#going to work my ass off tomorrow + friday so i can write this weekend omg i'm so excited

[vaaaaaiolet]

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Eight

Summary: Em had a rough day at work. Dieter makes her feel better.

Rating: PG-13 (nothing graphic, Em is still shy about writing explicit details about her relationship, lol)

Word Count: 4800+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites

Dieter insisted on driving himself home after the accident. He called me when he got there, complaining about what a pain in the ass the drive had been. The butt jokes continued throughout the week, accompanied by a few photos of the stitches to prove that he was healing up. 

“Dieter, I have enough pictures of your ass,” I told him on Thursday. “Besides, I’m going to see it in person tomorrow night.”

”You can never have enough pictures of my ass,” he replied. “Which, by the way, is looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Friday morning I put my overnight bag into the trunk of my car. I was going to drive straight from work to Dieter’s place, since I would be back tracking if I went home first. Fridays are always long, but that one felt like an eternity. We were busy, but the beginning of school rush was starting to die down and I had pockets of downtime when my mind was able to wander. And it wandered toward Dieter.

Traffic was horrendous, of course, but I managed to get to Dieter’s house after only a two hour drive. He greeted me at the door wearing a pair of baggy pajama pants and an old Pac Sun t shirt. He was barefoot.

”Nice look,” I said as he wrapped me in his arms.

”I’m an invalid,” he said. “These are my sick clothes.”

”You’ve been to four meetings and a doctor’s appointment this week. You aren’t an invalid.”

He pouted. “But my butt hurts, baby.”

I tried to keep a straight face but it was impossible. Pouting Dieter always makes me laugh. 

We spent a quiet weekend, watching movies and making out on the couch. Dieter couldn’t go in the pool because of the stitches, which made him a bit grumpy, but otherwise it was the romantic weekend we’d attempted to have the previous week.

”I’m out of town all next week,” he said Sunday morning as we lazed in bed.

”Yeah, I know.” I laid my head on his broad chest and he stroked my hair. 

“Won’t be back in L.A. until Saturday night, so I guess we won’t see each other next weekend.” His hand played with my earlobe.

”It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll FaceTime.”

”Not the same,” he said, nibbling on my neck.

I sighed. “No, it’s not, but we’ll see each other the weekend after. You’re driving out, right?”

”If I can,” he said. “No, yeah, definitely. I’ve got a bunch of meetings and shit for the press tour that week but I will make sure I get out there on Friday. Play the entitlement card. ‘I’m Dieter Fucking Bravo. I make my own rules.’”

”Just don’t piss off anybody important,” I said. “I understand if your work messes with our plans. Work has to come first unless it’s an emergency. That’s what my parents always said.”

”Fuck that,” Dieter said vehemently. “People come first. Relationships come first. Work … work is important, but it’s not everything.”

”Okay,” I said carefully. I’d touched a nerve and didn’t want to probe it too much right then. “But I do understand that you have to do stuff for work. So do I.”

He mumbled something I didn’t catch and then distracted me by sliding one hand between my legs while he kissed my collarbone and I stopped thinking rationally for a while.

**************************************************************

[Text message conversation between Dieter and his publicist]

CARMEN: So, I need to know something.

DIETER: What?

C: There’s a weird rumor floating around and I need the truth.

D: Shit, now what?

C: I’ve heard two versions. One is you were injured “in bed” and needed stitches in your backside. The other is you had a fight with your girlfriend, broke some glass and she pushed you onto it, also requiring stitches.

D: Fuck. I did get hurt at Em’s but it wasn’t in bed and we didn’t have a fight. I fell off the fucking bed trying to reach the smoke alarm to change the battery and I broke a lamp. I landed on it and cut my ass cheek. That doctor promised he wouldn’t say anything to anybody.

C: I don’t think it was the doc. This isn’t coming from the public gossip sites; it’s word of mouth rumors in the industry.

D: Probably someone at my agent’s office. I was telling him the story because I had to reschedule a meeting so I could go get the stitches out. So what do we have to do?

C: Nothing. If either rumor breaks containment, we put out a statement clearing things up. Tell what really happened. If not, we ignore it.

D: Does Em know?

C: I haven’t said anything to her. Figured that’s your job.

***************************************************************

“People are saying what?” I was driving home from work when Dieter called and almost swerved off the road.

”One version is you were pegging me and ripped my butthole,” he said. “The other is we had a big fight, I broke some glass, then you pushed me down on it.”

”But … who would believe any of that?”

”Dumbass people,” he said with a sigh. “The shitheads at the gossip websites who would say anything for clicks. Look, I know this is ridiculous, but Carmen has it under control. If anything makes the mainstream, she’ll issue a statement.”

”Holy shit, what if my aunt hears any of this?” My mother’s sister was one of those stick-up-her-bum church lady types, mostly because she’d converted in her early twenties. Converts were the worst. I loved her dearly, but we did not see eye to eye on most aspects of my personal life. She’d already made it very clear to me that she thought I was sinning by engaging in premarital sex.

”It won’t get that far,” Dieter said. “I’ll tell Carmen to get out ahead of it. Get a statement out to the gossip rags. Let them know we’ll sue if they say anything that contradicts it.”

I was almost home. “Deet, how the hell do you live like this?”

”Everyone has rumors told about them,” he said. “I’ll bet your co-workers talk shit about you.”

I had to admit he was probably right. It wasn’t just students who were stuck in the high school paradigm. Any time you trapped a group of people in one place for hours and hours each day, they did what humans had been doing for millennia: they talked. The rumor mill was alive and well on campus, although as adults we were more circumspect than the kids were. 

“I still don’t like it,” I said, pulling up in front of my condo. 

”Nobody likes it, babe,” he said. “It’s one of the prices you pay for fame. And big paychecks.” He sighed. “I need to get back on set. I’ll see you next weekend.”

”See you then,” I said. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying “I love you.” It was a little bit silly, but I had vowed that I wouldn’t say it until Dieter did. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.

******************************************************************

It had been a shitty day. We’d gotten a delivery of over two hundred boxes of math textbooks. Each box held six books and we needed to get them all unpacked, stamped, barcoded and out to students ASAP. The books had been ordered on time and should have arrived in the summer when there had actually been time to process them, but the publisher had screwed up on the first print run and they ended up backordered. I’d been unpacking boxes and stacking books on carts all day and my back was killing me. This work was usually done by volunteers and kids needing community service hours for graduation, but with the kids all in class, it fell to me and the textbook clerk, along with a couple of helpers loaned to us from the front office. All I wanted to do when I got home was take a hot shower, pop a handful of ibuprofen and crash on the couch with my shiatsu massager.

Things weren’t going to be easy until we got the job done, but at least I didn’t have to drive to Hollywood that weekend; it was Dieter’s turn to drive out to my place. I kept telling myself, You just have to make it through two more days.

As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed two things. First of all, Dieter’s bright red Audi was parked in front of my condo. Second of all, Dieter himself was sitting on my front step, reading a book and drinking what looked like a tall glass of my neighbor Mrs. Gutiérrez’s iced tea.

I climbed out of the car. “What are you doing here?”

“My meeting tomorrow got cancelled and I’m free for the rest of the week, so I thought I’d come out early, since I didn’t get to see you last weekend,” he said, setting down his book and glass. He stood up to hug me but I cringed when he did. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, we had a billion books to unpack today and my back is killing me,” I told him. “You should have called me before you drove all this way. I’m not going to be very good company.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said. “Of course, I was halfway here when I realized I was going to get here way before you got home.” He scratched at the back of his ball cap. “Your neighbor was worried about me. She brought me some iced tea so I wouldn’t get too hot.” 

I looked next door and saw Mrs. Gutiérrez peeking out her front window. I waved at her and she gave me a thumbs up. “I need to get you a key,” I said without thinking. Even though we spent the weekend at each other’s homes, we hadn’t exchanged keys yet. It was the next step in our relationship and here I’d jumped into it without discussing it with him.

He smiled. “That would be nice,” he said softly. “We can get a copy of my keys for you while we’re at it.”

I felt my face flush. We’d been dating for almost three months at that point, and I knew he was in it for the long haul, but I still felt a little giddy every time we took a step toward more intimacy, more permanency. And those three little words still loomed unsaid.

“Let’s get inside,” I said. I fumbled with my keys and dropped them. As soon as I started to bend down to pick them up, I knew I’d made a mistake. “Ugh,” I groaned. “Can … can you get those for me?”

He reached down and swept the keys up, his free hand going immediately to my back. He rubbed it as he put the key in the lock. “You really did a number on your back, didn’t you, babe?,” he said, frowning. 

“Yeah,” I admitted. He took my bag from me and ushered me carefully into the house. “Look, all I want to do is eat something, take a mega dose of ibuprofen, and collapse on the couch with my back massager. You don’t have to stay. It’s not like I’m going to be much fun.”

He looked at me as if I was an idiot. “First of all, I’m not driving all the way back to Hollywood just to turn around and drive back the day after tomorrow,” he said. He pushed me gently down onto the couch and sat beside me. “Second of all, I’m not leaving you alone if you’re in pain. And third of all, I’m here to see you, not have fun.”

I raised my eyebrow and he immediately shook his head. “That didn’t come out quite right, but you know what I mean,” he said, sliding his arm around my shoulder and playing with my hair. “Let me take care of you, okay?” He pressed a kiss against my cheek and I relented, laying my head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, but there’s not much you can do except keep me company,” I said.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I know about back pain, believe me.”

After making me promise not to move a muscle, he left me on the couch to flip through the channels looking for something to watch (I didn’t have all the streaming services he did, just basic cable, which drove him nuts) while he heated up some leftover pasta I had in my fridge. We ate on the couch, watching reruns of “M*A*S*H”. 

When we were finished, I tried to help him take the dirty plates into the kitchen but my back had stiffened up enough that I only got about two inches off the couch before I froze. “Oh, oh, ouch, ouch,” I whimpered. Dieter pushed me gently back down.

“I got it,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. He took the dishes into the kitchen and detoured to the bathroom to fetch the bottle of ibuprofen. “I didn’t know it came in such big bottles,” he said when he came back. 

“Costco,” I said. “And if you were a woman, you’d buy the industrial size bottle, too.” I opened the top, shook out four pills and popped them in my mouth. “I live on this  stuff one week a month.”

“Okay, time to get you in the shower,” Dieter said. “Some hot water will loosen those muscles a bit.”

He helped me stand up and I headed — slowly — toward the bathroom. “Let me know if you need any help, okay?,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing him off. “I’ve been taking showers for years.” 

I closed the door on him, and turned on the water to give it a chance to heat up before I got in. The moment I stepped into the shower and the hot water hit my back, I let out a little moan. Standing up hurt but the hot water felt incredibly good. I stood with my back to the showerhead, letting the water hit my lower back. I slowly bent forward, gently stretching the muscles as the heat loosened them up a bit.

I’d been in there for about fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the bathroom door. “How’re you doing in there?”

“I’m fine,” I called out. “Just enjoying the hot water.” The door opened and Dieter stepped in. “What are you doing?” My instinct was to cover myself but all I had handy was a washcloth, which wasn’t going to do much good.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “I just wanted to ask if you have any massage oils.”

“Um, no,” I said. We had the shower curtain between us, but it was fairly sheer and it felt very awkward, especially since Dieter was making no effort to avert his eyes.

“Hmm, okay, I’ll see what you have in the kitchen,” he said, turned around and left. I stayed in the shower a few more minutes, then turned the water off, got out, and wrapped myself in a towel.

The door opened again and Dieter whisked me into the bedroom. The bed was turned down and the new lamp on the nightstand was on its lowest setting. Relaxing music was playing on the speaker on my dresser. “Um, sweetie,” I said, “I told you I wasn’t up for much.”

He shook his head. “I know,” he said. “I’m going to give you a massage.” He gestured toward the bed. “Take off that towel and lay face down with your head on the pillows.”

“You just want to look at my ass,” I joked as I followed his directions.

He smacked me lightly on the butt.  “Behave yourself,” he said, climbing onto the bed behind me. He straddled my legs and started lightly prodding my back. “Where does it hurt? Here? Here?” Once he had a good idea of the extent of the affected area, he got up. “Okay, all I could find was olive oil, so if you smell like a salad when we’re done, I’m sorry.” I heard him pour some oil out and rub his hands together to warm it up. 

The bed dipped under his weight again as he resumed his position. His broad hands began to stroke up and down my lower back, his thumbs digging in now and then to work out the tension in the muscles. The oil let his hands glide over my skin and it felt absolutely delicious. “Oh, yeah,” I groaned. “That feels amazing.”

He chuckled. “I like to hear that,” he said. I felt his weight shift as he leaned forward to kiss my shoulder. Then he sat back and continued working on my sore muscles. Soon I was melting into the mattress and I barely noticed when Dieter climbed off the bed, pressing one last kiss to my shoulder. “Get some sleep, babe,” he said softly.

The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off the next morning. Dieter grunted beside me. “What the hell?”

I slapped the alarm clock to stop the annoying beep. “Go back to sleep,” I told him. “I need to get ready for work.” I started to crawl out of bed but he pulled me back. 

“Call in sick,” he said. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” I said, although I was very tempted. My back felt a lot better but it was still a bit stiff. “We have a shit ton of work to do and if I don’t go in, they won’t get a sub to cover for me.” I kissed his forehead and went into the bathroom to start getting ready for work.

Dieter was sound asleep by the time I came out, and I got dressed to the sound of his quiet snores. Before I left, I scribbled a note, which I left on the kitchen table beside my house keys.

“Thanks again for last night. I feel so much better! Leaving my keys so you can go out if you need to, lol. See you when I get home. XOXOXO”

I locked the door from the inside, pulled it shut and headed off for another long day at work.

**********************************

Work was better than the day before, partly because we’d finished most of the heavy lifting already, but mostly because I knew Dieter would be waiting for me at home when I got done. My co-workers made a few comments about what a good mood I seemed to be in, but I didn’t take the bait. It was enough to know he’d be there when I came home; I didn’t need to brag about it.

It felt weird to knock on my own front door when I got home. Dieter opened it a tiny crack. “What’s the password?,” he said, squinting warily at me. 

“Open the damn door,” I said.

“Correct,” he said, opening the door and letting me in. He led me to the couch, where there was a glass of wine waiting for me. As I sat down, he slipped my shoes off and pulled my feet into his lap, massaging them gently. 

“Oh, my,” I said. “What did I do to deserve this treatment?” 

He shrugged. “I just thought you’d probably had a rough day at work again, and I enjoyed taking care of you yesterday.” He dropped my feet and pulled me in for a kiss. “Besides, it was kind of nice playing house husband today.” He winked at me and got up from the couch.

“I changed the sheets on the bed, ran a few errands, and I’m actually cooking dinner,” he said. He came back with a set of keys in his hand. “Here are your house keys back,” he said, dangling them in front of me, “and I added a set to my place.” He dropped the keys into my hand. Two brand new keys were next to my slightly worn ones. I fingered them gently.

“I got copies of yours for me,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind, but you did say I needed them …”

“No, no, thank you,” I said. So it was official. We had full access to each other's homes. I felt a weird fluttery feeling in my stomach and I grabbed his hand, pulling in in to press a kiss to his palm. 

He dropped back onto the couch beside me, humming happily. He caressed my face before leaning in for a lingering kiss. “As much as I enjoy this,” he said when he came up for air, “I need to check on dinner.” He stood up and headed for the kitchen. I picked up my wine glass and followed him. This I had to see.

He was opening the oven to check on whatever was inside, and I caught a glimpse of a plastic tray. “Aha!” I said. “You bought that.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I said I was cooking dinner, not that I made dinner. There’s a semantic difference.” He poured himself a glass of wine and took a drink. “Now get out of the way, because I need to cut up some veggies for the salad.” He pulled several bags out of the fridge and plopped them on the counter. “Do you have a cutting board?”

I pointed at one of the lower cupboards and then stepped back, leaning against the end of the counter to watch. He found the cutting board, selected a knife from the wooden block on the counter and started to work. “Stop watching me,” he said after a few minutes. “I keep waiting for you to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” I said. “I just enjoy seeing this domestic side of you.” He made a face and flipped me off. I shrugged. “You’re the one who said you liked playing house husband.”

He laughed. “Okay, I deserved that,” he admitted. “Now go sit down and wait for me to call you to the table.” He pointed at me with the knife.

I retired to the living room to finish my wine and flip through my mail (which Dieter had helpfully brought in and placed on the coffee table). Nothing of real interest except a 20% off coupon for Kohl’s and a catalog from Daedelus Books. I sat those aside and tossed the rest in my “stuff to be shredded” basket, which was starting to get a bit full. I made a mental note to work on that soon.

I settled back to thumb through the catalog as I sipped my wine and before I knew it, Dieter was in the doorway. “Dinner’s ready, honey!,” he said. He was wearing a stupid frilly apron I kept in a drawer; my aunt had given it to me one year for Christmas and I’d kept it to wear on the rare occasions when I baked.

“You look ridiculous,” I said, giggling. 

He spun around. “You like it? I found it in the drawer when I was looking for a pot holder to get the lasagna out of the oven with.” 

“It’s you,” I said. “But please, take it off, or I won’t be able to eat for laughing.”

He grumbled something about slaving away over a hot stove all day and not getting any respect as he untied the apron, balled it up and tossed it back into the kitchen. Then he pulled my chair out for me and we sat down to eat. Veggie lasagna; a huge salad full of cucumbers, radishes, grape tomatoes, and feta cheese; and a crusty loaf of Italian bread with herbed olive oil for dipping.

“This … this is amazing,” I said, looking around at the food, the wine, the fact that he’d actually gone through my mismatched cutlery drawer and made sure our knives and forks were all the same pattern.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I had fun today.” He pointed at me with his fork. “Just don’t expect this all the time, okay?”

After dinner, he put away the leftovers. “See, I planned ahead,” he told me. “This way we have dinner for tomorrow night all squared away.” He tapped his finger against the side of his head. When he came back out, he had a big bowl of mixed berries and a can of whipped cream.

“Is that dessert or do you have something weird planned for the bedroom?” I teased. 

“Both, if you’re lucky,” he said. He sat the bowl down, took the cap off the whipped cream and squirted a dollop on his finger, then dabbed it on the tip of my nose. He sat the can down in front of me and went back into the kitchen. He came back with two slices of pound cake on saucers. “And you thought I was being kinky,” he said, shaking his head. Then he leaned down and licked the melting whipped cream off my nose.

*****************************

The next morning, Dieter barely stirred when the alarm went off. I slipped out of bed, got dressed and headed off to work, leaving him another note on the table.

“Can’t wait to see what you have planned for tonight. XOXOXO”

Work dragged on and on, as Fridays were wont to do, and of course I got a last minute phone call that kept me a few minutes past quitting time. Finally, I was free for the weekend and hurried home, only to find Dieter’s car gone. Instantly, my heart sank and I chided myself. If he’d had to leave, he would have texted or called me and I had no messages. He must have run to the store or something and just wasn’t back yet.

I went inside, flipped through the mail and poured myself a glass of wine. As I was leaving the kitchen, I heard a key in the lock and the door opened. “Hi, honey, I’m home!” Dieter called out in a cheesy sitcom voice.

“That was supposed to be my line,” I said. 

He had a bag in his hand, which he dropped on the coffee table. “I had to drive further than I thought I would,” he said. He opened the bag and pulled out a bottle. “Actual massage oil,” he said. “So you won’t smell like a salad this time.”

“This time?”

He grinned. “You wanted to know what I had planned for tonight,” he said. “I thought you might like a full body massage.”

“Only if I can return the favor,” I said, taking the bottle from him. “Mmm, lavender and sweet almond oil. That sounds amazing.” I opened the cap and took a sniff. I felt myself relax instantly.

“I’ll give you a massage tonight and you can give me one tomorrow,” he said. “But only if I get a ‘happy ending’.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You are disgusting,” I said. “But don’t worry, you will.” I handed the bottle back to him. “You’ve taken such good care of me, I’m going to spend the weekend taking care of you.” I took his face in my hands and kissed him greedily. I’d been waiting for this moment all day. 

“I’m glad you said that,” Dieter said when we came up for air. “Because I have an idea …”

***************************************************************

I was nervous. Dieter’s idea has sounded good but now that it was time for me to roll over onto my back I wasn’t so sure. Things had started out as a normal massage, just like the night before, but now it was time for the “happy ending” he’d envisioned. The rules were simple: the one being massaged had to simply lie back and enjoy; the one doing the massaging was only able to use their hands (and mouth) to pleasure the other. This meant that I would be completely exposed to Dieter’s view, something that I had mostly avoided so far.

I wasn’t exactly ashamed of my body, but I was self conscious about it. I was an average middle aged woman. Things sagged and bulged after decades of dealing with gravity, I knew that. But Dieter worked in Hollywood. He was surrounded by perfect bodies all the time. 

“Can we turn off the lights?” I suggested when Dieter prodded me to flip over.

”Of course not,” he said. “I have to see what I’m doing.” He flopped down next to me. “I want to see what I’m doing,” he added quietly. He brushed a lock of hair away from my face. “I think you’re beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re horny.”

”First of all, even if I am horny, I’m not getting any tonight because of the rules of the game,” he said. “So let me enjoy what I can. And second of all, looking at you is enjoyable. Thinking about you is enjoyable. Touching you is enjoyable.” He smiled a crooked smile. “Watching you cry out my name is enjoyable. And third of all …” He kissed me deeply. When I was discombobulated enough, he flipped me over onto my back. “That’s better,” he said. Then he proceeded to play the game exceedingly well.

So well that we both won. Three times.

[lipglossanon]

When You’re With Me I’m Smiling

 ⁂—————✵————— ⁂

Ark Thompson x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: cute fluff!, kissing, flirting, cheesy banter 🤭 Ark’s just a soft boy who I wanted to write ✍️

not proofread 👌 kinda came out of nowhere and wrote this in like an hour 🫣

Title from Lady by Styx 💜

 ⁂—————✵————— ⁂

He’s quiet. Something you’ve come to appreciate the more you work with other agents. His friend Leon tends to be a smart ass on the best of days, so when Ark is the only one teaming up with you on projects (no sandy haired menace in sight), you can breathe a sigh of relief.

He works hard and keeps his head down, but also jumps into it when he needs to get his hands dirty. You tend to stick to the admin side of things, being the researcher and liaison for the missions you both take on for the agency. All in all (when you’re not able to work with Rebecca) Ark is your next choice on the roster. 

It’s how you both end up working late nights, ordering Chinese takeout and comparing which 90’s boy band had the worst hair. This particular Friday evening is the great debate between 98° and LFO on who is least remembered. 

“If it wasn’t for Nick Lachey marrying Jessica Simpson, no one would remember them,” Ark points out, spearing a piece of broccoli onto his fork and pointing it at you. 

“Exactly,” you roll your eyes, reaching for the soy sauce, “they’re more recognized because of the association. No one in hell remembers LFO.”

Ark cracks a smile at you, tossing a fortune cookie at you, “Alright, I guess I can see your point. I only know the one song by them anyways.”

You gesture with your arm while closing your empty container, “Thank you. I deserve this win after you won against Justin’s ramen hair.”

“Two words: frosted tips,” he laughs as you flip him off and grab your fortune cookie. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you scrunch your nose, “why was that even a thing in the first place?”

He shrugs easily, leaning back into his chair, “Same reason tribal tattoos around the bicep were in style.”

You both make eye contact before cracking up loudly. 

“God, I’m so happy some styles die out with time,” you giggle, standing up to toss your stuff into the trash. 

Ark follows suit, walking with you out of the conference room to the nearby break room, recycling what needs to be and throwing away the rest. 

“You doing anything this weekend?” He asks, stalling by the door until you’re finished as well. 

You fall into step with him as you head over to your desks out in the bullpen.

“Binge some brain rotting television and clean my messy house,” you grin, shouldering him before stopping at your desk to grab your jacket and purse, “what about you?”

He hums and shuffles awkwardly as you slip your jacket on, “I was, uh, going to see if you wanted to meet up tomorrow sometime?”

You frown, “To work on the case?”

You watch as a blush colors the tips of his ears before sweeping down to his cheekbones. His brown eyes dart away and then back to you. 

He clears his throat nervously, “Not exactly. I was wondering if you’d want to go out on a date?”

“Oh,” you draw up short, eyes taking in his flushed face and nervous uptic of his lips. 

Nodding, you give him a shy smile, “Y-yeah that sounds nice. You have my number, right?”

His smile broadens until you can see a flash of teeth, “Yep, I’ve got it. I’ll call you tomorrow to hammer out the details?”

You laugh, “Maybe work on the sweet talk, huh?”

He flushes harder and rubs the back of his neck, “S-sorry, kinda nervous.”

Chest fluttering with butterflies, you link your arm with his and walk over to his desk. 

“We can work on it.”

Stopping to grab some files from his work area, Ark walks with you out into the company parking garage. 

“See you tomorrow,” you press a quick kiss to his cheek, “drive safe.”

Smiling bashfully, he rubs the skin you pressed your lips against, “You too.”

By the next afternoon, Ark calls and invites you to try out a new Italian place that Leon swears is the best. Much to your surprise, it’s actually authentic and delicious. You both spend the next couple of hours chatting over pasta and bread, work being completely off the table as a topic. After learning that Ark has never been to the local malt shop (who knew they even still existed!), you convinced him to make that your next stop. 

Now, milkshakes in hand, you walk along the pavement to the nearby park, the late evening sun casting long shadows. Coaxing Ark to sit on a bench, you sit thigh to thigh, sharing bites of your cold treats until you’re both giggling and sharing sticky sweet kisses. Sitting your empty cups to the side, Ark takes your face in his calloused hands and presses the softest of kisses to your cold lips. 

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” he murmurs in the small space between your mouths, “I’ve been crushing on you for months.”

Your eyes light up, giddy excitement bubbling in your chest, “Really? I never picked up on it.”

Ark grins, thumb coming up to tug your bottom lip down, “Kept it close to the chest, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You melt into him a little, nipping his thumb before leaning in to kiss him more firmly than before. Losing track of time, the sound of cicadas alerts you to the late time when Ark finally pulls away from you, lips looking bee stung and swollen (you’re sure you don’t look much better).

“Let’s get you home,” his voice comes out rough, sending chill bumps skating across your skin. 

Holding hands from the park to his car, he only lets go to help hold open the door for you to get in before climbing into the driver's seat and taking your hand up once more. He randomly kisses your knuckles as he drives, shooting you soft little smiles that make your heart beat fast. Making it back to your apartment, Ark walks you all the way up to your door. 

“I had a really wonderful time,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling a little zing at the soreness you feel from your earlier make out.

“I did, too,” he rumbles, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Please,” you breathe out, hands reaching around to tease the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck when he leans down into your space.

With a soft groan, he kisses you deeply, tongue licking past your swollen lips to rub against yours. You eagerly suck on the slick muscle as your nails scrape against the base of his skull. A deep hum echoes from his chest making you press the dough of your thighs together. He pulls away, resting his forehead against your temple as you both catch your breaths. 

“I’ll call you when I get home?” The last word lilts upward as in a question and you smile, stepping back to your door. 

“I’d like that,” you murmur happily. 

He grins, boyish and charming, “Alrighty. Have a goodnight.”

He dips back in for a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves back to the elevators. You quickly unlock your door and slip inside. Once you’ve shut and locked it back, you slump against the hardwood with a sigh. Feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, you laugh out loud and press a hand to your lips. 

Seems like Ark might take the top spot as your favorite partner to work with from here on out. 

[how-my-day-went]

November 22nd, 2024

Anxiety is one hell of a thing. No matter how well your day might be going, it's still there, in the back of your mind - gnawing, screeching, yearning to shake you up and destabilize you. And the most insane part of it all - you are doing this to yourself. You, yourself, the brain that is piloting a mecha of flesh and bone - you are doing this.

That is what I can't wrap my head around. What exactly is it that makes people this way? And what's the best way to fight it? I'd tell you if I knew, but I'm trying to find the answer myself.

All that aside, nothing of note happened today. Average workday, I was the only one from the team in the office - that was pretty awesome, I got the whole corner of the open workspace to myself, minimal interaction as I sat behind the cushioned dividers concealing me from the rest of the drones.

I did what I do best, which is... well, I worked really hard for a while but I also slacked off quite a bit. Maybe even more than usual. It was nice!

We've got a "colleague of the year" vote going on right now, I wonder who'll win that. Though one of the newer guys I trained up did say he voted for me. Humble as I am, I just asked him "why, I haven't really done anything"? But his pick makes sense - you tend to cling the first people you meet, especially if they're teaching you how to do the job.

On my way home, I met a neighbor carrying a washing machine out to a large industrial dumpster - someone in the apartment complex is doing renovations. Don't know what compelled me, but I offered to help - managed to toss that heavy ass thing into the container with no issues. I can't imagine how long he would've struggled on his own - it's a miracle he got it outside in the first place, because when we took the elevator he went to the 9th floor, and the elevator is clearly not large enough to fit a washing machine. Poor dude. Should've gotten another person, to be honest.

Then I went out for groceries, settled for a few pizza slices for dinner again - I really do not want to cook, not on a Friday. Some energy drinks. It's gonna be a long night - I've got a TTRPG session at 2 AM my time. It's 2:16 at the time of writing this and we're setting up but I can feel the drowsiness set in. I'll just chug those energy drinks all night and sleep it off tomorrow.

And tomorrow is my father's birthday. I should give him a call. Maybe go visit. My little sister just got a dog and I wanna come see it anyway, so what better time than now?

I hope this weekend treats me better than the last, but outlook is good for now. Maybe I'm finally getting out of that month+ long depressive episode I've been in.

[jodilin65]

TUESDAY, MAY 30, 1989 I haven’t written for so long now and I definitely want to get back with it again. The last time I wrote, I didn’t mention ripping off part of the ‘s’ in the ‘Who Cares’ thing they have on the front of the cottage in black tape. We were seen there that day and right now Mom and Dad are on their way down and they’re going to suspect us for sure, but I know nothing, I’ll tell them.

Sure enough, Tammy knew the place was up for sale, but she says she doesn’t know why.

Bullshit. It probably has got something to do with the break-in they had this winter.

I asked Mom if they’re gonna be in Florida year-round and she said yes, but Dad says they’ll be back up here, but God knows when.

Jessie’s gonna be buying my chairs and couch, which I’m glad to see a friend get, rather than just anyone. After all, it was Nana and Pa’s. I’m psyched to get the newer furniture from the Longmeadow house. It’ll look a whole hell of a lot better.

I’ve been up 25 hours and I’m going to try to crash now, and when I get up I’m gonna write music to some lyrics Andy wrote. He’s the writer, I’m the composer.Web Analytics

MONDAY, MAY 15, 1989 Today at 9:00, I’m to clean Russ’s house, as far as I know. I’ll call him to make sure. Whether I clean his house or not, I’m going downtown to the bank to cash Carabetta’s security deposit check and to order new checks. Then after, I’ll probably do some shopping. I want to buy some jewelry.

Andy just told me it’s great therapy for him when I write. We’re both just spacing off into our own worlds right now.

I was shocked to see the for-sale sign on the folk’s cottage. I figured they’d be there forever during the summers. Of course, they’d never tell me, but I bet their favorite daughter knows about this.

MONDAY, MAY 8, 1989 Not much has happened since I last wrote. I busted my ass cleaning a huge house in Chicopee last Friday and proved to Jim that I’m worth way more than $6 an hour. I know I’ll get a raise from him soon. He’s already hinted at it.

Jim and I had a long talk, too. He seems really nice and is qualified to be a therapist, so I found out. He says I’ll be ok in his brother’s band, but I don’t know. We’ll see.

Jai was away this weekend and he just got back a few hours ago wicked tired and we almost fucked. What stopped us was his girlfriend. I don’t want to get involved with anyone unless they can devote themselves to me only. I know he’s attracted to me and I really like him a lot, but I’d still rather have a woman. Since I can’t, I’d rather stay alone.

Another thing that terrifies me is if we ever did get involved (if he gave up Jenny) and if he turned psycho or if something went terribly wrong, then I have to live next to the guy.

Bruce called me today pressuring me to get a girlfriend once in for all. Yeah, sure. I explained why I can’t get one. Not one I would want, anyway.

Jai’s the first decent person I’ve ever gotten.

I have a busy week coming up. Tomorrow I have a condo to clean and grocery shopping to do. Tuesday, Jai and I are going to my allergy doctor. Wednesday, I work again. Thursday, I’m not sure yet what I’m doing. Friday, I see Dr. Moshiri, then Jim’s picking me up from there to clean the same house I did last Friday. I’ll be doing that house every Friday.

[mardoufox21111]

i havent been able to write. on thursday i had a day off.. and then yesterday [sat] i got some sort of weird vertigo bs that i used as an excuse for my day off. ironic! it continued into today, but i feel better now i think. its only when i dip down. i had a nice day otherwise. i dyed my hair, washed it, had a dismal breakfast remind me never to order that again, had a bland lunch and finished it off with an afternoon linner. now im watching a movie as i felt better i thought i would jump on here and try to think of something to write for my script. the entries are at 1k already, there's a 5500 limit. i dont think i will be anywhere close to entering which is SO disappointing. i didnt want to have to rush. iw anted to have the 3 months to relax, write every day and produce something good. now i have to recycle an old half assed idea try to finish off the end and hope that its semi-good enough to get me into the finals. which i know it can be if i work well but its hard.. i work FT... i have had a horrible weekend where i couldnt go on the laptop. super annoying. i hope tomorrow i wake up and its all good/gone.

work finishes in 2 weeks! maybe even earlier. i have 4 hours and i think 40 min of flex available so i will be using it trust! tomorrow i plan on taking an hour lunch and leaving an hour early. that's 1.25/30 hours of flex gone. then the same for the next day i n the office.. and then the week later surely we get to go early and monday ill do an hour lunch again. hell maybe friday ill do a longer lunch too. i do want to start eating better though, this has been a bit of a wake up call. i went for a stroll kind of walk on the treadmill this morning despite it all, 30 min. felt good. its something ill try to do every day that d isn't here. when im off work i want to try eat healthier just go back to a good way of livin. and also write. every damn day. hmm i might take my jil sander bag to work tomorrow... thats a good idea. genius! thank you DK - im watching as good as it gets.

im going to go to the deli and get bagels and salad rolls and just salady kind of shit i dont know maybe 3 months off work will be good for me. maybe i should just take it and be like yeah ill be back and i dont really want to work and i want to relax and enjoy my life for a bit before i get back on the horse.

[indigo474]

May 25th 2023- a little bit better than i use to be-

so much so much so much- i really should write more. i read a news story today about kids being neglected and abused. why are people so horrible? those poor babies- it makes me sad. exactly why i don't watch the news. i had someone in work tell me "they " are shooting people on 95. Really? I had no idea. she looked at me in disgust and said you really need to be more informed. I don't need to hear and read about what a fucked up world we live in to know what a fucked up world we live in. Being informed makes me sad and scared- 2 things i am trying desperately not to be. Work is going good. it's so much nicer going to work as the boss-so much better. My boss- the Ice Queen, likes me. I can tell and i am grateful. We are going out shopping together for the company picnic. I'm in charge. HA. People dislike me for doing my job. A lot of people are incapable of taking responsibility for their actions. they blame me for doing MY job- the truth is- if they did their job- i wouldn't have to do mine. the Ice Queen is MOODY- I'm not sure if she is still drinking- she tends to hide in her office.

I should be getting my check-any day now. i asked MAds if she would mind moving out of our town. she's open to it-as long as we are safe and happy. i don't want to leave this town.. but i have to do what is best for me and if i cant find a place to live-- BUT i keep telling myself that SOMETHING wonderful is going to happen and the PERFECT place will be mine- i have to believe it. whats that saying- whats meant for me is mine- whats meant for me won't pass me by-

James went hard on me tonight. My knee pain is gone- i started taking a supplement- i use to take it and stopped and just started again and it works. i finally mentioned to james that during my cycle its harder to lift. Because it is- there is a huge difference. it wasnt weird to him. yeah its true- but we cant use that as an excuse- his words. tonight he upped everything-benched 105. i'm going to be sore tomorrow, i only squatted 175 this week. i need to get my ass into the gym and do my workout over the weekend. James shared a lot about himself tonight. he paid off his student loans, is getting a new car- not sure what kind- skipped a vacation with his buddies to Puerto rico because he lost 1200 on a bet- he even got out the dry erase marker and drew me pictures so i could understand what he was talking about. UFC and basketball- from what he said, and drew - it was just unbelievable how he lost the bets and he thinks its the universe telling him he shouldn't bet. he said it made him sick. he's a good person. i can tell. Kika was tired tonight- she didnt even bark when i walked up. she's such a good girl. we played a little.

my friend in work-the one who i think is on drugs and never talks about her husband. she told me her husband is dumb and useless. she's always saying she would be fine if she only had some xanax. dont say it dont say it. for months he same thing- i would be fine if i had xanax- dont fucking say it. if i had xanax i would be fine---- i know a dr. she use to see him, she called that afternoon and got herself an appointment. today she comes in and is talking so fast- too fast. i use the term friend loosely. this should be interesting- maybe she's right- maybe all she needs is xanax.

i spent all day last saturday watching porn and masturbating. i got myself a new vibrator - its dam near perfect. quiet -

im sure there is soooo much more to write about. i am tired. got my friday shift changed for the summer-every other friday im workiing 9-6. this will work out good- i can still run after work. the ice queen likes me-thank God- the right people like me-its more important i like myself-

[alwaysdjarin]

Unholy

a Dave York x f!reader Series

Part 2 - Saphira

Part 1

RATING: Explicit 18+ ONLY. No Minors Please. My work is 18+.

Warnings: Dave York always comes with his own warning, soft!Dave, strip clubs, reader has blue eyes. {I think that’s it}

Words: ~1.1k

A/N: Thank you for all the kind reactions to part one. I really appreciate every like, reblog and comment. Here we go again. I think the story will get a bit more spicy in part three. Let’s see. ;-)

previous part / series masterlist || series taglist

You smile at the stranger in the hallway. His eyes roam over your body, of course, that’s what every man in this building does when he sees you. You hear him clear his throat when you approach him and he greets you with a „Hey!“

„Hey. Can I help you? Are you searching for someone?“ You study the man in front of you. His eyes are brown and deep, a prominent nose and a sharp clean shaven jaw. He is gorgeous, you have to admit, but something on him tells you to be careful. You notice how his gaze wanders over your features, his adams apple is bobbling in his throat. „Sir?“

His question if you want to have a drink with him caughts you offguard, even if it’s a question you hear almost every night you’re working here. And so you decide to give him your standard answer. You can see the disappointment in his eyes before you turn around and walk away from him. You feel his gaze on your back (or ass) long after you’re out of his sight.

You no longer pay any attention to the encounter when you come into your apartment and scrub the past hours of work off your body under the hot shower.

This night you dream about dark brown eyes and a low baritone you can’t quite remember the next day.

~

One week later

Daves week was a blurr. He had to concentrate at work, making plans for an upcoming job, writing reports and negotiate with „customers“. And all of this with one thing on his mind, you.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough and so Dave is back in the strip club you’re working at. His wife Carol and the girls staying with Carols sister this weekend, so nobody will know that he’s not at home. He’s sitting at the bar for almost two hours now and you’re nowhere to be seen. His frustration grows as he turns around to face the barkeeper.

„Hey big boy. Want another whiskey?“ The red haired woman behind the bar counter smiles at him but he’s just shaking his head.

„I need some information about one of the girls who’s working here. Maybe you can help me?“

The woman frowns. „Which one?“

Dave scratches the back of his neck. „I don’t know her name. She worked last Saturday, I saw her dancing on this stage.“ He describes how you looked but all he gets is a chuckle from the woman who faces him.

„Oh darling…there are over 30 women working in this club. Your description fits for every second one of them.“

Dave scoffs. What the fuck? No, there’s no way any of the other girls could match your beauty. „She…she told me that she doesn’t do private shows. Maybe this information minimizes the possibilities.“

But the woman behind the bar just laughs at him again. „What? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but every girl in this club does private shows. Even me, if you ask nice enough big boy.“

She leans over the counter so that her breast almost fall out of her top, her fingers brush his knuckles with a feather light touch. But Dave doesn’t even notice. He’s deep in his thoughts. You lied to him. You told him that you don’t dance for anybody in private, but that was a lie. Why did you do that? Did he scared you? Or maybe it was because you were on your way home?

The flirty barkeeper straightens her back and and yells over Daves shoulder. „Hey honey! How 'ya doing? Maybe you can help this sweetheart over here. He’s searching for one of the girls.“

Dave sighs and turns around, he’s willing to give up, maybe he will come back tomorrow, have one drink and try his luck aga—

He feels like he gets hit by a truck the moment he realizes who’s standing in front of him. It’s you. Your hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a loose shirt and leggins, your bag sling over your shoulder.

You do a double take, seemingly reminding him from last week. You both just look at each other for some seconds, Dave forgets how to breathe.

A shy smile forms on your lips. „Hi?“ you ask.

Dave takes a deep breath. Talk to her you idiot!

„You! YOU! I mean…I was searching for you!“

David Christopher York! What is your fucking problem?

You’re looking down at your feet and play with the hem of your shirt. Shy! That’s it! You’re shy. Dave thinks and can’t fight the warmth growing in his chest because that is so adorable. You’re eyes meet his gaze again before you speak. „Sooo…I think you found me. But I have to work now and as I told you already, I’m not supposed to drink with our customers.“

A chuckle from behind Dave catches your attention and Gina, the woman behind the bar exposes your lie again. „That’s a rule that no one follows.“

Dave turns his face back to you and you manage to give Gina a warning look before his hopeful gaze meets you again. You sigh „But I’m the main act tonight. I will be on stage at least an hour. It’ll get late and—“ „No problem!“ Dave interrupts you. „I have time. I’ll wait for you if you want me to.“

Your gaze goes to Gina who’s standing behind Dave. She nods enthusiastically and you have to suppress a laugh. „O-okay. One drink. But NOT here. I don’t want to see these titties in my free time.“ You wave your hands around and laugh. An honest laugh, even if it’s full of nervousness. But Dave recognizes directly. The way you sound, the small cute crinkles around your eyes. God, he never want to forget this.

He laughs with you. He didn’t expect this kind of joke from you. Not after your shy attitude from before. He nods. „Of course! Everywhere you want. No titties in your free time. I get it.“

You give him a shy wink before you leave in the direction of your dressing room and Dave turns back around to the bar counter where Gina already serves him a whiskey with a mischievous smile.

„What’s her name?“ Dave asks.

„Saphira. It’s her artist name here.“

„Saphira?“

„Yeah.“ Gina nods. „It’s because of her eyes.“

And then Dave understands. Your eyes are blue. The most beautiful blue he has ever seen. Like a sapphire, one of the most precious gemstones in the world. How fitting.

Next part

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏼

I’d love to read your comments or reblogs if you like my writing.

[againstacecilia]

Personal life update under the cut

So the last 3 weeks have been tough. We got to the hottest part of the summer (lovingly nicknamed "Hell's Front Porch") and, during the same week, I got Covid. 🙃 I'm glad I'm vaxxed and boosted because it knocked me on my ass and, especially being asthmatic, it could've been so much worse. That being said, it sucked A LOT. Then, as I was getting better, my husband got sick and so the week after he was home while I was back at work. The fatigue is so real and the brain fog holy hell. But, I'm testing negative now and he's out of his 10 days tomorrow so that's good.

Shift to Sunday morning and our dog starts panting and shaking like he's in horrible pain. His back pain meds aren't working, it's 90 degrees outside and we're having to put a warm compress on his back, only to find out yesterday one of his nails was broken and infected so that's probably what was hurting him. He's been seen and we have meds and antibiotics now, and I brought him to work with me today to keep an eye on him.

Now looking forward. My 10 year high school reunion is this weekend and I'm flying home on Friday. I've got everything in place (I think) but my anxiety is off the charts. Flying freaks me out but it's either an hour flight or a 6 hour drive by myself sooooo we're going to fly and just take a couple shots before my flight. 😅 Then renting a car, staying at an Airbnb, and doing this as a solo trip instead of going to my hometown and trying to force time for everyone in my family like I always do. If they want to see me, they can make time to fit my schedule.

Next weekend, we're going to Seattle for lacrosse games with my in-laws. This trip will be both a little easier (they tend to pay for a lot of things on trips) and a little harder (we're driving with our senior dog who has a hard time traveling) but I'm excited to get out of town two weekends in a row.

I really do want to write more, I'm just exhausted. I powered through 10 chapters of a new Din series and I haven't touched it since I got sick. I woke up in the middle of a full blown panic attack this morning and I just wanted to curl up and ignore the world but had to get up and go to work. I don't have PTO or sick time so I've got a lot to make up for from being sick a few weeks ago. I'll get back to Din soon. I'll get back to Poe and No More Wasted Time. I'll get back to creative things. I'll get back to me. Just gotta pause and be gentle with myself.

If you read this far, thank you for sticking around. I love you all so much and never dreamed I'd be a part of such an incredible community. 💖

[wyn-n-tonic]

Tomorrow

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: It's about the yearning. Author's Note: Hiiiii. So, I was sitting here drinking my Respect Oscar Isaac juice and thinking about how I feel like I'm really shit at the whole second person/reader insert perspective and why not experiment with the both of them? I decided this is a gift to my beautiful friend @soyelfuegoquearde​ because she has reignited this flame for Oscar in my soul and she just deserves it. Also, woo woo, two fics in the span of five hours? Maybe I'll write a second part to this, who knows. No editing, we die like men here.

MASTERLIST | Tomorrow | Today | Yesterday

“Fuck off, Santi.”

He’s leaning into the doorframe, face half buried in the arm that supports his weight against the wood but that doesn’t stop you from putting your weight and anger behind the swing to slam it shut.

It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t. His hand flies out to catch it before it knocks him on his ass and you’d be disappointed if it weren't just a little impressive.

“Nice reflexes, old man, now fuck off.”

There’s a gin-no-tonic hanging from the tips of your right hand as you point his ass back to the street and your eyes are red but you still don’t know if the tears they shed come from sadness or anger. You look at him now, the peachy undertone of his skin glowing through the gold, and it hits you. You are enraged. A vibrant frequency of pain and hurt and fury rippling under your skin since he had the audacity to ambush you at work.

“Darli—“

“No,” you cut him off, “you don’t get to call me that, you left.”

You turn from him, resolving to have the conversation since he won’t take your advice, and walk through back to the kitchen. The thought of another drink is heavy on your mind, a little too appetizing as you down the rest of what’s left and send up a silent prayer that at least he had the courtesy to do this on a Friday. Your days of wrangling pre-teens into math class as the ghost of tequila past rattles your skull are long gone.

But so was Santiago Garcia until about five hours ago.

You turn to face him, his presence heavy on your heels through the house, “speak.”

That shit eating grin he always used to sport tugs at his lips now, a yes ma’am falling easily from his lips like you’re his commanding officer and he’s nothing but a good soldier.

Which is true, the only thing Santiago was ever good at was being a soldier.

“Don't be fucking cute,” you pour yourself another drink, neglecting to offer him one, “why are you here?”

“I missed you.”

It’s a snap reflex, the hefty glass hauled in the general direction of his head. Your favorite shatters against the wall and now it's not just his goddamn bootprints you’ll have to clean from the floors this weekend but it’s shards and the good gin that you only bring out on special occasions.

Or really fucking shitty ones.

You move for the broom through blurred eyes and you can’t tell if you’re drunk or if you’re crying but walking is so difficult now because he said that. Why would he say that?

“You don’t get to say that,” and you grab for the dustpan hanging behind the pantry door, moving forward to clean up another mess that Santiago Garcia caused.

He grabs your wrist as you shuffle forward past him, coaxing the cleaning supplies from your hands, “you're not wearing shoes, I’ve got it.”

Looking up into his normally calculating eyes you see what looks like sorrow in them but you shake that thought, certain it’s only your own reflected back at you.

He shuffles a pile of fragmented crystal together and squats—a noticeable wince contorting his features—to collect it for the trash when you ask,

"Why did you leave?”

It’s small, walls falling a little to your own vulnerability because you want to know. You want to understand what you did to deserve being left like that.

He takes a deep breath and sits up straight, hand resting on his thigh and you wonder how he’s holding that position if he's in so much pain but then he’s speaking and the anger is seeping back through you, bleeding into the sorrow with a rush of blood between your ears.

“You said you needed space.”

“Yes,” your eyes bore into his from above, “space, Santiago. In normal people speak, that means a couple of days so people can get their shit together—“

You can see his breathing quicken, you know from memory like it was yesterday just how fast his heart ticks forward when his chest heaves like that.

“—and figure stuff out with a clear head but, apparently, in Santiago’s world, that means fucking off to South America for three years.”

“I wanted you to go with me.”

It's his turn to sound small now. As you reach for the bottom still on the counter, he almost flinches. Like he’s expecting you to throw this one too.

And you should, it would serve him right, but it’s a seventy dollar bottle of gin and it’s still full up so you decide against it.

“I asked you to go with me.”

“And I asked for space, Santi,” the tears break then, frustration coming to a head, “to figure out the logistics of what that would mean for me and my career and you just chose for me without even a goodbye.”

“Baby,” he's reaching out but still so far away as he lifts himself to his full height, that grimace returning to his features.

"You didn't even call, Santiago!”

"I know.”

"So why are you here? Now? You don’t get to say you miss me, you are the one who chose to leave.”

He licks his lips, "I made a mistake.”

You meet that with a scoff, you know you're the best thing Santiago Garcia has ever had.

“Mistake is such a goddamn understatement.”

He places the dustpan on the table, crossing the distance between your bodies. The alcohol has dulled your reactions, you hardly register his hands wrapped around your arms until they’re there. Warm and burning through the fabric of your sleeves. And he's here. A breath away after thousands of miles and all you can think about is his lips and that last kiss before it all went to shit.

“When you asked for space, my fight of flight kicked in,” and you realize the sorrow in his eyes isn’t your reflection, “I thought you were trying to figure out how to leave me.” It's just him. “So I left before you could.”

You search his face for more answers but you know that’s all he has, the most vulnerable and bare truth of him laid out before you.

“Santi, I—“

“No,” he brings his hands up to cup your face, a thumb running along your bottom lip, “it's late, you’re drunk, let's get you to bed and we can talk about this tomorrow.”

You nod as much as you can, his rough palm stunting your movements, “yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He kisses your forehead and wraps himself around you in a hug, “tomorrow.”

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[beetlesandstarss]

Chapter 2: Shopping at 10 PM

To Be Loved For No Reason At All (Series)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

Summary: Eddie makes a show of jutting his chin as best he can, a smile tugging at his lips as he says over his Lunchables, “I’ll have you know these bad boys are delectable, Mr holier-than-thou.”

Notes: AAAH writing chapter three at the moment, will try to get it done tonight and post it tomorrow! It's my favourite so far, I am very much looking forward to posting it!

I'm graduating in like, two days so I apologise if chapter 4 is late!!!! will try to have it out by Friday :D

Chapter playlist: Cold Shower - Salem Al Fakir Working For The Weekend - Loverboy Window - Still Woozy 104 Degrees - Slaughter Beach, Dog

-

Steve’s stacking VHS tapes the next afternoon, thinking the previous night over. He’s severely hungover, and hopes that’s why the world feels slightly tipped on its axis. 

He hasn’t heard from Eddie since the two went their separate ways after the party, but like, that’s kind of expected. What was the guy supposed to do, come knocking on Steve’s door in the morning to let him know he’s alive and breathing? Yeah, fat chance of that. But a part of Steve still childishly wishes he had. 

It still hasn’t really sunk in. Finding Eddie in the bathroom. Having to - to revive him. That Eddie told him about his parents. That Steve was stupid enough to ask. Steve had always assumed it was a sore spot, since he never brought it up himself. He’d always thought Eddie had run away from home. He’s not sure why. But now Steve knows the real deal, the real story. It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. 

He assumes he won’t hear from Eddie again until their next chance run-in, which is why he has to stop and blink for a full ten seconds when he sees Eddie’s car pull up in the driveway outside. 

Steve feels a smile tug at his lips as Eddie makes his way inside. He’s got his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the floor. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, except the shirt, which is some sort of Metal band merch, Steve thinks. The smile drops off his face as he gets closer. 

“Hey,” calls Steve, weary.

Eddie’s eyes snap to Steve’s. His eyes look bigger than ever, with dark bags weighing them down. He makes his way over to where Steve’s standing, next to a cart of unstacked VHS tapes. 

“Hi, so,” starts Eddie. He looks wound up tight, like something’s biting at his ass. “Shit, I don’t know how to say this, but, um. Are we cool, man?” 

Steve blinks. “Uh, yeah? Sure. We’re cool.”

Eddie nods, blinking fast. “Okay. Great, fantastic. Shit, okay. Good to know.”

They stand in tense silence for a second. 

Eddie explodes. “It’s just that word-vomit and literal-vomit are not the best ingredients for friendship - if we’re even friends, are we? Don’t answer that. I don’t even know why I came here. Fuck, I’m too hungover for this shit.” He rubs his eyes. “I feel, I feel that, yesterday is maybe, kind of, grounds enough for us to not be cool? And I know we had a moment but I’ve had my fair share of moments that are not really moments, and the next I know, I’m getting headbutted in the face, so? Are you a hundred percent sure we’re cool?”

Putting down the VHS tape he’s been holding awkwardly, Steve folds his arms into his chest. “I - yeah? But - you’re getting headbutted? Who’s headbutting you, man? Do I need to get my bat? It’s in the trunk of my car.” It is. He can’t bring himself to take it out. 

“What? No.” Eddie lowers himself to the floor, then springs right up again. All that manic energy, with nowhere to go. His eyes bore into Steve. “I’m asking if you plan to headbutt me anytime soon in the future. Or late in the future. Whichever. So that I can, y’know,” he gestures firmly with his hands, “Get out of your way.” 

Steve creases his eyebrows together. Gets this itching feeling he’s missing something, like Eddie’s trying to tell him something without spelling it out for him. But - well, Steve wasn’t popular in High School because he was the sharpest tool in the box. He gets by, but solving Eddie’s riddles hungover? No comprende. 

He also doesn’t like that this is where Eddie’s mind went, after last night. That Steve would for some reason have it out for him, for… being honest with him, or something. It doesn’t make any sense. He wishes Robin was here. She’d know what to do. Robin and Eddie are kind of buddies now, they started talking during the whole Watergate debacle. Where are you when I need you? 

“Listen,” Steve unfolds his arms. “I promise I am not planning to headbutt you, or like, hurt you at like, all? I thought you knew me better than that, Munson.” 

Eddie’s searching his face for something. “Yes, well. I just thought. That. I thought that. Shit, it doesn’t matter what I thought. So. Glad we’ve - talked. Sayonara. See ya.” 

“What?” asks Steve, but Eddie’s already speeding towards the door, and half a minute later, he’s pulling out of the driveway, music blaring. 

-

The rest of his shift was unbearable, a million questions clouding his mind, the most prominent of which were: who, why, when, and how the hell is Eddie Munson? 

He’s still mulling the afternoon over when he’s getting out of his car in the grocery store parking lot. He’s done that a lot, the past twenty-four hours. Thinking. Eddie brings out the best of him. Like his brain. 

It’s ten PM and the grocery store’s harsh light makes him squint. He wanders the produce aisle, wrinkling his nose at the stuff he doesn’t like (fucking kumquats), and looks consideringly at the stuff he does (strawberries). He grabs a box of strawberries, and heads for the snacks. Doubles back and grabs two more. 

On his way to the snacks, he grabs four ready meals. Who can be bothered to cook on any given day ever? Not Steve. 

In the snack aisle, he grabs a couple of bags of Doritos. Heads for the drinks. Grabs a couple of cokes. He’s reading the incomprehensible ingredients on the back of one of the cans when he turns around and walks right into someone’s back. 

“Ah, my bad,” he says, looking up. His eyebrows climb up his forehead, heart skipping a beat. “Hello,” he grins, can’t help himself. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Eddie’s got Lunchables stacked up to his chin, and he looks so ridiculous Steve wishes desperately he could take a photo. “Uh,” says Eddie. “It’s not what it looks like?”

“Bulking for a rough winter?” Steve teases, putting the can he’d been holding into the cart he’d been dragging along behind him with the rest of his stuff. Pulls a hand through his hair, hoping it’s held its shape after today. 

Eddie makes a show of jutting his chin as best he can, a smile tugging at his lips as he says over his Lunchables, “I’ll have you know these bad boys are delectable, Mr holier-than-thou.” 

“Me? Holier-than-thou? I’m wounded.” Steve mimics getting shot in the heart, theatrically stumbling backwards. 

Eddie seems to bite the inside of his cheek. “Funny. Guess they didn’t call you a ladykiller for nothing.” 

“Ooh, double kill,” he says, clutching his chest. 

Eddie grins, kicks at Steve’s shoe. Steve marvels at the dimples in Eddie’s cheeks, kinda wants to poke them. What the hell?  

“So, uh. You just picking up Hawkins’ entire supply of Lunchables or…” 

Eddie gestures behind him. “That’s my stuff over there.” 

Steve looks at the cart behind him, parked next to the cookies. 

Steve looks back at Eddie. “That’s just beer.” 

“Yep.” 

“You are…” Steve searches for the right word. “Unbelievable.”

Eddie looks affronted. “Unbelievable? That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s buying -” Eddie peeks at Steve’s cart, “Doritos and strawberries en masse.” 

Steve’s a little bit obsessed with the way Eddie says Doritos. Like he just can’t tone down the theatricality. 

“They’re in season,” Steve justifies. 

“Don’t think Doritos have a season, Steve,” says Eddie. 

“God, shut up,” groans Steve, but he’s grinning from ear to ear and he’s so glad he decided to go grocery shopping at ten in the evening. Thinks he’d do it every day for the rest of his life if he could see Eddie like this. Steve quickly rewinds to that thought, thinks ? and pretends he didn’t think it. 

“Think you’d have to literally kill me to shut me up, Harrington,” says Eddie, gesturing with a nod that he’s grabbing his cart. As he’s turned around Steve has time to school his expression into something that doesn’t scream, yeah I think I might’ve possibly noticed that yesterday when I found you half-alive and not talking in a bathtub. He doesn’t think Eddie would appreciate it. 

When Eddie returns, arms now bereft of any and all Lunchables, cart now snug and full of said Lunchables, he sighs. Puts his hands on his waist, a bit like a mom. Standing there with their two carts, Steve suddenly feels violently suburban. He doesn’t hate it. 

“‘Kay. This was nice. Less awkward than it should’ve been, I think? Like, considering… everything?” says Eddie.

“So not awkward,” agrees Steve, and he means it. “Not at all.” 

A pause. Eddie tuts. “Well don’t make it awkward just to prove me wrong, dude. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” 

Steve snorts and follows him to the only open register. 

When everything’s been paid for and bagged, the two stroll out of the store together. Steve knocks his plastic bag into Eddie’s. The air is warm out. Humid, almost. 

“Hey, uh,” Steve says. “Wanna go somewhere?”

Eddie gives him a quizzical look. “Go where? The gas station? We’re in Hawkins.” 

Steve kicks at him playfully. Eddie jumps away, smile playing on his lips. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” drawls Steve. “I was thinking maybe Skull Rock?”

Eddie stops, just to give Steve the full experience of him gaping at him. “Harrington - fuck you,” Eddie says, but he’s laughing, so Steve laughs too. 

“Kidding,” he cackles. Rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ve got the keys to Family Video, so…” he trails off. 

“Yes, that tends to happen when you work somewhere,” says Eddie seriously. 

“Oh my God, put a sock in it,” says Steve. “What I meant by that was, we can watch a movie. If you’d like to.” Dropping the theatrics, he adds, “Your pick?” 

Eddie looks delighted. “Fuck yeah.”

-

Notes: Take a shot every time i say Lunchables

Actually don’t do that

[bonjour-rainycity]

Imagine: Being friends with Alice and asking Carlisle for help on your chemistry homework

Characters: Cullen family, female reader

Rating: G

Word count: 2120

Warnings: None

Request by anon: Wait, omg I’m so happy I found a blog that’s updated recently and I’m definitely gonna ✨stalk✨ your blog and read all your writing after hw but if you’re still doing requests, I thought of something that I would just love to see written. And this could be short or something, y’know? It can be whatever you want it to be, but what if the reader is somewhat friends with the Cullens? Reader (maybe like 20 years old?) is invited to their house one weekend after bumping into Alice and becoming friends and from passing conversation, reader knows that Carlisle is a doctor so she asks him if he could help her with her organic chemistry hw cause she’s studying to be a med student? 

A/n Wow I’m so sorry this took me so long! It’s such a cute request and I loved writing it! Thanks for sending it in and for being patient with me :)

Shoot.

Mentally, I groan, stopping my progress towards my car.

I still have chem homework.

I fiddle with the keys in my hand, contemplating. You could go home…lay in bed…maybe with a pint of ice cream…and pass out in a stress and sugar-induced coma.

Oh, how tempting.

But then I remind myself of why I’m putting myself through the hell that is a STEM degree, and turn on my heel, heading back to campus. I know I won’t get any work done if I go home, so the library it is! Thank goodness it’s open twenty-four hours, because it’s creeping up to eleven and I don’t have the heart to return to one of the academic buildings.

Seeing as it’s Friday night, the library isn’t crowded. Still, I push past all the tables on the first floor and head up to my favorite spot on the second. Settling in at my favorite partially secluded table, I pull out my organic chemistry textbook, pop in my earbuds, and get to work.

{***}

A small, pale hand skims over the table near my book, and I look up with a start.

Alice Cullen stands by my desk, clutching a set of books that look too heavy for her thin arms, but she seems to be managing fine. She and I met during the first week of classes, and have been tentative friends ever since. We don’t see much of each other, given our varying degree programs, but she always greets me with a friendly smile and an offer to join her to study. I pull out my headphones, and give her a tired smile. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good!” She smiles excitedly, somehow keeping her energy levels at—I check the time on my phone—1:12 am! “Have you been here for long?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of the late hour on my shoulders. “Since around eleven. I was going home but then I forgot I have o-chem homework. I don’t think it should be taking me this long, but I’m struggling. Thankfully only half of it is due in the morning. The rest isn’t due until after the weekend.”

Alice peers over to look at my book and the problems I work through in my notebook. “Oh, those do look hard. But you know, my dad is a doctor, and he probably knows this stuff like the back of his hand. He’d be more than happy to help you.”

I blanch. An invitation to the Cullen’s house? And free help on o-chem homework?

But then I remember my manners. “Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t—”

“Please,” she squeaks, balancing her books in one arm and using the other to retrieve her phone. “We’d be happy to have you over! I’ll let my family know. Does tomorrow around lunchtime work?”

“Uh,” I swallow, not sure I’m believing my ears. “That works great, thank you! I can bring the food?”

She shakes her head, waving off the offer. “Don’t worry about it—Mom loves to cook and will be excited to really use the kitchen. Oh! And there’s this new series my sisters and I have been dying to watch. It’s called Broadchurch. Have you heard of it? Maybe we can start it and see if it’s any good!”

I nod dumbly, too tired and relieved for the help to refuse again. “That sounds fun! Thank you.”

“Of course,” she smiles, shrugging like it’s nothing. “What are friends for?”

My smile softens. She considers us friends. “Do you want to walk out together? It’s pretty late.”

She beams and waits while I collect my stuff.

{***}

I pull up to the front of the massive house.

Alice is waiting for me on the porch. She waves excitedly, and I notice her fiancé standing near the door, looking uncomfortable. I stifle a chuckle. It’s well-known that Jasper, introvert in every sense of the word, fell hard for Alice who is the embodiment of an extravert. I wave, grabbing my backpack and stepping out of the car.

“Welcome,” Alice practically shouts. Jasper gives me a polite nod.

I smile at the two of them, calling out my hello’s and climbing the stairs to the porch. The second Jasper opens the door, I’m greeted by the warm smile of Esme Cullen.

“Hello, Y/n, welcome to our home! We are so happy to have you here.” She extends a warm smile, one I can’t help but return immediately.

Alice leads us straight to the living room, where two of her adoptive siblings, Emmett and Rosalie, lounge. Rosalie sketches something I can’t see, and Emmett yells loudly at the TV, losing at a video game.

“Beat it, Emmett,” Alice chirps, dancing over and taking the controller from his hands. “We’re going to watch Broadchurch.”

Putting his frustration at the game aside, Emmett grins, standing and ruffling Alice’s hair. “Alright, I was getting my ass kicked anyway. Hey, Y/n, good to see you again.”

I return his greeting, familiar with Emmett from an intro to theatre class we had together last semester. The image of his interpretation of Juliet for our final project comes to mind, and I have to stifle a laugh. Emmett goes to leave the room, pulling Jasper with him.

“Send Bella down, would you,” Alice calls after them, already settling on the couch. “Rose, you know Y/n, right?”

Rosalie looks up from her sketching. She smiles briefly at me, then returns to her task. I sit awkwardly next to Alice, waiting for Bella so we can start the show.

“There aren’t many women in STEM.”

My head shoots up, wide eyes turning in Rosalie’s direction. She doesn’t look up from her work, but I know she’s addressing me���Alice is studying fashion merchandising and design.

“Y-yeah,” I stammer. Alice’s older sister is just so intimidating. Well-spoken, obviously intelligent, tall, prettier than anyone I’ve ever met, and top of her law class. She’s not exactly warm either, like her mother or sister—even now, there’s a cold bite to her tone. But the edges of her lips quirk up, and I can tell she’s being nice.

“Don’t let the guys push you around. What you’re doing is important, and you’re probably smarter than them. What do you want to do with your degree?”

The answer, always on my heart and mind, is automatic. “I want to be a doctor. So, med school is next.”

She nods once. “Good.”

And apparently that’s the end of our conversation.

I try to hide my smile by rummaging around in my backpack for my water bottle. It’s nice to feel supported.

Bella comes gliding down the stairs and twists into the living room, folding herself easily onto the love seat. She greets me, and then tosses me the throw over the back of her couch. Alice nods as if forgetting something, then reaches into a basket hidden between our couch and Rosalie’s chair and produces three more blankets, throwing two to her sisters and keeping one for herself. She shoots me a grin as each of us, even the serious Rosalie, snuggles up.

Alice stands, turning off the lights and then wraps back in her blanket and scoots near me on the couch. “I hope this is good!” With a grin, she opens Netflix and plays the first episode.

{***}

Broadchurch does not disappoint. Before I know it, we’re halfway through the second episode, eyes glued to the screen. Bella, who was definitely reading a book under her blanket at the start, has put it to the side, leaning forward and watching the show intently.

The front door creaks, then clicks closed, and Alice smiles, pressing pause on the remote. “Dad’s home.”

Before long, the famed local doctor comes in to say hi to the girls and to greet me. He’s just as welcoming as his wife!

“Alice told me you are having trouble with some organic chemistry homework?”

I nod, hoping it’s not too much to ask for his help. “I got a good start on some of the problems last night, but I keep messing up. I’m not really sure where I’m going wrong—there’s no answer key so I can’t work backwards through the problems.”

He nods, casually resting his hands in the pocket of his slacks. “I remember o-chem homework quite well.” He grins conspiratorially. “It is the bane of many a med student’s existence. Why don’t you girls finish up your episode and then join Esme and me in the kitchen for lunch? I can take a look at your homework if you like.”

Relief washes over me. “That would be great, thank you so much.”

He smiles warmly. “Of course. Now, if you all will excuse me….” With a twinkle in his eye, he leaves us to rejoin his wife.

This family is so nice! I wonder why they get so much flack at school?

Alice resumes the episode, and soon my musings are washed away as I try to piece together the mystery of the murder before the detectives can.

{***}

Esme is a wonderful cook. Carlisle sings her praises but doesn’t fix a plate for himself, saying he ate plenty as she was cooking. We all sit down at the table, though I’m the only one who eats in earnest — Bella claims to be filled up on snacks, Rose says she’s on a diet, and Alice takes a small helping for herself, every now and then poking the chicken in mild disgust. I don’t see what the problem is, the food is fantastic!

Carlisle sits down next to me, and I slide my textbook and notebook in his direction. He smiles, looking almost nostalgic. “I remember these. The good news is, as a doctor, you won’t be doing much of this in day-to-day life, if at all. But it is important for some courses you will take in medical school, so it’s best to master the concepts now. See, on number nineteen, you start the problem correctly, but get lost once you have to balance the equation to continue. Instead of waiting until the middle to balance, I would do that first, that way, you have a solid base before moving on to solve the rest of the problem.”

I nod, peering over at the paper intently. I hadn’t tried that strategy before.

Carlisle takes out a pen, and begins scratching out an equation. Then, he grins, shaking his head, and crosses it out, starting again in much neater handwriting. “Forgive my penmanship. Though, if you decide to continue and become a practicing doctor, your handwriting will soon be indecipherable, too.”

From across the table, Rosalie snorts, and I can’t help but laugh along. It seems almost a rite of passage for a doctor to have horrendous handwriting.

In clearer script, Carlisle continues working out the problem, then slides the paper over for me to see. He explains what he did at each step, and I nod along, trying to commit as much of it to memory as possible. He works out another problem in the same way, then asks me to try on my own. I smile tentatively as I go, hesitant to accept that I actually know how to do the problem now.

But I do.

It takes concentration to work through the steps, but I can, which is a far cry from where I was last night. Carlisle waves off my thanks, saying I just needed to try a different approach, but I had it within me all along. I bring up another section I had issues with—structures of the elements—and Carlisle teaches me a better strategy for memorizing a few and then figuring out the rest. By the time Esme and Bella have put the food away, my homework is done—in a fourth of the time it would have taken me struggling through it on my own.

“Seriously, Dr. Cullen, thank you so much.”

He smiles pleasantly, handing me back my textbook. “Of course. If you need help again, just come on over. I know the girls love having the company, and my wife and I enjoyed the opportunity to meet you as well.”

Esme appears behind her husband, laying her hands affectionately on his shoulders. “Absolutely, Y/n. Please come over any time.”

I pack up my homework and thank them once again for lunch and for the help. Alice darts to my side, grinning. “Ready to finish the episode?”

I feel so much lighter now that my homework is done, and I don’t feel guilty at all for spending time with my new friends. In fact, I may even indulge in that ice cream when I get home.

“Absolutely.”

A/n Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, here’s the link to my masterlist :)

[lupismaris]

Summertime, And The Livin’s Easy- a black sails fic prompt fill

this became incredibly long so instead of just posting it with the ask i’ve made it’s own post 

@themelonface​ asks- For the fic prompts (if you're still taking them), silverflint talking about children. Can be AU, can be set during or after canon. I just have a feeling Miranda never wanted any, Thomas was too wrapped up in the fight for equality to need anything more than cats, but maybe James would have wanted kids in another life.

HERE MY DARLING HAVE THE FIRST OF hopefully TWO PROMPT FILLS because i want to write a post canon ficlet for this ask as well. 

but for now have modern au silverflint (and hamilton at the end) and the discussion of children 💕

cw for mentions of child abuse and shitastic fathers!!! but theres nothing graphic mentioned or shown. 

***

It was the hazy space between what would have been brunch on a weekend and the corporate lunch time rush and the start of cocktail hour on every other day when half the bars in Brooklyn Heights hadn’t actually opened their doors yet and those that had were serving sandwiches and day drinking friendly cocktails.

 The Walrus was one of the latter.

Silver slid off his bar stool as the last member of the aforementioned lunch rush stepped out the door and leaned against the polished bar top with a bright grin. “How you holding up, honey?” Muldoon rolled his eyes. “Please, a corpse could make an aperol spritz.” “I doubt a corpse could make that many of them that quickly.” “Flattery might work on other men,” Muldoon said, as he always did, with a wag of his tattooed finger and a smile fighting to show on his face. “But it will not work on me.” “Are you sure? Cause you were pretty sexy with those martinis. Remind me why its always vodka?” “Your boyfriend has told you that a dozen times already, I know it for a fact, you shit.” “Okay but maybe I wanna hear you explain it. Again,” Silver said, propping his chin on his hands and putting on his best Cheshire smile, throwing in a slight batting of the lashes just for Muldoon’s sake. They played this game every time Silver wasted away a few hours at the bar, which he was starting to do more and more often. He’d joke with Flint that it was only out of boredom, but in truth, he felt safe there, nestled in the corner with his laptop or acting as an honorary member of the staff when they needed some help. He didn’t want to dwell too much on it, on why he felt so safe there or why after so many years he was once again feeling so painfully devoted to the same group of men who’d despite everything, seen him through hell. Muldoon sighed, his hands making quick work of filling the high powered steam dishwasher under the counter. He pushed it closed with his hip and looked up at Silver, finally cracking a smile. “Do you want to help me run bar for a bit, love? While it’s quiet?”

Silver was behind the bar before Muldoon could even consider changing his mind. He did pause to duck into the kitchen quickly, where the two line cooks- Randal and Dooley- were working on their mise en place and Vane was wedged into the alley doorway with a cigarette in his mouth, recovering from the lunch rush. His long hair was carefully tied up in a braided bun and covered in a bandanna, ears lined as always with half a dozen hoops a piece. “Why do you look like you just ate a canary?” Vane asked around his smoke. “No reason. Where’s the Captain?” Vane nodded to the walk in pantry where Flint was likely checking stock counts, “he’s in a mood again.” “When isn’t he? When he’s done tell him to come up to the bar I’ve got a surprise,” Silver said, still wearing that grin, and Vane laughed with a nod, going back to watching the alley behind the bar. “Alright come on you flirt-” Muldoon called, and Silver quickly washed his hands and snagged one of the spare aprons Hal kept behind the bar. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to make a cocktail, he played bartender for house parties all the time. But there was something different about learning to do it properly, from Muldoon who clearly took great pride in it, and in a place that was quickly becoming a second home to him. An hour in, and several successful cocktails later, Muldoon allowed Silver to help him actually fill orders for the few customers they got, though it wasn’t many. Flint still had not resurfaced from the kitchen, and so Silver kept his focus on the recipes Muldoon had him run through- proper martinis and Manhattans, Mojitos and mules, mezcal margs and all the things you could do with the collection of Amaros and aperitifs behind the bar. The customers were students on their way home from morning classes, morning shifters heading home or stopping for some food before the evening shift at their second job started, regulars who stopped in for lunch because no one made a cuban quite as well as their kitchen did.   And then the door chimed and Silver looked up with his customary smile and greeting ready, waiting to see where the guests might seat themselves- the host wouldn’t be in till four when the official dinner service started- and found himself staring at, well, children. Six of them, all too young to be in a bar unsupervised even before happy hour but probably even too young to be wandering around Brooklyn by themselves as it was. The older two definitely had the hardened older sibling with “semi absent if not entirely absent parents” look around them, Silver knew that look far too well, though whether the four younger kids were siblings or just under their care he couldn’t be sure. All of them were wearing some variation of public school uniform which Silver recognized from the public school a few blocks away. “Hey Nicki,” Muldoon said with a wave, and one of the older kids with short messy dark hair and equally dark eyes waved back. Silver looked at Muldoon quickly with raised brows. “Do me a favor go find Flint, okay? Tell him the kids are up front.” Silver just nodded, watching as Nicki and the other older kid shepherded the younger kids into the big corner booth closest to the bar without being told to, and slipped into the kitchen. Vane was at the prep table, knife in hand and making quick work of a cut of meat. He didn’t look up when he heard the door swing open but tilted his head expectantly. “Flint?” Sliver asked. “Smoke break, should be about done. Said he was coming up to see you in a minute.” Silver threw open the back alley door and there was Flint, propped up against the wall with a beaten up paperback on his knee and a forgotten cigarette in his hand. He looked up at him with a frown. “Hey whats wrong? You set the bar on fire with a flaming mojito or something?” he said, wearing a rare teasing smile. “Not yet but theres like, half a kindergarten class upfront.” Flint blinked, looked at his watch, and swore, “shit they must’ve let out early cause of the heat.” “Darling, what in the hell are you talking about.” Flint stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it in the ashtray by the door, kissing the top of Silver’s head as he passed. “I’ll explain in a minute- Vane! Leave the dinner service I need you on the meal kits with me-” “Already started on them,” Vane said, waving the knife idly as he portioned the meat into rather exact ready to cook portions. Flint nodded and washed his hands. “Dooley wheres those sandwiches I told you to fix-” “Here boss.” “Silver,” Flint loaded up six plates of sandwiches onto two serving trays and passed the lighter of the two to Silver. “Take one of these out with me ‘kay?” Silver nodded and balanced the tray on his shoulder, following Flint out of the kitchen. The bar was still mostly empty, Muldoon hanging out at the corner of the bar closest to the kids, making them each a Shirley Temple and passing Nicki a pitcher of water for them to share. Normally, Silver would’ve made some smart ass remark about how apparently it was normally for a bunch of kids to just turn up at the bar for lunch but something about this felt different and something in the set of Flint’s shoulders told him to stay quiet. “Let me guess the AirCon crap out again?” Flint asked upon reaching the table. “Or did one of you sabotage it to get out early?” The younger kids all started talking at once, bursts of loud excitement at seeing Flint, and the food, all wanting to explain why they had been let out of school a little bit early that day. Nicki and the other older kid, Sola, helped distribute the plates of food with smiles and nods of thanks while Flint listened intently to the kids’ rambling and incoherent explanations.   Once the young-ins were distracted by the sandwiches, Nicki offered a more coherent explanation. “Yeah they said the AC’s gonna be out till tomorrow with the heat, so they’re closing school till Monday,” he said. “Three day weekend I guess, without the extra homework since the teachers didn’t have time to prepare for any.” “Nice. Gonna meet your friends at the bridge park tomorrow? You mentioned wanting to get your kick flips more polished.” Nicki shook his head, looking bitter about it. “Can’t, busted up my front bearings and wheels on a ride home last week, won’t be able to afford to fix it for a bit. S’fine though, got chores to do.” Flint nodded, leaning back against the bar with his arms lazily crossed over his middle. “Do me a solid and bring the board by tomorrow okay? I think one of my guys might have some spare parts they’re not using.” Silver felt something in him break a little at the way the boy’s face lit up at Flint’s words. Or maybe it was at the ease with which Flint handled the kids, the openness he showed them, listening to how their days had gone, if only in brief, listening to their problems, which to them seemed world ending- Sola’s internet was out for the weekend, so she’d be at the library doing homework on Friday and probably most of the weekend when she wasn’t helping at her aunt’s salon, the little ones would all be shuttled to various relatives until Monday until they went back to school and Sola and Nicki, or another of the older kids in their building would take charge of them again. One of the younger kids was staring at Silver, her sandwich half held to her mouth. Just staring, bright brown eyes fixed on him in that quizzical way that children possessed that always made Silver feel transparent. Flint noticed and followed her gaze with an amused grin, waving for Silver to come over to join them instead of hiding behind the bar with Muldoon.  Silver looked at him wide eyed for a moment, then at the kids, specifically the little girl who was staring him down like a gunslinger, and then back at Flint, who just reached for him. Damn the bastard, he knew that was all it ever took. Silver came over and let Flint pull him in under his arm, feeling like a bug under the microscope in a science class he never attended but had heard about from other people. “You have pretty hair,” the little girl said. She was missing her two front teeth and Silver wanted to melt. “Thank you. You have big eyes.” “Yeah. They see a lot,” She said nodding solemnly. Silver could feel Flint shifting with the effort it took not to laugh. “They’re a pretty color. They remind me of this stone called tiger’s eye,” Silver continued. He could see Nicki giving Flint a look, though he didn’t know what Flint was doing in response. The little girl tilted her head. “Whats that?” So Silver pulled out his phone and showed her, which lead to a short lesson in gemstones that mostly amounted to excited cries of “oh shiny” and “I’d steal that one” which did Silver’s heart good. “This is Silver, a friend of mine who just moved back to town. He’s helping out round here. So he and I are gonna go fix your take away bags,” Flint said, once the momentary fascination in gemstones had faded and the kids were once again fixed on their plates. “Sola, you and Nicki just let Muldoon know if you guys need anything, or stick your head in the kitchen and yell okay? We’ll hear you. C’mon Silver.” If Silver had hoped for an explanation, he didn’t get one. Once he and Flint crossed the threshold back into the kitchen there was work to be done- Randal and Dooley handled the orders brought to them from the waitstaff while Flint and Vane, with Silver doing whatever Flint told him to, made quick work of assembling meal kit after meal kit from dishes both on and off the bar’s menu. Everything was boxed up and taped shut, paired with pre-typed instructions on how to cook the meals and how many servings each would make, and tucked into sturdy double layered brown bags that would hopefully survive a trip across the neighborhood. As they were finishing twenty minutes later, Hal’s voice could be heard through the window behind the bar, which answered Silver’s most pressing question- did he know that Flint was just running a school cafeteria out of the bar? Apparently yes, and apparently the kids were just as excited, if not more so, to see “Uncle” Hal. Because of course they called him Uncle Hal, why wouldn’t they. God, Silver was going to have to book a fucking dentist appointment for all the tooth rot the sweetness of this was giving him. He helped Flint carry out the bags of food, Vane insisting the kids would be too scared of him while Flint argued that Vane was just scared of the kids, and Silver watched as Hal and Flint got the bags labeled for each child and into a push cart that Sola promised to bring back the next day when she passed on her way to her Aunt’s salon. He then did his very best not to pass away on the spot as each kid, even Nicki and Sola, hugged Hal goodbye. Flint had crouched down to say good by to the little ones, accepting their clumsy hugs, reminding them to be careful walking home, and asking them to recite the bar’s phone number for him just in case (though Silver was sure they probably had cellphones, even if they were elementary schoolers), before he stood and gave Nicki and Sola each a one armed hug and watched them shepherd the group outside again. “Only group today?” Hal asked and Silver thought his voice sounded a bit heavy. “So far. Powers out at their school though, likely a couple others’ll come by later. Want me to call around to the other bars and see if they’ve heard anything?” “Yeah call the food bank and the closest shelter too for me, see if we can’t drop off our end of night supply to them this weekend.” Later, several more hours of food prep and three more groups of wary looking kids who all seemed completely unafraid of Flint and his crew, plus a Thursday night dinner rush, and Silver finally got his explanation. He also thought he should have gotten the nobel prize for being able to keep his mouth shut for as long as he did. “So are we gonna talk about it?” Flint was sitting on the floor in front of him, half asleep already between his thighs, as Silver combed his hair. They had taken home food from the bar and shared a six pack between them on the deck, Thomas held up at a Client dinner where he was no doubt being wined and dined and bored to absolute tears. They had treated themselves then to a hot bath, with the jets, and were now just wasting time with the kind of nonsexual intimacy that Silver had learned he craved with Flint, waiting for Thomas to join them so they could all manage a good nights sleep. “Talk about what?” Flint asked, his voice a heady rumble. “The kids. And why they knew to just wander into a bar on a Thursday,” Silver said, keeping his voice gentle. He coated his hands in more product and worked it into the shaved sides and back of Flint’s head, massaging his scalp as he went. “Why you and Hal and the rest of the crew seemed completely unphased by it.” Flint hummed lowly, nearly a purr as he leaned into Silver’s touch. They’d settled into the bedroom Thomas and Flint shared, like they did most nights since it had the nicest adjoining bathroom and all the obnoxiously nice hair and skin care products. Silver sat in the old plush armchair, bundled up in a robe while Flint, naked and content to air dry, leaned into him, a picture of ginger hair, rich freckles, and well loved tattoos on a soft strong figure. If Silver hadn’t been so distracted by the day, he’d have been more appreciative. “S’not that big a deal. Lots of families round here with young kids, can’t keep an eye on them between working two or three jobs, haven’t got money for babysitters or relatives to watch ‘em, or enough to cover food for the week, especially when the public schools can’t feed em. You start to notice which kids it is, when they pass by, which schools they go to, which blocks.” “In Brooklyn Heights?” “They don’t live in this neighborhood, Silver, you know that, not all of Brooklyn has been gentrified to shit by the developers. Hell walk a few blocks east towards the tech school and you’ll find a lot of them. Or south towards Bayridge. Anyway, the groups you met today are all right from Downtown Brooklyn, they go to school nearby you’ve seen them.” “Yeah I just… I dunno, you see so much of the multi-million dollar condos I guess you forget thats not all theres is.” “Nicki lives with his mom, his dad walked out and she’s working two jobs to keep the one bedroom they share over on Jay street. He’s only thirteen but he tried getting a job with me washing dishes last summer, I turned him down, sent him home with some food for his trouble,” Flint continued. Silver smiled, he could picture the scrappy dark haired boy trying to square up with Flint, trying to convince him he was old enough to legally work. “Let me guess he wasn’t the first.” “Won’t be the last either. If they aren’t working for the family to earn some extra money or to cut back on hiring expenses they’re looking for shifts somewhere to pick up the slack. They’re losing out on being kids all because the rent keeps going up and there ain’t shit else to do about it other than leave. And a lot of them can’t even afford to do that.” There was a familiar grit to Flint’s voice, the old bitter salt that meant someone had touched a nerve. It scared other people, but Silver knew it just meant Flint was, for the moment, being vulnerable with him. “Were you Nicki once? Trying to bully your way into work?” Silver asked softly. He reached for the comb again and sectioned off a part of Flint’s hair to start working with. Flint was quiet a moment. “Yeah. Yeah worked the docks a bit as a boy, most kids did it to earn pocket money or to help out with the bills.” “Which was it for you?” “Granddad only had his pension. And he spent that on booze. So whatever I earned at the docks helping the fishermen, or from pickpocketing, that was what bought food. Kept the lights on, shit like that. I told you once, that I met Henessy that way, picking his pocket.” Silver laughed softly. “I do remember. You technically succeeded, didn’t you?” “Mm, he only caught me cause someone snitched. Broke that fuckers nose real good I’ll tell you.” They were quiet for a moment, Silver combing Flint’s hair with impossible care, working his fingers through any knots he found, before following with product and conditioner, Flint grew heavier and heavier against him, warm and soft and his. “So you and Hal decided to do something, the way you always do?” Silver asked. “Hm? Oh yeah- city isn’t doin’ much, food banks and schools are already over run, and when school holidays hit, they can barely keep up demand for kids who need free meals. So we got a few other bars involved, met with some schools and the food banks and sent out some notices and just- started feeding people. I mean thats why Hal wanted to open the bar you know? You feed people and you give them everything. You feed them and they’ll do the rest. So thats what we did. In a week or two when the schools are out for the summer we’ll have a couple trucks that’ll make deliveries, so the kids don’t have to come to the bar.” Silver hummed and kissed his temple. “You’re sweet.” “Am not.” “You’ll let me help, right? Prep the meals and stuff?” Flint tipped his head back to look up at him. “You want to?” “Yeah. This altruistic thing is new to me, as is the cooking for fun thing but… it matters, to you, any idiot can see that. And I want to be part of it.” Silver smiled and leaned down to kiss him best he could. He could feel Flint smiling into the upside down kiss. “You’re really good with them too, you know, which please don’t take this the wrong way, I did not expect,” he added when he pulled back. “What with the kids?” “Yeah.” “Oh no offense taken I have no idea how it happened. They just aren’t afraid of me for some reason. I fully expected them to be, mind. I used to think I had the kind of face that would make babies and small children cry but apparently they just, I dunno, think I’m alright.” “They trust you, thats a big deal for kids. Especially ones who have clearly been let down by other adults. I mean you also talk to them like they’re just tiny adults which probably helps.” “They’re gonna be adults one day, might as well treat them with dignity well before they realize they should be fighting for it, you know?” Silver smiled softly, “Sometimes I don’t think you realize how magnificent you are, you bastard.” Flint didn’t say anything, just blindly reached for Sliver’s hands so he could pull him closer. So silver set aside the comb and rested his chin on the top of Flint’s head, wrapping his arms around him and holding tight to his weathered, tattooed hands. “You were good with them too, once you stopped being scared of them,” Flint offered. “Kids scare me, I’ve never spent enough time around them to learn how to make them happy. They’re so easy to hurt, so easy to damage. And extremely durable, extremely resilient but… I dunno… Just never trusted myself and never had the opportunity to do more than amuse them for a few minutes at a time before vanishing into thin air like Santa Claus.” “Well, you’ll have plenty of practice at the bar. I still think you were good with them. Little Sylvie likes you at least.” “Not as much as they love you.” Silver thought a moment. “Hey…” “Hm?” “Have… Have you and Thomas ever talked about kids?” It was a heavy question, one that might have been too much too soon and a part of Silver wished he hadn’t asked it. But there had been such a softness in Flint’s face when he’d spoken to the children, a kindness and a focus in his attention that meant he’d put time and effort into his actions, into making sure what he was doing was what the kids needed in that moment. It wasn’t just an adult slumming it with the neighborhood kids cause he had nothing better to do, it was almost, dare Silver think it, Paternal in nature. Paternal and the dread Captain Flint being used in the same sentence had not been something Silver had ever considered as possible, and yet- And yet it was, and it had piqued the old curiosity. Flint was quiet again, though he didn’t pull away or let go of Silvers hands, so Silver trusted that he hadn’t upset him. Silver held him tightly, turning his head to rest his cheek on Flint’s hair and wait patiently for him to speak. “Its complicated, pup.” “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious. I never thought of you as a dad until today but now I’m… I won’t lie a part of me is still thinking about it.” There was a soft shuddering sound and Silver felt Flint shift in his arms, curling tighter in on himself for a moment before trying to settle again. Silver held tight, pressing his face into his hair. It took another moment or two, and several deep breaths, but Flint eventually spoke. “Thomas and Miranda were expected to have children when they married,” he said lowly, “all wealthy families expect heirs. But Miranda didn’t want to go through pregnancy and Thomas wasn’t sure if he could sire so they found ways of putting it off and focusing on Thomas’ political career. Thomas… he wanted to save the world, I’m sure for a while he thought he couldn’t allow himself thoughts of a future until that was done.” Silver hummed. That did sound like Thomas. Even now, with the chip on his shoulder and the somewhat colder view of the world, he still seemed to think he could save it. Silver wasn’t about to point out that Flint still seemed to think the same way. “And after everything I dunno I guess it just took so much time to remember how to be living, breathing people again, that children were never part of the consideration,” Flint said with a shrug. There was a weight to his voice, an emptiness that had Silver frowning slightly in surprise. “How can you care for a child when you’ve only just come back to life? When you’ve only just found reason to stay alive? It- Any child we brought into our lives would have been at risk, back then for certain, though I’m not sure a child would be better off now and besides with how much we work its not like-” “James,” Silver said softly, lifting his head, “you’re rambling.” Flint went still in his arms, still as if waiting for the lash that he knew would never come, but waited for all the same. The readiness with which Flint expected violence broke something in Silver, just as much as it felt like a mirror, smudged and smoky and cracked with age. “Is this your way of saying you want to be a father, but the thought of it terrifies you?” Silver asked. “The things I’ve done,” Flint said in a rough voice, “The stains my hands have carried- I’d see them every time I held my child. That’s my fear, I think. That I’d see them, and that violence would stain them as well.” He paused. Silver held him, hiding his own face. It was easier, they had learned, to talk about such things like this, with Flint’s back to Silver, their faces just hidden enough to give the illusion of control. How many secrets had they shared like this? Silver was losing count. “I was raised by a drunken old sailor and a bastard of a navy man who brought nothing but ruin- what could I ever give a child, John?” Flint asked, his hands white knuckle tight on Silver’s, his eyes the deep green of the sea, ghostly and far away. “What could I give them but that same ruin?” And what could Silver say in the face of that? So he said nothing, just nodded and kissed Flints throat until the tension in his shoulders softened and Flint settled back against Silver’s body to rest, weary and still haunted, but at least no longer at knife point in his own home. Silver went back to brushing his hair, singing softly to him as he worked, until Thomas came home and they were able to find more pleasant ways to spend their evening than discussing the sins of one’s father. They didn’t talk about the possibility of children again, not for the whole of the summer. They helped the food banks and the neighborhood families as best they could through the summer, made sure whatever kids stopped by the bar or the kitchen door in the alley left with something to eat, on the house. Thomas made sure checks were written to the shelters and the food banks that needed them, that the families that needed childcare could get it free of charge. They got through the summer, and the conversation never arose again. Silver just kept the thought of Flint holding a bright eyed child that sometimes looked like Thomas’ kid, and sometimes looked like his own, locked away safely in his heart and didn’t examine it too closely. Then Idelle had her baby in August. In October they held a two month belated baby shower for her at The Walrus, so the crew could meet little Wesley Ira Featherstone and his father, bless him, could cry with his crew mates about how proud he was while Idelle had her first stiff drink in over a year. Rackham was there, of course, as the boy’s God father (Silver was delighted by the idea because Rackham was absolutely as terrified by the concept as he was as honored) and Wesley took to him as well as any two month old possibly could. But when it came to crying babies, Rackham didn’t know what to do, and Hal the God Father to all and obvious baby whisperer was back in the kitchen unable to assist. And so Thomas and Silver watched as Flint, who seemed to be acting without really thinking about what he was doing (outside of scolding Rackham who was himself on the verge of tears) scooped up the baby and promptly rocked him calm within moments. “How did you-” Rackham stared at him in shock. “If you didn’t fuckin panic all the time then he wouldn’a started crying,” Flint growled at him, which Wesley found hilarious, if the slew of gurgling giggles was anything to go by. Silver watched, feeling his face split into a ridiculous smile, as Flint refused to give the baby back to Rackham until he’d sobered up, and instead let Idelle tie a sling around his chest to tuck Wesley into, so he could still fix drinks and use his hands while keeping the baby safe. “Sure you don’t want me to take him back?” she asked, Max watching with an amused smile. “You’ll have plenty of him soon, I got ‘im. Just give Rackham a 101 on how to actually hold a baby.” Silver leaned into Thomas as they watched Flint from their seats at the bar, humming as Thomas’ arm went around him automatically, pulling him close into his side. He looked up, curious to see what Thomas thought of his husband suddenly so at home with a child. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what he saw. Thomas’s face had gone soft, from the crows feet around his eyes to the laughter lines around his mouth, which parted in the gentlest shape of awe Silver might have ever seen on the man, as if he’d realized something he’d never considered before. His shoulders were rounded, leaning forward against the bar, hand fidgeting against the polished bartop as if desperate to reach out for his husband. Silver could feel the arm he hand around his shoulder tensing with the need to act. They watched as Flint moved behind the bar, one hand resting where Wesley’s head was under the sling, rocking him gently as he fetched fresh beers for himself and for Hal. Silver was watching his face, watching the way his lips were moving, as if he were talking to the baby, but he was just too far away to hear what he was saying. “He’s singing,” came Thomas’ voice suddenly, almost lost to the noise of the bar. “What?” “He’s singing,” Thomas said again, nodding to his husband. “Padstow Farewell, he sings it to me sometimes when I have nightmares, I’d know the lyrics on his lips even in the grave.” Silver smiled softly. “He sang it to me when I was recovering from my leg. I didn’t know it could be a lullaby.” “Neither did I but…” “But now-” “Yeah.” Silver reached for Thomas’ other hand and kissed his knuckles, leaning into him further. Thomas held him impossibly tight, resting his cheek on his hair. There’d be more to talk about in the morning, tomorrow, the day after, next week, next month, next year. And there was a dizzying sense of joy in that, the same kind of joy that came from watching Flint carrying the future in his worn and weathered hands.

[babbysquid]

Not A Whiskey Drinker

Author’s Note: Okay weeee I’m super excited about this. I’m really happy with how this first chapter turned out and I already have plans for future chapters. I am such a sucker for Whiskey and I can’t wait to write more.

Warnings: some slight cursing

Length: 1,934 words

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For as much as you loved New York City, you absolutely hated its winters. Snow in the countryside was beautiful; white and fluffy, it stayed perfect for days on end. Snow in the concrete jungle however; wet, slushy, and turned disgusting in a matter of hours. Trudging your way through Central Park, the snow and salt crunching beneath your feet, you mind drifted. You had just been let go from you recent job, a personal assistant at a high end marketing office. Sighing to yourself and thinking about the possibility of moving back home your foot slipped. Before you could catch yourself you shut your eyes tight, preparing to land hard on your ass. But that smack never came. Opening one eye you were standing face to face with…

“A cowboy?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man in front of you.

“In the flesh.” came the sweetest accent.

Opening your other eye you realized that the cowboy in front of you had snaked a hand around your waist. No wonder you hadn’t fallen. A beat passed and you realized the cowboy still had his arm around you. You stepped away and out of his hold.

“Thank you.” you said, giving an awkward cough and taking a closer look at you savior.

Not to be a cliché, but he was tall, dark, and handsome. Atop his head was a black Stetson, an odd sight in the middle of New York City. He had a perfectly trimmed mustache, and a small smirk underneath it. You silently thanked the cold for hiding the blush that crept up your face. The redness could easily be passed off as a flush from the biting wind.

“Anytime darlin’.” he said, shooting you a wink with eyes that you felt could swallow you whole. “Anyways, I best be on my way.”

Giving you a dazzling smile, he tipped the end of his hat with a gloved hand and brushed past you. You could’ve sworn that his hand grazed yours, but because of your thick mittens it was hard to tell.

Shivering slightly to yourself, you pulled your coat tighter around you and continued your walk to your apartment.

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Unlocking your door and sighing to yourself you looked around your small studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but over the past year it had become your home. Shucking your jacket off you headed to the couch and sat down to pull off your shoes.

‘Guess I won’t be here much longer’ you thought to yourself.

After making yourself a steaming cup of tea you decided you may as well look at your email. Two days ago when you were told of your “dismissal” you had signed up for a couple different job search sites. If you were lucky enough maybe someone would offer you an interview, but your hopes were low.

You crossed your legs underneath you trying to generate as much heat as possible. As much as you loved your tiny apartment, it was an older building so the heating was shit to say the least. You clicked on the mail icon on your desktop and silently prayed to yourself. 10 new emails. Maybe there was hope.

10 Kale Dishes That’ll Be Sure To WOW Your Houseguests!

WARNING — WE HAVE DETECTED MALWARE

Most of the emails were similar to those: junk and spam, until your eyes landed on the last email.

RE: Y/N Y/L/N Job Opportunity FOUND!

Your eyes widened at the subject. Clicking on the email you realized that it wasn’t a scam, it had really come from one of the job search sites. Swallowing hard you hoped that it wasn’t just an offer from one of those salad making chain restaurants. You had your fair share of beginner jobs; barista, Subway, etc. After getting a taste of something more professional, you knew that that’s where you were meant to be. Besides, the pay that Starbucks gave was certainly not enough to live in New York City on your own.

Dear Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Mr. Daniels and I am writing to inform you of opening at Statesmen Brewery, the New York City branch. I have been in search for a PA since my previous one left. After reading your resume I have become very interested in your skills and talents. Please let me know what days you are free in the coming week.

Jack Daniels

Head of Statesmen NYC Branch

You snorted at the sign off. There was no way someone’s real name was Jack Daniels and worked for a brewery. It was comedic to say the least, but there was no harm in responding to his email and getting an interview. Maybe this was your chance to stay in the city you loved, even if its winter was disgusting. Taking a sip of your tea you started to write out your response.

Mr. Daniels,

Thank you so much for your offer. I am very interested in an interview and am free Monday all day. Please let me know what time is best for you. Is there anything specific I should bring besides a printout of my resume and documents?

Thank you for your consideration,

Y/N Y/L/N

It was currently Friday so you had the whole weekend to prep yourself for the interview. If you were honest, the idea of an interview created a small pit in your stomach. It had been over a year since you’d been interviewed for a job.

May as well do some research on Statesmen.

Pulling open a new browser you typed in ‘Statesmen Brewery’ and clicked on their website. Clearly the company had some tech savvy people working for them as their website was modern and easy to navigate.

Statesmen Brewery has been brewing fine whiskey since 1885 and serving people all across the country and world.

No wonder you never heard of the company, you had never been big on whiskey.

The brewery had its start in a small barn in Kentucky and has since expanded to include two offices in New York, New York and Los Angeles, California. While our reach is wide, we consider every employee and consumer of our alcohol a close family member.

The rest of the front page went on to describe their whiskey and how smooth it was, as well as some fun facts about the company. You closed your laptop and picked up your tea, holding it close to your face and letting go of the tension in your shoulders that you didn’t realize was there. Before you could fully relax you heard your phone buzz on the couch cushion next to you.

It was your best friend Parker. When you first moved to NYC you decided to visit a small bookstore/coffee shop and accidentally grabbed the wrong drink. Turns out that drink belonged to Parker. She had come to the coffee shop to work on a script for an up and coming TV show that was set to be filmed in the city. The two of you became fast friends. You were slightly jealous of the girl as she really had landed her dream job.

Opening the text she had sent it was a photo of her holding a script she had written. Her round face was pulled up into a smile, her auburn hair slightly frizzed from what seemed to be an all nighter. You smiled at the photo and read the text that followed.

Guess who just finished her first script for SVU!

Quickly you typed out a response:

Congrats! Proud of you P. I have some good news too. Landed an interview with a fancy brewery.

Suddenly your phone buzzed nonstop, Parker was calling you.

You pressed the button to answer the phone and before you could say anything a scream hit your ears.

“AHHHHHH I’M SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!!!!”

“Haha, thanks Parker. Honestly I’m a bit nervous. I did some research and the company seems to be a pretty big deal.”

“What’s the company?”

“Statesmen Brewery.”

“Oh shit my parents love their stuff.”

“I literally know nothing about whiskey other than the fact that I don’t like it. I feel stressed. The interview is on Monday.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you with prep. Also you know I gotta help pick out the perfect interview outfit.”

“Thanks babe. You’re the best.”

“I know.”

You snorted at her response. Parker was confident, and more importantly confident in you. The thought of having her help you prep eased the knot in your stomach.

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The rest of the afternoon was spent talking to Parker over the phone. Eventually the two of you ended your call and you were left to do some random chores around your place. As you mopped the floor you slipped a bit but caught yourself before you fell over. Your mind flashed back to earlier in the day.

At the time you didn’t realize how strong the cowboy’s grip was, but it was not overpowering. You remembered how gentlemanly he was. Looking back on it you tried to remember his face. While it was a short interaction, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. Sighing softly you tried to remember the last time you went on a date. It had been several months ago. Your busy PA job never really allowed for romantic relationships. Shaking your head you got on with your day, finishing your chores, eating some leftover Chinese food for dinner, and sinking deep into your bed.

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You were awoken by a knock on your door. Grunting as you got out of bed you swung open the door. The only person who would bother to come over without letting you know was Parker. Your suspicions were correct as she walked through the threshold and made herself at home, talking a mile a minute the entire time.

“Okay so first we need to talk about clothing options.” she said dumping her bag on your couch.

“Not prepping for the interview?” you said giving her a confused look.

Parker sighed.

“Look, I already know you have this interview in the bag. Sure, you may not like whiskey, but you are a wonderful person. While you may be stubborn” you frowned at her comment, “that can be super helpful in interviews. You are a go getting Y/N. I have no doubts about that.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Fashion show time!” she said, opening the small closet and rummaging around to find something suitable.

After an hour had passed the two of you finally settled on a suitable outfit. It was professional but still had a touch of you in it. A simple black skirt with a fun silky button down shirt that had a cool pattern on it. As you looked at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t deny that Parker knew what she was doing when it came to fashion.

“Okay finishing touch time.” she said as she unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt.

“Parker! This is a job interview, not a date.”

“Ugh. It’s a brewery, they’re gonna be more relaxed about these things. Plus you never know, this Jack Daniels could be a cutie.” she said, giving you a wink.

You chuckled and shook your head. Parker was eccentric but you really did love her. You still had a small bit of anxiety running through your body, but the help of your best friend made you feel more positive about Monday. Maybe you’d be able to stay in New York. Maybe this job might be better than the previous.

[elwritingx]

No Time for Love.

Hi guys! I am so excited for this series, it’s a mashup of Criminal Minds and the Dream Team! :D I love both so much, (maybe Criminal Minds a little bit more) so I decided to write something that involves the both of them. I truly hope you guys enjoy this and show love. Requests are highly appreciated and I’m gonna shut up and let’s go on with the show! ☺️

Dream x f!reader, where reader and Dream both work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is all fictional and just for fun.

Warnings - none.

Pronouns - not specified in this chapter.

Words - 554.

It was a Friday afternoon and you were sitting at your desk, reading over your finished report so you hand it in to your supervisor, Emily Prentiss. Clay goes up to your desk and says, ‘Geesh, you’re already done with your report? I’m only halfway done. I’ve been dreading having to remember everything that sick son of a bitch did to those poor people.’ You look up at him and nod. ‘I know, it’s crazy what people are capable of, but that’s exactly why I finished early.’ He sits on the edge of your desk as you close your report and put it aside.

You and Clay are catching up, discussing weekend plans when Emily walks into the bullpen and says those four words you didn’t wanna hear on a friday, but then again serial killers and other psychos don’t take any days off.

‘We got a case guys. It’s bad.’ She says as she walks up the stairs and towards the round table. Clay gets up from your desk and sighs, ‘I was looking forward to sleeping in late tomorrow.’ He says with a fake pout on his face and you lightly slap his arm. ‘I had a hot date with my hot tub.’ You wink at him and he laughs. 

You and Clay sit next to each other while JJ, Reid and Alvez sit to your left side. Rossi, Simmons sit to the right of Clay. While Penelope and Emily present the case to the group, you look at the file in front of you and can’t help but notice that you resemble the victims, slightly. Emily notices too as she looks at you and clears her throat, ‘Don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but Y/N resembles this unsub’s victim profile, so I ask that you always have a member of the team with you at all times. Myself or JJ can share a room with you. We want to keep you safe and out of harm's way.’ They are all now looking at you and feel your face getting flushed, ‘I’m not even going to bother saying no because I know you guys will kick my ass.’ You say, trying to make the situation a little less serious. You don’t notice Dream looking at you and resting his hand on your thigh under the table, as a way to show support.

The team travels to New York and whilst on the plane, you can’t help but think about possible ways to protect yourself at all times. You know your team has your back 10000% but you remember what happened to Hotch and Haley.. You sigh as the memory comes back and seeing Hotch so devastated over her death. He never really forgives himself for what happened, he should’ve been there for her and Jack. He should’ve gotten there before the Ripper. You shake your head and look at everyone on the jet. JJ is talking to Emily about decor for her new place, Rossi and Reid are playing chess. Simmons, Alvez and Clay are sitting all together, talking about who knows what.

You lay back in the reclined seat and prepare for the ‘adventure’ (if you can call being on guard at all times for a serial killer who takes interests in your appearance) New York has for you.

[renjunfromthestars]

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom. 

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh. 

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you. 

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think. 

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other.  Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front. 

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago. 

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.” 

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles. 

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it. 

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result. 

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,”  you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.” 

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits,  and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met. 

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears. 

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore. 

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion.  “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone. 

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.” 

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward,  It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten. 

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches. 

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”. 

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised. 

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other. 

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store. 

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it,  thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an  international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.” 

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly. 

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night. 

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity. 

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair. 

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of  shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy. 

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster. 

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now. 

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned. 

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes. 

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him. 

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just  stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing. 

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!” 

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair. 

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge. 

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance. 

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you. 

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand 

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo. 

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally, 

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be. 

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face. 

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked. 

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!” 

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away. 

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea. 

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently. 

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital. 

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest. 

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final. 

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper. 

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?” 

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff.  “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went. 

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while. 

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him? 

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing. 

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing. 

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top. 

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death. 

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine. 

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom. 

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?” 

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting. 

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone. 

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.  

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.” 

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment. 

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best. 

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him. 

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head. 

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.” 

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously  “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers. 

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor. 

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic. 

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?” 

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-” 

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.  

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel. 

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.” 

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you. 

…

When you’re outside, it’s  cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo. 

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head. 

 “I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.” 

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying. 

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.” 

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently. 

 “Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says. 

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos. 

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.” 

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”