#like when Chandler was trying to quit his job and he was like ‘STOP IT STOP SAYING NUMBERS- okay see you monday’

[idsb]

Man! Being successful enough to choose between jobs sucks because then you have to engage in the horrific act of Making Life Decisions like. All the time. Boo.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fan Fiction: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Not only did Chuck write books about your lives, but a damn musical theater is putting a play on about your goddamn lives. You try to let them handle this one on their own but they're not letting you go, and it's time to bring insurance to make sure you never leave them.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, and Dean grabs your arm when you join his side. He practically drags you outside and back to the car with his brother following.

"You need to be on better behavior. You came here to do a job, so do your damn job."

"No, you came here to do a job," you say and yank your arm out of Dean's grasp. "I just tagged along to see what kind of mess you two would get yourselves into and right now, I'm not impressed."

Sam steps in as the mediator before you and Dean get into a physical fight.

"Help me understand something. Shouldn't it be Deastiel?" Sam asks.

"Really? That's your issue with all this?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" you ask.

"Dean and Cas' lover's name," Sam smirks.

"Thanks for telling her. Because I don't already have enough shit to deal with."

"How about Sastiel?" you grin and look at Sam.

"I think it would be Samstiel."

"Okay, you two are gonna do that thing where you shut the hell up forever."

"Look, man, there are no EMF or hex bags," Sam chuckles. "None of the props are even remotely funky. Other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all, I got nothing. What about you?"

"In Ms. Chandler's office, there's just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's just probably face-down in a bar, somewhere. So, what? This whole musical thing and everything is a coincidence? That there is no case?"

"Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There isn't a case here."

"Okay."

"What about CasDean?"

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car!" Dean barks.

You and Sam snicker before following suit. Sam thinks this isn't a case while you and Dean aren't too sure and tomorrow morning, you get your answer. There has been another disappearance, and it's the girl who plays Sam. She didn't want to do the play in the first place, and she just disappeared according to Marie. You and the brothers head back to the auditorium to talk to her. Dean talks to the principal while Sam talks to the police while you just stand off to the side with a bored look on your face.

"So, I checked with the principal. There's nothing on the surveillance tapes," Dean says when he regroups. "What did the cops say?"

"The only clue they found was a flower by the dumpster. The same flower that was found near Ms. Chandler's phone." He shows you and Dean the flower. "Do you recognize it?"

"No."

"Yeah, me either."

You three walk to the back where Marie and Maeve are. Marie is shaken up from what she saw last night.

"Hey," Sam says.

"Let me guess. Did you guys come here to laugh at me, too?"

"Probably," you shrug and Dean shoves you away.

"Why don't you tell us what happened to your friend."

"Maggie quit the show. She was trying to get it shut down, so we were fighting. Then, she left and I heard her scream. I ran outside to help and I saw a scarecrow. It looked just like the one from our show but alive."

"What happened next?"

"It wrapped her in vines and took her behind the dumpster. Then, they were both just gone. I called the cops and a bunch of adults just told me I have an overactive imagination. It's all real. Ghosts, angels, and demons."

You laugh at her statement and Sam slaps your arm to get you to stop.

"I wanna believe," Maeve shrugs.

Sam and Dean look at each other in thought. Dean nods once and Sam turns to the girls.

"You should believe. You both should because it is all real and so are we. I'm Sam Winchester, that's Dean, and that's Y/N."

Marie and Maeve look at each other to process the news before they both bust out laughing as if they don't believe you.

"If I had my magic, I'd really give you something to laugh about," you glare.

"Okay, I'm willing to accept that monsters are real but those books are works of fiction."

"Plus, you three are way too old to be Sam, Dean, and Y/N. Maybe a Jody/Bobby/Rufus combo," Maeve says.

"I'm gonna kill them," you say and Dean immediately shuts that down.

"Alright, Little Miss Sunshine. We are what the books call hunters."

"You guys are X-Files?"

"Sure, you can say that. So, this scarecrow from your musical is based on something from the book?"

"No, I changed it. I got scared of a local legend when I was a kid. There was this old creepy scarecrow on an abandoned farm outside of town. Kids used to say that if it caught you, it would take you away."

"Okay, if this scarecrow is based on your version, then Ms. Chandler and Maggie might still be alive."

"You think the scarecrow was created by the play?" Maeve asks.

"You think it's a Tulpa?" Marie gasps.

"Where's the library?" Dean asks.

Marie and Maeve take you and the brothers to the library so they can do research on what a Tulpa is. There is a section for the weird and freaky that Sam heads to. You're so fucking bored so you're not invested in whatever they're doing. You're looking at the books on the shelves as the four of them sit at one of the library tables to read Sam's book.

"Tulpas are monsters that are created by an intense, focused energy on an idea or a story," Sam explains.

"Ugh, I want to go home," you groan loudly.

"How do you kill an idea?" Maeve asks.

"Well, in Hell House, Sam, Dean, and Y/N burnt the house down to take out the one tulpa they hunted," Marie explains.

"Yeah, if you kill the symbol, you kill the tulpa. It's a pretty good place to start. Is this scarecrow of yours a person or a prop?"

"Prop, and it's terrifying. We keep it in the boiler room."

"Can you guys give us a second? Just read up on this." Sam and Dean join your side by the bookshelf while the two girls read about the monster. "Okay, this doesn't add up. Tulpas require a ton of psychic energy to juice up. It's not like the Supernatural books are tearing up the New York Times best-seller list. I seriously doubt this play has even sold out."

"I hope not," Dean shudders.

"You know what?" Sam digs for the picture of the flower from his jacket pocket. "I've seen this flower in the lore somewhere. There's gotta be a connection."

"Or," you drawl out, "we can leave and let them fend for themselves."

"Watch it," Dean growls.

"Fine, I am more than happy to let you handle this while I go off to the nearest beach to get a tan."

"No, you're staying here with us. Come on." Dean drags you to Marie who looks up at you two. "Can you show us the boiler room?"

"Sure."

Marie does as she's told and brings you to the boiler room. There isn't much inside here except for something small underneath a drop cloth. Marie looks as if the thing will come to life and bite her, she's that terrified.

"Prepare yourselves. It's horrifying," Marie shudders.

Dean grabs the end of the cloth and yanks it off the scarecrow. You expected to see something horrifying with sharp teeth, blood, and guts over it. Instead, it's a fucking joke. Both eyes are buttons that have been poorly sewn on, one red and one blue. The mouth is just a thread that's been criss-crossed over one another.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is the scarecrow you're so fucking scared of? What, is the Easter Bunny gonna come out and attack us?" you ask sarcastically.

"Y/N," Dean warns.

"No, this is fucking dumb! This whole play is fucking dumb. Books should have never been written about our lives because of dumb shit like this." You look at Marie with an unapologetic look on your face. "No offense, but this play fucking sucks."

"Excuse us," Dean says nervously. He grabs your arm tightly and drags you out of the boiler room. When the door closes, you yank your arm away from him. "You need to cut this shit right now."

"Or what?" You step closer to Dean in defiance. "What power do you have over me? You're not a demon anymore. You're weak as shit. Don't think for one second that you can control what I do. I'm not your bitch anymore."

Dean takes a step closer to you so your toes are touching.

"I will not hesitate to lock you up in the dungeon and keep you there until your soul is restored."

You tip your head back and laugh loudly.

"It's about fucking time you figured it out."

"You knew?"

"Of course, I knew. I knew the second I woke up."

"It doesn't matter because you need to put a cork in it. Don't speak unless spoken to."

Dean turns on his heels and walks back into the boiler room alone. Don't speak unless spoken to. Who the fuck does he think he's talking to? Once Dean and Marie are done in the boiler room, the three of you head back to the library where Sam and Maeve are. Marie is so happy that she pulls Dean in for a hug whether he wants one or not.

"Thank you!"

"It's not a Tulpa," Sam halts the celebration.

"What?"

"It's Calliope, the goddess of epic poetry. She's associated with the borage or starflower. That's the picture."

Sam shows a picture of the flower which resembles the flower that was at both disappearances.

"Wait, if this is a God thing, what's with the scarecrow?"

"According to the lore, Calliope manifests creatures from the story she's tuned into."

"So, the scarecrow is alive, and we burned my prop for nothing?" Marie asks Dean.

"Oh, that thing needed to burn."

"The only way to destroy the scarecrow is to kill Calliope. She uses these manifestations, like the scarecrow, to inspire the author and protect them until their vision is realized."

"Then what?"

"She eats the author," Sam winces.

"Okay, that's bad," Marie gasps.

"Is it?" you ask. "Something interesting should happen because it's not this play."

"Were you spoken to?" Dean glares at you. "If not, shut the hell up. Go sit in time out."

If looks could kill, Dean would be dead. Still, you leave the group and sit down in an uncomfortable library chair.

"Well, you get your wish," Marie says to you. "Let's cancel the show."

"That's what your teacher and your classmate did. They tried to shut you down, and the scarecrow took them. She was protecting you and the show."

"So the scarecrow is the boogeyman? We need to take our shot with Calliope, but she won't come out until your vision is realized."

"What are you saying?" Marie asks.

"The show must go on!"

"Okay," you say and stand up, "I'm not staying here anymore. You two have fun."

You turn and leave the library. You're not sure where you're going to go but you need to get the hell out of here. You'll take a cab or an Uber to somewhere that's not here. Sam and Dean excuse themselves and immediately follow you outside to the desolate parking lot.

"You're not leaving!" Dean barks.

You immediately stop and turn to him, which causes Sam and Dean to stop in their tracks.

"What are you going to do about it? Why should I care about hunting something and saving people when I don't give a fuck about their lives? Seriously, I'd rather watch this play burn down to the ground with everyone in it. In fact, I might just grab a box of matches and light the place up myself." Dean and Sam look at each other to have a silent conversation with their eyes. "That's what I thought."

You turn and walk away from them, not hearing the light steps of Dean. He grabs you from around the waist and sticks something into your neck. You feel a sharp pinch underneath your ear and hiss in pain. You shove Dean off you and turn to him while touching the side of your neck. There is something metal sticking into your skin, and no matter how much you pick at it, it's not coming out.

"What the fuck did you do to me?"

Dean holds up an old-looking remote that he no doubt got from the Bunker. Sam walks behind you but your eyes are glued onto the remote in his hand.

"If you misbehave, talk shit, or do anything that isn't helping, I'm going to shock you into behaving. Trust me, I got this from the Bunker. It hurts like a fucking bitch."

"You're bluffing," you call him out. "I bet that thing isn't even turned on."

Dean shrugs and presses the button. Almost immediately, shocks stem from the device to your entire body. Your body goes rigid and you fall back into Sam who catches you easily. You clench your jaw in pain and stare at Dean who walks closer to you with a smirk. The shock is so painful that you can't even speak. He waits three seconds before turning it off, and your body goes limp. You find whatever strength you have left and shove yourself off Sam who steps back from you.

"I'm more than happy to press this all day long if you want. Or you can march your ass back inside and help us kill this thing. Your choice, sweetheart." You walk closer to Dean with a death glare on your face. With lightning speed, you reach up to grab the remote, but he's quicker than you are. He tosses the remote to Sam who catches it easily. "You might be able to take one of us on but not both. Go ahead and try. All it takes is one press of the button and you're done."

You have no choice but to do as they say... for now. You storm back inside the building but the brothers stay outside.

"What kind of trouble is waiting for us when we take that thing off her neck?" Sam asks and hands the remote back to Dean.

"It's only until her soul is pure so we can shove it back inside her. Come on," Dean sighs.

x

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[chaoticrebels]

NAME : Styles McKenzie Corbyn NICKNAME : Ty, Tye AGE : 18, almost 19 BIRTH DATE : June 2, 1967 GENDER : Male ORIENTATION : Bisexual NATIONALITY : American LOCATION : Hawkins, Indiana PROFESSION : Aspiring Treasure Hunter and Ghost Hunter, Hawk Movie Theater, Trying to get a job at Cove’s Groove, Starcourt Cinemas (formerly), Student at Hawkins High School (formerly) ZODIAC : Gemini SPECIES : Human SPOKEN LANGUAGES : English HEIGHT : 5'7½” WEIGHT : 143 lbs HAIR :  Dark Brown EYES : Blue TATTOOS : None PIERCINGS : None SCARS : A few FACE CLAIM : Chandler Riggs

Biography

Styles McKenzie Corbyn was born on June 2nd, in Salt Lake City, Utah to Malakai and Rainey Corbyn. Styles is one of their seven kids, having three older siblings and three younger siblings. Being the middle child isn’t always his cup of tea and having six other siblings can be chaotic but for most parts, Tye doesn’t mind it. It just helps him get away with more and he’d never truly be alone, yet he dislikes feeling invisible at times and finds it annoying at times that he has to share some of this things. But he wouldn’t change anything for anything in the world. 

Styles was raised in Salt Lake City up until the end of summer before he started eighth grade, then his father moved them to Hawkins, Indiana after an incident with his twin brother, Nikolai. An incident that had almost cost Tye his life, let alone almost got him taken. His uncle’s recklessness caused a major fight to break out between the twins and afterwards, his father decided to relocate them to somewhere his brother wouldn’t find them. Which when Ty found out about the move, it had upset him. The last thing he wanted was to leave his best friend or any of his friends for that matter, honestly didn’t understand why he was being punished for his uncle's recklessness, He was so upset, he spent a week trying to convince his best friend’s to move as well so he wouldn’t be without them instead of packing. Refused to pack, hoping his parents would change their mind so he didn’t have to leave behind everything and everyone he knew. But when everything he tried became clear that their was no point in resisting or trying to convince his friend’s parents to move, he stopped fighting it and just packed. Yet on the last day, Styles and his best friend ran away. Snuck into an abandoned house and was planning on staying there, although turned out the house was haunted, Which Tye found cool, his best friend not so much. So they ended up leaving the next morning, however it wasn’t long after that when his older brother found him and dragged them home. They both ended up getting grounded for a week and half for their little stunt and despite their stunt, Styles still ended up moving, just a day later than planned.

For the first couple of months of living in Hawkins, the male became a loner. Shutting everyone out, refusing to make friends. All he wanted was to go back to Utah, so much so that he fell into a bit of depression. It was only after a month and half of the school year that he began making friends, especially when it looked like he drew in the attention of a couple of people who seemed determined to get to know him. Which Styles was grateful for because soon enough they became his best friends and they made middle school and high school much more tolerable, made living in Hawkins much more tolerable. 

Personality

Styles is quite sarcastic and rebellious, someone who doesn’t have any fucks to give. He highly intelligent and creative but he is a bit over imaginative for his own good, he is also very straightforward for his own good at times. Tye loves pull pranks and loves to cause mischief, however he’d never go as far as to harm someone. He loves comic books and music, especially loves to read comics while listening to music. He absolutely loves adventures and being outdoors, loves to rollerblade and skateboard, as well as hike and camp. He loves spooky things, especially haunted places. He also loves finding treasures, especially the ones connected with history. He loves both of those things so much that his dream job is to be a treasure hunter and a ghost hunter.

Styles is ambitious and stubborn, a reckless fun-loving daredevil who isn’t scared to take risks. He’s determined, hard-working, and resourceful. He’s quite a charmer when he wants to be, can be quite an asshole at times. There are times when he can be highly impulsive but he is very energetic and playful, as well as passionate. He is confident most of the time but the male has his moments where he is insecure and self-conscious, he can get a bit anxious at times as well. He’s extremely loyal to the people he loves and cares about, he’d do anything for them, even die for them if it meant protecting them. 

Styles can be over dramatic, he’s proven this countless of times. Especially after his father announced that he was going to run for mayor after Larry was put away, saying he would die from the pressure of having to be perfect. Which is ironic because he can be quite a perfectionist at times. The male can be a bit egotistical but he has a pure heart. 

[imma-potatoo]

:00 oh my god, i love your side swap au 👉👈

can you perhaps,,, share each sides’ appearance?? and personality?

Appearances here!

Light Sides!

•Janus is very happy and bubbly. He likes to see the best in people, but knows when to cut ties when the situation calls for it. Janus takes a really long time to build trust with and wouldn't really hesitate to do what he thinks is right, but would still feel extremely bad for whatever he did. Janus is also very good at hiding his emotions. Like very good. He loves Jazz, and the 1920s aesthetic, although he he hates most of their standards, he also LOVES dancing.. Like REALLY LOVES dancing. He can and will do the Charleston in the living room at 3 pm because he's bored and he can

Janus is also really protective of his family, but he has a lot of empathy. He can't stand seeing other people hurting, so even though he still represents selfishness, he would try to help the other person if he's able too.. Basically, effective altruism.

Janus represents Validity, Societal Self Preservation, and a large portion of Morality that Thomas listens to

• Remus is very very chaotic. But he is more calm in his methods compared to canon Remus. Since he's the main creativity, he doesn't have to be as drastic in his measures to be listened to. So he's more calm, he still spits out gory and grotesque ideas like wildfire though

Remus loves making things. He makes things to make their lives easier, make their lives harder, make it so that everytime they turn on the sink Lady Gaga plays on the loudspeakers. But he also added a ice dispenser to the fridge, so it evens out. Being Thomas' primary creativity, Thomas still does youtube, however his content is much more dark. A good example would be BlackBox TV for Thomas' channel in this au. Short horror videos that tell a narrative that sometimes ends on a lighter note, but more often leaves you terrified.

Remus represents Creativity, Confidence, and Self Expression (not intrusive thoughts because Remus has the ability to properly demonstrate his ideas, and doesn't need to force them on to Thomas)

•Virgil is honestly kinda chill. He still represents anxiety, but more as a fight or flight response then anything more. He's the oldest of the light sides and is the most protective of his sides. He's not really a fan about his sides leaving the light side but wouldn't stop them if they wanted to. He just wants them to be back for dinner.

Virgil is serious, he loves his sides, but with the other two being complete goof balls, Virgil steps up and does the hard things. That being said, Virgil will goof off and have fun most days, there is very few moments where Virgil is completely serious. He also can, will, and has, woken up his sides for breakfast blasting MCR through the loud speakers

Virgil represents Anxiety, Bravery, and Fight or Flight. His job is to assess situations that might be dangerous and decide on the course of action

Dark Sides!

•Logan is a very strange side. It's really hard to get close to him, but once you do he'll never leave your side. To say Logan is protective is an understatement, he would rather be torn limb from limb, then have someone pluck a single hair from his loved one's head. On the outside, it seems that he has no empathy or even the capability to have emotions, but Logan is actually extremely empathetic, the Dark sides are just not allowed to show weakness

Logan is the one who gets things done. Roman wants everything handed to him, and Patton is too busy yelling at them to do anything. Logan doesn't care about a lot of things, he keeps a straight face with practically everything. Roman once butchered his dinner with a steak knife and Logan blinked and told him "If you really want to be a Prince, stop acting like the beast"

Logan represents Judgement, Logic, and Memory Retention

He was called Manipulation, but my friend (@red-imeanblue) pointed out that Judgement would be better, since Logan is quite Judgmental about Thomas' choices.

•Roman is very petty. He's extremely jealous of his brother, of Remus' life, of his family, of his opportunities, of his relationships, how he's listened to, and if he had the chance, he would sabotage every single part of his brother's life until Remus has absolutely nothing left but the shreds of what he once had.... Well, he would if he didn't expect it to happen by itself. Roman wants everything handed to him on a silver platter, and he wants it as soon as he says the word. Roman hates working, he doesn't want to put in the effort for what he wants, but refuses to take anything else

Roman is basically Heather Chandler, petty, full of himself, thinks he's the most important person in the world, can and will publicly mock you, and isn't afraid to blackmail you if you step a millimeter out of his expectations.

Roman represents Pride, Creativity, and Ego

•Patton is cruel. There's really no other way to put it, Patton is cruel. Patton wants all the sides to align to his very slim view of correct behavior and would do anything to get the sides to stay within that view. Patton believes the light sides to be ignorant to the correct course of action, and harmful to Thomas in every way possible. He's strict, and has complete control of the food supply in the dark side, which he can control at whim, he uses heavy guilt tripping and manipulation to get what he wants

Patton hates the light sides. He hates them and everything they stand for, and he doesn't stand for any of his sides talking to them. Patton is not above physical or mental abuse either, in his mind, a complacent side, is better then a happy side.

Patton is responsible for Guilt, Gas-lighting, and a small remaining thread of morality that has become twisted.

-----

Please feel free to send more asks about this au! I love talking about it!!!

[impala666]

The One With Mrs. Bing Part Four (It’s All Alright)

 Last Part (Part Three) Series Masterlist  

It was the next day and it was into the early evening, but as you made your way from the store to the coffee house the city was already dark. When you walked into Central Perk you saw Monica and Phoebe talking about something while Rachel sat at the counter with a notepad and a pen. After you hung up your jacket by the door you noticed Joey and Ross sitting over on the couch. “Hey, Rach,” you greeted her as you walked over to the counter. “Hey, Y/N/N. How was work?” She asked as she got up from her stool and walked back around to get whatever you were about to order. 

“It was okay, you know. As okay a job can be when you work with people all day everyday. But at least I’m surrounded by things that I love.” You answered as you received the drink that you ordered. 

“Oh, believe me, I get it on the whole working with and for people, but as for the thing I love. You can only love coffee so much when you don’t get to drink it.” Rachel told you which made you smile for the first time in a while since the whole thing with Joey lying to you about Ross kissing your mom never left your mind. “Oh, Pheebs, you’re on.” Rachel told her as she led Phoebe over to the stage to introduce her. 

“...Oh come on! Just try to not picture her pregnant that’s all.” Joey said to Ross as he held up a picture for him to look at. But considering that was what you heard when you walked in on the tail end of their conversation, they had you a little confused. You weren’t totally sure if you wanted to know what they were talking about, though. 

“Central Perk is proud to present Miss Phoebe Buffay.” Rachel announced, as she left the stage Joey noticed that you had made it back from work and were actually sitting near him. Last night you had slept on the pull out bed, and whenever you actually talked to him you answered with a single word, or you told him that you didn’t know what you were feeling so you didn’t want to say anything yet. But to Joey, it was killing him to not have you talking back to him. 

However, for Ross this was his first time seeing you since he told you what he did. “Hey, Y/N,” he cautiously greeted you with a shy smile on his face. 

“Ross,” you neutrally greeted him. You had no expression on your face, so to Ross it was hard to tell what you were feeling. 

“Oh so you are mad.” Ross mumbled to himself, but slightly hoping you would hear it. 

“I’m getting over it.” You mumbled under your breath like he did, and a little smile came on your face when you made eye contact with him and he had the same smile on his face when he realized that the both of you were going to be just fine. 

“Does that mean you aren’t mad at me anymore?” Joey asked, perking up in his seat just the smallest bit. 

“I’m still kind of mad at you, now watch Phoebe.” You told him quickly before quickly looking away from him again. 

“Hi, um I’d like to start with a song that’s about a man that I recently met, that has become very important to me. 

“You don’t have to be awake to be my man. Long as you have brain waves I’ll be there to hold your hand. Though we just met the other day, there’s something I have got to say...Okay, thank you very much. I’m going to take a short break.” Phoebe abruptly stopped when she noticed Monica slowly inching her way to the store, and Phoebe in a rush to follow her knocked the microphone stand down to the ground as she rushed her way out the door to beat Monica. While your eyes were glued to the door wondering what happened, you saw your brother walk through the doors as he watched two of his friends race out of the building.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, looking at only you and Joey. But when Ross tried to answer, Chandler was having none of it. “I believe I was talking to Y/N and Joey. All right there, mother kisser?” Chandler brought up as his mad face came back. Joey couldn’t help but burst into laughter, repeating what Chandler had just said. While couldn’t control the slight cringe on your face for how cold Chandler was being to one of his friends. Ross glared to Joey who just kept laughing. 

“I’ll shut up,” Joey told Ross. Immediately becoming serious. 

“That’s probably for the best,” you joked but slightly jabbed. Sitting forward and lightly tapping him on his knee. As you looked at your boyfriend you just saw his serious face drop to slightly sad and a little hurt at what you said. But that was less of your worries right now when you saw Ross get up from the couch and walk over to Chandler to talk to him more. 

“Chandler, can I just say something? I know you’re still mad at me, but I just want to say there were two people that night.” Ross spoke. “Okay? There were two sets of lips.” After he spoke that, you weren’t sure if it was going to help or not. 

“Yes, well I expect this from her, okay? She’s always been a Freudian nightmare.” Now, you weren’t a huge fan of your mom either, but you couldn’t help but think that the way Chandler tried to defend the situation was a little harsh. 

“ Well, if she always behaves like this why don’t you say something to her?” Ross couldn’t help but ask. That was always the difference between you and your brother; you never had any problems telling your parents what you and think and actually tried to have a conversation with them sometimes. Whereas, Chandler was concerned, he just always chose to see your parents as evil people. You would admit that they had screwed you and Chandler up quite a bit, but you would at least like to have them in your lives a little bit. It’s not like you had another set of parents waiting to welcome you with open arms.

“It’s complicated. It’s complex. It..Hey you kissed my mom!” Chandler yelled again when he was starting to get uncomfortable like he was getting backed into a wall. Which caused everyone in the coffee house to look over at the group of you. 

“We’re rehearsing a Greek Play,” Ross brushed them off which made you roll your eyes. 

“That’s very funny, are we done now?” Chandler asked as he tried to take a seat next to you. 

“No. You’re not gonna talk to her? You’re not gonna tell her how you feel?” Ross asked him.  

“That would be a no. Just because you played tonsil tennis with my mom doesn’t mean you know her. Trust me you can’t talk to her.” Chandler was just starting to grow tired and irritated from this conversation. He did not want to talk about his mom of all people. 

“‘You’ can’t? Or you can’t?” Ross asked him while pointing his finger at Chandler. “Okay, that’s my finger.” Ross chuckled when Chandler grabbed his finger and squeezed it way too tight. “Okay, that’s my knee.” Ross sank to his knee when Chandler pushed his finger harder. “Still doing the play.” He told the onlookers again. When he started groaning when Chandler pressed again you couldn’t help but get to your feet and walk over to them. Chandler was taking this way too far.

“Chandler, knock it off.” You whispered loudly at him as you placed a hand on the arm that held Ross’s finger.

“Oh, so you’re okay with mom and him kissing now?” Chandler looked down at you.

“No, of course not. But you and I both know that it’s nothing new for her, and Ross is right maybe it’s time we both called her on it. On all of it.” You were a little scared to bring this up to him, but she wasn’t going to change unless the two of you told her. 

“Oh come on, not you too. I thought you moved in with me to get away from her because you were on my side.” Chandler complained now turning his anger on you as he let go of Ross’s finger.

“Oh come on, Chandler. That’s not why and you know that.” You couldn’t believe how much of a baby he was being right now.

“You know what, whatever.” Chandler rolled his eyes, deciding that if none of you were going to see things his way, then he was just going to walk away. So that’s what he did, he just rolled his eyes and walked out of the coffee shop. Leaving you there with Ross and Joey just feeling frustrated. When were you the older sibling all of a sudden?

*******

It was a little bit later in the day and you were at the apartment with Chandler while your mom came to say goodbye before she left again. “Before I go downstairs I just wanted to drop off a few copies of my book for your friends. Anything either of you want from Lisbon?” Your mom asked the both of you before she said her final goodbyes to the both of you. 

“No,no. Just knowing you’re going to be there is enough.” Chandler joked, which earned him a light hit in the arm from you. 

“All right. Well, be good.” She said looking at the both of you. “And Y/N I know we left off on not the best terms, but I am so proud of you for how hard you’re working for everything.” You couldn’t really believe the words coming out of her mouth. You thought she had just wanted you out of the house, but maybe she just wanted you to find your own way. And little did your family knew, that Chandler was going to be so much help with that. 

“Thanks, mom.” You smiled, feeling so touched. You didn’t know your mother could make you feel that way. 

“I love you,” she said as she reached up to place a motherly kiss Chandler’s cheek, “and I love you.” She said again as she placed another kiss on your cheek. But it seemed that when your mom opened the door to leave, Chandler just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You kissed my best Ross!” He yelled, but when he noticed you looking at him like he was crazy he realized the mistake he made. “Or something to that effect.” You nodded at him once he finally realized that what he said was weird. 

“Okay,” your mom started as she closed the door again and made her way back into the living area where the two of you were. “Look, it was stupid.”

“Really stupid.” Chandler added.

“Really really stupid.” You couldn’t help but also add.

“Really stupid and I don’t even know how it happened.” Your mom said honestly to you both with a shrug. “I’m sorry, honey, and I promise it will never happen again. Are we all okay, now?”

“Yeah,” both you and Chandler said with a slight nod and a shrug. “No,” the both of you decided at the end.

You weren’t sure how long the three of you had been at it. But you and mom were finally able to talk about what happened and about you leaving and everything, which then caused Chandler to add to the fact to her that all of your lives she had never acted in a way an appropriate mom would. But finally, as the three of you walked to the door and all you wanted to do was find and talk to Joey. “You okay, kiddos?” Your mom asked when all of you were in the hallway, you smiled slightly over at Ross when you noticed him across the hall. 

“I’m okay.” You told her with a small smile as she placed both of her hands on each side of your face and pecked you on the forehead.

“Yeah, I”m okay.” Chandler also smiled his answer down at her. 

“Alright, be good.” She kissed his cheek again. “And watch out for your sister, alright?”

“Oh, I know. She’s just too wild.” Chandler joked with your mom as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you couldn’t help but smile mockingly. 

“Fly safe.” You told her as Chandler and you started following your mom down the hall, but all of you stopped when you all saw Ross awkwardly standing in the hallway. 

“Mrs. Bing.” Ross greeted her, not really looking her in the eye.

“Mr. Geller.” Your mom repeated before turning back to the two of you and winking to you for the progress that she was already making before she finally left. 

“Have you seen Joey?” You asked Ross as he knocked on Monica’s door. You just wanted to see him after giving him the cold shoulder, that you think you have gotten over. Plus you wanted to leave Ross and Chandler alone after the hellish week they both had. 

“Yeah, I think he’s downstairs somewhere.” Ross let you know. You smiled at him.

“Thanks, I’ll go find him.” You looked from Ross and to your big brother before you patted him on the back lightly and then made your way down the stairs to find Joey.

When you had found him, Joey was standing on the steps to the entrance of the apartment building. When Joey turned around to see who was walking out the door, he smiled when he saw it was you. You didn’t say anything right away, you just walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brought him into a hug. “Hi,” you said. Your voice muffled from hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“Hey.” Joey smiled to himself as he rubbed your lower back. “So you talked to your mom? He felt you nod against his shoulder. “How’d it go?”

“Long.” You answered with a long sigh as you stepped back but when you felt Joey take both of your hand you smiled as you looked up into his eyes. “But I wanted to come find you and tell you that I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who lied to you,” Joey chuckled smiling down at you. 

“I just felt bad for being mad at you, sometimes you’re too cute to be mad at. But sometimes I can’t help it. But if you lie to me again I will kill you.” You told him as you placed a kiss on his lips.

“I love you.” Joey told you before he kissed you again. If you didn’t know better, Joey would look like he was drunk based from the look he was giving you, but you knew that it was because he was beyond happy. 

“I love you, too.” After kissing a little bit more. Joey had asked if you wanted to go to bed, and you couldn’t say no to that, so Joey opened the apartment building door for you and ushered you inside before grabbing your hand a quickly dragging you up the stairs. 

[thrillridesz]

[ to start from the prologue - click here ]

n/a: unedited!

“Ah, I was just asking.” You said, trying not to let your smile waver as you watched Jacob’s shoulder drop, the expectant look in his eyes giving way to disappointment for just a split second before he smiled gently.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’d be down to hang out anytime you want by the way!” You hurriedly added in an attempt to clear the awkward tension in the air and Jacob must have sensed it when he gave you a reassuring look to alleviate your worries at the possibility of accidentally blowing him off.

“That would be great. I’d love that,” He said softly, his tone warm and kind and you felt your heart skip a beat. You had just met this guy but you already knew you liked him. There was something so soft spoken and almost angelic about his demeanor that you can’t help but want to get to know him a little bit better.

“Would you like to exchange numbers?”

“Sure thing.” He grinned and you handed him your phone for him to key his number in. As he did, you couldn’t help but notice how his soft hair fell over his eyes and how he seemed to simply radiate a naturally ethereal and soft aura. The butterflies in your stomach were beginning to flutter wildly and you wondered if this was what ‘having a crush’ felt like. You had never had one since fourth grade.

You still remembered how it all went down. Despite your best efforts to make him like you, all he did was trample heartlessly on your good intentions and feelings. You stiffened as you recalled how he had ran away from you the moment you presented him with a handmade card on Valentine’s Day which you had spent a lot of time designing. The process had been gruelling for a young kid your age, to stay up late just to get yourself covered in glitter, glue and paint only to be rejected without even an answer. That day, you had felt so devastated and upset that you refused to even eat dinner until your grandmother threatened to bust down your door herself.

Over time, you kept the memory at the back of your mind, refusing to remember as you chose to place your focus on things that more greatly deserved your attention. Was one guy really going to change all of that? It felt a little ridiculous, seeing that you have just met Jacob but you could feel that was this sort of chemistry between the two of you. There was something so innately pure about him that you really liked. He exuded such warmth, unlike the boys you’d usually meet. This was one boy you could seriously like.

“Y/n? Y/n?”

You shook out of your daze and realised that Jacob was peering down at you curiously and you felt the embarrassment start to creep in.

“Sorry, were you saying anything?’

“Um, I was asking if you wanted me to key my number into your phone as well.” He said, looking a little confused. “Was there something on your mind?”

“Ah, it’s just… School.” You laughed it off and he chuckled, a deep yet soft laugh coming from within his chest.

“I can relate! I have that expression when I think of school as well.”

Pressing your number into his contacts, you handed his phone back to him and he smiled, “I’ll text you soon.”

“Didn’t he say he was going to text?” You wondered as you stared at your phone for the nth time.

The subway train slowed to a stop and as you alighted, you kept your eyes glued to your phone, feeling your heart sink with each passing hour. Even as you slipped it into your pocket, you could feel yourself being on high alert for any notifications, pings or vibration. As you walked down the streets and felt the slightest tremor, you could feel the anticipation coursing through your veins as you checked the notifications only to sigh deeply.

[ (1) notification from emma🔥 ]

hey are you there yet? i might be a lil late

yeah im actually already here

You texted back, pushing open the double doors to find the place still relatively calm and serene. There wasn’t anyone else except for an eldery couple at the booth in the far corner and a hooded figure hunched over a chocolate smoothie by the bar. The lunch crowd wouldn’t be here until another half an hour so it was plenty of time for you to relax and prepare yourself for an afternoon of unadulterated chaos and rushing lunch orders.

As you tapped your employee card against the electronic reader, you barely noticed someone creeping behind you and before you knew it…

“Y/n!”

“Oh! Fu- Kevin!” You scolded, slapping him lightly on the back as the boy doubled back, shaking with laughter. Your phone had clattered to the ground as you jumped and immediately, you doved for it, inspecting it for any damage and turning to glare at him.

“You… You should have seen your face! I’m dying!” He wheezed, his laughs almost coming out in pants at this point.

“Ugh, go annoy someone else.” You rolled your eyes, pushing past him while he trailed behind you.

“C’mon, it was just a joke.” He said, following you out to the cash register where you started your first duty of counting all the money in the till. Leaning on his elbows, he peered up at you curiously. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“I’m not that petty, Kevin.”

“Didn’t think you were,” he grinned and as your phone vibrated for the second time, you rushed to check it again, the excitement in your expression not going unnoticed by Kevin. As you deflated and stuffed your phone back into your pocket and resumed your duty of counting the notes, he asked, “Who was that?”

You purse your lips. “Just Emma telling me that she might be really late.”

“Huh. You were clearly expecting someone else to text you, I can see it. Come on, spill.” He said, his voice bearing a teasing tilt to it and you knew you could hide nothing from him.

Kevin was a friend you knew since you were in first grade. The two of you had hit it off almost immediately and grew to become a very close duo. In a way, he was the Watson to your Sherlock, the Joey to your Chandler, the Key to your Peele… You get the idea. He was your closest friend, someone you could confide in without needing to fear any judgement on his part. He was someone you told your deepest darkest secrets to, even ones that you kept from everyone else so that only the both of you knew about it. The bond the two of you shared was strong and almost unbreakable and there was practically nothing that would escape the notice of either of you.

“It’s just some guy.” You relented, feeling the heat on your face coming back.

“A guy huh?” Kevin mumbled, his expression one of mild surprise and something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Not going to lie, I didn’t expect that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, you’ve always been so invested in school and school only.” He shrugged before continuing, “When did you meet him? Where is he from?”

“Firstly, I’m not always ‘so invested in school and school only’. Let’s make that clear,” You retorted, “I met him yesterday at the bleachers before class so he’s from our school.”

“Interesting. What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”

“Jacob. Jacob Bae.”

“Wow, you even know his last name?”

“That’s what he keyed into my phone, dumbass. I’m not a stalker.” You rolled your eyes, showing him the contact information which he squinted at.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?” He asked, frowning.

“We didn’t have a chance to talk. You had extra classes, Belle wasn’t in school and Simmi had some debate club meeting.” You replied nonchalantly, slipping the money back into the register.

“Still.”

“Alright fine, stop acting like such a dad.” You laughed, patting him on the back and his eyes darkened for a second before he reverted back to his previous carefree state.

“By the way, didn’t Bec say we’re expecting someone new today?” Kevin asked as he disappeared into the back of the house. You nodded, rearranging and organising the condiment bottles by the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, we are. They should be here any time soon.”

“Sorry, I’m new here. This is my first day on the job, do you work here?” A voice asked as you kept your head down, focused on the task at hand. That must be the new guy, you thought.

“Ah yeah, I do! You must be-” The smile on your face fell sharply as you saw who was in front of you.

The guy in front of you stared back, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and surprise in his expression as his mouth hung open. He was tall and had a lean figure with a handsome face that you would have recognised anywhere or rather anyone from school would have recognised, not just you.

He was the school football team’s quarterback and also the one who had broken your heart way back in first grade - Lee Juyeon.

“You… Y/n…”

“He’s here?” Kevin called from the kitchen, jogging out from the kitchen with a bright smile, ready to greet the new arrival only to skid to an abrupt stop as he saw who it was. His reaction practically mirrored yours and quickly, the smile disappeared as he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with barely concealed irritation.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Juyeon, who looked extremely ill at ease.

“I-”

“Ah, yes! You’re here! Juyeon, is that right? I see you’ve met my other two servers?” Bec, the restaurant manager interrupted as she walked forward, blissfully unaware of what she had just walked in on and shook his hand. There was still a startled, ‘deer caught in headlights’ look on Juyeon’s face as he shook her hand weakly, unable to get a word out.

“Y-yeah…”

“Excellent! Come with me, let’s get you settled here. You all will have a lot of time to socialise later, don’t worry.” She winked and you exchanged a look with Kevin that very clearly indicated that none of you wanted to have anything to do with Juyeon. The quarterback casted the both of you a nervous glance which neither of you returned before he followed Bec into the employees’ room. There was no time for any conversation as the two of them disappeared through the doors and immediately, you and Kevin erupted.

“Why the fuck is he here-”

“Of all people-”

You drew in a deep breath as you rubbed your hands over your face. “Ugh, why is this happening?”

Kevin placed a hand on your shoulder gently, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sighed. How ironic to have finally run into Juyeon in a place you’d never expect to run into him ever. You could still recall that very day…

Shaking your head, you shook the thought out of your head. No, you can’t. It’s best to keep these memories buried.

“I don’t get it. I’ve been trying all these years to avoid him and now I meet him here?!”

“Yeah, I know. I totally get it…” Kevin coaxed, his voice soothing and reassuring. You looked up at him and instantly, you knew that the both of you still remembered very clearly what had happened that day despite your best efforts to forget that embarrassing moment.

You had given him your handmade card that first grader you had stayed up to craft and instead of even giving you a proper answer, he had chosen to run away in front of everyone else. When you tried to talk to him, all he did was shy away and refuse to even utter a single word to you which would always hurt extra bad whenever you saw him getting along with everyone else in elementary school. In a way, his reactions had a domino effect such that other kids who were also his friends began to catch on to what he was doing and started to follow suit. The only friend you had with you then was just Kevin. Eventually when everyone in the same grade progressed onto middle school and subsequently high school, you tried everything in your power to avoid Juyeon at all costs.

You would never join any clubs he was in, you would not sit in the same area as he did when it came to lunchtime and you would not sign up for the same classes in the same time slot as he did. When you said ‘everything in your power’, you quite literally meant ‘everything in your power’.

Till today, the memory of it still haunts you one way or another. On one hand, it wasn’t really a particularly traumatising experience but on another, it totally was. What he did totally trashed your confidence and it even made you swear off crushes until well, maybe recently… But none of that mattered. Here he was in the flesh, at your workplace of all places and you are now expected to work with him? How bad can your luck get?

As lunch service began and the crowd began to stream in, you tried your hardest to avoid him as well, moving away whenever he came close. Kevin, knowing what your agenda was, made every effort to minimise any interactions between the two of you which you were also extremely grateful for. This was what best friends were for, and perhaps your luck wasn’t so terrible after all because Bec had him attached to Emma for most of the time thereby further minimising any form of potential contact or communication.

For the rest of service whenever you had to pass by Juyeon, you never once lifted your gaze to look him in the eye or face to face. You could feel his eyes on you and it practically took everything in your power to not look back or do anything that could possibly give him a signal that you were open to a conversation or any form of interaction. Whenever he walked into the kitchen, you would leave and when he came near, you would retreat. It was like avoiding the plague. It didn’t matter to you how hectic lunch service was when your heart and mind was so preoccupied with Juyeon’s presence in the same confined place.

Why had he come? Why here of all places? Why this job?

There were so many questions that floated around in your mind and before you knew it, the shift had ended. Before Bec could even dismiss you, you bolted and made a run for the employees’ room and as you made your escape, you could see Juyeon looking at you from the corner of your eye. Once you were in the safety of the employees’ room, you breathed a huge sigh of relief and realised the tension in your shoulders dissipated as well as you did.

What a service. Was it because Juyeon was there that you barely felt like any time passed at all? You must have been so caught up and self conscious with him around that it didn’t even feel like an entire afternoon had just passed.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the cold metal of the locker door. As much as you hated to admit it, he was still so deeply attractive to you even after all these years. It wasn’t like you hated him but you definitely did try to. After all, it would have been so much easier to avoid someone you truly hated.

Whipping out your phone, you immediately perked up as you scrolled through the notifications.

[ (1) notification from Jacob Bae ]

hey y/n, i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later for dinner? at bloom mall?

The message was sent more than an hour ago and you could have kicked yourself for missing it. What if he no longer wanted to hang out? Was it still too late to reply?

You could help but smile to yourself as you recalled the moment the both of you had shared yesterday. Though brief, you really did feel a connection. Everything about him was so sweet, innocent and angel-like. All in all, he was your ideal type unlike a certain someone…

A knock on the door almost made you drop your phone and your heart was in your mouth as the knob turned.

“Y/n? You still here?” Emma’s voice could be heard and you felt your heart relax.

“Yeah, I am!” You answered, walking towards her. “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you for a favour? Pretty please?”

“What is it?”

“Could you please help me coach that new guy on how to refill and operate the sanitising machines? I would have done it but I really have to rush to meet my boyfriend for our anniversary dinner and I might be late!” She pleaded, clasping both hands in front of you in a begging motion.

Instantly, your heart dropped and frantically, you tried to deflect her request.

“Can’t you just ask Kevin?”

“Bec has him clocking in for an additional hour because supposedly, Dana would be coming in late due to traffic. If you’re worried that it would be awkward, it’s not! Kevin will be there, I know how close you guys are and that Juyeon guy is actually super easy going and I think you two would get along really well!” She said with so much vindication that you wanted to laugh but covered it up quickly with a cough.

“Would you please do me this favour?” Emma  asked once more. “I mean… Don’t feel pressured! I understand that you might have plans so if you can’t, don’t feel worried. If you do though, I will literally buy you breakfast, lunch or dinner… Your choice!”

You looked at her with a defeated expression on your face. Do you tell her no and go on your dinner date with the new guy in town, Jacob whom you have a budding crush on? Or do you agree to help coach Juyeon as a favour to Emma and stay behind for an additional hour with Juyeon and Kevin in the diner, thereby forgoing your date?

What will you do?

➳ Say no

➳ Agree to help

[ongaku-ato-kakikomi]

Could you Joey tribianni x ace reader? One where she's hesitant to tell him because she thinks they're gonna break up. But it ultimately comes out when he makes a move on her

Joey gives you quick glances from his place on the couch, hesitant to do anything since you've placed yourself so far away from him. You also seem to be concentrating on the movie you both rented, passion settled in your eyes due to the interesting storyline. He would hate to break that moment for you, especially with how much he loves how invested you can get with characters. And normally, he would enjoy the movie too, simply happy to be living this moment with you, but the conversation he had with his friends earlier today keeps playing in his head. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

"So you really like her, huh?" 

 Joey notices the teasing smile on Ross's lips, though it's the light in his eyes that tells him that his friend is happy for him. 

 "Yeah..." Joey smiles warmly as your face come to his mind. "Yeah, I really do." 

"That's great." Ross gives his shoulder a gentle tap. "I'm really happy for you, man." 

 Chandler finishes taking a sip from his coffee, giving his two friends a squinted look.  "She must be really good in bed." 

"Chandler!" 

 "Oh, what? Don't look all offended, Ross." The sarcastic man takes another sip. "They've been together for three months and he hasn't tried to sleep with anyone else. This is a first." 

 "Actually, um..." Joey takes a small pause, not quite sure how to say it. "We haven't... done anything." 

 His two friends give him a shock, though he's not sure which is the most surprised. 

 "You haven't...?" Ross makes a strange gesture with his hand, to which Joey nods. "Wow... That's... really unusual from you-" 

 "Who are you-" Chandler suddenly cuts him off, pointing rather roughly at Joey. "-and what have you done with my best friend?" 

 Joey just blinks in confusion. "Huh? What are you talking about, Chandler... I'm still me!" 

 "I don't believe it." Ross gives out a sight while Chandler speaks. "You're telling me that you haven't slept with anyone at all in three months? Not even her?" 

"Chandler, please..." The sarcastic man gives out a groan of frustration before he lets Ross take over. "Joey... Why?" 

 "Why... what?" 

 "Why haven't you slept with (Y/N)?" 

 "I don't know, I just..." He shrugs. "... don't feel like we need to. Plus, she seems rather distant when the topic comes out, so I figured I would just leave it alone." 

"Oh." Chandler's voice suddenly seems pitiful, the guy looking down at his cup of coffee. "Well, you two had a good run." 

 "Huh?" Joey notices that Ross's eyes are filled with sadness and comfort, something that makes him utterly confused. "What do you mean by that?" 

 "She's gonna break up with you, man." 

 "What? Really? No!" Joey looks away from Chandler to give Ross a desperate look. "I really like her! Why would she break up with me?" 

 "I don't know, maybe you lost your mojo or something and she doesn't think you can get the job done-" 

 "Now, let's not lose hope." Ross gives Chandler a small glare to shut him up before he focuses back on Joey. "Maybe you two just... need to sleep together. Make her see that you can be more than just... you." 

 Joey stays silent for a moment, worry all over his mind. "You really think so?" 

Chandler gives him a look from his place. "It's worth a try."

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

So here he is now, sitting on his couch next to you as you two are watching a movie. His friends words getting louder in his head...  and if he doesn't do something about it soon, they're just never going to shut up. 

 He notices how you tense up when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, asking himself of this really is a good idea... He can already hear Chandler's voice telling him that if he gives up now, it's you he's giving up: forever. And so he gently hugs you closer despite his instincts telling him to stop, his lips touching your cheek for a small second before you part away and put the movie on pause. 

 "Joey, we need to talk." 

 He moves his arm away when you turn towards him, his stomach twisting. "What is it...?" 

 "Well, um..." You look down at your lap for a second, biting your bottom lip nervously. "It's kinda hard to say..." 

 'Oh no...' He thinks, watching you with worry as he notices the hesitation on your face. 'This is it... She's gonna break up with me...' 

 You look into his brown eyes with uncertainty, internally terrified of how he's gonna react to what you have to say... while he's internally terrified that you're going to leave him. 

 "Joey..." You give out a sigh, deciding to just let it out. "... I'm asexual." 

 He blinks for a few seconds, confused. "Huh?" 

 "I'm asexual." You start playing with your hands, really nervous now. "Which means... that I'm, um... not interested in having sex." 

 'He's gonna leave me now.' Those are the words you hear in your mind as you watch him slowly starting to understand, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of him tossing you aside for something better. 'There’s no way he’ll-' 

 "Oh, thank god." It's your turn to give him a confused look, not understanding how he's suddenly smiling in relief. "I thought you wanted to break up with me." 

"What? No, of course not!" You take his hand in both of yours, worry settling in yours. "I really like you, Joey." 

 Happiness seems to instantly appear in his eyes, his lips stretching out. "I really like you too." 

 You give out a relieved laugh, partially hiding your face with your free hand. "To be honest, I thought you would want to break up with me." 

 "What? Because you don't wanna have sex?" 

 "Yeah..." Your lips turn into a small smile. "Phoebe and the girls have told me that you're quite the Don Juan." 

 "Well, I do have a certain charm, don't you think?" 

 You snort when he caresses his chin while smirking proudly. "Yeah, yeah you do." 

 You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about what you're going to do: whether you'll occasionally have sex with him, if he can have other sexual partners, or any other type of arrangement that better suits you. Joey is happy with whatever you decide because he better spent a lifetime with you than anyone else.

[lushthemagicdragon]

On Deadpool, WandaVision and Breaking the Fourth Wall

Hey pals, let’s talk about breaking the fourth wall / extrapolation of meta information in multiverse universes--say, the Marvel cinematic vs the xmen films vs the comics. Actually, let’s talk specifically about the Marvel multiverse. 

I wrote you an essay, just go under the cut it’s shiny.

As a general rule, suspension of disbelief works better on paper than it does on video. Heroes was an excellent example of this problem. This was the first time TV show was made directly based on a comic book format, trying to emulate a comic book format. The ship sank when they tried to keep comic book pace, and to play by similar rules. Long story short, this is because the way our brains consume literature and comics is different from how we consume photographic media like movies or tv. Video, like photography, convinces the brain that it's depicting reality even when we logically know that it isn’t. Therefore, unless the rules of the video/TV world are well established as being different from our own, we apply to it our own real-world understandings of what is possible. We are able to follow the fantastic more willingly when we're imagining it (because we’re reading it) instead of seeing it with our senses. 

Breaking the fourth wall and/or being self-referential is extremely tricky on video media because you're forcing the audience's brain to acknowledge that this is fiction, which can cause some cognitive dissonance if the goal of your show/movie is to create second world immersion. Sitcoms are good at breaking the fourth wall because, with laugh tracks, live studio audiences, and a general lack of real-world consequences, our brains understand that it isn’t real. Generally, they’re not trying to fool us into believing that they’re real. Still, if Chandler Bing suddenly turned around and made eye contact with the camera, that would be weird. It’s not established in that particular sitcom world that they understand that they’re fictional. Fresh Prince on the other hand, did that all the time. 

But we’ll get back to Sitcoms, because WandaVision. As opposed to most sitcoms, most serious dramas and adventure-thrillers are trying to create a very different vibe. In order to function, you have to be fully engaged, and have to completely believe the second world you are currently in. Otherwise, the emotional experience falls short. Tonality must be consistent, whereas sitcoms can get away with having the odd emotional moment surrounded by a laugh track. 

Marvel is very weird when it comes to second worlds and believable experiences, because Marvel films, tv, and comics are all existing in the same multiverse but with wildly different tones. If you try to wrap your head around all of it as one body, it can give you a headache. Which is why I find it so interesting whenever they try to be meta. 

The MCU as we understand it is presented as a realistic second world. Yes, it's fun action adventure with magic and superheroes, but presented in a way that feels real, and rationalizes its reality. It explains with technobabble and sciencebabble everything that it's doing. It wants to feel real. There are a few examples of comedy in the MCU (AntMan, Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor Ragnorok), but their silliness can for the most part be explained away. With the latter two, they take place in space, with aliens, so our brains allow that as an explanation of wackiness outside our own reality. For Ant-Man, honestly I think it was a brilliant idea to make it a comedy because there was no way that film would have succeeded if they tried to make the audience take Ant-Man seriously on screen. I love Ant-Man, it’s a spectacularly made film. But I digress. Importantly, even though they’re funny and campy, they never lose their sense of realism, with emotional anchor points to keep them grounded.  When these characters are in an ensemble, they lose their high camp aesthetic and become part of the realism whole. 

Even when they say in the MCU, Oh look at this I am an action figure, I'm in comic books, it's presented as in-world realistic. These people are famous now, and they're real life superheroes, so obviously action figures and comic books are being produced about them. It all makes sense. Even the X-Men films, for as camp as they are, do this in their own realism bubble. I would argue the X-Men films actually do it better because you don't have to suspend as much disbelief to believe mutation as you do to believe in a super suit that shrinks people (I love you Small Rudd). 

Things get weird when the fourth wall is broken, and the multiverse is acknowledged, because the marvel cinematics have done an excellent job of creating stable second worlds. The Deadpool films, the prime example of fourth wall breaking in Marvel films/tv, are excellent because they go whole hog into breaking the fourth wall and acknowledging how ridiculous it all is. But it works for two reasons. 

1. Deadpool is the only person in the entire movie that acknowledges the fourth wall (I am pretty sure, it’s been a while since I’ve watched them but I am pretty sure). Because he alone is aware that he's a fictional character in a wider fictional universe, it's not weird when he references his actor being the green lantern or talks directly to the camera. It’s exactly what we expect from him. With Deadpool, we're in on the joke but no one else is. And that's funny. 

2. The tone of the Deadpool films is always funny and stupid. Even when it gets serious, that becomes the joke. There is no cognitive dissonance because it's consistent. See: Sitcom Logic. If the tone is light, breaking the fourth wall doesn’t jarr quite so much. 

3. Deadpool is never in the other films, and MOSTLY, the characters in Deadpool (beyond the odd brief cameo) aren't in the greater universe (I say mostly because of Colossus, but he was in one movie ages ago for like ten minutes it’s not the biggest deal). It's consistent, and it doesn't become confusing because it's contained in itself as a weird fourth wall bubble on the side of the greater universe. Anything that happens to characters in the Deadpool films will not carry over to the more serious timeline. 

There is one place in which I would say that the Deadpool films miss the mark, and make a mess of things. By making that one joke where young 90s xmen from the newest film are behind a door and shut it before he turns around, a wrench is thrown in. The weirdness of the Deadpool films suddenly is an issue because the question is asked: Where do the Deadpool films sit in the timeline? The answer is that the Deadpool films don't fit anywhere in the established XMen Cinematic Timeline, and the big mistake was having a group of characters from an xmen film on screen at the same time even as a gag. In this moment, the Deadpool films are very suddenly part of the greater universe, rather than a sidecar referencing what’s going on inside. By doing this, Deadpool is not the only character breaking the fourth wall. Now the physical world is breaking the fourth wall. And our brains will try to make sense where they cannot make sense.

But anyway for the most part, Deadpool does an excellent job of it by being a weird little fourth wall meta bubble on the fringe of existence. Wandavision though, that gets weird in a different but also very fun way.

The reason why the first 3/4ths of WandaVision work in terms of being meta-referential and also occasionally breaking the fourth wall is because 

1. genre and tone. It sets up from the beginning, this is a sitcom world, not gritty realism world. We get sitcom world, we know what to expect from sitcom world. We can laugh along with the laugh track when something odd or silly or referential happens, and accept it as truth, because a sitcom generally does not pretend to be reality. 

2. Whenever the fourth wall breaks in a way that doesn't make sense, it's intentional. Wanda reacts accordingly. Something goes weird, she fixes it. When something goes weird for someone other than Wanda (Say, the Vision), the integrity of this sitcom world is called into question in an intentional way that tracks with what is actually going on in the gritty-realism world (acknowledging that we’re in a bubble within a bubble). This camp sitcom world breaks the fourth wall within itself, not to us. Billy talking to the screen isn't talking to us, he's talking to the imagined viewer in-world. 

3. Most of the meta-references are either subtle enough to be Easter eggs (like the kick-ass reference) or exist solely as fun gaffs that have no consequences and are never acknowledged as being meta (the Halloween costumes). I say most, because there is one big meta-reference that I think was a mistake, and where it kind of starts to fall apart in my eyes. 

As much as I adore Evan Peters’ Pietro, as extremely happy as I was to see him on this show, this particular meta-reference was done in a way that breaks the second world illusion, because they pointed a big red sign at a meta reference and then tried to explain it without breaking into the multiverse. 

The thing about breaking the fourth wall and meta-referencing is that it has to be toungue in cheek to be sustainable. Our brains are accepting that this reference is for us, but to make it a serious part of the story requires an answer to the question: why? By explaining that actually, this fake Pietro was Ralph the whole time, a real person who exists in this gritty realism universe, the illusion of tongue in cheek is gone. Suddenly, there is a person who brings into question the entire structure of the second world. Because this second world does not have access to the multiverse (Into the Spiderverse is wholly its own thing), it doesn't make sense that this random guy who happened to be used to play Pietro looks exactly like Pietro from elsewhere in the multiverse. It stops being fun, and starts becoming confusing, and we start trying to find answers where there are none. 

IMO, two ways to solve that problem. 1. never explain it. If you never explain it, it's just a weird meta reference for us that also exists in Wanda's fake-world that is in itself accessing the multiverse (see: the costumes), without touching the realism world outside the bubble. 

2. What I'm now calling the Taika Waititi method. Give a nonsense explanation told with a straight face as a brush-off. Say, Wanda asks Agatha who this guy is, and she says something along the lines of, oh I don't know I just pulled some random Pietro out of the universe, I never met the guy I had to improvise. 

Anyway I still give WandaVision an 8/10 and an A for effort. Pulling off multiple tones and multiple second worlds simultaneously without even explaining it away with the multiverse is fucking hard, and they did a pretty good job all things considered. 

And if anyone is interested in wtf I'm talking about re: second worlds, I highly recommend Tolkien's essay On Fairy Stories which pretty much defines how fantastic fiction works.

[cricketnationrise]

ASL 101 - J. Kennedy - MWF 10:00 AM - 11:15 AM - Chandler Building Room 203

Jane Kennedy loves her job.  There’s nothing like watching people learn a new language and really figure out how to use a whole other part of their brain – how to use that language’s unique expressions to tap into meaning that just isn’t there in English. But even at a school like Kiersey there’s always those that think ASL is going to be an easy A. Every year there is at least one person who is panicking about their language requirement and decides that Sign Language is going to be their ticket to graduating on time.

So. She’s a little dreading ASL 101 this spring semester. She was teaching mostly upper level ASL last semester and isn’t looking forward to teaching those just there to coast along. 5 sections of it every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  

“Professor Kennedy?”

She looks up from her desk to find a ridiculously tall freshman with curly hair shifting nervously on his feet in the doorway of her office.

“Yes?”

“Hi ma’am, my name is Sebastián Hernandez, I’m in your Monday/Wednesday/Friday 10AM class. I wanted to talk to you about some conflicts I might have with the class schedule.”

Here we go. A big shot freshman with one semester under his belt who thinks he’s got it all figured out. Probably about to ask if he can miss classes on Fridays.

“I try to accommodate where I can Mr. Hernandez, but only to a point. If you miss too many there’s very little I will be able to do for you to actually learn the material.”

“Well, I’m on the hockey team and so we have a lot of roadies on weekends…“

Jane’s already tuning out and shuffling papers around her desk. Of course. Another jock who wants to sail through her course to get the requirements out of the way. She’s heard it a thousand times. She knows how to deal with this though, and she’s about to give him some tough love about college classes (that YOU SCHEDULE YOURSELF stop signing up for classes that conflict with your sports jesus) when what he’s saying filters in and its – different from how this script usually goes.

“…and the schedule is usually pretty smart about not impacting classes, but there are a couple Friday sessions that I’d already have to be on the bus for, so I was wondering if there was any way we could out how I’m going to learn the material from those days. Like are there videos online or could I sit on a different section? I really want to do well in this class.”

This never happens. Not once in ten years at Kiersey has someone with class conflicts actually managed to make her think they might actually care about Sign Language. She can give him a chance. Just one though.

“Here’s what we’ll do Mr. Hernandez. There are 4 other sections of this class Monday/Wednesday/Friday, and 2 others Tuesday/Thursday. If your serious about this class you can attend one of those, and if none of those work, we’ll schedule something during my office hours. If I get the feeling you’re not serious and just trying to get your language requirement out of the way with an easy class, you’ll be disinvited from those options. I don’t tolerate slackers in my classes and am even less inclined to help them pass.”

“Thank you so much Professor! I am absolutely serious and I won’t let you down. I have another class soon, but I’ll email you before the end of the day to figure out what’ll work best with the hockey schedule. Thank you thank you thank you!” And then he’s gone in a blur of backpack and jacket swirling behind him.

She’ll have to wait and see, but it seems like this one might actually surprise her.

----

It’s always interesting to see what signs people know when they walk into her 101 classes. Usually some of the alphabet and parts of one (1) song that they learned in elementary school choir. If she never has to see bad signing of “Winter Wonderland” or “Jingle Bells” again, it’ll be too soon. Once again, however, Sebastián has surprised her.

He kept his word and had a very polite email in her inbox when she went to check it at the end of that first day of classes, and luckily for him there’s a Tuesday/Thursday class that works perfectly for the few Fridays he’d normally miss. It’s the second day of this section so now it’s time to see where her students are with sign language, and make sure there aren’t any bad habits they have to unlearn first.

They go around the room and the students aren’t surprising with their small amounts of knowledge, it’s a beginner class after all, but Sebastián Hernandez knows more than the alphabet. Obviously concentrating on remembering the motions with his tongue sticking out, he’s busily signing “hockey,” “ice rink,” and “puck” which makes sense, she thinks, but then an incongruous “scarf” shows up.

Blushing sheepishly, he lowers his hands and says, “That’s all I can remember, is that okay?”

A little stunned, Jane says, “That’ll do just fine for starters.”

----

Sebastián continues to be engaged and eager to learn throughout the rest of the semester. He dutifully attends the extra sessions when he has to miss for an away game, and even stops by her office hours once, fidgeting the whole time, to ask for extra help. He also informed her when the hockey season was over, and is her best student in his class. Sebastián is still shy in class, but when he does contribute its thoughtful and usually clarifies something for the other students. He’s clearly putting in the work, and probably watching youtube tutorials for basic vocabulary words – his repertoire is eclectic and usually doesn’t follow the syllabus. Why would he know the signs for “Rhode Island,” “Michigan,” and “Canada” when they haven’t started on geography yet? She hasn’t assigned them to learn animal or insect names yet, but he knows the sign for “cricket.” Perhaps most confusing are the signs for “stage,” “singing,” and “cast.” It’s just a weird conglomeration of words. She’d think he has another teacher, but no one would teach that scatterbrained with vocab or grammar.

----

Beech? Why would Sebastián Hernandez, he of the hockey team and apparently an interest in drama, want to learn tree types outside of class?

----

It isn’t until almost the end of the semester that she figures out what has Sebastián so motivated to learn. As she’s walking back to her car one afternoon, she spots him on the quad, sitting next to a much smaller boy with reddish blonde hair. The new boy looks familiar, but she can’t quite place him until she remembers going to see Dear Evan Hansen last month. He played the lead. Quinn Something that she can’t remember right now. Sebastián looks absolutely besotted, but that’s not what’s revealing about the situation. At least, not by itself. Because the smaller boy is chattering away and she can see his hearing aids from here. She sees Sebastián visibly steel himself before he taps the other boy on the shoulder and starts to sign to him. It’s slow, a little off, and just about the day he’s had, but he’s determined. His tongue is sticking out again. She shifts her eyes to Quinn and sees his face light up with pleasure and surprise. He starts signing at deaf speed at first, but slows himself down so Sebastián can understand at least the more basic vocabulary. Sebastián puts his hands down and kind of shrugs apologetically, like he’s embarrassed he doesn’t know more, and the other boy launches himself at Sebastián. It’s obvious Quinn is pleased and she looks away as they start kissing.

Jane shakes herself a little as she realizes she’s been standing still staring at the couple for several minutes in the middle of the sidewalk. She continues on to her car smiling to herself. She can’t wait for next semester when Sebastián is in ASL 201. Even with his hockey schedule, she now knows why Sebastián wants to learn so badly. She’s definitely going to keep him in mind when she’s looking for a TA next spring. And if nothing else, at least she’s solved the mystery of the weird vocabulary. Other than cricket. She’ll probably never figure that one out.

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

@sincerelyreidburke here you go, I hope you like it :D

[trillian-anders]

first blood

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  angst, general asshole-ness.

word count: 4.6k  

description: part 3 of 5. how did you become ransom’s glorified babysitter? and why the fuck are you keeping this job? who knows. you hate it, you hate him, but... the money. 

note: tumblr is being super shitty rn so I can only post on mobile, but I really wanted to get this off my desk! will add a read more and properly link later 💕

prequel to the assistant && four christmases, spoiler free loves. 

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You don’t think your eyes will ever feel normal again. They were dry and scratchy. There were no more tears to shed. You’d buried your Mom two months ago, but you didn’t know how it would ever feel okay. She did everything for you and Julia. Everything. She worked hard, made pretty good money, allowed you to have a part time job and just focus on school. Julia was in this really nice private school, she played the cello now for fucks sake. She had friends and was talking about maybe starting soccer soon, but after funeral costs and your sister’s tuition the life insurance money was running out.

You had to sell the house.

You’d moved the two of you into a small apartment right outside of Chinatown. Not the safest area, but not the most unsafe either. You’d be fine. You had each other, and she needed you to do this. You had to do this.

For her.

You sat uncomfortably in the cheap office chair, sitting across from a woman with too many papers on her desk, everything sloppily arranged around a couple of potted succulents and a framed picture of her and her three kids, no spouse.

“So your last job was in tutoring?” She asked you. You shifted nervously in your seat, nodding your head,

“Yeah, I tutored a high school student in English and Math.” You needed some water. The cheap pencil skirt and blouse you were wearing made your skin itch. She types into her computer some more.

“So why are you here?” She asked, “Why not continue tutoring?” A few more clicks and then more typing.

“The family I worked for paid me pretty well,” You admitted, “But she’s graduating this year and they didn’t need me anymore, I don’t really,” You cleared your throat, “I don’t really have much job experience outside of that and I need to start making money now… I’ve put out job applications but haven’t really gotten any luck.” Not with the income you needed anyway. The woman nodded. The plaque on her desk said her name is Stacy Chandler.

“Alright, here you are.” A printed page, address, date, and time. A job. Clerical work. Data entry. You have to do this...

-

“How was your last day of school?” Julia sat heavily at the kitchen table, backpack slumped on the floor next to her. She buried her face in her arms.

“I’m never going again.” Came muffled from her mouth. She lifted her head to look at you. The beginnings of puberty. You’d recently gone bra shopping for the first time. Real ones, no more training bras. You’d recently taken her to the dermatologist for her acne, but she’s not good at remembering to put on the expensive creams you bought. What a hard time. You don’t envy her.

“Luckily for you,” You smiled, placing a fudgy brownie in front of her, “You don’t have to go back for three whole months!” She rolled her eyes heavily, taking the brownie and disappearing into her room presumably to sit on her computer until dinner.

She was feeling the absence of your Mother just as you were. You weren’t sure what to do here. You loved your sister and you know she loves you too, but in the last few months it’s just been closed doors and a few parting sentences. Only because you had to work so much. Only because she spent a lot of time at friend’s houses where you’d think she would feel normal for a while. It would help ease the burden of being in your mid-twenties and suddenly feeling like a single mother. Of course you can sleep over at Mila’s house, her family is going to their cabin for the weekend of course you can go!

You didn’t know what to do other than keeping her in school and alive. You weren’t ready for this. But the only other option was your estranged aunt who reeked of mothballs and was constantly asking you if you were married, or dating, or ‘You’re Mother wouldn’t have wanted this’. No. It was very clear that your Mom wanted the two of you to stay together, and that’s how it’s going to be.

This summer she was going to spend with her friend Mila at their family’s lake house. Mila’s mother was a stay at home mom with six kids under the age of 12 and would be planning to spend the summer pintresting activities and projects with them while simultaneously getting out of her stuffy-old 10 bedroom, 8 bathroom mansion. Lucky her. Lucky Julia.

The apartment would be empty without the 12-year-old pre-teen for three months, but Julia has really been looking forward to it. Her bags were packed and ready by the door.

You hugged her tightly in front of Mila’s house, burying your face in her hair, partially not wanting her to go, but otherwise knowing that she’s going to have a better time than you could ever provide her. “Okay, you can let me go now.” She shifted in your arms, trying to pull away.

“Just another minute.” You mumbled, pulling her in tighter. “I’m gonna miss you.” She laughed,

“I’m gonna miss you too.” The two of you pulled apart and you tucked her hair behind her ears, cupping her sweet face.

“I love you,” You said very seriously, “If you ever want to come home just-”

“I’ll let you know.” She was getting impatient, the car Mila’s mom was taking to the lake house, a beautifully large black Range Rover sat packed next to you, they were waiting. “I love you too.” She slowly backed away towards the car.

“If she gets homesick, my husband still comes back every week for work so he can bring her home if need be,” Andrea was her name, Mila’s Mom. “She’ll be fine.” Andy was really nice. She made a lot of the food the two of you had eaten in the early days after your Mom’s death. Her gentle reassurance soothed you slightly. It made driving away a little easier, but it didn’t stop the tears that fell as you entered your apartment, alone. For the first time in a while. You didn’t have to hold it in anymore.

You sunk down against your front door, staring out into your living room, tears rolling down your cheeks in the silence of the home. Dirty shoes lined up against the wall, throw blanket hanging halfway off the couch, dirty dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and somewhere you’re sure under all of it was the will to pick yourself back up.

You just didn’t know if you were ready for that quite yet.

But you did it anyway.

More clerical work. More data entry. More bills going half paid and others being ignored all together. Student loans you didn’t even want to think about from a school where you hadn’t even graduated. Medical bills you didn’t even know where to begin paying back, itchy stockings, and uncomfortable shoes. With every day that passed you reexamined your life. How did you get here?

A new job, a new office. Temp assigned, but you knew who worked here. The building that housed it stood tall against the Boston skyline. Contemporary. You sat comfortably in a cushy office chair. The plaque on the desk read Linda Drysdale, CEO. And you waited.

You hadn’t seen the Thrombey’s, let alone the Drysdale branch of the family, for five months. Zero contact. Joni had talked to you last, thanking you for helping Meg, but also trying to sell you eye cream. “You really should invest in taking better care of yourself.” Which was her kind way of trying to tell you that you look old. Thanks.

You couldn’t imagine what Linda would want you for. You’d been doing some filing, they were transferring all of their documents to digital and hired extra help to do so, you were one of three hired from your particular temp agency, but yesterday she had called you personally and asked you to come in for an appointment today at 3 pm. And here you are.

Waiting.

There was a portrait of her family on the wall. Linda herself sitting in a high backed intricate chair, her husband Richard standing to her right, and to her left was her son, Hugh. He went by his middle name Ransom. They were stone faced, serious looking. This painting seemed ridiculous. If you didn’t know the Thrombey’s you’d think it was there to be ironic, as a joke, a play on what rich families were like.

But they were a rich family, and this is what they were like.

Linda was self-serving. She only ever talked to you when it suited her own interests and as soon as she was satisfied she would quickly direct her attention somewhere else, to someone more important. She used you to get what she wanted and when you served her purpose you were gone. She had no time for anyone, only her father. Anything for Harlan.

Richard was a predator. He was always making an uncomfortable comment about either your body or your face. He stood uncomfortably close at times and liked to settle a hand on the small of your back. He was a well kept man, throwing his wife’s money around like it was his own. He kept a money clip of hundreds in his pocket.

Ransom was a piece of shit. He was a self-centered egotistical asshole who was sure to make your life a living hell every time he saw you. There was always a comment, a jab at your clothes, your hair, the fact that you are poor. He once ‘accidentally’ threw your cardigan away because, “I thought it was one of those fucking rags you dust with, I didn’t want it touching my burberry.” He, like his father, felt predatory. Something about being a rich white man just really got them going, and the money clip with the hundreds… a learned habit.

“Alright,” Linda’s voice came from the doorway, you turned slightly in your seat. She was on the phone, “Well we will send Michael out to show them the properties instead, I’m sure we’ll find something they like.” She gave you a finger, hold on, even though you’d been sitting here patiently waiting for her for close to twenty minutes now. “Okay,” She continued, “Sounds good.” Sitting down in her chair, tapping a few keys to illuminate her computer screen. “Alright now, bye-bye.” She took her phone from her ear, looking down at the screen before placing it face down on the desk and smiling at you.

You knew that smile. She wanted something.

“So, Y/N right?” You nodded, “I see you’re looking for work.”

“Well, I’m with a temp agency right now but-”

“Would you like something a little more permanent?” A permanent job? The Thrombey’s had paid you very well to tutor Meg, better than you were making now. Granted you had only worked 15 hours a week when you were tutoring her, so $20 an hour didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but if they were looking for something, anything full time…

“Absolutely,” You smiled, shifting in your seat, “I’ve had trouble being hired because my-”

“Okay so you’re going to need Ransom’s number, and you’ll start tomorrow.” Your smile dropped.

“Ransom needs a tutor?” You asked skeptically. She laughed.

“No, he needs an assistant.” She gestured towards herself, “I can’t keep telling him when or where to be for family events and he has a fairly active social life so I’m gifting him an assistant for his birthday.” Oh.

“I uhm,” You really didn’t want to work for Ransom. You REALLY didn’t want to work for Ransom. “How much would it…?” You trailed off nervously.

“My father paid you $20 an hour to tutor Meg, yes?” She asked, typing something into her computer, no longer looking at you.

“Yes, he did.” You moved trying to see what she was typing without bringing too much attention to it. She was drafting an email.

“So I’ll pay you the same. Ransom will set hours for you and decide what days of the week he’ll need you and what else he wants you to do,” She waved her hand dismissively, “Cleaning, cooking, whatever.” She scribbled on a post-it before peeling and handing it to you. “Here’s his number and address, you can go over the particulars of your job tomorrow morning.” You opened your mouth to speak again, ask her the million and one questions you have but before you could say anything she dismissed you, “That is all.” She said. And she was done with you.

She got what she wanted. And now she wanted you to leave.

So you did.

“Well,” He grinned, “Linda really scooped you up from the bottom of the barrel, huh?” You stood on Ransom’s front porch. The only texts you sent and received last night were ‘What time do you need me to be there?’ and an hour later the reply of ‘11’. The scumbag was standing in the doorway, leant against the frame, looking down on you. In more than one way.

“Can I come in?” You asked. You really didn’t want to do this. But a $12 an hour temp job versus $20 hour stability… hard to beat. He smirked, pushing off the frame before looking you up and down, turning to disappear into the house.

“Take off your shoes.” What a fucking joke. His house was a mess. Clothes thrown haphazardly around, a pile of dishes not in the sink, but on the counter. Abandoned cups, tv was rolling on in the background, some political documentary. The house, while contemporary and clean, well kept on the outside. The inside looked like a frat house during rush week. You didn’t want to take off your shoes in fear that you’d step in vomit or something worse.

He grinned off to the side, “Had some people over last night.” He explained, drinking what looked like orange juice from a coffee mug. The vodka bottle that was capless on the counter led you to believe that orange juice wasn’t the only thing in the cup. “You can start by cleaning up.” He gestured around, sinking back down into the sofa. “I’m sure I’ll think of something else you can do when you’re done.” The fucking prick.

You shut the door a little heavier than intended, slipping your sneakers off and placing them by the door. “You’ve got a laundry room?” You asked, he didn’t look away from the television,

“Basement.” And he was done with you too. The tone was very, don’t talk to me. Which honestly you were grateful for.

You cleaned up his messes, the red solo cups that littered almost every surface in every room, laundry was running in the basement, dishwasher working hard to sanitize the first round of plates and cups that could fit, the others waiting patiently in the sink as you wipe counters and dusted picture frames, the thick film of unappreciation. He didn’t care about his house, his furniture, the art that cost more than your apartment that lined his walls. His clothes, while having an extensive closet, some were threadbare and with holes.

He didn’t care.

And it made you angry.

You thought of the furniture you were able to keep from your Mother’s house, well oiled and kept. No scratches. The fabrics of the couches and chairs carefully cleaned and maintained.

His sheets were stained and you were unsure when the last time he had washed them actually was. The dampness made you gag. It wasn’t long before you were cleaning under his feet. His ankles crossed and feet resting on the coffee table as you straightened the area around him. You felt his eyes on you, briefly, but ignored it.

“Do you have any real clothes?” He asked suddenly. He stood from the sofa, rounding it to pull the vodka bottle back out from the cabinet you’d placed it in, pouring heavily into the coffee mug before leaving the bottle and the orange juice carton he followed with next to it.

“These are real clothes.” You stated, coming behind him to put the items away. He scoffed,

“I’m important,” He claimed, “I go to parties, events.” He took a large mouthful of the screwdriver he’d just made, “You can’t wear clothes like that if you’re gonna be babysitting me the whole time.” You rolled your eyes,

“I don’t have to go. You set my hours, I don’t-”

“As much as I love the whole, ‘I’m poor and don’t care what I look like’, thing you have going on,” Ransom laughed, “You’re gonna be around me, and as a reflection of me, you need to look presentable.” He gestured to the demin shorts a t-shirt you were currently wearing, mismatched socks on your feet. You felt your face flush. “And slap a little makeup on.” You rolled your eyes at that. Fucking dick. He smirked when you didn’t reply, turning back around to leave you and disappeared upstairs.

He didn’t come down for a while. In that time you’d finished cleaning the living area, the house looking a complete 180 from where it had been when you’d originally entered, it was nearing dinner time. Your stomach was growling and you’d realized you had been cleaning for five hours without stopping.

You didn’t get to enjoy the sense of accomplishment because Ransom came down the stairs not a moment later, dressed for his evening. If you didn’t hate him so much you’d drool. He looked good. Patterned slacks, chelsea boots, a lightweight white button down, blazer over one arm. “Let’s go.” He said, not stopping on his way towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” You felt gross, covered in grime from cleaning, sweat dried on your skin you knew you probably didn’t smell amazing, hair frizzed up in a bun. He didn’t answer you, continuing outside. You sighed heavily, throwing the pair of socks you’d just matched back into the laundry basket before slipping your shoes on and following him outside.

“C’mon!” He yelled from the front seat of his beamer, sunglasses on his nose, he was annoyed with you. Whatever. You sat heavily in his passenger seat, the dickwad not even giving you time to close the door before he was speeding down the driveway.

“Where are we going?” You asked again. One hand on the wheel, the other’s fingertips brushing against his lower lip he looked at you from behind his sunglasses.

“To dinner.” He smirked, looking back towards the road as you merged onto the interstate.

He was a fucking asshole. If you hadn’t thought he was before you definitely knew now. You were surprised the hostess even let you into this place. It was expensive, and you were very, very underdressed. Point taken Ransom. Thank you. Fucking prick.

He took glances at you ever so often, seated a few feet away from him at the long banquet style table that housed all of his ‘friends.’ Gorgeous women and equally as gorgeous men who had money to burn. You weren’t sure any of these people have ever worked a day in their life, much like Ransom himself. You’d met a few of them before, briefly, when Ransom would show up and ask Harlan for money before disappearing for a week, one or two of them would be in tow bragging about going on some guy’s yacht or flying out to some private island.

Regardless, they weren’t talking to you. You were a strange interloper, easily ignored, but only after a few poked fun at the stray dog at Ransom’s heels. It only stung a little bit when he laughed with them. You were wildly uncomfortable. You poked at your deconstructed salad, the little bits lined neatly up on the plate, a smear of salad dressing beside it. This menu was ridiculous. Why were you here again? You were so hungry and this was not your speed at all. Ransom’s booming laugh met your ears and you could feel the anger rising in your chest.

Fucking asshole. You hoped he would choke on one of the olives in his martini. His eyes met yours momentarily and he smirked. He fucking smirked, cheersing you with his martini before it met his lips again. You could kill him right now.

The money.

The money.

Technically you were still working. As the sun set behind the horizon. You’d been at work, technically, for about 10 hours. That’s $200. Okay, you can do this. You can do this.

You know he did this to embarass you. He made it clear when you’d pull up to the restaurant to give you a taunting look. Whether the dinner was already planned or he had planned it after the conversation about clothes and makeup earlier was anyone’s guess. You had the feeling it was the latter.

He’d paid the bill after all.

The entirety of it.

You’d wished you’d ordered more.

Afterward a giggling girl took your place in the front seat, you glared at the back of her head from the back seat,

“Ransom.” She whined, leaning over in her seat to press her lips to his neck, “I want you to fuck me.” Lips around his ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth. You shifted your gaze to the window, the city landscape passing your eyes as you’d pulled into another valet parking, a bar this time. A nice one.

Ransom and the bubbly girl from the car ride over slipped hastily into the bathroom, he’d sent you a dark look before leaving you to your own devices. Looking over the cocktail list while sitting uncomfortably on a bar stool while your boss was fucking a girl who’d laughed at you for being a ‘dog’ earlier in the bathroom of a bar that had a $20 old fashioned and their most expensive wine came with a thousand dollar price tag.

“You lost?” Another smirking asshole, sidled up next to you at the bar as you took a sip from the beautifully balanced old fashioned you’d tacked onto Ransom’s tab. He was handsome, the guy bothering you, almost everyone in this room was handsome. The lights low and romantic, candles on every table and across the bar, soft music played from the piano across the room where a man sat gently stroking the melodies to create the ambiance of the room. Close, cozy, romantic, and dark enough to forget yourself in.

“Oh c’mon honey.” The man slipped onto the barstool, thighs spread wide around you as you face away from him, his hand meeting your back. “I can help you find what you’re looking for.” His breath reeked of alcohol. You glanced over at him,

“I’m fine thank you.” Another sip, damn this drink was good. He chuckled, moving in closer, drifting a hand down to your thigh.

“Don’t be like that.” He laughed, “You obviously don’t belong here honey.” His hand traced your bare thigh, “You’ve gotta be wanting some company.”

Ransom had returned face flushed and you could almost see a tiny bit of white on his nose, but it was quickly rubbed away. He sat on the opposite end of the bar, the girl from earlier taking his lap. He looked down at you briefly, he had to have seen how uncomfortable you were, how this guy was breathing down your neck. He ignored it, ordering a drink from the bartender.

“I don’t want any company,” You shoved the man’s hand away, “Have a great night.” He leaned back in his seat, downing his drink before leaning back over to put his face in yours.

“Fucking ugly bitch.” He spat, standing from the stool, “Tryna give you a little charity here, you could've at least been grateful.” You wanted to leave. He shoved your shoulder slightly as he walked away from you, no doubt going to bother some other unsuspecting woman in his radius.

You needed some air, taking the last sip of your drink you’d scooted back from the bar, walking by Ransom to take your exit, walking out into the summer night. It was early summer. It was still only 60 at night. A chill went through you. You hadn’t expected to be out so late, the comfortable denim shorts and old ratty t shirt you’d chosen to wear had obviously been a mistake for this day. Ransom made sure to make you see that.

The bar was on the harbor, and it brought in a breeze that caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You checked your phone, the battery almost dead. Julia had been texting you periodically, but not as much as you would have liked. You scrolled through the most recent messages, you asking how her trip was going and what she was up to and her stilted replies. She was busy you supposed. She didn’t need you, but right now you really needed her.

This night has been a massive blow to your self-esteem. You’d never felt more ugly and unwanted in your life. You just wanted to go home, but Ransom wasn’t done yet. You looked at him from the window, his fingers were gone between that girl’s thighs, they were both drinking expensive cocktails, completely oblivious to you.

He’d watched you exit, not giving it much thought it seemed, because he hadn’t made any motion to bring the night to a close, but you weren’t really expecting him to. It was Ransom’s world and you were just living in it. You worked for him. And you wondered if this is how every day is going to be from here on out. You really don’t know if you could do this forever, but you knew you didn’t want to go back inside.

So you didn’t.

Thankfully Ransom stumbled out about thirty minutes later, girl from earlier on his arm. “Let’s go.” He said. Valet pulling the beamer around he threw you the keys, “Take me home.”

He sunk down in the back seat, high and drunk. His words almost incoherent. Her’s were no better. They sloppily attacked each other in the back seat, indecently. And you were pointedly looking anywhere but in the rearview. Soft grunts and moans made you uncomfortable for the fourth time that night. Your skin crawling in unease as the girl’s giggles turned into breathy moans. Your foot sunk against the gas pedal in hopes you’d get back to his home faster, tears welling up in your eyes. The cry on the way home was going to be so good. So cathartic.

The gravel crunching against the wheels of the car was a sweet relief, so was the haste in which you left the keys in the car, running and skipped to your own car. His eyes met yours through the darkness as he was leant up against his car door, slacks loose around his hips, the girl’s lips attached to his neck as her hand worked quickly between his thighs. He smirked, waving a sarcastic ‘good-bye’. You turned your eyes to the road, cranking up the radio as you began to cry.

You didn’t want to do this anymore.

A text came through right as you finally laid down in your own bed, snuggling into the covers, ready to forget the night.

See you at 9.

.

.

.

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[mtvswatches]

Friends 2x07 – The One Where Ross Finds Out

Previous Recaps

In a nutshell: Monica’s latest project is to get Chandler back into shape. Phoebe tries to “convince” her date to have sex. Rachel finds closure. Ross finds out.

Chandler: In true Chandler fashion, he mentions how he’s been feeling extra ignored by members of the opposite sex lately, and asks his friends if there’s anything repulsive about him. This is typically a rhetorical question, but Phoebe mentions how she always feels the same way whenever she puts on a little weight. For some reason, everyone pushes Chandler to take on Monica’s offer to “remake him”. And everyone teases Chandler for putting on a few extra pounds which I can’t even notice. This, again, feels like a 90s joke that just doesn’t really land well now. Monica is relentless, pushing Chandler more than he wants to be pushed, and then he basically reminds Monica of every reason he shouldn’t feel so peppy all the time – she can’t find a job, she can’t tell her parents, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. It does the trick. It’s a very cheap, mean trick, though.

Joey: Joey reassures Phoebe by telling her that she’s sexy (“excellent butt, great rack”), which is both sweet and offensive. But then he gives her great advice – if she wants to know what’s up with the dude, she should just ask him -, which is just sweet.

Monica As Monica does, she obviously goes way overboard with the whole training Chandler thing. And can I just mention that the girls resorted to flashing the guys on way too many occasions to get them to do what they wanted? Like, too many times! Is this how the writers think female and male friendships work? Is this how they feel straight men work? Flash them a boobie and you own them?

Phoebe: Phoebe’s been going out with this dude for some time, and they still haven’t sealed the deal, which is getting Phoebe all bothered. Phoebe follows Joey’s advice and talks to her date about why they haven’t had sex yet. He says that he hadn’t tried to have sex because he didn’t want to take the next step if it meant she would get all clingy, so he was waiting until “he was ready to be serious.” And basically manipulated her into “convincing” him they could enjoy having sex without no strings attached. And Phoebe seems disappointed that she got played, but… she wanted to sleep with him and she did? So..?

Rachel: Rachel claims to be over Ross, and is trying to move on by going on a date with a guy Monica set her up with. She seems to have convinced herself, until she finds out Ross is getting a cat with Julie – which is a pretty long-term decision. Her mind is on the whole getting-a-cat-together thing when she goes on a date, and she starts sounding like a broken feline record. Bless her poor date, who admitted he was a bit nervous about dating again after a breakup. Then, she starts drinking, and it all escalates from there. By the end of the evening, poor dude can’t wait to get out of there and Rachel is completely wasted. He’s still a gentleman and tells her she will only be able to move on once she gets closure – which she decides to get right then and there. Jennifer truly shines in these scenes, showing she has great comedic timing and delivery. She decides to send Ross a message telling him she’s over him, and dramatically hangs up by dropping the phone she had borrowed from another diner into an ice bucket – amazing! 

Ross: Ross and Julie are getting a cat. Together. Both of them. Yeah. That’s a huge commitment milestone. I’d say it’s too early in a relationship to get a pet together – which is basically like deciding to adopt a baby – but this is how fast Ross typically moves in relationships.

Ross and Rachel: The morning after Rachel’s date, Ross drops by the apartment to get some cat toys. Quite conveniently, he decides to check out his messages there. Rachel seems to have some recollection of talking to Ross over the phone the night before, but what she’d done only dawns on her once she watches in horror as he listens to the dreaded message, but it’s too late to stop him. She ends up fessing up – she has feelings for him, and she knows he had feelings for her, too. After listening to Rachel’s message and her confession, he’s visibly shaken. He can’t wrap his head around this life-altering piece of information, and he obviously forgets all about Julie and the cat. As Ross tries to make sense of all of this, he asks her if she’s over him. And Rachel asks him if he’s over her. He doesn’t get to answer Rachel’s question as he’s literally saved by the bell, reminding him of the life he’s chosen after a long time of attempting to get over Rachel. This gives him an easy way out, since he couldn’t deal with this whole thing at the moment. He then visits Rachel at the coffee shop when she’s closing up, and I’m surprised at how well this scene stills works to this day. He announces that he didn’t end up getting a cat after all, and then tells Rachel that he doesn’t need “this” right now, since he’s in a good place at the moment. After Ross declares that “it’s too late” and “this ship has sailed”, and then storms off, Rachel is left angry, shaken, and sad. But then he comes back. And I’m surprised at the fact that Ross and Rachel staring at each other through the window still gives me so many feelings.  

The tension and the chemistry is palpable, but there’s some comic relief as Rachel struggles to get the door open. And after one season and seven episodes, Ross and Rachel kiss for the first time. Friends and television would never be the same again.

One Iconic Scene:

Was there even a contest?

[knives-out20]

The One With Chandler’s Boyfriend - Chandler Bing x Male!Reader - FRIENDS - Part 1

Fandom: FRIENDS (1994-2004)

Pairing: Chandler Bing x Male!Reader

Word Count: 2494

Warnings: Spoilers For Season 3 Episode 10, Fluff

Notes:  More Chandler x Male, As Requested! This One’s Long, So Enjoy!

Chandler put his arm around your shoulder, all eyes on Ross as he explained the Brown Bird Scout cookies.

"And these come in the shapes of your favourite Christmas characters- Santa, Rudolph, and Baby Jesus" he explained, holding up two of the boxes.

Joey smiled, chuckling as he turned to Monica, then Chandler and you."Alright, I'll take a box of the cream-filled Jesuses" he told, pointing over at one of them.

You snorted, mind wandering at the 'cream-filled Jesuses'. 

Chandler caught on and mumbled your name, grinning as he told Ross to go on.

"Wait a minute, one box? C'mon, man, I'm trying to send a poor little girl to space camp. I'm putting you down for five boxes" he told, pointing at Joey then writing him down."Chandler, (Y/n), what about you two?".

Chandler and you exchanged glances."Uh, alright, do you have any coconut-flavoured deities?" He jokingly asked, arms now crossed, one leg crossed over the other.

"Yea, any coconut-flavoured Chandlers?" You added, innocently looking over at Ross. You smiled sweetly and turned back to Chandler, who looked at you with this cute look of surprise on his face.

"I genuinely don't deserve you, man" he breathed, the ghost of a smile on his face.

You quickly kissed him, turning back to Ross."I'll take as many boxes of Rudolph as I can".

"Okay, but Chandler, there's no deities. There's coconut in the Hanukkah menoreos" Ross replied, glancing at the two of you."Tell you what, I'll put you each down for eight boxes, one for each night" he nodded."Mon?".

"Alright, I'll take one box of the mint treasures- one, and that's it" she held up one finger, a timid smile on her face."I- I started gaining weight after I joined the Brown Birds. Remember?" She pointed at Ross, "Dad bought every one of my boxes and I ate them all".

"Uh, no, Mon, dad had to buy every one of your boxes because you ate them all" Ross corrected, pursing his lips.

You looked over at Mon, eyebrows jumping, then quickly turned back to Ross.

"But, uh, I'm sure that's not gonna happen this time. Why don't I just put you down for three of the mint treasures and just a couple of the Rudolphs?" He asked.

"Don't give her all of 'em, though, I love the Rudolphs" you pointed at Ross, eyebrows raising.

He smiled and nodded, turning back to Monica.

"You like the Rudolph cookies, huh?" Chandler mumbled, turning back to you.

"Yea, but mostly because I like the Rudolph story itself. It talks about how people don't like you until they need you for something. Took that with me my entire life, Chan" you explained shrugging.

Chandler opened his mouth to say something, turning away in thought."Huh," he started, raising an eyebrow, "y'know, I never thought about it like that. I mean, I never looked at it as anything other than a Christmas movie, but still".

You giggled, kissing his cheek."You're so stupid".

"Stupid for you" Chandler hummed, winking at you playfully.

"No." Monica replied to Ross, shaking her head.

"Oh, come on now, you know you want 'em" Ross teased, gripping a box in his hand.

"Don't..." Monica got up, pointing at him again."Don't- Don't- Don't do this".

"I'll tell you what, Mon, I'll give you the first box for free" Ross got up and walked over to Monica, waving the box in her face.

You and Chandler had badly-hidden, amused grins on your faces, while Joey looked like he was still trying to understand why you laughed at 'cream-filled Jesuses'.

Monica slowly reached out for the box Ross offered her, but snapped out of it last second, running for the door of Central Perk."Oh, god, I gotta go!" She exclaimed, already out the door.

Chandler and you laughed as you watched, clapping like an encore when Ross called "come on, all the cool kids are eating 'em!" as he ran after her, out the door.

After a few moments, Rachel came around to join Joey, Chandler, and you."I'm retraining to be better at a job I hate. My life officially sucks" she growled, sitting beside you as you leaned on Chandler's shoulder, his arm around you again, pulling you close."What was that about?" Rachel asked, pointing at the door.

"Ross is trying to get Monica to buy more than one box of the Brown Bird cookies" you giggled, catching Chandler smile lovingly down at you.

"Uh, Rach, wasn't this supposed to be a temporary thing? I thought you wanted to do fashion stuff" Joey spoke up.

"Well, yea," Rachel shifted in her seat, "I'm still pursuing that".

Chandler furrowed his eyebrows, spitting out "how, exactly are you pursuing that?". When Rachel turned to him, he then said "you know, other than sending out resumes like, uh, what, two years ago?" He reminded, a cocky smile on his face.

You chuckled, lightly slapping him.

"Well, I'm also...sending out...good thoughts" Rachel thought up, as you tried not to laugh at Chandler nodding in fake-understanding, looking up wistfully. His eyes are so pretty...

"If you ask me, as long as you got this job, you got nothing pushing you to get another one" Joey told, moving to where Monica sat."You need the fear".

"The fear?" Rachel repeated, Joey nodding at that.

"He's right, if you quit this job, you then have motivation to go after a job you really want" Chandler agreed.

"Well then how come you're still at a job that you hate?" You asked."I mean, why don't you quit and get 'the fear'?" Rachel nodded in agreement from behind you as he shot back at Chandler.

"Your boyfriend has a point" she nodded, gesturing both hands at you.

Joey and Chandler laughed softly, turning to one another."Because I'm too afraid" Chandler replied, turning back to you and raising an eyebrow at 'too'.

"Oh, god" Rachel hid her face behind her hands."I don't know, I mean, I would give anything to work for a designer, you know? Or a buyer. Ugh, I just don't want to be thirty and still work here".

"Yea, that'd be much worse than being twenty-eight and still, working, here" Chandler enunciated, chuckling in amusement when you lightly punched his arm, as you then gently rubbed Rachel's back.

"Rachel?" "Yea?" Rachel opened her eyes, looking over at Gunther."Remind me to review with you which pot is decaf and whit pot is regular" Gunther ordered, Rachel ignoring the look on Chandler's face as she said "Can't I just look at the handles on them?".

You held back a laugh when you heard Gunther say "you would think", so you hid it by turning and burying your face into the crook of Chandler's neck, Chandler wrapping both arms around you and smiling as he rubbed your back."You would think" you repeated softly against his check, snickering as you heard Chandler let out a few stifled laughs.

"Okay, fine" Rachel got up."Gunther, you know what?" She asked, walking around the couch and standing, facing Gunther."I am a terrible waitress, do you know why I am a terrible waitress?" Rachel asked, hands on the counter.

You pulled away from Chandler, but held his hand in yours when he whined. You giggled, turning to look at Rachel, for whatever show she was bound to put on.

"Because I don't care. I don't care. I don't care which pot is regular, and which one is decaf, I don't care where the tray spot is" she continued, with Chandler's and Joey's eyes on her as well."I just don't care, this is not what I wanna do" Rachel put a hand on her hip, "so I don't think I should do it anymore. I'm gonna give you my week's notice".

"What?" Gunther asked.

"Gunther, I quit" Rachel pulled away, having Gunther, Joey, Chandler, and you all look away from her.

"Does this mean we're gonna have to start paying for coffee?" Chandler whispered, having you whisper "Chandler!" with him returning "what? Serious question, babe".

***

Ross, Chandler and you sat around the kitchen table in Monica's apartment, Chandler having a calculator in his hands as he helped Ross do the math on his cookie selling.

You just sat and watched because you really had nothing else to do, and you liked the cute look of concentration on Chandler's face.

"Okay, twelve, twenty-two, eighteen..." Ross called, expecting Chandler to do something with those numbers on his calculator.

Chandler stopped tapping at the numbers and turned his calculator upside down, showing what he typed out to you in a fit of giggles, you joining along.

Ross looked up at him, "what?".

Chandler showed him his calculator as you kept giggling, "I spelled out 'boobies'" he told, having you laugh some more.

"Wh- (Y/n), why are you laughing? You're gay" Ross asked, groaning.

"Hey, I may be gay, but I do have a sense of humor" you told, nudging Chandler's elbow and mumbling "boobies".

Ross took the calculator out of Chandler's hands when Monica walked over, looking into the boxes of cookies.

"Ross, put me down for another box of the mint treasures, okay?" She asked, looking into another box."W-Where are the mint treasures?" Monica asked hurriedly, as if she was in some sort of rush to go anywhere with the cookies.

"Uh, we're out" you spoke up, scooting your chair closer to Chandler's.

"I sold them all" Ross explained.

"What?" Monica turned to him.

"Monica, I'm cutting you off" he announced, like he was at her intervention.

Monica's jaw dropped."No, no" she shook her head."J-Just a couple more boxes”.

Chandler kept his eyes on her as he pulled your chair closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

"It's no big deal, right? I-I'm cool" Monica told, Chandler raising his eyebrows and giving a 'yea, sure' smile to Ross."You gotta help me out with a couple more boxes!" She pleaded, shaking the two boxes in her hands.

"Mon, look at yourself" Ross instructed, "you have cookie on your neck".

"Oh, god!" Monica yelped, reaching a hand to her neck as she ran for the bathroom, leaving the three of you alone again.

"You alright?" Chandler asked, turning to you. He smiled when you nodded, slowly letting go of you."So, how many y'sold so far?" Chandler asked Ross, turning back over to him.

"Check it out- five hundred 'n' seventeen boxes" Ross answered, a proud smile on his face.

"Oh my god," "how did you do that?" You asked, finishing Chandler's sentence.

Ross cleared his throat."Okay, the other night, I was, uh, leaving the museum, just as 'Laser Floyd' was letting out of the planetarium?" He chuckled."Without even trying, I sold fifty boxes. That's when it occurred to me, the key to my success: the munchies!"."So I, uh, I started hitting the NYU dorms around midnight...I am selling cookies by the case".

You cackled at that, asking "Did they call you 'cookie dude'?", squinting your eyes and saying 'cookie dude' like you're high.

"Yes, actually!" Ross excitedly nodded.

"Hey" Rachel greeted, walking into the apartment and landing a fat sack of papers on the kitchen table."Okay, everyone stop what you're doing. I need envelope stuffers, I need stamp lickers-" she rushed into the living room area.

"Oh, hey, who did these resumes for you?" Ross asked, holding one in his hands.

"Me," Chandler claimed proudly, "on my computer".

"Well, you sure used a large font".

"Uh, yea, well, uh, 'waitress at a coffee house' and, uh, 'cheer squad co-captain' only took up so much room" Chandler joked, getting up and leading Ross and you over to where Rachel was.

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around Chandler's shoulders from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder as you watched Rachel.

"Ha-ha hey, that's funny" Rachel fake-laughed, looking up at Chandler."You're funny, Chandler, you're a funny guy! You know what else is really funny?" Rachel asked, standing up straight when Monica came over.

You and Chandler exchanged glances, taking a step back as he suggested "something else I might have said?" in a scared tone.

"I don't know, I don't know, weren't you the guy that told me to quit my job when I had absolutely nothing else to do?" She asked, aggressively pointing around with papers in her hands."Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha?" Rachel forced out some laughs, Chandler looking near terrified as you let go of him, now standing at his side and holding his hand.

"Sweetie, calm down, it's gonna be okay" Ross soothed, turning Rachel's attention off of Chandler and onto him.

"Jeez, now I should ask- are you okay?" You asked, turning to Chandler, who still looked spooked.

"U-Uh-huh" Chandler nodded slightly, relaxing in your touch when you gave him a quick hug to hide the smile you were fighting back.

"No, it's not going to be okay, Ross, tomorrow is my last day and I don't have a lead" Rachel refused, Chandler flinching when she said "okay, you know what?". Rachel walked over to the phone, "I'm just gonna- I'm just gonna call Gunther and I'm gonna tell him I'm not quitting".

Chandler stepped behind her, turning to face Rachel."But you- you don't want to give in to the fear?" He asked, glancing at you when you mumbled "oh no", joining him at his side.

Rachel glared at Chandler, pointing at him."You, and your stupid fear. I hate your fear! I would like to take you, your boyfriend and your fear-" before Rachel could complete making the already-cowering Chandler into a pile of scared-shitless goo on the floor, Joey, your lord and savior, walked in.

"Hey! I got great news!" He cheered, closing the door behind him.

Chandler grabbed your hand."Run, Joey, run for your life!" He called, running past Rachel, Joey, and out the door with you, slamming it shut."Whew," Chandler put a hand on his chest, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

You laughed softly, "Rachel would've torn us apart, right there, in Monnie's apartment if Joey hadn't come. What a god" you praised. You helped Chandler up, leading him into his own apartment. You hopped up on the counter, lightly swinging your feet back and forth.

Chandler walked over, caging you where you sat."Thanks for being by my side through that, though- I'm sure I would've been dead meat if you weren't there" he smiled, leaning in and softly kissing you.

You cupped Chandler's cheek, smiling into the kiss as you used your other hand to pull him closer."No problem," you pulled away to mumble, kissing his nose."I love you, Chandler".

"I love you too, (Y/n)".

[pars-ley]

Until Tomorrow | Part one

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: Romance / friendship/ comedy

Rating: M (mentions of sex)

Word Count:  7158

Summary: You’re a happily single magazine editor in London, that is, until you’re set up with a handsome musician, who’s not exactly forthcoming about being in the biggest boy group in the world. But with your days together numbered, will this blossom into something more or crash land, leaving your heart broken. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you OK?” I ask mortified, eyes raking over him to assess any damage I might have caused from shoving into him. I put my hand out to help him up, he takes it; jumping quickly from the ground and putting a hand out stopping his friends from interfering, both of them fussing over him. “I’m fine, I'm fine, honestly, no harm done.” He says smiling, dimples appearing in both his cheeks as he dusts himself off.

I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out; I suddenly notice how handsome he is and I'm slightly taken aback by it. And not the usual type of handsome either; when you see a good looking guy and once he’s walked past you turn to sneak another look at him. No, this is much more than that. He is almost ‘break your neck to turn and stare until he’s completely out of your sight’ handsome. For a moment I wonder if perhaps he’s a model.

“Are you OK?” He asks snapping me out of my train of thought.

“Yes, sorry.” I reply, shaking my head. “That guy walked straight into me and I just couldn’t steady myself in time.” The man in question was half way down the street, almost out of sight, no apology or even a glance in our direction after bowling me over and into this guy.

He puts his hands up towards me. “Hey, don’t worry. I saw what happened, I know it wasn’t your fault, you don’t have to explain.”

I breathe out relieved. Smoothing down my trouser suit and gaining my composure back, I have a thought. “Please, can I buy you guys coffee to apologise? They do pretty good ones here.” I point to the shop this had all happened outside.

He shakes his head. “No, no that’s not necessary.” He pauses for a moment. “How about I buy you a coffee to apologise on behalf of that rude man.”

I frown, that didn’t seem fair. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Please, I insist.” He pushes with a gentle smile.

For some reason I found myself too polite to turn him down again. Even though I only asked out of being polite and genuinely wanting to do something by way of an apology. But there were worse ways to spend the morning than having a drink with a handsome stranger. I return his smile and nod. “If you insist, i’ll have tea please.”

To my surprise his two friends don’t join us; sitting at a separate table, which then has me worrying they all believe this to be a date. I hadn’t thought of it that way at all, but am now wondering if that’s how I came across.

“So, you don’t sound like you’re local to here?” I ask, taking a sip of my strong tea. “Your accent is slightly American, no?”

He laughs, dimples deepening. “No, I’m from South Korea but I taught myself English by watching American TV shows.”

“Seriously?” I chuckle, leaning back in my chair with surprise.. “That’s quite impressive, any I might know?”

“Thank you. Um, friends?”

I nod enthusiastically. “I love that show, could it be any funnier.” I quote Chandler's character, hoping he gets the reference. He does thankfully and laughs.

“Chandlers the best.” 

I agree. “So, what’s it like in South Korea? I’ve heard some parts are beautiful. It’s on my list of places to travel to.”

He nods, swallowing a gulp of his coffee. “You should definitely go. I mean, I think it’s pretty amazing but I’m biased.”

“True. Are you on holiday over here then?”

“No, I’m here for work actually.” He doesn’t elaborate and so I'm intrigued what this handsome stranger could do for work.

“And what is work exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He hesitates for a moment and stares at me, searching my face for something. “I’m a musician.”

“Ah,” It all makes sense, someone as good looking as him would of course be in the entertainment industry. “That must be exciting.”

He gives me a one sided smile. “It’s a lot of hard work but it’s very rewarding, the travelling is a plus too. What do you do for work?”

“I’m an Editor at a magazine. Not as glamorous as your job, but i enjoy it.” I take another long sip of my tea. 

“That must be interesting, do you get to see lots of celebrities?”

I shrug. “Not really, I’m more behind the scenes, telling people what to do. I’m mainly in charge of what goes in the magazine and making sure my team has done their part. Occasionally, I might get to attend a photo shoot or an interview but it’s rare.”

“Is that the job you always wanted to do?” He asks curiously.

I smile. “No. When I was little I wanted to be a singer actually,” I laugh, “but unfortunately I wasn’t blessed with that talent. Then I actually wanted to be an artist.”

“Oh really?” He perks up, eyes on me, focused on my answers. “That’s interesting. So how did you end up being an Editor?”

“I couldn’t afford art school and I needed a job. I had an English degree and I started off as an assistant straight out of college. I proofread my way up to Editor, so to speak. Luckily, I still get to be quite creative so it keeps me satisfied.”

He nods, understanding. He studies me with avid interest. 

“So are you sightseeing at the moment?” I ask, looking away from his curious gaze.

He nods, “Yes, we were just exploring. It’s not the first time we’ve been here but there’s so much to see in London.”

“That is so true. I’ve lived here my whole life but there’s always new things to be discovered. Museums, galleries, art exhibitions, if you’re into that kind of stuff.”

He sits up a little straighter, eyes eager. “Actually I am. Is there anywhere you could recommend?”

I think for a moment before inspiration strikes me; slightly unsure if this is a good idea but willing to give it a shot. “There’s an art exhibition happening, it starts this evening actually and it goes on for two weeks. I have a membership to the gallery so I get in regardless and two of my friends were supposed to come tonight, they can’t make it unfortunately but they gave me their tickets to try and find someone else to take their place... if you’re interested that is?” I offer. 

Doubt creeps into my mind when I see his impassive expression and after staring at me blankly for a few moments, he then says, “Interested in what?”

I smile, amused. “Coming to the art exhibition?”

He laughs and shakes his head, as if at his own stupidity. “Oh, of course! I would love to and I have just the friend that would appreciate it also. Please, let us know how much to give you for the tickets.”

“Nothing. My friends got a deal on the tickets and they weren’t expensive so they don’t want anything, don’t worry.”

He looks at me quizzically and then raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure I’ll think of some way to repay you.”

“Why don’t we just call it even for me bumping into you and knocking you over. And then you buying me coffee.” I laugh. “Sound fair?”

He thinks about it, pursing his lips, then nods. 

“Good.” I give him a run down of where the exhibition is so we can meet up there later. “If you give me your number, that way I can let you know when I’m on my way and where to meet me?”

He nods and types it into my phone as well as his name. Realising only then that I hadn’t even asked for it.

I read it from my phone. “Kim Namjoon?” I ask, making sure I've pronounced it correctly.

He smiles and nods. “Namjoon is fine.”

“I’m Y/N.” I say standing up and pulling my handbag over my shoulder. We shake hands; my grip much firmer than his.”I’ll see you there later, nice to meet you.”

He smiles and bows to me. “You too, Y/N. And thank you again, you’ve been very kind.”

We gave each other one last wave as I left, continuing on my journey to work. 

Luckily, I only had a late morning meeting to attend, getting to leave work early on a Monday is a reason to get up and face the day if ever I heard one. 

After two hours of sitting there listening, making notes and nodding, the meeting was done and so was I. I head out to the local shops uptown, running a few errands like picking up two new trouser suits for work. I opt for a pale blue one and concrete grey, cooler tones or black have always been my preference. I then pick up a new pair of black heeled sandals which I saw advertised in our own magazine and instantly loved. I grab some more of my face wash, moisturiser and some shampoo; everything running out at once and my shopping spree is done. As I stroll down the streets of Central London, I look around at the tall buildings, the lines of shops and the crowds of busy people and a feeling of appreciation swells inside me, living in such a thriving city. There’s so much beauty to see whether it be in the buildings, or the views, or the entertainment that scattered the streets. There’s nowhere like London and I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. I walk past a young woman busking, playing her guitar and singing, I pause and listen to her for a moment. Her voice is pretty incredible; she had a very soothing tone. I watch the emotion in her eyes as the song she’s singing about love and loss clearly resonates and means something to her. For a moment it resonates with me too but I push it away, not delving into the memories. I take what change I have in my purse and place it in her guitar case, she smiles at me and nods thanks, i return it before continuing on my travels.

Freedom on a Monday, just who did i think i am; gallivanting around town instead of being at work. If I’m being honest, my workload is so huge I probably should have stayed in my office, or at least been heading home to attempt to do some work. But the idea of being swamped for the next couple of weeks while my colleague, Amy, is away on bereavement leave, had me wanting to enjoy it the best I could. I felt awful for Amy; losing a parent is devastating but I hate instead of getting someone to temporarily replace her, it’s split between myself and Chris, an assistant Editor. It must be harder for him however as he typically has a lot of work bumped down to him from more senior members. Who knows, maybe there’ll be a promotion in it for him.

I’d missed lunch so I decided to pop into my friend's Japanese restaurant which is only a couple of tube stations away. He’s the head chef in the small, family run business and always accommodating. He greeted me with his usual warm smile as I entered. I head over towards the stools at the counter where he’s cooking in plain view.

“Y/n! And to what do I owe the pleasure of the most beautiful girl in town?” He calls loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

I wink. “Lunch, with the biggest flirt and the best chef in town, obviously Yoshi.” I beam at him taking a seat directly in front of him.

I’d met Yoshi at college; I was studying Art and English and he had been studying hospitality and catering. We hung out nearly everyday on campus and with one of the most wicked sense of humours he had quickly become my best friend. There was a time, at the start of our friendship, where he had tried his luck like a typical teenage boy and asked me out on a date but thankfully, my refusal had not affected our blossoming camaraderie, thankfully and he’s flirted with me for laughs ever since.

Since starting work we’d seen less of each other but still made sure to talk frequently.

“I sincerely hope you’re not using and abusing me?” He asks feigning shock. “On second thoughts, I sincerely hope you will.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he leans over the counter, making me chuckle.

“In your dreams lover boy.” I slap him playfully on the arm. 

“You’re usual, petal?” He asks, preparing ingredients to cook my favourite dish.

I nod. “Yes please. So how have things been?” I ask glancing over the menu anyway. 

“Pretty good. We’re getting steady customers, busy afternoons and evenings and we’re making all our payments on time, things are improving and looking up.” He hesitates. “...And did i mention i’m seeing someone?”

My head snaps up at this information. “As in a singular person? Just one?”

He pulls a face at me. “Yes just one, it’s not a big deal y/n.”

“On the contrary.” I cut him off. “This is huge news. My little slut of a friend actually liking someone and becoming...dare i even say it...monogamous.” I gasp, placing the back of my hand across my forehead, mock fainting. 

He grimaces. “Alright, I wouldn’t go that far, we’re just taking it slow and seeing how things go. But yes...i do like her...at the moment.”

I laugh at that. “And how long have you been seeing her?”

He shrugs, “About a month.”

My mouth pops open and makes a silent ‘wow’. “How is she? You know....in the sack?” I tease.

His cheeks blush. “What’s with all the questions, am i under interrogation?” 

He is and he knew full well this was our usual back and forth when one of us mentioned a date. The fact he’s dodging my question completely means this is a lot more than he’s letting on. My jaw practically hit the counter. “You haven’t slept with her yet!? In a month? That’s very uncharacteristic of you.”

“Yea well, it just hasn't happened yet, OK?” He sighs giving into my questioning.

“Hey Yoyo, stop being so steely.”I give him a playful glare. “It’s OK to have feelings for someone, it’s bloody normal. So don’t be embarrassed, at least not with me.”

“You’re right.” He relents, sighing. “I just really like her and I don’t want to mess it up. I’m in uncharted territory right now, some advice would be appreciated.”

I look up at him. “My advice? It’s not complicated, just be yourself, who wouldn’t love you.”

He rolls his eyes at me and laughs.

“Hey, I'm being serious. Just be honest, women appreciate that. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with who you are, so don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. I know you do that a lot.”

He nods slowly, agreeing. “That I do, OK you got me there. Be myself, OK. I can do that.”

“Does this mystical lady have a name?” I ask.

He smiles to himself. “Jenna.”

I nod. “And...is there a picture?”

He looks up at me and pauses, I raise my eyebrows expectantly. He sighs again, relenting, shoulders slumping as he takes his phone from behind the counter. He places it down in front of me, taps a few buttons then turns it round to face me. He washes his hands and continues cooking my meal whilst I look at the illuminated picture on the screen. She is gorgeous; tanned, freckles, with shoulder length, dark curls and perfect soft features. She had a nose stud and what looked like no makeup, she’s a natural beauty. 

“She’s beautiful, Yoyo.”

He grins proudly. “She’s fun too. You’d really like her.”

“Well then I hope to meet her soon.” I reply as he hands me a glass of water. “And I can give her the best friend ‘don’t you hurt him’ chat.” I put my fist up in warning and he laughs.

“God, please no. So what about you? Seeing anybody?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I roll my eyes. “No. Next question please.”

He shakes his head at me but doesn’t argue, as he hands over the steaming bowl of Pad Thai. “Fine. How’s work?”

I shrug, tucking into my perfectly presented meal. “Same as usual, except busier. I’m covering for Amy for the next two weeks, so I have double the workload. “I pull a face. “So my social life is going to take an immediate dive.”

He laughs. “What social life?” He steals a bit of chicken off my plate and throws it into his mouth. I glare at him, unamused. 

“That exhibition tonight is going to be my last bit of fun for a couple of weeks.”

“And not everyone would call that fun. Interesting, definitely. Educational, for sure. Compelling even...but fun? No.” He retorts.

I stick my tongue out at him. 

“Oh speaking of,” he says, grabbing another piece of chicken while I swat him away with my chopsticks. “Did you find someone to have those tickets?”

“Actually I did, this morning as a matter of fact.” I chew what’s in my mouth and swallow. “I met a guy, quite literally bumped into him and we got chatting over coffee. He’s a tourist and asked about any recommendations for museums and art so I offered the tickets to him.”

Yoshi looks at me, suspiciously. “That sounds a lot like a date y/n.” Raising an eyebrow at me, he leans his elbow on the counter, resting his face in his palm.

“I can assure you, it wasn’t. We just had a friendly chat, over a friendly beverage, that’s all. Nothing more to it. He’s bringing a mate with him tonight, so it’s just going to be a very friendly evening.” I accentuate the words on purpose hoping he’ll back off.

He raises his hands in surrender. “OK, if you say so, let's just hope mystery man is on the same page you are.”

I roll my eyes. We continue catching up for a little while after I finish my meal. We make plans for the coming weekend to hang out at his place for a movie night, to give me a break from my work. We say goodbye and I'm off home thinking about what to wear tonight. 

I remove my jacket as soon as I'm on the tube, the summer heat sweltering underground. I stand by the window at the back of the carriage, welcoming the slight breeze I feel. I truly hated being on the underground, the hot sweaty bodies packed tight in each compartment, it was unbearable sometimes and we weren’t even at the height of summer yet. Luckily, I only had a few stops to go before exiting as quickly as I could, back on the streets.

It’s only a short walk from the station before I’m climbing up the steps to my apartment, wiping the sweat from the back of my neck. The summer evening air is muggy making wearing work attire quite uncomfortable. As soon as I’m in and the door shuts behind me, I strip out of my trouser suit completely.

I turn on my laptop to check my emails before starting some of the workload. Once I’d sent a few urgent emails and documents off, I opt for a nice, cool shower, hating to admit the nerves that were creeping in at the idea of meeting two strangers tonight. My stomach was in knots. I was mostly a confident, friendly person; engaging with people is something I had no problem with, especially in a work environment but in this kind of meeting it was easy for me to get nervous and clam up. I can sometimes struggle to keep conversation flowing with new people which was the main reason I hated dating so much. I just find it all so awkward; the conversation, getting to know each other, asking the same mundane questions. Let alone the first kisses, first time you have sex, first time meeting the parents, it was all just a little overwhelming for me nowadays. 

I quickly dry myself off, the cool air on my damp skin feels welcoming but I don't have time this evening to relax and enjoy it. I dress in a thin, black maxi dress; something light and comfortable. I add my silver moon necklace and my little silver studs that decorate my numerous ear piercings. I quickly brush my teeth, add a touch of mascara and a sweep of lip gloss. I pull on my converse, chuck my phone in my handbag and grab my denim jacket and keys before heading out the door. I double check I still have the tickets in my bag and I decide to send a quick text to Namjoon just to check if they’re still coming.

Unknown [18.34]: Hey Namjoon, just checking we’re still OK to meet tonight at the museum?

Realising I didn't give him my number, I quickly type out another message.

Unknown [18.34]: It’s Y/n btw. In case anyone else is giving away free tickets to a museum today

I cringe at myself and how not smooth I am, then remember this isn’t a date so i shouldn’t be worried. As I walk toward the tube station I feel my phone vibrate in my bag, my stomach turns as I pull it out and read the message. 

Namjoon [18.37]: LOL! Of course, we are on our way. See you soon

I breathe a sigh of relief that they are coming, then my shoulders get tense and my stomach knots again. I’m meeting up with two strangers in a museum...this won’t be awkward at all. 

I walk along the back streets I know so well to get to the museum. When I’m around the corner from it, I take a few gulps of water from the bottle I brought with me and return it to my bag. I use these few moments to take a breather, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. Taking a few deep breaths I head to the entrance of the museum and scan the small crowd outside. I spot Namjoon a mile off. He stands out slightly, not only because he’s handsome but also because he’s so tall. One might even use the word gangly; all limbs but in an endearing sort of way.

I start to head over as my eyes sweep the faces of the men he’s with. The two men I saw him with outside the coffee shop this morning are here and I wonder how they’re expecting to get into the exhibition. I start replaying the conversation I had with Namjoon about the tickets. I did say I only had two, right? I’m sure I did. Just like I was sure he had only mentioned bringing one friend with him tonight. I can see he has someone else with him, a third person with dark, slightly dishevelled hair and wearing a long brown coat but he has his back to me.

Namjoon spots me and waves me over. As I begin to close the distance between us his friend turns to face me and it takes everything I have not to stumble as I walk. I thought Namjoon was handsome but his friend...his friend looks like an Adonis. He had the type of face that should be carved into a statue. His features; smooth, straight and perfect. When he looks away from me and back at Namjoon I feel slight heat in my cheeks as I approach them. He turns around and stands next to Namjoon, watching me as I approach.

“Glad you guys could make it.” I say, surprised my voice actually works. My mouth feels so dry suddenly, it’s hard to swallow.

“Glad you invited us.” Namjoon replies. 

I look at the two friends who were with him this morning and give them a polite wave. They smile and nod. 

“Don’t worry, they’re not joining us, they’re just our ride home.” Namjoon says as if he’s reading my mind, or perhaps my worried expression. “Y/n this is my friend Taehyung.” He looks at his friend. “This is Y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” I say, the back of my neck prickling with heat and not just from the weather.

He stares at me long enough for me to start to feel embarrassed, until Namjoon nudges him in his side. That seems to snap him out of it, as he quickly bows, spluttering an apology. “It’s nice to meet you.” He says softly with a deeper voice than i was expecting.

I smile but look away as I feel a flush of crimson creep up my cheeks. I could feel his gaze on me which didn’t help. Never had I seen a man who’s looks and aura alone could hold my interest. 

“Thank you for inviting us.” He spoke slowly.

I meet his gaze again. “You’re welcome, it’s actually nice to be able to share this place with someone for a change.” I instantly want to tell myself to shut up and stop rambling.

Taehyung’s eyebrows rise, seeming surprised. “It would be a great place to bring a date, no?” 

I chew my bottom lip. “I don’t really date much to be honest.”

“Why not?” He frowns. His cheeks flush slightly as Namjoon nudges him in his side and he averts his eyes away from mine.

I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to sound any more pathetic than I feel. “I...I just don’t find that many people interesting. So many men I meet seem to be the same.” I shrug and play with the fabric on the skirt of my dress.

He nods, processing my words. “I understand.” He continues to stare at me, making my heart race a mile a minute.

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.” Namjoon cuts in. I tear my gaze away from Taehyung to meet Namjoon’s amused expression. He raises an eyebrow at me, then darts his eyes between me and Taehyung, being about as subtle as a machine gun. I instantly feel hot at his implication, as I realise why he was so interested in bringing his friend here. I hate blind dates, hell, I hated dates so this was going to be nothing short of disaster.

“Shall we?” Namjoon gestures his palm towards the museum. I nod and lead the way. The two drivers stay where they are, as we walk up the large stone steps to the glass doors.

I show my membership card to the receptionist; Judy, and give her the pair of tickets. After our usual pleasantries she waves us in and we turn into the exhibition. Every wall had at least one piece of art whether it be paintings, photos, projectors. There are statues in the centre of the rooms, people surrounding them and studying them intently. I hang back a bit, letting Taehyung go ahead, ensuring he was out of ear shot as I slow my pace to meet Namjoon’s. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to set me up with your friend.” I ask side eyeing him.

He smirks. “See, pretty and smart.” He jokes, walking with both his hands held behind his back. “Go easy on him, he doesn’t date much either nowadays and he’s a little shy around women.”

“Wait,” I cut him off. “What makes you think he’s even going to be interested in me?” I wonder out loud.

He stops in front of me, his face serious. “One, I can’t see any reason why most men wouldn’t be interested, you've already caught the attention of quite a few men in here.”

I glance around, suddenly feeling self conscious, feeling as though all eyes in the room are on me.

“Two, I’ve known Taehyung for a long time, I know his type and I know what he likes and you are it. And three, you seem like a genuinely nice woman and I think you’ll be kind to him.” He shrugs.

I could feel my ears pink with embarrassment at everything he just said and I’m not sure what to say or do in response. 

“I don’t know much about you or your type,” He continues, “but I can already tell that you are attracted to him, so I’m checking that off the list. What I can tell you about him is even though he’s a little shy at first, once he opens up, he’s kind, gentle, funny, caring, fun, artistic and pure hearted. Any of those qualities unappealing to you?”

I shake my head unable to say anything; my mouth so dry from nerves I could hardly swallow, let alone speak. 

“Good, so you should go and talk to him and i’m going to look at this painting right over there.” He quickly disappears, walking backwards off through the crowd with a dimpled smile on his face. 

What on earth just happened? Was I just part of a drive by set up? I glance at Taehyung over by a set of photos, our eyes meet for a moment before he quickly looks away and focuses back on the portraits. Feeling awkward just standing here, I take a few deep breaths and stroll over to him. I fix my attention to the images in front of me, letting my eyes roam over each of them, before glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

We stand there quietly before I’m the one to break the silence. “So, have you also been to London before?” I roll my eyes at my own mundane question. 

He nods. “Yes, this is my second time here.”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

“Yes,I love London. I love the fashion, the art and the architecture. There’s so much to see.” 

“Yea, that’s true.” I fiddle with the hem of my dress. “Are you here for work also?”

He nods. “Yes, we don’t get much time to enjoy it though. I want to come back as a proper tourist someday.”

“Good idea, you probably still wouldn’t get to see everything you want; I’m still finding things all the time.” I smile and he mirrors it.

“Yes I can imagine, it’s a big place.” He leads me to another piece of artwork, a sculpture of a female face this time.

“Are you a musician like Namjoon?”

I see him tense up slightly from the corner of my eye. “Yes I am.”

“That’s pretty cool.” I can tell, like Namjoon, it’s something he doesn’t wish to divulge any more about.

“Yea it is, I guess. Namjoon tells me you work for a magazine?” He asks as we wander over to a projector piece, hundreds of images of faces flashing in a story like a flip book. 

“Yes, I’m an editor. Not as exciting as your profession but i enjoy it.” 

He turns his attention to me more. “That must be a lot of hard work?”

I nod slowly. “Yes, it can be very stressful at times but there’s something quite satisfying in it. Knowing that i’m putting together a form of entertainment and knowledge for people, I like that.”

He looks off thoughtful for a moment, “I’ve never thought of a magazine like that before but that’s a nice way to look at it.”

“Let me guess, you usually think of the celebrity tabloid gossip mags?” I ask, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

He smirks, “OK you got me there, i was.”

I laugh and tut at him. “I’m offended.” I mock, clutching my chest. He laughs at me, the breathy sound pleasing to the ear, distracting me to the way the veins in his neck bulge slightly as he does. 

“OK, my apologies.” He bows, teasing. 

“You’re forgiven, you may rise.” I laugh at his serious expression, unable to stop myself. 

We continue to stroll around the exhibition, Namjoon trailing behind, allowing us to talk. The conversation flowed easily, mostly random chat and art talk. I learned that like me he’s quite interested in art, he enjoys photography and Van Gogh’s starry night is his favourite painting.

“Have you been to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam? That was my favourite part of my trip there.” I recap.

He nods eagerly. “Yes! I went last year, it was my favourite part too. I did a lot of photography in Amsterdam actually, the views and structure of the place make it very easy to get good shots.”

“I’d love to see some of them sometime.” I say, my cheeks feeling warm as I fiddle with one of my fingernails

He turns to me, surprised and hopeful. “Does that mean you’d like to see me again?”

I thought about making a joke and teasing him but didn’t know him well enough to know how he could react, so i decided against it. 

“I would, yes.”

He has a boxy grin that spreads across his face and I can't help but let my gaze rake over him, taking in every detail. The way his dark, hooded eyes shrunk when he laughs, or how they looked around with so much awe and innocence any other time. The way his nose was perfectly straight and just a little bit shiny. The moles on the end of his nose and one on the edge of his bottom lip; the thought of kissing that mole on those flawless, angular lips crosses my mind but I push it away. I needed some air...and some holy water.

Once we’d looked at all the pieces, we make our way to the exit.

“I really enjoyed this exhibition, this museum is nice too.” Taehyung says as he rakes a hand through his dishevelled brown locks.

“Yea, I come here a lot. It’s where I come to think. Looking at the art helps me to clear my head. Helps me figure out my next move.” 

“Next move to what?” 

I shrug. “Just in life, you know, what i’m going to do next.”

“So what is your next move?” He raises an eyebrow at me and my stomach clenches at the sight. How can he make something so simple look so sexy?

“That was supposed to be my task for tonight.” I say unable to stop myself from smiling.

“And I'm distracting you from that?” He asks, smirking clearly knowing the answer.

I swallow nervously before saying. “You’re a welcome distraction.” I can hardly hear myself over my thundering heartbeat. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m about ready to run to the bathroom and flush my head down the toilet out of sheer embarrassment when I can feel his gaze on my face and I catch a glimpse of a smile and flushed cheeks as he turns his face away from me.

Once outside the cooler air hits and I slip on my jacket whilst we wait for Namjoon. 

“It’s a nice night.” Taehyung says as he leans on the wall, looking up at the now inky sky that mirrors in the river stretching out in front of us. 

“Yes, it is lovely.” I sigh after taking a deep breath of the cool night air. I hear a shutter sound in the silence, my eyes flicker over to him as I see his phone aimed at me.

He smiles, looking bashful. “I’m sorry, do you mind?” 

I shake my head, feeling my cheeks turn crimson and look back out over the still waters. 

A few more shutter sounds as he continues to take pictures of me. I’ve never been a model for anyone, in any way, shape or form so this concept is hard for me to grasp and not feel like a complete idiot. 

“The light is so perfect here, and you look very beautiful. I couldn’t not take the opportunity.” He says quietly as he leans across showing me his phone screen. His arm touches mine, the scent of him swirls around me, woody and yet floral. I focus back on the phone. I have to double take, the photo is breathtaking, it looks like it was from a professional photo shoot. The way the lighting touches my face, the reflection of the sky and the buildings in the river, it was the perfect portrait and something I'd gladly have hanging on my wall.

“Wow, that looks incredible.” I gasp. “You’ve made me look gorgeous.” 

“No, you do that on your own. Nothing to do with me I promise you. I just wish I had my proper camera with me.” He says quietly to me, only inches away from my face. I stare up at him, our eyes lock and I feel myself getting lost in his ebony pools. His fingers reach up and tuck a stray strand of my hair, blowing in the gentle breeze, behind my ear. I almost mechanically reach into his touch but manage to stop myself. What is it about him that makes me feel like I’m losing control over myself? I could feel the walls I've spent years building, falling down around me. What is it about this stranger?

“Can i see you tomorrow?” He says almost a whisper. His eyes still not leaving mine and his face still within reaching distance of my lips. 

It takes me a moment to realise what he’s said and as I think about his question, I can already feel like tomorrow is too long to wait. “Yes.” I let out a breathy reply, my heart pounding from his proximity. 

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” He asks hesitantly.

My stomach flutters with excitement. “Yes I would.” Unable to stop the smile spreading across my face I force my eyes away from his and down to the ground. He takes a step back, giving me a little more clarity. 

Namjoon comes bouncing down the steps outside the museum and over to us. “That was incredible. Thank you, y/n. You must let us do something to repay your kindness.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. It was my apology for knocking into you this morning. You agreed we were even.” 

“Namjoon, I’m going to make sure Y/n gets home safe.” Taehyung cuts in. 

“OK, sure, let’s go.” He replies looking over at they’re two escorts.

My heart drops, as lovely as Namjoon is, I was looking forward to the alone time with Taehyung. The two of them look out over the river, there seems to be a quiet exchange between them both, then Namjoon says into the silence, “You know, I'm actually feeling really tired.” He does an incredibly obvious fake yawn. “I’m just going to go back to the hotel, you guys go on. I’m really jet lagged.” He does a big noisy stretch; definitely over acting.

“Rest up Namjoon.” Taehyung says patting him on the shoulder.

“What about the car?” He asks.

“You take it. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” He replies and Namjoon nods, worry creasing his brow.

“Lovely to see you again, Namjoon. Maybe I’ll see you soon.” I say my goodbye.

“Yes, I hope so. Get home safe.” He smiles, dimples deepening.

“Sure thing.” I wave as I turn to Taehyung, who seems eager to get moving; his eyes wide and glistening. We head off to the main road and hail a cab. Once we’re in I give the driver my address and we set off.

“So where would you like to go tomorrow?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not well versed in food over here. Is there anywhere you’d recommend?” 

One place instantly comes to mind. Could I bring myself to take a date there knowing the embarrassment I would suffer? I thought of Yoshi and his delicious food, I thought of his annoying flirtatious personality and knew his cooking talent would outweigh anything negative about the experience. 

“Yea, I know a place.”

He smiles. “OK good. Shall I meet you there or come and pick you up?”

I think about the route from work and it would definitely be quicker for me to go from there. “I’ll send you the address later and meet you there, if that’s OK?” 

He nods. “Sure. I...don’t have any way of reaching you though.”

I smirk at his hesitant way of asking for my number. We exchange numbers and before I know it, we’re pulling up outside my apartment all too soon. He asks the driver to wait as he gets out and escorts me up the stone steps. 

“Thank you for tonight, I had a really lovely time.” He says into the quiet, his eyes burning into mine.

“So did I, thank you for coming.” I reply slowly, unable to hold his intense gaze for long.

A large part of me was hoping that he’d kiss me but I had to remind myself that this was only a first meeting, could I even call it a date? It felt like a date but we weren’t the only ones on it. A small part of me wanted to invite him inside and see where the night took us but I scowled at that and ignored that part. 

“Until tomorrow.” He says as he takes my hand in his and slowly brings it up to his mouth, eyes never once leaving mine. He gently presses his soft lips firmly onto the back of my fingers. My heart hammers in my chest and I have to control my breathing so not to embarrass myself and reveal the effect he has on me.

With that, he turns and he walks back to the cab and climbs in, as I stand there watching until the car is completely out of sight. I could still feel the heat from his lips on my hand, the breeze highlighting the slight wet mark that was left behind. I couldn’t stop the grin plastered on my face as I walk into my apartment, locking up behind me. In a daze, I hang up my coat and bag, taking out my phone and bringing it with me to where I collapse onto the sofa, clutching it to my chest. 

I already couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow, the thought of seeing him again bubbled in my stomach. I felt like a silly teenager. It had certainly been a long time since I had felt anything like this for anyone and did not intend for it to pass me by. Who knows how long he was over here for, it was a question I had avoided purposefully, but I planned to make the most of it, however long it may be.

Note: I do not own the photos. Credit: BTS Twitter and visitlondon.com

[t-o-m-hollands]

A/N: Cointens violence and mentions of injuries, war and blood. Also swearing and drinking. Smut in future parts, nothing in this. 

“It seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits in.”  

― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep  

When Tom’s grandfather passes away, he inherits an office in the middle of a buzzling London. He has no idea what to do with it.

The year is 1947 and Tom is restless after the war. After a chance meeting with his old comrade Harrison and a drunken lunch at the local pub they decide to open up a detective agency. After finding you huddled up in a library while chasing an unwilling witness Tom decides to hire you as the agency’s secretary. You, reluctantly, take up the offer from the charming stranger.

Together the three of you face some of London’s most hard-boiled criminals and lethal femme fatales.  

You have to navigate your way through adulthood, life after war and your growing feelings for your boss.

***

The pub was unusually crammed with people, workers meeting up with each other for a pint before heading home to their families. He could see them through the muted windows, cheering and laughing, pints of beer clutched in their hands. Now, it certainly wasn’t the nicest pub in London, a thick cover of mud covered the floor, the walls were so dirty that it was hard to tell what the original wallpaper had looked like. But then again, it was the Bugle, a pub well hidden in the Shafto Mews in London. It was not a pub you just happened to stroll in to, looking for a place to eat or a friendly place to catch up with a long-lost comrade in. It was a seedy and dirty place, where the beers came cheap and the brawls started easy.

The barman, a Mr. Eric Brew, was a brusque and quick-tempered elderly man with a beer belly so large it made it hard for him to steer his way through the many bottles and glasses behind the bar. Luckily for him it was unusual for anyone to ordered anything other than a pint or perhaps a glass of cheap and watered-down whiskey.

Tom loved this place, because no one ever bothered him here. This was not a place to talk to strangers in.  

On this particular autumn afternoon the air outside was crisp and full of the smell of pavement after rain, it smelled of London. Currently though the sky was bluer than it had been all summer and the leaves on the trees had just started to change their colours. There was a distinct chill in the air. Tom shivered in his dress shirt, thinking to himself that this was sure to be the last time that year he’d get away with not wearing a jacket.

As he stepped inside, he exchanged the almost impossible fresh autumn air for a cigarette smoke fog. It was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon, and the sound of loud voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Tom gathered it must be payday. It was long ago that he stopped to bother about the days of the week or when pay was due. Not because of an abundance of money but for the lack of a steady job.

Walking up the bar he told Eric to pour the usual and handed him a coin. Eric grunted and started to pour into a glass that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months.

“Busy today, mate” Tom stated. Eric grunted again and handed him his drink.  

As Tom sat down in the far, and well hidden, corner of the pub he thought to himself that his so-called conversation with the barman had been his longest conversation in days. After the war had ended, he’d stayed out in France, despite his mother’s letters begging him to come home he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his family, on the contrary, being apart from them felt more torturous than anything he’d lived through during the war.

Still, he thought as he gulped down on his drink, he had been through war, and that does change a person. He wasn’t the same care-free boy who’d so gladly enlisted, desperate for some preconceived idea that the war would satisfy his deep-rooted need for adventure, to please his longing for glory. He’d happily waved his younger brothers and his parents goodbye on the platform, surrounded by sad looking boys saying farewells to their loved ones.

The war had not given him what he wanted. There had been no glory or sense of adventure.  And even though the worst injury he’d suffer was a broken nose that had more to do with his own stupidity than actual fighting he had still seen the suffering of others. Walked through villages so bombed there was nothing, no human nor animal left. Nothing but ruin and corpses left to rot. He’d seen the torn apart remains of what had once been children on the street. He had had to breath trough the smell of decaying flesh as they walked by. He had lost friends and comrades.  

The war had changed him, and he still wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse. All he knew was that he couldn’t face his father, or his mother. Not yet. He thought of his little brothers, how much five years must have changed them. He quietly wondered if he’d recognise them if he passed them on the streets today. He tried to convince himself that he would, and only after half a bottle of whiskey did he feel brave enough to admit it to himself that he probably wouldn’t. Too long had passed.  

The only reason he had come back to England at all was for a surprise visit from a solicitor, who had tracked him down somewhere outside of Cannes, informing him of the passing of his grandfather. Tom had few memories of said grandfather What he could recall was a fearsome and stern figure, Victorian in his manner. Tom could remember looking up to the damn near giant as he looked down at Tom with disapproval written all over his face as Tom stood in front of a broken vase, he’d accidentally shattered while chasing the cat. It certainly had not been a man fond of children. Tom had always kept his distance from the man whenever they had visited, scared of the scolding the older man was more than capable of.

Therefore, it had been, to say the least, a great surprise when said grandfather had left his entire inheritance to his oldest grandson.

Sure, there hadn’t been a lot of actual money, not after all the death-duties and inheritance taxes had gone through, but he’d gotten his office and the apartment above it, placed bang on one of the busiest streets of London. What his grandfather had used the office for he had no idea, and the solicitors refused to tell him anything about is grandfathers’ dealings, but judging by the state of the place it must have been an awfully long time since anyone sat their foot in the place, probably not since before the war, the first one. The entire place was, like this very pub, filled with dirt and dust and long abandoned forgotten things. Most of which was nothing more than trash, a chair that surely would break as soon as anyone sat down on it, a desk with one broken leg and a filing cabinet full of mouldy documents.

The only distinctive feature was a rather well-made painting. Not only was the portrait of the young lady striking, but the gold frame surrounding it was solid gold. Something that had chocked Tom greatly. For he had never seen anything look quite so out of place than that gold framed picture of a young, beautiful women with seemingly shining eyes –

“Surely it can’t be – Tom Holland, OI! Tom!”

Tom instinctively looked up, only to meet the eyes of a dearly beloved friend.

“Mate! As I live and breathe!”

“Where have you been, buddy?” Harrison happily exclaimed, pulling out the chair opposite of Tom and before pretty much falling down on it, a pint of beer in hand and a massive grin on his face.

“I haven’t seen you since Monte Cassino– ” he silenced himself. Maybe because of the look in Tom’s eyes, maybe because of memories of his own.

(I haven’t seen you since the war, I haven’t seen you since we were crying in the bunkers, thinking we would die. Hoping that we would. Hoping that we wouldn’t.)

“Yeah” is all Tom can manage to get out, lungs suddenly feeling too tight.

They both take large gulps from their glasses, avoiding the others eye.

“So how you’ve been, mate?” Harrison asks, sounding more mellow now, less cheerful.

“It’s been good, bud” Tom says, trying to sound happy, trying to raise the mood a little. He can see the dark clouds of the war in Harrisons eyes, can see it clear as day even in this smoke-filled, god forsaken pub. It’s still haunting him. And he doesn’t quite know what else to say, doesn’t know how to voice the fact that he himself is hardly sleeping anymore, that he spent two years in France living as a wanderer and picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them, not even trying to pick up the pieces from the past. Not knowing where to begin

(At home, the part of him that’s braver than the rest seem to always whisper. Start at home and build from there.)

“Yeah?” There’s a note of hope in Harrison’s voice and as he looks at him the clouds in his eyes seem to clear, if only a little, and Tom’s heart breaks for his old friend. He knows that desperation, saw it all over France in the soldier's eyes. A desperate longing for proof that there was something good in the world, even after everything that had been done.  

“Yes, mate! It’s been grand. I came into an inheritance and all!” And upon seeing the look of pure surprise in Harrisons now cloud-free face Tom bursts into genuine laughter, not caring to think about how long ago it had been since he had made a whole-hearted, genuine laughter.

“Alright, let’s order some food and then let’s catch up, yeah?”

And they did. The food at The Bugle was awful. Tom knew this, since coming back to London he’d drink away his consciousness in this pub and once or twice he had given in and ordered what The Bugle’s chef referred to as food. He knew this but did not care, for the company was excellent.

It turned out Harrison had come home immediately after the war. Had tried to pick up the pieces from before. He met up with his old friends (the ones that’d survived), he dated a different girl every week, unable to settle and now lived in his parent’s townhouse in Belgravia while they spent most of their time on the family estate out in Norfolk. He too was currently out of a job, however the difference was that Harrison had no need for work, the allowance his parents gave him and his own grandparents inheritance (which, although Tom never asked, but presumed) far exceeded his own.

Tom sensed that Harrison, just like himself, felt a deeply-rooted restlessness since coming home. It was in the way his left leg wouldn’t stop tapping, his regular glances around the room, in the way he just shovelled the food around his plate, not eating much.

Tom in return told him, although with far less detail than his friend had given, of staying out in France, of a surprise visit by the solicitors. He told him of the abandoned office and apartment he now was the owner of. He even told him of the portrait hanging above the broken desk.

They talked about old times, of old friends and past lovers, and every time the name of one of those comrades that didn’t make it to the end of the war was mentioned an awkward silence spread between them before the other one quickly started a new story.

(Harrison noticed that Tom never mentioned his parents, or his brothers. Not once. But he doesn’t say anything. He think they’ll get to that eventually.)

A loud crashing breaks their conversation and both Harrison and Tom are on their feet before either one of them has even registered where the sound came from.

“YOU FUCKING SWINE, I’LL GIVE YOU NOTHING!” The screeching, and surprisingly high-pitched voice, comes from Eric the barman, who’s standing arms raised above his head behind the bar. A young man, not even wearing anything to mask his face, is holding a revolver and pointing it right at Eric’s chest.

Before he’s even fully comprehended what he’s doing he’s halfway across the pub, people scattering out of his way, and out of the robbers aim. He can sense Harrison’s presence right behind him and then they’ve both tackled the young man to the ground. All Tom can think about is to get his hands on the man’s revolver, so that he can secure it. He sees how Harrison tries to get a hold of the young robbers’ arms as he’s waving them around, trying to fight them both at once. Unfortunately, he gets in a lucky swing that hits Tom right over his nose, a nose that’s already been broken once, and blood gushes out. The man looks surprised by this, partly because of the sudden stream of blood falling over him and partly because he actually just hit someone. Tom quickly uses this for his advantage and dives down for the revolver as Harrison secures the burglar’s arms behind his back.  

They manage to hold him down until the police comes. They give them a quick rundown of what happened. Eric, furious and face alarmingly red, fills in when he manages to find words, shaking from fury. One of the policemen offer to drive Tom to the hospital to have his nose looked at but he refuses. Then they ask if he’d like to press charges. Tom takes one quick look at the young man now sitting in a police car and shakes his head. The boy, for on closer inspection he’s nothing more than a boy, looks terrified, and honestly, he’s already in enough trouble with the law. During the past few years crime in London has been on the rise. Young and restless men all coming home from the war, looking for jobs where there are none and haunted from memories from the battlefields. It’s no wonder there’s desperation in the air.

So, Tom and Haz walks away, leaving the two police cars and its officers, a furious pub owner with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice, and an entire pub of people with their noses pressed up against its foggy windows.

As they walk, without discussing where they’re going, Tom suddenly bursts out in laughter. He doesn’t know why, but the restlessness that’s done nothing short but haunted him for years now has suddenly vanished. There’s a pause and then Harrison joins in and Tom knows, knows that he feels the same. That this sudden rush of adrenalin was just what he needed too.

They practically double over with laughter, leaning on the other to keep upright and when they finally stop a comfortable silence fill the quiet as they walk on.

Before long, and before having reflected on where his feet are leading him, they’re standing outside of 15 Sloane street.

“Is this it?” Harrison asks, voice filled with curiosity as he looks up at the red-bricked building.

“Yeah” is all Tom manage to get out as an answer. Because suddenly he feels almost shy, like he’s showing Harrison some long kept secret. And for a moment they just stand and admire the building. “Can I look inside?” Haz asks, curiosity colouring his every word. So, Tom unlocks the door and they step inside.

Inside the air feels heavy, not like in the pub where it had been full of smoke, but instead it feels old, and if it hadn’t been so damn cold outside Tom would have opened up the windows.

The ground is as covered in mud and dust and dirt as the pubs floor. The walls look dull too. But the space is good, a large foyer to receive visitors, a guest bathroom, an office, a kitchen and a staff bathroom too.  

“So” Harrison finally says, having taken in the place in silence. “What are you going to do with it?”

And Tom doesn’t know what to say because honestly – is that not just the question that’s frequently been on his mind since he first got here. “Dunno” ha answers lamely. “I suppose,” he starts but stops himself, feeling too embarrassed at his childish idea.

“What?” Haz encourages.

“Well” Tom begins, and then before he loses his gut he rambles out “It would be cool to be a detective though, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t look at his old friend as he says this. He should though, because he misses out on the massive grin spreading across Harrison’s face.

“Oh totally!” He all but yells. “Like Sherlock Holmes, or Phillip Marlowe?”

“Phillip Marlowe, surely!” Tom responds, finally looking at his old comrade. He feels light as air, having finally put words on a wish that’s long been on his mind.

But now Haz looks awkwardly down, down on his well-polished, hand-made shoes and the muddy ground. “What?” Tom asks, worry threatening to blow his happy bubble.

“Look, you don’t have to, it’s just, like if you don’t want it or you find me lacking you could just sack me bu–“

“Of course, you’ll join me” Tom interrupts Harrisons awkward attempt at asking to work with him. “Really?” He asks, eyes gleaming with happiness. “You, ‘course mate, wouldn’t wanna do it without you”.

***

And so, it begins.

They start with trying to make the place habitable. After all, the office space needs to be a presentable enough environment for clients to feel comfortable to share their troubles with them and preferably the apartment above needs to be clean enough for Tom to live in without contracting a disease. It’s hard work, and Harrison loudly complains and gruntles and questions why they can’t hire someone to do it. Tom just laughs and tells him to shut his over-privileged mouth and keep mopping.

The truth is they could easily get someone in to do the cleaning for them, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want to, feels like they really ought to do this by hand, by themselves. To build the business from the ground up. And quite frankly, some real, good hard work is just what he needs. For the first time in ages he’s so physically exhausted by the time he goes to bed that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He still has nightmares, but he gets in a couple more hours sleep every night and that makes it worth it.

Even though Harrison loudly grumbles about the rough labour he is a hard worker. Tom teases him a lot about it. Telling him he didn’t expect to end up doing this when he was sent to that posh public school as a child. Telling him that this is what good honest works feels like. Informing him that the pain he had in his knees from scrubbing the floors is what heavy labour feels like. It’s all jokes thought, for even they grew up worlds apart on the social scale they still fought on the same battlefield and as children they fought the same imaginary dragons.

In the end aid comes in the form of Lady Lauren Osterfield herself.

Tall and lean and dressed from top to toe in fine silk and fur in soft colours and with hair, the same shade as her son, in soft waves. She sways into the office one day, unannounced, as Tom’s trying to scrub the dirt from the walls and Harrison’s sprawled out on the floor, fighting a particularly stubborn piece of dirt. A hard a look of deepest disapproval is written all over her face as she takes in the scene.

“Darling” she drags out the word and make the endearment sound like a loving, but stern warning. “You simply cannot do this on your own”

“But mommy we-” Harrison begin but she stops him with a raised hand. “I will hear none of it, sweetie. If there is one thing I know it’s potential, and this place has got spades of it. However, I will not see my darling boys like this” she huffs, then adds “also, the rate you two are going at you’ll be in your 50’s before you even had your first client.”

She walks over to where Tom stands, now leaning against the broken desk, hands in pockets and covered in dust and sweat. “Sweetheart, it is wonderful to see you again” And she strokes his cheek with a satin gloved hand and Tom can’t help but to lean into the touch.

He had spent many a school holiday at the Osterfield house. Although, house wasn’t the right word. Technically it was a manor house – Osterfield manor was in fact its name. It had been built by Lord Ashley Osterfield in the early 1600th and had stood proudly on its green fields ever since. Tom had lived in the village, in a small cottage with his mother, father, three brothers and a half-blind cook/nanny named Cully. Harrison, since it was the family tradition, had been sent away to Eton whereas Tom had gone to the village school.  But whenever summer holiday rolled around, they’d play on the grounds to the manor and in the forest surrounding it. They had played thief’s and robbers, Robin Hood and Peter Pan. Life had been blissful and full of light. He can still remember how the last month before summer break had seemed endless, how he’d counted down the days until his best friend would return, staring out of the window during class, not listening to whatever Ms Frank was going on about. They sent each other letters of course. About what was going on at home, what tricks each had played on their friends, or on their teachers, how awful school was or about the latest mystery novel they’d read.

His memories of the Osterfield family were many and fond. Lady Osterfield, with her loving but stern ways, never looking anything less than perfection, bringing them meringues and freshly made lemonade to the treehouse where they sat people-watching, spying on the garden parties going on below. Memories of Lord Osterfield, reading his newspaper outside in the warm summer sun, dressed in linen suits and with a great moustache covering his upper lip, teaching Tom tennis and playing croquet with them. And then little Charlotte Osterfield, Harrisons little sister. With her long, blonde hair neatly combed and braided, always carrying around a teddy bear, following them wherever they went. Harrison would get rather annoyed with her for that, but Tom had always said that she could join them if she wanted to.

He remembers Christmas eve at their house. A ginormous three in the hall, neatly decorated by Lady Osterfield herself. Countless of cousins and great-aunts and uncles coming over. The staff running around cleaning every corner. The chef, Mary her name had been, yelling orders and shouting herself blue in the face. The end result had been incredible though, and as snow covered the entire manor and its grounds there was a fire lit in every room, the smell of ham and turkey in the air, glitter and light and mistletoe and presents in overload. He remembers still, being sent home in the horse driven carriage on Christmas eve, belly full of delicious food and sweets, and presents from Lord and Lady Osterfield to every member of his family, including one to Cully, surrounding him as he watched the snow fall over the pretty little village outside the carriage window.

“Hello, Lady Osterfield, it’s been a while” he manages to get out. Because this is, has always been, his second mother. And it hurts even more to see her now, despite the fact that war doesn’t seem to have aged her a day. But seeing her reminds him so much of his own mommy, and his stomach seems to revolt.

“That” she says, and he thinks her eyes are wet with unshed tears “it certainly has been”. She doesn’t ask how his war had been, why he hadn’t return sooner, or sent them letters. Probably understands that he cannot give her those answers. Not yet at least. She lowers her hand and take a step back.

“So” she announces and there’s a level of authority to her voice that makes both Harrison and Tom stand up straighter. “I will send Georgina over, hopefully she can start tomorrow already, because this really is urgent”. She looks around her surrounding, the broken furniture, the floors and ceiling that refuse to give up the dirt they’ve been holding onto for years, despite Tom and Harrisons desperate scrubbing.

“Sorry? Mommy, who.... who on earth is Georgina?”  

Tom smiles, for he can almost hear the curse word Harrison so nearly lets out.

“Oh darling, it’s Georgina Brewster, she is simply marvellous and really the only one who can save this place. I shall call on her immediately, she will work wonders, just you see”.

*

Georgina Brewster, as it turns out, would have put fear of the devil into any and every one of the generals Tom had met during the war. She practically comes in as a steamroller into the office the very next day and before either Tom or Harrison know what’s going on they’ve been thrown out of their office with strict orders to “keep out of the way, for gods sake, and don’t come back until next Friday at least!”

And because neither Tom nor Harrison dare to contradict her, even though Tom’s apartment is above the office and he now has nowhere to sleep, they listen and keep out of her way, spending their time at Harrisons, or rather Harrisons parents, place in Belgravia.

There they plan out and strategize, trying to agree on what exactly their business should be and how they should conduct it.

Their first hurdle is the name of the agency.  

“So”

They’re at ‘The Bugle’ again and Tom is swirling the liquid in his glass back and forth, holding a lit cigarette in his other hand. Around them the air is filled with smoke and conversations. Tom had, rather cheekily, asked the barman if they shouldn’t get their drinks for free, seeing as they did save his ass just the other night. The barman had done his usual ritual of mumbles and grumbles before pouring them some watered down Irish whiskey.

“So?” he asks, implying that Harrison should continue his unfinished statement.

“What should we name it, mate?” Harrison is leaning back against the wall, his long legs sprawled out. He looks as exhausted as Tom feels.

“Name what?” Tom dumbly inquires, only half his mind on the conversation, the other on the gorgeous woman at the bar. She looks strangely out of place, wearing a respectably coat, dark hair neatly organised in curls and a soft smile on face as she’s conversation with the infamously grumpy barman, who – and Tom can hardly believe his eyes – is smiling back at her.

Harrison snorts and with a voice practically dripping in sarcasm he answers “Oh the golden retriever puppy we’re adopting! The fuck you think, mate? The detective agency of course!”

Tom gives his friend a kick on his sprawled-out legs.

“Holland Detective Services” he then states.

Harrison goes quiet for a second, rubbing the aching spot on his leg where Tom managed to get in a perfect hit, the bastard had always been good and noting soft spots. “Not Holland & Osterfield?” he asks, only half joking.

“Nah, too posh mate, we’ll sound like some solicitors’ firm, you know, like ‘Bundle & Alfredson & Alfredson & Bundle”, too ridiculous. Plus, no one trusts solicitors with their secrets, they’re too posh and proper. We need people to feel like they can come to us with things they can’t go to the police with.”

He looks over to the bar again, but the beatiful lady is nowhere to be seen.

*

And so, Harrison Detective Service is founded. The office (the apartment miss Brewster luckily left him handle himself) is revealed to them.

It’s perfect. There’s no other word for it. It’s looks professional but not over styled. The two large desks made from oak, the bar table with its whiskey decanter, the filing cabinets strategely placed in the little backroom, the lamps giving the office an almost golden and mysterious lightning, and on the wall hanging above his own desk, the painting of the woman that his grandfather left him. The only thing remaining from the original office.

*

It doesn’t take long until their first client arrives. He’s a perhaps not the ideal client, Tom notes. The man is in his late 50’s, wearing an ill fitted suit and smelling distinctly of B.O. He is however willing to pay.

Thus, this is how Tom ends up chasing a, to say the least, unwilling witness all down Euston Road. The man he’s chasing is fast, and Tom’s side is hurting and he feels out of form. He really should have had something other than whiskey for lunch. The man does a quick turn left, right over the road and Tom’s right at his heel.

A car horn blows and there’s a blinding light and for a moment Tom’s back on the battlefield in France, he throws up his arms, trying to shield himself for whatever is coming at him. His entire body tenses up and he waits for the inventible crash. But it doesn’t come, and there’s shouting but he can’t hear what they’re saying, the blood rushing through his head too loud for anything else to sound real. His lungs feel too tight and his breaths are shallow.  

Slowly he regains control of himself, as he tries to take the world around him in.

The shouting is coming from a very angry driver, half hanging out of his window telling Tom to get out of the way, waving his arms in fuming gestures. People on the pavement have stopped what they’re doing, some mid conversation or mid walk, all just staring at him. He jumps into action again, desperately trying to push down the part of his brain that’s still in France. He can’t see his witness, but there’s only one place he really can have gone.

He runs up the marble stairs, ignoring the glaring stares around him.

The foyer is impressive to say the least. It’s a large circular room, marble from floor to ceiling. Right in front of him, but all across the room, is a reception and an elderly woman sitting behind it.

“Excuse me sir, we close in twenty minutes,” she calls after him, but it’s all she manages to get out before he’s gone, having made his way all across the hall and into the large oak doors with a sign simply stating ‘Main Library’.

The doors slam behind him and the sound eco in the silence. At first he’s taken aback, for this is nothing like the marble mausoleum he’s left behind, and if he thought the reception area had been large then this room is massive. It’s nothing short of a labyrinth of oak bookshelves, reaching from top to ceiling and filled with large volumes of books that look as if they must be older than queen Victoria.

He can only assume that this is where his witness is hiding, somewhere in this maze he has taken cover, wrongly assuming that Tom will just give up and leave. His witness is in no such luck. Tom does however remember noting the lineament of a revolver inside the other man’s jacket, and by now he’s had more than enough time to take it out, perhaps just waiting for Tom to be close enough not to miss.

The library looks empty and surely it must be this late. On slow but quiet feet he makes his way to the left side of the room, deciding to start there. Careful not to make a sound he removes his own revolver from its holster. Slowly he starts to make his way down the aisles, every time he turns a corner he knows it’s about whoever is the quickest with their trigger that will win.

By the time he’s made it down aisle three he can feel his heart beat so hard in his chest he finds himself wondering if it’s going to leave a bruise on his skin with its violent beating. Adrenaline has been running in his veins since the near contact with the automobile outside.

And then he hears it, a sound, what might be the noise of shuffling, and he starts to move with even higher awareness of the danger of the situation. Any second now he could stare down the barrel of a gun.

Before he can be a coward about it, he jumps around the corner of the shelf, gun in hand and pointing it straight at the witness.

Except it’s not him.

It most certainly is not him.

A pair of enormous and breathtakingly beautiful - but also terrified - eyes stare at him and for a second the whole world seems to stop, or crash, and Tom can’t help but feel like he’s a planet that completely unexpectedly has gotten knocked of its axis. He goes still, not just his body but his mind too. Everything just seems to stop, and Tom can not remember anytime that has ever happened to him before. All he sees is a pair of hauntingly beautiful, and vert familiar, eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, but weapons are not allowed inside the library.” Her voice is soft and even, but Tom can hear the slight tremble behind them, he can tell she’s playing braver than she feels. He knows that trick all too well. So, he lowers his revolver, but doesn’t unload it, still ready for his hostile witness to pop up, and if he does Tom will be ready for him.

“I beg your pardon, miss” he says and looks her up and down, trying to take in the rest of the woman in front of him. He’s pretty sure she is the same woman he saw at the Bugle the other night. She’s only a few centimetres shorter than he is, but then she’s wearing a pair of kitten heels. Her black pencil skirt and white blouse practically scream out respectability and woman. Around her neck hangs a thin, golden necklace with a little golden heart attached to it. A fleeting question of who has given her this pass his brain. And then there’s her hair, brown and styled in and fashionable curls.

“Sir” she says, and she sounds sterner now, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows “could you please pu-“ but before she can finish the sentence, before she can even finish her though Tom’s pushed her down on the ground, trying to cover her with his body as bullets fly around him. He swears under his breath, and he feels the librarians still body under him and he can practically feel her heartbeat. He tries very hard not to react to how close their bodies are to each other. His hyper focused mind hears her hitched breathing even above the sound of a firing gun and he sends a silence prayer to whatever god might be listening that she’ll get out of this unharmed.

The witness is far away from them, all across the hall and if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t want to leave this woman unprotected he would just hope for the best and rush against him, firing as many bullets as he had and if he survived this, and if Harrison found out he would just have to take his scolding later. Still trying to cover the women underneath him he raises his gun and fires. He knows the chances of him aiming right are damn near zero from here, but he wants to make it clear to the other man that he sure is not going to give in without a fight.

Still keeping his eyes on the bookshelf the witness has hidden behind he whispers to the librarian, “when I move off you, go hide behind the bookshelf, do not run for the main entrance whatever you do, but if there’s another way out, and you get a chance to leave, I suggest you fucking take it miss”. He hears a hiss of breath and then, a quiet “alright” and that is all he needs.

Springing to his feet he rushes seven meters ahead and then throws himself down behind another bookshelf. Daring to cast a look behind him he just about manages to see the secretary hide behind another bookshelf. Good, he thinks to himself, at least he doesn’t have to worry about her. And so he sprints out from the bookshelf and runs for all his might straight against the bookshelf the witness is hiding behind. It doesn’t fall, but he can hear countless of books falling, hopefully all over the man with the gun. He hears a shout of surprise and despite the situation he can’t help but smiling, the all too familiar rush of adrenalin runs through him and he jumps around the corner. However, before he can even raise his weapon something hard hits his temple and the world goes white for a moment as he stumbles over.

The other man is above him, throwing punches, hitting different places of Tom’s face with every hit. Tom tries kicking and luckily enough the stupid idiot above him has mounted him at chest level and haven’t taken his legs in consideration. One of Tom’s kicks hits the shelf and as he grabs the man's arms with his, stopping the flow of punches he sees a thick book (Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, he notices with glee) fall down and hit the man straight on the head. This time it’s his turn to stumble and Tom shake him off him with ease, but the other man quickly recovers, and lunches over him again, arms stretched out to grasp around his throat. Before he can even try to fight the bigger man off him, the loud sound of the shot of a gun echoes against the walls of the library and he stills. Then he feels it. A bright burning in his side and then, another shot.

He manages to turn around trying to make sense of the situation. On the floor lays the hostile witness, clutching his leg, where he’s clearly just been shot, and above him stands the librarian. Arms shaking as she’s clasping the gun in her hands.

For a moment Tom forgets about everything else. The mess they’ve made. The fact the police must be on their way. The bleeding man beside him. The fact that he’s bleeding too. All he sees is he terrified but impossibly brave woman in front of him.

Slowly, trying to ignore the pain in the side of his stomach, he gets up and walks over to her, arms stretched up in a gesture to show that he means her no harm, for she looks terrified to the point where she’s trembling all over. Her eyes are still fixed on the man on the ground, who’s shouting in agony.  

“Look at me” he says, and his voice is firm and calm “Hey, miss, look at me”. She does, and something in his stomach churns. Once in the woods he and Harrison had all but stumbled over an injured deer, it had had the same look upon its face then as the woman had upon hers now. But he doesn’t flinch, don’t want her to lose focus but keep it on him and not the bleeding bastard on the floor.

When he finally reaches her, he takes the gun from her still clasped hands, unloads it, and put it in its folder by his chest.

“You’ll be alright, yeah? I promise you’ll be alright” he tries to reassure her but she keeps looking at him with that utterly terrified look on her face.

“Just hang on for a second, alright?” He doesn’t want take his eyes off of her, but he knows he has to, so he turns away from her and walks over to the injured man. Leaning down over him he whispers in his ear “mate, the police and probably the ambulance are on their way. They will be here any moment. Now, listen up, alright, ‘cause I’m only saying this once. You will be a fucking gentleman about this and when the police ask what happened here you’ll tell them it was some randy bugger trying to nick your stuff, yeah? You defended yourself, ‘cause you’re a lad and all that bullocks. They won’t believe you, but they can’t prove anything else.” His voice is low and threatening and he knows he has the witness full attention. “And in return” he continues “in return, I’ll stop hunting you over this Faulcon business, yeah? I’ll go after someone else, and when I finally have enough to turn that bastard over to the police, your name won’t be mentioned anywhere, yeah?” The man looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and nods.

Moving away from him he swiftly walks over to where the other mans’ revolver got lost in the fight and he takes it, places it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he walks over to the librarian, who, apart from her shaking hands has not moved a muscle. She’s staring at him, but not at his face this time, but eyes fixed on the wound at his right side. It’s pretty much only graced him. It still hurts though, and a bloodstain is growing ever larger and larger, staining his white button ups to the point where he doubts he’ll ever get the red out.

“Miss, look at me, yeah?” He tried to get eye-contact with her again, because even if she’s been incredible brave so far, she looks as if she’s about to pass out “Just focus on me, I’ve got to get us out of here thought, do you know any other way then the main entrance? Some back door?”

As he’s talking he buttons up the suit jacket, effectively hiding the wound. He sees her eyes flicker down for a brief second as he does so. Then, as if she suddenly wakes up she takes a breath so deep he can’t help but to wonder if her lungs had been empty. “Yes” she then says, and he feels the immense relief over the fact that her voice sounds clear and controlled again. “It leads straight out into a back alley and then out on Gordon Street.”

He stares at her, taking her in again. Her dark hair still in perfect curls framing her, perhaps somewhat paler, face. Her back is straight, her hands still somewhat shaking. He notices her red fingertips, and no gold ring to be seen. At least he doesn’t have to deal with some unknown husband, who probably wouldn’t be too happy with him if he’d heard what Tom dragged her into.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because he has to know.

“Laura” she breath out.  

Just a first name then.  

“Well Laura” he says “let’s leave”.

He takes one of her shaking hands in his, and she leads the way out of the chaotic scene, leaving behind them a massive hall and a labyrinth of bookshelves and in that labyrinth an injured man slowly losing consciousness.

***

A/N -  Harrisons family is of course entirely fictionalised. As is everyone in this story.  

Also, my sort of face claim for Laura in this story is Gene Tierney, but imagine it as whoever you like.

[impala666]

The One With The Dozen Lasagnas Part Four (Buh-Bye)

Here we go! Another episode done, I can’t even believe it!

Last Part (Part Three), Series Masterlist

You had been playing foosball for quite a while with Monica and the both of you were kicking Chandler and Joey’s asses. Unfortunately, at one point both of the men were becoming such sore losers that they traded you for Ross, but even with the new addition; Monica now doing literally all of the work and sometimes even switched places with Ross. So now you stood at the end of the table next to Phoebe after she had come over to explain that she told Rachel what had happened with Paolo, also Paolo had arrived so Phoebe decided to give the both of them some time. “I think she took it pretty well.” Phoebe told all of you, while you nodded your head in understanding. “You know, Paolo’s over there right now, so.” Phoebe said to you and Monica, meaning that Rachel probably needed her girlfriends to be with her at a time like this.

“We should get over there and see if she’s okay.” You added, hinting at Monica to finish the game. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Monica agreed with you as she yet again switched places with Ross. “Just one...second. Woo, score!” Monica cheered as the ball went down the guys side again and she turned to celebrate with her brother. “Come on.” Monica said to you and Phoebe as she opened up the door, before you could follow Phoebe and Monica across the hall you turned quickly and you and Joey made eye contact so you smiled and winked him a goodbye. 

Yourself, Monica, and Phoebe all sat on the couch. You all decided to pretend to be watching tv so Monica held the remote in her hand, but the tv wasn’t even on. All of you had the plan to not seem like you were spying, but you had to admit that you were doing a terrible job. As soon as you saw Rachel dump Paolo’s clothes in his suitcase down from the balcony you just couldn’t look away. “How’s it going?” You heard Ross ask as he closed the door and came to watch out the window as he leaned on the couch. 

“Don’t stare.” Monica warned him. “Okay, she just finished throwing his clothes off the balcony. Now there’s just a lot of gesturing and arm waving.” Monica filled in the blanks, and she also tried to keep filling them in but went a step too far, even though it was funny to you. “Okay, that is either, “How could you?” or “Enormous breasts.”” 

“Here he comes.” You announced to get everybody’s attention, which was good because just as he was climbing over the window the four of you shot up and ran in different directions just to make it look like you weren’t just watching Rachel’s entire conversation. But of course all four of you chose to stand in the kitchen just so you could watch Paolo’s walk of shame. Phoebe took a drink from the refrigerator, Monica polished a glass, Ross flipped through mail, and you ate some chips that were left on the counter.

“Uh, I am, uh, to say goodbye.” Paolo announced to all of you slowly so he got it right. But he didn’t seem all that upset at what was happening which made you just want to punch him in the face and kick him in a place that would not be very friendly. 

“Oh, okay, bye-bye.” Phoebe waved to him with a smile on her face. 

“Paolo, I really hate what you did to Rachel, but I still have five of these so heat it at 375 until the cheese bubble.” Monica told the man with a pissed off look on her face as she reluctantly gave him one of her lasagnas. The Paolo stopped in front of you as if you were going to say anything.

“I don’t know why you think I’m going to say something, I didn’t really like you to begin with. You were always kind of odd. So, all I want to say is good riddance.” You told him before you turned back to the thing you were snacking on. 

“Paolo,” Ross started as he held the door open for the man. “I just want to tell you and I think I speak for everyone when I say…”Ross ended it with just slamming the door in Paolo’s face, which in your opinion was the perfect way to end this. 

“Oh, just look at her.” Phoebe sighed sadly as all of you looked at Rachel all alone on the terrace. All of you were about to go out there to make sure that she was okay, but it seemed that someone had a different idea. 

“I really think only one of us should go out there so she’s not overwhelmed.” Ross told the three of you, which made sense. 

“Oh, you’re right.” Monica agreed as she took a step to go, but Ross grabbed a hold of her arm and pulled her back before she could get too far. “And I really think it should be me.” Phoebe and Monica looked at each other confused, but you couldn’t help but shake your head and smirk as you watched him head out to Rachel. But it was about time he did something and took a step in the direction of the possibility of being with her. 

Monica, Phoebe, and you sat at the kitchen table eating one of the lasagnas when you noticed that Ross and Rachel had made their way back inside. “Hey, honey, are you alright?” Monica asked, running to give Rachel a hug to which you and Phoebe followed. Monica and Phoebe hugging her sides as you hugged her facing her. 

“Medium.” Rachel answered as you all hugged. “Any cookies left?” 

“Yeah.” Phoebe said as Monica and you followed the two over to the chair to indulge on cookies and eat your feelings with Rachel. 

“See, Rach,  I don’t think swearing off guys altogether is the answer. I really don’t. I think what you need is to develop a more sophisticated screening process.” Ross rambled to her to try and change her mind so she would consider dating him. 

“No, I just need to be by myself for a while, you know?” Rachel spoke and you ladies nodded with her, all of you sitting on different parts of the armchair. “I just got to figure out what I want.”

“Uh, no,no.” Ross disagreed as he made his way to the fridge. “See, because not all guys out there are gonna be a Paolo.” 

“No, I know.” Rachel agreed with him on some extent, but then she started to talk without thinking. “And I’m sure your little boy is not going to grow up to be one.” She managed to realize what she had just done when her eyes opened wide and she stared at Phoebe in shock and you and Monica looked at each other in surprise before looking at the others. 

“What?” Ross asked her to make sure he had heard what Rachel just said. 

“What?” Rachel asked quickly, hoping that Ross had just misheard that entire thing. 

“I-I’m having a boy?” Ross asked as he felt the excitement growing in him, but he just needed confirmation first. 

“Uh, no.” Rachel just didn’t know how to fix this after her big mouth opened. “No, no, in fact, you’re not having a boy.” She scratched awkwardly behind her ear.

“I’m having, I’m having a boy.” Ross started repeating as the news got more and more real to him. “Huh? Am I having a boy?” He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“YOU”RE HAVING A BOY!” All of you cheered as you jumped up from your seats and you all ran over to give Ross a hug. 

“I’m having a boy!” Ross exclaimed as he picked Monica up and spun her. 

“What is it!?” Chandler and Joey burst in with worried looks. They came over when they heard shouting, but when they saw all of the smiles they calmed down. 

“I’m having a boy. I’m having a boy.” Ross repeated to them. 

“Hey!” They both cheered for him, but then they realized something. “We already knew that!” They both cheered as Joey and Chandler hugged each other. After a couple of seconds when you looked back at Ross it looked like all of the color had drained from his face.

“I’m having a son, umm.” Ross mumbled as if he just couldn’t believe it. 

*******

Monica was over again and she was playing game after game after game of foosball. But it was so late that you couldn’t keep your eyes open as you sat at the counter peninsula in your pajamas, your hand resting on your chin as you felt your eyelids getting heavier. “Yes! And that would be a shut-down!” Monica cheered as she scored another point. 

“SHUT-OUT!” Both of the boys yelled at her in anger of losing again, but it made you groan loudly when it woke you up a little. Chandler and Joey shook their heads as Chandler started to make his way to his way to his room and Joey walked over to you and out his hand on your lower back as he helped you up and let you lean your sleepy body on his and he started to help you to his room. 

“Where are you guys going?” Monica asked in surprise. “Come on! One more game!” Monica whined like a child. 

“It’s 2:30 in the morning.” Joey told her in exhaustion and impatient as he kept rubbing your back. 

“Yeah, get out.” Chandler told her, but still playing off of the shut-out thing earlier. 

“You guys are always hanging out in my apartment. Come on, I’ll only use my left hand, huh? Come on, wussies.” Monica wiggled her left fingers as she tried to taunt the guys. Joey made sure that you were up and standing on your own before he and Chandler walked over to Monica and each grabbed one of her arms and lifted her off the floor. 

“Alright, okay, I got to go.” Monica said as you waved at her, thinking they’d put her down.  “I’m going, and I’m gone.” Monica announced as her feet hit the floor in the hallway and ran her way across back to her own apartment. Once the door was closed you thought that you could finally crawl into bed with your boyfriend but it seemed he and your brother had other plans.

“Another game?” Chandler offered his roommate.

“Oh yeah.” Joey immediately agree, causing you to let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling in exhaustion as your hands fell to the side. 

“Whatever, I’m going to bed.” You grumbled.

“Goodnight, sis.” Chandler called as he stepped to his side of the table. 

“Goodnight, baby.” Joey called to you as he just hit the foosball to start yet another game. 

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Phoebe Buffay x Joey Tribbiani headcanons

-Phoebe and Joey had this really open relationship in the beginning. It wasn't a relationship per se. They would have sex and have dates on random days, but they would see other people more often than not;

-That's just how they were, it worked for them and it was good. Joey could be free to 'date' other women and yet feel attached to Phoebe. And Phoebe would enjoy spending time with Joey, one of the only people in the world who took her seriously, and yet get the chance to adventure herself with other people;

-So, in my headcanons, Joey is bi and Phoebe is pan. They just love to love people in general;

-Throughout the years there are periods of times where they wouldn't hook up for months or suddenly get really close to actually date;

-While on their dates, they would call each other Regina Phalange and Ken Adams, and always come up with crazy background stories to mess up with the waiters;

-They also always assumed their friends knew about this and that's why they never told anyone;

-Joey not only takes her seriously, but he also adores the way Phoebe views life. It's light and free, and her entire energy makes him truly happy;

-Phoebe, on the other hand, values how much Joey chases his dreams and don't allow other people to push him down, not to mention that she founds fascinating how big and united his family is;

-Phoebe didn't want to live with Joey when her apartment burned because she thought it could make things a bit confusing for them and the space they put between each other was a good thing;

-And it worked for quite some time, over 10 years, before they both looked back and went "hey, I guess we're, like, together, huh?";

-And, just like that, they were all in. Literally. After they realize that yes, that's real love, they move in together in less than a month;

-Joey had been living with Monica, Chandler and the twins and one day during dinner he just said he was moving out and his friends were SHOCKED;

-And he's so confused because "I'm going to live with Phoebe, why is that so weird?" and Mondler has no clue why he would do this until he has to come out and say it with every word;

-Monica immediately calls Rachel to yell at her about it, but Rachel isn't that surprised about it. She lived with Joey for a while and Phoebe did stop by a lot more than she had to, but of course she screamed with Monica over the phone as well because DAMN, PHOEBE AND JOEY, PHOEBE AND JOEY!;

-They get married that same year, not wanting to wait any longer, but it went so completely unplanned that a wedding in Vegas would have made more sense;

-They just got married one day, just like that;

-They very often fall asleep watching TV, with Phoebe lying with her head on Joey’s large, strong chest;

-For Phoebe, Joey tried to go vegetarian for a while, but she didn’t judge him when he gave up on that;

-Whenever they go to the cafe alone, when the other ones are busy, they do impersonations of their friends to make the other laugh;

-To Joey, Phoebe has the most amazing laugh – loud, free and from inside;

-To Phoebe, Joey has the best smile – large, easy and honest;

-Fun fact, none of them can cook. Joey can pull out some tricks and do some crazy things in the kitchen that sometimes turns out eatable, but the only thing Phoebe can make is pancakes. But that’s not a problem, because Monica always saves them some leftovers. Joey does like the pancakes, though;

-When Joey showed his first grey hair, Phoebe made fun of him for it. It was innocent enough that he didn’t care and he let her name every new grey or white hair that appeared on his head from that day on (Rita and Edith were his favorite ones);

-At some point, trying to get some money, Phoebe decided to go back to her taxi driver days. Joey put a baseball bat in the trunk for her and would check in every hour or so, just to be sure;

-When Joey finally won an award for his job, he not only thanked Phoebe on the stage but also let her carry the thing around like it was hers for days after that;

-I'm not sure they would have kids. I believe they wouldn't plan it, it wouldn't be a goal or something like that, but they would both be thrilled if it ended up happening;

-They adopted the craziest animals throughout the years. Ducks and chickens were always a presence in their home, but all sorts of birds who felt from their nests, stray dogs, old cats, rat babies, baby pigs, and even a foal were part of the family at some point;

-And Phoebe spent the last of their days trying to teach Joey how to speak French. 

 For the person who asked me (@foreverpheebs), I’m so so sorry it took me so long to get this! Hope you enjoy it!