as his face cracked a smile. Calum tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t help looking at you as your eyes scanned around the luxury car.

‘I can bring the Bentley next time if that’s more suitable’ Calum commented, and you smiled at his confidence.

‘I really wasn’t expecting to see you in my office today’

‘And you think I was expecting to see you?’ His voice got a bit higher as he spoke. ‘I just wanted a coffee and suddenly you’re walking towards the kitchen’

Calum ended up taking you to a restaurant that he said he’d discovered the last time he was in this part of town. It was a small, family run Italian and it was delicious. Although you offered, he insisted he paid, claiming he chose the restaurant, so it was down to him. You spoke about how you’d gotten into the business, applying for the job and completing a university environmental science degree through the company. It was easy to talk to Calum about your role, most people who hear ‘personal assistant’ assuming its running after their boss every minute of every day but with Calum having his own, he knew it was much more. You loved the variety of jobs that you got to work on and things that you learnt.

Calum spoke about how he got into business and how he could never had imagined he would’ve been so successful. His father had founded the company years ago and it wasn’t until he decided to take a step down that Calum was able to take it to a bigger level.

You also spoke about your families and friends. Turns out Michael who works on his team and was in the meeting today was one of his closest friends and they had been for years. You told him that Luke has the same type of relationship with someone called Ashton who would’ve been in the meeting but was currently away on holiday.

When Calum drove you home, you felt kind of sad that the night was over. You’d had a good time and could’ve carried on speaking to him for hours more. So, when he pulled into your apartment complex, you couldn’t help but ask him something you’d never asked a guy you’d recently met to do before.

‘Do you um… Do you want to come in for a bit?’ he seemed slightly shocked at your question. ‘Oh no not for that you know I just thought maybe we could have a drink and watch Friends or something, it’s what I’d usually do anyway’

Your question was answered when he pulled into a parking space and turned his engine off, shooting you a smile. You apologised for the mess in your apartment as you walked through the door. Your makeup was littered across the coffee table, for some reason you’d decided to put your makeup on in the living room today. There were a few glasses that you had yet to wash up but other than that you kept it very clean. ‘You can but your keys on the hook if you want’ You noticed the keys in his hand and pointed to the hook next to the door where the key to your Mini hung.

‘Are you joking? It’s spotless’ he laughed at you slightly as you sat on the edge of the sofa and untied your shoes and he copied your actions. You picked up both pairs of shoes and placed them on a shoe rack in the hall.

‘I’m a bit of a clean freak’ you admitted. I was true, even if you’d left clothes scattered around for a few days, everything was clean and spotless. ‘I don’t like germs and dust’

He laughed and shook his head you swiped the contents of the table into your makeup bag in an attempt to tidy and placed the glasses onto the kitchen side. The perks of living in an apartment with an open plan kitchen and living room meant that you could have a quick tidy without seeming rude.

‘You’ve got a Mini?’ he asked, obviously noticing the key when he’d placed his with it.

‘Yeah I love it. I had one as my first car and when it eventually got too much use, I just got myself a brand new one as a treat. Do you want anything to drink?’ you asked. Neither of you had drunk at dinner, just had some pink lemonade. ‘I’ve got beer’ You picked the Peroni out of the fridge and waved it in his direction.

‘A beer would be great’ he smiled. ‘I’ve never driven a Mini before’ You grabbed a beer for yourself and joined him on the sofa which he was still perched on the end of. You rolled your eyes and threw the display cushions on the floor.

‘You can sit properly you know’ you handed him his beer and sat down next to him with your back on the cushions and feet up on the coffee table.

‘I just didn’t want to mess anything up’ he made himself comfier as you reached and grabbed the remote that had was on the arm.

‘I’m not that picky’ you laughed ‘And maybe one day you can drive mine if you’re lucky’.

‘Oh really?’ he raised his eyebrows at you. ‘Only if I’m lucky’

‘Well it is my pride and joy’ you smiled. ‘Do you mind if I put Friend’s on or would you prefer something else’.

‘No, I love Friends’

‘Thank god for that, I watch it constantly on loop and all my friends hate it, I just never get bored of it, I think I’m near the end of season 5’

‘Which one do you think I’m most like’ he asked. You cocked your head at him slightly.

‘Hmmm maybe Joey but with more going on up there’ you pointed to your head as you spoke. He let out a little laugh before asking why. ‘I don’t know you just seem like you’d ‘wow’ all the ladies, what about me?’

‘Monica if we’re talking about cleaning, Chandler if we’re talking about sense of humour’

‘Are you calling me sarcastic?’ you narrowed your eyes at him with a smile. ‘And there’s no mention of Rachel’

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked

‘Well she’s only the most attractive women on the planet’

‘I’d say she has strong competition’ he answered as he looked at you. You noticed how his eyes changed slightly. He said it softly, but his eyes said it differently. You both carried on watching Friends and after a while your eyes started closing, your head falling on his shoulder every now and then as you got sleepier. Season 5 eventually finished, and Calum sat up slightly, looking as sleepy as ever, and extremely cute.

You flipped over your phone and looked at the time. 01:25. How was it already so late, you’d usually be well asleep by this time on a Monday night.

‘Shit we’ve got a meeting in the morning’ you remembered as Calum rubbed his eyes.

‘Yeah I should probably get going’ he pouted at the end making you just want to cuddle into him even more.

‘I’ll grab your shoes’ you got up from the sofa and wrapped the blanket that had been covering both your legs around your shoulders to keep warm. After tying his laces, Calum made his way to the door.

‘Thank you for a nice evening’ you smiled up at him as he stood just by your front door. You insisted to walk him down, but he promised he could do it himself.

‘I had a great time too’ his hair was slightly messed up and voice slightly groggy from the tiredness. You both stood there smiling stupidly at each other until he placed his hands around your waist and his face closer to yours. You dropped the blanket from your hands and placed your arms round his neck, connecting your lips to his. The whole thing felt dreamy. What was even happening to you. After a while, you both pulled away and rested your forehead on his as he bit his lip and you smiled up at him.

‘See you in the morning Calum, text me when you’re back safe’ you smiled up at him. You both released your hands from around each other as he grabbed his car keys from the hook.

‘See you in the morning gorgeous’ you opened the door for him, and he stepped into the corridor, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

You shut the door and picked up the blanket and cushions that were over the floor. You washed up the glasses from before and placed the beer bottles in the glass recycling. You sat on the sofa and went through your phone, noticing how the smell of Calum had lingered on the fabric.

You got yourself into the shower and eventually bed, falling asleep as soon as the text from Calum hit your phone. But the late night hadn’t helped with the early start that came the next morning.

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

Sorry the wait was so long! Anyone want a part 6?

[myhockeyworld87]

Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 21

Word Count: 2,165

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language (Maybe???)

Notes: It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. We’re going to find out which choice you guys made. This was by far the biggest vote I’ve ever had. I’ll mark the results at the end. I hope you guys enjoy this. Happy Reading!

Your hands were shaking the second you saw the email come into your inbox. This was the moment you'd fretted about the last week, and now that it was here you weren't sure you wanted to know the answer. You'd gone back and forth all week, playing scenarios out in your head. What you would do if the baby was Jamie's or if it was Tyler's. When it all came down to it, you didn't know what you were going to do either way. But any decisions couldn't be made until you opened the email. All you had to do was click the mouse, that was it, yet still, you couldn't do it.

 There were a million butterflies in your stomach and you weren't sure if it was from nerves or morning sickness. You took a deep breath in, calming the rioting emotions rolling through your body, as you talked yourself into finding the results. Hand still shaking on the mouse, you left clicked and then it was open. You scrolled the results quickly, obviously, there weren't any names on the e-mail, but it also clearly stated that Sample B's DNA matched that of your unborn child's. Which meant Tyler was the father.

 It took you a moment to absorb the fact that you were pregnant with his child again. A small smile played across your lips, you'd lost your last baby together and you couldn't help but think that somehow this was divine intervention telling you that you and Tyler needed a second chance. The problem now became in order to get that second chance, you had to tell both men what was going on. You knew you had to do it quickly as well because the stress from all of this couldn't be good for the baby. While the doctor said there was really no known reason for why you lost your first child; you'd always blamed yourself for letting the stress of Tyler's apparent cheating get to you. Your stress level was something you were definitely going to work on this time. Though to do that, you had to make one not so little change in your life first.

 Which is how Jamie found you in the bathroom grabbing your makeup bag out of the drawer when he came home from practice. "Sweetheart, why is your suitcase half-filled laying on the bed?"

 This was the part you weren't looking forward to. Well, the whole you were pregnant with Tyler's baby, was what you really didn't want to tell Jamie, but for right now; you were dreading this part. "Why don't we go sit down for a minute?"

 His eyebrows pulled together in a questioning look, yet he still followed you into the bedroom where you sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. "What's going on sweetheart?"

 There was no easy way to say it, so you just decided that being straightforward was the best route to go. "You know Jame, you've been doing so good. I mean physical therapy is almost done and you're back on the ice and everything; that you really don't need me here to help you out anymore. I just kind of figured it would be best if I moved back into my own place." His head pulled back as if you had struck him. You knew this wasn't going to go well, but seeing the hurt on Jamie's face almost crushed you.

 "But…I mean…" His big brown eyes were burrowing into yours and you could see his soul practically stripped bare. "I thought it was more than that, you know? I want you to stay, like move-in completely, not the other way around. Things are so great right now, there's no reason to move back to your place."

 There were a ton of reasons you needed to go back there, but not one that you could tell Jamie at the moment. "I know Jame, things are good, but I need to get back to my life. I haven't really been back to work that much and then there's the band. I haven't been to practices and sometimes that means everyone coming to my place. I guess I just need to start putting myself first, and now that you're practically better; I can start doing that." That last part was totally true, you did need to make yours and the baby's needs a priority and moving out was the first step. "It's not like I won't be over, I'll probably be here every day.  I can still make you dinner and we can still watch movies and hang out; all the stuff we do now." Minus the sex of course, but why get into the details.

 "You can have the band practice here, the house is huge. I'll even have a room redone so that it can be your music studio. You know I've always supported your singing; I'll do whatever you need."

 The pleading tone in his voice almost had you changing your mind, but you stuck to your resolve. "I don't know Jame. I just feel like this would be best for now."

 "Have  I been too clingy or needy? I mean I can back off; give you more space." He took hold of your hand then and was rubbing his thumb over your knuckles; part of you just wanted to cry, but you held the tears back. You went to tell him that it wasn't about that, but he stopped you. "And I still haven't got my memory back. I mean what if I lose more of it or something."

 Ugh, he really knew how to punch you in the gut using that one, but you'd prepared yourself. "It's been like eight weeks Jame, and you haven't lost any more yet. So now would be a good time for me to just try staying at my place, and if something does happen; I can always move back." His head fell then, and he wouldn't look at you anymore; he just clung to your hand. You took your other hand and covered your linked ones. "You're still going to see me, Jame. I promise."

 He looked up then, eyes even sadder than before, and your heart broke a little more. "So there's nothing I can say then is there?"

 As much as this hurt and you didn't want to break his heart; you knew this was for the best. "No Jame, there's not." There were unshed tears in his eyes and you found yourself saying. "How about I stay for dinner tonight? We can make your favorite."

 "Yeah…yeah. I'd like that." When you left later that night, it was still quite evident that Jamie was both hurt and angry you were going, but when you kissed him goodbye, his spirits lifted slightly. Which meant that you felt a little less guilty about leaving.

 You didn't have a chance to call Tyler today, but as soon as you got everything back into your place you picked up the phone and gave him a call. "Hey baby, what are you up to?" He said answering the phone.

 "Um, I was wondering if we could talk?"

 "Yeah sure. Where's Jamie at?"

 "Well, I moved back to my place." You didn't get another word out before he started.

 "I'll be right over." Tyler must have ran every red light between your place and his because it seemed like as soon as he hung up your doorbell was ringing. As soon as you opened the door, he grabbed you and kissed you hard, not letting go as he entered the house, shutting the door behind him. Only then did he pull back, letting you both get some air. "So you left him? Did his memory come back? Does this mean we can finally be together?"

 You put your hands on his chest in an effort to quell the words that were spewing out of his mouth. "Woah, Ty, one thing at a time." You pushed him away a bit, needing some distance if you were going to get out everything you had to say. "Come, let's sit down. I need to tell you some things." Grabbing his hand, you led him over to the sofa, where the two of you sat down. He laced your fingers together, settling them in his lap. "I don't even know where to start." You took a deep breath, while Tyler remained silent hanging on your every word. "Yes, I did move out of Jamie's, but not because I told him about us and not because his memory came back."

 "Ok, then why? Did you guys fight or something?"

 "No, actually he begged me to stay." You blew out a breath before continuing. "He doesn't know the real reason why I left."

 "Which is?"

 You closed your eyes, weighing the words in your head before saying them. "I'm pregnant Ty." His jaw went slack at the admission and you could see his mind working trying to figure out who's baby it was. "The baby's yours."

 "Really?" His face filled with joy and elation, and you found it contagious. It was the first time you let yourself be truly happy about the baby growing inside you.

 "Yeah Ty, it's really yours." There was more you had to tell him, and you pretty sure he wasn't going to be thrilled about the next part. "I won't lie to you. I wasn't completely sure, so I had to have a DNA test done."

 "Wait, what? How?"

 "Last week when we had sex; I made you wear a condom remember?" He nodded, for it was literally the last time you'd slept with him or Jamie for that matter. It had been tricky waters to navigate but you just wanted to take out any more emotions then were already there. "I took one from Jamie as well and had it analyzed along with my blood. They were able to determine that it was your baby."

 "Why didn't you tell me? I would've gone with and given them blood or whatever they wanted."

 "I…I…what if it wasn't yours, Ty. I didn't want to get your hopes up." You knew how much it hurt him when he found out that you miscarried the baby and he hadn't even known you were pregnant then. It would be devastating if you'd told him, only to find out the baby was Jamie's.

 "I never thought about that." Now that he knew the baby was his, he couldn't really see anything beyond that. "You're one hundred percent sure that it's mine though right?"

 It was a valid question and one you were prepared for. You'd printed off the results and had them set on the end table. "Yes, here it is. You were sample B in case you were wondering." He scanned the report quickly.

 "We're having a baby (Y/N). We're really having a baby!" A wide grin split his face, and you could see how truly happy he was. "This is all I ever wanted (Y/N). You and me, and now a baby, we're gonna be a family; all three of us. You should move into the house, so I can take care of you and the baby. I can't wait to tell my family; they're gonna flip."

 "Slow down, there are some things we need to discuss first." When he gave you a quizzical look, you kept going. "I don't want to tell anyone until I make it to at least twelve weeks, with my history and all."

 He wrapped you in his arms at the admission, for your face must have revealed how scared you truly were. "Oh babe, nothing's going to happen this time. I promise."

 "You can't promise that Tyler, but I'm going to do everything in my power to keep my stress levels down during this pregnancy." Which you'd already started to do that by moving out of Jamie's, which lead to your other problem. "But I don't know what to do about Jamie."

 "What do you mean? We obviously have to tell him."

 "Do we? I mean what if his amnesia gets worse or something? I'd feel horrible." You felt guilty enough moving out today, you didn't want to add any more to it by causing Jamie to have a relapse or worse.

 "Then what do you want to do?" That was the problem you had no clue what to do, but you didn't have a ton of choices at the moment.

  Our reader may not have many choices, but it's time for you to make one:

 A)     Tell Jamie the truth about everything, he needs to know.

B)     Hide your pregnancy from Jamie, you can't be responsible for him getting hurt worse than he already is.

C)      Suggest you go see Jamie's doctor and find out if it's ok to tell Jamie the truth since it's been a while since the accident.

D)     You both agree to not tell Jamie, but Tyler lets it slip somehow.  

Vote was 43 for Tyler, 40 for Jamie and Chaos made it to 13. Thanks so much for voting! Remember to vote for this one as well. I’ll give you 48hrs. Which means 9PM EST on Thursday.

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (ii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt 1: x

Word Count: 1,874

Warnings: Swearing, but that’s it.

June - three days earlier

"We need to have any photos before the start of the run, so you have until next week to finish them. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Miss Gerhard."

"Oh, please, call me Abby. Dannie did say you were too polite for your own good. I don't bite, you know."

Therese blushed and glanced down, fiddling with the buttons on her camera as Abby led her backstage. The stage manager gave her a quick tour, and Therese scanned the premises, looking for the best angles to see the stage from the wings. The seats were empty and the lights were dim, focusing on the minimalistic set of a living room as the backdrop of the show.

"Anyways, it's an early preview so there'll probably be loads of kinks to work through as the show progresses tonight, and knowing our director, she'll probably pause the show a lot. You have free range of backstage and the seats to do as you please. The last photographer we worked with during rehearsal only showed up with blurry photos, which sent the PR team into a fit."

Therese was testing out her camera on stage, moving from the wings to the front seats as Abby gestured around. There were few workers around, cleaning and preparing for the preview of the theatre's production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

"So! All we're asking for is some good photos of our lovely actors, the stage, and whatever tickles your fancy. It's a small show and we need all the promotion we can get," Abby continued. Therese nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek as she glanced around the theatre, taking note of the lights and seats.

After agreeing on her deadline and payment, Abby was typing in her theatre contact in Therese's phone in case anything came up, and the young photographer was quick to hurry out of the theatre, bustling with excitement for her job later that day.

-

August

"Cheers to finally being done!" Dannie exclaimed dramatically, popping open the bottle of champagne.

"Oh, stop it Dannie! I've been crying since the curtain call," Gen scolded him, whacking his arm with her purse. The actress was dressed impeccably, a silk silver dress draped around her voluptuous frame like she came straight from the silver screen. Therese felt inadequate with her simple green turtleneck and black dress pants.

"Seriously though folks. Congratulations on an incredible run," Dannie said. "I almost cried this time around. Almost."

"You sound just like old bat Gerhard, y'know," Richard stepped in, who was sitting across from Therese with a wide, arrogant posture and his arm slung over Gen's shoulders possessively. "I swear that lady has a stick the size of a tree trunk up her fuckin ass."

"Maybe she wouldn't be so uptight if someone just hit his marks," Gen said coldly. Richard's gaze darkened considerably, but all Gen did was sip her champagne, flicking auburn hair over her shoulder in that celebrity-style manner that Therese couldn't help but admire.

From what Dannie had told her, Gen and Richard had been on and off during the show, creating tension left and right. A classic backstage romance filled with just as much drama as the show they were in. Apparently it helped the actual tension needed during the performance, though that was really the only thing it was good for.

Closing night had been a huge success either way. Critics had raved about their electric performances, tiny hiccups going unnoticed by the audience. Therese was overjoyed to see her images in papers, on posters and on the theatre's website, her name printed in the corners of the photos. Gen had asked Dannie to bring Therese to their small celebration at the restaurant they were sitting in. She desperately wanted more female companionship after being surrounded by the likes of Dannie and Richard.

"Speaking of the fucking devil," Dannie commented, nodding his head to the front door of the small restaurant. Therese turned and caught the sight of Ms. Gerhard -no, Abby, she corrected herself- wearing a stunning jumpsuit. On her arm was a tall, familiar blonde beauty and Therese sucked in a breath as time slowed down for her while watching the two walk in.

Director Ross was dressed in a timeless black suit, bowtie and high heels, hair swept up in a sleek hairdo. The way they walked together was like watching power and confidence personified in the two women.

Therese took a sip of her water to help the blush that she felt creeping up her neck.

"Ah, shit, no way, why they gotta go out for dinner the same place we are?" Richard grumbled. "I really don't want to talk to them."

"Nonsense! They deserve just as much praise as we do," Gen snapped. She stood up from her seat and waved at Abby, who caught sight of the actress easily. Gen always had a way of commanding the room whenever she felt like it.

Therese felt her excitement plummet as she noted that only Abby was approaching their table. The blonde stayed back in their booth, shrugging off her blazer, revealing a crisp white button down that made Therese squirm.

"Fancy seeing you lot here," Abby said, leaning on their table. "Celebrating, I assume?"

Dannie held up the champagne and grinned. "You got that right, boss."

Therese kept her eyes fixed on her glass, afraid that by looking at Abby her gaze would give her away. Were the two a couple? No, of course not. They  were coworkers. Nothing more, right?

"Well I saw Gen and just wanted to come over and congratulate you guys. It was a terrific run, despite everything," with a pointed look at Richard, "so you deserve a well-earned night out."

The other three all responded to Abby with some sort of thanks and Therese forced herself to look up at her and smile. Her eyes were met steadily by the brunette, and though the gaze was firm, Abby smiled nonetheless.

"Good to see you again, Therese. A wonderful job on those photos, by the way."

Therese smiled, beaming proudly. "It was an honour, Abby."

What the fuck? An honour? Am I even saying coherent things? Therese tried to keep herself nonchalant and cool, though a prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her flustered. She looked around and found a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her from the booth across the restaurant. Ross was looking at her intently, fingers grasping a martini glass. Therese felt her mouth go dry.

"I best get back, enjoy your night," Abby said and with that walked away. Therese lost contact with the blonde's eyes as Abby got back to their booth, their sudden and immediate chemistry forgotten.

Reminding herself to breathe, she tried tuning into Dannie arguing with Richard over some theatre related technicality, and she was filled with the sudden and desperate urge to abandon the three and run over to Abby and the director to hide away, just to get to know this Ross lady better.

"But hey, Terry, you're gonna come back to the theatre soon right? With your pictures and all that?" Richard's annoying voice brought her back to reality.

"Oh, I don't know," she shifted uncomfortably. "I've got a different job starting next week, so photography might be on hold for me for a while."

She chewed her lip, not wanting to say anything else. She had nothing against Dannie or Gen, but after her and Richard had broken up she tried to avoid talking to him as much as possible. In group settings, she was fine, and with their intimate circle of friends it was hard to avoid him so she didn't mind putting up with him.

But no, this job was hers. Not Richard's, Dannie's, Gen's. It was a step into a different direction for herself. And even though she told herself it was more for the pay, she couldn't help but be excited about the kids she was going to meet.

Dannie shifted the conversation to some lewd story from a theatre when he had been just starting out and Therese felt she could breathe again.

-

"Who is that girl sitting next to Dannie?"

"Therese? Oh, she was the photographer we had in just before the run, don't you remember?"

"Hmm right. I thought she seemed familiar," Carol sipped her martini slowly, eyes darting over to the petite brunette again.

"Stop it," Abby scolded.

"Stop what? I'm just getting a good look. It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"Whatever you're thinking of, Ross, you better cap it. I'll have you know she's a terrific photographer and I want to hire her again, though I won't be able to do that if my artistic director decides to... involve herself."

Carol smirked but backed down, leaning back against the seat and glancing out at the dark street, illuminated by hazy lights dancing in the fog that had spread over the city.

"You all set for September?" Abby asked. Carol's smile disappeared, her fantasies of the brunette forgotten as she looked at the year ahead.

"I have no idea, Abby. I haven't had Rindy for a full month since, well, since this whole mess started. Plus it's the beginning of the school year for her, you know how anxious that can make her."

"And you. You're always a mess when those things start up."

"Hush. At least the first week is cleared up for me, I can relax and take Rindy to school, pick her up, make her meals..."

Carol drifted off again in her non-working, stay at home mom dream that was finally happening in just over a week. Her and her daughter together without a show, without court, without fights... Bliss, she thought.

"You haven't forgotten our meeting with Jeanette though, right?" Abby asked cautiously, brows furrowing. Carol's head snapped up.

"What?"

"The meeting to finalize that you're stepping away from the theatre? C'mon, Carol."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Abs. I genuinely forgot." Carol whipped out her phone and hastily looked up the email Jeanette sent them. Wednesday. 3pm. At the exact time she was meant to pick up Rindy, she'd be on the other side of the city.

"Fuck," Carol groaned. "I guess I gotta get a sitter for Rindy then." God, she couldn't wait to be done work.

"Do they not have an after school program at Rindy's school? Just let her hang out there and we'll pick her up once we're done. It won't be more than an hour, Carol, I don't know if it's worth getting a sitter."

"No, you're right. I'll call them tomorrow and see what they can do," Carol sighed, putting her phone away.

Suddenly feeling the urge to check, she glanced over at the party from across the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographer again. She was disappointed to see that only Gen and Richard were left, who were at it with their usual banter at their table while eating. Dannie and Therese had disappeared.

"Carol," Abby warned.

"I know, I know. Sorry." Carol forced herself back to the conversation. "I'm hopeless, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, you nitwit."

A/N: Life is insane, y’all. This story stumped me for a bit, but here I am. Hope you’re all good, let me know your thoughts <3 

[svt-writers-club]

Ask games #5: 10 and 39 for Jicheol in Emotional Hurt/Comfort trope please and thank you 😊

the sudden influx of jicheol asks is making me think that my birthday came early and i’m living for this. hope you don’t mind that i slipped in a little iron man au here, because it’s been a while since i talked about those kooky bois and emotional hurt/comfort fits them so well

also hi! i know it’s been like a year since i wrote anything, but i’ve been going through some stuff. i’m better now, though! and i’ll be working on some stuff so hopefully i can add more to this blog!

#10. “You’ve… never really looked at me that way now, did you?”#39. “I never say it. But… I do appreciate it.”

Jihoon is dying.

He’s dying and he’s… he’s okay with that.

Well, not really okay. There’s no feasible way for a man to be completely content with death. But he’s… he’s adjusted. He’s known for two months now, so he’s been getting his affairs in order.

He’s trying to, at least.

He has a multi-billion dollar company to give to an heir, weapons that he can’t afford to leave lying around lest the government makes use of it and all his babies. His binary babies, like WooJI and Dokyeom. He can’t just give them away to anyone.

“Sir?” WooJI demurs. “Your heart rate is spiking again.”

Jihoon lets his head loll off the arm of his sofa. His workshop is a mess, half-complete inventions littering the vast work top. He can’t bring himself to finish anything, thoughts scattered between his impending demise and the lethargy the palladium poisoning brings.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon sighs. He shields his eyes with his forearm in a weak attempt to alleviate his killer headache. Between stressing over Wonwoo’s new armour and his babies, he’s at his wit’s end. For once, his brain is failing him.

High-pitched beeping has Jihoon shifting, squinting up at the camera he’d placed on Dokyeom’s head almost a decade ago. In its claw, there’s a dark green smoothie. It doesn’t even look like there’s oil in it this time.

“Did you make that yourself, buddy?” Jihoon murmurs. Dokyeom beeps an affirmative, attempting to press the smoothie into Jihoon’s hand again.

One of these days, Jihoon will have to tell Seokmin he named his dumbest and oldest bot after his high school nickname. One day. (Maybe he’ll do it in the goodbye videos he’s planning to make. His oldest friends deserve that much, he thinks.)

Dokyeom beeps insistently again. Jihoon takes the glass and, under the bot’s watchful camera, takes a sip. It’s disgusting, but in the way all health drinks are disgusting.

Jihoon forces a smile. “It’s good, dude. You did really well.”

Dokyeom does a happy little spin, even managing to show off the new treads WooJI had ordered for him. They fit him well. Jihoon makes sure to tell Dokyeon that he looks very handsome. (He doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance.)

“Sir?”

WooJI’s voice is lower, like he’s worried about Jihoon. He snorts. Only he would be able to program worry into an AI.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon reflexively says, as his chest twinges.

He stumbles over to the floor length mirror he had installed recently. He let Seungcheol believe it was for purely narcissistic reasons, but it’s actually so he can monitor the darkening veins creeping out from the arc reactor in his chest.

It looks worse. Darker, and more sinister. Like death himself has injected poison into Jihoon’s veins to claim him.

WooJI lets out a warning chime. “Seungcheol-ssi is heading into the basement.”

Jihoon lets out a heavy sigh that sticks in his throat, dropping the hem of his shirt.

God. Seungcheol.

What’s he going to do with him? His highly competent assistant, who’s been with him through work binges, playing around, Afghanistan and betrayals. The only man who makes his blood pressure rise that has nothing to do with anger or exasperation. Jihoon has been so careful to keep his messy life away from Seungcheol, but it’s all rushing together and he can’t keep up. For once in his life, he’s lagging behind, exactly when he doesn’t want it to.

The door slides open, Seungcheol’s feet exaggeratedly loud as he stomps to Jihoon’s work desk and slams a newspaper down onto the surface.

“What’s this?” Jihoon asks, trying to force some levity as he picks the newspaper up between two fingers. “This is a relic. People still read newspapers?”

Seungcheol jabs at the front page headline. “Only as long as people keep writing news!”

Iron Man Back To His Old Ways?

There’s a truly unflattering picture of Jihoon, fully clothed, floating on his back in a pool. Jihoon doesn’t quite remember when that was (these days, he tries his hardest to get drunk and stay drunk, in between trying medications), but Wonwoo can be seen on the edge of the pool, yelling at him. He thinks it might have been at the last weapons conference he’d attended. Jihoon tilts the newspaper; wow, the photographer really managed to highlight that one vein that pops out when Wonwoo is pissed.

“Keep a scan of this,” Jihoon says distractedly. “I want to email it to Wonwoo.”

“Right away, sir.”

“No,” Seungcheol says vehemently, snatching the paper out of Jihoon’s hands. “This is serious! You told me when you got the suit that you were going to change.”

“I did. I am changed.” Jihoon bites his tongue. He can’t tell Seungcheol about the palladium poisoning. It would do nothing but make him sad.

Seungcheol’s gaze makes him feel three inches tall. The vitriol in his voice is barely disguised as he enunciates, “Clearly.”

“Seungcheol-ssi.”

The scowl on Seungcheol’s face has no business being as gorgeous as it is now. Jihoon finds himself memorising the angle of Seungcheol’s lips, the exact curve of his frown and the colour of his lips.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath. “Yes, Jihoon-ssi?”

He clasps his hands politely, back straight. The perfect picture of professionalism. Jihoon could never match that, so he settles for running his fingers through his hair so it’s not that big of a mess.

Jihoon pulls out a folder from one of his drawers, the one that has been burning a hole in his mind since the first time he asked WooJI to get them printed. He had to do it old school – with papers, instead of electronically. Old-fashioned, but undeniably legitimate.

“If you could do me a favour and sign these,” Jihoon says casually.

He’d been hoping Seungcheol would just sign the papers, too annoyed with Jihoon about the PR disaster that he knowingly caused.

He should know better than to underestimate Seungcheol’s intelligence. He’s more than just a pretty face, after all.

Seungcheol makes a strange expression. “This is an employment contract,” he says slowly.

“Yeah. You know, bureaucratic bullshit.”

“This is an employment contract for being CEO of Lee Group.” Seungcheol pauses deliberately. “That’s your company.”

“It was my father’s company,” Jihoon snaps, before he can stop himself.

Seungcheol blinks, rearing back like a wounded animal. He slowly places the folder back on the table. “I can’t accept that. I’m not qualified.”

“You’ve handled my accounts from the moment I hired you as my personal assistant, and you’re basically running the company already.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows draw an angry V on his forehead. “So you’re, what, shunting all the boring stuff to me so you can – can fuck around and go back to your old ways?”

“No.” Jihoon takes a deep breath. “It’s because you’re competent and I’m not. I can’t run a company. I’m an engineer, not a business man. Do you understand?”

Seungcheol continues looking at him blankly.

“What is is this time?” Jihoon sighs.

“Nothing,” Seungcheol says. He’s still frowning. “You’ve… never really looked at me that way now, did you?”

“Like what?”

“Like… like you need me.”

Jihoon chokes on Dokyeom’s healthy shake. He coughs and coughs, even when his airway is clear and he can breathe just fine. He coughs because it’s so true, that he needs Seungcheol the way he needs to tinker in his workshop or the way he needs to breathe and it’s okay, he swears the tears are from nearly choking to death, nothing else –

“You’re a mess,” Seungcheol says helplessly, after Jihoon calms down and he can find the composure to dry the tears from his eyes. The warmth of his hands leave momentarily, but a cup of cold water is pressed to his hands.

Seungcheol’s touch is nice, especially where he’s running the back of Jihoon’s neck while he drinks his water.

“What would you do without me?” Seungcheol says, a hint of fondness in his voice.

Jihoon clings to it, remembers the exact timbre, the exact note. He wants to play it again and again, until it’s ingrained in the grooves of his brain even when he’s long gone.

“I would be infinitely worse off,” Jihoon says with a forced grin.

Seungcheol reaches for the folder, tapping it against the table top. “I’m shredding this.”

“No!” Jihoon clasps his hand over Seungcheol’s, squeezing lightly. “Just – sleep on it. Maybe it won’t look so bad in the morning. The benefits are killer.”

Seungcheol looks down at their joined hands. Then, he sighs. “Fine. I’ll sleep on it.” He bites his lip. “You get some sleep too. You’re looking more and more like a panda lately.”

Jihoon can’t sleep. He’ll sleep when he’s dead. He doesn’t have that many waking hours left. But the worried look in Seungcheol’s eyes has him saying, “Yeah, I’ll sleep.”

“Good.”

Seungcheol takes the folder and the newspaper, stopping to pet Dokyeom on the camera. The bot beeps happily, circling around Seungcheol quickly. Maybe Seungcheol and Wonwoo can have joint custody. Jihoon makes a mental note to update his will.

“Hey,” Jihoon calls out, right before Seungcheol crosses the threshold outside of his workshop.

Seungcheol pauses, looking over his shoulder with a questioning look.

“I never say it,” Jihoon says, “but… I do appreciate it.”

Seungcheol’s smile is as confused as it is beautiful. Jihoon wishes he was an artist, so he could paint Seungcheol the way he looks now.

“Appreciate what?”

“Everything.” Jihoon clears his throat, turning to his holo screens. “That you do for me, I mean.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Seungcheol. It feels too raw – like something he never should have said. But it’s out there now, so he can’t take it back. Because it’s true.

It’s true that Jihoon appreciates him and he wants to tell him, but there are so many words that he can’t put them together. So he’ll give him his company and set him up for life, because Seungcheol is competent and beautiful and he’ll be just fine without Jihoon.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol says softly. “And… I appreciate too.” Before Jihoon can fool himself, Seungcheol continues, “You’re a great boss, Jihoon-ssi.”

Jihoon smiles – a fake, plastic smile he reserves for cameras. “And you’ll be a wonderful CEO, Seungcheol-ssi.”

Jihoon sits in silence for a while, staring at Wonwoo’s suit schematics blankly. He feels regret. He feels empty. There’s so much that needs to be done before his time is up.

“WooJI?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Start recording me. End of The World Protocol.”

“As you wish, sir. Who would you like to start with?”

Jihoon thinks – really thinks. He reaches out for the trophy Seungcheol had stubbornly left for him, the day after he’d called the arc reactor that got him out of Afghanistan obsolete.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

Feel free to ask me more of these ship asks here!

[sinagrace]

This summer marks the tenth anniversary since the announcement of The Walking Dead creator Robert Kirkman’s Skybound imprint at Image Comics, and today is eight years since I left the company as its Editorial Director. I had no intention of waxing nostalgic or posting about this fun and weird chapter of my life, but I’ve been cooped up in an apartment watching my dog as he recovers from surgery… so I’ve got nothing better to do than look at old pictures and post on social media. Being a comic book editor is not an easy job at all. Most folks think it just means emailing people about deadlines and checking for spelling errors, but there’s so much more that goes into the job, especially when you’re working in the field of creator-owned comics. The list of responsibilities is absolutely boring to recount, but I’ll just say that for as mind numbing or menial the tasks may seem, the consequences of going on autopilot and not double checking everyone’s work can lead to catastrophic printing errors with all the blame set on who??? The editor. What’s funny is that I didn’t necessarily want the job. I was really content working part-time on Rodeo Drive and growing my illustration portfolio (I’d been doing the Li’l Depressed Boy with Mx Struble and had finished illustrating a Middle Grade book for Amber Benson at Simon and Schuster). The opportunity to work full-time in comics and learn under a guy as respected as Robert appealed to me. Of his books, I was a fan of Invincible, and more to the point: I really appreciated his brazen defense of creator-owned comics in a Big Two market. Politically, I felt okay giving so much of my life to his journey. At one point in the interview process, Robert asked me if I was familiar with him and his work. My answer was sincere: “I’ve read some of your stuff. I respect you, but I’d never wait in line to meet you.” When I got the job offer, I was still on the fence. My friend Tyler always reminds me that he basically told me to just take the job and decide whether I liked it after I was there. He pointed out that the first ninety days are a mutual trial period for employee and employer. It would totally be fair for me to say in the first three months that the job wasn’t right for me. I’m glad that I listened to his advice, because being present for The Walking Dead’s ascension from beloved bestselling comic book to actual factual international phenomenon was an experience that I deeply treasure and will never have access to for the rest of my life. Even though my main duties were about the comics, I found myself getting tipsy at award show after parties, handling business affairs in talk show green rooms, sitting in development meetings with video game creators, picking up props from creature design workshops, and- the most bizarre scenario of them all- driving my tiny car around big rigs to drop off a pallet of merch at a shipping yard in the South Bay. My first year at Skybound was absolutely crazy, and getting my friend Shawn in the position of Director of Business Development was all too necessary at that point. Between the show’s success and the launch of a handful of original comics, my responsibilities grew to include foreign licensing, copyright filing, convention planning, editing the collected editions, liaising with collaborative partners, and the occasional bit of merchandise design. It was a lot to handle, and I look back fondly on the late nights when Shawn and I would walk down to Pinches for dinner, devouring burritos and chips before putting more hours at the office. We formed intense bonds with the production folks at Image Comics who were putting in the same hours at the Berkeley office. The stress and hard work was always worth it when you’d pull off a miracle like shipping Walking Dead every three weeks on time for a 100th issue to come out at Comic-Con with a smattering of variant covers- including a chromium cover that required multiple printers and so much advance planning. (As I’m typing this, I also am remembering that I was still drawing The Li’l Depressed Boy and working on my graphic novel Not My Bag on the side. Considering I hadn’t done any drugs at that point, I have no clue how I did all of that and still found time to sleep.) Being an editor is a pretty intense grind, and if you’re not a career editor, then the eventual burnout will hit super hard. I loved my job, and I loved the artists Robert chose to work with… for the most part, they were all kind and hardworking folks dedicated to the craft. I met one of my best friends on the job, and I was able to bring in my favorite people along for conventions across the continent. There were extraordinary highs, but the gig was taking a toll on me. I was answering work emails in Texas on Mx. Struble’s wedding day. I worked six out of the seven days I was in France for my sister’s wedding, and still got yelled at for something going wrong. How do you delegate instincts to someone? “Double check the file size because sometimes so-and-so will scan things wonky,” or “zoom in at 300% because the clipping path will look fine in the preview image but the sword is actually creeping into the logo.” I was starting to mess up, and after a point, it became clear that I needed to transition as a full-time writer and illustrator. It’s eight years later, and I’m still so very happy that I took the job. I may have pulled a lot of hair out, but I learned so much about storytelling and the business of making comics from one of the most iconic guys in the business. I always let my editors know how much compassion I have for the work they have to do, and try to never add problems to their already busy days. Some production designers may still hate me, because I learned all the tricks in terms of how late you can push something at the printer… but I’m getting better, I promise!! I know how valuable it is to connect with local retailers and with readers, because they’re all coming from a place of just loving comic books so darn much, and they’re the ones doing the major work in helping build successful titles. Skybound is now a decade old and has a staff of over fifty or sixty individuals pushing the brand to new and exciting places. Robert is still someone I admire for how hard he tries to inject vitality into the direct market. I *still* get people coming up to me saying that they thought I was a girl because of my name in the Walking Dead letters column. For as crazy as the freelance creator lifestyle has been the last eight years, I wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s been scary, and sometimes hand-to-mouth, but I’d never have had the bandwidth to take on all the opportunities that started coming in recent years if I was still an editor, and I wouldn’t have been as great an advocate for myself in business dealings if i hadn’t learned from Robert. HBD Skybound. X.