#person who emailed me about doing a book cover but never responded to my reply if you’re out there

[isbergillustration]

Looming

[sinner-as-saint]

Crawling Back To You.

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Bucky Barnes had a lot on his plate at the moment. Regrets, fears, nightmares and desperately trying to do the right things to make up for his past as the Winter Soldier. Amongst those things, barely anything made him truly happy, or safe or loved. None did actually - except for you. He met you at a bar once and since then, you’ve been his sanctuary. You both knew he wasn’t quite ready to be in a relationship, yet you were always there with open arms whenever he needed a friend, a shoulder to lean on, or someone to help him take his mind off things. Be it a nightmare, or memories from the past coming to haunt him, or any major or minor inconvenience, the super soldier would find himself turning to you for help. 

Themes: angst, fluff, smut

He woke up on the floor, covered in cold sweat. 

The flashbacks of the nightmares kept resurfacing until it finally faded again. Faded, not truly gone because he knew they’d be back tomorrow again - his past coming to haunt him. He sighed and squinted at the screen in front of him. 

The T.V was on, playing reruns of a show he did not care about. He simply needed the noise to help him fall asleep. The quiet and silence was his own personal hell, so he always needed some sort of background noise to help him out. 

Bucky tried getting some sleep again; tossing and turning on the wooden flooring but he couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind was racing, too many thoughts at once. He checked the time, the clock read 1 a.m. He could go on a run, but he didn’t really feel like it. He could go to the gym, but he didn’t feel like working out either. 

He needed something. An escape, a friend. You, he needed you. 

Bucky reached for his phone, and a few taps later he was calling you. He knew it was late but you somehow always picked up his calls no matter what the time was. The rings later, he heard your voice speak up from the other end. 

“Buck?” You sounded sleepy, but not like he had woken you up, you sounded like you were about to fall asleep. 

He closed his eyes and sighed at the sound of your voice. He could picture you, all tucked in your comfy bed, surrounded by pillows and your soft blankets. Perhaps you had lost track of time because of a good book, or perhaps you were up late responding to emails for work. 

“Hey doll. Did I wake you up?” he asked, leaning back against the wall of his living room, his legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him. Only sometimes did he feel like he was taking advantage of your kindness, but then again he could be selfish when it came to you. You were his, and that’s that. 

You let out a little laugh. “Of course not, Bucky. I was just finishing up some work.” He could hear your sheets shuffling, “Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?” you asked, softly. 

Bucky told you he did. Then he went on to tell you exactly what he had dreamt of. Sometimes he felt like he was opening up more to you than his shrink. But truth is, you made him feel like he was more than just a broken soldier, or a problem who needed to be remedied or fixed. You made him feel like he was human after all. 

“I… I’m trying to fall back asleep but…” his voice trailed off. He didn’t have to say it, you understood perfectly. He knew you did. 

Then he heard his favorite words coming from you, “Come over Buck, I’m waiting.” 

He wasted no time in getting up from the floor and getting dressed. Dark jeans, shirt, jacket and not to forget his gloves. Sometimes he wondered why he felt so giddy when you asked him to come over, which was almost every night. He wondered what it would be like to come home to you every night instead, had it been a perfect world. He always felt like he was clinging to you too much, for everything. But then you always told him that you didn’t mind. You told him you loved his company. 

He grabbed his helmet before stepping out of his apartment. There was a light drizzle outside but he didn’t care, he just needed to be with you. He got down the stairs and then rushed to start his mean bike and then rushed to your apartment building. You lived in a much nicer part of the city than he did, and he often wondered why you were putting up with someone like him when you could have a man who would give you a life you’ve always dreamt of. He often asked you that, but you always just smiled at him, you never answered. 

On his way up to your floor, he couldn’t help but feel all warm in the elevator. He counted down the seconds till he could see you. He often slept over at your place, he loved it. Cuddling, making love, followed by lazy mornings, him trying to get you to not go to work and spend the day with him instead. He loved how you made him feel. 

He knocked on your door, already taking off his gloves because he needed to feel your skin against his. Your body heat made him feel so much better. He heard you unlocking the door from the other side and not even a second later, he saw your pretty face smiling at him. Dressed in silk PJ shorts and a t-shirt, you looked breathtakingly beautiful even at one thirty in the morning. 

“Hello there,” you greeted him, smirking. “That was fast.” You teased, opening the door wider to let him in. 

He smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and pulling you in for a hug immediately. You felt his slightly damp and cold jacket press against you but you hugged him back tightly anyways. 

“I needed to see you.” He mumbled, pressing his face into your neck. 

“I know.” 

-

You and Bucky ended up in your bed, cuddling under the blankets. He loved the dimmed night light you always had on, knowing that he hated being in complete darkness. He loved how cozy your room was, how spacious and airy but also warm and comfortable. 

The large window by your bed showed a lovely view of the city lights, which were right now blurred by the foggy glass, thanks to the light drizzle earlier. He could tell that the air was cold outside, but in here with you everything was just right. 

He had stripped down to just his boxers and he laid his head on your chest, his face facing away from yours, while you played with his hair and occasionally ran your hand down his back, scratching his skin lightly. His cold metal arm lazily ran up and down your thighs and he noticed the goosebumps on your skin that he was causing. 

He could hear your steady heartbeats and that was his favorite sound in the entire world. It calmed him down. 

You looked down, smiling softly at the sight of the muscular soldier using you as a human pillow. You could hear him let out quiet moans as you gently scratched his scalp. You still remembered the first time you two met, at a bar. 

-

It was late on a winter night, and the nearby bar was rather empty; just a few people here and there. And a certain muscular man in a dark leather jacket caught your eye. He was sitting at the counter, and you were in one of the booths. Eventually, you got up and decided to go talk to him. 

You recognized him immediately. Ex-Winter Soldier, Captain America’s best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.

Small talks turned into a couple more rounds of beers. He was a little off and awkward at first but he loosened up eventually. He even walked you back to your car, not wanting you to be alone in the dark, foggy and empty parking lot. 

That was the first time he kissed you, right before he opened the door of your car for you. 

“Will I see you again?” He asked, high off the adrenaline which coursed through his veins ever since you kissed him back. 

“Of course you will. Good night, James.” You kissed his cheek before getting into your car and driving off. 

-

A smile formed on your face as you thought of that night. “Do you remember the first time we met?” You asked softly. 

Bucky turned his face to you, placing his head back on your chest. He was so close that all you needed to do was to lean in a little to kiss his soft, pink lips. 

He smiled. “Yeah, why?” 

“No reason, I just wanted you to remember it.” 

Bucky chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss on your skin, right above your breasts. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What is it?” 

You just smiled at him, “Nothing. You’ve been awfully quiet too.” And judging by the look in his eyes, you could already tell there was something else to his silence. “What is it?” 

He was quiet. 

Sighing, you flipped the two of you around; straddling his waist while he laid comfortably against your multiple pillows. 

“Buck, tell me.” You pressed your palms against his chest to hold yourself up. 

“Sam needs my help with something. Another bad guy, another mission, another fight. Same old.” He sounded indifferent. 

You couldn’t blame him. He had been fighting for decades, non-stop. He had lost so much while doing so, but he also didn’t know how to deal with the calm, and silence and the quiet. There was so much he needed to figure out about himself still. 

“Do you not wanna go?” 

He smiled faintly as he lazily rubbed up and down your exposed thighs. “It’s my job, I have to. Innocent people will be hurt if I don’t. I want to help them.” 

“Then what’s the issue?” 

“I’ll have to leave you behind for a little while.” He didn’t want to. He didn’t know how to be away from you anymore because he hadn’t been for months now. The thought of not being able to hold you close at night and having your heartbeats lull him to sleep was scary.

You smiled down at him. “I’ll be here when you come back, Bucky.” 

He reached out and cupped your face with his metal hand. “And what if you find someone better while I’m gone?” 

You frowned down at him. “Where does that come from?” 

He gently stroked your cheek. “I’m just saying. You deserve someone a little more… normal.” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Normal is boring, you seem perfectly fine to me.” 

He chuckled. “Why do you put up with me, doll?” It was a rhetorical question, he didn’t expect an answer because he had asked you this countless number of times but you never gave him a reply before. 

However, you did this time. “Because I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.” You had been meaning to tell him this for a while now. “You don’t have to say it back, I just needed you to know that no one’s ever gonna replace you. I love you.” 

He was a little surprised, his heart raced as he processed everything. How could someone as gentle, kind and beautiful like you fall for someone as broken as him? “Doll… I…” 

You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You giggled, then pulled away to look at him. “You deserve all the good things in this world, Buck. You deserve to be loved, and cared for. And if you’d let me, I’d love to show you that.” 

You carefully pressed your lips to his, kissing him with all the love you had. His metal hand held you at the back of your neck and the other wrapped around your waist. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss; turning your mind into a foggy mess for a little while before he pulled away and stared deep into your eyes. 

You reached out and gently caressed his face, Bucky leaned into your touch. “I’m gonna miss you.” He mumbled. 

“When do you leave?” You asked. 

“Tomorrow, perhaps.” 

You leaned in for a kiss again, accidentally brushing your crotch against his erection; making him smirk through the kiss as he pulled you even closer. You purposely moved against him while you kissed him again deeply. 

Bucky soon flipped the two of you back around and settled in between your legs, kissing down your neck. “I’m gonna miss making love to you almost every night.” He whispered against your skin. His voice alone sent chills down your back, and made you feel all sorts of warm and tingly feelings inside. 

Bucky movements were gentle and slow as he took your clothes off, making sure you were both under the warm covers still; kissing you occasionally as he undressed you, and caressed your body as you squirmed under him. 

He kissed his way down your body, until his face was right in between your legs. You moaned as he parted your legs and placed a kiss on your inner thigh, pulling your underwear down your legs and kissing his way back to your wet folds. You threw your head back, and bit your lip; whining when you felt his tongue teasing you gently. The warmth of his mouth was driving you insane. 

His tongue gently teased your clit while his fingers slipped inside of you; stroking you gently while you arched your back off the surface of your bed as the pleasure became slightly overwhelming. You whimpered and squirmed under him as his tongue moved perfectly against you.

He had you coming undone all over his tongue and his fingers in no time, and he licked you clean when he was done. Kissing his way up your body again. “I’m gonna miss your taste.” He was shameless enough to whisper it in your ear; making you blush. 

His hands roamed around your body, touching you wherever he could, until he finally cupped your core and rubbed the sensitive skin around your swollen clit – making you shudder under him. You whined as he slipped his metal fingers past your entrance yet again. His head dipped into your neck and he licked and bit around your skin until he found your sweet spot. “And I’m gonna miss your warmth.” 

“Buck…” You moaned quietly as he replaced his fingers with his cock. 

He placed his mouth on top of yours again, to swallow your whimpers and moans as he pushed his cock into you. His breathing got shallow again as he pushed himself fully into you. He lifted his head and watched you grimace in pleasure and pain as his cock stretched you to your maximum. He watched you in awe as your lips parted and you moaned his name once he filled you up nicely. 

You whined as he slowly slipped out of you completely, before slamming back into you with a slightly bigger force. 

He groaned at the feel of your walls wrapped around him, squeezing and clenching around him. You heard him swear and felt him bite down on your lip as he sped up into you. He tugged on your lips and he started moving his hips; rocking into you slowly, then gradually increasing his speed. Your back arched off the surface of the bed again and your chest pressed to his.  

“I’m gonna miss watching you squirm under me…” he whispered, “as I pleasure you like no one ever will.” He moaned into your ear. “You’re mine.” 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. There was something about the way he kissed you, deeply and passionately; as though he was scared you might just get away from him.

He worshipped your body. He mumbled how good you felt in your ear, groaning as you bucked your hips to meet each one of his thrusts as well. He kissed you roughly as he pounded into you; his metal fingers wrapped around your throat. He fucked you raw and relentlessly, watching how your face morphed into frowns of pleasure. 

He pressed his forehead on yours; looking down to where your bodies connected so intimately. Then he pulled away to look into your eyes with that animalistic, primal and fiery look in his eyes. His lips parted as he panted while he fucked you like he owned you.

“You’re gonna miss me too aren’t you, doll?” 

You nodded, whining in pleasure. He smirked. His hand left your neck and slid in between your connected bodies and furiously rubbed your clit, earning a loud moan out of you. “Say it, baby. Tell me how much you’re gonna miss my cock buried deep inside you…” 

You couldn’t talk as the pressure in between your legs became too much to handle, and you craved for release. He noticed and slipped his tongue back into your mouth one last time and took your bottom lip between his teeth again.

“Come on, cum for me… doll,” he swore as he felt you clench around him perfectly. You came hard around him, moaning and whimpering under him as he finished right after you; kissing your swollen lips deeply as he came.

He pushed his face into the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. And you cradled his head; panting as well. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp as he calmed his racing heart. A few moments later, he shifted all his weight right on top of you making you laugh as you tried to scoot out from under him. 

He groaned and pulled you closer. “Come here.” He pressed you against his body and wrapped his arms around. “I love you too, doll. So much.” 

You buried your face into his chest, inhaling his scent. “I’m gonna miss you. All of you.” You lifted your head up to look at him smiling down at you. “Come back fast.” 

He chuckled. “You know I will. No matter where I go, I’ll always come crawling back to you.”

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

she plays songs i’ve never heard || h. styles

warnings: references to sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol, harry gets a lil pervy (pls don’t watch your neighbours get dressed), kissing, not proofread properly

word count: 1.8k

summary: when you get a new neighbour and his dog breaks into your garden, it sets off a chain reaction of events that might change your life...

The day he moved into the house next door seemed like a normal day for you. Sure, the sound of him actually moving in had woken you up early. The furniture being moved in through the small front door and the busy workers he’d hired banging about as if it wasn’t 8 in the morning. Begrudgingly, you had pulled yourself out of bed, poured yourself a glass of orange juice and buttered some crisp toast. Toast in hand, you watched from your kitchen window as grumpy Mr Bennet from across the road came out to shout at the new man and the workers. You’d managed to make out something about ‘too early on a weekend to be making that kind of noise’. Rolling your eyes, you went back upstairs to get dressed. 

And that was that. You’d ordered a pizza for lunch and your mother had rung you during the afternoon to catch up. You told her about your new neighbour. And that was that. 

It was, in fact, the day that the tattooed man’s dog broke into your back garden that your life seemed to change. You had been sat in your living room, watching The Sound of Music - a personal favourite of yours. Just as you were preparing to invest three hours of your life into the lives of the von Trapps, there was a loud bang on your door. Huffing quietly to yourself, you climbed off the sofa and left to open the door. And there, on the other side, was the tattooed neighbour. However, his tattoos were covered by a black hoodie but you could see a couple poking out beneath the hoodie’s cuffs. He was wearing shorts, exposing you to the tiny doodles of ink along his legs. His brown curls were hidden beneath a baseball cap. His features were hidden almost entirely in the shadows as it was dark outside and his cap sheltered him from whatever light there was. “Hi?” you said awkwardly. 

“I’m so sorry, but my dog got into your backyard. Do you think you can go and get him for me?” he asked.

You were almost taken aback. Though not entirely sure what you’d expected when being confronted with your tattooed neighbour outside your house, you definitely didn’t expect him to be searching for his dog. You didn’t even know he had a dog. 

You nodded slowly, “Sure. Come in, if you want.”

He thanked you, stepping in before you closed the door behind him. He shuffled awkwardly into the hallway, knocking your coat off the rack. It landed in a heap on the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said quickly, bending down to pick it up. “Fuck! Sorry for swearing!”

“It’s okay, we’re both adults,” you smiled softly. You moved forward through the house, unlocking the back door. And there, chasing a wasp around the garden, was a small black dog. He wiggled in your arms as you picked him up carefully. You carried him into your house and back to Harry, who you found in the living room. 

The dog licked your face before you place him in his owner’s arms. “Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience - I know it’s late. I’m Harry by the way.”

He extended his hand for you to shake. “Y/N,” you replied, smiling up at him. 

His grip on your hand was strong and firm. While you’d been away finding his little treasure, Gabriel (named after Peter Gabriel), he’d had a chance to explore your living room. The first time Harry saw you was when he happened to catch a glance of you reading in your back garden in your green shorts and sweater. It had been a hot day and you had a pair of sunglasses pushed up over your head. You looked ethereal with the sun highlighting your skin. From then, he’d tried to time his dog walks perfectly so he’d ‘accidentally’ bump into you on the way out. But, his attempts had come with little success. It was rather fortunate that Gabriel had escaped into your garden. 

He’d actually jumped at the opportunity to come round and meet you in person. After all, he only knew your name because his other neighbour, Edna, had told him a bit about you after he asked. And when you’d invited him in, he was ecstatic. He couldn’t help but wander into your living room. He noticed The Sound of Music paused on your tv, wondering if he’d get to watch it with you one day. Maybe you’d exchange favourites -  he’d watch The Sound of Music and you’d watch The Notebook. He then noticed a stack of books on the coffee table, with everything from Cervantes’ Don Quixote to Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Your current read, Sally Rooney’s Normal People, was being held open by the tv remote. He wanted to ask what you thought of Norwegian Wood, after all, it was one of his favourites. But he refrained. 

There was a glass of wine on a coaster, a half-eaten bowl of cheese pasta beside it. The room was littered with lovely plants -  some were hanging down from shelves and others were standing up high beside the sofa. The walls were a soft grey, but they were drowned out by the green of the plants and the subtle pink tones littered throughout the room. “What’s this little guy’s name?” you asked, tickling behind the dog’s ear. 

“His name’s Gabriel.”

“As in Peter?” you asked.

“Yep. You a fan?”

“Who isn’t?” you grinned in response. He knew you were a fan of Peter Gabriel. He’d seen your rack of records in the corner and he’d been gardening a few weeks ago and heard you listening to one of his albums in your own backyard. Upon examining your record collection, he’d noticed some Beatles albums, a bit of Lionel Richie, some Taylor Swift, a few ABBA albums, a sprinkle of Bee Gees and a plethora of Elton John albums. Relatively mainstream, but a mixture nonetheless. 

“Exactly,” he agreed, before gesturing to the wine. “Special night?”

“Huh?” you’d replied.

“The wine?” he responded. 

“Oh,” you laughed, “that’s cranberry juice.”

He flushed bright red as you laughed quietly. You placed a comforting hand on his arm, guiding him out of the room. “I think you’re a bit tired. I guess I’ll see you around then?” you offered a hopeful smile. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, holding Gabriel at arm’s length as the dog tried licking his cheek. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” you smiled, closing the door. “What an odd man.”

You couldn’t help grin to yourself. He was strange, yes, but very kind. You resumed your position on your sofa, taking a sip of cranberry juice, and pressing play on The Sound of Music. What a bizarre evening… 

Come a few days later, Harry found himself busying himself in his bedroom. Gabriel was sat on his bed, barking at Harry as he worked away at his computer, sending emails back and forth to his boss. It was only when he saw your own bedroom light flick on in the corner of his eye. You wandered in, throwing your phone down onto your bed. A white towel was wrapped tightly around your body and your hair was wet and your skin glistening. 

He knew he shouldn’t look. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t help it. He watched as you pulled a silky pyjama set from your dresser. You seemed to examine it briefly before deciding it was good enough. And when you dropped the towel, he knew he was wrong for staring. He knew you’d never speak to him again if you caught his gaze on your naked body. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

You sighed as you stepped into your silk shorts and slipped on the matching shirt. As you finished doing up the buttons, you happened to glance up and catch Harry’s gaze. He’d been staring. Once he realised you’d caught him, he went bright red; redder than when he’d mistaken cranberry juice for wine. You smirked, challenging him to look away. 

When he didn’t avert his gaze, you leaned over to grab your notebook from your desk. Embracing your 2009 Taylor Swift moment, you scribbled down: wanna come over? You laughed as you watched him scramble away from the window and out of his room. 

It was thirty seconds later that you heard his knocking on your door. You dashed down to open it. There he was. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him into your house and up the stairs. And there you were, standing in your bedroom with your tattooed neighbour. “That was super pervy, you know?” you whispered, your faces inches apart. 

“But you’re so beautiful,” he choked out, revelling in the feeling of your hands dancing up his arms. 

“What if I told you I did it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Yeah, what if I left the light on so you could see me? What if I wanted you to stare?”

He couldn’t resist you any longer. He pressed his mouth to your own, pushing your wet hair out of your face. He slipped his attractively large hands under your thighs, lifting you into his arms, only to drop you down onto your bed. You squealed as you hit the soft mattress, laughing as he buried his face in your neck, his fingers fiddling to undo your buttons. And that was that. 

Before you knew it, you were lying beside his naked figure, panting loudly. Both of your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat. “That was amazing,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, kissing his nose, “Thanks. I think you’ll find you’re pretty sensational too. I need another shower now, though… wanna join?”

It was just after 11 when Harry left. The night had spiralled in the most perfect way. You switched off your bedroom light, slipping under your soft bedsheets. You were excited for the day to come - you’d asked him if he wanted to come over for a date. He agreed ecstatically. 

The following morning, you woke up as you usually did. You were groggy, unexcited for the uneventful day to come. That was until you remembered your date that night with your tattooed neighbour. Up until 7, you had nothing to do but wait. You watched some episodes of a drama your mother had been raving about. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch. But finally, 6.30 rolled around and you peeled yourself off the sofa to get ready. At 7.02, Harry arrived. He knocked on your door and when you answered, his smile was bright and his eyes were alive with excitement. “Hello,” you grinned until you noticed something behind his back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

He held out a bouquet of roses, “I got you some flowers… and I brought round a bottle of cranberry juice.”

[reidyoulikeabook]

Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

--

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.  

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

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

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith​​ @sassiest-politician​​ (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

[neverdoingmuch]

Wangxian prompt: They see each other constantly. Like, maybe they're neighbors, or is a "my kid's teacher" situation. Maybe they meet at the bus stop, or work in the same company but different offices. So they're aware of each other and they exchange glances, maybe little inside-joke smiles about things they both notice. They see each other being brave, competent, kind, so so handsome. And when they actually talk to each other months later the first thing they say is "Marry me" and "Yes"

ooh!! this sounds like a lot of fun, i love it so much. i think office workers would be the best bc then we can contrast the banality of the rest of their lives to the quirkiness of their relationship so to speak.

okay so it all started when lwj decided that he wanted to eat breakfast on his apartment balcony

he takes his bowl and goes to sit in the chair outside and he’s prepared to just enjoy the cool morning air but when he looks up he sees a man sitting on the balcony exactly opposite his

wwx, by some strange luck, has the apartment across the street, and always goes outside to try and wake up bc he is not a morning person at all and the 9-5 job is killer for someone who likes to go to sleep at like three in the morning

anyway, lwj looks up and sees this kinda cute guy just sitting on the floor miserably blinking at the rising sun and is like oh weird and tries not to stare too much

but after that first time lwj sees him, he starts seeing mystery balcony dude everywhere, like everywhere and no amount of not staring is gonna save him

he goes down to his favourite cafe to get a cup of tea after breakfast and while he’s enjoying his tea and reading the newspaper he hears someone laugh loudly and glances over to the muffin display to see balcony man chatting with one of the staff as he orders his own coffee 

balcony man must have noticed his attention because he looks over and for a moment he looks confused but then he’s smiling brightly at lwj and it’s this absolutely amazing smile and he’s even hotter when he’s not sitting in a ratty t-shirt across the street and lwj panics, chugs the rest of his tea, and immediately leaves

he ends up arriving at the train station fifteen minutes early and is stuck awkwardly waiting while avoiding the grandma who likes showing men pictures of her granddaughter who is very beautiful and very single apparently

the train arrives and lwj gets on, finds a seat and pulls out his phone to respond to emails. then, just as the doors are about to shut, who should rush in but balcony man

he’s kinda sweaty and red but the guy makes it look good and he ends up sitting down a few metres from lwj, not that lwj notices because he’s very busy responding to his emails about how one of the teams in sales is having difficulties with one of their projects, so busy that he spends the next thirty minutes staring at the email unable to get past the second line

lwj and wwx end up getting off at the same stop and to lwj’s absolute horror they end up going to the same building

lwj tries to do the thing where you speedwalk past the person so they don’t think you’re following them but then wwx did the same thing to him so they end up arriving at the same time

they get in the elevator together, lwj near the door off to the left and balcony man in the far corner, leaning against the wall and looking down at his shoes

it’s kind of awkward but thankfully wwx gets off at the fifteenth floor - software design and tech support or something while lwj gets off at the twentieth floor - sales maybe?

he doesn’t see the man again until the end of the work day when they get into the elevator at the same time and go back down. they’re the only two people in there bc they’re working late or the stars aligned or something

and that’s just the first day. after that, every day the same thing happens and they keep seeing each other as they’re going to and from work. 

but also lwj goes to do the grocery shopping and when he’s paying wwx is in the next line across and when he goes to buy new strings for his guqin wwx is already in the store buying a new mouthpiece for his dizi

this goes on for a few weeks and then one morning, while wwx is trying to shock his system into waking up and lwj is just enjoying breakfast, they hear familiar shouting: the couple downstairs is breaking up again

lwj rolls his eyes, aware that come next week they’ll be dating again, and just blocks it out when the boyfriend comes stumbling out of the building with his shirt half on and the girlfriend still yelling

he looks across the street to see what balcony man thinks of it all and sees that he’s mouthing along to the argument (it really is exactly the same speech every time but it’s incredible that he’s memorised it). lwj snorts. it’s unseemly and rude but balcony man is over there acting out the break up as well as mouthing along and it’s the funniest thing lwj’s seen all week.

wwx notices him laugh and decides to wave at him. lwj tentatively waves back and with that the magic of their relationship sets in

now when lwj goes to the cafe in the morning wwx will look around the store until he spots lwj and wave at him, and lwj will lift his mug up in greeting which always make wwx laugh

then when they get on the train, they always get seats opposite each other and while they never actually say anything, sometimes lwj will glance over to see wwx sneaking a look at him. they both blush and look away but moments later they’re doing it again

when they walk to work, lwj crosses the street so they can walk at the same pace and not have to actually be right next to each other and despite having to cross back over, wwx is always still waiting to catch the elevator with him. 

now when they go up, they still don’t talk to each other but wwx always hums and lwj taps along with whatever tune he’s picked. 

same thing when they go back down in the evening and catch the train back

over time it starts to become more than just staring and smiling, now when the couple downstairs breaks up, wwx will hold up like three fingers and lwj understands that balcony man thinks they’ll get back together within three days

(wwx’s always right btw)

when they go to the cafe lwj will send wwx a thumbs down if the sports mum with eight kids gets in queue first and wwx will always make hearts with his hands whenever the baristas start flirting. 

when they get in the train and hear the angry businessmen argue they’re sitting there making funny faces at each other,, well wwx does and lwj just tries to keep his face blank. he usually succeeds but sometimes he smiles and wwx will always do a little victory wiggle which is honestly so cute lwj is dying

the elevator? they don’t even have to say anything. whenever a coworker they don’t like hops in they just find subtle ways to explain why they don’t like them and how

the best time was when lwj saw su she get in and immediately pulled a face like he sucked a lemon and had to try and mime “he always takes really long lunches and is really bad at sales but we can’t get rid of him because he’d whine too much and no one wants to put up with that” but he’s lwj and doesn’t really do miming. in contrast, when wen chao gets in wwx just holds up his thumb and pointer finger like he’s measuring something, and holds them only a few centimetres apart. 

they both get really good at reading each other like that

when they catch the train back home it’s always really late so lwj ends up reading a book while wwx sketches and, just as lwj always holds up his books so wwx can see the cover, wwx will show lwj whatever he’s drawn

at one point in time lwj comes home and sees a stray kitten hiding in a box near the entrance to his building but he can’t take it in bc of his rabbit so instead he goes out onto his balcony and just points straight down and holds up a cardboard box he has in his own apartment

without even hesitating wwx goes downstairs and crosses the street, still dressed in his pyjamas, and takes the kitten home. 

lwj kinda expected wwx to take the kitten to a shelter or something but within a month their morning routine changes to allow a kitten to climb all over wwx as he tries to wake up and it’s ridiculously adorable but also lwj is sitting there in absolute awe of how good balcony man is to just take in a stray like that 

there’s probably a few other scenes, like wwx and lwj going out to a dinner with their teams and they get seated at nearby tables and end up sending each other commiserating smiles whenever the conversation gets particularly dull and the time when lwj gets caught by the well-meaning grandma who always tries to set people up with her granddaughter on the train and he taps out sos in morse code and wwx just replies rip and stares out the window for the rest of the trip 

anyway this is getting a bit long so im going to say jump forward a year (doesn’t have to be a year i guess). they’re still enjoying this whole thing they’ve got going on and they know each other so well that when lwj sees wwx some mornings he knows to go to the cafe early and order an extra strong coffee for wwx and wwx will sometimes sketch pictures of rabbits when lwj seems a bit annoyed after work

(wwx will fold them into paper aeroplanes and throw them across the train to lwj and lwj always takes them home and flattens them back out and then shows them to his rabbit before before putting them up on the fridge)

one day the trains break down and they’re stuck waiting at the station in the morning and for once lwj feels genuinely sad that he might not get to work on time. like work is whatever but he doesn’t want to miss out on the half an hour on the train with balcony man and the way they speedwalk to see who can get to the office first and the awkward waiting outside the elevators where wwx bounces up and down and lwj taps out a rhythm against his thigh until wwx notices and starts humming along

but then he notices wwx walking over to him. he seems kinda nervous, hesitating at first but he puts on a confident smile and saunters over and lwj is panicking because they haven’t done this before and he doesn’t know what to do

wwx opens his mouth - he’s going to make the first move and ask out his mystery man, but then lwj takes one look at wwx, who’s standing right next to him and it feels different to all the other times they’ve been together, and he panics

wwx barely manages to open his mouth to say good morning when lwj blurts out will you marry me?

wwx blinks, blushes bright red, and immediately goes yes! (it’s a bit too loud and people around them turn to stare but neither of them notice)

lwj immediately whips out his phone and sends in an email saying that he’s taking a sick day and after he sends it off, he slips his phone back into his pocket, takes wwx’s hand in his and asks him what’s your name?

it takes wwx like fifteen minutes to stop laughing by which time they’re back at their cafe and this time, they both sit down at a table after ordering their drinks and it’s the baristas making hearts with their hands at them

[dc41896]

Winter Wonderland

Pairing: Ransom DrysdalexBlack Reader

⚠️: Ransom being a tiny bit of a jerk, the usual fluff

Sat on the couch comfortably wrapped in your boyfriend’s burnt orange throw blanket, your eyes stay glued to the meteorologist pointing to the map on the wide screen in front of you as you mindlessly bite your thumbnail.

“This again?,” Ransom asks returning from his shower to sit next to you. Forest green tee shirt over his black sweatpants, the scent of sandalwood wafting off his skin brings you closer eventually resting your head on his shoulder while you silently take in a couple deep breaths to savor the smell. “What, are you trying to be a weatherwoman now or something?”

“No, I’m just trying to stay updated. You know, watching to see if it’ll maybe rain or snow...”

Moving his laptop from the glass coffee table to his lap, soon his fingers tap away at the keyboard below as he tries to answer emails he missed while being away with you and your family for Thanksgiving.

“Hopefully it doesn’t. I’ve got too much to do for the power to be turning off.”

“...It would be nice to see though you know?”

“Mm,” he simply replies, mind still comprehending the email from his assistant with his schedule for the upcoming month.

“Snow covering the ground perfect to make snow angels or a snowman with a cute little scarf and carrot nose. Ooh and maybe a snowball fight-!”

“You sound like a kid who’s never seen snow before,” he chuckles. Noticing your extended silence, he sits up meeting your innocent eyes as you play with one of the tassels from the blanket. “You’ve never seen snow, have you?”

“I mean yeah in movies and pictures, but never in person. Remember, it doesn’t really get that cold where I live.”

Only four months in, your relationship was still fairly new. And most of that time he was flying to see you, which was slightly concerning at first. Once he told you about his dysfunctional family though, and you briefly heard it firsthand, it made sense why he wanted to get as far away as possible.

It was just a small mistake when some of his business documents were sent to his parents’ house, but of course they assumed it was his sly way of asking for money. Not even giving him a chance to explain, a shouting match soon ensued and hence why Thanksgiving was spent with your parents.

He still wanted you to come visit to show you his home, where he grew up, and some of his favorite places especially since you showed him yours. He’d just have to be extra careful to avoid any of his family members or those who worked at his grandfather’s home if the two of you went to town.

So far though, you two didn’t have to worry since you’d either been happily snuggled on the couch or in bed since you arrived.

“Well, it’s more of a pain than anything. You need the right tires to drive on the road and even then you have to worry about them being too slick. Then sometimes the snow is like mush that basically starts melting as soon as it falls, and don’t even get me started on the shoveling,” he rants as the small smile on your face slightly falls.

“Yea I’ve uh heard that it’s not so great once you get used to it,” you respond turning the channel to some random movie before handing him the remote. “Looks like it’s not gonna snow anyway though so no worries.”

“Good, I’ll be able to make all of my meetings then.”

As you sat in silence, Ransom could feel that you were disappointed about the sunny and clear forecast. He still stood by all the negative things he said earlier, but he also remembered how excited he’d get as a kid once it started to get colder. That meant snow would eventually come, bringing snow days from school and playing all day in the backyard. That is until his mother would yell at him from the back door not to mess up his clothes or send the nanny out to get him if she felt he wasn’t listening.

Hearing your soft snores, he carefully removes his phone from his pocket, moving his typing from his laptop to the smaller device in his hand as he sends a quick text to someone who might be able to help.

———

The soft chime of your alarm from the bedside table causes you to mentally groan as you reach to silence it before it could disturb Ransom. However feeling his arm tighten around your waist bringing you closer to his bare chest, you could see you were too late.

“Sorry babe. Go back to sleep, you still have time before your meeting,” you whisper.

“No,” he mumbles, face falling to the crook of your neck making you giggle from the sensation of his breathing paired with his pouted lips against your skin.

“Can you let go then? I have to log in for work.” Shaking his head, you roll your eyes at how clingy he could be under that tough, careless facade. “Ransom come on it’s my last workday before Christmas so I can’t call out. As soon as I’m done though you can have me all to yourself okay?”

His only response is silence as you try to escape his grip thinking he drifted back to sleep. You’re slightly startled as your body is turned to face your boyfriend with his eyes still closed and a tired yet playful smirk gracing his lips.

“I already took care of work for you,” he replies opening one eye while the other stayed pressed against the plush pillow.

“What do you mean?”

“That you don’t need to worry about work until the new year.”

“How? You just told my boss I wouldn’t be in for a while and she said okay?”

“Well darling as you know I can be very persuasive,” he cockily states with a wink. Sitting up with arms crossed over your chest, he chuckles at your unamused expression sitting up himself to lean against the headboard. “I told her how I had a secret trip planned for us and asked if you could be out until you were due to be back in January. She said you had the time so it was okay and for us to have fun. If you don’t believe me call her yourself.”

“How long have you had this planned? And where is this secret trip too?,” you finally speak trusting his words.

“A while now, and it wouldn’t be a secret anymore if I told you dear.”

“Then how am I supposed to pack for said trip honey?,” you ask matching his sarcasm.

“Already took care of that too. All you have to do is get ready so we can leave in a couple hours,” he smiles gently grabbing your chin to kiss your lips. “Unless you want to go to work then-,”

“No, I’ll get dressed!” Giving him one last peck as you crawl over his relaxed form, he chuckles watching you excitedly hurry to the bathroom to start your morning routine.

After both of you were dressed and Ransom placed your packed bags in the trunk of his newly rented Range Rover, his hand stops you from entering the passenger side slightly confusing you.

“It’s a surprise remember?,” he smirks pulling a black blind fold out of his jacket pocket.

“You know, this is how a handful of those lifetime movies start before the main character goes missing and her family then sets out to find the boyfriend even though he swears he’s innocent,” you state making him deeply chuckle as he finishes tying the cloth over your eyes.

“Relax, you’re fine. Plus how do I know this isn’t like those movies where the gorgeous girlfriend acts all innocent and sweet until she gets her boyfriend away so she can kill him and take all his stuff before moving on to her next victim?”

“Touché. I guess we’re gonna have to trust each other then.”

“I guess so,” he laughs kissing your cheek before carefully helping you in your seat and closing the door behind you. The drive there didn’t seem too long as you and Ransom talked about everything from each of your favorite vacations over the years to his new book ideas and what was soon to be published under his company. Of course you tried to get him to slip and say where you were going and what he had planned, but his lips remained sealed.

Every time you asked, he’d just chuckle telling you to be patient before kissing the back of your hand.

Soon enough your questions would be answered as the car slowed while it turned maintaining the same speed until coming to a complete stop. “Are we there? Can I take off the blindfold now?,” you excitedly ask.

“Go ahead before you bounce a hole in the seat.”

Removing the cloth, you blink your eyes adjusting to the brightness of the remaining daylight outside before they can focus on what was exactly in front of you. Dark brown wooden outside with a blue green roof and stone chimney, the modern looking cabin with wrap around porch peering into the surrounding woods on one side and the calm lake on the other.

“I hope your silence isn’t because you’re currently regretting coming with me,” he speaks peering at you with soft crystal blue eyes. Leaning over the middle console, your hand finds the back of his neck bringing him closer to connect your lips with his.

“It’s beautiful! The perfect Christmas getaway,” you smile.

“Well not perfect yet. This is just part one of your surprise.”

“Ransom, you don’t-,”

“I know, I don’t have to. As you see though, we’re here so are we gonna sit in the car and stare at it or go inside?,” he smirks before getting out to open your door.

You weren’t surprised to find the inside just as charming as it’s outside view. The modern, minimalistic aesthetic along with high vaulted ceiling and open concept made it seem as if there was no end in sight for the cozy cabin. From it’s overall inviting warmth enveloping you as soon as the both of you crossed the threshold, you weren’t sure if your boyfriend, or anyone, would get you to leave when the time eventually came.

Once settled and full of dinner made from what was in the fully stocked fridge and freezer, courtesy of his assistant, you could feel the day’s toll finally weighing on you as multiple yawns escaped your mouth and eyelids began to droop.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet, you still have your last surprise to see,” he chuckles gently nudging your arm.

“Ransom seriously everything has been more than enough. What else could you possibly have planned?,” you sleepily smile peering up at him through partially opened lids. Gently pulling you up with him, he guides you to the porch with muscular, sweater covered arms wrapped on your chest just under your neck. He places a kiss on the top of your head as you lean back into his broad chest admiring the bright crescent moon along with the shimmering stars scattered behind it in the black sky.

“Although I do love gazing at the moon with you, and think this is a really nice surprise, it’s getting cold,” you speak feeling the vibrations of his quiet laugh through his chest.

“You really need to work on your patience dear,” he whispers, lips resting next to your ear. Watching the breath from your nose turn to smoke, you soon see something fall from above making you slightly lean forward to see if your eyes were deceiving you. Sure enough, a similar white speck descended with a small swirl as you gently gripped Ransom’s arm gasping. As more and more fell, you reach out over the banister feeling bits of cold ice touch your palm before melting into miniature puddles.

“Is this real?!”

“No, there’s a man on the roof with a wind machine. Yes, it’s real honey,” he chuckles kissing your cold cheek.

“But the forecast said there was none coming.”

“Yea for where we were. That’s why I brought you a bit further north where it usually snows around this time of year. Luckily it still happened or else everything would’ve been ruined.”

Turning to face him, your arms wrap around his neck as you reach on your tip toes to deeply kiss his lips. You prop your chin on his chest, adoringly looking up at your boyfriend with a soft smile.

“Yea no snow would’ve been a bit of a bummer, but everything would still be wonderful because I’m here with you.”

“Stop you’re gonna make me blush,” he dismisses with a dramatic wave making you giggle.

For the next few moments, you both comfortably stand in each other’s arms with your head now lying on his chest gazing at the steady falling flurries, and Ransom doing the same finding himself truly happy to see snow for the first time in a long while.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Sweet As Sin - Part One

Summary: After losing your job and having to spend all of your savings, you find yourself completely broke as you desperately search for a job. On a whim, you join a website for sugar babies and sugar daddies can meet, and you’re surprised when you immediately make a connection with Captain America, of all people. But as you grow closer to Steve, you start to realize that there may be a dark side to America’s golden boy. 

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Steve Rogers x Reader, with eventual Dark!Steve Rogers

Read Part Two here!

After reaching a certain point in life, people generally come to the realization that the old adage of “when it rains, it pours” is true. At least, that was what you were thinking as you walked to your car, cheeks still burning with shame from what had just transpired in the grocery store.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card was declined. Do you have any other methods of payment?”

The words echoed in your ears as you drove home; of course you didn’t have another method of payment. You hadn’t ever since your job laid you off. You’d been living off of unemployment for a few months now, barely able to afford rent and living off a diet consisting mostly of ramen noodles. What’s more, you’d just had to get your car fixed after someone t-boned you at the intersection across from your house. So now, you didn’t even have any more savings to fall back on. It was even worse than when you’d been in college; back then, there had at least been a goal in mind. Just graduate, you’d told yourself, and then you’ll find a job.

Well, you’d graduated a year ago, and now you were back to where you’d started – broke and desperate.

You slammed the door shut when you entered your apartment, kicking your shoes off before throwing yourself onto the sofa. You lay on your back, looking up at the ceiling as your stomach growled at you.

“Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” you told it. Looks like it was noodles in broth for dinner again, tonight.

Anxiety was constantly clawing at your chest these days, especially now that you were too broke to afford your medication. Later on that evening, you stood over your stove while typing ‘how to make money fast’ into Google. It was a cheap shot, one that you didn’t foresee getting you anywhere, but it was at least something to take your mind off of things while you waited for the water on the stove to heat up.

That was when you saw the add. ‘Finding Arrangements – Where beautiful, successful people find mutually beneficial relationships’ – basically, a website for Sugar Daddies looking for a pretty set of tits to spend money on. You huffed a laugh and scrolled past it, only to return to it a few seconds later.

You chewed on your lip, pondering the link sitting right there on the screen, so engrossed in your thoughts that you jolted when the water started boiling over, sizzling onto the stovetop beneath it. With a curse, you turned down the heat and added the noodles, stirring them in with the seasoning packet as you thought it over. It wouldn’t hurt to check, right? Just a quick glance wouldn’t hurt; if you signed up and didn’t like any of the people you matched with, you could just delete your profile and pretend it never happened.

Your thoughts lingered on the idea as you sat on the couch, still hungry after finishing your meager meal. You’d brought the link up on your laptop, and now you were staring at the site’s homepage. To the right, there was a link to sign up, and to the left, there was a picture of a man in a business suit surrounded by three beautiful women. You gulped, starting to psych yourself out as you stared at the image. But then you closed your eyes and thought about the number in your bank account, and it was enough to motivate you to start typing.

You filled out your personal information and clicked the link the website sent to your email, confirming your new membership. When it came to choose a profile photo, you chose one of yourself from your graduation day. You were standing in your college’s auditorium, wearing a dress made out of gold fabric that was covered with thick black lace; it was your favorite picture of yourself, and you hoped that the dress wasn’t too revealing. It had a high neckline, but it had only come down to about mid-thigh.

You filled out the ‘About Me’ section and then paused when you came to the next question – What are you looking for in a relationship? You thought for a moment, biting your lip and turning over your words before starting to type again.

This is my first time trying out a relationship like this, you wrote. So I would like to find someone who I can trust to guide me through it. In return, I would like to be able to give my (you cringed as you typed the next two words) Sugar Daddy a fulfilling, comfortable relationship in return.

After reviewing your profile, you uploaded it, forcing yourself to sit back from your laptop and breathe. It was out there now; people would see it. Wealthy, presumably powerful people would see it. You closed your computer and hurried to put a movie on, choosing one of your old favorites; it had helped you when you were feeling anxious before.

By the time you finished the movie, you’d mostly calmed down, controlling your nerves until they were just a dull ache in your chest. Before you stood up and went to bed, you checked your phone, eyes bulging when you saw that you already had five replies to your profile.

You opened your notifications, scrolling through the different profiles. Four of them were from men with one of them being from a woman. Your nose wrinkled up when you saw that one of the men were in his 70s, and you quickly deleted his message without even reading it. The next one was in his early 50s, and his profile picture was of him standing in front of a car that looked like it cost more than the entirety of your college tuition. You didn’t delete his message, but you definitely felt dismayed as you skimmed through the rest of them.

You paused, though, when you saw the last one. His profile said that he was 38, making him the youngest of those that had replied to you. His username was Captain_Grant, and his profile only showed his silhouette outlined against a setting sun. The only thing you could see about his features were his defined, slightly-crooked nose and the shadow of a beard against his jawline, but you were more interested in seeing the message he’d sent you.

Good evening, miss. I hope you’re having a nice day. I saw on your profile that you liked to read?

You furrowed your eyebrows, laughing a little. The other ones had pretty much sent you the same thing – “hi”. One of them had had the courtesy of adding a smiley face afterwards, but the fact that this guy had actually taken the time to read your profile made him stand out amongst the rest.

Good evening, you typed back. I do love to read; right now I’m in the middle of a great book.

His reply came only about a minute after you sent your response.

What’s it called?

You typed out the title of the book. After another minute, Captain sent you a picture. You held your breath as you opened the attachment, praying that it wasn’t a dick pic, and you were pleasantly surprised to see a photo of a bookshelf. The book you’d mentioned was resting on it along with a few others by the same author.

I’m a fan of theirs, too, as you can see.

You grinned and got up, taking a quick photo of your own bookshelf and sending it to him. You’d bought it from IKEA years ago, and its thin shelves had started to sag under the weight of all of your books, but you loved it anyways.

You have quite the collection, miss.

You chuckled at how polite he was and sent him a message that he call you by your first name.

‘Miss’ just seems so formal, don’t you think?

I was going more for polite, but I see what you mean. Well, then, you should call me Steve. ‘Captain’ isn’t really formal so much as it’s just weird. …I’ve been told I’m not good at picking out profile names.

You giggled at that; Steve seemed like a dork. But a cute one.

I think your profile name is great, for the record, but I’ll stick with Steve. What made you join this website, Steve?

It took him a few minutes to respond, and you worried for a second that you’d asked something too personal. But as you got ready for bed, you saw that he’d finally responded.

I’m an old fashioned kinda guy, and in the past I’ve been told that I’m a bit too…overbearing in a relationship. But I’ve always believed that a man should take care of the woman he’s with. So a friend of mine suggested this site, and I figured I would try it out. You’re the first girl who I liked enough to send a message to, though.

You smiled at that, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

What made me different from the rest?

All the other girls on here only talked about what they wanted to get out of a relationship in their profiles. You were the only one who mentioned what she wanted to give.

You felt as if butterflies were flying around your stomach, and your thumbs started typing of their own accord.

Do you think we could meet sometime? Maybe grab a cup of coffee?

I would love to, doll. I’m out of the country right now, but I get back in a week. How about we meet up then? Your profile said you live in Brooklyn; is that right?

It sure is; I’ve lived here ever since I finished college.

You’re a girl after my own heart; I grew up in Brooklyn. There’s a bagel shop that also serves coffee that I highly recommend. We could meet there if you’re up for it.

You didn’t even think before you answered him back.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

________

Over the next three days, you and Steve messaged each other as much as possible. He was so easy to talk to; you’d almost forgotten about the financial element of your relationship. During the day, when he was busy with work, you found yourself missing him. Right around the evening, you would start jumping for your phone any time it buzzed, and your heart would sink with disappointment when it wasn’t Steve.

You were on such a high from meeting Steve that you’d forgotten all about the things that were causing you anxiety. That was, until your landlord sent you an email talking about how rent was going to be raised an extra $50 each month. The news had washed over you like a bucket of iced water, sending you into the worst panic attack you’d had since college.

You’d spent the next few hours either pacing across your living room or crying in bed, curled up as that same feeling of helplessness that had haunted you for the past few months settled over you heavily. You hadn’t even realized that your phone was buzzing. At least, not until the fifth or sixth buzz. Wiping away your tears, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and opened it up, seeing several missed messages from Steve.

Hey, doll, just got done with work for the day.

How was your day?

You ok, doll? You’re usually around by now.

Are you ok?

I’m sorry for hovering, I’m just worried about you.

You there?

You felt guilt settle over you as you began to type with trembling fingers.

I’m so sorry, Steve. I just had a really rough day; I didn’t even realize that my phone was going off.

His reply was instantaneous.

God, you scared me, doll. Are you alright? What happened?

My landlord raised the rent by an entire $50. Rent is due by the end of the week, and I have no idea how to come up with the money.

You sniffled and waited for him to reply, and when he did you felt you felt your tears subside for a brief moment.

Is that all? That’s why I’m here, hon. Do you have a PayPal?

Steve… Are you sure? This is so much.

You could almost hear his laughter in his next reply.

Doll, I promise that $50 is NOT a lot to me. Besides, that’s part of this whole thing, isn’t it? Me taking care of you?

But I haven’t done anything for you in return…

He waited a few more minutes before responding.

Well… What if you did something for me tonight? Would that make you feel better?

Your felt your heart start to beat faster at his words, wondering what he would have you do.

What do you have in mind? you replied, trying to keep your words neutral.

Give me your phone number and let me call you?

Your breath puffed out at such a simple response, and you sent him your number without a second thought.

A few seconds later, your phone began to came, and unknown number appearing on your screen. You took a deep breath, feeling your heartrate skyrocket once more; you’d only known him for a few days, and yet a simple phone call from him was enough to make you feel breathless.

You fumbled with your phone, accepting the call and hesitantly raising it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, doll. It’s Steve. Although… Well, that was probably obvious, right?”

Your laugh sounded more like a hiccup, and you cringed at the sound, trying to blink away the tears that were still trying to escape.

“Hi, Steve,” was all you could sigh. “It’s…really good to hear your voice.”

And it really was; it was somehow even better than you’d imagined it – not terribly deep, but warm, so warm that you wish you could curl up and get him to read bedtime stories to you.

“Have you been crying?” he asked, a touch of worry working its way into his voice.

“Oh, um… Yeah,” you sighed. “This whole rent thing has really got me anxious.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he replied. “Can you give me your email address?”

You gave it to him, hearing the typing of a keyboard in the background.

“Thanks, doll. Just give me a minute, ok? I’m still trying to get better with my typing skills.”

You chuckled, picturing him typing with his two pointer fingers, but you still didn’t understand what he was asking you to give him a minute with.

“What are you doing, Steve?” you asked.

“Just wait; I’m almost done.”

After a few more seconds of typing, you felt your phone buzz, and you pulled it away to see that it was an email from PayPal. Your eyes went wide as you opened it, audibly gasping when you saw the message waiting for you when you opened your account. You have $250 waiting to be accepted.

“Steve!” You heard his laugh from the other line, and for a second you were caught off guard; you immediately loved the sound more than you’d loved any other laugh you’d ever encountered.

“This is too much!” you cried out. “I only needed $50! Steve, I’m no mathematician, but you gave me two hundred more than that!”

Steve only laughed again.

“I won’t apologize for taking care of my girl,” he said, making your cheeks heat up at the term of endearment. “You deserve it; you’ve had a rough day. Go out and get a massage, or buy something nice for yourself. Do something that’ll relieve some stress.”

Your eyes went half-lidded for a second at the thought of a massage; you couldn’t remember the last massage you’d gotten. But no; you needed to be smart with your money.

“Well… Thank you, Steve,” you sighed. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Every penny is worth getting to hear your voice,” he murmured. “It’s even prettier than I imagined it.”

“Steve…no…”

“No?”

“You gotta stop saying such nice things. It’s bad enough through text; actually hearing you say them is gonna make me spontaneously combust.”

Steve’s laughed rumbled across the receiver once more.

“Well try your best not to. At least not until we meet face-to-face.”

“Tell me about it. I still don’t know what you look like.”

You could tell by his voice that Steve was smiling when he spoke next.

“What do you imagine I look like?”

You grinned and stretched out in bed, your anxiety from before completely melting away.

“Well… You’re probably tall,” you started. “No… You’re definitely tall. I can tell.”

“Really? What gave it away?”

“You just seem like a tall person.” He chuckled at that, but you kept going on. “I could tell from your profile picture that you have a beard, and I bet you keep it trimmed all nice and neat. And… I’m going to guess that you have brown hair.”

“Well, I’ll be back in three days. There’s only one way for you to find out if you’re right.”

“I know. Still planning on the bagel shop at 9 am sharp, right? On Sunday?”

“Absolutely, doll. It’s a date.”

_______

The next day, you were able to pay your rent early, much to your landlord’s delight. After that, you decided that you would treat yourself to some actual groceries. Having a full shopping cart was a novelty to you; usually, you would load up with a basket containing ramen, maybe some chicken, some eggs, and whatever toiletries you needed. But today, you actually put together a meal plan and a list before going shopping.

Later on that day, you were grinning ear to ear as you put your purchases away in your tiny kitchen. There were green things in your fridge again! And they weren’t mold!

You were cooking a late breakfast for yourself when your phone rang, and you let out an excited squeak when you saw who it was.

“Steve!”

“Wow; someone sounds happy today.”

“I just got back from the grocery store,” you told him. “Thanks to a very wonderful, generous person, I was able to get food! Like, fancy food!”

“Fancy food, huh? What kind of fancy food?”

“Um… Well, I got stuff for salads! And I’m going to make a casserole for dinner. And I have some pasta, some beef, some taco stuff-“

“…Baby, that doesn’t really sound like fancy food. It sounds like regular groceries.”

“Well, it’s fancy compared to what I usually eat,” you pointed out.

“And what is that?”

“…Um…Ramen, mostly. Not that I mind! It’s better than nothing. I’ve got really creative with ramen recipes; it’s a skill I learned in college.”

Steve let out an exasperated sigh.

“That’s gonna have to change,” he asserted. “From now on, I’ll take you grocery shopping once a week, and I want you to get food with actual nutrients in it. Understood?”

You grinned as you flipped the omelet in the pan.

“Only if you let me cook for you sometime,” you bargained. You felt your cheeks heat up when he let out a groan.

“God, I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,” he sighed. “I wish I could come back sooner.”

“You can make it for two more days,” you said. “I believe in you.”

“Well, I’m glad someone does.”

The two of you talked until your breakfast was ready, and for the rest of the day you worked on applying for jobs. You kept the news on your tv at a low volume, but later on, while you were cooking your casserole, you heard something about Moscow that made you perk up; Steve had mentioned that he was in Moscow on his business trip.

You hurried to pull the casserole out of the oven and place it on a cooling rack before jogging into the living room and turning up the volume.

“….in Moscow today. It is reported that the small terrorist organization was eliminated by Captain America, Natasha Romanoff, and a group of American agents with them. Luckily, the attempted bombing was stopped before there could be any casualties.”

You watched as the footage cut to Captain America standing in front of a group of reporters, decked out in his uniform with his signature shield strapped to his back. He shifted on his feet, looking out over the room before starting to speak.

“I’m relieved to inform you that the terrorist threat has been eliminated,” he began, and you frowned at how familiar his voice sounded. If you didn’t know any better, then you would think that it was Steve talking to you, your Steve, but you knew the idea was ridiculous. You smiled at the thought; you’d have to ask him later on if anybody else had noticed the similarity.

“The group was small and disorganized, and we believe that they acted independently of any larger organization,” he continued. “Our men and woman, however, are keeping a close eye on any and all other suspicious activity in this and the surrounding countries. For now, we advise you to rest easy, and-“

You muted the tv once more, heading into the kitchen to grab a plate of food. You sat down on your couch and pulled your phone out, dialing Steve’s number. You frowned when you reached his answering machine, but you left a message anyways.

“Hi, Steve! I just saw something on the news about a terrorist group in Moscow… I guess I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay. Just shoot me a text or give me a call when you’re able to. I’ll talk to you soon!”

After that, you ate your food, reveling in having something on your stomach other than the same old noodles. It was while you were wrapping your casserole to put in in the fridge that Steve called you back, and you rushed to answer the phone.

“Hello!”

“Hi, doll,” Steve sighed.

“You sound so tired.”

“Yeah… I guess I am. It was, uh… A rough day at work. But the good news is that I get to come home a day early. Think we could move our date to tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? You can get here all the way from Moscow tonight?”

“Sure can. I’m on the plane right now.”

“Wow. Talk about company benefits…” Steve chuckled, and you smiled fondly as you closed the fridge. “I worried about you when I heard about the terrorists. Is everything ok? No one you knew got hurt, did they?”

“Nah, we’re fine, doll. But you’re sweet to ask.”

“Well, I saw Captain America talking on the news about it and just wanted to make sure. Hey, have you ever noticed that you sound a lot like him?”

“Uh… You think I sound like Captain America?” Steve seemed flustered, and you grinned as you walked back to your couch.

“Yeah; you guys have practically the same voice,” you grinned. “Crazy coincidence, right? You sound like him; you have the same first name… And did you know that he’s grown a beard since-“

“Hey, doll? The plane is experiencing some turbulence. Would it be ok if I let you go?”

“Oh. Yeah! Sure thing, Steve. But we’re still planning on tomorrow morning?”

“You betcha. I’ll see you at 9, and I’ll text you the address.”

“See you soon!”

With that, he hung up, and a few minutes later you received the text with the address. You sent him back a smiley face before getting ready for bed; you would need to get up early to get ready for your date.

It took you a while to fall asleep that night; your mind wouldn’t shut off. Over and over again, it would play possible scenarios of how meeting Steve might go – about what he would look like, what you two would talk about. Eventually, though, you were able to fall into a peaceful slumber, and even your dreams seemed happy that night.

______

You surveyed yourself in the mirror, looking for any imperfections that needed to be sorted out before you left. You’d somehow wrangled your hair into a nice-looking style, although you were pretty sure you’d killed half of the remaining ozone layer with how much hair spray you’d had to use to keep it that way. You were wearing a red set of leggings with an oversized, cream-colored sweater overtop it; despite the fact that the clothes were old, they still looked good, and you hated the fact that you didn’t have better shoes to complete the ensemble. You pulled on your black high-top Converse, deciding that they were the best looking pair of shoes you had, and you checked yourself out in the mirror one more time before walking out the door.

The bagel shop was only fifteen minutes away from where you lived, but the drive seemed to last for fifteen seconds and fifteen eternities all at once. You tried in vain to calm the frantic beating of your heart, but it was still pounding by the time you pulled up in front of the restaurant. You took a short moment to calm yourself, letting out a deep breath before getting out of your car.

You tried to walk with confidence as you walked into the bagel shop, inhaling the scent of baked bread, cinnamon, and coffee that lay heavy in the air. The walls inside were painted a bright, sky blue, and black-and-white sketches were hanging on the walls. The entire wall behind the display case had been turned into a chalkboard, and the various menu items were written across it in neat cursive font. One of your favorite songs from the 60’s was playing over the radio, and you smiled; you already knew that this place would become one of your regular hang outs.

At the moment, though, your eyes were scanning the shop for Steve. All you knew about him was that he had a beard; that is, if he hadn’t shaved it since taking his profile picture. There were only a few people dotted around the room, and most of them were with someone else. In fact, there were only two people there who were sitting alone. One of them was sitting at a nearby table, and he was a man who looked to be in his late 50’s; you hoped to God that he wasn’t Steve.

The only other person there was sitting at a table in the far corner, and he had his back to you. His hair was blonde and slicked back neatly, and his shoulders were incredibly broad. Letting out a sigh, you started walking towards him, wringing your hands as you grew nearer.

“Steve?” you finally asked when you were close, and you saw him straighten up.

When he turned around to face you, though, your eyes grew wide and your lips parted in surprise. There had to be some mistake; this couldn’t be him.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “I’m here to meet, um…”

Captain America, or rather, Steve gave you a soft, sheepish smile, and he stood up to face you.

“Hey, doll,” he sighed.

“…I can explain.”

[theabundantlion]

Do you struggle to network with people? Here are some strategies that will help you improve

Let’s talk about networking with people today.  Networking is like building a support system.  One of the ways to get successful and to move forward is to have a support system.  If you don’t have a support system then it’s time to network and build one. 

 I would like to share an example with you before moving forward so that you can visualize this.  If a total stranger walked up to you and said, ‘’Hey I want you to give me something and I’m going to absolutely give you nothing in return and I want you to be happy about it,’’ how would you react to that?  This sounds similar to a robbery.  Wouldn’t it seem odd to you?

 Here is a very important thing to keep in mind when you’re networking.  Don’t be a parasite.  What is a parasite?  A parasite is someone who just wants to take, take and take.  They are only concerned about what they can gain from it.  It’s best to have the mindset that you’re going to be open to making it a win-win situation.  At least ask someone how they are doing and be genuine about it.  It’s important to build relationships with people when you network.

 When I network, I genuinely care about people.  Networking is easy for me because of that.  If you’re someone who struggles with networking or struggles with how to approach people that’s understandable and I’m here to help.  If you think that your people and relationship skills need work, that’s understandable as well.  The main key to keep in mind is that you want situations to be a win-win situation.

 If you just met someone for the first time and you’re getting to know them, then you are going to take your time and go through the getting to know them phase.  For some people, this time may take longer than other times.  It’s no different from that when you’re networking.  Networking can be viewed as taking the time to get to know someone and keep in touch.  That doesn’t mean that you have to talk to that person every day but you can keep in touch from time to time. 

 Let’s say that you met someone in your industry, maybe you can touch basis once a month or once every two months.  It will vary depending on how receptive the person is to you.  It can be as simple as hoping they are well or asking how they are doing.  It’s important to be genuine about it when you have a conversation.  People feed off of each other’s energy and someone will know if you’re faking it. 

 I genuinely keep in touch with people and ask how they are doing and truly mean it.  Listen up, this is called ‘’being a decent human being.’’  If you are a decent human being, it’s going to be easy for you to network because people won’t see you as a cold stranger that’s just trying to rob them. 

 Every connection is important and should be treated preciously.  You never know who knows who.  If someone comes across to me in a bad or negative way, I usually don’t talk bad about them.  If you were to look at all of my videos, podcasts, socials, and website, you won’t catch me talking bad about someone.  That’s just not my style.  Now I might give a scenario for the purpose of teaching, but it’s not for the purpose of blasting people.  That’s just not my personality.

 When it comes to networking, here’s how you can meet people.  Look up associations, organizations and people in your industry.  For example, I’m in the music business and a songwriter under BMI and my publishing company is registered to both BMI and ASCAP.  Those two organizations have workshops, meetings and different events.  Over the years, that’s how I met people.  And from time to time after meeting people, I send them how are you messages.  This is called being a decent human being. 

 There is great technology at your disposal that will help you keep track of these things.  You have to allow people to warm up to you over time.  Some people will connect with you and some won’t.  You can’t expect people to treat you like their bestie overnight.     

 For those of you who struggle with networking, here’s something that may help you.  Look up random general stuff.  It can be the news or other sources.  The purpose of this is to see what is at the top of people’s minds nationally.  It doesn’t have to be anything controversial but a topic that the majority of the population would have at least heard of.  Nine times out of ten, that will give you something potentially to talk about. 

 You have to keep in mind, when you’re networking people may be just as nervous as you.  Allow them time to get to know you and just be a genuine person. 

 Here is another thing that can help you if you’re struggling with networking and this may sound a little crazy.  Take improv acting classes.  You don’t have to be an actor.  Here is why improv classes are awesome.  They will help to teach you how to be on the spot with people.  Improv teaches you to think on your feet.  When you have conversations with people you’re going to have to think on your feet. 

 There also other things that you can do as well.  You can go online and have conversations with people.  This will serve as great practice to help you improve your networking skills.  There are websites where you can meet people.  Some of the sites are LinkedIn, meetup.com and other similar places.  You also can also take a chance with social media.  You need time to practice. 

 Networking is as skill.  I had a meeting with Mike Smith recently and he’s a global president of a record company.  One of the things mentioned in the meeting, he said that networking is a skill.  I agreed with him whole heartedly.  I was telling him that I was sharing these things with people on my podcast and videos.  This is an important thing for people to understand. 

 The reason why that conversation was such a big deal is because that was the fourth time that that topic came up from different people.  That pointed out to me that this is an issue and I want to write a book about it because it’s not enough time to cover it here. 

 The takeaway for you today is that you can network.  You can absolutely do it.  You can teach yourself how to network.  You can learn it.  It starts with one connection at a time.  Organize your contacts.  If you don’t have them all on a list, then organize them on a list.  Don’t just have contacts in your phone.  Phones can get lost or broken.  Make sure they are backed up. 

 I love Gmail and I will tell you why.  They have a wonderful tool called scheduling messages.  Even if you have a web domain, Gmail can be an email provider.  

 It’s a wonderful tool on Gmail because you can use Gmail rather you have Gmail or rather you have an email through your domain that uses Gmail as a server.  If you think you’re too busy, then block out an hour or 30 minutes in a month and schedule emails. 

 You have to remember, people are not their titles.  They are human beings.  Keep in mind the analogy that I told you at the beginning about a stranger coming up to you demanding something and offering nothing. 

 This is the beginning of networking.  Here is my challenge for you today.  If you already have people that you know, make it a point from time to time to reach out and ask them how they are doing.  Say hello.  Some may be warm to you and some may not.  They may not be used to you doing that, but start doing it from time to time.  It could be twice a year or whatever time.  You have to determine what time is good for you, but that’s the first challenge for you today.

 The second challenge for you is to sharpen your networking skills.  Practice networking.  Getting to know people doesn’t have to be forceful.  Just find some common interests and do it.  There are plenty of places that you can do it.  Now if it’s just some random person on social media, that can be a little bit more tough because they are there to be entertained.   It still doesn’t mean that you can’t try. 

 Here’s another piece of advice as to how you can find people to network with.  When you’re looking up someone in your industry, see if they have a website and subscribe to their email list.  If you’re on people’s newsletters, eventually they might have a workshop or give you some good information about what’s coming up.  I will tell you another little secret.  Most of the time, you can hit reply to the email and it will reach them.  That’s an opportunity to be a decent human being.  Tell them how they are helpful to you and again be genuine about it.  People can tell if you are not being sincere with them. 

 I’m not suggesting that you stalk anyone, but if you are networking, check out people’s social media and see if they have an interest posted.  Maybe they have a dog and you have a dog and you can say something nice about the dog.  I’m just giving examples.   

 Be friendly but don’t be pushy.  People will let you know what temperature they want the conversation to go. You can tell by the response.  If someone’s responding to you in an engaging way and it shows that it’s left open, then it’s ok to respond back.  But if they are responding in a way to where they have closed the conversation, leave the conversation alone in that moment.  Trust me you will know when this happens.  If this happens, then you may want to give it breathing room before reaching out again.

 I would recommend also that you stay away from controversial topics.  But again, it’s going to depend on who you’re talking and what’s going on.  It just appears that people tend to argue about politics and religion.  Those are some of the top two things that people disagree about.  I tend to stay away from those topics in general.

 Networking does not have to be hard.  The reason why it’s important to share this with you today is because networking is a part of your support system.  It gives you the opportunity to meet like-minded people and people that you can associate with.  Essentially networking builds a support system. 

 If you want to build a support system, then be a support system.  How do you be a support system?  By being a genuine human being that actually cares about people and to not go into situations looking at what you can gain from it.  Approach situations with the mindset of how you can exchange.  That’s it.  It’s not scary.  And again, sign up to people’s email list and attend workshops.  There are a lot of virtual things happening if you don’t want to go in person.   

 Here is another topic in the networking conversation for you, masterminds.  I love masterminds.  For those of you who may not know what it is, masterminds are when people collaborate, come together and exchange ideas.  They talk and can share their experiences, what they’ve learned and if anything positive has happened to them.  I attend masterminds every month.  Although I’m busy, I make the time.  I usually go to three different masterminds monthly and they are all different.  Sometimes I talk and sometimes I don’t.  It just depends on the meeting.  If I have something to share, I definitely won’t hold back. 

 There are other types of meetings going on as well such as zoom sessions and other virtual meetings where people are interacting and engaging.  There is absolutely no excuse not to network, especially in today’s age with all the technology that we have.  I’ve given you some great ideas today.  The only thing that you have to do now is apply it.  You never know who knows who.

 Do you ever wonder how people get connected?  How do they have connections?  It’s very simple.  Follow these concepts and eventually you will get those connections too.   You have to put your time in and give people time to get to know you.  That’s what you have to do.

 I’m a member of plenty of associations and organizations.  I definitely take advantage of the meetings that they offer.  It’s a fantastic way of meeting people.  There are also different groups out that such as Facebook, discord and other groups.   

 I want you to challenge yourself to get better at network.  We all can always improve.  Although I consider myself a great networking, I still learn all the time on how to be even better.  Even while I’m sharing this information with you, I’m in the same boat as far as learning.

 One of the biggest things that I’ve learned is that you have to be organized enough to stay on top of networking.  Once you start getting to know a lot of people, it can be very easy to neglect people.  You don’t want to just contact people when you need something.  Say hi sometimes and see how they are doing.  Remember the word I’ve used three times now, be a decent human being.

 I won’t name drop but I’ve met some very well-known people over the years using this same concept.  It was serendipitous.  They are normal people just like everyone else.  We all bleed.  We all go through pain.  We all get headaches sometimes.  Everyone has something.  Keep in mind, those are normal people behind their brands.  People are so caught up titles and who’s who, that they can forget that people are human beings.   

 I consider myself just an average Joe although a lot of people call me smart.  I don’t walk around proclaiming myself as a genius.  It’s just that the things that I know, I know well and the things that I don’t know, I’m willing to learn.  I will be the first to admit that I don’t everything, but one thing that I know for certain, if you want to be great at networking, you have to be great at being a genuine person.  If you are not a naturally genuine person, then learn it.  Thank you for reading this today.  If you would like to receive weekly motivation to your inbox, then join the family at www.theabundantlion.com

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot 

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

[dawnrider]

One shot fluff prompt, I would love to see your take on this. Inuyasha as a single parent taking his adopted son, Shippo (they have more of a big brother/little brother bond) out to the book store to buy manga as he is starting to get into reading them. Spots the very beautiful Kagome (who works there)but is way too shy to go talk to her. After seeing her, he starts taking shippo there every weekend. Observant shippo notices this and encourages inuyasha to ask kagome out.

Ok Anon, I apologize for this taking so long to finish.  Side effect of having too many WIPs and this one-shot inspiring a second more than fluffy part that has yet to be written. SOOO…  I tweaked it a bit but it will fit your prompt more as the second part develops.  I hope you like it!

Watching the red ponytail in front of him bob, Inuyasha tried to breathe shallowly while keeping track of his charge.  There were so many people, so many smells, it was hard for him to focus.  But he was responsible for Shippou and if he lost him in this crowd, they would probably arrest him… or something.  This is all Miroku’s doing anyway, he thought with a scowl.  He didn’t mind the kit, really, but the outings on a weekly basis were tough.  Inuyasha didn’t deal with people well and Shippou was absolutely a people person.  Everyone he met was practically his new best friend!  The inuhanyou, on the other hand, often felt like a rock was sitting on his chest when he was in situations where he had to “chat” with people he didn’t know.

“Big Brothers and Big Sisters would be perfect!” Miroku had told him with the enthusiasm of someone knowing their idea would be denied out of hand.  He was persistent though, keeping after his friend of over a decade until he finally caved and applied.  Inuyasha was honestly a bit surprised they had accepted him.  He was a business analyst who spent most of his time in a cubicle avoiding actual direct communication with his coworkers.  That’s what email was for!  He was stable, no record (surprisingly), and was successful on paper.  But he was also boring and a hanyou.  Not much to promote him as a child mentor.

Here he was, following a very animated nine-year-old kitsune through the congested streets of the city on “Comic Book Day” to go to the “best bookstore in town.”  Not his favorite thing to do, especially on a weekend when it was bound to be busy.  On top of it, people kept saying “May the Fourth be with you” and he was starting to feel like an idiot for not understanding why everyone thought the date today was so funny.

Squeezing between a tall man in a costume covered in brown fur and the door frame, Inuyasha scowled as he caught the back of Shippou’s shirt.  “Hang on, Runt!  I gotta be able to keep track of you.”

“I know, I know!  But looook!” he sighed as his green eyes took in all of the books around them.  There were large cardboard cutouts everywhere, and people in various levels of costume dress to rival the cutouts.  Inuyasha let out a breath and tried to use his calmest tone.

“I know you’re excited, but if I lose you, your foster mom is gonna string me up by my toes.”  Shippou snickered, but did settle himself enough to stick close by.  Inuyasha felt his heart rate infinitesimally slow.  With a close eye on the kid, he navigated the crowd with the goal of bumping into as few people as possible.

Then a scent caught his nose, a sweet and faintly floral note over a heavier one.  Inuyasha and Shippou both started following their sense of smell without realizing it, meandering toward what they eventually recognized as the cafe.  It was less crowded there for the moment, and the inuhanyou felt like his lungs could finally fill completely.  Something about the combination of scents was soothing in a way he didn’t expect to find in such a crowded place.

~~~~~~

“May the fourth be with you!”  The man startled, turning to find her behind the counter of the cafe.  He stared blankly at her, struggling with what the appropriate response should be.  “You know. Star Wars?  The Force?”  After a short moment his eyes widened and his mouth formed an oh of understanding.  It was probably one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen.  He wasn’t much into this stuff, but he was making such an obvious effort for the boy with him.  It was sweet, even if he was a bit awkward.  “Nathan had to remind me yesterday,” she whispered conspiratorially, nodding in the direction of her manager.  He was dressed, not very well, as one of the big superheroes from a more recent movie.  The man blinked his strangely colored eyes at her, then let a tiny smirk lift his lips.

“What is that smell?” the boy asked, coming up to the counter, red ponytail quivering as he openly sniffed in her direction.  Kagome grinned and pointed to the glass case.

“Just took the almond croissants from the oven. The almond is pretty strong, huh?”  The boy nodded emphatically.

“Butter.  That was the other smell.”

Kagome blinked, not sure how to reply to the older man’s somewhat random statement.  “Um.  Yes!  There’s quite a bit of butter in them.” She watched him pale, then the tiniest smile on his lips.  That’s even cuter than before! she squealed internally.  “You can try a sample…”

“I’m Shippou, and that’s my Big Brother, Inuyasha.”  The boy paused.  “But not like… my real brother, the program, you know?”  She grinned in response, giving Inuyasha a quick glance before returning her full attention to the enthusiastic boy directly in front of her.  He was eyeing the pastries expectantly, a glitter of hunger in his green eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Shippou and… Inuyasha, was it?”  Kagome bit her lip at the adorable blush that rose on his cheeks at having her full attention on him.  “You’re both welcome to try some, if you want.”  Shippou showed no qualms in accepting the small piece of the sweet, Inuyasha hesitating a moment before stepping forward to let her put some in his palm.  “Your cosplay is awesome, by the way,” she said with a glance at his hair and ears.  He startled at her words, golden eyes widening and the previous flush returning with a vengeance.

“Oh.  He’s not in costume.  Inuyasha is a hanyou,” Shippou commented around a mouthful of croissant.

It was Kagome’s turn to pale. “Oh my… I’m sorry, that was so rude of me to assume!”

“Keh.  S’alright.” His eyes dropped to the floor and she felt the loss of his gaze like the sun going behind a cloud.  The guilt at hurting him like that stuck in her throat and her eyes watered.  “Hey, it’s ok, really!  D-Don’t cry!” he begged her, stepping up to the counter and waving his empty hand in a stunted attempt to calm her down.  “Not many of us around, ya know?” he muttered, giving her a strained smile when she took a calming breath and blew it out slowly.

“Is it ok if I go look at that table?” Shippou asked, breaking them from their staring contest.  Inuyasha followed his pointing finger to the table of children’s comic books just on the edge of the tiled floor that outlined the cafe’s space.  He nodded, giving the boy a stern look that spoke volumes before leaning back against the counter. “Thanks!”

“He’s very exuberant.”

“You got no idea.  He’s all over the place.”  His voice turned sad.  “Not surprising.  Only kitsune in a foster home full of human kids.  None of them can keep up with him.”

“That’s great that he’s got you then, isn’t it?” she said softly.  Inuyasha glanced over his shoulder at her, a thoughtful look lowering his brows slightly.

“‘Spose so.”

~~~~~~

Her smile brightening after the previous near meltdown was a balm on his nerves.  He did not deal with crying.  Not at all.  If she had started, he probably would have bolted and the kid would have been called in as abandoned…  Stop spiraling, he scolded himself.  “How long have you been part of the program?” she asked, moving around behind the counter to clean up little messes here, imaginary spots there.  Inuyasha understood the need for movement when one felt uncomfortable.

“A few months.  It was my friend’s idea.”  He heard her pause.  He realized that it might sound like he wasn’t all that interested in this very big responsibility. “I-I wanted to do it. It’s important.”

A beep perked his ears and he glanced back to see Kagome put a pan of something into the small oven on the back counter.  “It is very important.  Especially for kids who don’t have a lot of positive role models.”  There was a repeat clicking sound as she set the timer.  “My younger brother was part of the program as a Little Brother when he was in middle school.”

“O-Oh yea?”  Inuyasha turned his body a bit so he could catch her gaze while still keeping an eye and ear on the kid.  “Are you… are your… Um.”

“My father died when we were pretty young.  Souta is six years younger than I am, so he never even knew him.”

“I’m sorry,” he responded a little awkwardly.  She shrugged.  “Did he feel like it was a good experience?”

“Yea.  He’s still in contact with his Big Brother.  He was even part of his wedding when he got married a few years ago.”  Inuyasha nodded appreciatively.  That’s the kind of experience he hoped he could give Shippou.  To be someone he could rely on.  Just need to figure out how to rely on myself.  “It looks like you’re a good fit.  He looks up to you, you know?”

Inuyasha blinked, staring at the young boy pouring over a colorful comic book with what looked like dragons on the cover.  “You think so?”  Shippou must have felt their attention, looking up before holding the paperback up for him to see the cover more clearly, grinning from ear to ear.  Inuyasha tossed him a thumbs up and a slight smile.

“Pretty sure,” she giggled.

“Kagome!  Are the sugar cookies ready for the decorating event?”  The pair startled from their comfortable lean on the counter at the male voice that sliced through the murmur of voices inside the shop.

“Oh!  Yes.  They’re all cooled, Nathan.”  Kagome pointed to the short rack of large cookie trays with nearly two dozen square cookies on them.  He could smell the vanilla and sugar from where he stood.  “I’m sorry, I have to get the tables set up.”  Inuyasha nodded, but felt a bit deflated at the lost chance to keep talking with her.  He actually liked talking with her.  It was honestly the first time he’d had that thought during conversation with a stranger.  A girl, at that!

“Keh.”  He paused.  “D-Do you need help?”

Kagome looked a little surprised, then smiled.  “That would actually be great.”  He checked in with Shippou, who was still flipping through comics, and got a waved hand and a sly grin in response.  Inuyasha chose not to rise to the bait in that grin, jumping back in to keep Kagome from dropping a very large folding table on her foot.

The pair of them continued to chat as he deftly unfolded the table, helping Kagome move the cafe tables around so they could fit more chairs into the small space.  It was easy talking with her, he noted, much more so than he ever would have imagined.  She was patient with his hesitations, never laughed when he said something slightly off.  Inuyasha barely felt the time fly by.  When children started gathering at the tables, most younger than Shippou, he almost wanted to shoo them away.  “Inuyasha…”

“Yea, I know.  I should get the kid home.”

“No.  Well… If you have to.”  He took in her scent, surprised by the disappointment coloring it.  Did she… not want him to leave?  “There’s another event for young readers next week, if you have another outing with Shippou.”

“I… Yea, I’ll bring it up to him.”  Inuyasha leveled her with a serious look for a moment.  “You’ll be here then too?”  The smile she gave him nearly stopped his heart.  She was so beautiful… and kind and sweet and… and…  “G-Good.  Maybe we’ll see you then.”  She nodded.  “Save a couple of those almond things for us, alright?  I’ll remember to bring cash next time.”  He turned to look for Shippou again, taking a breath to settle his heart.

“Inuyasha, wait!”  He stopped, spinning on his heel at her urgent call.  She nearly collided with his chest in an effort to catch him.  Inuyasha reached out to capture her elbows, not wanting her to tip backward.  “Take one for the road?” she breathed, her dark eyes drawing him in.  Her scent overpowered anything else in the cafe, even the previously overwhelming almond. Inuyasha found himself studying the way her personal fragrance tickled his senses, the feel of her soft skin against his fingertips. They both took a slightly shuddering breath, frozen in their half-embrace.

“Cool!  You gonna split that with me, Inuyasha?”  Shippou’s voice shocked them apart so fast, Kagome almost did stumble.  The hanyou finally noticed the partially wrapped almond croissant in her hands between them, which had been at severe risk of being squashed a moment before.  He smiled awkwardly, then accepted the pastry and softly thanked her.  He moved off with Shippou bouncing beside him in anticipation of his half.  “We’re so coming back here, aren’t we?” he asked when he finally had his piece and they were making their way back toward the public parking garage.  Inuyasha shrugged, trying - and failing - to be nonchalant.  “Yea, I thought so.  You toooootally love her,” he cackled.

“W-What?!  No!” Inuyasha balked at the bold statement.  The kitsune kit was absolutely in his element, giggling and taunting him as he skipped down the sidewalk.  “Hey Runt, that’s not funny.  Grown ups don’t just…” He hesitated, not because he wasn’t sure of the right explanation, but because it was hitting him that it was not an entirely off accusation.

“Fall in love at first sight?” Shippou crowed with glee.  Inuyasha snarled and snatched him up into a light headlock.  Shippou only delighted in the playful back and forth, Inuyasha unable to sternly refute the kit’s words.  What he did know was that they would be visiting the bookstore the following weekend. And likely the one after that, as long as Kagome was working again.  Might pick up a reading habit, he thought as they got into his car, half the pastry stuck in his mouth as he put on his seat belt.  There are worse things.

@lemonlushff, @fantastiqueparfait, @heavenin--hell, @clearwillow, @bearpluscat, @thunderpo, @keichanz, @meggz0rz, @disgruntledbeast, @sarah-writes-stories, @zelink-inukag, @rikareena, @cammysansstuff, @mcornilliac, @redflamesofpassion

I posted without tags the first and had to edit from memory!

[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 5 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Y/N notices Peter acting weird and possibly keeping secrets.  Now, when the National Decathlon rolls around, Peter continues to disappear at odd times.  Will Peter’s sudden disappearances get Y/N and Peter’s best friend Ned into trouble?  Has Liz finally changed her attitude towards Y/N?

Author’s Note: Oops.  Sorry, this took longer to write than I had wanted.  I was experiencing some major writers block, so this was a little bit more difficult to write.  This part also doesn’t have too much Peter and Y/N in it, so I also apologize for that.  As always, you might be lost if you haven’t read the parts before this, so click on the links below.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Word Count: 2,357

Warnings: swearing

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

I used to not believe in soulmates.  Even now, the concept of soulmates, destined to be together forever, seems slightly extreme.  But now that I’ve found mine, I guess I could understand where all of the hype comes from.

After the revealing of matching wrist tattoos between Peter and I, we’ve grown close.  I found myself opening up to him, which I subconsciously told myself I wouldn’t do again after being afraid of what Liz would do with my secrets.  He also told me his secrets.  Most of his secrets, anyway, except one.

What he’s keeping from me is still a complete mystery to me.  All I know is it’s big and it has something to do with why he left Liz’s party that one night and why he isn’t coming to Washington.

Well, he wasn’t until now.

“Mr.Harrington!  Mr.Harrington!  I’m coming and I want to join the team again,” says Peter, surprisingly not out of breath from running all the way down the sidewalk to meet up with the Decathlon team.

“Mr.Parker, I don’t think you sent me an email,” Mr.Harrington says, peering at Peter from over his glasses.

“Well, yeah… But I’m here now.”

What changed his mind?

“Hey!  He can’t join the team.  He said he quit and we’re literally about to leave, Mr.Harrington.”  Flash peeks his head outside of the bus window, bestowing his opinion on us all, as per usual.

“We haven’t left yet.  Mr.Parker… You’re always welcome to join us, but did you really have to run in on the last moment?”  Mr.Harrington glances down at his watch, checking the time.

“If he’s welcome that means he can come, right?”  I can’t help but cut in.  I have to admit I knew I was going to miss Peter if he didn’t come along to Washington. “I um… Yes, Mr.Parker can join us,” declares Mr.Harrington, grabbing Peter’s suitcase and loading it into the bus.

I beam at Peter and he grins back at me.

He climbs into the bus and takes a seat next to me.

“So what changed your mind?” I ask.

“Aunt May told me I should go and not miss the opportunity.’’

Is that the real reason?

“Oh,” I reply simply.  Peter takes my hand and interlocks our fingers.

It hasn’t exactly been established, but since Peter and I discovered we’re soulmates. Over the past few weeks, we’ve been ‘together’.  By that, I mean the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing, but those words seem too childish for big things like soulmates for life.

The rest of the bus ride is quiet except for the occasional banter between Flash and Mr.Harrington.  I put in earbuds and Peter leans his chocolate brown head on my shoulder, falling asleep.

Once we finally arrive at the hotel, Mr.Harrington realizes he only booked 5 rooms, which would force two of us to join separate two person rooms since he needed his own room.

I gladly volunteer Liz and I split up.  It would’ve been an unnecessary mess if we were forced to share a room together, like we had planned before everything happened.

“Alright so Liz Allen… You can share a room with-”

“Peter and Ned?  Y/N told me earlier she wants to share a room with girls,” Liz interrupts, smirking devilishly at me.

“I thought Y/N might want to share a room with Peter and Ned, considering…” Mr.Harrington looks at Peter and I’s connected hands.

“Isn’t that against school guidelines?  That wouldn’t be very professional for a school trip.” Liz maintains the annoyingly innocent look on her face while talking.

“I never asked to share a room with two girls.  Mr.Harrington, you know I wouldn’t do anything on a school trip when sharing a room with Peter and Ned-” I start.

“I think it would be best if you shared a room with Betty and MJ,” Mr.Harrington states.

This is not happening.  When will Liz stop trying to hijack anything?  I know Peter wouldn’t do anything with her, but what will Liz do?

I glare at Liz.  Beside me, Peter tenses up and looks at me.  I give him a look that says ‘we’ll be fine’.  He nods and lets go of my hand, grabbing his suitcase and walking to his room with Ned, Liz not far behind.

I turn around to face Betty and MJ, who’s got her arms crossed.  “Sorry you have to stay with us,” MJ says.

“I’m not angry that I’m staying with you guys, I’m pissed that Liz is staying with Peter and Ned,” I explain, irritated.  MJ and Betty are pretty chill for the most part and I don’t need them thinking I hate them or something.

Mr.Harrington hands us three room key cards.  I grab my suitcase and take the elevator with Betty and MJ to our room.

Liz obviously has some sort of plan to act out since she jumped so hastily on the opportunity to stay with Peter.  I thought we were done with this.  How could I have never realized my best friend was so cold and decisive?

I set my suitcase down against the wall.

“So whose bed is whose?”  I look between Betty and MJ, silently deciding I would rather sleep in the same bed as MJ.

“I require a good sleep and my body refuses to sleep well if there is someone else in the bed.  You and MJ can sleep in the same bed,” declares Betty.

“No thanks.  I’ll take the small couch,” MJ says, setting down her bag on the desk.

I shrug.  “Fine by me.”

I change in the bathroom and then climb into bed, falling into a restless sleep after thinking about what Liz and Peter are doing.

________Peter’s POV________ I’m wary about Liz sleeping in our room.  If worst comes to worst, I’ll just take the couch to sleep on.  No way I’m sleeping in the same bed as her.

“So Peter, who’s going to sleep in what bed?” Liz looks at me, winking suggestively.

“I’ll just take the couch.  You and Ned can have a bed each,” I say while grabbing my pajamas out of my suitcase and heading to the bathroom.

“Are you sure?  You and I could-” but Liz doesn’t get to finish her sentence before I’ve closed the bathroom door, blocking her out.

I get changed and then walk back out to the main area.  Liz is laying in her bed, reading a book.  Ned is already asleep.

I set up blankets on the couch and place down my pillow before Liz says something.

“So you and Y/N are together now, huh?  How did that happen?  What’d she say to make you get with her-”

“Y/N and I are soulmates, Liz.  There’s nothing you can do about that.  We’re quite happy, actually.”  I get under the blankets and face away from her.

“Oh.”

_________Liz’s POV________ They’re soulmates?  Honestly?

My insides feel empty and useless all of the sudden and I get a creeping, horrifying realization of what a complete fucking idiot I am.

I went through everything for this to happen?  I dumped a cup of party punch down the front of my best friend’s dress over this?  I ended our entire six years of friendship over this?  The entire time I didn’t have a clue that Peter and Y/N were soulmates.

To say I feel awful is an understatement.  I was such a bitch for nothing.  I really thought…

I really thought Peter was the one for me.

When I think about it in this moment, I guess the feeling wasn’t exactly as scientists describe soulmate connections.  It was more of an obsession rather than attraction to Peter.  I had liked him because he seemed so genuinely nice to me, opposed to how I felt everyone around me was acting like they enjoyed my company.

You have to find a way to make it up to Y/N, is the last thing I think before I fall asleep.

_________Y/N’s POV_________ The first couple days of the Washington trip were actually quite enjoyable.  Peter and I took a shit ton of pictures with Ned photo-bombing in each and every one, and we even got to see the White House, which wasn’t as exciting as I had imagined.  I’ve also noticed that Liz has been more quiet recently and not as obnoxious and pushy.

But today’s the day.  The National Decathlon.

Peter’s been disappearing at random times, which makes me anxious and further curious as to what his secret is.  Last night, everyone had snuck down to the pool and I saw Peter leaving his room, but fully dressed in a hoodie and carrying a backpack.  I had invited him to go down to the pool with me, but all he responded with was “I really wish I could, but I can’t,” before he left, walking the other direction.

It’s weird and really starting to actually hurt.  Why won’t he just tell me what his secret is?

“Everyone get on the bus.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… Nine?” Mr.Harrington looks around, confused.  “Where’s Peter Parker?”

I scan the room. 

Where the hell is Peter?

“Wow.  Turns out he was just in it for the cool trip.  What a shithead,” says Flash, who’s just in it for the cool trip.

“I’m sure he’s just taking a bit longer to get dressed…” I try to cover for Peter, but I don’t know why.  I don’t even have a clue as to where he could be right now.  I didn’t see him this morning…

I make eye contact with Liz.  She has a questionable glint in her eyes.  

Does she have something to do with this?

Liz makes her way over to me and whispers, “Do you know where he is?”

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”  I get the urge to be a brat.  It’s only fair, isn’t it?

Liz rolls her eyes.  “Seriously.  Peter’s, like, the best one on the team.”

Something tells me she’s not trying to trick me.  “No, I don’t know where Peter is.  I saw him leaving the hotel last night, but-”

“Miss Y/L/N, you saw Parker leaving last night?  Do you know what he was doing?  What were you doing last night?” probes Mr.Harrington, having apparently overheard us. 

“I don’t know what Peter was doing… I had gone down to get more towels… because I uh- I knocked over a glass of water during the night,” I lie to cover up for everyone else.  My teammates around me collectively let out a breath of relief.

“Alright, well… We’ll have to go on without Mr.Parker.”  Mr.Harrington continues herding us into the bus.

What?  After all of this and Peter isn’t going to compete at the National Decathlon?  What the fuck is he doing?

I grudgingly get on the bus and sit down next to Ned.

“Do you know where Peter went?”  I glance sideways at Ned, half-expecting him to burst out and tell me Peter’s secret.

“I uh...Nope.  I have no idea where Peter is.  Yep.  Asleep last night.  Wasn’t there this morning.  Totally have no idea.” Ned’s tone of voice and expression is suspicious, outright displaying the lie in his answer, but I don’t ask again.

The ride to the event center for the National Decathlon is short and we arrive within a few minutes.

The actual Decathlon goes by quickly.  The whole time, however, I’m distracted by worrying about the trouble Peter could be in right now.  Still, our team answers every question correctly and we actually win.

Everyone jumps up, Mr.Harrington is crying, MJ looks mildly pleased, and Flash looks surprised.

“There’s only one way to celebrate,” says Mr.Harrington through tears.  “We’re going to the Washington Monument.

Everyone cheers.  “Now THAT'S what I signed up for,” exclaims Flash.

I can’t help but feel even more uneasy.  

Will Peter miss out?  Why is no one else concerned about Peter?

I follow along with my team anyway.  

Everyone is going through the checking area.  I get a call from Peter.

Finally.  I immediately pick up.

“Is Ned with you, Y/N?  Tell Ned he needs to take the purple glowy thing out of his backpack!”  Peter’s voice sounds panicked from the other end of the phone.

While scanning our group for Ned, I answer back.  “Yeah, Ned’s with me.  Where are you Peter?  Where have you been?  What the hell is ‘the purple glowy thing’?”

“I’ll answer all of your questions later, trust me.  Did Ned take the thing out of his backpack?

I find Ned and hold the phone slightly away from my ear so I can talk to him.  “Ned, Peter says to take the ‘purple glowy thing’ out of your backpack, whatever that is.”  

Ned looks worried.  “Why?  Did he say?  Why didn’t he just call me?”

“Ned asks why you didn’t call him.  I think his backpack has already gone through the scanner so he can’t take anything out.”  The lady in the personal scanning area gives me a look that says ‘put your phone away now, stupid teenager’.

“I tried to call Ned but he wouldn’t pick up!  The scanner?  Where are you guys?”  Peter’s voice goes up a few pitches, meaning he’s extremely on edge.

“We’re about to get in the elevator for the Washington Monument.  You should be here.  Are you okay, Peter?”

“The Washington Monument?!  Shit.”  After Peter finishes his sentence, the guard lady comes up to me and tells me to put my phone away.

Peter never curses.

“Peter I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Wait, no,Y/N, if anything happens, know I lo-”  His voice gets cut off when I hang up and shove my phone into my backpack.

We all cram into the elevator and the tour guide instantly starts reciting history. It’s nice for a while up until I notice a purple glow coming from Ned’s backpack. I nudge Ned and point to his backpack, sending him a look that says ‘What the fuck?’.

Then, an explosion goes off.

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

Hey, so guess you’ll have to come back to see if you (Y/N) die or not.  Thanks for reading!

@disfunctionalcellmembrane @marvel4geeks @ilovesupersoldiers @sovereignparker @averyfosterthoughts

Part 6

[artificialqueens]

star-uncrossed [jackie x jan] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - this is a prologue of sorts to ‘i do like you’ but it’s mostly just more jackie and jan fluff featuring my favourite dialogue ive ever written. hope you enjoy it! <3

*

They meet on their first day of college and fall in love. Okay it’s not that simple but they do meet on the first day of college and they do fall in love.

Jan didn’t read the email properly.

(She’s from Jersey, screw it, she knows New York and she doesn’t need to read some stupid instructions to find her way around.)

She didn’t read the email properly so she ends up outside the Lillian Verge school for International Relations even though she enrolled in Tisch and quite frankly she’s just incredibly confused. And then she meets a sweet girl with dark brown hair and a loosely Canadian accent and she finds herself feeling a little bit less lost.

“You okay?” The stranger asks with a kind smile. “You seem lost.” And Jan smiles because goddamn, only she could be a damsel in distress in a city that she’s known for years.

“Just a little,” she admits as she stares at the name on the buildings signs - hoping maybe they’ll transform and she can just walk into her 10 am seminar on Performance Movement.

The pretty lady chuckles and bows her head. “What school are you in?” She asks, “you don’t strike me as an international relations student.”

Jan wants to be indignant, play the can’t judge a book by its cover card but she’s dressed in tight leggings and a pair of worn Nikes with a hoodie from her last regional theatre performance and a dance bag slung over her shoulder. She takes a second to look over the brunette and realises that if Jan doesn’t look like an IR major - she most certainly does. She has a white button-down tucked into a pair of light-wash-straight-leg jeans with a beige and red silk bandana in her hair and a leather satchel.

“Tisch,” Jan responds, doing a little twirl for emphasis because if she’s going to be seen as a ditsy blonde theatre major she might as well do it right but the response isn’t what she was expecting.

“Damn, you must have real talent.” The brunette says with genuine sincerity.

Jan decides she wants to marry her on the spot.

The woman pulls out her phone and fires off a quick text before she looks at Jan again. “I was just letting my friend know I’ll be late for brunch,” she states quickly as if it is normal to adjust brunch plans for someone you have never met before and then she grabs her wrist and starts walking.

It’s a fourteen-minute walk down ninth street followed by a three-minute walk down the second avenue in which Jan learns both everything and nothing about the stranger. She learns she’s supposed to be meeting her old pen-pal for lunch near Parsons because she’s an international student from Paris, that she’s fluent in French and Farsi and that she’s lived alone in New York for two years since she turned sixteen because she values life experiences over possessions.

In return Jan lets her know that she’s allergic to shellfish, will do anything for a smoothie and is gay as all hell prompting an in-depth discussion about the rights of LGBT people across the world, a topic that Jan was vastly underprepared to discuss at 10:03 on a Tuesday.

They arrive at Tisch with a start and out of breath but Jan has to stand there a minute longer before she can brace herself to go in.

“You look like you carry a pen,” Jan says, causing the Brunette to raise an eyebrow (although she reaches into her back pocket and produces one anyway). Jan grabs her hand and scrawls her number on it in a veritable chicken scratch before she hands it back.

“I’m Jan,” she says with a smile and an open palm.

“Jackie,” then non-stranger replies.

(Jan starts her first semester at Tisch on a negative grade. It’s worth it.)

*

Jackie texts her at three in the morning asking if she’d like to go for a smoothie tomorrow and Jan replies asking if it will be postponed due to her inhuman kindness.

(Jackie responds not to bite the hand that feeds you but she’s delirious and there is definitely a french word thrown in there somewhere.)

The brunette is laid across the end of Nicky’s bed waxing poetic about Jan’s blue eyes as she had been for three and a half hours and the Frenchwoman is getting very close to kicking her longest friend out of her dorms and forcing her to walk to her own apartment for the night but she knows there would be no point.

They’ve been pen pals since they were seven having long rambling conversations in french through decorated envelopes and sticker-covered letters. As they got older the letters for longer and they evolved into care packages too. Boxes would arrive full of foreign candies and stationery and a book here or there. One year, close to Jackie’s birthday, Nicky sent her a pair of fluffy socks and the letter she received back was tear-stained.

Nicky runs a hand through Jackie’s hair and sighs.

“”This sounds remarkable simple you know,” She offers up with a wry smile and exasperated tone.

“Yeah but it’s not,” whines Jackie in response as she rolls onto her front and lets out a dramatic sigh. “She’s cute and blonde and knows about gay rights.”

“I’m cute and blonde and know about gay rights,” Nicky reminds her.

“Yeah but you’re french,” Jackie responds with her tongue stuck out.

“God. you’re like Romeo and bloody Juliet, what was it - Star crossed lovers?” Nicky grabs a shirt out of her draw and tosses it so it lands on her friends head. “You’re making it so fucking hard for yourself. You’re basically star-uncrossed lovers. There is literally no issue.”

Jackie presses her face into the duvet and moans. “That made no sense you french son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, but you understood me.”

(She did and she’s not happy about it. The whole thing is refreshingly uncomplicated and that makes her very nervous.)

*

Jan wakes up and texts Jackie that it is raining. It’s not that she’s never encountered this before - she just feels the need to share it with someone and Jackie seems appropriate.

Jackie sends back a smiley face and a request for the address of Jan’s dorm and when Jan responds, she tacks on that she will meet her in the lobby at eleven.

Looking at her purple alarm clock, Jan has the realisation that it’s ten am on a Wednesday and she is yet to leave her bed so she rolls out of bed, hits her hand on the drawer of her bedside table, yanks her phone off the charging cable and takes herself to the bathroom she shares with the rest of the floor before deeming that her hair does not need a wash.

(It probably does but it’s dyed a much lighter shade of blonde than it is naturally so she doesn’t want it to fade and she’s not feeling a cold shower this morning.)

By the time she has dressed herself the rain bounces a few inches off the ground and the roads have turned into rivers which is why it is all the more adorable that Jackie meets her in the lobby with a massive black umbrella. She holds her hand up (she’s written Jan on it in black marker) and waves like she’s in an airport which only makes the blonde scrunch her face up in happiness even more.

“Morning!” Jan exclaims with a huge smile and an enduring positivity.

“Morning Jan,” Jackie smiles back, linking their arms and settling the umbrella above their heads so they can walk through the automatic doors and onto the still busy streets.

They banter and bicker the whole way through smoothie bowls whether it’s over the best Disney film (Jackie says Beauty and the Beast but is entirely willing to watch them all with Jan to make sure), guilty pleasure foods (Jan waves her EpiPen as she raves about cocktail shrimp) and their respective majors.

By the end of it, Jan’s learnt her fingers fit perfectly between Jackies and she’s just about ready to put down a deposit on a three-bed two-bath house in Harlem.

They wander home in the early afternoon sunshine, fingers loosely intertwined and Jackie realises quickly that they could count quarters together and she’d be entertained.

They kiss in the lobby and Jan watches the way Jackie’s eyes flit from her lips to her eyes and back down before going in for a second. And then a third. And her mouth tastes like cherry and somehow cinnamon and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get a smoothie again without recognising the taste.

*

“It’s so easy,” Jan moans with her head on Gigi’s lap. The taller girl is paying very little attention to the blonde but still cards her fingers through her hair occasionally as she sketches a blazer.

Gigi goes to Parsons but her accommodation got messed up so she ended up next door to Jan and they became friends rather fast. Gigi would define friends as someone she tolerates and Jan would define friends as her heart and soul so they both get everything they want out of the situation.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an emotionally distant bitch,” Jan asked over pot noodles the day they first met.

Gigi smiled and said thank you and that was that so now Jan is disregarding any requests for personal space and is quite happy to just exist in Gigi’s gorgeously decorated dorm room and pilfer the french candy that she gets from a ‘friend’ who Jan happens to know is very loud in bed.

“I really don’t see the issue,” Gigi replies, looking down at the blonde with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Jan states passively. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now stand up so I can measure your proportions.”

*

‘Did you know that in the war, Oscars were made of plaster?’

‘Did you know that the gestation of the Indian Elephant is 22 months?”

‘Did you know I love you?’

*

Turns out it’s absolutely that simple.

[tsthrace]

White Knuckles

Awhile back, I asked y’all to send me a song so I could take its energy, lyrics, and/or feeling and write you a 1,000-word Clexa fic.

This one shot meandered way beyond 1,000 words. It’s based on White Knuckles by Tegan and Sara, as requested by @damiana-atx.

Angsty academia AU. No content warnings except for some swearing.

You can also find it on ao3.

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

“Fuck, this is good,” Clarke said aloud to no one as she tossed the journal on the table. She leaned back in her chair. Godlessness Centered: Negotiating Queerness in The Left Hand of Darkness by Alexandria J. Woods, PhD. When Clarke had first picked up the journal, she scoffed. The Left Hand of Darkness? Really? And queerness? How overdone.

But it was brilliant. A discourse on Le Guin’s own spirituality and how it defied casual dualities.

I should have thought of that.

She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes.

---

Lexa smoothed the lapels on her blazer, though they were already perfectly flat. She gazed at herself in the hotel mirror, staring at the buttons on her shirt. She had a choice to make—the choice of the one awkward button. Button it, and she would seem, well, buttoned-up, uptight. But unbuttoned, it was a bit...revealing. There was no middle ground.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a breath. Then buttoned the button.

---

They met in Bloomington, Indiana. All the sci fi literature conferences seemed to be in random small cities in the Midwest. They were strange events. Mostly men in khaki and tweed carrying beat-up leather satchels, experts on Vonnegut and Wells (H.G., that is). But there was also the overt geek element. Undergrad boys carrying frayed copies of Asimov and Gaiman, their laptops covered in Star Trek and My Little Pony stickers, and the occasional girl wearing a Strong Female Character t-shirt.

Then there was Lexa, sharp in a plain black cashmere sweater and grey herringbone slacks, her glasses suggesting both intelligence and the ability to break you. The geeks followed her but kept an admiring distance.

Clarke, for some reason, seemed more approachable. As she sipped her gin and tonic at the hotel bar, the kids (as she called college students) would creep up to her, their eyes down.

“Dr. Griffin?” they’d ask.

“Call me Clarke,” she’d say, smiling.

“I just had some questions on your takedown of the Darkover series.”

Clarke would always give them about twenty minutes then politely end the conversation, turning back to her drink.

She had had three such conversations when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Clarke didn’t mind the attention, but she was getting tired. She spun around, ready to dismiss herself.

“Dr. Griffin.” Lexa stood above her.

“Dr. Woods,” Clarke replied, nodding politely. She had read all of Lexa’s work. She had to. They were two of the only feminist sci fi lit scholars who were regularly publishing. But they’d never actually met.

“I don’t really prefer the term ‘doctor.’” Lexa said, looking just past Clarke. “It’s a little....” She didn’t finish her thought. After a moment she tilted her head. “Do you really think we should stop reading Bradley because of her scandal?”

Clarke put her drink down. “Scandal is kind of an understatement. And I didn’t say we should stop. I just said it’s hard.”

Without invitation, Lexa sat down at Clarke’s table. “If we bring every artist’s personal life into how we engage with their work, we probably won’t be able to enjoy anything.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a modernist.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That sometimes shitty people create amazing art.” Lexa’s eyes lit up with her smile, like she was issuing a friendly challenge.

“Are you flirting with me?” Clarke returned her version of the same smile.

Lexa sat back and shrugged. She took a sip of her martini.

---

A few hours later, Clarke was sprawled across Lexa’s bed looking up, her hair in tangles across the pillow, a corner of the sheet pulled over her midsection. Lexa was curled up next to her, sweaty and wondering what just happened. She took a few breaths, looking for words. She squinted to herself, couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt Clarke shuffle a bit and prepared for the awkward banter that would come when they’d get up to look for their clothes.

“Do you believe in God?” Clarke asked instead. She didn’t get up.

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God?” Her tone was so casual.

“I...I don’t know.” Lexa looked up at the ceiling. She suddenly felt cold and reached down for a blanket. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I do,” Clarke said, not answering the question.

“Why?”

“I just look around this world, and it seems pretty incredible to me. Like it wasn’t an accident. Someone had to have created all this. Created us. Then made us creators.” Clarke shook her head and looked past Lexa. “It all seems like such a miracle.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lexa felt her face crumple.

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know. I do like the idea of the trinity.”

“When I grew up, my parents took me to one of those born again churches.” Lexa looked down. “It was mostly Jesus. I mean, I know what the trinity is, but…” Why was she telling her this?

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Clarke shook her head. “Not like God as some guy who makes you love him or else you burn in hell. That’s bullshit.”

Lexa squinted.

“The trinity. It’s like a dance between these three ways God reveals herself.” Clarke smiled. “It’s beautiful actually.” She looked at Lexa. “Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Lexa side-eyed her. “Clarke, I’m a sci fi scholar.”

“Okay, so there’s Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which…”

They stayed up the rest of the night, moving from L’Engle to Shelley to Jemisin and the spiritual worlds of their stories. Evil and suffering, goodness and hope. Retribution, sacrifice, and justice. Beauty and joy. Mouth to neck, hands to curves, skin to skin.

By dawn, Lexa had found God.

---

Lexa went back to UC Irvine and Clarke returned to her adjunct job at Georgetown, but they emailed constantly. Long, meandering messages about particular chapters of The Stone Sky and Spinning Silver. Clarke sent her Marilynne Robinson essays, and Lexa responded with questions. Together, they laid theologies over imagined worlds, mapped them out and connected them to other imagined worlds. They took down Ender’s Game, built up The Hainish Cycle, and even let themselves dabble in Stardust, which they both had to admit they secretly admired. Back and forth, tens of thousands of words over the course of months. They only talked on the phone a few times, but the emails were constant.

Not long into their messages, Clarke had mentioned how her father had died when she was young. Lexa hinted at being on her own at age 16. These details were wrapped in blankets of analysis and metaphor, the theological undercurrents of the imagined worlds they studied, the anthropology of beings who only existed on pages and in minds.

They made plans to meet in Cleveland to present together at a lit crit conference. A week before, Lexa bailed. “Sorry,” the text said. “An emergency came up.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke responded.

Nothing.

The conference was rough. Clarke knew it would be, but she thought she’d have Lexa’s powerful presence demanding attention. The lit crit crowd all secretly loved what they called “genre” fiction—sci fi and fantasy—but they publicly derided it as “unserious” or “not literary.” She held her own, but it wasn’t fun.

She texted Lexa when she got back to her hotel room. “Wish you had been here. Same straight white male bullshit as usual.”

Silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Clarke texted a few days later. At that point, though, she knew Lexa was gone.

A heaviness set in on her. Clarke reread their messages looking for hints, but Lexa’s words seemed wide open, even joyful. What happened?

She immersed herself in a chapter she was writing for a textbook on book fandoms and lecturing on feminism and postmodernism in Harry Potter—not her favorite topic, but it was a popular course. She had almost let herself forget about Lexa when, six months later, she was flipping through Foundation: The Journal of Science Fiction and saw her byline in the table of contents. Justice & Joy: The God Revealed in the Feminist Imagination. By Alexandria J. Woods, PhD.

Clarke turned to page 137 and ran her eyes down the columns. She bit her lip. The essay was essentially a catalog of their emails, one idea bridged skillfully to another by Lexa’s pointed and lucid prose. But they weren’t just Lexa’s ideas. They weren’t just Clarke’s, either, but a stream of their thoughts flowing together like a river. It was beautifully done.

Clarke didn’t notice that her hands were balled into fists until she felt her nails cutting into the skin. She opened her laptop and pulled up the messages. Lexa had been careful to rephrase Clarke’s words, but it was all there, even with citations of Marilynne Robinson. The Death of Adam.

Clarke pounded out an email. How dare you...couldn’t even ask for me to be a coauthor...you hadn’t even thought about these things until you met me. She knew Lexa wouldn’t see it. She probably had blocked her address. She didn’t bother hitting send.

Her face fell into her hands. She remembered that night in San Diego. Lexa’s smile—that curiosity despite herself. The way her hands traced the skin over Clarke’s side.

That woman wouldn’t have done this. But there it was. Twenty-six pages of shared conversation now claimed for Lexa only.

---

Clarke’s department was buzzing about it the next day. The religious studies chair was also a huge geek who kept up with Foundation, and he had been blown away by how seamlessly interdisciplinary the article was. “I hadn’t thought to connect the Christian trinity and A Wrinkle in Time, but it’s really so obvious when you think about it.”

Clarke seethed. She thought about printing up the emails, sending them to Foundation and the UC Irvine Disciplinary Committee, but something stopped her. Allegations of plagiarism would ruin Lexa’s career as a scholar. And was it really plagiarism? Clarke wanted to be sure, but she wasn’t.

So she wrote instead. A deep and cutting rebuttal highlighting where Alexandria J. Woods’ religious arguments were rudimentary at best, illustrating how shallow her connections were, and then plunging further, mining Catherine Keller and other theologians for an even deeper exploration of the worlds of Butler and Clarke (Arthur C., that is). Foundation published her essay the next quarter. Lexa answered, bringing in Buddhism and Humanism. A spotlight grew around their debate, so they continued writing—back and forth between literary, cultural, and religious journals. WIRED magazine picked up the story: Feuding Feminists Shifting the Sci Fi Landscape.

That’s when the invites started rolling in. A conference on spirituality and pop culture invited them to speak on a panel together, but Clarke refused. She couldn’t bear to see Lexa in person. Instead, she accepted an invitation to lecture at NYU while Lexa spoke at Cal.

Clarke’s classes filled with long waitlists every semester, her success intertwined with Lexa’s and their endless intellectual feud. They both thrived. Lexa’s ideas sharpened Clarke’s, and Clarke’s sharpened Lexa’s. She couldn’t admit it, but she needed Lexa as much as she despised her.

---

Lexa was in her office when the call came.

“Dr. Woods?” A male voice.

“It’s Professor Woods.”

“Excuse me, Professor Woods,” he corrected himself. “This is Dr. William Porter at Georgetown. The chair of the Department of English.”

Lexa felt something jump in her chest. “Good morning.”

“I’m calling because a very generous donor has recently endowed a tenure-track professorship here specifically for women in science fiction studies.”

“You’re kidding me.” it felt like a prank, and a mean one at that. Lexa had never heard of such a thing.

“Uh, no.” Dr. Porter seemed thrown off. “We’re inviting only a few people to apply, and you’re on our short list. Is this something you’d be interested in?”

They hung up with lingering plans to arrange flights and meetings.

Lexa sat for a few minutes, her fingers tapping idly on her closed laptop. Clarke would be one of the other candidates—and maybe the only other candidate—she was sure. She looked down and shook her head, thinking back to that day when she made the worst decision of her life.

She had printed out some of the emails she had sent Clarke to reference them against some short stories when the dean knocked on her door. He noticed a copy of L’Engle’s Walking on Water open on her desk.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Uh, just a side project I’m working on.” Her face burned with the exposure of her new interest in religious studies.

“Mind if I look?” he asked, picking up one of the print-outs before she could answer.

She bit her lip as he read, his forehead creasing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. “Professor Woods, this is good stuff.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. I’ve been working with Professor Griffin at Georgetown—”

“But these are your words, right?”

“Yeah, what you’re holding. That’s mine.”

“You need to publish this. It could be really good for you and the department.”

“Yeah, Professor Griffin and I—”

“Lexa,” he said in that kind but firm I’m-A-Man-In-Charge voice, “there’s a distinction to be made between attribution and inspiration. I’m inspired every day by the ocean, by James Joyce.” Lexa hid her contempt. Scholars who pretended to understand Joyce were pretentious liars. “But I’m not citing them.”

“Dr. Titus.” Her voice was firm. “I couldn’t have written that without Professor Griffin.”

“Professor Woods.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This department doesn’t need a co-authored paper with someone from Georgetown. We need a win.” He tapped the paper. “These are your words. Are they the product of a broader conversation? Sure, but what isn’t?” He looked out the window at the budding trees. “We took a chance on your genre work. And I’m seeing some good stuff. But I need to see more if we’re going to keep you on.”

Lexa looked past Dr. Titus and took in a silent breath. Jobs in her specialty was rare. UC Irvine had invested more than most schools to create a department where someone like her could thrive. She nodded.

“Get me an abstract and outline next week,” the dean said. “The managing editor at Foundation is a former student.”

When he left, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She would need to cancel her panel with Clarke in Cleveland. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to look at her again.

---

Clarke let out a deep breath as she stepped into the crisp fall air. It had been a long day of interviews. She stopped on the stairs. She knew Lexa was close by. She had to be. They were the two people in the country most qualified for the job. She’d been on these interview panels before. Two, sometimes three, a day, candidates rotating between deans and panels. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet.

She shook her head. Maybe she should have said something about that first paper. The job would be hers if she had. But would she even be considered without that paper? It had launched her career. Her public debate with Alexandria J. Woods, PhD, got her lectures around the country, a longform article in The Atlantic, and the keynote spot at conferences that two years ago would have never taken her seriously. Their refusal to appear together added to their mystique. Geeks and academics alike lined up on reddit and twitter to take sides.

Her success was bound to Lexa’s, two sides of the same double helix.

She bundled a scarf around her neck. It didn’t matter where Lexa was. Clarke loved the work she did, and she had rocked the interviews. But she was tired. It was time for a drink. She pulled out her phone to call a Lyft. Something about the fading purple sky changed her mind, though, and she decided to walk.

The cobblestones on O Street felt somehow comforting under her feet. Solid. Old. Not going anywhere. She thought about calling Dr. Reyes from the engineering department to join her—Raven was always good for either a loud night of much alcohol or a quiet night of raw, stinging truth—the latter of which was why Clarke had never told her all that had happened with Lexa. She shook her head. Maybe she just needed some gin and silence.

She sat at the bar at L’Annexe and ordered a Tom Collins. Bartenders always smiled curiously at her when she ordered one. Funny, you don’t look like a 75 year-old man to me. She’d smile back impatiently. Just make my damn drink. When the drink arrived, she took a sip and let out a deep breath as the gin started to glow through her. No one can fuck up a Tom Collins. It was simple and always felt good and sharp and bright going down.

She was halfway through her drink when a man sat next to her and ordered a scotch. Clarke glanced at his plaid scarf, wool sweater, and worn leather shoulder bag. Definitely a TA. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “You teach that Harry Potter course.”

Clarke’s stifled a sigh. “That’s me.” She tilted her head back and drank the rest of her Tom Collins in one swig.

“Can I get you another?”

“No,” she said, picking up her bag. She made eye contact with the bartender. “I need to pay.”

“Whoa,” the man in the scarf said, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to be alone.” Clarke nodded towards the guy sitting on the other side of him. “Maybe you can be nice to him.” She dropped some cash on the check that had arrived and made her way to the door.

It was darker outside than when she’d arrived. And colder. She buttoned her wool coat and started making her way down Pennsylvania Ave. towards the bus stop.

---

Lexa was sipping a Syrah at a window table when she saw Clarke walk by outside. She took in a breath, remembering how Clarke’s eyes got soft when she asked, “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. She could just let her keep going, and they could go on avoiding each other forever. Unless Lexa got the job.

Shit.

She grabbed her coat, leaving a $20 under her mostly full glass. By the time Lexa got out the door, Clarke was halfway down the block, almost lost in a crowd of loud students. Lexa didn’t button her coat, and it billowed out as she jogged down the street.

“Clarke!” she shouted as she got closer. She saw Clarke stop, her back straighten and stiffen. She didn’t turn around.

---

Clarke wanted to be angry. When she heard that voice, she wanted to spin on her heel and unleash a cascade of expletives that would make the passersby uncomfortable. She not only wanted Lexa to hear the words traitor, cheat, betrayed, she wanted her to feel the force of them rip through her body like a landmine.

But she froze. When she heard that voice, she felt tears sting at the corner of her eyes. She felt a slow storm in her chest, all rain and no lighting. She closed her eyes. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was heaviness. She held her breath and waited.

When she opened her eyes, Lexa was in front of her, her eyes uncertain and her arms folded in front of her. “Hey…” she said after a few moments.

Clarke bit into her lip, hoping not to draw blood. She looked up, her blue eyes blazing, about to spark. She could tell Lexa was waiting for her to say something, so she stayed silent.

Lexa nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s, but she refused to respond.

“I don’t expect you to understand...” Lexa trailed off. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” She looked past Clarke to a stoplight turning from yellow to red.

Lexa’s open coat revealed a gray plaid suit, smart and uncompromising, the top button studiously and chastely buttoned. So she had interviewed today. In this moment, though, it all felt wrong. Lexa seemed so small to Clarke. She wasn’t the woman she met at the hotel that night, but she also wasn’t the woman who submitted that article. This woman was drawn in on herself, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. Clarke remained silent.

Lexa sucked in her lips. “I know you probably hate me, and I get it.” She looked down. “I hate me, too.”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was deep and quiet. “You don’t get to do that.” She felt confused when she saw a shadow of relief cross Lexa’s face.

“You’re right,” Lexa said. “That’s not fair.” She took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to tell them.” She looked Clarke in the eye. “I’m going to tell Georgetown, and I’m going to tell Foundation. I’ll—”

“Don’t.” Clarke cut her off. “It’s done.”

“But—”

“Fuck you, Lexa.” She barely looked at her as pushed past, a slow fire burning through her as she walked briskly towards Dupont Square.

---

Lexa was freezing by the time she got back to her hotel room. She had stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Clarke get smaller and smaller. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Forgiveness? Punishment? Clarke had given her neither, which is what she knew she deserved.

She had never written a paper more carefully, never thought about the ideas so closely, never danced so delicately around sentence structure and tense. In a twisted way, she was proud of it. It was sophisticated but accessible, and completely defensible. Even if Clarke had tried to accuse her, she was sure she would have won.

She shook her head sharply. That’s not who I am. But it was. She was intelligent and ambitious and ready for a breakthrough. She knew Titus had been threatening her, but she also knew that what she had been writing with Clarke was good. Really good. She had never felt so alive in her work as when she was in conversation with Clarke. No one had ever challenged or inspired her like that. Even after that first paper, her debates with Clarke from essay to essay were electric, almost feverish. Clarke tapped something in her that was insatiable.

She picked up her laptop and opened some of the first emails she and Clarke had exchanged after Bloomington. She couldn’t help but smile. There had been a giddiness to them, this breathless excitement to constantly share new discoveries, interesting connections. They had sent seven, sometimes eight, messages a day. Thousands of words.

And that night in Bloomington.

She closed the laptop. Was it worth it? For months, Lexa had tried to convince herself that it had just been one night, that she didn’t even really know Clarke. When she saw Clarke on that sidewalk tonight, though, she knew that was all bullshit.

They had been falling for each other the best way they knew how. Lexa had betrayed all of it.

—-

Lexa was sitting on the floor outside Clarke’s office when she arrived the next morning.

Clarke sighed. “Seriously?” She didn’t look at her as she slid her key in the lock. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting to cancel.” Lexa shrugged, not getting up.

Clarke pushed her door open. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Dr. Woods.”

“I withdrew my name.”

Clarke froze. “Why?” Clarke noticed jeans and a sweater under Lexa’s coat. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was serious.

“You know why.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Lexa said steadily as she stood up. The smallness from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders thrown back. “I don’t know who else they’re interviewing, but I’m not your competition anymore.” She swallowed and looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your competition anymore.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to say, Good luck, Dr. Woods, and close the door behind her, but instead she felt herself pushing the door open, heard herself saying, “Come in.”

Lexa bit her lip. “You sure?”

Clarke nodded and ushered her in. The door clicked as it closed behind them. Clarke set her bag down and sat at her desk. She shook her head, frustrated. “I just want to hate you. That’s all. I want to tell you to fuck off, and I want to go on with my life.”

Lexa sat in the reading chair in the corner of Clarke’s office. She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Then why don’t you?”

Clarke huffed, a cynical laugh. “I can’t get away. You’re everywhere.” She threw up her hands. “I saw you on the fucking New Yorker site this morning. How did you land that?” A rhetorical question. “I assign your essays for my classes. I have to. I hate how good you are.”

“You’re good, too, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. She looked up. “Very good. I keep researching and writing because you keep responding.”

Clarke closed her eyes. She knew it was the same for her, but she didn’t want to say it. Finally she looked up. “Why did you do it?”

Lexa looked past her at Clarke’s diplomas on the wall. Undergrad at Cornell. She shook her head, almost said I don’t know, but she didn’t want to lie. “I wanted to do something big.” She gathered the courage to look at Clarke’s face. “I wanted to do it with you, but my dean pressured me to take solo authorship.” She closed her eyes, ashamed. “And I was a coward.”

“Yeah.” Clarke leaned back in her chair. “You were.”

Everything that came into Lexa’s head to say felt like an excuse, so she kept her mouth shut. They both did, the loud ticking of the cheap clock on the wall cutting through the silence.

Finally Clarke shook her head. A corner of her mouth curved up. “It was really beautifully done.”

Lexa looked up, her head tilted.

“I was so fucking angry, Lexa.” Clarke breathed out like she was letting something go. “I should have been a coauthor, but, fuck, it was well written. Like it was on a whole other level.”

Lexa’s green eyes were bright as they locked in on Clarke’s. “You inspire me, Dr. Griffin.” She sat back. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused and sucked in her lips. “I think we should write a book together.”

As soon as Clarke heard the words, she knew it was a good idea. Maybe the best idea. But all that would come out was, “Fuck you, Lexa.” It was almost a laugh.

Lexa’s face was stone, but her eyes were alive. “An editor already approached me. If I brought you on…”

“You can’t buy your way out of the shitty thing you did, Lexa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa ran her hand over her hair then looked up, her face suddenly soft. “I meant it, Clarke. I’m better with you.” She shrugged. “And I think you’re better with me, too.”

Clarke bit her lip. She took in a heavy breath, and let it out in a long sigh. She stood up. “Come here.”

Lexa squinted her eyes.

“Just come here, please. You owe me that.”

Lexa stood up in front of Clarke. Clarke lifted her hand to her face and leaned in, her lips barely touching Lexa’s. Lexa didn’t move, but Clarke felt her shiver. She leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she pulled back.

“I just…” Clarke didn’t know where the end of that sentence was supposed to go, and she didn’t tried to find it. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Lexa as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

Lexa held her breath.

Finally Clarke smiled, almost laughing at herself. “That’s not a yes, Dr. Woods. But it’s not a no.”

[bonjourmoncher]

You can contact Hamilton Lindley by: Phone at 254-759-5866 Email at hpl@hamiltonlindley.com And mail at 1020 N. University Parks Drive, Waco, TX 76706

After ten years in Dallas, Hamilton Lindley moved his family of five to the home of the Baylor Bears. Hamilton P Lindley realized the brainwashing of his daughter was complete after she believed that the Baylor Bear mascots hibernate only after “eating all them Longhorns.” If you have the desire to see too many photos of Hamilton Lindley’s family, you can find Hamilton Philip Lindley on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Instagram.

Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?

Busy people can be incredibly difficult to connect with.

You know the drill. You send an email, then you wait. And wait. And wait some more. You get no reply, so you try again. More of the same. Eventually, you give up.

If this sounds familiar, well, you’re not alone. Most men have struggled, at some point in their career, to try to connect with someone who is incredibly busy. Whether it’s a potential employer, a possible mentor, a dream client, or even just to connect with a girl so you can ask her out on a date, contacting a busy person can be very difficult.

Does that mean you give up? Heck no. Often, there is a good reason why busy people are so busy. Namely, it is because they are successful, and they’re successful because they are smart and well-connected and have access to resources or knowledge that might make all the difference in the world to you…if you can just break through.

But if you’re like most men, you’ve struggled with trying to figure out how to go about making that contact. How can you get the person’s attention? What should you say and how do you say it? Where do you even start? Should you follow-up if they ignore you? And new means of communication in the form of social media, Skype, text messaging, and blog commenting has made this issue even more confusing and challenging.

Throughout my career, I’ve tested just about every different approach for contacting busy people. I’ve also spent the past 2+ years reaching out to very busy entrepreneurs and authors to appear as guests on my podcast. I’ve tried techniques that work like a charm and other strategies that are guaranteed to bomb. Below, I include the best of what has worked for me.

Art of Manliness has previously covered how to write an email that will get a response. In this article, however, I want to share more of an overarching approach which can be (and often is) implemented using email, but which is also medium-agnostic. Email is what I’ve used the most and is still an effective vehicle. However, you should also consider other approaches such as face-to-face and social media where appropriate. To contact AoM’s reclusive McKays, you’ll even need to be willing to write a good old-fashioned letter! (Word is if they start getting too much snail mail to handle, they’re going to move to requiring messages by homing pigeon.)

Although it can feel like a daunting task trying to connect with a busy person, the rewards when you succeed can often be game-changing. You just have to be smart about how you make your first move.

Put Yourself in Their Shoes

At the outset, you must understand that busy people get hundreds, if not thousands, of requests for help, aide, or resources every week. Not surprisingly, a large portion of them look and sound exactly the same. “Can you help me?” “Can I pick your brain?” “I’ve got an awesome idea that I know you’re gonna love!”

Don’t kid yourself. You might think your request is incredibly original or immensely valuable to the busy person, but they’ve probably already heard it before (A new app that will make you more productive? NO WAY!) Naturally, they’re going to be a little apprehensive.

Before you even think about reaching out, you need to get your mindset right. Even if you have the best of intentions, and think your request is a relatively minor one, don’t expect an answer. By definition, “busy” people can’t possibly respond to every inquiry. They’re not being rude — they’re just prioritizing. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be as successful as they are.

According to Steve Pavlina, author of Personal Development for Smart People, “If you can accept that busy people must triage in order to be effective and have a life, and you can respect them for setting priorities, you’ll have a much better shot at building a bridge with them.”

Here are 8 tips for contacting a busy person:

1. Try to Connect Before You Ask for Anything

The worst way of contacting a busy person is to ask them for something in your first attempt to connect with them. A much better approach is to reach out and contact the person long before you ever actually ask for anything.

One way to do this is via social media. Look for creative ways to quote, feature, or mention the busy person, by including them in a blog post or article you are writing, and then share it with them afterwards via social media. A single tweet might be all it takes to “grease the wheels” and get the conversation started.

Continue to build the relationship by doing things like sharing their content, promoting them, or simply sending relevant resources their way. To do this, you need to really get to know the busy person and understand what they are working on or could use help with. Be patient and allow the connection to grow organically before you jump in and start asking for favors. Don’t burn the bridge before you build it.

Another frequently overlooked option is to examine your existing network and see if you have any ties back to that person. A friend? Business associate? Anything that can be used to show commonality between you and the other person will help.

“Getting someone else to introduce you is one way to get someone’s attention,” says networking expert Lynne Waymon co-author of Make Your Contacts Count. “Find out who you both have in common and ask ‘Will you introduce me?’”

2. Keep Your Communications Brief

“Just a tip of advice. Never write on both sides of the sheet when you are sending a letter to a busy man.” –Jack London, Letter to Louis Stevens, March 24, 1913

Save your life story for another time. The shorter the message, the more likely you will get a reply. And the busier the person, the more important it is that you not waste their time.

First, always start your correspondence with a relevant subject line that’s clear and to the point. The recipient should be able to quickly tell why they would benefit from opening your message, how they know you, or ideally, both.

“Can you help me?” With what? Your business? Your math homework? There’s about as much value here as in a rubber crutch. You don’t have to be psychic to know that this one is headed straight for the oval file.

“Podcast Appearance to Promote Your New Book” is a much better subject line. By clearly stating what it is you want, and more importantly, how it will benefit the other person, you are much more likely to get your email opened.

Being brief also means excluding anything that isn’t necessary. It’s okay to open with a couple lines of pleasantries about your connection/affinity for the person. “I’m a big fan of what you do and I’ve been reading your magazine for five years now,” or “Seeing your TED talk made me decide to switch my major to biology.” A bit of praise will get your email off on the right start and build rapport. But keep your opening to no more than two sentences.

Keep the main body of your email as succinct as you can as well; aim to make your pitch in five sentences or less. You don’t need to attach your 100-page business plan or a dozen pictures of your prototype before you’ve explained what it is that you actually want. Remember, be respectful of a busy person’s time and wait for the green light before sending follow-up information, if they are open to it.

3. Do Your Research First and Ask Specific Questions

“I do detest being asked general advice, because, in reply, I must do one of two things: (1) Either write two or three books handling the replies or (2) damp the replies by giving only a few short sentences.

What I mean is, any time ask me for particular specific advice, and I shall be only too glad to place myself at your service.

Please remember that I write thousands of letters every year to unknown correspondents. And please remember, (1) that I do not like to write for a living…and that (2) therefore, when I have written all the books that I have written and upon which I work every day, that I am so tired of writing that I’d cut off my fingers and toes in order to avoid writing…

Anyway, please remember that you can call upon me any time for SPECIFIC PARTICULAR advice on any subject.” -Jack London, Letter to Cordie Ingram, April 9, 1913

When you reach out to a busy person, do so with very specific questions in mind. You may only get one shot at this, so you want the questions you ask to offer the most metaphorical bang for your buck; make them questions where you cannot find out the answers anywhere else, and for which you absolutely need the busy person’s unique perspective/connections/input.

So first research the answers to the list of questions you have in mind as rigorously as you can, and see what you can find out from easier-to-access sources. You need to show the busy person you’ve done your homework. Tim Ferriss, author of The 4-Hour Workweek, says “It’s amazing how many would-be mentees or beneficiaries ask busier people for answers Google could provide in 20 seconds.” In Ferriss’ words, “That puts you on the banned list.”

Not only should you do research before you reach out to a busy person, you should also try to get going on your project/business before you ask them for help. “Don’t ever ask a busy person to ‘pick their brain’ before you begin working on your project or idea,” says AoM’s own Brett McKay. “Instead, wait until it’s really underway, you’re in the thick of it, and you run into a specific problem.” Advice on starting something is typically plentiful and readily available. So save your “Phone-a-Friend” lifeline for when you’ve done all you can on your own and you’ve reached a wall you can’t figure out how to break through.

What specific question you should ask will vary depending on your situation, so it’s easier to explain what types of questions you should not ask. Typical examples of the types of generic questions you should not ask include:

I don’t know how to get started with ______. What would you recommend I do?

Do you think ____ would apply to my situation?

I’m confused about ______ and I’m not sure why I’m not getting it. Do you have any suggestions?

A better approach than these generic questions is to explain 2 or 3 specific options you are considering and ask for specific feedback on this discrete choice.

When you take this approach, you can “make use of your opportunity and ask better questions about specific topics rather than just peppering someone with general inquires,” says McKay. “The time you land with a busy person is valuable, so use it to ask the highest leverage questions you possibly can.”

4. Make Your Pitch Something to Which They Can Say Yes or No

If the question you have for a busy person regards whether or not they want to work with you on something, make your pitch as clear as possible. In other words, don’t ask an open-ended question like, “Would you like to partner with us somehow?” It’s not the busy person’s job to think of ways you two might team up. It’s your responsibility to come up with a specific proposal. A proposal a busy person can answer with a yes or a no.

5. Show Up in Person

Think for a minute about how many sales calls or how much junk mail you receive in a week. The majority of these items are deleted before they are ever opened. The multitude of requests busy people receive often suffer the same fate.

Now consider what you would do if the person making that same plea was standing right in front of you. Not quite so easy to ignore them now, is it?

Waymon says if there is a particular busy person you want to connect with, you should find out what groups or organizations they are part of and see how you can add value to those groups. Perhaps you can join a committee they are on or offer to help with something they’re passionate about.

“Studies show that it often takes 6 contacts with someone before they know who you are and have you placed in their mental Rolodex,” says Waymon. “So committee work and small group activities are good ways to create that continued contact.”

Being part of the same team can get your foot in the door, but you have to be ready when opportunity strikes. “Always have an agenda. Before the meeting think of three or four things you’d like to find out or know more about. Also, be ready to talk about three or four things you’re excited about — personally or professionally,” says Waymon. “Since people want to do business with people they trust, your overall goal is always to teach people to trust you.”

6. Keep Bringing Value

The chances of getting what you want become exponentially better when you offer something of value. A lot of people struggle with how to find something of “value” to offer, but really the options are limitless.

One of the best ways to provide value to a busy person is by helping them to promote their new book, project, business, or event. You can do this in a variety of ways:

Write an online review on Amazon, Yelp, or other review site.

Feature the busy person in an article on your blog or someone else’s blog.

Offer to introduce the busy person to someone relevant. But be sure to ask first.

Interview the person for your podcast, or if you don’t have a podcast, record a simple interview using a free service like FreeConferenceCall.com and upload it to your blog or SoundCloud (also free). Keep in mind that if your audience is very small, the busy person will likely make a cost benefit analysis and decide that the amount of promotion you can offer is less than the value of their limited time.

Create a Click to Tweet link explaining why you love the particular person’s work and share it with all your friends like this.

Even if you don’t have a blog or podcast, you can record a simple video with the webcam built into your laptop and upload it to YouTube, where millions of people will watch it before going back to watching videos of a cat playing the piano.

Bottom line: Find out what it is they need, or who they want to connect with, and make it happen.

7. Assert Yourself

When you make a request, not only is the message itself important, but so is the tone in which you present it. Michelle Lederman, author of The 11 Laws of Likability, talks about approaching the conversation from what she calls the “middle ground.” You should come off as “not passive, not aggressive, but assertive” says Lederman. Think confident, but not cocky. And definitely not meek.

Lederman also recommends going for the “convenient ask.” Make it as easy as possible for them to say yes to the request. For instance, give the busy person specific dates and times to choose from. Offer to meet them at the location of their choosing. Anything you can do to simplify the request can help.

Finally, Lederman recommends creating a sense of “scarcity.” Create a deadline for a blog post or article so that if the busy person wants to be included, they will need to respond by a particular date in order to make it happen. Having a deadline elicits more responses since these types of requests are harder to push off until later (which usually results in the busy person forgetting to come back to the request).

8. Follow Up (Within Reason)

Now, what do you do if you don’t get a reply? Should you follow up, and if so, how? “I think the secret to building meaningful relationships is following up,” says Jeff Goins, author of The Art of Work. But Goins cautions that you have to be careful how quickly or eagerly you follow up. “If you’re too aggressive, it can hurt you. But if you’re too lax, you can miss an opportunity.”

Goins says he will reach out once, then follow up a week later if he doesn’t have a response yet. If he still hasn’t heard back by then, he will “follow up after another week or two with a ‘hey if I don’t hear back from, I won’t bother you again’ email and then move on.” If Goins is really determined, he says he might try a completely different approach. “I may try another way to build trust with the person, like finding a way to meet them in person, but I won’t try the same way that failed before.”

Brett and Kate McKay have a similar suggestion. They say you should follow up once two weeks after sending the original email, and then 6 months later. “Sometimes the busy person will be in a different phase or season of busyness where their circumstances have changed and they’ll be more receptive to the reach out,” says Brett.

If you want to follow up after a week or two, you can use this script:

Hey George, I just wanted to follow up on my prior email once, in case my previous email got lost in your inbox.

If you aren’t interested, I won’t take offense. If you are interested, let me know. I will send one courtesy follow-up after this email in case the timing right now does not work for you.

-John

By indicating in your message that you are just following up as a courtesy and that the busy person need not respond if they truly are not interested, you are respectful of their time while also balancing the possibility that they really didn’t see your email the prior time around.

Start Contacting Busy People

Remember: busy people aren’t selfish and inconsiderate; I’ve actually found the opposite to be true — that some of the busiest people are actually the most giving types of people. But they also want to be efficient with their time. Remember that the time they give to you is time they sacrifice from working on their own businesses or spending time with their families. So contact them in a way that respects this reality and impinges on their schedule as lightly as possible.

While the entire process may sound intimidating and overly complex, you shouldn’t be intimidated. Like any challenge, connecting with busy people is a skill that you can develop over time. And it’s worth the effort.

“Don’t underestimate your value to someone else,” says Lederman. “There are so many things you can bring to the table that you don’t realize. A little bit of legwork goes a long way.”

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (14)

Out of the womb wearing a tweed vest

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, one VERY steamy scene, around 60 diamonds :D. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 3,850 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up right where we left off, during Maxwell’s revelation, with Amara’s POV. I got carried away and wrote more about that one day than I intended to, so next chapter I’ll try to cover the beach party and the beginning of the Applewood Manor debacle!

*****

Amara’s eyes widen. ‘Do you know where she is?’

Maxwell looks around once more, visibly stressed. ‘No. I really don’t. But...I’ve been in contact with her.’

Amara sits up and wishes that beer had arrived already. ‘What? Does Drake know?’

‘That’s the thing. He doesn’t, and it’s killing me. The night I heard you guys, I was actually going to tell him, but with everything that’s been going on, I’ve lost my nerve since…’

Oh shit. Amara doesn’t want to keep any secrets from Drake. It’s already hard enough to keep secrets WITH him. ‘Alright Max, talk to me.’

He takes a deep breath and starts talking. ‘You know Sav and I were close, right?’ Amara nods. ‘About two years ago, she disappeared and didn’t give me any news for a few weeks. We were all worried, and Drake and I looked for her everywhere. But one day, she emailed me from a new address, telling me she had to leave, because she was really ashamed and couldn’t tell her brother. She swore me to secrecy.’ Maxwell lowers his voice. ‘Amara, she was pregnant…’

Amara’s wind gets knocked out of her. Damn. Drake would be heartbroken that his little sister didn’t confide in him. Her mind wanders to her own big brother, and how supportive he’d always been. She could tell him anything. He was the one who had bought her her pads and tampons when she started her period, since their mom was gone. She feels bad for Drake who, without a doubt, would have loved the same closeness with Savannah.

Maxwell continues. ‘She told me that she had to go to the Netherlands to terminate her pregnancy. I begged her to let me go with her, but that’s when she stopped responding again, for a while. When she emailed back, it was weeks later, and she told me she was broke, and that the abortion left her with significant health problems. So, I started wiring her money every month.’

‘Damn Maxwell. This is intense...is she okay?’

Max scoots closer to Amara and lowers his voice some more. ‘That’s the thing. I tried to find her, hired a private eye, looked her up through abortion clinics in the Netherlands. Nothing. All I had for over a year was her account number, for the money transfers. I was constantly worried about her. And then…’ His eyes well up. ‘She emailed me a couple of months ago. Telling me she’d been lying about everything. She never terminated her pregnancy, Amara.’

Amara’s head starts spinning. ‘She...she has a baby?’

Max nods. ‘Yes. She emailed me on his first birthday. I guess she’s overwhelmed, and wanted to come clean so she’d have some support. I don’t know.’

‘Maxwell, I know she’s your friend, but so is Drake. You owe him the truth. He is imagining the worst. I don’t think I can keep it a secret…’

He takes Amara’s hand. ‘I don’t want you to keep it a secret. I want us to find her.’

Amara nods. ‘So, we can tell Drake together?’

‘Yes. I was thinking maybe tonight?’

‘I’m in. Thank you for telling me, Maxwell.’

‘I hope Drake doesn’t hate me for all these months of lies…’

Amara wonders the same but chooses to reassure her friend. After all, he’d done the right thing eventually. ‘He won’t hate you. If anything, he’ll be heartbroken, but you guys will be ok.’

Maxwell nods, his eyes wandering on the horizon. ‘That’s not all, Amara… there’s one more thing.’

‘Oh God...tell me.’

He gulps down hard. ‘The baby...his name is Bartie. Barthélémy.’

Oh...Amara is afraid of asking the next question. ‘After your father… Oh my God Max, is the baby...yours?’

Maxwell bursts into a fit of nervous laughter. ‘No hun, the baby’s not mine. Sav and I are just friends, believe me…’

Suddenly, it dawns on Amara that there is not just one Beaumont. ‘Oh...oh right. Holy shit.’ Her eyes are wider than they’ve ever been, and she can’t say anything else. She did not want to picture Bertrand as a person who can reproduce.

Maxwell nods, still holding her hand. ‘Yep. Drake and I share a nephew, who probably came out of the womb wearing a tweed vest.’

*****

Drake waits at the bar for the bartender to come back so he can order the beers he promised Max and Amara. Why is he in such a good mood? Probably because he’s hanging out with people he actually likes, and doesn’t have to pretend around them. Then, right on cue, along comes Madeleine, holding what looks like a mimosa. Fuck, he thinks. She’s walking straight towards him, and looks ready to talk to him, which is never good news.

‘Hello, Mr. Walker,’ she smirks. ‘How are you doing today?’

‘Lady Madeleine. Great, how are you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Thankfully, the bartender comes back, and Drake orders 3 beers as fast as he can, hoping it will discourage Madeleine from talking more. But, alas, he underestimates her.

‘I’m glad I ran into you. I just wanted to apologize for the other day in Lythikos, I didn’t mean to offend you with what I said about your sister.’

Drake opens his mouth to say something, but he knows better. Anything he says to Madeleine can be used against him later. So, he simply replies, ‘No worries,’ with a faint smile.

‘That’s a relief! Well, you seemed to have recovered quickly, so I wasn’t too worried. Once upon a time, it would have been this poor Kiara running after you. But you’ve found a strong protector in that cute Hispanic woman.’

Oh, here we go. At least Madeleine wasn’t calling her ‘exotic’ anymore. ‘Amara is a good person, and a good friend.’

Madeleine smirks. ‘Is that how you call it these days? Oh well, enjoy your three beers.’

As she walks away, Drake hates himself a little for not standing up to her more. Why was she so scary? She was small, obviously insecure, and Drake could probably drive right through one of her insecurities. Off the top of his head, her abandoning father, her abandoning ex-fiancé, Liam who preferred Amara (although that wasn’t a victory for Drake either, at least it would probably keep Madeleine silent for a hot minute), anything, really. But Drake had insecurities too, and he wore them on his sleeve. Madeleine could easily rebut and do something to hurt him, or worse: hurt Amara. So, whatever, he’d have to live with being a pushover for today.

He didn’t care, though. As he approached the little cove where Max and Amara were lying down in the sun, his worries went away. He could spend time with Amara, and that’s what matters. He hands both of them their beers, and lies back down between the two of them.

‘Thanks Drake!’ Amara shouts, a little too enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, thanks Drake!’ Maxwell chimes in. ‘I’m gonna have to get going after this one though, because Bertrand wants to see me, but I’ll be back. Oh and Drake, Amara and I were thinking, before tonight’s beach party, how about we have some drinks in my room, just the three of us?’

‘Sounds great, I’m in. Any news from Hana, guys?’

Amara shakes her head. ‘Nothing. But maybe in an hour if we haven’t heard back, we can go find her.’

He nods. He doesn’t want to reveal too much about why they’re so worried about Hana in front of Maxwell, although he’s pretty sure that Max would be more than understanding, and that Hana will end up telling him before too long, too.

They enjoy the sun together some more until Maxwell has to meet with Bertrand. Alone on the beach with Amara, Drake feels blissful, almost forgetting everything else going on. Amara lets out a long sigh. ‘This feels nice. No other suitors, no Liam, no press...it’s like we’re--’

‘Normal?’ he interrupts, a smile on his face.

She nods, turning to look at him. ‘Yeah. Exactly. Some days I kinda just want to run away, you know. With you.’

‘I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way every single day. Before meeting you I already had that urge, to drop everything and go live either in my cabin here, or go to Texas. But, since I’ve met you, that urge has become constant.’

‘What stopped you all those years?’

He sighs. ‘Honestly? A sense of duty towards Liam, mostly. But also, and I hate to admit it, fear. I’m afraid that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself outside of court, even if I bitch about court a lot.’

Amara nods. ‘I understand. The fear is totally unfounded, but I get it. Same happened to me when I left the NYPD. I was paralyzed with grief and fear. Even if I had been well enough to leave New York and see the world, I would have been too scared to.’ She holds his gaze, he can see her eyes through her sunglasses, she doesn’t break eye contact. In this moment, pretty much as always, he finds her irresistibly attractive. Her resilience, her self-awareness, her benevolence… Had he ever met anyone like that? No, never.

He closes the distance between them and kisses her deeply. She kisses him back. A jolt goes through his body, and he has to get closer to her. He holds her tight, their half-naked bodies pressed against each other, their lips intertwined.

Finally, she interrupts the moment. ‘Drake, someone could see us...should we go somewhere else?’

She’s right. The other suitors are everywhere, and Hana is still supposed to come back to this exact spot, possibly escorted by Liam. They can’t risk being discovered like that. Not yet.

‘You’re right. Wanna go for a swim?’

She nods enthusiastically and gets up, chugging the rest of her beer in one swig.

As she walks away ahead of him, he catches himself watching her figure intently. In this bikini, her curves are absolutely perfect, and they’ve been taunting him all day. ‘Come on, Walker!’ she calls for him. He follows her to the water.

As they walk into the Mediterranean, the water quickly envelops their bodies, up to their waists. Drake guides Amara to the nearest creek, where they can be away from prying eyes. ‘This is so beautiful,’ she says.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he replies, kicking himself for the corny response. He’s never been much of a flirt, and his inexperience shows.

She chuckles. ‘Smooth operator.’

‘Heh, I know. That was bad. But it’s true.’ He takes her hand as they start going into the water and swim to the creek. ‘I’m proud of being with you. I’m a little tired of hiding, even though I understand why it’s so crucial to keep it a secret for now. But I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want people to know how much I--how much I care about you.’

Amara turns to face him. Her eyes glisten. ‘I care about you too, and I completely agree. I don’t like to hide. Every time Liam approaches me, I want to tell him how much he sucks, how he doesn’t hold a candle to you, and how much he’s been taking you for granted.’ She stops in her tracks. ‘Is it obvious yet that I kinda hate Liam?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Tiny bit. I swear, he didn’t use to be like this. Well, maybe he did? Not as much, anyways, not as visibly entitled. Maybe I’ve just idolized him for years…’

‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ Amara adds. ‘I don’t mean to minimize your friendship with him at all! I really didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is that right now, in this competition or whatever, he behaves like a kid who wants a toy, the toy being me, and he doesn’t even realize that the toy wants to play with his best friend. I wanted to go with a Toy Story metaphor but now I don’t know which one is Woody and which one is Buzz.’

‘Woody, baby. All day, every day.’ Amara laughs heartily. God, he loves her laugh.

He pulls her close to kiss her, their mouths almost underwater. ‘You’re so fucking handsome,’ she says, interrupting their kiss. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.’

He puts his lips back on hers and his hands roam on her body. His swimsuit feels tighter, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to get out of the water now. They float around, touching each other’s bodies hungrily, as their mouths explore each other. Amara’s hands wander lower, until they reach his crotch, and her right hand disappears in Drake’s swimsuit. ‘God, you’re so hard…’ Drake groans as she strokes him underwater, freeing his cock from its prison. He feels her ass, and makes his way back up to her breasts, which he caresses under her bikini top, as she moans against his lips. The movements of her hand get faster and faster, and Drake moves one hand into her bottoms, where he finds her pussy and touches it lightly, before pushing one finger, then two, inside her. ‘Mmm Amara, I want you so bad right now,’ he groans.

‘Me too,’ she replies, ‘let’s get closer to the shore.’

They swim to the edge of the creek where, still protected from view by the rocks and the water, they can touch the bottom of the ocean with their feet. Amara’s legs latch onto Drake’s waist, and she swiftly pulls her bikini bottoms to the side. He enters her slowly, as they both gasp for air, eager to get more of each other with every movement, with every kiss, with every stroke.

They make love in the water for a while, until waves of pleasure invade them, and they remain enmeshed in each other for what seems like hours before resurfacing and going back to the world.

As they swim back to the cove where they left their towels and clothes, Drake stops in his tracks and grabs Amara by the waist. ‘Before we go back… Amara, thank you. For being with me.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Are you kidding me? You don’t need to thank me, the moments I spend with you are the best, well...really, the best I’ve ever had. And I’m not just talking about the mind-blowing sex, you know that. It’s everything, every little moment with you.’ She runs her hand through his wet hair and plants a kiss on his lips. ‘Drake, I--’

‘I’m falling in love with you,’ he blurts out, interrupting her. He finally had the courage to tell her, and it’s as if his lips could not contain the words any longer. ‘It’s true, I am, and it’s never happened before, and I just wanted you to know.’

He’s not expecting an answer. But deep down, he knows what she’s about to say.

She smiles brightly and says: ‘I'm falling in love with you, too.’

*****

Amara was nervous. She was happy that she and Drake had talked about their feelings earlier, but she was also very scared that his feelings might change after knowing she’d been sitting on Maxwell’s secret for the whole afternoon without telling him. In front of her mirror, she adjusts her flowy white dress, the one she would wear both at Maxwell’s revelatory drinks and at the beach party later. The dress hugged her hips and breasts, and was loose everywhere else, with a long skirt and wide short sleeves. She wonders if it’s too much, if it would send Liam the wrong message with such a deep cleavage, but the truth was, she didn’t give a shit. He’d behaved well with Hana earlier, and the two women had met for a beer after Hana’s lunch date. She was in good spirits and felt good about telling Drake and Amara about her sexual orientation. She felt like it was time, and she feels close enough to both of them to share the news. Plus, she added, it couldn’t hurt to have people looking out for her in case Madeleine hears about it and makes her life hell. Amara couldn’t argue with that.

Maxwell had texted that the bar was already in his room, and that they were welcome at any time. Amara walks out of her room to go get Drake, and he opens the door right away.

‘Wow, Suarez, you look spectacular.’

‘You too, Walker!’

She wasn’t lying. He was wearing a white linen shirt, just open enough to reveal some of his glorious chest hair, and dark green khakis that hugged his thighs just right. If she could, she’d just rip his clothes off right now.

Once in Maxwell’s room, they have a couple of drinks and make small talk, until Max gives Amara the signal they had previously discussed. Once he puts an olive in his martini, it’s on.

‘Drake,’ Maxwell starts, ‘I have something important to tell you. It’s good news in and of itself, but you may not like the circumstances around it.’

Drake looks panicked, and turns to Amara. ‘What is it? Is everything ok?’

Amara takes his hand and says ‘Max told me about it earlier, just keep an open mind, ok?’

Maxwell fills Drake in, tells him everything he had told Amara earlier that day, all in one go, as if he was too afraid to breathe. When he’s done explaining the facts, Drake’s face falls, and fat tears form in his dark eyes. Amara’s heart beats faster, and, still holding his hand, she says, ‘This is a good thing, Drake. We have ways to find her, now, you know? I can find her with an email address and an account number, no questions asked. I promise.’

Drake pulls his hand away, and Amara’s heart falls through her chest. She hears Maxwell let out a trembling sigh.

When Drake grabs his face in both of his hands and starts sobbing, Amara covers him with her arms, and Maxwell comes to join them on the couch, taking Drake in his arms as well. They comfort him until he’s ready to talk.

Finally, he says ‘I’m such a dick.’

Amara shakes her head vigorously. ‘No no no, Drake, why are you saying this?’

He snorts. ‘My sister was clearly afraid of my reaction. She couldn’t come to me when she was pregnant and scared. She was scared of my reaction, on top of it all. I’m such a shitty brother…’

Maxwell chimes in, still wrapping Drake in a hug. ‘Not at all, oh my God, you’re the best brother! Sav loves you so much, she just didn’t want to disappoint you! I promise, she wanted to reach out and I told her to, but she was just so far gone in her lie. I mean, she lied to me too, telling me she’d had an abortion. She was clearly not comfortable with sharing the news.’

Drake shakes his head. ‘She didn’t want to disappoint me? What am I, a moral compass? What the fuck? Why wouldn’t I be happy for her, why wouldn’t I be thrilled to be an uncle?’ He lets out a faint laugh and wipes away his tears. ‘I mean, Max, we’re co-uncles. I wanna meet the little guy, I don’t want my little sister to be afraid of my reactions.’

Amara breaks her silence and says ‘Sibling relationships are complicated. With your dad gone, Savannah was probably looking up to you as more of a protective figure, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t trust you…’

Drake takes Amara’s hand again, and she lets out a relieved sigh. He continues. ‘I’m sorry guys, I didn’t mean to break down like this...it’s just...the idea of my little sister being alone somewhere with a baby, and not even turning to me, I--’

‘Hey,’ Amara interrupts, ‘please don’t apologize to us, right Maxwell?’ Max nods in agreement. ‘We thought you’d be upset with us for hiding it from you, and you are entitled to have any reaction that you’re having. Just take your time.’

Drake wipes his eyes. ‘Upset with you? Amara, you’ve known for less than a day, how can I be mad at you? And Max, you did what you had to do for your friend.’

‘You’re my friend, too, Drake,’ Max replies. ‘I should have told you earlier.’

Amara gets up and grabs another cocktail. ‘Well, you told him now. That’s what matters, right, Drake?’ He nods. ‘And Max, I’ll find her. I have the skills, I have the contacts to back me up back in the States. And there’s something you should know.’ Maxwell raises his eyebrows, his arm still wrapped around Drake. Amara takes a deep breath and says, ‘I used to be a cop. In the NYPD. I was a detective, I solved cases, and now I’m gonna solve this one.’

‘WHAT?’ Maxwell yelps excitedly. ‘Are you kidding? You were a badass cop? Holy shit Amara, this is so cool!’

Amara laughs faintly, not wanting to rain on his parade with the next tidbit, but she has to, so he can get the bigger picture, and she owes him the truth, just as he had told her his secret. ‘Max, listen, I don’t want to be a bummer, and I’ll only tell you once. Then, we can go back to being excited about me being Detective Suarez again.’ She glances at Drake who gives her a supportive nod and smile. ‘I left the NYPD two years ago, because my brother, who was also a cop, died protecting me from a bullet on the job.’

She realizes that she said all that without breathing at all, almost too fast, to get it all out before she changes her mind. Maxwell’s face changes from excitement to horror, and Amara quickly says ‘Look, don’t be sad for me, ok? I’m slowly healing, and--’

Maxwell gets up and interrupts her with the biggest bear hug she’s ever gotten. ‘Amara, I’m so sorry. Thank you for telling me. What was your brother’s name?’

‘Sergio,’ Amara says, muffled by Max’s hug.

‘I’m so sorry about Sergio,’ he replies. He turns his head towards Drake. ‘And Drake, I’m so sorry for hiding the truth from you for so long. But we’ve got each other now, right guys?’

Drake and Amara look at each other and nod, a smile on their faces. Maxwell pours a drink for himself, and one for Drake. He raises his glass. ‘Thank you, both of you, for being amazing friends and badass human beings. To Drake and Amara! To--’ he gasps excitedly, ‘To Dramara! Holy shit, best couple’s name ever. Dramara! Sounds like something you would say to a dragon if you wanted him to burn everything, like on Game of Thrones.’

‘That’s Dracarys,’ Amara corrects him knowingly. She didn’t get HBO Go for nothing. This knowledge was going somewhere.

‘Well, same shit,’ Maxwell says. ‘Still badass.’

They clink their glasses together, and Drake takes Amara’s hand, intertwining their fingers tenderly. She gently kisses his cheek.

Drake sniffles and says ‘Alright guys, are we gonna talk about the fact that there is a mini-Bertrand somewhere in the world?’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis , @drakewalkerwhipped , @drakxwalker , @drakewalkerrosenberg , @drakeswalkers , @drakelover78 , @silviasutton1989 , @jovialyouthmusic , @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal , @nikkis1983​ , @simsvetements , @alesana45

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[chwetuan]

Clockwork - Park Jinyoung x Reader (f)

Summary: Jinyoung finally understands that while he may be living his life on a clock, you certainly aren’t (2k).

Warnings: none? it’s really fluffy and there’s like a smidge of angst if your squint (and I mean, squint). 

Sidenote - this fic has been in my drafts for so long. It’s not long or anything, but I almost accidentally deleted it when I first started working on it, and honestly, it just messed me up for some reason. I felt like I was betraying Jinyoung. Nonetheless, here she is. Enjoy.

Park Jinyoung doesn’t get nervous. It’s an emotion he refuses to surrender himself to. But for some reason, you’re sitting in front of him and he feels extremely aware of everything around him, and everything his body is doing. He can hear the rush of his breath, feel the bounce of his knee; how his foot is settled against the leg of the table. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his pulse in his chest and up his arms. And for some reason, his palms are sweating. Sweating.

It’s October now, and the wind is beginning to bite cold. The sun sets a tad bit earlier and in the day, the sky remains a never-ending, never-changing shade of grey-blue. Jinyoung thinks he’s fallen in love with the sky, but he soon realizes that what he’s really fallen in love with is the deepness of your eyes, which is a mere reflection. For a long time, he tells himself that he doesn’t have feelings for you, because Park Jinyoung doesn’t have the time to fall in love with pretty girls he meets on the subway. Or pretty girls who ask him about his day and remind him to eat dinner. Park Jinyoung doesn’t have the time to learn mannerisms, how a smile can change from a smirk to a grin, or how eyes can crinkle and convey how a person feels. He doesn’t have the time to learn favorite colors, tv shows, or foods to eat. He doesn’t have the time to learn preferences, for tea or coffee, jazz music or rnb. He doesn’t have the time to learn other people. But somehow, someway, Park Jinyoung knows that you don’t like to drink coffee unless it’s abnormally sweet. He knows that your favorite ice cream is Strawberry, but that you hate when there are bits of fruit in it. He knows that you can go full weekends cooped up in your apartment, watching reruns of old crime shows and mystery movies. He also knows that you get scared after watching them, but refuse to stop. He knows, for some reason, that in the summer, your favorite color is emerald green, but it’s a color you can’t stand at any other time of the year. He knows that when you were younger, you fell in love with twinkly stars and dazzling spring mornings, when dew dressed the tulips in your mother’s garden, and yes- he knows that your mother has a garden. He knows that your nose twitches right before you burst into a fit of laughter and that you absolutely have to walk around the room whenever you’re on the phone. Perhaps, Park Jinyoung has time to learn you. Or, he’s observant. That’s his excuse, at least, when it comes to you. He notices how your smile falters at an email from work, and he’s counting down the seconds until he can find a way to bring it back to its full beauty. Jinyoung is, however, a stubborn man. And he will insist that he doesn’t have time. But when you’re walking next to him on the crowded sidewalk and reach for his arm to stop and watch the street performers, he thinks to himself that he can spare 5 minutes. He knows that when you call him in the late afternoon, when his tie is loose and the drone of printers, copiers, and incompetent interns is slowly beginning to fade, he will spare the extra 5 minutes to hear you talk about how you tripped over your own two feet and utterly embarrassed yourself. And he knows, that when you show up at his house, insisting that you absolutely must go to the new coffee shop down the street, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing and spare hours spending time with you. And that’s why he’s here, sitting across from you with clammy hands and a racing heart. He thinks you look nothing short of stunning, even if you’re barefaced with your hair tied up. He’s staring at you, at the freckles that dance across your nose and the pout of your lips as you talk about something he feels horrible about not paying attention to. “—date on Saturday, but I tried to explain-“ The words immediately grab his attention, and his brows are furrowing when he asks: “You have a date on Saturday?” You pause to look at him, slightly shocked at his sudden interjection. He hasn’t said anything for the past 15 minutes. You never complain though, you know Jinyoung is a man of subtle nods and hums of approval. “Yeah, with that guy my sister introduced me to.” The crease in his brow deepens at the mention of your sister, because he knows that the younger girl is typically, but unintentionally, often up to no good, and suddenly he questions. “Why?” You laugh softly at his question, “Because he asked me out to lunch.” “So, guys ask you out and you just go on dates with them? Do you even know him?” There’s a shift in his tone but you can’t gauge what it is. Jealousy, a hopeful voice in the back of your head whispers. “That’s how asking someone out works, Jinyoung.” You pause uncertainly, “Dating is how you get to know someone.” And suddenly he’s checking his watch. “I have to go,” he says as he stands up and places a twenty on the table. You peek up at him from under curious, and admittedly annoyed lashes. “Why are you leaving so-“ “Text me when you get home. Thanks for the coffee.” And he’s out the door. It’s then that Jinyoung realizes that time doesn’t stop for you. You can fall in love with boys you meet at bookstores or cafes, and learn their favorite colors and how they like their coffee. You can learn their smiles and their favorite daytime tv talk shows. You don’t let time control your heart. Jinyoung is still a stubborn man. He knows that you are an adult, you can date when and who you wish. But he can’t help the god-awful feeling he gets in his chest thinking about it. Park Jinyoung doesn’t get jealous. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and he has nothing to do. He figures he’ll read a book, or call his mother. Anything to get his mind off of you. ~~~ It’s Friday night, and you’ve texted Jinyoung a couple times, but his replies are short and uninterested. It bothers you, because it reminds you of how closed off he used to be. It’s taken months of breaking down his walls, only to have him build them up again in a matter of days. ~~~ When Jinyoung knocks on your door at 6 in the evening, he’s not quite sure what he’s expecting. Perhaps he’s ready to see you with a makeup brush in hand, a robe tied lopsidedly on your waist as you answer the door with red lips and mascara on your lashes. Perhaps he’s ready to see you in a cocktail dress with heels on that he’s certain you’ll complain about within a matter of two hours. Perhaps he’s expecting you not to be home at all. But even so, if you answer the door, he has no clue why he’s here, and he has no clue what he’ll say. And for the first time in his life, Jinyoung tries to give himself time, taking an uncertain step backward. What he’s not prepared to see, is you answer the door in an oversized sweater, a pair of mismatching socks, and the deepest shade of red lingering on the tip of your nose. “Jinyoung?” You manage to croak out. Your voice is hoarse, he mentally notes, and based on the light sheen of sweat that covers your forehead, he figures you probably have a fever. Jinyoung forgets all about the date, all about his abrupt departure from the coffee shop, and all about his days spent not speaking to you. “Hi,” He accompanies with a small wave a few seconds after you answering. “What-“ A cough scratches its way up your throat and interrupts your words. You sigh deeply afterward. “What’re you doing here?” ~~~ “I don’t talk to you for 3 days and you’ve already gotten yourself sick,” Jinyoung chides teasingly, but the unamused look you give him prevents him from saying more. You stare at him, eyes slant and an eyebrow cocked in irritation, no regard for the fact that he looks like a literal angel as he sets a cup of tea down for you on the coffee table. The audacity. And, yes- he knows where you keep your tea. “Yeah, you didn’t talk to me for 3 days.” You respond, folding your arms as a small sound of disapproval makes its way through your throat. Jinyoung sighs as he settles himself on the sofa opposite to you. “And you left me sitting in a coffee shop.” He remains silent again as you pointedly keep your eyes on him. A few moments of terse, stagnant quiet passes before he clears his throat. “I know.” His response comes in the form of a statement, a final statement, said in a way that leaves little room for questioning or conversation.

He thinks you won’t wiggle your way into that small gap. “Why?” You question. He folds his arms as one hesitant hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’ve learned, as he inhales deeply before continuing. “I-God, this is so stupid,” He pauses once more. “Will you please drink your tea?” “Drink my tea?” You pause with incredulity. “Jinyoung-“ The Jinyoung in front of you is one you’ve never seen; sitting before you, fumbling for words, pink dancing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He groans and drags his hands down his face. “I was jealous..?” He finally admits, or questions, rather, but his voice is so quiet that you’re tempted to make him repeat himself. Instead, you reach for the teacup and take a long sip. Well, that was easy. “Because of the date?” You decide to question, although you already know the answer. There’s something, a cross between absolute entertainment and fondness that lingers in your chest as you watch Park Jinyoung, who’s always composed and never anything else, turning into a nervous wreck before your eyes. He caves, finally, turning to look at you cautiously, “Because of the date.” A few seconds pass between you, before a fit of laughter- and coughing, - disrupts the silence. Jinyoung, for once, doesn’t know what to say next. “Jinyoung,” you pause as you place the teacup on the table. “I was never going on that date.” ~~~ “Don’t you think it’s too early for donuts?” Jinyoung asks, his hand snug in yours and his face scrunching slightly. A small sigh escapes your lips as you eye the beautiful assortment of pastries through the bakery window. Tugging him closer towards you, you beginning brushing his bangs out of his eyes with your free hand. “That’s your problem, Jinyoung,” You start, poking his lip and watching his cheeks flush pink from the blatant display of affection. It doesn’t stop him from quirking a brow, however. “You have a clock on everything. It’s too early, or too late. It’s never in the moment.” ~~~ A few weeks later, after colds and cough medicine, and after months of denial, Park Jinyoung has concluded that you are the one exception. The only exception. You’re the one that freezes time. You’re the one who shatters the routine, the one who breaks the cycle. And, you’re the only one he’ll let do that. It’s November now, and it’s colder than October, but nonetheless, you’re warmer with Jinyoung at your side, with his arms around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, as you peer through the window of your apartment. The window is beginning to frost, the sky grey, as always, but Jinyoung no longer credits the sky for the fondness in his heart. That’s all you. Jinyoung has always known that the phrase “I love you” was sweet, like honey, but he soon learns that when you say it, in comparison, honey is bitter. .

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(mlist) (recent)

I hope you enjoyed! I’m really glad with how this one turned out. Feedback always welcome. Thank you <3 - Z