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laniemae · 4 months

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SIDE ORDER HYPE THEORIES PART 1

An extremely incoherent dump of side order theories and thoughts!

Now uhh side order wild right apparently it’s tomorrow???? I completely misjudged I thought it was this weekend. But ok I don’t even know how to start it so I’m just gonna go wild.

Now let’s address the elephant in the room: is side order a virtual world?

So there is lots of imagery to imply this. A huge number in side order’s aesthetic is digital and glitching aesthetics. The first instance of this sort of imagery appearing was in the first trailer for side order, where in one of the static images shown Marina had some glitching effects. Now that we have more context on the situation (not really? Just a truckload of more digital motifs) I still don’t know what to think about it lmao. The background may look like it’s in the square but I’m not sure. And currently we’ve only seen Pearl drone and 8 there. But even so it looks like concept art so I don’t know how much we can infer from that.

In the second trailer things becoming more apparent. In the scene where the jeletrons (I think that’s what they’re called?) appear there are some glitching blank spaces, like the reality is glitching apart.

And I was just thinking, what if side order isn’t a virtual world but had kinda fake virtual elements??? I don’t exactly know how to explain it but think of something like security breach ruin. Everytime 8 goes into a level a bunch of yellow code reveals the surroundings. Side order is a rougelike and I think it’s said that every level would be unique so perhaps there’s an in universe explanation for that. Perhaps some sort of tech that “loads” the level through code and constructs the surroundings based on that, without necessarily being in a virtual world.

Interestingly enough even outside of the sprite there appears to be some rouge code, surrounding the spire specifically. And when you first wake up in the game the entire place loads in like the levels, implying it’s some sort of construct. But inkoplolis square and deca tower exist in the real world so what’s up with this? Putting that into consideration it wouldn’t make sense why whoever wants to enforce order would create an entire virtual world as that would be redundant. Perhaps going into the theory that lots of the stuff we see is a digital construct perhaps they remodelled the square using this.

But this brings up the question, how would they have this technology and have we seen anything like this before? The closest thing I can think of is octarian technology, but they don’t exactly have this level of stuff here otherwise octarian society wouldn’t be as ruined as it is if they could create stuff from thin air with code. There is some stuff that could come somewhat close to this with the floating error screens in Alterna but it’s nowhere near this level. But there is something notable that comes to mind. In Octo expansion, when you splat any of the sanitised octarians they glitch out instead of explode, and all have distorted voices that sound like they’ve been compressed through some software. This could very much be some aesthetic choice but this strange real-world glitching motif isn’t seen anywhere else in the game, but everywhere in side order. But despite this, the enemies you splat in side order don’t have the same glitch effect, so what’s up with that?

Again this could be some design choice and not actually important but aside this Acht/Dedf1sh’s appearance in this definitely hints to some connection to Octo expansion. Acht was the composer for the songs that play throughout Octo expansion and appears to have done something for octoplush in Alterna as well, implying at some point they might’ve found their way in the area. Acht is a sanitised Octoling who still has some sort of free will/consciousness left and thus can interact with 8 and Pearl like this. This aspect of them is probably how they managed to escape the deepsea metro facility in the first place, perhaps following some time after agent 8 managed to escape from there.

The deepsea metro is directly connected to inkopolis with a pathway leading to it underground. This is perhaps how Acht ended up here in the first place, and got caught up in whatever’s going on, perhaps putting a dent in the virtual world theory.

But that also brings up the question, was Acht in the splatlands? As they seem to have composed a song for octoplush and have their signature on the signature board in splatsville. They probably wouldn’t have to have traveled much due to the train that was built from inkadia to the splatlands but this implies they escaped before whatever happened to inkopolis square happened.

So in conclusion to this part of my ramble I think that side order may perhaps not be a virtual world, but there’s some sort of technology that can use code or whatever to materialise locations and objects. Perhaps using some sort of biological mechanism with microorganisms? Yes I bought this up out of nowhere lmao. There’s also one thing I wanna bring up but don’t know where to put it is that it seems the first thing that’s gonna happen with side order is seeing neo 3 asleep on a train, and having the screen glitch out and transition to inkopolis.

The infinite cycle of order

So the most recent trailer for side order focuses a lot on a cycle. A cycle of advancing through floors, using colour chips and completing objectives. This and the whole thing of the game being an infinitely replayable thing makes sense because it’s a rougelike, but I want to discuss the story implications here.

Already the motif of infinity and cycles is hugely present. Just about everywhere you can find the infinity symbol. It’s present everywhere in levels, on the technology, the 8 ball which is now an infinity ball, the currency, the palette, basically it’s as prevalent as the Alterna and Kamabo co logo, which makes me think it could play a role like those. Alterna was a long lost human civilisation and didn’t exactly have a driving force in the story in its own, rather on how it was used by others.

Kamabo is interesting though. As it was the company Tartar set up to run the test facilities in the deepsea metro while convincing its subjects that if they pass the tests they’ll enter the promised land, but actually just killing them. Lots of the facilities used the original metro to get around and was entirely under the control of the kamabo corporation. So basically, it was a major antagonist force.

So what does this mean for the infinity thing in side order? When I first saw it I suspected it was something like Kamabo, an evil company controlled by the main antagonist that sets up facilitates, but it’s definitely different than that. The infinity thing seems to have control over the weird code and glitching thing that I mentioned earlier might be manifesting objects in the world though technology. But once again how did this facility get hands on tech so advanced we have never seen before? The octarians didn’t even have stuff on this level and all the crazy tech stuff we have seen are still in the realm of stemming from octarian/human tech but this is completely new.

It’s hard to think about how they got this but since this is side order and perhaps this has something to do with order losing to chaos in the splatfest, it could be some sort of counter measure to the more chaotic inkling society has become, and trying to make everything some perfect semi virtual world, but this is a little off track.

Going back to the theory of the role of the infinity thing in the story, one thing that really sticks out to me is off the hooks involvement in it. From the beginning it seems that the infinity thing is some sort of antagonistic force, the one behind this nightmare of order. But looking at the back of the Pearl drone it has exactly the same logo as we see everywhere. And it doesn’t just stop there. The special cans that resemble marina’s hyper bombs have the same logo, and the pop up screen that shows in the trailer when she’s hacking into the system to give agent 8 more lives.

So what’s going on here? Why are off the hook associated with this infinity thing which is likely the one causing this? There’s a lot of ways this could go. Perhaps they’re not affiliated with it specifically and are using technology that was from the code or whatever I was going on about with that theory. This approach could mean that at some time perhaps the Pearl drone could get hijacked and someone pretending to be Pearl could misguide you. There’s also perhaps that off the hook is somewhat actually working for the villains (assuming the infinity thing is villainous). I don’t know why they’d side with it especially that what they’re doing goes entirely against their whole attitude towards the final fest but this is interesting to think about. Perhaps instead of willingly joining they were coerced into bringing 8 into this mess? As 8 seemed to wake up with no idea how they got there.

So that’s kinda the whole deal with what its involvement in the story could be but I wanna go back to my point of infinity/cycle symbolism. As I said the trailers make a big deal out of repeating a cycle to ascend the spire of order. Perhaps this cycle could be symbolic of something and by perpetuating this agent 8 could be doing more harm than good, getting stuck in a vicious cycle of order or whatever’s going on. The philosophical implications for this are really interesting. And this could’ve been already bought up before as the creatures that reside in the square that we see are describes to be “like cogs in a machine to create a far more complex cycle of social order.” So perhaps they’re stuck in some stagnant cycle as well, unable to escape from this world that was built for them. And maybe agent 8 is getting manipulated into this same cycle by ascending the tower, and perhaps the only way we move forward is to break the cycle. I’ve always found breaking out of stagnation and cycles and stuff to be an incredibly interesting storyline so I’m really exited for this.

Some other things I want to point out that is that in the very first trailer we see multiple Octolings standing on some sort of thing. It’s concept art so I don’t know if it’s outdated or whatever and I kinda forgot why I even bought this up in the first place but perhaps it could be of some sort of relation, although that’s just vibes for me.

So basically I think a whole cycle of infinity and

repetition is going to become important from all the infinity motifs we’ve seen so far and the gambler focus of a cycle. And wondering what this infinity thing is and if it plays an antagonistic force in the story and why off the hook are involved.

gonna make a part 2 to this soon post was getting too long

#Splatoon #splatoon 3 #side order #splatoon theory #You can clearly tell I did not plan this at all #Just vomit everything in my brain onto here #No cohesion or whatever just a bunch of random side tracking

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fractallogic · 1 year

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I RECOGNIZE that this is definitely just “past 9 PM brain weasels” but also I am suddenly so fucking anxious about the metro interview and like. everything. Interview. Cleaning out mom’s stuff. The contracts that are sorely overdue. How I need to eat all the food out of my fridge before I leave for a while on Saturday. Whether my supervisors will be okay with me working remotely for a while. Whether SCONE will be okay with me still needing to work remotely. How much bullshit I’ve forgotten about because I didn’t open my planner ONCE this week since setting it up on Sunday.

It’s not for another six days, my dude. None of that is urgent. Idk, do something tomorrow if you want (laundry? Would be great. Vacuuming cobwebs (and the orchid bark leavings) that you somehow missed during The Great Vacuum last weekend (or whenever)? Sure. A contract or two? Awesome!) but like, you said out loud on the professional internet (Twitter) that you wouldn’t be working-working until noon on Monday. So chat with scone and play video games all day, who cares. I promise it will be 100% fine. Your brain is lying to you. The weasels are being weaselly. Just brush your teeth and go to bed, buddy.

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calebkhavin · 2 years

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Boston is excited to welcome CALEB KHAVIN into town. They are a 28 year old CIS MALE that identify as HE/HIM. They’ve been in Boston for HIS WHOLE LIFE and a lot of people say they have a celebrity doppelgänger of RONEN RUBINSTEIN. When people see CALEB they automatically think of COFFEE RINGS ON A TABLE, UNSENT LETTERS PILED INTO A CORNER, and COMIC BOOK FILLED SHELVES, which makes sense when you found out that they’re a FIREFIGHTER. Let’s welcome them into town with open arms!

FULL NAME: Caleb Khavin

NICKNAMES: None at the moment

SEXUALITY & PRONOUNS: Bisexual (He&Him)

ROMANTIC STATUS: Single

BIRTHDAY: April 1st, 1994

ZODIAC: Aries,

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor with Hufflepuff tendencies

PETS: Pomeranian puppy named ‘Chewy’

HOMETOWN: Boston, Massachusetts

CURRENT LOCATION: Boston, Massachusetts

OCCUPATION: Firefighter

ROOMMATES: Just Chewy.

PARENTS: TBD

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: None at the moment! Definitely subject to change!

MUSE INSPO: nick miller + winston + ferguson (new girl), dale denton (pineapple express, seth rogan), wallace + scott (scott pilgrim vs the world, that gossipy bitch),fred wesley (harry potter) , j.d (scrubs), ross (friends), gambit (x-men), a little bit of everyone (the office)

MUSIC INSPO: welcome to the party - pop smoke, dopamine -borns, lost in the citadel - lil nas x, one more night- maroon 5, wicked games - the weekend, cherry -harry styles, lovefool -two colors (cover), myself - bazzi, burn the night away - there for tomorrow, kelsey -metro station, here comes the sun -the beatles

BACKSTORY

tw: death mention

Caleb Khavian entered the Khavian family by complete surprise. He was the second born of the two children, and as unintentional as he was, his father adored both of his kids with everything he had in him. Unfortunately, due some complications delivering him, his mom passed shortly after having had baby Caleb.

Caleb grew into the more athletic one and outgoing one of the two Khavian children.It didn’t take him long to make friends growing up and his popularity only grew once he hit high school. His sophomore year of high school he became the starting quarter back for the varsity team, and his father couldn’t have been prouder.

He somehow managed to balance his grades, football, and having a social life without seeming to struggle too much. Sure the guy barely slept, but he was hardly ever tired to begin with. When it came to having a dating life, however, that’s where he struggled. After his first relationship with a girl on the cheerleader squad went down the drain in a very toxic way, she cheated on him with one of his teammates, Caleb had a hard time trusting anyone into his heart again.

After he graduated high school, Caleb jumped right into the college life. He went to school on a football scholarship but deep down the guy knew he had no real interest in pursing a career in the sport. From as far back as he can remember, Caleb had always wanted to be a firefighter. While most kids often changed outfits every Halloween his would always remain the same, and when he stopped dressing up for the holiday, he never once stopped dreaming of the day he would be able to officially call himself a firefighter. Regardless, he played as if he were going to pursue a career in football. After graduation, though, Caleb enrolled in courses to get his EMT certificate and begin his process to be eligible to become a firefighter.

In the process of making these big moves for his future, Caleb met Kaiden. It did not take long for Caleb to fall for Kaiden, especially after seeing that smile of theirs. And the moment they began dating, it felt like a fairy tail became a reality, he felt like the luckiest guy alive. Needless to say, he had fallen for Kaiden pretty hard pretty quickly. Unfortunately, not all good things could have happy endings, and, their relationship took a hit the moment Caleb began to suspect that Kaiden could be cheating on him. When it began to feel like his boyfriend was spending too much time ‘late at work’ and distancing himself from him the little demon on his shoulder ended up getting the better of him. One night, after having one too many drinks at guys night, he accidentally let his overly jealous, paranoid mind get the better of him and he cheated on Kaiden. He didn’t sleep with the other guy, they did share a heated/drunken kiss, but it didn’t change the fact that he had cheated.

Losing Kaiden was, and is, Caleb’s biggest regret. He hates himself for having ever cheated in the first place, something he never did again after the fact, and he honestly couldn’t understand how he had let himself fall so deep in his own mind. After the break up he kept himself busy with pursing his goals, and while he did date here and there, he never really got serious with anyone again. He did, however, get a cute pup that he adores to death!

Now a days, Caleb is the one spending most of his time working. He absolutely loves his job and he’s proud to do what he does. When he isn’t on the clock, though, he’s often times either playing video games, reading comics, writing, sketching, or walking chewy. He’s got a good heart, despite the mistakes he has made in the past.

#b.intro #tw: drugs #[ everyone has their story ll caleb khavian ll ]

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taephilia · 3 years

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lost (myself) & found (you)

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader

genre: fluff, soulmate au, based off of kimi no na wa

warnings: one (1) swear word

word count: 2,120

a/n: i saw this quote from the movie and inspiration just struck and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since. ofc i wrote this for jungkook since he's a weeb and said he would also want to hear bells ring when he meets his soulmate <3 also this is not edited lol i'll come back to it later, i just wanted to get this out

"Once in a while when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must’ve had I can never recall. But… the sensation that I’ve lost something, lingers for a long time after I wake up." - Tachibana Taki, Kimi No Na Wa (2016)

Jungkook isn’t sure how long he’s felt like this—felt like something is missing, something important, something that his heart just can’t seem to let go of even if his brain has already forgotten. He knows that he dreams of whatever it is. He recalls scenes as he goes about his day; a loud laugh here, a brush of a hand against his there. People that he’s never seen before walking by him in a city he’s never been to, music playing on the radio that he’s never heard, a family that he comes home to that he doesn’t recognize at all. It’s all very strange and Jungkook is starting to wonder if maybe the late night ramen he’s built up a habit of eating has gone bad or maybe the unhealthy amounts of salt in it are the cause behind this. Because it was all fun and games until Jungkook’s heart starts to ache, like it’s calling out to someone that his brain can’t even conjure up an image for. Someone that he would search the ends of the cosmos for, someone that, whenever he feels like he gets close to them, slips right through his fingers like grains of sand. But he shakes it off whenever the feeling comes and ignores the heavy feeling in his chest in favor of paying attention to that day’s classes. If he had somehow found his soulmate, it definitely wouldn’t be someone in his hometown in the countryside.

Soulmate. That’s who his grandfather had told him he’s been dreaming about ever since Jungkook confessed almost two months ago about the reason behind his ever-present furrowed brows and faraway look in his eyes. He says that it had happened to him when he was around Jungkook’s age but, like most dreams, he’s forgotten who it was. He then went on to talk about the red thread of fate and that’s when Jungkook started tuning out. It’s a nice concept to think about when you’re a child—a red string tied around your pinky that connects you to the person that you’re destined to be with—but it’s just a myth and Jungkook doesn’t have time to think about things that aren’t real. Not when he barely has the time to think about the things that are real, like college entrance exams and graduating from high school.

So he buries his head in his books and pours every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears into his studies to get into his dream college in Seoul. The yearning in his heart doesn’t go away but it’s eclipsed by the pure exhaustion that he feels at the end of every day. And, like most dreams, he forgets.

Jungkook is 23 when he seriously begins to wonder whether or not he’s going crazy. He had thought he was going over the deep end while in college but hearing bells go off? Now that takes the cake. It happens at random; he never knows when the bells in his head will ring (and Jungkook knows that only he can hear them because nobody around him ever gives any sort of indication that they’ve heard them) no matter how much he tries to prepare for it. He checks his surroundings every day, eyes scanning over the crowds of people weaving around him in Seoul, but it’s no use. The only consistent location that they seem to chime in is when he’s on the metro and even then, it’s on random days, at random times, and not always at the same stop.

He’s not the type to go chasing after fairy tales, or at least, he isn’t anymore. He doesn’t have time to think hard and long about what these imaginary bells could mean, not when he has a job to do and people to impress and money to be made. And his grandfather died during his second year of college so the only conversation of “soulmates” that occurs now are the ones he has with himself in his head and the memories of their conversations years ago. But as fate would have it, Jungkook took a couple of days off to get an early start to the weekend and he is just itching for an adventure. So when he hears the bells go off while he’s making his way to his connecting train, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and puts himself into the hands of fate.

Jungkook allows his feet to carry him where they want, observing his surroundings and keeping an eye out for any person who gives any sort of indication to hearing something that they shouldn’t be hearing. He climbs up the stairs and out of the station, not giving any attention to the people who side-eye him for standing still on a bustling sidewalk, but looks down at his hand instead. In particular, at his pinky, which feels like there’s something squeezing at it. Like… like a thread that’s been tied snugly around it.

The red thread of fate, a voice in his head whispers to him and Jungkook almost chuckles out loud at the thought. And then almost laughs out loud again because, although he doesn’t believe in soulmates, his actions say otherwise. Because as much as Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates… Well, the thought of them and the red thread of fate being real is nice, isn’t it? Someone that you’re destined to be with, connected to by a string that can tangle and stretch but will never fray, keeping you tied to them for all eternity. It’s a comforting thought, especially when he thinks of his extremely lacking love life that comes with his high standards and fear of rejection.

Jungkook passes by a bakery during his fate-led walk and just as he’s considering stopping in to buy something, he hears the bells again. A light sound, one that could be mistaken for a phone notification, but one that he knows very well. But Jungkook’s soulmate must be as used to the sound as he is because no one around him gives any sort of indication that they’re also in search of him. And after an hour and a half of walking around a part of the city that he isn’t too familiar with, he’s ready to call it quits for the night. So Jungkook makes his way to the nearest metro station and gets on a train home.

Of course, that’s when he hears the bells again.

He looks up from his phone and around the crowded train but nobody has been able to move since the doors closed. And if it were someone near him, he would have heard them before. There’s a flash out of the corner of his eye and when Jungkook looks up and out the window of the sliding doors, he sees a pair of eyes staring back. A pair of eyes that are not his but in fact belong to someone in a train traveling right next to his. They stare right at him and mirror his own when they widen at the exact same time as his. But just as soon as Jungkook finds you, he loses you just as quickly when your train goes in a different direction.

Jungkook spends the entire day the next day looking for you. He manages to cross off everything on his “things to do when I’m in Seoul” bucket list that he’s been adding on to for the past 10 years. His feet hurt, his wallet feels significantly lighter than when he first left his apartment, and he’s wondering how much weight he lost from walking what feels like the entire expanse of Seoul three times over. And even after all that, he hasn’t heard the bells. Not once.

And it’s at this point, when Jungkook decides to eat dinner at his favorite ramen shop before calling it a night, that he begins to wonder if he had missed his chance last night. Not like it was much of a chance considering the fact that you were on a different train and he had no way of getting to you. But fate is cruel, isn’t that what some people say? Maybe his thread is just so tangled, so frayed, that it’ll take a lifetime before he’s able to get another glimpse at you. And Jungkook just isn’t that patient.

He can barely even remember what you look like anymore. Maybe it’s the hunger eating away at his stomach and the aching of his feet but as he eats his ramen, he can only recall vague details about you. Like how he wants to drown in your eyes, how soft your skin looks even through two dirty train door windows, and how he thinks your shiny hair probably smells nice - like vanilla or peaches or something. But your face? Absolutely nothing. It’s like he blacked out the second he looked up at you last night.

Jungkook leans back in his seat as he sips at his water, staring out the window of the shop as if you would walk past right that second. But you don’t. So Jungkook throws a couple of bills down onto the table for a tip and heads out, a sigh leaving his lips when he looks around but doesn’t hear any bells. Now that he’s had a chance to sit down and eat, he feels a bit more rational and more determined to find you—but that can wait until tomorrow after he’s had a good night’s sleep. It’s a bit later in the evening so there’s barely anyone around him as he makes his way to the nearest metro station that will take him home. Jungkook is just about to descend the stairs when something makes him stop. He’s not really sure what it is that he stops for; the bus honking on the street beside him or the group of friends laughing as they walk by him? Or perhaps it’s the person at the bottom of the stairs, their eyes looking down as they climb up, but Jungkook just knows that it’s you.

Well, he doesn’t actually know. He’s pretty sure it’s you. It feels like it’s you. But is that fate talking or just his hopeful heart? Jungkook decides not to say anything and slowly walks down the stairs. The bells will tell him if he’s right. Your eyes glance up and meet his and Jungkook sees them widen, but like him, you don’t say anything. Are you waiting to hear your own bells?

He shoves his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie, eyes quickly darting away from yours to stare holes into the ground as he keeps walking. His heart beats faster with every step and he has to resist the urge to just stare at you point blank because he needs to know and-

He hears the bells. And it’s like a weight is taken off of his shoulders.

But he keeps walking. And you keep walking. And now Jungkook is panicking because why the fuck is he still walking? You’re his soulmate, he found you, so why isn’t he stopping? Jungkook tries to get his feet to stop moving, to just turn around and call out to you but he can’t. What would he even say? ‘Hey, you’? He doesn’t even know your name. ‘I think you’re my soulmate’? How disgustingly cliche. What if you don’t even care that he’s your soulmate? What if you’re already seeing someone? What if he’s the only one that can hear the bells for you and you hear them for someone else? What if-

“Um, excuse me?”

Jungkook almost trips on the last step from how fast he turns around at the sound of your voice. His hands feel clammy but he keeps them in his pocket otherwise you’d be able to see how they’re shaking ever so slightly. He drags his eyes up to yours and suddenly, every bit of anxiety he felt is suddenly gone. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

“Have we met before? You seem really familiar.”

You’re at the top of the stairs now but you step down a few steps, as if you want to get closer. Jungkook climbs back up a few steps because he does want to get closer. There’s an easy smile on his face as he says, “Found you.”

He isn’t sure where it came from. He isn’t even exactly sure what he means. But it feels like the right thing to say, like something that he’s vaguely remembering from a dream he had a long time ago. And judging from the matching smile on your own face, you know what Jungkook means.

“Took you long enough.”

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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thelittlebirdthattoldyou · 3 years

Note

for the songfic drabble: iwaoi and girls by The 1975? also hope youre having a great day!!

ty anon! i hope you are as well <3

girls - the 1975

pairing: iwaizumi hajime/oikawa tooru

content: slight angst (with a happy ending), getting together, high school, clubbing?

tw: underage drinking/drug mention

wc: 926

It’s practically Seijoh tradition. The last night of their training camp in Tokyo, the third years sneak out of their rooms and take the metro downtown to let loose. Maybe the coaches know about it or maybe they don’t, but they turn a blind eye as long as everyone makes it onto the bus the next day.

Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and, naturally, Oikawa were all for the idea, to the point of packing club outfits alongside their gym clothes. They’re only at their first nightclub, and all three of them have already disappeared onto the dance floor. Iwaizumi scowls down at his untouched beer. A drop of condensation trickles down the side of the glass.

It’s tradition, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

A heavy arm drapes itself around Iwaizumi’s shoulders and he tenses, turning to tell the person off. He stops when he realizes that it’s Oikawa, almost unrecognizable under the neon lights. His hair is a mess, his pupils dilated. There’s alcohol on his breath, a hint of something fruity, and Iwaizumi recoils. “What happened to you?”

Oikawa giggles, plopping down next to him. His face is too close; his body is too close, radiating heat, and Iwaizumi is going to burn up under his sheer radiance. “Someone offered me a blunt,” Oikawa slurs. “Isn’t that wild, Iwa-chan?”

A sick feeling coils in Iwaizumi’s stomach. “Are you shitting me, Oikawa? You took something a stranger gave you? Do you know how dangerous -”

Oikawa shakes his head, pouting, shuffling closer until he can rest his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I didn’t take it, Iwa-chan, ‘m not dumb. Was just saying.”

Iwaizumi relaxes, barely. “We really shouldn’t have come out here.”

“But Iwa-channn,” Oikawa whines. “I’m having fun.”

“Are you?” Iwaizumi looks at him. Beyond the superficial signs of enjoyment - the rumpled clothes, the flushed face - there’s nothing. His smile is fake.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Maybe I would be having more fun if you would dance with me,” he deflects.

“I don’t dance,” Iwaizumi says. He eyes his beer. Maybe Oikawa would be easier to deal with if he got drunk. “And I’m definitely not going to dance with you.”

Apparently he’s said something wrong because Oikawa deflates. He’s silent for a string of heartbeats, breath hot against Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi gives in, grabs his beer and takes a sip, making a face immediately and setting it back down.

Oikawa retracts his arm, and Iwaizumi catches himself before he can start missing the warmth. He turns to look at his best friend.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, clasping his hands together. “Do you think... maybe just for tonight…”

He trails off, biting his lip. Iwaizumi cocks his head. “Spit it out, Shittykawa.”

“Do you ever think,” Oikawa restarts, “about kissing me, maybe?”

Iwaizumi almost stops breathing.

Has he thought about kissing Oikawa? More than he’ll ever admit. He’s thought about them kissing on the walk home after school or after a game-winning spike or in one of their rooms on a hazy afternoon. Never in a place like this.

“Because,” Oikawa says, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes, “I think about kissing you. A lot. And - and not just kissing.”

The blaring EDM fades away as Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, really looks at him. He notices that there’s glitter streaked across his cheek. Some of it is caught in his eyelashes, and it makes his eyes shine.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa presses when Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. His lips twist into a bitter smile. “I know you didn’t expect me to - I know I’m not what you need, but if you let me - we can forget about it tomorrow morning.”

“Not what I need?” Iwaizumi parrots. That’s ridiculous. He needs Oikawa more than he needs air.

Frustrated, Oikawa takes matters into his own hands, grabbing Iwaizumi’s bicep and leaning in. Iwaizumi plants a hand on his chest, pushing him away. “Wait, Oikawa,” he says. His own voice rings in his head. Impossible: Oikawa Tooru, infamous for breaking the hearts of high school girls all over Miyagi in his relentless pursuit of volleyball, wants him.

Now Oikawa’s lip wobbles for just a second before settling into a careful, blank line. “Kidding, kidding,” he says, all fake cheer. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you’re not that type.”

Well, he’s right about one thing. “Oikawa, stop,” Iwaizumi says. He can already feel Oikawa starting to pull away. “If I’m going to kiss you, it’s going to be because you’re sober and because I’ve been in love with you for ages. Not because you want to mess around or whatever the fuck this is.”

Oikawa freezes. His eyes go wide. “You love me?” he breathes.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Where did those other two losers run off to? We’d better go back.”

“No, no, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “You’ll kiss me? Tomorrow morning if I asked again, would you kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, like his heart’s not about to beat through his ribs.

“And if I told you I loved you too, would you date me? And hold my hand?”

Iwaizumi can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he says.

“Oh, god,” Oikawa says. “Oh my god. Where are Makki and Mattsun? We need to leave now. Oh my god.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he’s pulled up and out of his seat. He almost wants to go back on his promise and kiss Oikawa right here, beautiful as he is, practically glowing in the dark.

But they have tomorrow. And the sooner they get back to the hotel and crash, the sooner it will come.

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pens-swords-stuff · 3 years

Note

Hi undine!! I’m watching e3 this weekend (an event where games get announced if you don’t know) and trying to squeeze in time to write still!! I can’t remember where I was at the last time I talked to you, but I finished the first draft of my main wip a week ago and am working on my side gay undercover spy wip while I let it rest! Would you like to ramble about the ATB characters? How has your summer been so far? Anything new or fun in your life or near Future plans? Thanks for doing this ❤️

Hey Lila!

Congrats on finishing your first draft, that's awesome!!! I'm so impressed, I swear you've been pulling out so many amazing milestones and achievements lately — or at least it definitely seems like it. You're so amazing, I'm in awe of you! And excuse me gay undercover spy WIP sounds amazing please tell me more????

My summer has been pretty chill. I'm actually wrapping up my internship this week. I've been asked to stay on temporarily as a paid volunteer to help make the transition process smoother as new interns come in, and I am officially handing over the baton on Thursday. It's kind of bittersweet! Besides that, I don't really have any summer plans. Besides writing with my writing partner and hanging out with friends! Now that things are slowly opening back up, I've been reaching out to some old high school friends that I haven't talked to in forever and that's been really nice.

What about you? I hope your summer is fantastic!

This post is already super long, so I'll ramble abotu ATB characters in a different post I think. Thanks so much for asking! I've been struggling to figure out how to talk about it and I really appreciate it.

Putting my E3 thoughts under the read more because wow it is a lot of words.

I've been watching bits and pieces of E3. I've never been one to watch it and I usually just caught up with all the news afterwards, but my partner is much more into it than I am so we've been watching some together when we can! I watched the Bethesda and Square Enix showcase yesterday and boy howdy let me tell ya, I was so disappointed! Square Enix makes some of my absolute favorite games and I was really excited for it. I was hoping for some Dragon Quest XII news, or maybe something more about Project Triangle Strategy but all I got was an entire half an hour on the Guardians of the Galaxy game, and then another additional Avengers thing. As someone who is definitely not into the MCU and is super frustrated that all the big movie releases are all MCU movies, I was very unhappy. Everything else in that was also super rushed and not well organized at all. I was pretty disappointed with Life is Strange: True Colors in it too despite being super excited for the game because it just feels like it was all stuff I already knew.

That being said, I did say "I'm going to kill Chaos!" with my partner all day yesterday so it wasn't a complete bust.

I was also hoping for a new Ace Attorney game from Capcom but all we got was the Great Ace Attorney again :c. I'm glad it's coming to the West and all but as a Japanese person I definitely don't need it as much as Americans do sooooo

Now that Square Enix and Capcom have not been it for me, I'm really looking forward to the Nintendo Direct tomorrow. I don't have big hopes, I'm just hoping to be pleasantly surprised since Nintendo has been pretty dry lately too. All I want is an Animal Crossing update that actually adds stuff, something more substantial for Zelda's 35th anniversary than what we've got so far, and maybe some more news on some games I've been anticipating like Baldo and again, Project Triangle Strategy, maybe an Octopath Traveler sequel or a follow up to FE3H but I'm not expecting any of that to actually happen. My partner is also dying for a Metroid thing. I think he's resigned to not hearing anything about Metro Prime 4, so he's just crossing his fingers for some of the older games to make its way over onto the Switch. As always I'm keeping my hopes super low, but it'd be nice to get excited about a game again.

I hope it's more than just the rumored Switch Pro!

(My biggest wildcard wish is for a new Katamari Damacy to be announced. Warioware too but that one is seeming a bit more promising!)

I also just started playing Hades for the first time yesterday and so if it's super disappointing I'm just going to channel it all into that because I am obsessed.

#undine answers stuff #writer friends #writeblrfantasy #lila

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 4 years

Text

Wicked Game

Another round of the 5sos fic writing collab brought to you by @maluminspace and @h0tsos. There are so many amazing writers involved and I highly recommend checking out the event master list linked below. Thank you to the Sagittarius sorceress @sexgodashton for being very caring, patient, and kind while helping me tame this monster. Massive shout out to @ghostofmashton for the photo edits, especially Ashton’s eye. that’s my favorite. You’re a rock star. Texas girls forever, love you to bits!

Event Master List

Prompt: Chef AU with Cashton

Dialogue Prompt: “Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met” First person to spot it in the fic and send me a screenshot gets a personalized blurb request.

Word Count: 20K+ Team Long Winded Bitch strikes again, this will be posted in multiple parts over the next couple of days. This first part is about 5K

Rating: 18+ Slash fic Strong language, alcohol and drug use, and a misogynistic and racist comment. Sexual scenes including masturbation, toys, voyeurism, oral, and anal sex.

Summary: Ashton is ready to move on with his life after his painful divorce from Luke and the demise of the restaurant they’d built together. With the help of his protegee and sous chef Hima Singh, Ashton is ready to take on opening weekend of his new restaurant Anne-Marie’s. Calum is a reporter filling in on an assignment and is surprised when his past comes back to haunt him. Hima arranges an interview that takes an unexpected turn between the two men.

Part 1

"Great job, guys, we couldn't have had a better opening weekend. Thank you so much for making it happen," Ashton told the two staff members in the kitchen who'd closed as he unlocked the back door.

"No problem boss, glad to be here. We made money this weekend. See ya tomorrow," DeSean told him as he left.

Ashton locked the door behind them and walked out into the empty dining room, his steel-toed boots echoing heavily on the distressed blonde faux hardwood floors. He stopped to adjust a few tables, double-checking sightlines and looking over the layout of the tables. The upside-down chair legs cast long shadows in the soft pink neon glow.

He looked up at the sign above the bar that read "Anne-Marie's." He smiled, not caring if anyone thought it was cheesy to name his restaurant after his mother. His mom had always been his lucky star, and he couldn't have gotten through the last couple of years without her.

"You look so serious,' a voice behind him startled him out of his thoughts.

"What the fuck Hima," Ashton yelped, clutching his chest dramatically. "I thought you were still in the kitchen."

"The guys didn't leave me anything to do so I decided to change and have a drink with you before my brother gets here," she tossed her bag and chef's coat onto a stool grinning at Ashton. She hopped up to sit on the bar before swinging her legs around as she pushed off. Landing without a wobble she reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle of black label Bushmill's Irish Whiskey and two short glasses.

"Straight for the good stuff, I like the way you think," Ashton smirked, taking a seat at the bar.

"To simply mark the occasion, of course" she poured them each a shot before adding a splash of water. She raised her glass, "Cheers to you, Boss, and to Anne-Marie's."

They clinked glasses. "Couldn't have done it without you," he replied before taking a sip.

"Awwwwww thanks Ashtton, " she grinned at him. "Damn that's good, the whiskey makes me forgive the Irish for how dreadful Guinness is. Did you see Kevin Mackie snuck in last night? I expect a write up in the Metro on Tuesday and I know you saw Patricia Bennett," she rolled her eyes at the name.

"She makes herself hard to miss," he snorted. "I missed Mackie though. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we were busy and I didn't have time for you to get all giggly and nervous. He got the crab puffs and the Mac and Brie and inhaled them. You were right about the nutmeg; I thought he was going to lick the plate." She opened two bottles of beer before hopping back over the bar and taking a seat next to Ashton.

"How did this weekend compare to the opening of ‘Lune Rouge’? Was it as good as the first time?" Hima finished her whiskey before shaking a pack of Camel Crush cigarettes out of her bag.

"If you get ashes on the bar Paloma will flip her shit," Ashton warned.

"I'm not afraid of her," Hima snipped, but she made sure to be careful. No sense in antagonizing their temperamental main bartender.

"This opening was definitely smoother than the first one. We didn't know what the hell we were doing. The first night we ran out of duck fat and gorgonzola before the dinner rush was over. My sous chef's sister had to run to Whole Foods for emergency supplies. We got lucky the press ignored us for a couple weeks until we got a little buzz going. This time I knew what to expect but there was also more pressure," he paused, taking a pull on the bottle of beer. "This time I expected to succeed right out of the gate."

"You succeeded there," Hima stubbed her cigarette out in her empty glass. "I really need to quit."

"You could get a puff bar and start vaping," he teased.

"I'm not a fucking junior varsity cheerleader. I can take my cancer like a big girl." She checked her phone. "Ugh it's almost nine, and it's gonna take me at least thirty minutes to get home. You're closing tomorrow with me right?"

"Yeah, I'll be in around 11 all this week. Rafi is handling brunch with Gloria but I want to be here," Ashton double-checked his phone. "Tuesday I have that interview with Men's Life and they just emailed me."

Hima saw his nose scrunch up as he read. "What's wrong?"

"I thought they were sending Taj, but instead of rescheduling the interview, they're sending Calum Hood," Ashton sneered.

"Chill dude, it's not that bad," Hima was confused by the venom in his voice. "Yeah he's a bit of a goof, but he's hot and not a pretentious dickhead. They could've sent Felipe."

"True, true," he grumbled as he saw a black Honda pull up outside. "Kabir is here."

"Shit, ok see you tomorrow, Boss," she grabbed her stuff, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and ran out the door, locking it behind her.

Ashton walked through once again. He made sure the lights were off in the employee lounge. Since many of his staff members used public transport or worked two jobs, Rafi had convinced Ashton to provide his staff with a decent place to take a break and get ready before or after work. He built a small shower stall, lockers, and provided clean towels, and as his new kitchen manager, Rafi took responsibility for maintaining the space. Ashton took a last look at the bar, double-checking for any stray ashes Hima might have missed before setting the alarm, locking up, and heading home.

Calum opened the email from his editor and swore loud enough to wake the scruffy brown terrier mix snoozing at his feet.

Hey Cal,

Sorry it's such short notice but Taj's mom had an emergency and I need you to cover for him. He's interviewing Ashton Irwin, remember him? He had the Lune Rouge a few years ago. Well, he's got a new place, diverse staff and we're doing a feature. Maybe even the cover if he's really pretty. Tuesday at 2 pm I'll send you the address and details after I talk to Taj. Oh, and my friend Nick is coming into town and I told him you'd show him around. It's been a while since you had a date but you'll like him. He's kinda short, but he's got big muscles, huge dick, perfect credit. You could do a lot worse.

Call me tomorrow

Sham

This isn't good, this isn't good. Calum's mind was racing. He rubbed his temples trying to think. Taj was notoriously reliable and responsible, so if he was taking off on short notice, it must be serious. It was just his bad luck it was Ashton Irwin.

He usually covered travel and sports for Men's Life while Taj handled food and fashion. Calum didn't mind taking back food and dining for the time being. He'd started in that industry, working as a line cook while he went to school for journalism. He'd quit both when a flirty, older professor recommended him for an internship at California Culture and he managed to land a real job. Professor Davis had been highly disappointed to lose him as a student and catch him making out with her son who went to the same college. He'd found a tiny shitty apartment, spent his life on the road for work, and sent every penny he didn't need to live on to his family. He didn't even date for the longest time until he met a handsome blonde with sharp features and a sharper tongue.

He couldn't remember if it was four years ago or five, but he clearly recalled his review of Lune Rouge had not been nice. Calum was in a toxic relationship with the restaurant's sous chef at the time. He'd let his personal life spill over into his work for the first and only time. It wasn't something Calum was proud of and while he felt he owed Ashton an apology, the right time and place hadn't presented itself yet. He'd run into Ashton twice since then. The first time he was with his husband, and Calum wasn't about to humble himself in front of Luke. The second encounter came not long after their marriage broke up. Calum was dating a photographer at the time, when Ashton came to the photographer’s art show. They were briefly introduced but Ashton's chilly demeanor discouraged any further conversation, so Calum avoided him the rest of the evening. He remembered being unable to stop staring at the handsome chef with the sad eyes. He'd always hoped they'd bump into each other under better circumstances. I guess an interview will have to do.

********

Ashton sat out on his condo balcony overlooking Echo Park, taking in the night air and enjoying a second bottle of IPA. Hima was right, the opening had been a smash. Anne-Marie's had the best staff he'd ever had the pleasure of working with, and aside from a small mix up between gruyere and Havarti cheese, the opening had been smooth. The alcohol hummed in his veins as he allowed his mind to wander back five years.

Lune Rouge's opening had been a chaotic mess of brilliance, balls, and blind luck. He was a year out of culinary school, newly married, and ecstatically in love with his husband. Luke was a trust fund baby; his dad ran a major studio. He put up the funding for their restaurant which procured a prime spot in trendy West Hollywood. Ashton had the idea of taking traditional French cuisine and turning it into "pub grub." Luke created a kitschy tacky cool interior with the ambiance of fairy light curtains, vintage 90's movie posters, an eye-popping pink and aqua come scheme. Featuring a bartender who doubled as a DJ, the restaurant became an immediate hot spot.

The culinary press treated them like rock stars and it went to their head. Ashton was portrayed as the mysterious boy genius, boisterous and foul-mouthed, he ran the back of the house, oversaw the business and created the menu. Luke, who's blonde-haired blue-eyed good looks were regularly described as "angelic", was the frontman, often schmoozing in the dining room, taking song requests, or slinging drinks behind the bar. They worked so well together until they didn't.

Ashton shook his head, not allowing himself to linger on negative thoughts, not when he'd fought to regain balance. He'd spent the last year freeing himself from the wreckage of his partnership with Luke. Still, tonight after the opening, alone and overlooking the city lights, his mind kept going back to the exhilaration of that first opening night. After they stayed late with the crew for a drink to celebrate, Luke's hand wandered up Ashton's thigh causing him to almost choke on his tequila. Soon Luke started whining about all the paperwork he had to do before they could go home. The crew quickly bagged it out of there, not wanting to get roped into more work.

Ashton swallowed at the memory before glancing around at the other balconies. It was late enough most of his neighbors should be asleep. Already hard, he reached down and squeezed his bulge through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

After letting everyone else out of Lune Rouge that first night he'd been puzzled to find Luke no longer at the bar. He heard noises coming from the office. When he opened the door, he found his husband, shirtless, and waiting for him.

Ashton slid his hand into his pants swiping his thumb across the leaking tip. He heard a sliding glass door open and froze in place until he realized it was his neighbor below him chatting on the phone. He stroked himself and let his mind wander back to Luke. It had been too long since Ashton got laid, and Luke was still the best sex he'd ever had. He shuddered and bit his lip thinking about the way Luke grinned at him as he opened the office door. Before Ashton could say a word, Luke was sinking to his knees. A bit awkward given his long legs, but it didn't take long before he was letting Ashton fuck his throat. The thought of those blue eyes looking up at him as Ash's hands tangled in those blonde curls caused a moan to slip out, and his neighbor stopped talking at the sound.

"I think somebody is having sex," he heard her whisper. He almost laughed.

His dick was twitching flat against his stomach as he ducked back inside his bedroom, kicked off his pants, and grabbed a small tube of lube. Ashton shut off the light and stepped back outside.

The breeze cooled his fevered skin as he stood there looking out at the city and stroking his dick. The idea that he could possibly be seen turned him on almost as much as his trip down memory lane. He swallowed another moan thinking about how Luke's lips felt against his, their tongues tangled until he pulled back looking at Ashton with mischief and love before giving him a wink and turning around.

Ashton's breath caught in his throat as he worked his cock thinking about it. The red and white striped pants his husband pranced around in that night had been blissful torment working him up until the moment he slid those pants down and bent over the desk.

"Come take what's yours, my love, I've been wanting you all night," he cooed, wiggling his hips.

Luke was a whiny boy when he was getting pounded, and the memory sent Ashton closer to the edge. He felt his knees tremble as he increased his speed, the city lights becoming starbursts in his vision as he edged himself closer. At the moment of release, he swore he could feel Luke pushing back against him taking him in as deep as he could go.

When Ashton opened his eyes, he found himself sweaty and streaked with his own seed. He was amazed he'd managed to stay quiet, but his neighbor was chatting away obliviously. He went back inside, cracked another beer, and took it with him into the shower, trying to focus on his day tomorrow.

It was after midnight by the time he went to bed. His body was exhausted but the adrenaline from the opening weekend hadn't quite worn off. He found himself still restless and playing on his phone. After scrolling through Instagram, he found himself looking at the page belonging to the Galway Grill-- Ashton cringed at the name-- an Irish pub and microbrewery very recently opened by Luke and his boyfriend Finn.

Ashton simmered with resentment perusing the menu; they'd recycled at least half of the Lune Rouge recipes, his creations. He'd heard they'd rushed their opening to launch the week before Anne-Marie's, and even with Daddy's deep pockets the decor looked slapped together, all flash no class. He came to a picture of the happy couple and couldn't help but notice how thin and tired Luke looked despite his huge smile. He felt a twinge of concern for his ex before pushing his phone away in disgust. Rolling out of bed, he headed to the bathroom and fished an orange prescription bottle out of the cabinet. He broke a valium in half and swallowed the smaller piece with a gulp of water straight from the faucet. He scrolled through different sounds on his phone before settling on crashing waves. He spent the next ten minutes stretching and practicing deep breathing to push out any lingering negativity and troubling thoughts. It was too late to drag up the past and there was nothing to be gained. Ashton crawled back under the duvet and sank into a deep sleep dreaming of blue eyes.

*********

Hima rolled into work a little after one, pleased to see a decent lunch crowd and multiple delivery orders going out. She ordered a chicken mojito wrap for her lunch and headed back to the office to find Ashton. She found him in his chair with his laptop open on his desk, a notebook in his lap while scrolling through his phone.

"So what's the Monday morning report, Boss?" She asked, taking a seat across from him.

Ashton was beaming as he spun the laptop around to show her. "We made 30% over our projected sales. We came in right at payroll, actually a little under if you can believe that."

"I've checked the reservation book," she responded, flashing her phone. "We're booked solid for dinner Friday and Saturday and will call is 3 pm-7 pm. We're probably going to have to do that all week."

"Whatever you need. This weekend is going to be bonkers. If you have any suggestions, I'd like to do something for the staff. That reminds me, I've got to talk to Maisie." He scribbled down a quick note.

"She's already on it," Hima laughed. "The servers who struggled are coming in for extra training with her and Dakota. I have no doubt she'll straighten them up or ship them out."

Ashton nodded as Daniel knocked on the office door to bring their lunch.

"How's it going out there? Let us know if you need anything," Ashton told him.

"We've got this, Boss, enjoy your lunch," Daniel closed the door behind him.

"He's Rafi's brother?" Hima asked before taking a big bite.

"Cousin, Gloria is his sister," Ashton replied tucking into his roasted corn and quinoa salad with queso fresco.

"Are you ready for this interview tomorrow? You look tired," Hima looked concerned.

"I am tired," he shrugged. "I just wanna get this over with. I'm thrilled we're doing so well, but that's not what the press wants to talk about."

"Don't think about it like that. Anne-Marie's will stand on her own. You've just gotta get through this week. I know it's a lot," her words were half-muffled by a napkin.

"Tomorrow is the worst of it. Mackie called and is available Tuesday at one or Thursday for dinner around four. Since he's already been here for dinner, I thought I'd let Rafi wow him this time," he told her.

"Good idea, try to keep it short because if he drinks he gets super chatty. He gave a lecture at school and came to the bar afterward; he would not shut up," she warned.

"Chatty bastard, got it," he replied and they both laughed.

Anne-Marie's was his restaurant, but he couldn't have done it without Hima. She was fresh out of culinary school working as a line cook at the Hilton when he'd discovered her a little over a year ago. Ashton only lasted four months before chafing under the corporate yoke and deciding to strike out on his own. She'd been the first person he'd hired for the restaurant, guaranteeing her first year's salary out of his own pocket. Rafi and DeSean were excellent managers for the kitchen, but Hima was a coach: she understood the business as a whole. He'd let her handle most of the press and promotion, and she'd scored two big interviews.

Gourmet Table had interviewed him last Thursday The piece wouldn't be that in-depth, but they'd spent three hours photographing food. He expected the Men's Life article to focus more on him and his personal life. Calum Hood was known for his sharp pen and take-no-prisoners style. He'd given Lune Rouge two stars and a biting review during a brief stint at California Culture before he'd become known. It was five years ago, but Ashton still had the clipping somewhere. Calum had branded Lune's food as tasty and imaginative but thought the presentation was lacking in creativity. He'd ripped into the decor, calling it "somewhere between art house and frat house," and labeled Luke and Ashton "spoiled pretty boys pretending to be chefs." Luke had brushed it off with a laugh, but it still bothered Ashton.

Unlike the Hemmings’, Ashton’s family didn't have money to throw around. He'd started at sixteen, washing dishes and peeling vegetables for Chef François at Bordeaux on Hollywood. He'd taken culinary classes after high school while working full time. Sadly, Chef François had a heart attack and retired around the time he met Luke.

"You're not listening again," Hima complained, licking her fingers. "Rafi killed it with this wrap. The chicken is amazing, but the cucumber-mint salad and the tamarind chili mayo are next fucking level."

"You're right, I'm not. Sorry about that," he pushed his plate aside.

"Ok, what's got you so rattled? You've handled the press like a champ up until now. Is it Mackie or Hood? Who needs to catch these hands?" Hima stood and assumed a fighter's stance, bouncing on her toes.

"Easy there killer, I can defend my own honor. Mackie is an irritating little mosquito. He just wants gossip, but he's got enough readers so we all have to kiss his ass. Hood gave me one of the few bad reviews we got at Lune, and it stuck. He called us frat boys and said we were trying too hard," Ashton rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by saying it out loud.

Hima raised her eyebrows and smirked, "I love it when you're petty. You're always so perfect and Zen, it's annoying."

"My therapist would disagree. Oh shit, that reminds me," he straightened up in his chair and grabbed his phone. "I've got an appointment at 2:30. I'll be back before 4," he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Ashton," her voice was soft but commanding, and he looked up. "I don't know what's going on, and if you don't want to tell me that's fine. I want you to take care of yourself, whatever that takes. Ok?" He nodded and she smiled, "You can tell Dr. Claire that I've confirmed her for 8 pm Saturday, and you're going to personally cook her dinner. We've got the 50th anniversary that night so maybe you could flex and make your Pavlova's? I'll get the berries myself."

"It's a deal; we can comp them champagne, too. I'd better get going before I get yelled at. She's a stickler for punctuality, I think it's a British thing."

"I'll hold things down until you get back," Hima gathered up the dishes and headed out with Ashton right behind her.

*********

Ashton drew a deep breath and exhaled through his nose as the reporter settled in the chair across from him. Kevin Mackie's column in L.A. Metro was the definitive opinion for restaurants on the West Coast. His readers loved the snarky tone, celeb sightings, and bitchy gossip that peppered his column. His reviews could make or break new restaurants.

"Let me start off by saying I love the decor of this place. It's rustic, but not in that played out, hipster-in-the-woods nonsense," he leaned in and lowered his voice towards the end of the comment with a coy smirk.

"You'll find no Mason jars here," Ashton replied, taking the bait. Kevin liked people who liked him, and his most recent column was a snarky takedown of "Pinterest style interiors." Ashton found the article tedious and uninspired, but there was no need to be antagonistic right out of the gate.

Ashton watched as the reporter ordered his lunch from their server Zia. He guessed Kevin to be in his forties, and he thought he could see fresh hair plugs, bleached blonde, and a bit of Botox. Rumor had it, he'd recently split with his long-time girlfriend over a fling with a much younger waiter. Ashton tried not to pay attention to industry gossip. However, his personal problems made their way into the column more than once, and he couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction at the other man's problems.

After they'd both ordered, Kevin sat back and took a sip of his Pellegrino water and smacked his lips. "I was here the other night and I have to admit I was prepared to be underwhelmed. A menu based on sandwiches and comfort food sounded like an upscale Applebee's, but I really liked it despite myself. I was surprised to see your main girl was on the mature side, but she's efficient as hell so I get the trade-off."

Ashton's body tensed at the insult to Maisie, and he took a deep breath. Exhaling through his nose he forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Kevin was prattling on with some bit of gossip as Ashton sipped on his iced coffee.

"So let's start with something simple and ease our way into the rough stuff," Kevin set his voice recorder on the table between them. "Tell me how you formulated your top-secret house coffee blend."

Ashton broke into a wide grin as he described taking two months to travel and sample different beans, learn more about the roasting and blending process. Kevin sipped his coffee and nodded as if deep in thought, but his eyes kept wandering to Ashton's biceps. He'd been baking this morning so he smelled of cinnamon, his black t-shirt damp and clingy from sweating under his chef coat.

"So we sell the house blend all year, but we have single-source coffee that's seasonal, all of it fair trade," Ashton finished proudly.

"Coffee has always been your thing if I remember correctly," Kevin said.

"True, true, and once I started roasting my own beans it became a true obsession."

Kevin followed it up with a couple more softball questions about menu details and sandwiches. Ashton expounded on his love of food. "Cooking for someone is a simple way to show care, to be enjoyed almost as much as dining should be. Food is caring and comfort; it sustains us. It brings people together in a shared experience."

"Ooh that's a nice pull quote," Mackie chuckled. "I love when y'all have media training. It makes the bullshit flow much smoother.

Ashton seethed but said nothing. He'd watched this man's pettiness wreck a good opening, and Ashton couldn't do that to his crew. Zia brought their lunch. Ashton noticed Kevin had also ordered the chicken mojito wrap.

"This looks delicious. I think it's a nice touch that you've got so much, let's say diversity, in your restaurant. That you're actually letting them make their own food makes your menu more interesting. Not all restaurants get it. Please tell me you've seen how horribly Finn ripped you off for that tacky Irish pub," Kevin glanced up at him a tiny smirk playing on

"I haven't paid any attention to that," Ashton wanted to end the interview right there.

"Oh come on, you've had to see how much he's trying to recreate the magic you and Luke once had. The menu is tired, I don't give a fuck if he is Irish. Finn has no imagination yet fancies himself an impresario. Luke's still got it though. He even asked when I was coming here. I didn't tell him of course, I'm a professional after all."

"Of course," Ashton nodded checking out of the conversation. The reporter talked as he ate which given the wrap he was eating proved especially messy and little flecks of food kept flying his way. Ashton watched the door, nodding at customers, silently willing someone to come and save him. Kevin was still talking about himself when Hima and Zia came out of the kitchen. Ashton tried to catch their eye when he felt a hand on his arm.

"I wanna ask you about that one," Kevin leaned in so he could almost whisper.

"Who? Hima? What about her?" Ashton was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"What's the deal? I've only ever seen you with Luke. Did your palette change that much? India must've been a real spiritual awakening for you huh?" Kevin winked at him, thinking he was clever.

Ashton controlled his breathing trying to keep his temper in check. He looked over at the reporter who kept talking oblivious to the situation.

"Who doesn't like trying something exotic. She seems like a smart cookie. She's darker than most Indian girls you see, like a rich brown butter sauce. I bet she tastes like tumeric though."

"Get out of my restaurant" Ashton hissed, his hands gripping the table to restrain himself from physical violence. "You are not going to insult my staff, my friends, in their restaurant."

Kevin started to speak but Ashton cut him off.

"Not another fucking word" he kept his voice at a low growl so as not to cause a scene. He noticed a couple of the closest tables were already watching them. "You've said enough and I'm barely holding back as it is. Get out of my restaurant, don't ever come back, don't ever speak to me again, and if you trash me in this review I promise you I will find you and fuck you up personally." Ashton stood up and Kevin flinched, the sight would have made him laugh if he hadn't been so furious. He stepped back and the reporter scrambled out of his seat leaving his lunch unfinished. Ashton walked back into the kitchen, Hima fast on his heels. He kicked the door open to the break room and headed for the speed bag hanging in the corner. He'd learned the hard way punching walls usually resulted in the wall winning the fight so he'd given himself something easier on his hands.

Hima watched him from the door, his back and biceps rippling as he went two minutes at full speed. When he finally turned around she could see the anger had cooled somewhat. She hated that her boss looked incredibly sexy when he was angry.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" She asked when he turned back around.

"Nope, it'll just piss me off all over again, and I gotta get ready for another fucking interview. With a guy who already doesn't like me," Ashton put this coat back on and headed into the line to check on Rafi.

At least the second interview can't be worse, she thought, wishing she believed it.

*********

Calum eased his beat up Range Rover into the parking lot of Anne-Marie's amongst the Mercedes, Audi's, and Teslas. He cursed the traffic when he checked the time. He was late, and they were busy. Not a good look he thought, grabbing his bag.

He smiled at the ladies waiting for a table before introducing himself to the impossibly serene hostess. He was quickly led to a table in an alcove not far from the kitchen. As he pulled out his voice recorder and notebook, he noticed a young woman heading his way. Her black hair was knotted tightly in a bun on top of her head, and her chef's coat had a large streak of what might be hollandaise sauce. He remembered his editor, Jacqueline, telling him Anne-Marie's had a female sous chef. He checked the notes she'd given him quickly as she was stopped by a server. Hima, Culinary Institute of America graduate, 23, Indian maybe?

"Hello I'm Hima Singh, you must be Calum Hood," she greeted him. From up close, he noticed that her eyes were a rich golden brown and that her smile didn't reach her eyes. He chalked it up to her youth; his editor said she was 23 but she looked like a teenager. He mentally stopped himself there. He'd become jaded by one too many husband/wife teams in recent years trying to rebrand a post-divorce startup as a "new adventure." While the divorce was true, Calum knew Ashton's history.

"Yup that's me, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hima," he shook her hand, relieved to see her relax a bit.

"Chef Irwin will be out shortly. He's helping with a problem in the back" she glanced towards the kitchen, and Calum had a feeling she was lying.

"Can I get you something while you wait? Do you like coffee? We have a house blend cold brew Chef Irwin selected himself that we roast and grind on-site," she asked motioning towards the sign listing the daily selection of teas and coffee.

"Thanks, but maybe not coffee. I'm nervous enough without more caffeine," he admitted, "but the lavender and blackberry infused lemonade sounds amazing." He smiled and her face softened.

"Absolutely," she signaled to Zia who brought Calum his drink and a basket of warm, fluffy yeast rolls with Anne Marie's cinnamon honey butter. The smell reminded Calum he'd skipped breakfast as his stomach began to rumble.

"So you're Chef Irwin's sous chef? I heard a rumor you were a partner as well," he asked, almost drooling as he tore into the soft bread, watching the steam escape.

"Yes sir," Hima's smile finally reached her eyes, and she sat down across from him. "When he got his core team together for Anne Marie's, there's three of us total. Desean and Rafi are his kitchen managers, and he gave us the opportunity to buy in as minority investors, no pun intended."

"These rolls are incredible. Please take one before I finish this whole basket and ruin my lunch. How long have the three of you worked for Ashton, excuse me, Chef Irwin?" He asked.

"Desean and Rafi were part of his Lune Rouge crew. They go way back, but he met me fresh out of school and took me under his wing," she told him.

"Did you go to CIA?" Calum was jotting down notes, getting a feel for the story.

"I wish, it's so pretty up there. My twin brother attended Brown, and I went to Johnson and Wales so we could stay close."

"You're a twin? Is he a chef as well?" Calum asked.

"Are you kidding? He's a lawyer, of course, my parents had to have one in the family," Hima laughed.

Zia appeared beside their table. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Rafi is looking for you, Hima."

A worried frown replaced her warm smile and Calum felt his nerves bubbling back up. He glanced around and caught sight of Ashton, flushed and sweaty from the heat of the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. Their eyes met, and Calum felt like he'd been hit by lightning.

Hima saw his reaction and whipped around to see what Calum was looking at. Spotting her boss she quickly excused herself and hurried to the back.

Zia cleared her throat and Calum realized she was still standing next to his table.

"Would you like to try Rafi's plantain skewers while you wait? It's my favorite thing here, and it'll leave room for whatever these geniuses cook up," she asked with a smile and a wink.

He nodded and she headed to the server station to put the order in. Calum looked around and started taking notes. The most striking thing about the decor was how they'd used diffused skylights for soft lighting to accent the Nakashima-style crafted wooden furniture. Thanks to his Mom’s love of Antiques Roadshow when he was younger Calum discovered his preference for natural grain wood and bespoke pieces. He liked the use of pastel neon signs to complement the muted green and blue tones of the mosaic tile floors and he thought the framed pictures of what he assumed were family photos of the staff provided a really nice personal touch. The largest photo was in the bar of Ashton and his mother, the restaurant's namesake, Anne Marie.

Zia set a plate down in front of him. "The boss will be out in a minute., Let me get you some more tea," she told him.

The skewers consisted of chunks of pineapple, plantain, red onion, and sweet potato grilled and dusted with chili powder and brown sugar served with a yogurt sauce for dipping.

Calum was almost finished with the first one when Ashton came out of the back, making his way towards him. The chef stopped to talk to several customers, the hostess, and Zia before he made it to Calum's table. Cal licked his fingers, wiping his hands clean with a Sani-wipe before standing up and offering a handshake.

Ashton took his hand and Calum wasn't expecting it to feel so soft. Caught off guard Calum stammered out an introduction as he sat, but he noticed Ashton just nodded, barely listening.

"If today isn't a good day we can reschedule," Calum sipped his tea, his throat suddenly dry.

"I'm here aren't I?" Ashton snapped. He folded his arms across his chest, his hazel eyes narrowing at Calum. "I still remember your first review you know."

Calum's pulse was racing. He hated confrontation, and he hadn't expected Ashton to kick off right away. He knew he'd better suck it up and apologize if this wasn't going to go completely off the rails.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have been such a dickhead." As he spoke Ashton scoffed at him and Calum felt his cheeks get warm. "I was young and stupid. I let something personal affect that review. I'm sorry."

"Personal? With Luke? What do you mean by that?" Ashton went from annoyed to hostile.

Calum realized he'd said something wrong but wasn't sure what exactly. He was floundering trying to think of what to say next.

"Nothing with Luke, no no no. I was involved with Finn and we weren't getting along. It's so stupid I know, but I think you're a great chef. The new place looks incredible, and Hima is a delight."

The anger drained from Ashton's face, leaving him looking empty and sad. His head dropped to his chest, and Calum held his breath waiting for him to speak.

"I'm really sorry, it's not you, but I can't do this right now. Maybe we can reschedule or something. My apologies, but I have to get back to work," Ashton mumbled, standing up.

Calum spotted Hima watching them from the podium, chewing on her lip, her black eyes wide with concern as Ashton hurried back to the kitchen. Calum started to get up but she was too quick for him.

"Well, aren't you lucky. I'm going on my lunch and I hate to eat alone," she slid back into the seat across from him. "Please forgive my boss. He's had a rough day, but I'm better company anyway." She waved to Zia who headed their way. "You gotta try the toasted gnocchi with gorgonzola cream sauce if you like cheese, but if you want something lighter the apple carrot kale wrap is excellent too," she smiled at him, and to her relief he smiled back, both of them realizing the situation might be salvageable after all.

(A/N: y’all my tag list, much like my life, is a hot mess. I know some of what I write isn’t for everyone. If you want tagged in part 2 of this fic or my upcoming smuts, pink kink series, or dad!calum series please let me know. I apologize for my previous mistake)

@sublimehood @tea4sykes @be-ready-when-i-say-go @scribblesos @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @wildmichaelflower @castaway-cashton @damselindistressanu @notinthesameguey @cashtonasfuck @irwinkitten @mermaidcashton @malumsmermaid

#calum hood #ashton irwin #5sos writing collab #cashton smut #cashton slash #Calum Hood smut #ashton irwin smut #cashton #calum 5sos #ashton fanfic #ashton 5sos #5sos

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Text

Wicked Game {Part 3}

~Professor Hiddleston AU~

*Tom Hiddleston x reader*

Part: 3/?

Words: 4k

Warnings: Professor x student (college AU)

Summary: After transferring to a new university for the last year of your master's, you meet Professor Hiddleston and soon find yourself unable to stay away from him.

A.N.: I really suck at summaries, I'm so sorry 😅 this is a slow burn romance with lots of pining 💗 so this is where things get really interesting!!! I've currently finished chapter 5 already and I honestly can't wait for y'all to sit squealing on the edge of your seats haha

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

______________________________

It was Tuesday, another day with another Hiddleston class. That was your first thought when you woke up two hours before your alarm, groaning and tired. After admitting to yourself last night that you were indeed crushing on your professor, you had hardly been able to sleep at all. Even if you'd never have any kind of relationship with him outside of an entire professional one, you still felt like the past four weeks were heavy weight on your heart. You needed to talk to him, if only to apologise for whatever you'd done wrong in that first week. However you saw that there were limited ways to actually do that without making the awkwardness between you even worse. For a moment you were tempted to buy him coffee once again, but quickly dismissed the idea. Maybe you could try to stay after class and talk to him… but then you'd be a small spark in the raging fiery pool of girls, desperate for his attention. An email? That seemed a little bit impersonal, even for your weird whatever-it-was. So you settled for a small note that you'd drop in his office before class. Rolling out of bed (despite it being so fucking early, dark and cold) you wrapped yourself in your blanket like a burrito and sat down at your desk. You wouldn't use any of your fancy paper or pens, that would've been a bit too much, but a plain white sheet and a plain black pen would do.

Dear Mr. Hiddleston.

I couldn't help but notice how, over the past weeks, things have been weird between us and I hate it and I want you to be nice again because I'm heavily crushing on you and this is fucking stupid.

You groaned and hit your head against the tabletop. That wouldn't work, not at all. You needed to talk to him, before class, even if it was only to briefly get your apology out. If things remained weird after that, at least you couldn't blame yourself for not trying to better thing between you. But you also wanted to do more than say sorry, you wanted to make him smile, to see him happy like on the first day you had met. So you got out another piece of paper and aimed for something entirely different...

After taking a long and hot shower, you got dressed in something cute and comfortable, did your hair with a little more effort than usual and packed your bag for the long day ahead, hiding your little letter between a stack of books.

"Hey Y/n…" Your roommate came sauntering out of his room into the hallway and you could already tell that this day had just taken a turn for the worse. "Uhm, I have this thing going on tonight and… well, I don't think it's gonna be a good place for a… woman." He mumbled, not even brave enough to look you in the eye.

"You do realize that this is also my apartment and I pay more rent than you do?" You groaned, crossing your arms in front of your chest. This was not the time to deal with the fundamental problems of your housing, but obviously he was being serious about that.

"I know, I know… but please, Y/n, it's really important. Can't you stay with a friend for the night?" He whined, walking too close to you for your liking.

"I'm sure I will be fine in my room tonight." You replied defensively, backing up against the still closed front door.

"Those guys… you know, who always hang here… they saw you in that little dress you wore last night and well..." He insisted. "They always get what they want, you must know that!"

As you frowned deeply at him, he continued.

"Look, I'm just trying to look out for you. You really really really don't wanna be here tonight."

"Stop inviting people who want to harm me then!" You shouted, definitely not in the mood for this conversation. He was a fucking creep and you seriously considered getting into debt just to get away from here.

"I didn't invite them! They…" He started shaking a little. "I kinda owe them a little for… stuff. I beg of you Y/n to stay gone for just one night. Then I promise they won't ever come back."

"Not ever?" You asked roughly. "No more destruction, no more shouting, no more shadowy business?"

"I promise!" He stood straight and looked more or less serious about this.

With a groan you returned to your room, grabbed all valuables you could stuff into your backpack (it weren't many for you'd always feared 'someone' would steal them), along with your materials for tomorrow's studies and then locked the door from the outside.

"I swear I'll call the cops if those guys ever come back. Or if anyone enters my room." You grumbled as you pushed past your roommate, repeatedly asking yourself why exactly you were doing him this favor.

"Thank you Y/n, I owe you!" He called after you as you stepped outside into the chilly morning air.

"Big time!" You called back, making your way to the Metro station. Only when you were starting to get uncomfortably cold, you realized that in the heat of the argument you had completely forgotten to put on your coat. With a sigh you decided that you wouldn't be outside for long anyway and just hurried even more on your way to uni.

After a short debate with your bank account you got yourself a large coffee before heading to campus. It was still super early and you hoped that Hiddleston wouldn't be there so you could still get stuff done before he arrived. Unsure if it was the right thing to do, you slipped into his office unnoticed, placed the letter on his desk and made your way to the lecture hall as quickly as possible to have some more alone time to relax before the madness of the day would start.

______________

When Tom got out of his car, he quickly debated whether or not he needed a jacket for the short way to his office. Deciding against it, he only took a few steps before someone called out to him.

"Hey Tom!" His friend Benedict shouted from over at his car.

"Morning…" Tom sighed, slinging his bag around his shoulders.

"What's got you so moody?" He inquired as he joined Tom in his walk towards the building.

"Nothing I want to talk about, Ben…"

"Oh, come on! Is it the freshman class? I told you those…"

"No, it's not the freshmen!" Tom rolled his eyes and glared at his friend for making him talk. "I… have issues with a student."

Now it was Benedict's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh don't tell me it still gets you all upset when you have to give people a bad grade. That happens all the time!"

"No, it's not about the grades." He sighed, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Is it those girls who appear seemingly out of nowhere to stalk you? We've talked about that before, it happens to me, too, all the time…" He talked on and on and Tom didn't know if he should laugh at his rambling or punch him in the shoulder.

"Just let it go. Please, Ben, I don't want to talk about it right now."

Benedict shrugged. "If you say so… but I'm here if you want to talk."

"Thanks…" Tom said as they walked through the main door, enjoying the warmth that surrounded him here in the hallway.

"Good morning! Mr. Hiddleston, Mr. Cumberbatch…" A female student squealed at them out of nowhere, making both men jump. To their luck, she walked away as quickly as she had appeared.

"Does this get worse every single day or is it just me?" Tom asked his friend as they continued their way to the faculty's tower.

"I think you're just having a bad day."

"More like a bad month."

"Is that when your 'issues' started? A month ago? But that was…"

"Yeah. First day of classes." Tom ran a hand through his hair and turned to Benedict sharply. "If you must know, I'm having a really, REALLY hard time not doing something incredibly stupid and it's slowly eating me up from the inside. Are you happy now?"

Benedict just stared at his friend in surprise, for Tom was the last person who would ever snap at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… well." Tom apologized immediately, sounding more like himself again.

"It's fine. Maybe you should try to get your issues with the student sorted out, even if it's annoying. Talk to them, today if you can. I can't have my best friend walking around looking like he might murder someone soon." Benedict gave him an encouraging smile once they reached his office, then he disappeared behind a stack of books on his desk.

Already feeling a little better, Tom made his way to his own office. Ben was right, he needed to do something about this mood he had fallen into. After all, he enjoyed his work and he enjoyed teaching. And that meant he would have to talk to you. Soon.

When he walked into his office, it took him a moment to shake off the gloom of the morning, but the prospect of talking to you today got his heart beating and the corners of his lips twisting upwards. Once he finally sat down behind his desk, he spotted a neatly folded piece of paper on pile of books. Frowning, he unfolded it and started to read.

I wish I wrote the way I thought; obsessively, incessantly, with maddening hunger. I'd write to the point of suffocation. I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns, manuscripts spiraling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should. - Benedict Smith

For a long while Tom stared at the little piece of paper and the neat handwriting. He had read that quote before and thought that it held a lot of truth in it. If we would just write straight out what we thought instead of censoring ourselves, we would reach a deeper level of authenticity, and of understanding for literature. Whoever had placed this little quote here in his office must've known that he would appreciate it; probably one of his colleagues after he'd left last night. It wasn't really important who sent it, but that it made Tom smile. In fact, he was still smiling when he walked to the lecture hall for his literature class. Before he could even open the door, he already heard a quiet voice singing inside and his stomach started doing backflips. But he had wanted to talk to you and he would do it.

"Good morning." He announced his presence as he stepped into the room, his voice a little hoarse. You jumped, making him bite his bottom lip to suppress the smirk that wanted to force its way through his barriers.

"Good morning professor!" You replied in a voice that sounded just as nervous as he felt. "I'm sorry about my singing, again…"

"And again I say don't worry about it." He smiled at you politely. "I enjoy the song. Very much so. Wicked Game… it's one of my favorites."

"Oh…" You looked at the books in front of you and Tom asked himself why on earth he had to keep making you uncomfortable all the time.

"Uhm… Miss L/n…" He started, unsure of how to put into words what he needed to get out. "Would you… would you be so kind and help me put these papers on everyone's tables?"

"Of course!" Your reply came quickly and he couldn't help but genuinely smile as you tried to climb out of the tower of books you had built around yourself.

"I wanted to talk to you anyway, Mr. Hiddleston…" You said as he handed you a stack of paper. "I… I'm not sure what I have done wrong during the first week of class, but since then I feel like I'm on your bad side. And I would very much like to change that. I'm very sorry if I have overstepped my boundaries or been disrespectful."

When Tom looked at you, standing right in front of him with eyes so sad that he could drown in your unshed tears, he felt his heart break a little. His eyes went wide in surprise and regret and he couldn't blame himself more for your sadness. Yet, he found himself at a loss for words once again, opening and closing his lips like a fish stranded at the shore.

"You… you have done absolutely nothing wrong, I'm so sorry that I made you think that." He finally got out and saw you visibly relax in front of him. He, however, still felt miserable and it showed.

"Are you alright?" You asked, looking concerned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No!" His reply came too quickly and his mouth felt utterly dry. "I… I'm sorry, I've had a rough month. If I made you feel uncomfortable or unappreciated… in class, I dearly apologize for doing so."

You let out a long breath, looking at the papers in your arms, then back at Tom with a small smile. "Thank you, professor. This was kind of really important to me, I absolutely love your classes and it was…" You stopped mid-sentence, looking away from him.

"Please do go on." He smiled at you, a sincere and curious smile and he watched you blush adorably.

"Well, it's just… I tried so hard to be good enough that I got quite far ahead." You bit your bottom lip and peaked up at him through your lashes.

"What's so bad about that?" He leaned his head to one side and kept smiling at you, unable to stop now that he knew that you weren't, in fact, mad at him.

"It's bad because I'm having a really hard time not interrupting you from time to time to throw in some new info that I read about." You laughed nervously. "I… kinda wanted to impress you."

Now it was for Tom to blush, he could feel the heat on his cheeks even before it became visible. At the same time however, a cold shudder ran from the top of his head right to his core.

"Well…" He smiled, which turned into more of a nervous laugh. From the red on your cheeks and the tiny smile on your face he could tell that you felt equally… hopeful about this conversation. "You already are the best student in any of my classes, that's for sure." He said. "And I would love to hear your opinion on the topics."

If he wasn't completely mistaken, there was a hopeful glimmer in your eyes, a spark of certainty and excitement that made him continue. "If… if you'd want that, you could… uhm… write down whatever you want to say in class, and whatever comes to your mind about the topics and give those notes to me at the end of class. I'll read over it and make my own comments, then pass it back to you and so forth."

Tom didn't know if he had just made his life easier or way more difficult, but when he looked at you positively beaming at him, he couldn't help but smile.

"I would love that." You replied with a huge smile of your own.

"You could call it extra credit, if you want…" He let out a breathy laugh and ran a hand through his already messed up hair.

"Nah, I don't want any credit for it." You grinned. "I'm just trying to learn."

"Not that you would need it anyway." Tom smiled back at you and after another minute of just being flustered and observing each other, he finally tore himself away from your captivating presence to pass out the papers before the rest of the class would take their seats. You did the same, humming quietly, but Tom could hear it nonetheless. As he placed paper upon paper on the tables his eyes kept darting between you and the task at hand. He felt like a giddy school boy, all tingly on the inside, but he forced his body and mind to calm down. He had wanted to ask you to discuss your opinions over coffee after the lecture, but fortunately he had realized soon enough that going out for coffee in the middle of the day would've been a bit too much. The idea with interchanging notes was both appropriate for a professional relationship and a good way to get to know you. Maybe, this arrangement would finally allow him to walk the thin line between his desire for you and his attempt to keep said desire to himself. However, your encounter today had also shown him that you wanted his attention, even if only on an academic level. And that you were by no means opposed to out-of-class time together. For a single day and after a whole month of pining on his part this was absolutely fabulous. So he didn't stretch his luck and went to prepare for his lecture.

_______________

You couldn't believe your luck when you sat back down in your chair, hiding your huge grin by sipping on your water. Talking to him had been such a good idea, and even if it had only made you fall for him so much more, you could at least be sure now that he wasn't mad at you. And he was willing to hear about your thoughts of the topics. That was so much more than you had hoped for, and yet so much less than you had dreamed of. Digging through your backpack, you pulled out a journal that only had the first few pages filled. Those you ripped out carefully and done: you had a place to take notes for Hiddleston.

With a loud slump, Sky sat down next to you and immediately started talking.

"Y/n, you won't believe what just happened!" She sighed while the other students started to take their seats.

You could see Hiddleston grinning to himself, before you turned your head towards your friend. "Try me." You chuckled and rested your head in your hands while listening.

"Woah, what's the good mood about?" She asked with exaggerated surprise.

"You go first! What happened that is so incredible?" You laughed at her and poked her in the shoulder with one finger.

"I know I said I'm not into dating and stuff… but there's this amazing person and they… asked me out. I said yes, can you believe that! We're going for dinner tonight." Sky grinned at you and seemed genuinely excited.

You couldn't help but grin in return. "That's amazing! A nice boy, or girl, or whoever, will do you good."

"They don't label themself and I won't either. I'm cool with that." She shrugged. "I'm just really excited."

"Yeah I get that!" You laughed. "I wish you good luck with them and a very nice evening."

"Thank you!" Sky sighed and bit her lip. "Uhm… I know that's a really stupid thing to ask of you, but I'm kinda super broke at the moment and also kinda super hungry…"

You rolled your eyes with a smile. "I can buy you lunch after the lecture."

"Oh you're the absolute best Y/n! I'll pay you back, I promise!" She pulled you into a tight hug and you let it happen with a smile. Hopefully you still had enough cash to buy lunch for two…

"Alright, good morning everyone!" Mr. Hiddleston said loudly to get everyone's attention. "Let's get started on today's topic."

With a smile, you turned towards the front and started your written commentary of the lecture.

"What are you doing?" Sky whispered to you once she noticed that you weren't taking notes of what your professor said, but instead writing down little snippets of information or thoughts.

"... Extra credit?" You mused, only partially happy with your answer.

"Is that why you seem so happy?" She grinned. "Because you talked to our handsome puppy down there?" She motioned toward Hiddleston with her head.

You let out a way too loud snort at her words, which made a few people turn their heads towards you, but Sky didn't seem to mind. "Actually… Yeah, Hiddleston seems so much happier than usual. You did talk to him didn't you!" Sky playfully punched you in the shoulder. "Asked him out on a date yet?"

"Sky!" You hissed, blushing bright red. "He's a professor! Stop those wicked comments…"

"But you can't seriously tell me anymore that you're not crushing on him. C'mon Y/n! You're practically undressing him with your eyes!"

"Stop it! I'm not!" You tried to keep your voice down as much as possible. When Sky looked at you with an who-are-you-kidding expression, you rolled your eyes. "Alright, I… I kinda might have a little crush on him, okay? Can you shut up now?"

Sky pretend to zip her lips closed and you could finally focus back on the lecture.

After class was over and everyone was packing their bags, you thought about it for a second and then added can't wait to hear your thoughts :) to your notes. Then you flipped the journal shut, sealed it with the weird elastic that was attached to it and grabbed your stuff.

"You coming?" Sky asked as she made for the exit.

"Gimme a sec, I gotta talk to Hiddleston." You replied and ignored the knowing grin that Sky shot your way.

You kept your eyes fixed on him as you pushed your way through the usual crowd of girls and when you reached the very front, a few of them even started protesting and elbowing you in the ribs.

Once he noticed you, he simply ignored the babbling girl he was forced to listen to before and you could see the despair in his eyes.

"Uhm, professor, I… we have to go to this… meeting… with the board, immediately, you remember…?" You said loudly and motioned towards the door, hoping he would catch on.

And he did, after a mere second of doubt. "Ah, yes! How could I forget that!" He replied, grabbed his bag in an instant and started making his way through the crowd, following closely behind you. "I'm very sorry, but you all will have to come to my office hours or send an email if you want your questions answered." He called over his shoulder at the irritated girls, while he rushed towards the exit with you. At the door, you grabbed Sky by the arm and lead your group of three around the next corner before finally slowing down.

"What on earth was that?" Sky laughed, looking at you, then at Mr. Hiddleston.

"That, Miss Monroe, was a brilliant save in the last second." He replied with a chuckle. "Miss L/n here saved me a good thirty minutes of meaningless questions from attention seeking students."

You held out the journal to him and grinned. "Did it for utterly selfish reasons. I didn't want to wait to hand this in."

He took the black notebook from you and held it tightly again his chest. "Thank you nonetheless." With another smile he bowed ever so slightly, making Sky giggle.

"Have a nice day, you two." He said then and walked a few steps down the hallway, before turning around once again. "Oh, and Y/n! I'll let you know when you can pick up the notebook." With that and a huge grin, he made his way towards his office, rounding a corner and then he was out of sight.

"Oh well, that was something…" Sky laughed, starting into the opposite direction to head to the cafeteria.

You however remained frozen to the spot, staring after your professor.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Sky asked with concern once she noticed that you weren't coming.

"He…" You frowned, feeling hot and cold, numb and very much alive at the same time. "He just used my first name…"

_______________

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333

Wicked Game Tags:

@just-the-hiddles @inmyworstlies @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @foodthatsgoodforyoursoul @jessalynjones1989 @dark-night-sky-99 @hiddles-lobotomy @shockwavee @laudylovesyou @maze-lt101 @cupcakeangelness @fairlightswiftly @lys-syl @ordinarygirlfromasmalltown @pinkzz123 @spookycatqueen @exygon @izzy10718 @jenna-sakura @hiddlescastle @starklymydear @darkprincessloki92 @kinghiddlestonanddixon @alt-er-love-er-alt @timetraveler1978 @dreary-skies-stuff @daddys-littlewhitegirl @justthatfangirloverthere @lucantis @missvilsana

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fractallogic · 1 year

Text

Okay yay Family Time is about to be done thank god

Tbh actually my dad needs to just HHRRELAX and fucking like. write stuff down on the to do lists he makes, apparently, because outside of [oh my fucking god my friend requested PTO from her job literal MONTHS ago and you couldn’t tell one of us sooner than the WEEK BEFORE?????] and the whole “oh huh I guess I should book some flights because we’ll be in MN in a week” things, all of the stress was caused by my dad being incredibly anxious about… parking????? For heavens sakes dude you live in Orange County and worked in fucking Los Angeles for almost the last 20 years, the land of traffic and shitty parking, why precisely are you so damn stressed about being late to 1) a game of a sport we don’t really care about because as long as we’re there at the quarter, we’ll see my friend’s dance team, and 2) a game of a sport we love but two teams we dgaf about (and are actively rooting for the home team to lose (which they didn’t :| ))???

My newest mantra, developed while driving in last Christmas’ immense snowfall in Eugene that the entire state was totally unprepared for (because Eugene/Springfield only has literally two snowplows between the two metro areas, so plowed roads??? Lmfao no), is “oh, you’re driving and you’re in a hurry? No you’re not.” It’s served me well and anyone else is welcome to adopt it.

Also the exercise I did with a couple of therapists, “what’s the worst thing that could happen” and answering with the actual worst thing you could think of happening and then determining if that worst case is something to worry about.

Not finding parking? Well, for the basketball game, we have a very cold seven-block walk that /I’m/ prepared to take. There’s Uber as a less worst case scenario. Not something to worry about.

For the hockey game? Again, there’s probably parking further away, but it’s in St Paul and not downtown Minneapolis, so it should be a better situation. But again, worst case, a half-hour Uber ride from the hotel or a very, very cold walk to and from the car parked several blocks away. Nbd.

My dad was incredibly stressed about the parking we found for the basketball game, because the ticket machine didn’t give us a ticket. Worst case scenario? Well, we’re probably not gonna get ticketed or towed because the expectation for people parking in this garage is that you got a ticket on the way in. So actual worst case scenario is you can’t get out. You solve that by going to the ticket machine later, pulling out a ticket, trying to pay it at the machine by the elevators, paying nothing and getting a receipt, and then leaving. The worst case scenario literally results in free parking (which is exactly what happened, lol). Not actually a bad scenario.

And IMAGINE, this was the less stressful parent to travel with when I was younger. It would have been so much worse trying to do this with my mom.

ANYWAYS now I just have to be concerned about getting up at like 6:30 tomorrow (4:30 OR time, which i am definitely still on) to catch plane #1. Easy. Also letting dad’s stress roll off me, which is less easy. But hey. 12 more hours.

0 notes

purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

1012

survey by chasingghosts

If you have a job, who's your closest friend at work? I wanna say it was Justine at first, but it will probably shift to Angel in the near future because we were recently put in the same team. Our little intern family was adorable though and I hope we’ll all always stay friends.

Do you have any exercise equipment in your home? Yes, my mom has a rowing equipment thingy and a pair of dumbbells. I know she was also thinking of getting a bike, but that plan never panned out.

Were your parents born in the same country they now live in? Yes. We’ve always lived here and never migrated. Though I wish we did.

How did you celebrate New Year’s last year? Playing Mario Kart on the Switch with my cousins the entire evening and then going up on the rooftop at midnight to have a 360º view of the fireworks, which always makes me happy. And of course, deleted social media to avoid everyone’s wholesome family posts.

What would you do if you found a wallet containing $100 on the street? I think I’d be more concerned about whether there are IDs inside or not so that I could locate or contact the owner. I never really think of stealing.

Have you told anyone you love them today? Angela. I had also gone back on Facebook to share recent life updates and several relatives sent their congratulations. I replied today, thanking them but also telling each of them that I love them.

How many hours of sleep did you get last night? Around 4, I think. I fell asleep at 4 AM, woke up at around 7:45.

Are you in any physical or emotional pain right now? Ugh, both. Today I stubbed my toe so hard on the last stair going up and the nailbed ended up bleeding so much, so apart from it hurting like a bitch I also had to concentrate on not throwing up or fainting altogether because of the blood. And of course, emotional pain is always lurking around.

What's the time right now? 6:07 PM.

Is the sun still up, or is it dark? It’s completely dark. My only light source at the moment is my laptop screen and the backlight on the keyboard.

Have you seen all The Hunger Games films that have been released so far? I’ve only seen the first one because they aired it so many times on one of the local movie channels here at one point. But since I was never really a fan, I didn’t go out of my way to see the next two that came out.

Is there an automatic fog light in your yard? No. But we do have a motion sensor light.

When was the last time you used the bathroom? Around 45 minutes ago to get Band-Aids for my toe.

How many living grandparents do you still have? Three. I’m grateful that they are all still super healthy, but I also always miss my grandpa. The four of them were really close in-laws, and I miss seing them as a complete set.

Are you currently in a relationship? Not anymore.

Have you ever heard people having sex in the next room? No, actually. If anything, we’re probably the ones who were heard in the past.

What are your plans for the rest of the day? Have dinner with my family, eat and savor the rest of my Monte Cristo sandwich (I made my first one today!); maybe take a few more surveys because it’s my last weekend being unemployed and my plate will for sure get very busy in the next few days; and try to avoid the sads by watching Good Mythical Morning.

How many times have you been sick this year? Once, which is usually the case every year.

Is there a garage or carport attached to your house? We do have a carport, yes.

Were you born somewhere other than a hospital? Nope, you got it at hospital.

Do you fold or scrunch? Man I thought you were talking about poker until I Googled what the hell this was referring to. I use a bidet, man. Then I fold to dry the area off.

Have you ever been on a strict diet and exercise regime? No. I never really needed to, so I’ve never felt like getting on one.

Who did you text today, and what did you talk about? I messaged Andi because I saw a Facebook post that reminded me of them and our thesis. That’s pretty much it for today, at least so far.

What colour is your toothbrush? Maroon and white.

Do you have a favourite author? Not really.

Is Christmas a joyful time for you, or just plain stressful? Stressful because of the triggers, and I imagine it’d even be sadder this year since our extended family can’t be together. My mom already mentioned we'll most likely settle for a family reunion/party on Zoom, so we’re definitely not meeting up and relatives living in different countries won’t fly here. I will start earning my first salaries in time for Christmas though, so I can’t wait to get things for myself(!!!) and my family. I’m already thinking of getting Super Smash Bros. Ultimate for the Switch so I’m crazy excited to get my hands on that.

How long do you usually take in the shower? 3-7 minutes. I don’t like taking too long.

Have you ever worked in an office? I did during my first internship. But my second one was a WFH situation and my upcoming job will be the same. Impossible to tell when we can be able to report to the office.

Who does the grocery shopping in your house? Dad or mom, whoever’s free to do so.

How many times have you been out of state that you can remember? Yeah, definitely answered this before...thanks Bzoink for promoting the same few surveys every few months, lol. I kinda do it all the time, actually. I live right on the border of Metro Manila and my home region.

Have you ever stayed in a hotel without your parents or older relatives? Yes. But the one time I did had still been paid for by my parents.

Do you prefer margarine or butter, and why? Butter. We don’t buy margarine, so I simply don’t get to have it a lot.

What time do you plan to wake up tomorrow? Idk, depends on what time I’m going to fall asleep tonight.

What is your favourite way to eat rice? Anything but rice cakes. Rice is...life lol

Have you ever been in serious trouble at work or school? Nah. I hate the idea of getting in trouble in any situation or getting reprimanded or punished, so I’ve always followed rules.

Do you have any strange fears or phobias that you're embarrassed of? I’m not embarrassed by it, but I prefer not to watch TV advertisements at night lol. Some effects or jingles can be spookier at that time.

Can you smell anything right now? I can faintly smell my sandwich, but that’s it.

Would you be scared if you saw 5 missed calls from one of your parents? Only if it’s from my mom. I wouldn’t worry too much if it came from my dad.

Have you ever kissed anyone under the mistletoe? No.

Do you own a pair of gumboots or wellies? Nah.

When was the last time you watched a movie? Around two weeks ago, but I didn’t finish it because I started crying too much.

Do you know anyone who struggles with a mental disorder? Yeah, a number of people.

What's your go-to activity when you're bored? Surveys.

Have you ever been vegan or vegetarian? No, but I opt for vegan dishes whenever there’s an available option.

Are you tired right now? A little bit, but I don’t want to sleep because it’s the weekenddddddddd. Might make myself a second cup of coffee to keep myself up.

#survey #surveys #ugh i took this already but was too far in before realizing #blah

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alfys-pigeon-house · 4 years

Note

Boo, Bundled, Hearth, Intricate, Rain

aaaa i finally have time to answer this!! im sorry it took so long!!

(also i found the ask,,, it just magically appeared again jsjcwha so i decided to add it here, too! thanks so much for sending this in again!)

——

Boo: Ghost or witches?

Witches!! I’ve always, always loved magic and being able to do magic. Not that I doubt ghosts being able to do them too, ofc. But, witches have a soft place in my heart and I’ve always loved them since when I was a child.

Bundled: Describe your ideal date

Movie night, bundled in blankets and eating snacks. Just laughing or screaming at something we’re watching. Or a walk outside in the early morning or late afternoon. Or maybe a picnic somewhere where the skys cloudy and we’re just relaxing. Or maybe even just stuck at home and we’re building a pillow fort!

Hearth: Ideal home

Ohhhh aaaaaaa. Uh. A kitchen, definitely. Big enough that it’s easy clean and bake. A biiig but comfortable bed,, a living room where I can play games with friends and fam, a backyard where I can plant flowers. Uh. mostly I want it to be homey, like a cottage, maybe? And a library where I can just read in silence, or maybe to the chirping of birds or rain.

Intricate: What’s a subject you have random knowledge about?

This is hard because I don’t really think about the random things I know, it just comes out if you talk to me, yknow? Uh. But hmm. I’d say politics but that’s a given and not at all random. Maybe psychology? I love psychology. Oh, what about the scantalating world?? Like, did you know there’s an unspoken rule whenever a group wants to translate a manga? Especially if their aren’t licensed or been given permission to by the author. One of the things I know is that, they consider it sniping or stealing from a group if you translate a manga that has been updated in the course of less than 3 months. But if it hasn’t been updated in three months—or if the scan team/person explicitly said that they weren’t going to continue it—then it’s first come first serve.

Hmmmm,,, maybe about my native language? So, Filipino has many, many dialects!! Each differing depending on where you’re from, Luzon, Visayas or Mindanao, and then differs much mroe on what province/city you’re in. The three isalnds is symbolized by the three stars on our flags! I’m from Luzon, specifically NCR or National Capital Region, I won’t say anything more specific than that, but just knoq that NCR is big as hell. Anyway, I know Tagalog! Which is boring haha but it’s known as the capital language??? Kinda?? Like, it’s the ver of English here. If you wanna go to like, say, Metro Manila, you need to know Tagalog because there’s a low chance of people knowing a dialect from where you’re from. So technically this isn’t a random knowledge from a subject, but I thought it’s interesting to know haha.

Rain: Favourite type of weather?

I like rainy weathers because it’s very soothing to listen to, and sleep to. But at the same time, we only have two weathers here haha and I’d take anything over a sunny one.

Frost: Anything you’re looking forward to?

ANIME! Aaa I’m looking forward to BOFURI season two (IF it’s even coming huhu, and if it does I think it’s coming next year or year 2022) AND Horimiya anime!!! I love Horimiya so so much, I’ve been following it since forever and I’m so glad it’s gonna have an anime. Same with Wotakoi, too, but I’m pretty sure it’s been out for awhile now? And ofc, the day Covid ends but, uh, that’s not coming for a long time here, I’m p sure. Another is that I really, really wanna get started on cross stitching since I bought a “how to” book and some materials already but I’ve been too nervous to get started on, so I’ll probs do it tomorrow or when I’m for sure free. After, I might look into crochet, too!!

(AND writing some stuff aaaaa i wanna write so so bad, but school took over ;-;)

Leaves: Favorite candle scent

OH okay, we don’t really do candles here but boy do we have a lot haha. I really like the Sakura scent and the skittles one! I’ve never seem a vanilla candle scent but I’ll for sure like it, too!

Pie: What’s your favorite type of pie?

Aaaa, man, I’ve only ever really had apple pie and egg pie before so I can’t really say. But uh, I don’t really like apple pie, and I really like egg pie!

#ask #ask meme #mysral #aaaaaaa i found the last ask u sent but i really couldve sworn it disappeared #IM SORRY #so i just added it hwre too #tysm for sending this in!!#hope u have a wonderful day!!!

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (3/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Shoutout to my spectacular beta @resident-of-storybrooke 🧡 I’m the worst writer and send her multiple chapters at a time instead of just the one, and she gets things back to me in record time!

We get some background information on Emma in this chapter to further set up the story, and I thank you for reading! I’m really, really excited about a lot of the things I have planned for this story!

I promise they interact in all chapters after this

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 |

Tag list: @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

“What are you getting David for his birthday?”

Emma looks to her right where Ruby is stretched out on her yoga mat, doing a stretch that definitely isn’t anything that’s taught in a certified class. She can’t tell if she’s gotten stuck that way or if she’s simply given up on getting some early morning exercise. They really have to start going back to spin class sometime soon. Maybe tomorrow.

“I bought him some new dress shirts.”

“That’s boring.”

“Have you not gotten him anything, Rubes?” She swipes her blush against her cheek waiting for Ruby to answer. She doesn’t. “The party is tonight. You know that, right? And we’re about to be at work all day editing.”

“Why do you think I’m asking so that I have time to get Graham to go get something on his lunch break?”

“You have no shame.”

Ruby falls onto her mat, star fishing out on the floor before propping herself up on her elbows, her bun coming undone so that it hangs messily on her shoulders. “I know. So, what should I buy him? He’s turning forty. Is he having a midlife crisis? Should I get him some hair dye?”

“Only if you want to be murdered.”

Ruby grunts before rising from her mat and stretching out. “Eh, it might be worth it. I think I’ll just get him a Shake Shack gift card. I’m not his sister. I can get away with a semi-shitty gift.”

She chuckles as she grabs her brush for her bronzer and runs it across her cheekbone, blending it in. “It’s not semi-shitty if he takes us to lunch with it.”

“True. Alright,” Ruby claps, picking her mat up, “I’m going to go shower, and then we can go to work. Ten minutes tops.”

It’s twenty minutes, which is actually less time than Emma was expecting, before she and Ruby walk out of their apartment, walking the three blocks to their train station and swiping their metro cards to get through the gate so they can take the ten-minute ride to the studios. They rarely have to go into the actual offices before ten. The only time they have to be at work earlier than that is when there’s an early game and they have to make their way across Manhattan to get to the fields. That’s a bit of a bigger commute. But this morning the weather is relatively nice, the trains aren’t crowded or full of people in T-rex costumes, and she and Ruby get to the office and through security before they have to be there.

She leaves Ruby on the seventh floor before going up to the tenth to the editing room, her eyes having to adjust from the brightness outside to the dim lights inside the room that’s really only lit by screens.

“Anton, how the hell do you live in the sunlight after staying in here all day?”

Anton twists in his chair to look at her before turning back to the screen that he’s working on, clicking on a few keys as he speaks. “It’s only dark right now because I’m trying to get the lighting right on this edit. Something is wrong with the shadows. Get Ash to set you up. You’ve got over eight hours of footage to go through, so this probably isn’t going to get finished today.”

“He’s only talking in about an hour and a half of that.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to get the filler and then your notes. It’s a whole thing when you have a big segment like this. You’ll get used to it.”

She nods even though Anton isn’t paying any attention to her, before stepping into the room and around some of the editors she’s never worked with until she’s sitting down at Ashley’s workstation, picking up the pair of headphones that she uses and rolling up to the screen as she watches Ashely piece together several clips to promote whatever tennis tournament is going on right now. She thinks it’s the one in Palm Springs, but she hasn’t really been able to keep up with things lately.

“Sorry about that,” Ashley apologizes, flashing her a smile. “Alexandria had a late night last night, and I didn’t get into work in time to finish this up until you got here. But now my attention is all yours.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. She’s teething is all. It’s miserable for all of us.”

“I bet. I remember when Leo was teething. David aged about fifteen years.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs, patting Ashley’s arm. “I won’t tell you any other stories about miserable babies. Let’s talk the interview.”

Ashley nods and clicks around on her computer until she’s pulling up Emma’s file, all of the hours of footage broken down. Emma has a basic understanding of how all of this works, but it’s mostly above her knowledge and paygrade. That’s why she’s glad to have people like Ashley and Anton, especially when they can easily throw out shaky or unusable footage to narrow things down even more. She tells Ashley that she wants to work on the main interview first, to make sure she can show all of the pieces she wants, and then they’ll work on finding the filler footage and the music to be played in the background. This is the first time Emma has ever worked on an edited segment that’s more than one minute, so it’s all a whole new world to her.

“This is good,” Ashley murmurs, her voice a small whisper outside of the headphones. “Like, really good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be this open before.”

“Jones? Jones is an open book.”

Her brows raise before settling back down at a regular height. “You are literally the most knowledgeable person on this subject in this building, and you think that Jones is an open book?”

“I mean, yeah. He’s baseball player, first and foremost. He’s young, hot, likes to spend his money and go out with every woman with big boobs and a pulse.”

Ashley actually laughs at that, rolling back in her chair before rewinding the video to a part where Killian is talking about his nieces and how they collect bobble heads, particularly his, and scatter them throughout their house for their parents to have to pick up. Emma remembers laughing at that, remembers thinking it’s sweet, but she’s not entirely sure why Ashley is showing it to her again.

“I know you probably hate him for asking you out like that, which was kind of a dick move, but anyone with eyes can tell he’s a sweet guy. I mean, he spent his injury break learning how to bake and sitting with his nieces so that they didn’t have to go to daycare. Yeah, he kind of had a period where he was pictured with a lot of girls, but that was when he was twenty-four and on top of the world. I mean, when you were twenty-four, you’re telling me you wouldn’t have been all over a pretty baseball player if you met him in a bar?”

“I hated all men at twenty-four.”

Ashely shakes her head from side to side, chuckling at her again. Emma hates to admit it, but Ashley is right. She knows that he’s not a bad guy, that’s not some sleazy player. No, he did not make the best decisions in asking her out last year, but in a move that surprised her, he very kindly apologized. And she really should not judge him over that time when he was pictured with girls all the time. For one, he probably dates as much as every other guy, but his dates happen to be publicized. She hates when women are shamed for dating, and here she is judging someone else.

His incessant flirting in all of his interviews and him asking her out have likely framed her view on him when she should know better than to judge by what appears on the surface.

She should also know better than to let a few pretty words make her trust someone.

“I met Sean at twenty-four.”

Emma sighs, curving her lips into a smile before patting Ashely’s arm. “And you two are wonderful. Let’s keep editing before we get distracted by you showing me a million baby pictures.”

“Dammit, Emma,” Anton groans from his seat, “the first rule of the editing room is that you don’t talk about baby pictures.”

After letting Ashley show her new pictures of Alexandra and those adorable chubby cheeks, they finally get around to some more editing, cutting questions that have repeated answers and editing out Emma’s laugh or weird coughing sounds so that she doesn’t look like a total maniac. There’s this part in the film where Killian is standing with his back to the camera and in front of a large set of windows that show off the field, and it looks like it could be a part of the Hall of Fame. It’s a gorgeous shot, and it’s where he’s talking about his hopes and dreams for baseball as well as wanting to get to live a normal life full of everything that his brother has.

Frankly, it’s beautiful enough to make her tear up.

They may just be her, though. As much as sports are about the statistics, about the executions, it’s also about the emotions. In the grand scheme of life, a baseball game doesn’t matter. These men getting paid millions of dollars to play a game don’t change the world. Except that they do. People live and die by the game, by the unpredictability, by the fact that it’s human beings out there pushing their bodies to limits that most people can’t reach. It takes everyone away from the world for a bit, lets them cheer for a happy ending, and even though the losses can be crushing, for just that little while, people feel hope.

Killian Jones coming back from injury, no matter how minor, to win the World Series, gave people hope.

It’s that thought process that guides her in helping Ashley and Anton edit the segment, and even though they only get about halfway through editing, they stop for the day so that Ashley can go home to her family and Anton to his while she walks down three flights of stairs to get to her office shoved into the corner of the corporate floor. There’s literally not even room in there for her to have an extra chair for someone to sit with her, but considering how little time she spends there now, that doesn’t matter. And it’s a step up from the cubicles.

Damn, her segment is going to be good.

This is…she knows she complained about it, and for the right reasons, but this is huge for her career. Right now, she’s more than happy doing post-game interviews and the occasional mid-game updates, but one day she might want to commentate or have her own show. One day she might want to move onto things other than sports. She’s getting ahead of herself, she knows. She simply can’t help it.

She’s excited, and she actually can’t wait to come into work tomorrow to get it all finished.

After sending a text to Ruby asking her if she’s almost ready to go, she logs into her computer and waits for her email to load, figuring she might as well get some more work done while she waits. Ruby’s timing at work is always so unpredictable when they’re not working together, so she has absolutely no idea when they’ll be able to leave to get on the train to Astoria. If only David was in the office today.

She doesn’t have much to sort through, just a few emails asking about the segment, another few talking about food that’s available in the office (she really hates that she missed those), and then another two from Walsh that she immediately deletes. They could be work related, but they’re most likely not.

Dating someone she works with was an absolutely horrible idea that she’ll probably never do again. Walsh is definitely an asshole, one that’s worse than all of the others, but he kind of ruined that workplace peace that she had for awhile. They’d both been stat checkers together, spent their days going blind reading spreadsheets and becoming friends, and when they both got promotions to journalists (ones who actually got to write articles) at the same time, she was pretty sure that it was fate or something crazy like that. They got to have the same job, the same schedule, and she was in that phase of infatuation in a new relationship that it made her stomach constantly feel like it was in those pleasantly painful knots.

Then she interviewed and auditioned for the on-air job to work with the Yankees.

It’s a moment that’s changed her life in an immeasurable amount of ways, but the first and most obvious – before Killian Jones 2k18 – was that her boyfriend of over a year resented her. He resented her, belittled her for what she did for a living, and it all felt so painstakingly familiar that she had to break up with him before he damaged her beyond repair too.

The fact that he was cheating definitely helped that decision.

So for him to still work under one hundred feet away from her in the office and still send her emails on a regular basis is a pretty big sting.

There is no one who got more enjoyment out of her being asked out on live television than Walsh Osborne.

Ruby: I am in the bathroom curling my hair. Meet you by the seventh floor receptionist desk in ten.

Emma: Where did you get a curling iron?

Ruby: The makeup room in the studio.

Of course she did.

Closing out her computer and slipping her booties back on, she leaves her office and locks it up before making her way through the cubicles, specifically going out of her way to avoid Walsh’s desk since she knows he’s still in the office, and waits by the receptionist area with David’s present in her hand. There’s no one sitting there, all of the calls being forwarded through the machine, and she idly wonders where in the world Jacob is.

“We have got to get whatever curling iron it is they use in hair and makeup,” Ruby sighs as she walks into the room, heels that she was not wearing this morning now on her feet and her hair curled into perfectly styled waves. “Seriously, it’s fantastic.”

“It’s, like, over three hundred dollars.”

“We can split it. You ready to go? Graham is going to meet us there.”

“Does he have David’s present?”

“Yep.” Ruby loops her arm through Emma’s elbow, pulling her closer, before walking toward the elevators. “He wins the award for the best boyfriend today.”

“Who is he in competition with?”

“Your non-existent boyfriend.”

She pinches Ruby’s arm, but she doesn’t say anything as the elevator opens and they walk inside. It’s always such a pain to go to David and Mary Margaret’s townhome from the office, if only because of the amount of times they have to switch trains, but it gives she and Ruby time to talk about their days and scroll through their phone, checking up on everything that they’ve missed while working.

(She usually finds time to look while at work. Knowing what’s happening in baseball players’ lives is important to her job, right? It doesn’t make her creepy if they put it online.)

Plus, it’s a Friday afternoon, and that’s always the best time to see people dressed in odd costumes and eating full on turkeys on the subway.

Seriously. That happened once. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving.

By the time they get to the townhouse, it’s past six, and she can see cars parked up and down the street, Mary Margaret’s SUV sitting right in front of their home. She insists on driving everywhere, even when she comes into Manhattan, and Emma will never understand that. But she guesses that they live a bit outside of the most crowded parts of the city and the Mary Margaret is always toting Leo around to school and soccer practice or moving all of her crafts that she takes to her classroom. Emma loves her sister-in-law (it’s easier to say than foster mom’s son’s wife), but she is one of those people whose entire life could be found on a Pinterest board where Emma is more thrift store mashup even with her life being more established lately.

Not that there’s anything wrong with living life like that. It’s simply not Emma’s cup of tea.

“So, how many fortieth birthday themed things do you think Mary Margaret has in their house?”

“I mean, obviously forty.”

“Obviously.”

Graham is sitting on the front steps when they walk up, a small envelope in his hand as he stares down at his phone, and Ruby whistles, making him actually jump from his seat.

“What the hell?” he grumbles, clutching his hand and the envelope over his heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“It depends. Am I the beneficiary of your life insurance plan?”

“Oh my God,” Emma chuckles, shaking her head from side to side as she adjusts the box underneath her arm. “You two are disturbed.”

“Only my girlfriend is.” He stands from the steps and moves closer to quickly press his lips against Ruby’s. “You two ready to go inside?”

“Were you too scared to go inside without us, babe?”

“If I’m honest, yes. I’m not entirely sure what kind of party awaits us.”

“You and me both.”

Emma steps up the stairs and opens the door, knowing that it’s unlocked and that she can just let herself in. She immediately hears the sound of people talking, most noticeably Leo in his high-pitched voice, but everything looks as normal as it always does. The living room is still neatly arranged, a mixture of white and gray furniture, most of it antique, all scattered throughout. The dining room has place settings arranged, but no one sitting there, so she walks to the back of the home where the kitchen is to find everyone all standing around the island eating off of the veggie place that’s set out.

Huh. So maybe David turning forty means that everything is low-key. That’s a refreshing change of pace.

“Emma,” Leo screeches when he sees her, hopping down from the countertop and running toward her, pushing her back with the force of his hug.

“Hey, kid,” she laughs as she moves David’s present so that she can hug Leo back. He’s getting so big, is nearly as tall as she is now, and he’s only ten. She can’t imagine what he’s going to be like when he gets older. She doesn’t really want to. She’s that aunt who gushes about remembering the day that her nephew was born and grossing him out by talking about it. “Why are you letting all of these people eat my food?”

“Because you don’t like vegetables.”

“I definitely do.”

“You never eat collards, and I always have to.”

“Well, that’s because I don’t like collards.”

Leo scrunches up his nose, his face twisted in disgust like he’s eating those collards, before he grabs her hand and starts trying to tug her back to the entryway. “Come on, Emma, I want to show you my new Captain America shield.”

“I’ve got to go say hi to your parents, but why don’t you go get it and bring it down to show me?”

“Okay.”

He nods his head and then runs upstairs, his footsteps loud, and she turns back toward the kitchen to start talking to people who most likely don’t have Captain America shields in their bedroom. Well, they could. He’s kind of a big deal.

America’s ass and all that.

David is swiping a carrot through a bit of dip, and she takes the opportunity to put her present on the table before wrapping her arms around David’s stomach. He’s so incredibly warm, as always, and she appreciates the solid nature of him as his hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his lips pressing into her hairline.

“Happy birthday, old man.”

“Excuse me. I am in the prime of my life.”

She rolls her eyes, unable to help herself before pulling back and patting his chest. “Sure, if you think so.”

“I do. I’m glad you made it today.”

“And miss your birthday so that I have to hear it every day at work? Never.”

“That wouldn’t happen.”

“It would,” Ruby adds in. “It would be one of those things that you’d bring up every opportunity you get. You’d feed it into her earpiece while she was on air so that she’d do that thing with her nose where it scrunches up all weird to make her look like a mouse.”

“I do not do that.”

“You do, sweetie,” Mary Margaret adds in, opening up the refrigerator and grabbing a bowl of what Emma sincerely hopes is Mary Margaret’s pasta salad. “It’s so, but it does make you look like a mouse. Or like you smelled something bad.”

“Well, I am next to a bunch of sweaty men. I could smell something bad.”

“True.”

“And Ruby, you can’t say anything. You talk in my earpiece all of the time.”

“That’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to talk about assess in pinstripes.”

“Eh,” she protests, clicking her tongue and tilting her head to the side. “I think it might be.”

“I’m sorry,” a woman Emma doesn’t know says, breaking Emma out of their little bubble to remember that there are other people in this house. “What is it that you do?”

“Oh,” she sighs, her mouth suddenly dry. She’s not conceited, she doesn’t think, but it’s been awhile since she met someone who wasn’t in her circle and didn’t know about her job. “I’m a reporter for the Yankees. Emma Swan. It’s nice to meet you – ”

“Jasmine Anwar. I teach with Mary Margaret.”

“She’s my teacher,” Leo adds in, running back in the room with a shield that’s nearly bigger than his body. “But I get to call her Miss Jasmine when she’s here, which is super cool because my friends don’t get to do that.”

“That’s our secret, though, Leo.”

“I know, I know. Emma, look at my shield.”

“Leo, it’s time to eat,” Mary Margaret says. “You can show off your shield afterwards, okay?”

“I thought we were eating cake afterwards.”

“We are.”

“So, when can I show off my shield?”

“After the cake, Leo,” David sighs before clapping his hands together. “Let’s eat.”

Inside the bowl was, indeed, Mary Margaret’s pasta salad, and in the oven was a tray of baked chicken, rolls, and macaroni and cheese. It’s the kind of meal that Ruth would make on the weekend or whenever David came home for a holiday, and for someone who eats cereal and Chinese takeout when Graham doesn’t feel like cooking, this is absolutely the best case scenario for her.

Thank goodness for David turning forty and Mary Margaret deciding to keep it low key with just a few friends instead of everyone from both of their offices.

(His thirtieth birthday was insane, especially when she thinks about the fact that Mary Margaret planned it while seven months pregnant.)

Most of the conversation halts with everyone eating, just a few murmurs here and there, but then Ruby gets a glass of wine in here – possibly two – and while Ruby can deal with liquor no problem, red wine gets to her. It’s the strangest thing, but Ruby’s already loose filter becomes, well, looser.

“No, do you guys remember the time,” Ruby hiccups, sipping on her drink while Emma very gracefully shovels more macaroni and cheese into her mouth, “that we were out in LA for work, and David nearly got arrested for walking out of a Walmart with a boxed fan because he threw away the receipt at self-checkout and they checked him at the door?”

“This is not that great of a story, Ruby,” David huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his beer bottle up to his lips.

“But it is,” Graham protests. “It was a twenty-dollar fan, man. All you had to do was pay for it again, but instead you were one more protest away from getting taken off to jail.”

“I paid for the damn fan. It was on the security video.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs as she slides her plate onto the coffee table, “but we only know that because you literally demanded to speak to the manager, had to sweet talk your way into the security office, and we spent three hours inside that building all because you can’t sleep without a fan in the room.”

“To be fair, you and I did have a great time while we were waiting. We bought that purple hair dye and streaked your hair.”

“Which was really dumb because I had to be on camera the next day.”

“It washed out.”

“Really? Because I swear I still have purple in my hair if it’s in the right light.”

She tugs at strands of her hair to prove a point while laughter bubbles in her stomach. God, she loves her friends. They’re the actual best. She doesn’t know how she got lucky enough to have them in her life.

“Your purple streaks are probably what made Jones ask you out. He saw that you had a wild side and couldn’t pass that opportunity up.”

She takes that thing about loving her friends back.

She groans, sinking down further into the couch and wishing that she had Leo’s Captain America shield to hide her face so that no one can see the blush that’s rising from her cheeks. Today is apparently a day to bring this up once every hour. It might as well go on her grave stone at this point.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic.

It can at least go in her obituary.

That doesn’t make it any better.

“Emma, can you get me Killian Jones’s autograph?” Leo questions, looking up at her from where he’s very enthusiastically scarfing down another plate of macaroni. He’s not going to have any room for cake at this rate.

“I’m not sure if I can, kid.”

“But you know him! He asked you on a date!”

She’s going to dye all of her hair purple, change her name, and move countries. That’s even more dramatic, but she seems to be on a role with being dramatic tonight.

Italy would be nice. There’s lots of pasta there.

“I’ll ask, kid.”

“I want it on a hat.”

“Leo,” Mary Margaret scolds, “use your manners.”

“I want it on a hat please,” he corrects before shoveling more food in his mouth. “Can we have cake now?”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #Captain Swan #captain swan fic

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itsallabigmess · 5 years

Text

Breathe Gentle

A/N: I had a really sweet dream with Jinyoung. And it had such a rom-com vibe I decided to share with you guys.

I probably should have done some research to describe some parts at the beginning of the story but since it is based on a dream, I did not worry about making it a 100% realistic.

I hope you guys like it. Please let me know if you do.

You should have stayed home. That’s what your brain kept telling you all the way from your apartment to the subway. You’ve been feeling sick since last Friday. At first, you thought it was just a flu that would go away with the vitamins and tons of water. But another week started and there you were: feverish, nauseated, and dragging your body through the busy streets of your neighborhood. Even if you knew you should be in bed. Or maybe go to a hospital.

But you were too stubborn.

Waking up a bit late, you fixed yourself as quick as you could, caring only to look decent enough to not be annoyed by unsolicited comments made by your coworkers. But after receiving a few crooked looks before entering the metro car, using your phone’s camera to check yourself, you gasped to the sight of your ill features.

You loosened your hair, hoping its waves would give you some cover and reached for the necessaire inside your bag, wanting to apply some color your cheeks and lips. But as the car started moving, it was hard to even keep your own balance, a new wave of nausea hitting your body. And two stations later you were stumbling against the people in front of you.

Getting some air, that’s what you thought would make you feel a bit better. But the vertiginous feeling stopped you from finding a way out. And before your body hit the floor, everything became black.

The white ceiling was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. A woman voice soon getting your attention. You were in a hospital bed, a woman wearing a white coat standing by your side, making notes on a metal clipboard.

“You fainted a few minutes ago. There was a little cut on your forehead, but it was treated before you even got here.” the doctor explained after introducing herself and letting you know where you were, only noticing the pain on the right side of your head once she mentioned the wound. “Your blood pressure is a bit lower than it should and now that you are awake, we’re going to run some tests. Have you been feeling sick for how long?”

“Since Friday morning, I guess,” you felt your throat burning as if you had thrown up. And considering you were not wearing your own clothes you assumed you did. “I thought it was just the flu.”

“Most likely it is,” the doctor said, “But let’s see if the tests confirm if it’s nothing more serious.”

“I’m sorry, doctor, but how many tests, and how much will it cost me?” you asked, worried that all your saving would go down the drain just because your body decided to sabotage you.

“I’ve been told your boyfriend is already taking care of it,” the doctor said with a reassurance smile. “A nurse will come to collect you in a minute.”

“…Boyfriend?”

The tests showed you were dehydrated thanks to the flu, and the falling on the ground caused a small concussion. You would have the spend the rest of the day in observation and with no other sings appeared, you would be released the next morning. But neither of those things explained the fact that you had, apparently, a boyfriend.

When the nurse told she would let him know he could finally see you, you started to freak out. Your last relationship had ended up in bad terms. What once was something close to love turned into something violent and after struggling you finally was able to be completely free of him. It’s been months since you’ve even heard your name. And now the possibility of having the one who hurt you the most in front of you again unbalanced every single fiber of your being.

But instead of your undesirable ex, the man that entered your room was a complete stranger.

Except that you knew him. Not personally, you never exchanged words, even though you had exchanged looks. He was the cute guy that always caught your attention on the subway. Sometimes you would see him when you were already on your way to work, him entering a couple of stations after yours. And sometimes you would leave work and he would already be there, reading a book or checking his phone. Somewhere in between, he caught you staring at him. You turned away, feeling your face burn. But then you dared to glance at him again and there he was, smiling at you.

After that day you started to look for him every trip you did to work. It became a weird addiction, this little game you would do with yourself. The days you would see him from afar, you would start imagining who he was, what he liked... If you would ever have the courage to approach him, give him your number. And the days he noticed you, you felt too embarrassed to look back. But while you kept your eyes down and bite the inside of your cheeks, you fed your ego with the thought of him wondering the same things about you.

Those days were your favorite days, you figured. No matter how silly it felt.

He stepped inside the room slowly, careful, his face a bit red, curiously holding your bag on his hands. “Hi,” he said shyly, voice sounding a bit deeper than you expected. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” a short laugh came out with your admission, the dark-haired man repeating the action.

“I’m sorry. I saw you at the station,” he started explaining. “I was about to get in the car when you stubbled against me. You looked really bad,” he said, staring at his own foot for a second “I tried to catch you before you felt but I wasn’t close enough,” you frowned at how apologetic he sounded as if you hurting yourself was his fault.

“So, you brought me here.”

“Actually, I called for the ambulance. And I… came… with you,” he said slowly, observing your reaction, but you kept your expressions at ease, waiting for him to give you more details of what happened while you were blacked out. “I’m sorry, I checked inside your bag. They needed your health insurance information, but I couldn’t find any. So, I gave them mine.”

“Can I have it back?” you asked, nodding at his hands “My bag, I mean.”

“Yes, sorry,” he rushed to you, red turning red again, a nice contrast to his dark eyes and hair.

“You told them you were my boyfriend,” it was your time to feel the warmth on your cheeks, eyes deviating of his, pretending to check if everything was okay inside your bag. He was a stranger still, but somehow, after all the trouble he went through with no need, it was hard not to give him at least part of your trust.

“It was the only way they would let come.”

“But why? I mean, you didn’t need to come. And you didn’t need to do any of this.”

“I felt like I should,” he said, his hands sliding inside his pants’ pockets. “Felt like the right thing to do.”

“Thank you,” you said gently, both of you smiling softly at each other until you felt your heart beating faster than it should, looking down for a minute. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

“God, I’m sorry!” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Even in these weird circumstances,” you waved your hand, making a circle around you, giggling at how ridiculous it all seemed.

“I should have asked you for your phone the first time I saw you,” Jinyoung confessed, his lips twitching up and you felt your heart jump. “I should be going, and you need to rest. But can I check on you again tomorrow?”

You gave him your phone number before Jinyoung left and after you called your job and explained what happened you kept the device close to you, checking it constantly. Everything seemed so surreal you were starting to think once you fell asleep you would find out everything was nothing but a dream. Of all the ways you have fantasized about talking to him, the one you were now was definitely not on the list. And still, you could not be more grateful that you had Jinyoung as your unexpected savior, even if just for one day.

He texted you in the evening, to see how you were doing and you kept talking for a while until you started to fall asleep. The next day he was by your side again, arriving at your room a few minutes before your discharge papers were signed.

“You really don’t need to do this!” you insisted when Jinyoung offered to follow you home once he learned that was no one to make you company. Not that it mattered. Jinyoung had taken you as his full responsibility and would not be satisfied until he made sure you were safe and sound inside your own place.

The doctor had recommended you rest for more a few days before returning to your normal routine and that alone seemed to be the hardest task you ever received. Once you two were inside of your apartment you started to think of how everything needed to be cleaned up. Jinyoung already witnessed you falling with your face to the ground. He didn’t need to think you kept some dirty habits.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you started to fix some pillows on your couch and collect the cups you left at the coffee table, rushing to the kitchen to wash them. “You need to rest!”

“I just need to clean this up first.”

“Why don’t I do this,” he held your wrists gently, pulling you away from the kitchen. “And you go take a shower.”

“Jinyoung…”

“I can also make some breakfast. Hospital food is never good.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you asked, eying the grip he still had on you, keeping your arms between you two.

“Because I want to,” he said simply, as if was not a big deal “Now go.”

Jinyoung did make your breakfast, the surrealism of it all being left behind as soon as you opened the bathroom door. You sat at the small round table, buttered toasts with eggs and juice served for the both of you. Was it too soon to say you were in love?

“You really don’t have anyone to make you company?” he asked.

“Are you really that worried about me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Can you not answer my question with another question?” you chuckled, slapping his arm gently.

“Yes, I am worried about you,” Jinyoung sighed, looking at you with unexpected tenderness. Not that anything over the past twenty-four hours had been expected. “I guess I nurtured a silent crush on you. And seeing you falling on the ground and then bleeding really frightened me.”

“Oh God,” you whined, hiding your face in your palms, imagining how ridiculous you must have looked. “How can you still have a crush on me after seeing all that?”

“You threw up on my shoes and here I am making you breakfast,” he shrugged, and you almost jumped in your chair, gasping at the new piece of information he had just given to you. Jinyoung laughed, his hand fondling your arm gently. “So, I’m very confident that I still have a crush on you.”

“And I don’t think I can ever look at you again,” your voice sounded muffled through your fingers, face being hidden again with your palms again, as you felt mortified.

“You are cute.”

You took a deep breath and looked at him between your fingers, Jinyoung’s gentle expressions putting you at ease. “I don’t even know how to start to thank you for all of this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jinyoung said, sliding his touch from your arm until he reached your hand, holding it gently. “You could have called the cops on me and treated me like a weirdo but instead, here we are.”

“Well, I was also developing a silent crush on you,” you declared, locking your eyes with his, ignoring all the embarrassment you were still feeling on your core.

“I would ask you on a date, but you still need to rest,” Jinyoung said, turning your palm up over the table, playing with your fingers. “But how would you feel if I offered to make you dinner tonight?”

“I would feel incredibly and unnecessarily spoiled,” you said, raising a brow.

“I take it as a yes, then,” he smirked, giving a kiss to your palm.

“Are you always like this?” you asked, heart fluttered with all the amorous attention he was so willingly ready to give you.

Jinyoung smiled, leaning closer to you to give a kiss on your cheek, the touch leaving your skin tingling. “I can be worse.”

#Jinyoung #park jinyoung #jinyoung fluff #got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 drabbles #Jinyoung scenarios #park Jinyoung scenarios #park Jinyoung fluff #kpop scenarios

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