#Building Visitor Management

[spintly-co]

10 Benefits of Implementing an Access Control System in Your Organization

In today’s fast-paced business environment, security and efficiency are more critical than ever. One of the most effective ways to ensure the safety of your organization while streamlining operations is by implementing an access control system. Access control systems are designed to manage who can enter or exit specific areas within your organization, providing both security and operational benefits. Below, we explore ten key advantages of adopting an access control system in your business.

1. Enhanced Security

The most apparent benefit of an access control system is the enhanced security it provides. By restricting access to certain areas, you can ensure that only authorized personnel can enter sensitive zones, such as data centers, executive offices, or areas where valuable assets are stored. This reduces the risk of unauthorized access, theft, and data breaches, protecting your organization’s critical resources.

2. Improved Employee Safety

An access control system not only protects your organization’s assets but also ensures the safety of your employees. In case of an emergency, such as a fire or an intruder situation, the system can lock down specific areas to prevent unauthorized access while providing a safe exit route for employees. Additionally, by monitoring who enters and exits the building, you can ensure that only authorized personnel are on-site, reducing the risk of workplace violence or other security threats.

3. Streamlined Entry and Exit Processes

Traditional lock-and-key systems can be cumbersome, especially for large organizations. Keys can be lost, stolen, or copied, leading to potential security breaches. Access control systems streamline the entry and exit process by allowing employees to use keycards, biometric data, or mobile devices to gain entry. This not only speeds up access but also reduces the likelihood of lost keys and unauthorized duplications.

4. Customizable Access Levels

One of the significant advantages of access control systems is the ability to customize access levels for different employees. For example, you can grant specific employees access to certain areas while restricting others. This level of customization is particularly useful in organizations with multiple departments or locations, where different teams require different access permissions.

5. Real-Time Monitoring and Reporting

Access control systems provide real-time monitoring of who enters and exits your facility. This feature is invaluable for security audits and investigations, allowing you to track who was in a particular area at a specific time. Additionally, many systems offer automated reporting features, which can help you identify potential security issues before they escalate. This level of visibility is crucial for maintaining a secure environment.

6. Reduced Risk of Internal Theft

Internal theft is a significant concern for many organizations, and traditional security measures often fall short in preventing it. Access control systems help mitigate this risk by restricting access to valuable assets and sensitive information. By monitoring who has access to specific areas, you can quickly identify potential security breaches and take appropriate action.

7. Increased Operational Efficiency

Access control systems are not just about security; they can also significantly improve operational efficiency. By automating the entry and exit process, you can reduce the time employees spend fumbling with keys or signing in at reception desks. Additionally, many systems integrate with other business tools, such as time and attendance software, allowing you to streamline processes and improve overall productivity.

8. Compliance with Industry Regulations

Many industries, such as healthcare, finance, and government, have strict regulations regarding data security and access control. Implementing an access control system can help your organization comply with these regulations by providing a robust audit trail and ensuring that only authorized personnel have access to sensitive information. This not only helps you avoid costly fines but also protects your organization’s reputation.

9. Scalability

As your organization grows, so do your security needs. Access control systems are highly scalable, allowing you to add or remove access points, integrate new locations, and update access permissions as needed. This scalability ensures that your security system can grow with your business, providing long-term protection and flexibility.

10. Cost-Effective Security Solution

While the initial investment in an access control system may seem high, the long-term benefits far outweigh the costs. By reducing the risk of theft, improving operational efficiency, and ensuring compliance with industry regulations, access control systems can save your organization money in the long run. Additionally, the ability to integrate with other business systems, such as HR and payroll, can further enhance the return on investment.

Conclusion

Implementing an access control system in your organization is not just about enhancing security; it’s about creating a safer, more efficient, and compliant workplace. From reducing the risk of internal theft to improving operational efficiency, the benefits of access control systems are extensive. As your organization grows and evolves, an access control system can scale with your needs, providing long-term security and peace of mind.

For organizations looking to implement a modern, robust access control solution, Spintly offers cutting-edge systems tailored to meet the unique needs of your business. Visit Spintly to learn more about how our access control systems can help secure your organization while improving overall efficiency.

[wwinterwitch]

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I��m quite a busy gentleman, you know?" 

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no. 

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing. 

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

[tektronixtechnology]

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Streamlining Security: The Future of Visitor Management with Facial Recognition

In an era where security concerns are paramount, traditional methods of visitor management are being rapidly replaced by innovative technological solutions. One such solution that is gaining traction across various sectors is the implementation of facial recognition in visitor management systems. Let’s delve into how this technology is revolutionizing the way we manage visitors.

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento was not getting old. He wasn't. He was not. Forty-five wasn't old.

"Oi! Nanamin! I'll take the left!"

A grown man's voice that still somehow didn't suit Yuuji. A ghost of an image flickered across Kento's mind; a memory; a boy, superimposed over a man.

"Alright. Don't take any unnecessary risks. Meet me in the middle of the lower corridor. We've cut off its exit routes, now."

Kento watched Yuuji leap down a set of stairs that were no longer stairs; their crumbled wreckage structureless, as though the Curse that had befallen the building was akin to a landslide.

The raggedy old block had needed demolishing for years, anyway, such an eyesore, what was city planning doing with his taxes...but perhaps a nice restaurant? No, something else, but not a club, so noisy and there's enough racket from the kids around this city anyw--

Kento stood. He definitely didn't suppress a groan. He definitely didn't grumble at the blood-clot dust on his knees, and trousers that he only ironed that morning and the crease that was perfect and I haven't even had a chance to read my newspaper, ridiculous, senior management these days, should write a letter of complai--

Kento reached the lower corridor. His blood was acid in his lungs. He coughed, dry. He looked left, and right, and left again. He looked down. His shoelace was untied. He tutted. He knelt down. That was his first mistake.

ROAR! THUNDER THUNDER THUNDER

"Nanamin! Move!"

Kento stood on a dice roll; and broke. The pain was excruciating. He must have been stabbed by a thousand knives, Christ, can't move I can't move like an old man like--

"Oh my-- my god, my back--"

"NANAMIN!"

"My back, Yuuji-- my back--"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

All of the curtains in the house were drawn. Nanami Kento couldn't be seen like this. You crept closer to him, where he stewed on his back on the sofa like a wounded lion. His head turned away, sour and sulking; though, not for you, you knew.

"Hey. Brought you some tea. A little snack. I went to the store. They didn't have the pastries you liked, they said some guy got there just before I did, but I got--"

A scoff. "Why have they always run out? I go in there every day, half the time they haven't got them, and half the time they're stale, and the other half--"

"--that's three halves, my love--"

"--and another thing--"

"--oh my god, Kento, you're like an old man--"

"Don't say it." Silence, stewing again. You opened your mouth to bicker back, and Kento turned to you, so petulant that you had to bite back a laugh. "Don't."

Kento cleared his throat. He straightened his tie. You could not possibly laugh at his indignity, still dressed as if he would still be going back to work in his sorry state.

There was a knock at the door. As you shot Kento one more look of exasperated affection, and headed to the door, he called out in thinly-veiled panic.

"No visitors today, thank you!"

"What, you gonna get up and stop me? Or throw them out? Please."

Critical hit. Silence. Then: "That was uncalled for."

You laughed. You opened the door. Yuuji stood there, grinning.

"How's the old man holding up?"

A grumble from the sofa ("I'm not old!"). You bit your lip in mirth.

"He's as expected. They ran out of his pastries."

Yuuji held up a paper bag, and gave it a shake. "Yeah, they did. Wonder who bought them?"

A yell from the living room.

"Is it Yuuji? Tell him to come back another time."

"When?"

"Never."

"But he's brought you a hot water bottle. And a new newspaper. And some of your pastries."

"Oh. Oh, well then...send him in."

[reasonsforhope]

"The Yurok will be the first Tribal nation to co-manage land with the National Park Service under a historic memorandum of understanding signed on Tuesday [March 19, 2024] by the tribe, Redwood national and state parks, and the non-profit Save the Redwoods League, according to news reports.

The Yurok tribe has seen a wave of successes in recent years, successfully campaigning for the removal of a series of dams on the Klamath River, where salmon once ran up to their territory, and with the signing of a new memorandum of understanding, the Yurok are set to reclaim more of what was theirs.

Save the Redwoods League bought a property containing these remarkable trees in 2013, and began working with the tribe to restore it, planting 50,000 native plants in the process. The location was within lands the Yurok once owned but were taken during the Gold Rush period.

Centuries passed, and by the time it was purchased it had been used as a lumber operation for 50 years, and the nearby Prairie Creek where the Yurok once harvested salmon had been buried.

Currently located on the fringe of Redwoods National and State Parks which receive over 1 million visitors every year and is a UNESCO Natural Heritage Site, the property has been renamed ‘O Rew, a Yurok word for the area.

“Today we acknowledge and celebrate the opportunity to return Indigenous guardianship to ‘O Rew and reimagine how millions of visitors from around the world experience the redwoods,” said Sam Hodder, president and CEO of Save the Redwoods League.

Having restored Prarie Creek and filled it with chinook and coho salmon, red-legged frogs, northwestern salamanders, waterfowl, and other species, the tribe has said they will build a traditional village site to showcase their culture, including redwood-plank huts, a sweat house, and a museum to contain many of the tribal artifacts they’ve recovered from museum collections.

Believing the giant trees sacred, they only use fallen trees to build their lodges.

“As the original stewards of this land, we look forward to working together with the Redwood national and state parks to manage it,” said Rosie Clayburn, the tribe’s cultural resources director.

It will add an additional mile of trails to the park system, and connect them with popular redwood groves as well as new interactive exhibits.

“This is a first-of-its-kind arrangement, where Tribal land is co-stewarded with a national park as its gateway to millions of visitors. This action will deepen the relationship between Tribes and the National Park Service,” said Redwoods National Park Superintendent Steve Mietz, adding that it would “heal the land while healing the relationships among all the people who inhabit this magnificent forest.”"

-via Good News Network, March 25, 2024

[live-love-be-unique]

P. R Nightmare

Series summary: A public relations job typically involves managing an individual or organisation’s reputation and building relationships with the public and media. It generally does not include superheros, terrorist organisations, middle-aged Russian super soldiers who breach media regulations and crushing on a client/ coworker.

This is a Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem!reader series

Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, no specific details about reader appearance are given. Specific warnings will be provided at each chapter.

After battling the New York subway system — which you’re pretty sure had a vendetta against you — you’d made it to your office later than you’d liked. There had been no time to stop and grab a coffee and breakfast from your favourite little cafe near your office, so you’d have to contend with a stale granola bar that you were hoping was still buried in your desk behind some notebooks and a coffee from the communal kitchen.

“You’re late,” your assistant whispered as you walked in.

“I know, I know.”

“There’s someone in your office.”

“What? Who?” You were certain you didn’t have any meetings until at least 11am, you glanced towards your office where you could make out the shape of someone sitting in front of your desk.

“Congressman Barnes, he’s even more handsome since the last time he came by.”

“Aren’t you married, Dorris?” You smirked, she’d been nursing a crush on him since he’d last stopped by your office.

“Barry doesn’t need to know,” Dorris waved her hand dismissively, smirking as she answered her phone.

While it wasn’t uncommon to find someone waiting for you in your office most mornings, most visitors didn’t come bearing a steaming hot cup of coffee, “You join a new team and you’ve given up on the suits? You’ll break Giuseppe’s heart.”

“He’ll live, I’m sure you’ve referred other senators to his tailoring and I’m pretty sure you get a kick back on each suit he makes,” the man chuckled as he watched you walk around your desk and take a seat. “Hi kid.”

“What do you need Barnes?” You lean forward, resting your head on your hands, offering a wry smile, “I doubt you’re here to discuss the finer points of haberdashery?”

“I’m here to offer you a job,” Bucky says, placing your coffee in front of you.

“Last time you offered me a job, you wanted me to help you impeach Valentina de Fontaine,” you eyed Bucky as you took a sip of your coffee. Valentina had been a little too good at covering her tracks for anything solid to actually stick, the hunt for anything incriminating had dragged on for months. “Is this caramel?” you asked, savouring your first mouthful of good coffee.

“Of course,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This time it’s a little less…political. The team needs an assistant, someone to handle the public relations.”

“Really? You were all doing so well,” you smirked. “I saw the Wheaties boxes.”

“Alexei’s idea.”

“The Russian guy?”

“It was his dream,” Bucky shrugs. As he stands he places a file on your desk, “Think about it”

You watched him leave your office before picking up the file, it contained a dossier for every member of the Thunderbolts.

Bucky’s was first, heavily redacted as you’d expected. You knew a little of his past, or at least what he had shared with you while you had helped him with his campaign, but he had kept the details of what had happened while he was under control of Hydra to himself.

John Walker. Former decorated army ranger and Captain America for a short time before the murder of a civilian in a public setting led to his less than honourable discharge.

Yelena Belova. Former Red Room trained assassin with the Black Widow, working as a contract killer for Valentina before the Thunderbolts.

Alexei Shostakov. The Red Guardian, Captain America’s counterpart in Russia. The one behind the Wheaties box…and ‘encouraging’ people in supermarkets to buy them.

Ava Starr. S.H.I.E.L.D operative turned mercenary who could phase through objects due to a constant state of molecular disequilibrium. You made a mental note to look that up later.

And…Bob? You turned Bob’s, Robert Reynolds’s, part of the file over to find that the page in your hand, containing next to no information about the man, was it. There was a picture — he was cute in a boy next door kind of way — and a few sparse details about the man but nothing more.

You quickly closed the file as your office door slammed open, your 11am meeting had finally arrived. Some trust fund baby who wanted you to fix his public image to keep him out of prison. He was charged with several assault counts, all of which he argued were the other person's fault and daddy’s money had brought him two hours of your time.

After his time was up, he had offered you his number like it was some kind of reward. You declined and dialed a familiar contact.

“Barnes? When do you need me to start?”

[kryptznnn]

♛/♡ -Tragedy

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

➸ INTERESTS; - aged up!neteyam x omatikayan f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - Love at first sight doesn’t exist, everyone knows that. There’s attraction, reaction, and understanding someone to call something love. Neteyam wasn’t sure what it was that he felt for you, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc 5.6k, romantic tension, sexual tension, kissing, fluff, smut, yearning, build-up, stalking mentions, imaginative daydreaming, masturbation (m!undergoing), straddling, orgasm mentions, attraction, seductive mentions, sexual actions, slight dry-humping, arousal mention, etc.

➸a.i; - we are so back amen also not proof readddd + recommended songs below!!

(1st quarter)

(2nd quarter)

(3rd quarter)

(4th quarter)

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

It started with subtle glances, correction, it always started with subtle glances. Impressively it hadn’t gotten much farther than that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it too.

Out at a large celebratory festival thrown by the entire village as a sort of remembrance of the great war is when he saw you. Of course, he and his family were the center of attention, being deemed some branch of royalty, and yet you were in his view all night.

His attention span wasn’t as good as he thought it was, or as well as his father had trained it to be, especially when it came to something he liked. Well, he wasn’t sure if he liked you, he hadn’t known you, not a name, a voice, or a touch, just a face, hair, skin, and your body.

Whatever it was you had him looking at you constantly, it was something he could do all the time without getting bored. Unexpectedly that’s nearly what he did all night if it wasn’t for his siblings and parents driving him elsewhere.

He watched as you interacted with your friends, or maybe they were family, he wouldn’t know. He watched the way you smiled and nodded as you listened to the conversation of others, oddly enough your smile was enough to make him smile as well.

His favorite was watching the way your chest heaved, and throat rumbled a bit before you’d laugh, quickly placing a hand in front of your mouth as you did so. Thankfully for him he was watching from the side, so he could still see your mouth as you laughed.

Or maybe the way you moved so fluently from one table to another to acquire more food and drinks for the others. The way you’d move to the sounds of the music, or how he’d read your lips to know you were slightly singing along.

Neteyam is a man of many things, an observer at largest. It’s one of the skills his father taught him that he’s always favorited. “Always check your surroundings when you enter a new crowd”, and somehow after taking in his father’s advice he’d always attempt to look for you.

In gathering parties after hunting cycles, visitors who would come to his family’s kelku or even his own, even while he trained the younger warriors as their general. Even if you managed to be somewhere off afar, he would be quick to catch your eye, you’d always stand for a second before waving him a quick hello before moving along.

That was enough to change his routine as embarrassing as it sounds. Like taking a completely different route to get out in the morning or get to base camp and train warriors earlier than anticipated on certain days of the week because you’d be in the forest across from the gentlemen.

He knew better than to approach you so suddenly, well not suddenly, it’s been weeks since he had first seen you. He wasn’t sure how he could form a simple conversation without fucking himself over.

It isn’t easy to start a small conversation and ask for the name of someone who you’ve been infatuated with for a while now. He would always just brush it off and try to surround himself with working or training to occupy his time.

Until of course his parents were sure to sit him down and now seriously talk to him about his future and their future heirs. The fact you continuously rotted his mind as his parents spoke to the point where his breathing was ragged was enough to say. His parents understood well enough there was someone who their eldest had an eye on, they just didn’t know if their son was ready for it.

Oh, he was more than ready for it, ready for you. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough, he prayed to Ewya several times throughout the day just to get closer with you, maybe bump into one another or brush against one another. Just to hear you laugh again or see what style you’ve done differently with your hair, and thankfully it seems she answered.

As Neteyam stayed late tidying up after the warriors he was training you waved off your friends, a basket clung to your side filled with fruits. His eyes never left your figure, narrowing them as he watched your movements as you spun around and listening to your words as you mentioned something that had given him interest.

“I can do next week's batch myself! Thank you, guys.”

Oh? That seemed like the perfect opportunity for him, at least to get past a hand wave each week. He smiled to himself softly as he began to think of what he would plan for then until he heard your friends reply back to you. They all yelled their goodbyes and your name following after, ringing in his ears like the roar of a palulukan.

“Y/n” he whispered to himself softly before chewing on his bottom lip. He hadn’t wasted any time in collecting his other belongings and making his way back to his kelku.

He had officially made up his mind on what he wanted to do, and how he would work his way up to you. He just needed to wait until morning and get as much sleep as possible.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Neteyam was too clever for his own good, nodding too himself at a job well done before shoving the items he had taken back into his families kelku. Surprisingly enough he waited the whole week to remove the fruits on the lower branches, and leaving those only he could reach.

This was a new low, even for him, he’d never done something like this before especially not for a woman. Like everyone loves to say, there’s a first time for everything of course.

So of course, he waited and waited for you to arrive, keeping his warriors in training as he tightened the bindings by his waist before making his way over to you.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked, his voice calm but firm, looking down at you. You perked your head to the side slightly your eyes not leaving the fruits hung up from above you. He watched your arm reach back up again before lowering it slowly and fixing your eyes on him.

He took in your figure for a moment, watching as your hair now laid on top of your shoulders and collarbones now as you fully faced him. He also took in your scent, it was sweet and so captivating, if he wasn’t any stronger, he would’ve lost his mind over it, over you.

“Yes please, if you aren’t too busy” you said softly, nodding slightly and thanking him, taking a step back to give him enough space. He could never be too busy for you, never, even if he wasn’t he would’ve left whatever it was if he could just see you, let alone help.

He wasted no time in reaching his arm over, plucking a handful of fruits from each branch in front of the two of you. His hands were large, you took that into account, palming nearly 6 of the fruits in just one hand with a steady grip so they wouldn’t fall. Yet again he was gentle with them to the point where they wouldn’t burst or ooze out.

As you held out your basket for him to place the fruits in with others that were already inside you could hear his breath falter slightly. Your attention was focused upon his face, scanning it for something, whatever it was he hadn’t liked it, it made him uncomfortable. His gaze quickly diverted from yours, looking back at his warriors in training now on a ‘water-break’ before clearing his throat and speaking up.

“It’s nice to finally meet you properly, my name is Neteyam.” He spoke softly, turning his gaze back to you and motioning the ‘I see you’ gesture, as you did the same to him. He was whipped, his pupils widening slightly as he watched you in awe. Honestly if he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed his jaw was open as he listened to your voice.

The way you nodded and smiled at him, not hiding it. Or maybe the way you greeted him and thanked him for his help, introducing yourself lines after. He liked the way you said your name, pronounced it in your thick accent, or how your lips pursed together when you said it. How it sounded differently coming from yourself than your friends from last week. He loved how you said his name, especially so fluently, so full of curiosity and care, or how your lips touched at the last letter of his name.

Maybe he does like you, just a little, remember he still doesn’t know you, or at least not as well as he wanted too, no matter how bad he wanted to change that. All he could do was watch you walk away from him yet again, a full conversation not even brewing between the two of you and it was killing him. Watching you wave your goodbyes to him, watching the way the small woven basket clung to your side like a newborn child, or even how you made walking look easy, different almost, in your own way.

He could only stand and close his eyes, bawling his fists for mere seconds to bask in your scent again, envisioning you again, you smile, your lips, your eyes, your everything. A snarl was practically ready to rip out from his chest, he was so close and yet so far. Temptation is such an evil thing, almost like a parasite eating at its host, but with Neteyam it seemed as if he loved the thrill that would come from it. Being nervous around you, going out of his way just to see you, or help you in any way he can, he’s not being weird or anything, just friendly.

Right

Friendly

He’s being friendly because he’s a nice kindhearted man, doing his duty looking out for the people in his clan.

So why was it so different with you? What made you so different? Everything made you different, like how you bring a heat to his face or chest, this isn’t normal in the slightest. He thought to himself how he interacts with other friends his age or how they make him feel, and it was nothing like this, and honestly, he wasn’t appalled, just drawn in further.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

It’s nothing but curiosity, he had questions and what better way than to answer them himself. He knows he has issues, like not liking to ask others for help, but he didn’t need it, he already knew so much about you from just watching you closely over the next few weeks.

What flowers you liked and how you liked them sorted, your favorite fruit being the same one he helped you pick, how many members of your family there were, and surprising enough you are the middle child. He was proud of himself, practically swallowing down the shame and guilt he had for following you around, he used his skills for great use, and it was only for a short period of time.

Now things have gotten even better, as your father had gone directly towards the leader of your people, Neteyam’s father for help on your behavior. Something new to get your energy out of, the stress and pressure of personal things were getting to you, and he was sure archery would be of great help.

Either that or sparring, and it seemed safer to spar, as he couldn’t dream of the casualty if you were to strike someone with an arrow. Whether you liked it or not you had no other choice to comply, but when you found out that Neteyam would be fitting you into his tight schedule and be your personal trainer things seemed to be a little better.

You were a very picky woman, but honestly you couldn’t hate or push past him, he seemed sweet and gentle, plus very handsome. You’d be completely stupid to send away a man like him, that you knew, and you were anything other than dumb, so you’d stick by him.

Like as of right now, being your first day of sparring with Neteyam. The two of you circling each other slightly, a small bruise on your arm as there was a much larger one underneath Neteyam’s left eye. Apparently, his job was to fish out whatever emotions he could out of you, and honestly it was working.

Of course, it was working because the way you attacked him was uncalled for, you were a fighter unlike one he’d seen before. You don’t fight with grace or precision; you fight with everything you have. As if your life is at stake and you’re struggling to stay alive, fighting however you can and using your surroundings. You fought against him as if he was genuinely inflicting harm onto you, as if it was kill or be killed in a simple sparring.

The several times he caught up to your tactics he only pinned your arms behind your back momentarily. His broad and heavy chest pressed against your broad back, both of your breathing patterns seeming to align with one another, heavy and rough. His breath fanning your skin by your neck, making you jolt slightly and kick his leg with force, knocking him back.

Is fighting supposed to have this much tension in it? It didn’t make any sense; this hadn’t made any sense. This was much more difficult than you anticipated, and worst of all Neteyam enjoyed every second of it. The touching, glances, subtle smirks or victorious expressions you’d give off.

He was doing it on purpose, between the two of you he was and would always be the better fighter, he was just letting you win. In his eyes you deserved it, you deserve anything he can provide for you, and so that’s exactly what he’d do.

He laid on the sandy floors beneath the two of you, sighing to himself heavily before propping himself up on his elbows. You turned around swiftly to take in his state, then looking back at yourself before offering him a hand. He happily took it and bounced back to his feet, announcing this would be the last fight between the two of you for the evening as the sun began to fade and colors filled the sky.

Well, that was a few minutes ago, as of now you were sure how or when this happened. Or maybe you made a wrong move to fuck yourself over, but this wasn’t expected at all. You laid back flat against the sandy floors now, Neteyam atop you, his forearm pressed against your collarbone as he used his hand to press down on your shoulder.

He was firm yet gentle, like he always had been, always had been with you. It’s not that you couldn’t move, you could, you just refused too. You refused to go anywhere or ruin this moment; with the way he was looking into your eyes or the way his seemed blown out you couldn’t help but look at him in awe.

The colors of the sky were now fully in effect as the dim sunlight shined brighter than ever, the hues mixing into his blue skin and eyes. Your eyes seemed to be moving at speed beyond explanation as you wanted to take in such a sight.

It hadn’t seemed like he wanted to move either, but unfortunately, he was quick to move off of you, apologizing. This time he was the one to offer you a hand to help you up, which you took and stood up, dusting yourself off. You also took this time to dust off your face if there was any dirt there before looking up at him.

His eyes were already fixated on you, correction, they never left you. You made your way around him slightly before squinting, as the sunlight was now directly on you and your face. It was hard to see with the nearly blinding light, but you could still feel his eyes on you. You only turned around, you're back now facing him as you packed your belongings before thanking him before getting ready to leave, and to which he wasted no time in stopping you.

“Will I see you tomorrow morning? After we return from our morning hunt?” He asked, his voice laced with anxiety and eagerness. Eager for you to say yes, hungry almost, and to see you nodding in agreement only sent a large smile plastered onto his face. The two of you saying your goodbyes and leaving your spot before seeing your families again.

The way you clouded Neteyam’s mind was intoxicating and sickening. He would trip over his own feet and tail if he hadn’t had a strong heart and mind. He finally had you exactly where he wanted you after so long and he was nonetheless happier than ever. He was happy that you finally saw him, saw how he saw you. Or at least he was content that you were able to see yourself through his eyes without having to share a word.

Oh, how he wishes he could come home to you every night instead of just the thought of you, his short, fixated imagination of you sprawled against his bed. Maybe even you waltzing around his kelku with that sly little walk you do, the one that makes him keep his eyes on your hips and thighs.

He wishes most of all in this very moment for you to be with him now, at the very back of his kelku, out of sight and out of mind. In his large cut off of water from the main rivers supply just to his satisfaction to clean off, the two of your bodies entangled with one another like how they had been earlier.

That would be perfect to him, feeling your hand graze down against his chest to his torso again. Or listen to you say his name over and over, and even the way you’d adjust your loincloth and top after every other fight. The sounds you’d make whenever he’d pin your arms, or how you groaned when he had you pinned to the ground beneath the two of you.

This is dirty, and wrong, so wrong, and something so wrong shouldn’t feel so good. Sadly, it did, and he just couldn’t help it or stop himself from going on, it was too much pressure to let build up. Neteyam could practically envision you in front of him, he traced his hands around his body the same way you had, picturing you with your small smile and scent talking to him.

He couldn’t stop himself he truly couldn’t, nothing could rip away this blissful moment from him. A moment so lustful and sacred and yet so beautiful and gentle to him was meant to be cherished and shared with you, and yet he still didn’t fully have you, he couldn’t have you.

The flicks of you replaying over and over in his mind as he quickened his pace down his body, his tip now leaning pre-cum as he continued, faster now. His breathing was heavier, and he felt more focused and intense than before, his non dominant hand gripping at the sides of his bath beside him as he went on.

Unexpectedly sooner than later, his climax came, much more intense than any other he’d had prior with any other woman he’d been with. This was raw and passionate, let alone the fact he was much more vocal than ever, mumbling your name over and over. Even though he bit down on his bottom lip to the point where blood was drawn, he couldn’t help his loud sounds as he reached his peak.

He was breathing like a man who hadn’t breathed fresh air in years. His chest heaving as he threw his head back with a sigh of relief, the hand gripping his sides of his bath now running through his messy wet braids. Cursing softly under his breath as he cleaned himself off with a slight smile on his face.

Desire is so dangerous.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Yearning is a strange feeling, at least towards Neteyam. He was so quick and easy to pick out what he liked and didn’t like. Like the other women in the village, he had ‘met’ with. It’s not that anything was wrong with them, but when it came to actually listening to their morals or finding out they’d only gotten close to him because of his title and physical attributes he was quicker to leave them then pleasure them.

To Neteyam the first thing that caught his attention from you was being able to hear your voice almost instantly in such a loud and unique crowd. It was fascinating to say the least, like how he had sat alongside the ocean back when his family seeked refuge from the metkayina clan. The oceans crashing waves being so loud and deafening yet so soothing like nothing he’d experienced before until hearing your voice, then seeing you.

This was supposed to be your second week of training with another, transitioning towards a third. The more the two of you would spar, with or without weapons, he was sure to go easy on you at times. He was sure to give you distance, as he felt it wasn’t right you weren’t given much of it the first time.

But whatever gap that lasted between the two of you was quickly sealed by you. You didn’t like the distance between you too, you didn’t like his quietness. You wanted to see him how you had prior; you wanted him close to you and you wanted his skin to brush against yours.

Maybe it was just between the heat of battle from the two of you, but it was enjoyable. You enjoyed spending so much time of your day alongside Neteyam, not worried if you were to be bruised or laid out on the floor time and time again.

It pushed you to arrive earlier than expected towards your training with one another, to which you clutched your woven bag in one hand. You laid it out on the rocks beside you as you watched Neteyam, his back facing you as you listened to a repetition of a scraping sound.

“You’re very early today y/n.” He spoke smoothly, not stopping his motion of sharpening one of the countless blades scattered in front of him. His ears picked up on your footsteps through the forest long before his nose picked up on your scent, bringing a wide smile to his face.

“I’m sorry, I had nothing to do with my extra time, I didn’t know you would be busy. Ohe tsun za’u ne’im mawkrr.” [I can come back later] You stated, only earning a disapproving head shake from Neteyam who stopped his movements and placed a blade off to the side. He raised that same hand to motion for you to take a seat next to him, and you did just that.

The distance between the two of you seemed so far apart, even aside the fact you were seated perfectly next to each other. Legs crossed and your knees brushing against one another with each action Neteyam made as he sharpened the next blade, you only watched him.

Whenever you saw him or was as close as you are now with him his eyes were always fixated on you. His entire body was fixated on your figure, following your every move. Now it felt different watching him put that energy into something else, it made you curious exactly what it was for.

His scent was stronger than usual, making you inhale the air around you stronger than you had before. He smelled like the strong trees of your people and the soft moss around your home, or how free the air smelled before a storm, it was soothing.

It was also soothing to watch how he worked; you could tell he was doing this for a while, the objects leaving harsh red indents on his hands and arms. Or how he was sweating and because of that his hair on his hairline was stuck to his forehead, with the rest of his braids tied back into a loose bun.

All except one strand, obviously blocking his vision, and it bothered you just as much as it must’ve been bothering him. So, you helped him, you simply reached out to his face slightly and brushed the braid behind his ear, watching as his ear twitched in response. His eyes darted over to yours for only a split second before he chewed on his bottom lip and diverted his gaze back to his work.

‘Just look at me like that one more time, please’ you thought to yourself. Whatever you could do to help quicken the process of whatever he was doing you’d do just that. You wanted this to be over with, for you to have his full attention, you missed it.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, now hunching over slightly and continuing his work at a quicker pace now. You only nodded and hummed in response, your own way of saying you’re welcome. Your attention now turned to the bowl of cut fruits to the side of the two of you and the blades as small flies began to fly around it.

They must’ve been attracted to its scent and appeal. Sweet and soft, as you were in Neteyam’s eyes. The fruits must’ve been his, he just hadn’t had time to eat them, and it seemed now the pests were ready to do the job for him.

“They’ll eat your fruits if you aren’t quick enough” you joked. Smiling as you continued to swat them away and bring the bowl to your lap as you earned a small chuckle from him. Your gaze fixated on his face before back to the pests that now found their retreat and flew away.

“My hands are too dirty to feed myself. If I were to eat them all of these blades would be dirty and sticky.” He said with a hum, his hands running over the blade he just sharpened before placing it to the side, grabbing one of the last few from the large basket to his side.

“I can feed it to you.” You replied almost immediately, desperately, your face buzzing with excitement as your tail began to swing from behind you against the sand. Neteyam now turned his head to you, eyes fixated on your face, then your figure and pausing when he saw the bowl in your lap.

A familiar heat crept up to his face and chest, making his fingers clamp down against the blade he was holding and look away for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact you seemed so eager to do this for him, or how you hadn’t even known how intimate something like that was.

Surprisingly enough you hadn’t even waited for his answer, already picking a large piece from the bowl into your fingers and bringing them to his face. He only turned his head back to his work, as if rejecting the offer and sniffling, working much faster now.

You hadn’t taken that as an answer however, now moving the blades that were in front of the two of you off to the side to sit directly in front of Neteyam. Placing the fruit up to his lips and watching them intently, a smile grew to yours as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He chewed softly as he continued, you only watched him, the way his jaw tightened with each bite he dug into the fruit. Now you were fixated on his throat, how he swallowed, or how his abs flexed when he hunched over again, tossing the sharpened blade behind you.

You continue to feed him, piece after piece, he was gentle. Careful to not let his lips touch your fingertips, but that’s not what you wanted, you wanted to be closer, to be intimate. Maybe if you moved your fingers closer, you’d feel his lips.

It made you curious as to certain things like how they felt, if they were as soft as they looked. Or how they tasted, if they were as sweet as the fruit he was eating now. You were flushed but it didn’t matter, it was too late to go back now you just couldn’t help yourself.

It seemed your body was moving without your mind controlling it because without a second thought of feeding him the last piece of fruit you licked your own fingertips. What was even worse was the fact you made sure to do it as he had his eyes fixated on you, you did it on purpose to this attention.

The same way you purposely took the tools from his hands and tossed them aside, now sitting up on your knees and straddling yourself into his lap. You hoisted yourself up and rested your arms on his shoulders, interlocking your fingers behind his back before kissing him.

And of course, with your quick actions Neteyam hadn’t wasted a single second kissing you back, practically eating you alive. He was eager, hot, starving, and so desperate for you, so desperate for more. This is more than a dream come true, it’s like a blessing from above for him, and he didn’t want this moment to stop.

He could see it in your eyes what you were planning to do since you were feeding him, how you caught onto his body language. He was observing you, eating along with him, brushing your fingertips against his lips, watching as he paused to fix his loincloth before he continued his work again.

He saw the look in your eyes, a familiar one, because it was a look he had constantly given you, a look of yearning, starvation, and curiosity. Now you were kissing him, straddling him, and he just couldn’t help but dive deeper into you, your tongues practically fighting one another. You folded quickly under the pressure, your knees sinking as you melted into him, now attempting to pull back to catch your breath.

You moaned into him, and he felt your hands now pushing against his chest, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop. He only grabbed ahold of your hands and continued, not caring to stop for air. He’d rather die than end this moment between the two of you, this blessed moment. Your lips hadn’t separated from his, your lips practically stuck together, you tasted so sweet, sweeter than the fruits the two of you were eating together.

Your mouth was hot and wet, it was welcoming, practically telling him to come in and make himself welcome, and he did so. After a few seconds he pulled away from the kiss slightly, your faces not even centimeters apart as you began to breathe heavy.

He watched your chest heave, placing a hand over it and feeling your heartbeat. It was fast, and strong, he only closed his eyes and focused on it, pining his ears to the sides of his head. He smiled to himself softly when you did the same, your smaller hand resting against his chest. He looked up at you, losing his thought in your eyes that only pulled him in deeper.

The two of you sat in the position for a while, lips brushing against one another but never being able to kiss as before. All until you pulled away, hearing footsteps make their way towards the two of you, Neteyam kept his hand in yours even after you stood up to cause distance between the two of you. You were startled to see the person making their way towards you was his sister, you jolted and pulled your hand back from him before she came over to the two of you.

She greeted you, and as she did Neteyam had stood up now, adjusting his loincloth from his obvious issue of earlier, a small wet spot on the side of it from you, now turning around to see his sister. The two greeted each other as you grabbed your bag, running your hands through your hair and placing a hand over your mouth, getting the image of earlier out of your head.

“Mom and Dad want to talk to you it’s urgent.” She stated, bumping her brothers’ shoulder before looking up at him. She followed his trail of vision to you, who had been waving bye to the two of them with a small smile.

She waved back as she watched her brother wave back with a large smile on his face, immediately catching on to his reactions. She only shook her head and sighed before taking her brothers hand to follow her in the opposite direction.

“Good luck with that, hopefully you can tell her before you meet the woman mom and dad have waiting for you tomorrow morning.”

What?

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@bakugouswaif @erenjaegerwifee

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[dodger432101]

Clocking in! - Lux Imperator/Mr Ring a Ding x Reader

[This is my first time writing a fanfic, hope you enjoy!]

The weekend was over. Always too soon, those days pass by and the time you have off comes to an end. Monday morning, bright and early, your alarm disturbs your peaceful sleep. It's time to get up. The sun greets your face with warm rays of light through your curtains, like it's trying to coerce you to get up. Like it knows you don't want to.

Shower, throw your uniform on, get some breakfast down you, out the door into the world. Luckily you'd managed to snag a place not far from Palazzo, so you got to enjoy a nice walk in the sun without rushing to catch a bus. It sure was bright out today! You soaked in the sunshine you could get before you made it to the theatre, trying to brighten your mood so you could deal with the general public that would pack into the seats and likely trash the theatre rooms. There were always a few.

Mr Pye liked to get in earlier than everyone else, so it didn't concern you when the side door for employees was already unlocked. You grab the cleaning equipment from the lockers and set off to check each room. Even with others doing rounds, sometimes pieces of popcorn or.. spills.. were missed. It was easier for everyone if they were found before some stuck up visitor or loud mother that just loved to complain about something did. You'd gotten into the routine of checking after the 4th time you were yelled at.

Lo and behold, there was stuff everywhere in this particular room. It's like they were trying to make your job a nightmare! 'At least I'm getting paid' kept repeating in your head as you sweep up the piles of popcorn and other treats on the floor. That's when something small hit you in the back of the head, making you whip round. No one. Not a soul other than yours. Looking down, it seemed a stray popcorn kernal had launched itself at you. "Oh sorry, did I miss that piece? Thanks for pointing it out." You sarcastically spoke out into the silence, sweeping it up into your pan with a sigh. It was probably some stray kid playing a prank on you, found the unlocked door and came in to cause trouble. You'll deal with that later. You move onto the next row, another sigh leaving through your nose. Who made all this mess? Who didn't do their damn job and clean it up?

"What on Earth are you doing here!?" You initially startle at the sudden voice before your brain kicks in and recognises the speaker. Mr Pye was peering down from the projection room, face paler than usual, panic setting in on his face.

"Mr Pye..? Are you alright? Didn't keep yourself up all night with a horror showing did you?" You try to keep the mood light, the expression on his face causing your blood to turn cold. What could possibly had frightened your boss like this? He wordlessly peckons you up with frantic movements, looking around the theatre room like something would jump out and attack you at any moment. Once you're in the projector room and face to face with him he heaves a sigh of relief, half throwing himself into his chair. "Sir... what's going on? Is someone in the building?" You quickly glance around the room. There wasn't much you could use to protect yourself and Reginald. Maybe strangle them with film strips, if they didn't break.

Your employer runs a hand down his face, still staring out into the theatre. "I... I don't even know how to explain what happened." His voice is shaking at this point, as are his hands. Just as you open your mouth to respond, the projector clicks on. Mr Pye jumps at the sound but you, curious about how it came to life by itself, move closer and peek out at what it's lighting up. The curtains are drawn, no picture plays, just the light shines down on the stage. There's a ruffle in the curtains, something pulls at the opening down the middle and..

"Ta-da!"

A little cartoon.. man? Pokes out and addresses the empty rows of seats. Oh, you've seen him! Mr Ring-A-Ding! His little cartoons have been playing from time to time when you've been on the clock. They're nothing to write home about, seemingly more for kids but Ring-A-Ding had some charm to him. Even if he was blue, balding.. and had a pig's nose. But he's a cartoon. On a screen. How is he.. there? "Mr Pye.." You keep your voice low but the shock is clear as day. He stays quiet, clutching a film reel in his arms as he leans back away from the gaps in the walls. Music starts to play - the cartoon's theme tune, you recognise almost immediately from the days you've been working while his show was on - as Ring-A-Ding begins to sing the lyrics and do his signature dance. Though about 5 words in there's a record scratch and he pauses, quite literally, seemingly noticing he's performing to an empty theatre. Mr Ring-A-Ding puts his hands on his hips and starts scanning each row of seats, a sliding sound effect playing as his cutout eyes go from left to right. Finally, he looks up at the projector room and spots you. His (admittedly quite cute) face lights up, a little exclamation mark popping up above his head. "Ah! There you are, sweetie pie! I was just wondering where you'd snuck off to" His chipper voice echoes up, it sounds the same as the cartoon.

Far too curious for your own good, in awe at this living cartoon, you miss Mr Pye's hand reaching out to you as you leave the projector room and return to the theatre, slowly moving down the steps as you approach Ring-A-Ding. The celluoid stays in place on the stage, smiling up at you with his hands still on his hips, waiting for you to come closer. At the bottom of the stairs, you realise just how small he is. He's probably not even 3ft! You inwardly gush at the adorable little man, stepping up onto the stage. You realise you've been silent since he noticed you and clear your throat. "Uh.. hello, Mr Ring-A-Ding..?" You wave to the cartoon, the absurdness of the situation finally kicking in. You're waving to a cartoon, that's in the real world, standing there like it's always existed like this. It even has sound effects! How is any of this possible?!

"...Yoohoo?" You're interrupted from your attempts to reason Ring-A-Ding's existence by the very cartoon leaning in and waving a blue four-fingered hand close to your face. You blink and move back slightly. "Don't ya know it's rude to stare, sunshine? What, never seen a cartoon before?" He spreads his arms out, like he's showing off his form to you. "Though, don't say I blame you for gawkin'. Quite the looker aren't I?" His voice lowers in pitch and he smirks at you, eyebrows moving up and down accompanied by another sound effect.

"Uhhhh..." You can't find words to respond with, baffled still by the, again, LIVING CARTOON in front of you and his unexpected question. At your silence, Ring-A-Ding begins to frown, a sad violin playing from.. well it's hard to say. As you look around for the source of the music, the cartoon holds his little yellow hat and begins his guilt-tripping.

"Why the silence, sweetheart? I know I'm not the mirror image of you humans, but.." He sniffles, making you look back down to him. His pie eyes now have 2 white dots in them, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. Seeing he has your attention, he squeezes his eyes shut to get more tears flowing, clutching his hat to his chest. "Nothing at all? Come on, dolly, humor a 'toon! You can't leave me hanging like this!" Ring-A-Ding pouts up at you, hat in his hands under his chin, eyes wide still sparkling with unshed tears. At this pitiful display you frown guiltily, getting down on one knee so you're eye-level with the sad little celluoid.

"Oh.. oh, Ring.. I'm sorry." Without thinking you reach a hand out to wipe his tears away, surprising yourself when you actually make contact with the cartoon. He's warm like a lightbulb, his skin somewhat rubbery. The tears are like any other's as you gently stroke them away, both hands now on either cheek. Only after you finish wiping the 'toon's face do you realise the violin stopped and Ring-A-Ding has been still and silent the entire time. You slowly remove one hand from his face, worried you upset him further by touching him. But as you go to take the other away and apologise, he leans into it and puts his hand on top of yours. You glance at it, then back to his face. He has that smirk on again, his eyes half lidded with a smug expression.

"Quite forward aren't you toots?" Ring-A-Ding has a playful tone to his voice now, slinking closer to you as he rubs his cheek into your hand, the hand not holding yours putting his hat back on his head. The proximity, tone, words, all join forces to make you blush a bright red and knock you off your knee, now sitting back as the cartoon follows. The smug expression only grows now at your lack of response, Ring being ever so slightly taller with you on the stage. "Why don't I try.. being forward too? Hm?" Your hand is moved down, onto his shoulder and behind his head, fingers ever so close to the little amount of hair he has. Ring-A-Ding moves between your spread legs, the hand that held yours moving to cup your jawline, drawing a barely audible gasp from you. But with you two so close, it's no surprise he hears it. His smirk opens to a charming little grin as he angles your head and only then does it occur to you what he's doing. This cartoon, brought to the real world through means you still don't know, is about to kiss you! You're going to kiss a cartoon. God you kind of want this as well. There's worse things to put your lips against, you decide to reason to yourself. Ring puts his other hand on your shoulder, then slides it up to the side of your neck, eyes barely open as he angles himself down, your faces so so close..

"Mr Ring-A-Ding, sir, I'm sorry but I can't let you hurt them!" You jump so hard you practically gain air, Ring only leaning back slightly to glare up at Reginald at the top of the stairs, his smirk instantly gone. His pig nose wrinkles as he snorts, moving both hands from you and stepping over your leg as he marches over to Mr Pye, waving a finger. He's saying something but the words don't reach you. You're still reeling from the near-kiss you just had with the cartoon. The cartoon that isn't on screen. You're gonna have to ask Mr Pye what the hell's going on. You get yourself off your butt and turn, seeing your boss and Ring-A-Ding are moving to the projector's room. With a heavy sigh, you hop off stage and follow them up the stairs.

Today's gonna be a long, long day.

[thosewickedlovelies]

A guide to writing fics set in museums / with a museum worker character

Hey hi hello it’s your local museum worker here, offering you some insight and tips to writing museum-related fics! This is primarily organized as a list of different jobs you could have in a museum and what their duties entail. This post might also be useful to you if you’re considering working in museums and want to know What Goes On In There. Let’s go!

For simplicity/fic-writing purposes, I would divide museums into 2 very rough groups: large national or city museums that Have Money (think the Smithsonian or British Museums, or the Chicago Field Museum or the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds); and smaller local museums. These could be local industry and culture/history-of-our town museums, historic houses, or  really niche subject museums run by One Person With A Passion.

Big national museums have a fuckton of staff and money (museums can never have enough money. But these places are very well-off compared to somewhere small that might always be hustling and writing grant applications). If you work here you’re likely to have a specific role in a particular department, and you probably won’t do much outside this role (ex., if you work in collections management, you probably won’t also design exhibits)

The smaller the museum, the more varied your workload will be/the more likely you are to be doing a little bit of everything. You’re probably organizing collections storage, manning the front desk, and desperately running fundraising efforts, all at once. 

To this end, smaller museums are more likely to be closed one or two days a week- you’ll be there, probably cleaning displays or managing storage, but visitors won’t be.

A lot of (most?) universities also have museums, so a college town setting is also doable. But the same big vs small museum disparity is still possible! At Penn State University, for example, the Palmer Art Museum is its own (recently redone iirc) building in the center of campus with a lovely plaza out front, while the Matson Museum of Anthropology is uhhhhh a couple classrooms in the Anthropology Department (which they’re currently rebuilding tbf, so we’ll see what they’ve done with it in 2025).

Types of Jobs

Curator

The one museum job that everyone can name. Nominally the person in charge. Probably laments that their job is way more admin than fun hands-on stuff now.

Actually this is the role I have the least knowledge of, but I think that’s partially because this job might vary the most from place to place? Structural organization can vary a lot between institutions, but I think the higher up you get in any field, the more your job tends to consist of meetings/overseeing, designating, and ~liaising~

A list of things a curator might do:

Planning or approving events and fundraisers, schmoozing with donors and members at said events, approving or designing a schedule of exhibits, publish outreach/advertising or research materials, oversee hiring, approve new object acquisitions (or de-acquisitions), generally make sure that the museum is working within the scope of its mission and if necessary, change or refine their mission

The curator might not necessarily control a museum’s funds; in this case they’ll liaise with the people who do, likely a Board of Executives or Board of Trustees. Once they get the money from these people, though, they could potentially redistribute it as they see fit.

 If you work in a fuckoff museum like the BM, you could also be the curator of a specific department, arranged by overarching subject, geographic area, time period, or even object type (eg Curator of Archaeobotany, Curator of Korean Collections, curator of coins from the medieval period). These categories can be more or less specific depending on what kind of holdings your museum has. I think these types of curators would still be able to do interesting things, as they aren’t the ones who Oversee The Whole Place.

You can also be an assistant or associate curator, like being an assistant manager.

Education/Engagement

These are the people who design fun extra activities (esp for kids) in the galleries or relevant events/workshops/lectures the public can attend. They might be called Engagement/Education Officer or Events Manager or anything similar

Again, the bigger the museum you work at, the more specific your role is likely to be. You might focus on web content/outreach and social media, manage the ‘friends/members of the museum’ program, or engage with shareholders, etc

Or you might do things like develop content and events to engage adult audiences. Workshops or lectures connected to new exhibits, after-hours visits. These people are also probably the ones with an eye on accessibility- you’ve probably seen advertisements for museums’ early or late hours for older visitors, or ‘quiet hours’ for people who might be overstimulated by normal museum hubbub, or tactile workshops designed for visually impaired folks.

I think most places would try to have someone specific for kids activities at the very least. They’ll be designing little activities or dress-up stations for the galleries, kiddie mascots or scavenger hunt trail kind of things, as well as, potentially, activities for any digital elements in the museum. They probably also coordinate school visits and act as a tour guide for classes, and will lead the kids in specific workshops or lessons in classrooms attached to the museum.

As a note on technology- some people would probably say that integrating digital elements into exhibits is the ~next big thing~, that museums have to get with the times in this regard, but opinions vary. Big science and technology museums are the most likely to have the most digital and techy elements in their exhibits, so if this is your setting, your character could also be a generic “tech person”. I would go so far as to say the smaller/more local the museum, the less technology you’re likely to have, but smaller museums are able to get grants, some of them potentially for specifically this type of thing, so it’s totally possibly that they have a few tablets with integrated activities, or some other Digital/Screen Thing.

Engagement Officers are probably the most likely people to be drafted for out-of-hours events, so that’s a potentially fun thing for your character to do. Some museums, particularly bigger ones, have event spaces attached that anybody can rent out, for weddings, galas, markets, etc, so they might also take care of these bookings as well.

Exhibit Design

This role has a lot of nebulous terms: exhibit coordinator, design constructor, exhibit programmer- but these are the people who design the exhibits. They’ll come up with a theme or narrative, a design scheme, choose the objects, write the text. They’ll probably come up with some marketing material as well, that matches the design scheme, or they’ll liaise with the marketing people who will.

These people might not be as familiar with the collections as the collections management folk (below), depending on how strictly divided your roles are, so they’ll likely consult with the collections people on choosing objects for a particular exhibit or theme (they say that good exhibit design builds an exhibit from the objects up, but I digress).

These people will also direct and participate in the install and deinstall (the actual terms) of exhibits- putting the objects on the right plinths/stands and arranging everything just so in the cases. Genuinely there’s a lot of psychology behind exhibit design- colors, lighting, the way you might design an exhibit to be navigated vs the path people will actually take through the gallery, people’s sight lines and where their eyes go first, how the display of any given object affects people’s perception of the importance of that object. Fascinating stuff, many books on the subject. 

There are also a lot of accessibility concerns to be considered here- how bright is the gallery, how large is your display text, at what height is the central eyeline of your cases?

Museums often loan objects to and from each other’s collections, so if you’re building an exhibit and you’d really like to include X type of object but your museum doesn’t have any, you can borrow some from another museum (this isn’t necessarily a guarantee- museums are allowed to say no to these requests, but I think manners would dictate that they should have a good reason)

Museums sometimes tour whole exhibitions as well- the objects, the text placards, maybe even the stands for super special or fragile items- and exhibit coordinator people are the ones who would handle those arrangements.

Potentially good opportunities for angst stories here- wow things come to life at your museum, you fall in love with a statue but oh no it’s only at your museum for three months

Collections Care

People who work in Collections Management have the most direct contact with the museum objects themselves. You probably work here if you prefer objects to people. When a museum gets new material, these are the people involved. They might not always initiate acquisitions, and the final approval is probably down to the relevant curator, but 98% of the time they’d be consulted (I hope).

A mind-boggling statistic is that most museums only have like 10% of their collections on display at any given time. Yeah. Forreal lol. But collections folk will know where the other 90% is and what’s in it (particularly the longer they’ve been there). 

There’s usually a head Collections Manager. Other workers might be a Collection Assistant/Associate, Collections Officer (we like calling people Officers for some reason), Registrar, or some variant of these depending on the specific flavor of your duties. 

Main job duties can be divided amongst documentation and database work, organization and storage of objects, and lite conservation. Just how much/how technical the conservation work depends on your own training, but also on the size/funding of your museum. The more money, the more likely your museum is to have its own lab with people specifically trained as conservators. More on them later. 

Here’s what happens when a museum gets new stuff!:

Ideally, it goes to a ‘quarantine zone’ first. This is a separate space or room where the objects can relax for a few weeks to a few months (ultimate best practice is actually a year, but, you know. that’s a long time) to ensure that they’re not harboring anything icky (bugs, mold, etc) that will infect the rest of the collections. It’s ideally super-sealed and climate-controlled, but the primary feature should be that it’s away from the main collections store.

Collections folk do the paperwork. They’ll give each individual object a unique number (following their preexisting system that will allow it to be identified distinct from all the other objects in the collection). They’ll create a ‘collections record’ for the object- documentation containing any and all information about the object. This includes the accession paperwork (everything that says ‘we legally own this now’); provenance info (all previous owners and everywhere else the object has been in its life); measurements and description (in painful detail); and conservation history and concerns (ie ‘there’s a crack in the side so pick up with care’, ‘this was repaired in the 70s so that glue is gonna fall apart any day now’).

(I'll say as a fic writer that this would be an great time to wax poetic over a beautiful statue or painting; you can’t write “This golden crown deserved to be worn by a great king, or maybe by that broody Roman general in the painting in Gallery B” in the collections paperwork, but you can think it.)

For fiction’s sake, your collections records could be either paper or digital, but in an ideal world a museum would have both setups, for security’s sake. So you’d fill out some long forms and/or input all the information to the digital collections management system (‘the CMS’, or referred to by your specific software’s name, as there are many out there). The CMS is not a static archive, but rather a living register that’s updated every time an object is interacted with. The object records also include where an object is at any given time (‘normally in Case E in the Fancypants Gallery, currently in Conservation Lab A for repairs’).

Once the objects are done in quarantine, they’ll go to storage. If they’re being displayed immediately, they’ll probably go to some interim storage space/shelf with other objects for the same exhibit and in that case only get a temporary setting. Every object will get labeled with their object number (directly on them, with a special pen that’s safe for this. Or if it’s really tiny, like a coin or jewelry, then their own tiny box will get the label). Small or fragile items, or items grouped together, will go in their own boxes (made of acid- and lignin-free cardboard or polyethylene plastic, like Rubbermaid totes; lined with polyethylene foam and then acid-free tissue paper). Stable ceramic vessels might sit directly on lined shelving, particularly if they’re very large or heavy, like many stone objects.

Listen, every type of object has a particular way(s) of storing that’s best for them, you’re gonna have to look that up yourself or consult someone if you need that level of detail

Ideally, before being stored away, objects are also photographed. This could be part of the Collection Officer’s duty, and/or your museum could have a photographer on staff. (say it with me:) This is more likely if your museum is really huge and/or has a backlog of unphotographed collections and has hired someone specifically, even if temporarily, to improve its collections documentation.

I would say a collections person, or anyone with a museum studies degree, should have some minimum amount of conservation knowledge that includes basic storage standards for different object materials, how to spot potential preservation problems (like if your bronze axe head is actively oxidizing or if that green spot looks the same as it always has since starting and pausing decaying), and maybe how to give objects a basic clean or deal with certain types of problems. But the nitty-gritty science is more the realm of Conservators, someone with a degree that ends in -Sci or who’s done some other certification course.

The general collections store should always be dark, slightly too cool for prolonged human comfort, and labeled to high heaven. Objects will most likely be grouped by material- ceramics/pottery, metals, precious metals and stones (jewelry or beads), stone, glass, wood, bone/ivory/other organic material like feathers or teeth or anything that can be decorative, textiles, paintings. A museum often has some paper material/documents, usually part of or related to a group of objects they acquired, but generally paper and photographic material is the realm of archives and archivists. Yet again, the bigger/more well-funded the museum, the more likely it to have a separate archive department, so your character could also work as an archivist in a museum.

Another thing the collections care folk probably do is ship objects. Remember how I said that  museums loan objects and exhibitions to each other? The stuff’s gotta travel somehow! If things are being shipped internationally, they’ll go in big wooden crates, with specifically dimensioned partitions inside. Then it will be lined with our favorite foam and tissue paper, cut so the objects sit snugly inside. I haven’t personally worked anywhere with a possibility of local shipments, so I can’t say where the threshold might be as to when a museum would just pay an employee to drive the objects over vs ship them with a shipping company. But the preparations would be similar, minus the big wooden crate but with extra-careful packing (and paperwork and insurance etc)

Conservation

Conservators are the people who work in labs with fancy equipment. Not every museum will have a formal conservator or a lab of any kind; sometimes the collections care person fills this role, or if something urgently needs care beyond the abilities of the museum’s equipment, they might send it away to a lab elsewhere, the same way you can send your old VHS home videos to a professional archive to be digitized.

If an object is actively deteriorating in a way that could harm itself or other objects (as opposed to like, at risk of fading bc the lighting is wrong, which is a straightforward fix related to the environment), that’s when a conservator would intervene.

Some methods/machinery by which you can analyze objects:

Ultraviolet (UV) and infrared (IR) light - Different materials absorb and react to light differently, which you can use to identify them. Useful for seeing things like the different layers of paintings

Stereo-microscopy (microscopes, of varying strengths)

At magnifications of x5-x100 you can see things like tool marks from an object’s manufacture, traces from wear, deposits, and coatings

At x50-x500, with a thin sliver of a sample, you can see (and hopefully identify) fibers, layers, particles, metallographic structures 

You can get information from objects without taking samples, but samples are usually worth the information. 

energy dispersive x-ray fluorescence spectrometry (EDXRF) - EDXRF allows you to identify the elemental composition of the surface layer of an object. So it might tell you what a tool is made of, and also the composition of the objects it was used on, if they left traces

scanning electron microscopy (SEM) - an SEM uses a focused beam of electrons to produce a magnified, high-resolution image of the surface of an object

X-radiography, both film and digital - X-rayy are beneficial for objects that might be covered by dirt or corrosion and can show you details of an object’s construction or hidden structural weaknesses

I’m not a conservator, so if you want more hard science-based info, ask one of them lol

Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this post, let it be this:

 Once an object is in a museum, it is never seeing natural daylight again. Sunlight is the ultimate enemy of every object’s lifespan. If you need to see an object in the sun or moon light for ~magical spell reasons~, you will straight up be stealing that object to smuggle it outside.

Okay. That being said, you do hear (and could probably google) stories about museum employees stealing things from their museums on purpose to prove a point about security or insurance to their higher-ups, so like. Depending on your type of museum, it might not be impossible to steal from lmao. (Don’t tell anyone I said that.)

Possibly the most useful advice for you to keep in mind when writing your conservator or collections care characters would be that touching objects hurts them. It might not hurt them now, it might not even hurt them in ten years, but every time you handle an object, there’s a risk that you’ll damage it. Not on purpose, obviously, but to err is human. The simplest, most effective advice my conservation professor ever gave us was “don’t handle an object if you don’t have to.” That means don’t move an object without a plan and a place to put it, first examination should always be visual, not tactile, etc. Unfortunately, that means that your character cannot walk around lovingly handling and caressing their favorite objects (unless this is a Night at the Museum situation where the objects are caressing them back, ykwim)

Museum Technician

These people probably have a lot of different names, but basically, technicians are the background muscle of the museum. They do the technical construction of bigger pieces of exhibition material, up to and including the exhibition cases themselves. 

So they wouldn’t deal with the small mount that the object rests on, but they might build the big plinth that the mount sits on. They’ll help move things around the building, particularly big heavy things, hang big framed works, assist with exhibit installs, and generally do most things which might involve power tools/equipment or heavy lifting

I worked in a big museum that hired a third party company to supply their technicians; I interviewed at another place that hired their own. If you’re a small museum, you might just have a freelance person that comes in once or twice a week to help move things.

Other

Other miscellaneous roles one could have in a museum: researcher (for exhibits and/or collections), gift shop or cafe worker, security guard, room attendant, translator, archaeologist, consultant

Honestly, TL;DR? Just have your character be a consultant of some kind. “Oh no, I don’t work here, I’m Y’s friend. They called me in to provide some expertise on X subject that they’re doing an exhibit on.” This could work for literally any subject- history/archaeology/anthropology, art, transportation, science and technology, anything you might find pictures of in an archive, idk. This could get you into an office or meeting room of some kind in the ‘employee only’ space of the museum, or potentially all the way into the collections store if you’re giving them information they were missing about some objects. Otherwise you’d probably (hopefully) need a key or some other kind of security clearance to get into the collections store.

Whew, that was a ride, huh? I hope this guide was useful to someone! I’m always open to answering questions if you think I forgot something or if anyone wants more details <3

[sommerregenjuniluft]

jirgin chronicles

HFKSKKFKDD it’s been a Month since you sent this and i just saw jfkskf shame on me but

Yes. yes and ily and this is for you ino (nsfw warning)

It’s been approximately half an hour since James has thrown his phone across from him on the mattress and then flung himself onto his bedroom floor and anxiously been doing sit-ups to distract himself from the atrocity he’s just committed.

He’s utterly, absolutely and astronomically fumbled it, is what he’s done.

James counts 283 and there’s a knock on the door.

Hm. He wasn’t expecting visitors.

James gets up and strips his shirt on the way, balling it up in his hands to dab at the sweat that’s been collecting on his face and neck and pads to the front door of his small apartment.

He doesn’t bother peeking through the spy hole but instead swings the door open, ready to help a stranger to their right destination. Most likely someone else’s flat in the building. James is positive that he has the last names from the doorbell signs down enough to give helpful instructions.

What he doesn’t expect to see there, is a familiar face.

Or, rather, a much too familiar, instantly heart beat skipping, agonizingly pretty face.

Regulus is standing there, arms ramrod straight at his sides and face flushed. “What exactly did you mean when you texted— and you’re naked.”

James looks down on himself but sure enough he’s still in shorts, socks and slippers.

He gazes back up at Regulus who sorta looks more flushed than just a second ago, but perhaps it’s just a trick of the light.

“Why are you naked?” Regulus presses out. “And sweaty?” His tone makes it sound more like a statement.

Shit, does James stink? When was the last time he used deodorant? His shower after lunch? Yes, he did. That should do.

James shakes his head, “I’m not naked.” He gestures down at himself.

Regulus makes a noise like he’s frustrated and his eyes roll back. James is not thinking any indecent thoughts.

“Why are you like—” Regulus gestures at James as well. There’s a lot of gesturing going on comparatively to how short this conversation has been going on. “—like this?”

James refuses the instinct to let out a dumb Uhh and think of a plausible answer instead. He shrugs feebly, “Been doing sit-ups.”

“Sit-ups?” Regulus parrots in vague disbelief. His arms cross in front of his chest, frown pulling at his expression. James wants to bite his cheek.

“Yes,” he confirms. He rubs his shirt along his neck once more. “Um,” James mentally slaps himself, “did you want- I mean, was there something you came here for?”

“Is there something I—” Regulus makes another one of his noises and then simply stalks past James and into his apartment.

“Yeah, sure, come in,” James calls after him, closing the door. He turns just in time to see Regulus disappear into his bedroom. “I- Reg, what? Wait a god damn second.” He quickly heads after the younger man just to find him searching around his room like—and there’s really no better way of phrasing it—a drug sniffer dog.

Before James can even get a word out Regulus toes off his sneakers and gets on his bed, working around in the sheets. It takes no longer than a few seconds before he resurfaces with a vindictive A-ha, proceeding to hold up James’ phone.

James feels his cheeks heat with familiar shame.

And he feels them heat even more when Regulus clambers off his bed, the curls of his hair all tousled, and steps up to where James is rooted to the spot. He holds the phone screen up at James in an almost accusatory way. Yet, again, before James can even think to explain, Regulus snatches it away again and swipes his thumb over the screen.

James’ jaw almost unhinges, “Did you just do that to unlock my phone with face ID?”

“Yup,” Regulus says, tapping away on James’ phone.

“I-” and that manages to snap James out of it and catapult him into a more intelligent homo sapiens headspace, “Give me that!”

“No,” Regulus counters immediately, stemming a surprisingly deft palm against James’ sternum. He makes another swipe for his phone but Regulus keeps angling himself away with all the grace of a younger sibling that’s taken something that doesn’t belong to them.

James whines and tries wrapping an arm around Regulus to pull him closer, to get closer to the phone that is held one Regulus arms length away. Regulus makes a noise, a different one, but inexorably no less sexy. “Stop that,” he chides.

“You stop it,” James volleys back, desperately trying to keep his focus on the fact that Regulus is currently still going through his phone for whatever reason and off how good the other feels pressed right up against James body. “What are you even trying to—”

With a sudden start Regulus’ posture changes and he twists around to shove the phone back into James’ face. If James wasn’t so focused on not focusing on Regulus’ hand on his biceps and the way his belt is pressing just right against James’ crotch, he might not have taken as long as he does to realize what Regulus is trying to show him.

“So?” Regulus demands, wiggling the phone in front of James’ nose, just as his eyes adjust to the proximity of the object.

The screen projects their chat.

It presents James with the two most idiotic text messages he’s ever hit send on. But it also tells him Regulus’ reaction he so clearly unsuccessfully tried to avoid.

16:42 you’re more stupid than i thought if you really believe that inexperience consequences bad sex, potter

16:43 did you not also hear pandora and dorcas deflower each other in the room over at my birthday party in year 11?

16:46 wait are you drunk??

16:46 it’s literally not even five pm

16:51 if you’re not answering me in the next 10 minutes the offer is off the table..

17:00 james i’m fucking serious

17:00 also, don’t you dare answer if you’re gonna make that joke

17:01 i will actually choke you to death

17:05 hello??

17:08 i’m coming over

And, well.

James doesn’t really know what to say. Or think. Or do.

Anything really.

Regulus is glaring up at him next to his phone screen and it’s searing. He’s warm too, sturdy and a comfortable weight in James’ arm.

Oh, he really doesn’t want to let go. That he knows. That James is more than one hundred percent sure of.

And he’s here. Regulus threatened to pull back on his agreement to James’ insane question but instead of actually doing so he came here.

James asked Regulus if he would like to have sex with him, told him that he’s in truth a virgin and not at all confident in doing well in bed, and Regulus had put on his fucking shoes and walked his snotty, sexy, little ass the 7 minutes it takes to get from his shared flat to James’.

It’s a little too good to be true.

A fresh apple found on the forest ground of rotting foliage and James is waiting for net to snap up beneath his feet and hold him in elevated imprisonment.

James has to ask. “Why’d you come over, Reg?”

Regulus clicks his tongue. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t want to guess,” James insists as Regulus crosses his arms again, averting his eyes, “I want to know.”

A moment ticks by, and then another, in which Regulus stubbornly stares at a spot over James’ shoulder, not saying a word.

James reaches around further and pinches Regulus’ waist to make him jump. He does, predictably, and then bares his teeth in an almost growl when he returns to face James. “Because…” Regulus sighs out of his nose with force.

James holds him tighter at the waist again, in warning. Coincidentally pulling Regulus more onto him, making them both gasp softly.

Regulus’ lips part and James eyes bulge. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice husky.

Regulus groans, almost distressed, and James is about to apologize properly when Regulus stops him short. “Because,” he erupts, “you’re like stupidly hot, James, and it’s fucking pissing me off. It’s been pissing me off for a good five years, at this point, and I feel like if I don’t do anything about it, I will go mental.”

Oh.

James needs a moment to process that. Several actually.

The muscles in his arm start straining from how tight he’s holding Regulus against him but James doesn’t care. All he can think about is Regulus at 19, shy and small, but spitting venom at any attempt of getting closer. A time where Regulus’ hair was short and choppy after he cut it all off himself, where his skin was still pale and untouched by ink, where he still had a lot to unlearn but was visibly thankful for the environment he was brought into through his brother. That little baby snake, teeth sharp and going for an attack every few seconds, wasn’t repulsed by James at all. He was angry with himself for not being repulsed by James.

Oh, James should have known, he should have noticed. Or at least it shouldn’t have taken him this long to fucking find out. Because it only took about two years before Regulus started to become malleable in James’ proximity, in his palm. Jabs easier, quips more playful, and an uptick of the corner of his mouth. James had nearly run laps from the happiness these small victories brought the first few times they happened.

But it was supposed to happen like this. If James has learned one thing from building his relationship with Regulus, it’s patience, no matter how badly he’d wanted to tear out his own hair at times. It would have been no use rushing into it and scaring him off.

Because now Regulus is the one who came, who made the step. Who is here, in James’ arms, a desperate, pretty little thing. Worn thin and helpless, eager and frustrated and—

“You’re into me?” James breathes, something inside his chest fluttering.

“I just said that,” Regulus scowls again and James almost explodes.

His still unsure how to do this but James wants, fuck, he wants so badly. Wants to eat Regulus, wants to fuse with him, wants Regulus to spit in his open mouth and make him swallow.

James has made out with people before, at parties. He’s been told he’s a good kisser.

“Reg.”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Regulus does a double take at him. His mouth drops open and his eyes go all wide and soft, gaze so dewy it nearly cuts James off at the knees.

“You—” Regulus interrupts himself in favor of pulling James down by his nape. Fingers wind themselves into the back of James’ hair at the same time as Regulus licks his tongue between James’ lips and it’s heaven.

Immediately James’ body feels oversensitive, blood rushing and prickling inside his veins like sour candy, light headed, gut clenching, lips tingling where he can feel Regulus’ press against his. It’s wet and open mouth, nip of teeth, but it’s soft, gentle despite that.

James lets out a happy sigh and it turns into a moan when Regulus tugs at his roots. Turns into panting and a whimper when Regulus breaks off but keeps his hips pressed into James’.

Oh, that’s dangerous. That’s so, so d—

“James, did you just get hard this quickly?”

Again, it sounds less like a question and more like a statement. Which, technically it has every right to be, since Regulus is completely correct.

It doesn’t feel quite on par with James’ ego to outright and immediately admit it though so he intelligently keeps gaping at Regulus momentarily.

But Regulus isn’t having it. He fastens his grip in James’ messy hair, his other hand coming up to loosely rest against the base of James’ throat and then Regulus leans in to lick at the seam of his lips. Touching just the tip of his tongue to James’ sensitive kissed, open mouth like he’s coaxing the answer out of him like that.

Insane behavior. James needs to lock Regulus away from everybody else in the world. He can’t have him going around being this hot just for anyone to see.

It works though, in a way, at least. James doesn’t manage to form a coherent verbal answer but his hips do the job for him when he ruts them forth and into Regulus in response.

The younger bites his lower lip at that, pupils blown and smoldering, “That’s a yes, I suspect.” And then Regulus says something that is the exact moment of the beginning of James Fleamont Potter’s ruination as the world knows and adores him. He knocks James head around slightly, carefully and coos at him gently. And then Regulus says, “Already stupid in the head, huh?”

James’ body nearly takes a screenshot. His gut tightens immediately, all the blood leaving his head and rushing straight to his cock, so fast and hard it’s dizzying. The tips of his fingers tingle with blood loss and a noise rips from his throat that’s as animalistic as it is pathetic.

From then it’s all a bit hazy.

There’s a lot of begging involved on James’ part and a lot of leading on Regulus’. They end up on the bed, kissing each other’s mouths raw, James on his back and Regulus in his lap, grinding down on him like he’s trying to grade James’ braincells away like a parmesan. It’s working. To the point where he’s so lost in the feel and weight of Regulus, in all the way he makes him feel good like the fucking angel that he is, that James doesn’t even notice he’s about to cum before it’s too late.

It barrels through him like a fucking freight train, spilling into his shorts, Regulus pressing down on and milking it out of him.

One would imagine this is already intense enough but then Regulus mumbles something into his ear and James vaguely remembers blushing again and nodding. There’s the sound of a zipper and some adjusting and then Regulus lets out a shaky moan that has James snapping back into the present so fast he’s afraid he gave himself whiplash.

Because Regulus is on top of him, hand down his jeans and eyebrows scrunched like he’s feeling just so fucking good and James has to kiss him again. They do that until Regulus shudders through his own orgasm and James feels like his bones turned into al dente pasta.

And lastly, because Regulus is still an evil, little shit, he gives James one more dirty, wet kiss before extracting himself entirely.

He pats James on the knee as he rebuttons his trousers, “Now, if you wanna continue this, you know where to find me. And you better text me back before I get home or this’ll be the last time you had an orgasm through your dick.”

James just so refrains from telling him he’s in love with him.

[bloodlineslut]

Conjugal Visit | Roman Reigns

Images/GIFs aren’t mine, credits to rightful owners.

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black! oc

Warnings: flashback of threatening assault, smut, oral (female receiving), slight (a little more than slight) daddy kink, fluff

Summary: Jada thinks she’s just going to visit her man while he’s doing his time in jail for assaulting this man who wouldn't leave her alone. Little does she know, he has a surprise when she gets there…

Word Count: 1.9k words

A/N: Hey my baes! This is my first story/one shot so please take it easy on me lmao. I’m sure as I keep writing, it’ll get better. I am so open to constructive criticism though. Yall PLEASE go easy on me abeg. okay enjoy!! please comment if you like it :))

As Jada drove down the road that seemed to never end, she could hardly contain the nerves and butterflies that were erupting in her stomach. Before leaving her apartment, she decided to put on her pink Skims Long Slip Dress, paired with a baby pink bolero, and a pair of platform UGGs.

Every day Jada wishes that it was the day Roman was coming home. She would always tell him that he needed to go to anger management counseling or something, but he constantly shrugged her off. Then one day at the grocery store, this creepy older white man kept hitting on Jada, so Roman stepped in.

“Aye man. Who are you?” Roman firmly asked the older man, and looking down at him as he was much shorter.

The man confidently looked up at Roman and even puffed his chest out a bit. Before he could even get a word out, Roman grabbed him by his shirt collar with both hands and roughed him up a little.

The older man’s eyes widened, now in fear of this huge Samoan man.

“She’s my woman. Now, I heard her tell you ‘bout three times that she wasn’t interested. Are you hard of hearing?” Roman was getting more irritated by the second, as Jada could tell by him scrunching his face.

“Sir, I- I didn’t know.” The man pleaded to Roman.

Roman pulled the man closer to his face and tightened his grip on his shirt. “Oh you didn’t know? You really wanna get yo’ ass beat huh?”

As Jada looked away, a bit embarrassed, she saw two police officers looking at them. This included Roman clearly threatening this old man. “Umm, Roman?” She gently tapped his shoulder.

“What baby?” He asked, still staring daggers into his victim.

Jada just pointed at the officers and her silence prompted Roman to follow her line of vision. A sudden realization hits Roman and he smacks his teeth and drops the creepy pervert.

Long story short, the man pressed charges and Roman was sentenced to 90 days in jail.

Thinking about the whole process that happened, Jada zoned out and arrived at the jail quicker than she realized. She quickly found a parking spot in the visitors lot and made sure to only grab her keychain that held her car/house keys and a little card holder, leaving her purse and phone under the passenger seat.

She stepped out of her car and made her way to the building to get searched and to check in for the visit.

Jada was actually nervous to see Roman. They usually talk on the phone more than physically seeing each other in person. In a lot of ways, hearing his voice made her miss him even more.

“Ms. Williams, you’re up next to visit inmate Reigns. Follow me.” A guard’s voice rang throughout the waiting room. Jada quickly got up and walked up to him, expecting to go the same route as usual.

The guard seemed to be going a different way than usual. She didn’t want to be rude, so she politely asked him if they were going the right way. It felt shady.

“Um, officer? Is this the way to visitation?” She asked from behind his moving figure. The officer led them to a part of the jail that seemed deserted.

“Oh yeah.” He said matter-of-factly. They finally came upon a silver steel door with no window and the officer knocked three times before opening the door for Jada. She was so confused that she didn’t even recognize the 6’3” man with tribal tattoos in a khaki uniform sitting with his back to her.

“Roman?” She softly said. The sound of her voice made him perk up and he stood up to physically take her in.

“Jada…” He breathed out her name in awe, walking up to her. He quickly dapped up the guard who helped him get the private, “conjugal” visit. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You only got 1 hour though.” The guard said, then left and closed the door before locking it.

Roman focused his attention back on the beauty in front of him. He picked her up in a hug and spun her around before giving her a deep and slow kiss.

Roman slipped his tongue into Jada’s vulnerable mouth and walked them both over to the bunk bed in the corner of the room, laying her down on it.

When he pulled away from her soft lips, Jada slapped his arm. “Roman, how in the world did you set this up? Can’t you get in troub-”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about that, baby. I’m good with that officer.” He tucked some of her curly hair behind her ear. The gesture made her smile. She missed his touch so much.

Jada’s hand went to Roman’s face, caressing it, and he smiled, showing his dimples and beautiful smile. “Roman, I miss you so much.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth and laid a kiss there.

“I miss you too princess. I think about you every day. Listen…when I get out of here, I’mma go to that anger management class. And I want you to be there with me.” He gently says to her.

Hearing Roman finally say that he would try to get help made Jada’s heart swell. Even though he was never violent towards her, she wanted to help him with controlling his anger towards other things and people.

“Babe…of course I’ll be there with you…” Jada says lovingly. Roman leans in for another kiss, their lips moving in sync. The kiss soon turned heated and sloppy. Roman’s lips left Jada’s and trailed to her jaw, then to her neck.

As Roman kissed her neck, his large hand went to her waist, feeling the curves he missed so much. He sucked on her neck, knowing there would be hickeys later.

Jada’s hands came to rest on his shoulder blades and tugged on his khaki shirt. He took this silent signal to take it off, leaving his white wife beater on, which seemed to amplify his tribal tattoo that ran up his arm and covered half of his chest.

She noticed that he seemed…bigger. She squeezed his arms, even more turned on and bit her lip. “Babe. Oh my-you’re so sexy.”

This made Roman chuckle. “Yeah? You want more?” His deep voice dropped an octave as he took off his wife beater, now completely bare up top. Jada ran her fingers over his well-defined abs that seemed to glisten even under the fluorescent lights.

His hands went to her feet and slid off her UGGs, placing them on the floor. Then he pressed kisses on her feet and saw that she had perfectly manicured white toenails. His hands went under her dress, sliding against her thighs, and scrunched her dress up to rest on her waist.

Jada spread her legs for him, feeling herself get more wet. Roman kissed up her thighs after placing each one to rest over his broad shoulders. He didn’t even take her panties off, just moved them to the side before licking a slow stripe up her wet pussy.

He sloppily made out with her pussy, mixing his spit with her juices. Jada was moaning, but Roman could tell she was holding back. He moved his mouth away from her core. “No, baby let it out. Lemme hear how good it feels.”

He placed his tongue back directly on her clit, flicking it tender and slow, then in long circles.

“Mmm…fuck Ro,” Jada moans out, louder this time as usual. Hearing her moans made his dick harder than steel. As he kept eating her out, he tugged the neckline of her dress down to expose her tits and kneaded them in his hands, rolling her hard nipples between his fingers.

She was so wet, it was seeping down her crack and onto the bed. Roman felt her legs start shaking a little. “Fuck, baby. Nut on my tongue, come on.” He told her then went right back to stimulating her clit, faster this time.

Jada chased her orgasm, feeling that knot about to burst in her lower abdomen. Her back arched and she sucked on her own fingers as she came undone on Roman’s tongue. He let her come down from her high, her juices all in his thick beard.

He kissed her, letting her taste herself from his mouth. Roman pulled his pants down just enough to free his throbbing, thick cock. One of his large hands went to it, slowly stroking himself as he looked at the love of his life.

“You gonna cum like that again on this dick?” His husky voice asked her. She wanted it so bad that it hurt.

“Yes Daddy..” She slyly said then giggled. Roman laughed and then rubbed the head of his dick up and down her pussy, and then forced out a long trail of spit that landed just in the right spot.

He slowly pushed into her tight, wet pussy, feeling her walls squeeze the life out of him damn near.

After Jada adjusted to his size again, there was no stopping them now.

She was now on all fours, back arched and her ass in the air. “Ooh Daddy, you fuck me so good!” She said in between moans.

Roman’s grunts didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah? Tell me how good that dick feels in you baby.” He said and slapped her ass.

“Yesss! Fuck, it feels so good. It’s in my stomach,” Jada tells him, not ever wanting it to end. He changed the angle he was hitting it and found her G spot, stroking against it over and over with powerful thrusts.

Roman looked down at her ass that moved with each of his thrusts and saw her creaming on his girthy dick, and dripping down her thighs. “Damn. Yeah, cream on me just like that.” He threw his head back in never ending pleasure, trying not to bust too quick.

Jada started fucking him back, meeting his hips with her own, making her ass clap and the sound resonate through the empty room. There was an even bigger knot forming in her abdomen and she chased it again.

“Cum on Daddy’s dick, princess. Show me you want that nut.” Roman coaxed her and not even 2 seconds later, Jada’s legs were shaking, and she pressed her face into the bed.

That’s what Roman loved about Jada coming on his dick. She didn’t need a break. After her orgasm she was right back to taking his slow, meaningful thrusts.

“Mmm, Daddy please cum in me.” She looked at Roman over her shoulder. She silently applauded herself for taking her birth control before she drove here.

His hands tightened on her waist and ass while he focused on his pleasure. “That pussy gripping me so tight baby...” His moans got louder, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Oh fuck, I’m ‘bout to cum,” Jada feels his hot load inside of her and he moans in her ear. When he comes down, he slowly pulls out of her and flips Jada on her back. They were both glistening because of sweat. He gives her a tender kiss.

“I love you with all my heart, Jada.” He says, still trying to catch his breath.

“I love you, Roman.” She tells him and they cuddle, trying to enjoy what little time they have left before the guard comes knocking on the door to get them.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Styles: The documentary (Harry Styles Fic)

General Masterlist

Summary: A documentary is being filmed about Harry’s life, and as his fiancée, you’re interviewed to share your perspective. Reflecting on how you met, your first date, and the special moments that brought you closer, you open up about your relationship and the journey you’ve taken together.

A/n: Hello my loves, this is something i've wanted to finish and now i had the chance! it's just fluffly moments, i hope you like it! i'd love to make even more moments around this, let me know if you'd like that too

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: it jumps from past to present many times so i tried my best to make it clear!

“Is it on right now?” You fixed your hair one more time, sitting up straight on the stool. In front of you was a big camera, a large light to your left pointing directly at you, and crew bustling all over the recording studio.

“Yes, now rolling,” said Drew, the cameraman who had been following you and Harry everywhere lately.

“So…” You chuckled nervously. It was the first day of filming Harry’s documentary. As his long-time girlfriend and newly fiancée, you were obviously a part of it. Today, they were shooting a series of interviews, starting with yours.

“How did you meet Harry?” Drew asked, smiling kindly. Out of everyone on the crew, he had the best knack for making people feel at ease, which was crucial for getting personal stories on camera.

“Oh… that’s a good one,” you said, smiling as your mind wandered back, recalling every detail.

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FLASHBACK

“I’m here for an interview,” you said to the receptionist, a nice woman seated at the front desk of a towering building.

“Company?” she asked, typing something into her computer.

“Pleasing,” you replied confidently. Somehow, one of your favorite brands had noticed you. Your portfolio had managed to shine among the sea of other creative directors. You weren’t actively searching for a new job, but when the email popped up in your inbox, you thought it was spam—or maybe a prank. But no, it was as real as Harry Lambert himself, the co-creative director of Pleasing. You had needed two full cups of coffee just to process how to respond.

“Third floor. You’ll need to wear this visibly.” She handed you a lanyard with a visitor badge.

...

“Y/N Y/L/N!” a cheerful voice called from inside a large, boldly decorated office. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside.

You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

“Please, sit,” said Lambert, gesturing toward a chair in front of his desk, which was cluttered with photos, papers, and scattered sketches. The room smelled of vanilla and cloves, matching the warm, colorful furniture.

“Thank you,” you replied shyly as you took your seat. Normally, in your position at your job, you felt powerful, commanding respect and creativity daily. But now, in this space, you felt… small.

“Thank you for taking the time to come,” Lambert said warmly.

He’s thanking me?

“We don’t usually hire for such a high position, but I’m stepping away to focus on a personal project, and H is already stretched too thin. So, this isn’t really an interview; it’s an offer—and a chance to get to know you.”

You blinked, a bit stunned. Shaking yourself out of it, you managed to reply, “Yes, of course. I completely understand. But… can I ask? How did you find me?”

“Your boss is an old friend of mine. He talks endlessly about your talent, and, well… I’m stealing you from him,” Lambert said with a grin.

“Oh… yeah… I mean, Mark is great, and I’ve loved my time there. But Pleasing? It’s like a creative playground for me. Honestly, I’m honored.”

Lambert smiled knowingly and launched into an explanation of the job—the highs, the challenges, your responsibilities, the budget. You hadn’t even officially said yes, but he was already discussing deadlines and brainstorming future campaigns. It was overwhelming, but you were exhilarated. Somehow, in the middle of all this, your dream job had landed in your lap.

One Month In

“Y/N, they need you in the meeting room,” your assistant, Faye, called as you inspected samples—16 shades of pink, to be exact.

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked, still scanning the swatches.

“H and Lambert,” she replied in her usual high-pitched tone.

“Sure, I’ll be right… wait, who’s H?” you asked, eyes widening. Could H be who you thought it was?

She just nodded, and you grabbed your iPad, practically sprinting to the meeting room. You paused at the door for a quick breath before stepping inside. “Good morning…”

And there he was—H.

He immediately stood and approached you with a warm, genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” he said in his low, raspy voice, shaking your hand firmly.

“The feeling’s mutual. I was starting to think Lambert’s ‘H’ was an imaginary friend,” you joked nervously.

Harry chuckled. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been in Italy for a while, but I’ll be in London for the next couple of months.”

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"Two months later, we kissed for the first time in Lambert’s office. Sorry, Lambert, if you’re seeing this—I promise it was just a kiss," you said with a shy smile, hoping to win over your boss in case he ever watched this.

"We started texting every day," you continued, leaning into the camera as if sharing a secret. "He used to send me a selfie every morning, and I was just over the moon every time." Your voice softened, a dreamy smile spreading across your face.

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FLASHBACK

You woke up to the familiar ping of your phone. It was 7:30 AM, and Harry’s name lit up your screen with a picture of him holding a cup of coffee and a simple "Morning ☕. Don’t forget the samples today!"

You couldn’t help but grin at the message. How could such a small thing make your entire day brighter? You replied with a selfie of your own—bed hair and all—typing, "Morning! Samples are ready. How’s the coffee?"

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Back in the present, you chuckled at the memory. "I don’t know how it happened so quickly, but I fell for him completely. He made even the smallest moments feel like the biggest deal."

"What do you think made Harry fall for you?" Drew asked, his tone genuinely curious.

You hesitated, biting your lip in thought. "I don’t know if it was one thing," you admitted. "But I think it was how we balanced each other out. He’s... larger than life in so many ways, and I think I grounded him."

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FLASHBACK

It was a particularly chaotic afternoon in the studio. Harry had been bouncing between meetings and photo shoots all day, his energy starting to wane. You noticed the way his shoulders slumped as he walked past your desk.

“Hey,” you called out, holding up a cup of tea.

He stopped, looking at you with a mix of surprise and gratitude. “Is that for me?”

“No, it’s for the imaginary friend Lambert keeps talking to,” you teased, handing it over.

Harry chuckled, taking the cup. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” you replied with a wink, feeling a flicker of pride at the way his expression softened.

First Date

You arrived at Harry’s place with butterflies in your stomach, a small box of macarons in hand. The walk from the bike stand to his house had given you just enough time to psych yourself up, and now you stood outside the door, adjusting your jacket nervously.

The door opened before you could knock. Harry stood there, barefoot and wearing a soft cream sweater with sleeves slightly too long for his arms. His smile was instant and warm. “Hi,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hi,” you replied, holding out the macarons. “Thought these might go well with dessert or something.”

His eyes lit up. “You brought dessert to a pasta night? You’re already winning me over.”

The house smelled incredible—garlic, fresh basil, and something else warm and inviting. The kitchen was open and bright, with bowls of ingredients scattered across the counter. A pasta machine sat proudly in the middle of it all.

“Is this where the magic happens?” you joked, pointing at the setup.

“Absolutely,” he said, walking over to roll out a piece of dough. “I figured we’d do this part together. Homemade pasta tastes better when it’s a team effort.”

You laughed, slipping off your jacket. “Are you sure you trust me with this?”

He handed you a small rolling pin and an apron. “Only one way to find out.”

For the next hour, the two of you worked side by side. Harry showed you how to feed the dough through the machine, laughing when it got stuck and you both had to wrangle it out together. You took turns sprinkling flour on the counter, and at one point, he smudged a bit on your nose with a cheeky grin.

“Hey!” you protested, trying to retaliate, but he dodged you effortlessly.

By the time the pasta was cut and ready to boil, you were both a little flour-dusted and very much at ease.

Dinner was simple but perfect—pesto pasta with a side of roasted tomatoes and a bottle of wine. You sat at the dining table, which Harry had set with candles and a small vase of wildflowers.

“This is amazing,” you said, twirling your fork in the pasta. “I didn’t think you’d actually be this good.”

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to be offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment, even though I’m choosing to ignore the surprise in your tone.”

You laughed. “No, really. This is... perfect.”

As you reached for the roasted tomatoes, your fork slipped, sending a small drop of sauce onto your light dress.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed, glancing down at the stain. It was right on the front, glaring and impossible to ignore.

Harry froze, looking concerned. “Do you need a napkin? Or—”

But you just waved it off, smiling. “It’s fine. It’s just a dress”

He blinked, then let out a laugh. “You’re sure? must be expensive”

“It's okay" You dabbed at the stain with your napkin half-heartedly and shrugged. “No sense in crying over spilled... sauce.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Most people would be freaking out.”

“Well, I guess I’m not most people,” you said playfully. 

For the rest of the night, the stain stayed there, but it didn’t matter. Harry found himself admiring how little you cared about it—how relaxed and unpretentious you were. It wasn’t just refreshing; it was magnetic.

At one point, as the conversation turned to childhood memories, he caught himself thinking: Yeah, I could get used to this.

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Back in the present, you smiled at the camera, recalling that night. "That first date was... easy. It felt like I’d known him forever, but also like I was discovering someone entirely new. And he was just so... kind. It’s funny—he was trying to impress me, but really, he didn’t need to do anything at all."

Harry, now sitting across the studio, interrupted with a teasing grin. "I worked hard on that pasta, you know!"

You chuckled and rolled your eyes "He used to tell me that I made him feel calm," you said, your voice growing quieter. "And I think he gave me confidence—like, the real kind that sticks."

Drew leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. "That’s beautiful. Any final words for this session?

You smiled, glancing toward Harry, who was now watching you from across the studio, his headphones hanging around his neck. "Yeah," you said, your tone lighter now. "It’s been a wild ride, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. Except maybe… I’d have said yes to dinner sooner."

From across the room, Harry laughed, his voice carrying over. "I wasn’t that bad, was I?"

You turned back to the camera with a mischievous smile. "Let’s just say persistence pays off." You held up your hand again, showing off the engagement ring, the studio chuckling as Drew called out, "And cut! That’s a wrap for this session"

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General Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader

CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!

series masterlist. read on ao3.

Life was hard. That was a fact.

Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.

Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.

And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.

No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;

Getting Murdered

Getting Attacked

Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?

…Yeah. Something like that.

The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.

You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.

This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.

With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.

The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?

Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.

The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.

You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.

There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.

The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.

It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.

You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.

Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.

…Jesus christ.

“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.

You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.

The woman snaps her gum.

You stand there.

She blows it again.

You continue to stand there.

Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”

Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?

“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”

You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.

Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.

Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder. 

“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”

You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”

She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.

A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening. 

Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.

Charlie: get milk otw home used it all

No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.

When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.

“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.

It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.

“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.

“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”

You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.

“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”

That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.

As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in. 

It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.

It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.

“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”

You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.

“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”

You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.

“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”

You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”

She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”

Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.

Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.

Fucking christ.

Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.

“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet. 

She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.

You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”

With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.

It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side. 

…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.

Ambers. High-risk.

With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. 

You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.

Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.

Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read. 

Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely. 

Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.

The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.

If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.

You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.

There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.

He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.

“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.

He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.

Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”

The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.

…Huh. Alright.

You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.

His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline. 

“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.

He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”

Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.

“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”

His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”

You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”

He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.

Small victories.

“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”

You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.

“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.

Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”

You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.

“He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”

There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”

Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.

“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.

“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”

Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”

That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process. 

“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.

His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”

Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure. 

You swallow around a dry mouth.

“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.

His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.

It remains as he answers.

“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”

a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]

[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[hannahsturniolo]

ᴍᴀᴛᴛ’s ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀʙʏ ɢɪʀʟ

Part 11 of baby daddy series!

Click HERE to read the other parts!

Summary: after having your baby girl, Matt’s family comes to visit you in the hospital to meet Charlotte.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The morning after you gave birth to your baby girl, Charlotte, you were finally able to have visitors come meet her. Matt was so excited. he called Mary Lou, Jimmy, and his brothers Chris and Matt to come to the hospital. It meant the world to him to share this moment with his family.

As you lay in the hospital bed, Charlotte wrapped snuggly in your arms, Matt paced the room, phone in hand, talking to his mom. You watched as his voice started to shake and his eyes welled up with tears. He was just so in awe, completely overwhelmed by the fact that he was now a dad to a beautiful baby girl.

You had barely slept, you were in full-on mom mode. Exhausted, emotional, and completely overwhelmed in the best way. Even through the tiredness, all you wanted was to soak in every second with her. You were already obsessed, unable to take your eyes off your beautiful baby girl.

Matt had just gotten off the phone with his mom. He came and sat right beside you, the excitement in his face impossible to miss. He gently took Charlotte from your arms, holding her like the most precious thing in the world. He was just as obsessed as you were.

Leaning down, he kissed you softly on the forehead and said, “You should try to rest before my family gets here baby.” He meant it with so much love.

The moment you went into labor, Mary Lou and Jimmy caught the first flight out to LA. They stayed at the Sturniolo house with Chris and Nick, waiting anxiously for the call that she had arrived. Now, they were all beyond excited to finally come meet her.

You managed to drift off for a little while, finally catching some rest as Matt sat nearby, soaking in every second of baby cuddles with Charlotte. In the middle of your sleep, you heard a gentle knock at the door. You sat up quickly, rubbing your tired eyes, just in time to see Matt walk over to the hospital room door. Before opening it, he carefully placed Charlotte back in your arms.

As he opened the door, there stood his parents and his brothers, his mom holding a bouquet of flowers, all of them quietly buzzing with excitement. They all hugged Matt before walking over to you. They stepped in gently, their smiles wide, eyes already teary eyed.

Mary Lou was the first to rush over to the bed. Her face lit up with joy as she leaned down to hug you tightly, tears spilling from her eyes. “Congratulations,” she whispered, kissing your forehead. Then she looked down at Charlotte, completely overcome. “She’s beautiful,” she said through tears, unable to look away. She told you how much she loved you, and how happy she was that Matt had found someone so special to start a family with.

Jimmy followed close behind, pulling you into one of his signature big hugs. He had always been like a second dad to you. His voice cracked as he congratulated you, tears welling in his eyes. You reached out and gently touched his arm, smiling through your own tears.

Then Chris and Nick made their way over, their eyes locked on their tiny niece. You could see the emotion building in their faces too. It was their first time becoming uncles, and they were both overwhelmed, beaming with pride and love as they looked down at her.

Matt looked over at his mom with a soft smile and asked gently, “Do you want to hold her?”

Mary Lou lit up instantly, her face glowing with excitement as she nodded. She sat down in the chair beside your hospital bed, hands already reaching out with anticipation. Matt carefully took Charlotte from your arms and placed her into his mom’s.

She looked down at her granddaughter with so much love in her eyes. “She looks so much like Matt,” she said softly, smiling through tears. “She has his little nose.” For a moment, she was lost in memories, flashbacks of holding Matt when he was just a baby flooding her mind.

Then she looked over at you, her voice warm and full of emotion. “But she has your eyes,” she added. “She’s the perfect mix of you both.”

Everyone took turns holding Charlotte, each moment so special in its own way. But the one that tugged at your heart the most was seeing Uncle Chris with her in his arms. You had never seen Chris emotional before, he was usually the one cracking jokes or keeping things light. But in that moment, he was crying like a baby, completely overwhelmed.

There was so much love in his eyes as he looked down at his tiny niece. Then he looked up at you through his tears and said, “She’s so beautiful.” His voice cracked as he continued, “I can’t wait to watch her grow up, to be invited to tea parties with Matt,” he smiled, tearing up again. “I’m just so excited to be her uncle.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Click HERE to read other parts!

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[stellar-bluelock]

until the world knows your name ☆ itoshi rin x reader

details: fluff | hurt/comfort | childhood best friends | platonic/romantic relationship | ~1.1k words | gn! reader | if there's something i wanted to tell rin after the u-20's match, this is it

On the night of the U-20 vs. Blue Lock XI exhibition match, you will never forget the way everyone's jaw drops when you ask where Itoshi Rin is.

"Rin?" Someone asks in confusion. "You wanna see him?"

You hear the other members whisper, but you're not that surprised.

If Rin hasn't changed throughout his stay in Blue Lock, it makes sense for his teammates to question how confidently you request for his presence.

"Uh, he was in the locker room when I saw him last. I don't know if he's still there...or if he's in the mood to see any visitors?"

Ah. The celebrated striker of the night, Isagi Yoichi.

"That's not unlike him," you respond. "But, could anyone tell him that I'm here to see him?"

One of the blue-haired members volunteers—a quick memory of remarkable passing abilities flashes in your mind. He asks for your name before returning inside the main building.

The chilly air bites at your face as you wait. For a few moments, silence hangs heavy in the atmosphere.

Well, up until someone opens their mouth. The dam breaks.

"Are you Rin's friend?"

"A secret sibling we didn't know about?"

"Significant other?"

"Guys, don't bother them."

You chuckle, a little amused at their curiosity.

(You'll never admit it, but there's a selfish joy you feel from being someone that Rin can trust wholeheartedly.)

"Best friend."

Your answer effectively cuts off their stream of questions—for a few seconds, at most.

The concept of Rin having a best friend seems entirely foreign to them.

"You're..."

"Wait, they're looking for Rin, right? Not Sae?"

"Are you also friends with Sae?"

"What the heck happened between those two-"

Oh, that's not territory they can cross.

"I won't entertain any other questions, sorry." You smile, perhaps a little too sweetly. "But anyway, congratulations on the game."

Some of the boys pout at being denied the chance to learn juicy information about their teammate; thankfully, they don't protest.

"Thanks, it was a tough one," Isagi states and you nod.

This is the first time you've met the striker, but your gut tells you that he's Rin's newest rival—if Rin's glare at the end of the match was anything to by.

"Even I couldn't tell how it was going to end," you admit. "You all had me at the edge of my seat."

"I was lucky to be in the right spot." Isagi pauses for a moment. "But, it only happened because Rin managed to get the ball."

He smiles but it falters for a moment. "I just wish that he was a little happier about the win, but at least he seems fired up!"

"That's Rin for you."

"Are you talking about me?"

At the sound of a new voice, everyone's head simultaneously turns to the facility's entrance.

Rin's eyes are narrowed in suspicion, but you see the way they widen a fraction when they land on you.

(You're not sure if anyone ever notices, but you always do.)

"Yes. I was looking for you."

"You should've gone home. It's getting late."

A few scandalized gasps escape from the group, but a quick glare from Rin shuts them up.

"Uh, we'll leave you to it...nice meeting you!" Isagi laughs nervously, hastily pushing the rest of the team away.

You chuckle at the chaos while Rin scoffs. However, as the rest of the Blue Lock members disappear from sight, you can see his shoulders relax more.

It's just you two now.

As you look at his expression, you realize that it holds a wild mix of emotions. You can't tell what it is just yet.

So, you start with what you know.

"What did Sae tell you on the field?"

The frown is immediate.

"Piece of shit," he seethes. "Didn't even acknowledge me. Talked to me just to praise that stupid Isagi."

You click your tongue. When you were all kids, Sae was never the best with words and talking to others.

(Even then, you find yourself wondering what the hell happened to him in Spain.)

"Just because he scored that damn goal." Rin clenches his fists. "The whole team was centered around me and my attack ability. I got that ball!"

He lowers his head, shaking in frustration. "But nothing. Everyone's cheering his name. Even my shitty brother would rather talk about him."

Hesitantly, you reach a hand out to brush his bangs to the side. Out of instinct, you nearly want to tell him that everything will be okay.

That's what you used to tell him in middle school; a bad match, a bad score on a test, a scolding from his parents, a minor injury, even small arguments with Sae.

But now...those words feel empty. Not when his life has truly turned upside down, for better or for worse.

"Rin?"

He hasn't pushed your hand away, so you get a clear view of his teal eyes, round and unguarded—the very ones that have been burned into your memory for years.

"Although your team won, you have every right to feel frustrated."

He sighs. "Finally. I've had enough of them telling me to cheer up."

"They've been pestering you all these months, huh?" You chuckle lightly.

"I'm sick of it. They keep thinking we're friends. We're not. They're all rivals. It's bullshit."

You recall Isagi trying to hug Rin on the field earlier, only to fail miserably; you can only imagine his and the others' futile attempts.

"Well, whatever the case, stay true to yourself, yeah?" You punch his arm lightly. "You are Itoshi Rin."

Though he doesn't smile, something in his eyes lights up.

"I am Itoshi Rin." He says quietly. "I don't need him. I'm not Itoshi Sae's little brother."

It almost seems like he's saying it to himself instead of you, but his statement makes you sigh in relief.

It's precisely what you (and perhaps Sae) wanted him to realize all this time.

"Yeah. You were never meant to live in his shadow. You're here to make a name for yourself. Rin, do you even know how many people in the world tuned in to this match?"

He shakes his head.

"It's all over the news. It's being streamed everywhere." You smile to yourself, recalling how excited you were to finally see him again.

"But listen, Rin. You held your own throughout the game. You scored a goal. You blasted through the U-20 defense. You managed that one-on-one with Sae. There are people out there that have their eyes on you."

You take his hands into yours, squeezing them gently.

"Whatever you feel about this match today, tomorrow, a week, or months from now, you need to keep them watching. Score the next goal, keep on playing. Don't stop until the world knows your name."

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