#he ALMOST went up to our res life director's face to ask if he was gay

[only-lonely-stars]

ok so do you ever get this feeling that you dodged a bullet, then feel bad for feeling that way because the person didn't do anything wrong, and then get proven right??

anyway my Georgian ex-boyfriend (the country, not the US state) apparently was going to give me an extremely meaningful book of poetry for my birthday. a book that new husbands give to their wives right after getting married. and he didn't plan on explaining himself or the cultural significance even a little bit.

I dodged a real nice bullet when I broke up with him

[uomo-accattivante]

Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

###

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 02  —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Previous : 00   01

⇢ Word Count : 

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

Your eyes shoot open, chest heaving heavily as you let out a blood curdling scream. Not this again. The same dream over and over again each night. It leaves you sleepless. The time on the clock on your nightstand reads 3:04 am. Just only four hours ago is when you fell asleep. But a full night’s sleep hasn’t happened for a year so why would it matter anyways.

Once you catch your breath you unplug your phone from the charger and read some of the notifications. From your window, the night-time critters sing their songs along with the persistant owl that’s somewhere around the apartment complex. You’d only noticed him, the owl, just a few months ago when your cat started meowing with his hoots. 

A missed call from your uncle. 

Immediately you unlock your phone and dial the number. Bringing your index finger to your mouth you gently nip on it waiting for it to answer, The rings are agonizing to you. If something has happened you only wish and pray it wasn’t as bad as you think. He’s the only parental figure left in your life.

‘‘ Princess! Hello I was just calling to speak to you earlier. But I realized you are five hours ahead of me and you had probably went to sleep.’‘

His soothing voice calms your emotions making you let out a tiny breath of air. Thank god.

‘’Hey Charlie.” You sigh. Looking towards your left, you spot Clara purring quietly next to you. You can’t help but to smile while bringing a hand over to rub her head with your thumb.  She’s so small under the shining moonlight from your window.

Her white coat shines brightly amongst her, making you remember the first night you had brought her home. All she did was sleep, and it worried you because you had no prior expierence caring for anything, let alone a small animal. Clara only drank kitten milk and slept back then. Occasionally being awake enough to nip at your fingers whenever you pet or touched her.

Now she’s a bit bigger and walks around the apartment like she owns the place. Quite the little attitude she has, but its too damn cute for you to scold her whenever she does something wrong. 

“ Yes I did fall asleep from after a gathering at someone’s house.’’ You continue on, bringing your knees to your chest after opening the curtain of your window fully.

The moons brightness illuminates the entire room, but not so bright for you to complain though. ‘’ Oh- was it Jimin’s? Tell him I said hell-’’

You bite your lip hard at his name. He doesn’t know and you wont even dare to let him know. Knowing him, your uncle would have a fit and oppose to come back to Seoul to ‘set the record straight.’ to Jimin. That’s the last thing you want to do, cause trouble.

‘‘ It was his brother’s house warming party.” You say, lowering your tone in your voice. You look at the nightstand for a couple of seconds just before opening the top drawer of the wooden, polished piece. Your hands shakily pull out a picture of you two together.

It was taken at  Marne-la-Vallée, France right infront of Cinderella’s castle. That was the day that you and Jimin had to went to Disneyland in Paris, France. You cant help but to think, with the picture in hand, that it was one of the best nights ever. It was also the same night your virginity was taken.

‘‘ Oh.. I know that tone. Are you two arguing at the moment.”

You shrug, “ I mean you could say that.’’

No you cant.

‘‘ Alright alright I won’t talk more of him. Let’s change the subject.” He chuckles deeply into the phone.

‘‘ How’s Europe? Anything new happening on base?”

‘‘ Same old Same old. It’s been what? 2 years since I’ve left Seoul? The food is different over here. They don’t have kimchi pancakes sadly.”

You can only imagine the frowny face he makes at you whenever he doesn’t approve or like something. It always turns out to be funny.

You giggle into the phone shaking your head slightly, “ Of course. You are in Europe Charlie. Where are you getting food from anyway if you are on base?’’

‘‘ I can go off base to a certain mileage when I am off duty. I just have to report back in time. But you do know that you can always come live on base with me...’ He trails off.

Oh boy. Here he goes. He’s always talking about moving you on base with him. Hell, he’s been talking about it since before he had to go to be based in Europe. By then you were twenty years old and old enough to live by yourself. Growing up in Daegu, Korea since you were six, you felt as if Korea was home to you and you definately weren’t ready to leave yet.

Especially, after losing your parents here. Around eight years old, your aunt and mother were on the way to pick up your father from the airport. With your mom and dad also being military and based in Korea with your dad’s bestfriend, your uncle Charlie, your father had been called to take military leave to go and be based in Korea for the National Guard.

On the way back from the airport, a drunk driver had struck the car knocking them off the road and colliding head first into the railing of the bridge. All bodies were reported dead upon collision, including your aunt. Charlie didn’t take the news well at all, and so did you. Only eight years old and still a bit new to a foreign country. It was devistating for you and Charlie. Charlie did what was right and stepped up to be your legal guardian while taking some time off from the military. Till this day, he treats you like his sacred little daughter and you can’t ask for anyone better than him.

 “You are old enough to live on your own and housing is avail-”

You jump at his voice on the line again, being too spaced out from the tragic memory. Before he can go on any longer you cut him off. ‘‘ Im fine with the apartment you left me. Im paying the bills on time and taking good care of it.”

‘‘ Alright fine. But that option is always available you hear me? I will always be ready for you to come with me.’’

‘‘ Okay Charlie” You groan.

‘‘ Alright.. sweetie it’s getting late on this side and it’s already 3 am on your side. Get some sleep okay? Don’t you have a model shoot thingy or something? You have those a lot.’‘

‘‘ Yes i actually do in a couple of hours. It’s been a while since I’ve did a shoot. Please eat and sleep well. Don’t injure yourself.’‘

‘‘ I promise. You promise to do the same right?’‘ He says, rustling movements are in the background.

‘‘ Yes I promise. Good night sleep tight..’‘ You smile as you wait for him to finish the rest.

He chuckles one last time on the other end, ‘‘I’ll always love you, goodnight‘’

Beep Beep Beep

You in a racy light pink lingerie with white duvets and sheets is the concept of your comeback. It’s supposed to symbolize the “Night After’’. Camera’s click and directors yell and praise you in your subtle yet damaging moves and facial expressions. You want.. no need for this comeback to be successful. Not only did your manager schedule this, but she is making sure that they release this same very day.

Nobody in this company’s industry has ever did this before. But you, you are sort of the special one. The special foreigner as they say. It’s not like you don’t like it but you don’t like that they label you as that. Stylists, employee’s hell even anybody who works there treat you as a princess. It’s not bad, but it’s just weird.

‘‘ One last one. Give me a sexy yet innocent look mama.’‘ Elliot, the director says, smiling wide at you.

You slip a finger into your mouth and do a little pout with your lips.

Elliot busts out into a roar of happiness with his hands clapping furiously. ‘‘That’s it mama yes! That’s just what we needed!’‘

Adjusting his microphone earpiece, he turns around to greet and thank everyone, ‘‘ Alright everybody this concludes our shooting! You all worked so hard today. Make it home safe, eat well.’‘

Finally. You sigh out in relief and close your eyes. It’s been a long day. Almost 6 hours of shooting. Three Videos, and five swap outfits for each session of shooting for the ‘’ Night After’’.  As everyone heads out and starts cleaning up you bow your head slightly and thank them.

A stylist brings you a satin robe to cover yourself in. You thank her and put it on just before getting up from the bed and walking towards wardrobe. Once you are done putting on your clothes, your manager leads you straight out the exit. Outside awaits the car that drives you everywhere. Literally everywhere.

‘‘ Tomorrow somebody has put in a special request for you to appear as the main lead girl in their music video. It’s short notice and I told them I would have to bump some things around and notify you. But they are paying us and you good money to be in it.’‘

Money? Sounds like a plan.

‘‘ It’s fine. Who am I shooting for?’‘ You say, fluffing your hair just a little while inspecting yourself in the rear view mirror.

Your makeup is still intact with no ruins and the contacts they had given you suited you very well. A hazel with a slight bit of teal. Suddenly the car moves off into the busy streets of Seoul. You can’t help but to notice every couple that walks along the sidewalks. They seem so happy, glad to be around each other.

On the floor of the car lies your little mini backpack filled with all of your items and belongings. Picking it up, you begin to dig through it looking for some hand lotion to soothe your semi-dry hands. Once you find it you gently start to squeeze the tube.

‘‘ Kim Namjoon.’‘

You freeze. Namjoon? The same Namjoon from the group? Joonie? It’s been well… a year since you’ve seen him in person. Hell since you’ve seen all of Bangtan Sonyeondan together. Except for lastnight when Hoseok and.. that guy showed up.

You sigh already knowing the answer from the question you are about to ask.

‘‘ From…?’‘ You ask then put the lotion back in your bag. Slowly you rub your hands together to moisturize.

Your manager quickly flips through the daily planner, ‘‘ Bangtan Sonyeodan but this is for one of his mixtape songs.’‘

Thank goodness.

‘‘ That’s fine. What time will the car be arriving tomorrow?’‘

‘‘ 8 am on the dot. You need to be there by 8:30. I’ll be tending to one of my other models tomorrow so you will be alone. I can send som-’‘

‘‘ No no it’s truly okay. I know how to manage things myself. Besides, I learn from you.’‘ You reassure her with one of your winning smiles, laying your head on her shoulder.

‘‘ Aigoo what am I going to do with you?’‘

The day ends very well. The movies you’ve been watching have kept you occupied. But not occupied enough for you to keep crying at all the sad parts in the chick flicks. Breakups, someone had died, someone had even just spilled something onto the floor and that was enough to send you into tears.Only because when the main lead boy rushed to help clean it up, it reminded you of Jimin last-night helping Isabel.

‘’What is going on with myself.’’ You blow your nose into a tissue for what seemed like the thousandth time today. Clara lets out one of her meows beside you then goes back to grooming herself.

You place her onto your lap and begin to run your fingers through her fur over and over again. Such a soothing effect to you as you stare into space sulking in your thoughts.

Why is it that you weren’t enough for him? Why is it that every single little thing reminds you of him? You gave him your all and he gave you his but what happened? Where did you go wrong? Cooked, cleaned, satisfied his needs. You guys had even started to plan out what you wanted out of a family. When you wanted a baby and what you would name it. It was fun. The whole relationship was fun. Right until that scandal.

Ding.. Ding.. Ding.. DI-

You unlock your phone immediately to stop that annoying dinging noise. Not surprisingly it’s a text from Jeon Jungkook.

Kookie : Im coming over I’ll be there in exactly 3 minutes.

Kookie: Don’t think about leaving either.

Kookie: Im bringing someone with me.

Kookie: We need to have a serious talk babycheeks.

You roll your eyes at the nickname he’s given you. No matter how many times you tell him you want him to change it, he declines. There’s no point in asking anymore.

Why would he want to talk anyways and who is the person he’s bringing. Eh.. it might just be Ryan they seem to do everything together as a team.

As soon as you step foot out of your bed the sound the door clicking makes your head shoot up. How in the living hell does he know the password to your house? Rage takes over you. That’s something that you hate. When people invade your personal space. In this case, personal home.

‘‘ Jeon fucking Jungkook!’‘ You scream, abruptly stomping your feet all the way to and out your bedroom door. Suddenly you stop at the sight of the two faces staring back at you.

Jungkook’s expression holds a concerned yet upset face while the other just stands there calm and cool. But you on the other hand are way besides that level.

Your eyes must be filled with rage and the expression on your face is no good. How dare he disrespect you like that? Bringing him into your home, knowing the bad blood between you two. Oh, they both have something coming towards them. You begin to walk to them again making each step make the floor shake.

‘‘ Get out. Both of you. One you invade my personal private home..’‘

You grab both boys by their collars, making sure to grip the one on the right’s harder than usual. ‘‘ Two, you fucking invite him over here.’‘ You drag each of them towards the exit. Which is going good until Jungkook rips your hands away from his shirt and takes you over his shoulder.

You’ve had enough of him and his invasive ways. Pounding on his back with your fists, you make sure to scream into his ear. “ Put me the fuck down Jeon Jungko-”

You hiss at the stinging sensation on your ass. Did he just? Jimin stands there awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. You make sure to make eye contact with him and roll your eyes. Something that always had and will piss him off.

‘‘ Hush. I told you all of us needed to have a deep talk about you.’‘

Jungkook plops your frail body onto one side of the couch in which he sits next to you. He motions for Jimin to come sit across from the both of you but you aren’t having it.

‘‘ Don’t you do it.” You glare at him. Jungkook sighs harshly only to pluck your forehead two times. You whine and rub it with your index and middle finger.

Jungkook shakes his head in disapproval, ‘‘ When are you ever going to learn? Jimin sit down now.”

‘‘ Truthfully.. I feel as though I shouldn’t be here so-”

“ Good. Get out you are unwanted.” You snap back causing him to give you one of his long stares with no facial expression at all.

Jungkook glares at you just before getting up to throw his hands in the air full of disappointment. “ Enough! “

Yelling. Something else you don’t like to hear being done at yourself. You finally sit still and quite avoiding any eye contact with the both of them.

He sits back down and clears his throat. Jungkook gives Jimin a look before continuing on.

‘‘ I gathered us here to talk about you..”

‘‘ Why. Im fine. How many times do I have to say it. Im fine im fine im fine im fucking fine!’‘ You exclaim, getting more mad by the second. When will people accept this?

‘‘ Baby.. ’‘

Your eyes shoot up to him and his soft voice. You didn’t want to but you did because his voice to you is like candy that melts into your mouth.

‘‘ Don’t call me that. You have a girlfriend at-least be loyal to her rather than what you did to me.’‘

‘‘ Fuck is anybody going to just sit here and listen? Can we at-least get to the source of the problem? Huh?’‘ Jungkook leans back into the couch clearly pissed by your attitude.

Jimin’s the first to speak and holds a firm eye contact with you, almost daring you to break away from it.

‘‘ Fine. Im just going to cut straight to it then. Why are you so jealous? You aren’t okay at all. I seen the way you looked at us yesterday. You wanted to break down so bad but you didn’t. It looks like you’ve been dropping weight day by day why aren’t you eating well?’’

You’re taken a-back by his jealous comment. Although you are you just cannot admit it. You are jealous. You do want him back. You cant bear to see him with another girl but you. But the fact that Jimin is concerned makes you really hope. Just hope that there is something left of you still in his heart.

‘‘ Jealous? Jealous tuh.” You scoff, leaning into Jungkook’s arms where you rest his head on your chest. You only do this just to see Jimin’s reaction and by the look on his face he doesn’t enjoy that move one bit.

‘‘ Yes jealous. I mean why else would you put almond extra-

‘‘ Woah. No need to go there. We established that it was a so called accident lastnight.” Jungkook does finger quotes into the air and looks down at you.

You lift your head up and furrow your eyebrows in annoyance, “ So called? So you really believe that I did it on purpose. Wow Jungkook. Escort yourself out.’’

He sighs, wrapping his arms around you securly in hopes of you settling down a  little, “ Honestly it’s not like that. I wasn’t there to see you bake them nor was I watching her eat it. Im just saying that you knew Jimin was coming and obviously his girlfriend was going to come too. It’s a little sketchy is all.”

There’s no fixing what he said. Him adding onto his explanation just made things sound worse than what he’s trying to say. You don’t have time to be ganged up on, nor like it at all. It’s best if they both just leave, to not turn nothing into something.

‘‘ Get out. Now. Before I call and tell Ryan what you said and then she’ll definitely deal with you.’‘ You say, removing yourself from off of him and onto the other side of the couch with your legs crossed.

Mad isn’t even the word to describe yourself right now. You’re just a mixture of all emotions.

Jungkook now looks of sorriness written all over his face. You bite your lip and shake your head while pointing towards the door. He sighs heavily and takes one last look at you while removing himself from the couch. You watch him slip on his coat and shoes.

Jimin gets up from his spot on the couch, ‘‘ I’ll be leav-”

‘‘ Sit down we aren’t done talking.” 

He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, sitting back down slowly.

Jungkook keeps his head down as he wraps his blue scarf around his neck. Poor baby, but he shouldn’t of said it. “Please better yourself and talk it out with each-other. Im leaving.”

‘‘ Make it home safely.. Kookie.” You sigh once the door closes behind him. Now you’re here. Face to face with Park Jimin.

The same Jimin who cheated on you. The same Jimin you haven’t seen in a while. You take a few moments to take in his appearance. He seems to have re-gained his muscles that are peaking through his black, longsleeve shirt. His thighs are still thick, just like his luscious lips. Of course he changed his hair color to black. But who knows, he might change it again.

‘‘ You’ve been doing well?’‘ You say, voice low but enough for him to hear. You drop your eyes to your lap instead of keeping intact with his.

‘‘ Yes. But you have not. Im disappointed in you. Why are you doing this to yourself? Don’t do this because of me.”

‘‘ Jimin you don’t know the feeling. You don’t know how it feels to be left wondering why you weren’t good enough for someone. Why they had cheated on you. You don’t understand at all and wont ever.’‘ Your voice cracks on the last sentence and you an feel the lump in your throat become sore.

He bites his lip unsure of what to say next. Those words had hit him good inside. ‘‘ Im sorry. I truly am. But you know the reason why we had to end it. I fucked up bad and the media was making the scandal bigger and messier day by day. It was better to just call it off.’‘

One by one your tears start to drop. You nose begins it’s running trip but you sniffle it back up.

‘‘ You could of denied it. You know you could of made a statement and denied it. But you felt something for her didn’t you? Didn’t you?’‘ You semi-yell, sobs already starting to take it’s way over.

He bites his lip once again and ruffles his fingers through his hair, “ Baby..’’

You wipe your tears with your hands making your face even more puffy from the crying. “ I am jealous. I am I admit it Jimin. But do you know i have been suffering for one year and two months? I can’t sleep at night because im so used to your touch at night. I look at every couple in Seoul and think to myself, Dang they seem so happy. What’s their secret?’’

Jimin sits up, making eye contact with you with tears welling up into his eyes. It hurt’s you more than yourself to see him crying. It always has.

‘‘ Please don’t do that. Don’t do this to yourself. Please get help from someone to try and move on. Please. I don’t like to see or hear you make yourself suffer.’ He begs, getting up from his seat and coming towards you.

Jimin sits next to you, hesitantly opening his arms up to you. Would it be wrong to embrace him? He’s being too sincere, but thats what you want right? You decide to just do it, and lean into him only for him to pull you in closer into his chest.You just lay there crying and sobbing while he runs his fingers through your hair. You shouldn’t be doing this. He has a girlfriend. But it feels so right.

‘‘ What does she have that I don’t? Why couldn’t you love me the same way you love her “  You cry into his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. 

You’d been waiting for this moment to just let it out. Let everything out.

‘’ Please don’t make this harder than what it is right now. Just try and forget me and move on. Please.” Hypocritcal. How does he expect you to get over him when he’s the one whos holding you so tight right now. Soon enough his sniffles join yours in harmony.

You raise your head up and look him deep into the eyes while you wipe away his tears, “ Don’t cry Jimin. I’m the one supposed to be crying over you. Don’t cry.’’

He takes your hand away from his face and wraps his fist ontop of yours, “Please promise me you will move on okay?’’

You shake your head no, “ I can’t make that promise.”

He doesn’t say anything. He gently cradles you in his arms and lifts you up. You don’t think to where he is going. You just close your eyes and grab onto his shirt firmly not wanting to let go.

Soon enough you feel the cold sheets over your bed. He covers you in the duvet and leans down to your forehead.  A kiss. Your fist is still locked onto his shirt in which he tries to pry it away but you don’t want to let him go. He sighs and raises his arms up as he takes off the shirt revealing an extra plain white wife beater under it. Taking your other hand, he wraps your hand into another fist onto the shirt to where both of your hands are holding onto it.

‘‘ Please better yourself for me baby. Sleep and eat well. “

Is all he says before turning off the lights and walking out your bedroom door.  You can hear him putting on and zipping up his heavy coat but you just don’t make a sound.

The apartment door clicks and beeps letting you know he’s already gone.

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand​ for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

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Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

[cosmiclatte28]

Casual Intimacy (Mark Lee x you)

a/n : it’s my soft hours I guess? I made this sweet Mark Lee imagine (well for me this is sweet. I want a boy like this... if you’re that kind of man dm me 😜)

fluff, no warning, no suggestive content but kisses, and just Mark being a wonderful man for you. 

Happy Imagining Mark Lee as your s/o! 

People often ask you how you can hold on to your “plain” relationship with your current boyfriend. You seriously do not like them bothering you about your relationship life, but you need to deal with it considering the fact that the man you are dating is the famous Mark Lee of NCT.

He is dorky in camera, and in real life too. You pray day and night to the angels to make sure Mark is not tripping on some random stone or bump a pole. Guess your prayer works, when you see Mark always smiling in front of the camera coping up and working so hard with his endless job.

You yourself work in a famous two Michelin restaurant in Seoul. You’re not going to lie, you met Mark lee on your duty. NCT was holding their debut birthday and you were appointed as the chef to cook for their meal that night. Apparently, Mark Lee was super fascinated by your dish and he requested you to come greet the team when your job in the kitchen is done. Your head cook lets you leave your station once desert is prepared and the plates coming into the washing room is clean.

That was five years ago, Mark Lee got love struck by your simple but attractive persona. His eyes couldn’t leave you as you answer their questions on the dishes and you congratulating them. They’re glad when they learn that you listened to their songs and followed their schedules, just that you don’t have much time to be like the other wonderful fans.

Mark Lee looked so intrigued on you and as you bow to them bidding goodbye, he just returned from the restroom. With his long legs trying to catch his other brothers, Mark happened to slip his number on a piece of tissue paper to your pocket and gave you a genuine smile plus a “thank you”.

You earned a good pay that night and even better, Mark Lee’s number.

Well, he isn’t your bias but come on who doesn’t have Mark Lee in their bias list? Want it or not, conscious or not, Mark Lee is always in the list. So, that night when you finish showering and eating a light midnight snack, you gave the number a shot.

You thought your message will never be replied, maybe Mark will have his phone in silent and only opened up messages from his contact list. You’re lucky when your notification bleeped and from that night both of you learn more about each other.

He kept your number under your name, plain business people say, you also thought maybe he wanted to call you for another dinner party. But the chats he had been sending was far from platonic business. It involves jokes, puns, memories of living in Canada (well you graduated from University of Toronto, but cooking is your passion), and even deeper like late night talks.

The relationship got deeper when Mark Lee called you one night, asking if he can meet you in the restaurant. He said he needed a good meal to write a song he was assigned for. You found no correlation between a good meal and writing a song, but believe it or not, Mark Lee came with one  of the hottest selling song that month. Earning him a title of “King of Lyrics”

Since then, he called you again and again when he didn’t have the idea to write. You finally invited him over to your house when you got closer. Mark got to eat in your small dining table with a simple dish that was made with love and care that Mark said tasted better than any other dishes he ever had.

You laughed saying he is exaggerating, but Mark never exaggerates when he is with you.

“Be my girlfriend will you?” he one night asked after you teach him how to cook a proper egg. Despite him succeeding the challenge back in 2020, he still needs practice. He succeeded cooking eggs after knowing you for more than a year.

“Suddenly Mark? After you can make a perfect runny egg?” you giggle but nevertheless nodded your head.

His smile that night was even brighter than when he received any awards and praises. His eyes spark joys and emotions uncaptured by cameras. The world never knows how Mark’s true happy face looks like, but if his world is you, then the world knows!

For the first two year of dating, both of you are keeping it low. Dates happen in your house (your wage is enough to buy you a house). You always cook him foods, tried new dishes to him, earned a lot of complains on how the food is not “suitable for Korean tongue” which you always shrug off because he himself is a mix.

But thanks to his constant brave inputs, your dishes are perfectly blended and well known. News media and TV shows started to cast you in their weekend shows. You were offered a contract of a cooking show in a known broadcasting company.

Mark told you to go for it. He knew how happy you are about cooking, and his faith told him “if that is what was given for you, go for it.”

He was right. The internet loves you, they love your simple but tasty dishes. Your show was ranked the hottest that month, famous for helping college student eat a more delicious food.

NCT even did a special relay cam for it, each group were doing a challenge on following your recipes.

Mark was caught off guard on that live shooting day. His team consisted of him, Ten and Johnny.

And you may guess, things went wrong but in a chaotic fun way. When the three of them are together, they just speak in English and forgot all of the filters they should have.

Mark spilled his relationship when he accidentally said out loud “Of course I know how to do that, my girl has been teaching me that.” Mark boasted when Ten asked if Mark could make the egg benedict for their dish.

Johnny and Ten froze on screen, well the NCT members knew your relationship with Mark but they kept quiet. Mark realized what he has said was recorded and forever lives in the web. The comment section went wild and the fans are thrilled about the “mysterious girlfriend Mark has”.

He eventually spilled the truth on a press conference. You were there beside him when he faced the board director and when he sit in front of different mics and cameras flashes. No one knows but throughout the time, when your heart is beating faster than when you took your SAT and final tests, Mark Lee held on to your hand whenever you are answering a question directed to you.

The magazines are taking the favor of the rising topic, inviting you and Mark to take a photoshoot. When you were insecure about taking a picture with him (who has did countless shoots), he squeezed your arm when walking past you and gave a small proud smile as he went to change clothes while you start your personal shoot. No one saw that, but his quick reassuring squeeze boosted your confidence that day and the couple shoot was very nice! You could print that as your wedding pictures!

When the internet goes wild when they connect the theories and Instagram posts Mark and you both made (fans are the best in deciphering codes!), you now walk through the streets crowded by fans. All asking how is it like to date Mark, but not few also told you to screw off. One day when you both are going back to Canada for a winter break, the fans are crowding the way. You gulped when you have to walk pass them, but Mark looked so used to it. He just chuckled and landed a small hand on the back of your waist. With the manager hyung and bodyguard pushing to make way, you made it through the crowd with confident steps.

On the Christmas dinner, Mark was invited to your family dinner and vice versa. You had to attend their family lunch and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

“Mark, what if they don’t like me?” you asked on your bus ride to his house from the airport.

Mark laughed, he always laughed as his first respond, “Baby, it’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

You snorted, “You calling me baby is already suspicious, for three years we dated you “dude” me 70% of the time, “baby” was only like 10%”

He did the math, “Then what’s the remaining 20?%”

“You just call me “Bro” for the res of them.” You squeezed his cheek and planted a kiss there.

“I like it though, not too cheesy.”

He grew red. “Gosh I am having the Jaehyun syndrome. Why are my ears burning?!”

He was not 100% wrong, his parents were nice they grew fond of you especially when you helped his mother prepared lunch. Well you both arrived earlier and you decided to give a hand for the busy mom.

Mark sat next to you on dinner and when you were diving into a yummy Christmas pudding, his parents began asking you the “platonic questions asked to your partner”.

You almost chocked on your pudding when they asked “Are you seeing a future with Mark? Can you make our son happy and us too?”

You were not ready, you expected questions like where you work or where you live. They said “We can find all that answers in the internet, but not the answer to our question.”

Mark’s gentle kick from under the table by your side made you looked at him and he gave you that sincere smile only you have the privilege to see. He nodded slightly and shot his eyebrow to his parents side “Answer them… I am also curious of the answer.”

You grew red, it wasn’t the drink or anything, but his parent’s happy and relieved face when you nod your head and said “I am seeing a future with him, if I get both of your blessing.”

They love you and Mark was right. That night, you invited his family to join your dinner instead. The same question was asked from your parents to Mark and Mark was more than ready to marry you.

But your wedding bells did not chime that fast. He has his career and so do you, both of you just keep the stable relationship going on. Together facing the problems and obstacles in your relationship. Fights occur, bickering occur, threads of breaking up also happened once or twice… but both of you used that to build a stronger bond.

You always melt when Mark came home from a long day. After he showered and savored his dinner, he always ended up leaning on your shoulder in the big snuggle sofa both of you never regret buying. His head on your shoulder, his hand scribbling words to a paper and you whispering ideas to him which brought a big smile to his face.

Writing lyrics has been even easier for Mark, he blended your frustration with his, splattered some love words, and voila a masterpiece! People said his lyrics were relatable and both of you always keep it to yourself that “those happened in our life, no wonder it looked real.”

He always kissed you gently on your lips, tasting the faint cherry flavour of your lip balm. Mark’s lips tasted of medical lip balm, but you love it nonetheless.

You blinked and realized the flashing cameras in front of you. Oh right, someone from the hot magazine company is asking you a question.

‘Can you please repeat your question?” you asked politely to the lady holding out a mic.

She quickly nodded, “A lot of fans are wondering If you are still in a relationship with Mark. Mark was busy for the last months with projects and comebacks. And the interaction update from both of you are little to none. Fans suspected you were over with him, considering that Mark looked like he is the “plain” type in a relationship.”

You pressed a smile, hiding your urge to laugh out loud. Weren’t the fans always picturing Mark as their dream boyfriend? Why did they judge him as the plain boring type then?

You clear your throat and while looking through the crowds, you spot Mark Lee seated in the crowd with a mask and a hat, giving you a nod, and you turned your mic on.

“We’re still going strong; well I think love is not the type of grand gestures or explosive displays.” You started off and caught everyone’s attention.

“It’s made up of little things,” you felt your heart clench upon remembering all the small affections Mark always did to you. “It’s the little things Mark Lee did that say he is here, and he cared for me and that my life has intertwined so deeply into his that there was no need to think.” You take a pause to look at the audience.

Everyone looked impressed, but amongst them you catch one pair of gleaming proud eyes, the pair of eyes you’ve been waking up to for the last years, and the one you want to wake up to in the future years.

“It’s Mark’s casual intimacy that made us both stay strong and stronger.”

Applaud was heard through the room, you were holding your press conference because you were retreating from all the cooking shows and rumor has it you are going to marry Mark.

“Please pray for both of us, as we will be tying our bonds soon.” You leave the room after a bow and the man with mask and hat is already waiting for you outside the big crowded function hall.

His hand naturally makes its way to your waist and you never felt more sure to step into life with this man you love, Mark Lee.

“That was wonderful (y/n)~”

You smile, he did not dude you nor bro you nor baby you. “I love you Mark Lee,”

He leaned in for a peck behind the tinted black van window, “I love you most (y/n) Lee,” he winked and you rubbed your cheeks “Guess I have the Jaehyun syndrome now! Also I like it when you call me with that name.”

He quirked his eyebrow and smirked, “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing that soon for the rest of your life.” He reached for your hand and kissed the knuckles.

“I met you thanks to your amazing handy work in cooking unforgettable dish.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were so amazed on my egg benedict Mark! How is that an unforgettable dish?”

He shrugged his shoulder, “I don’t know, something about you, cooking, and love made me this love struck and awfully amazed by simple things you did.”

the end

thanks for reading, put in comments for I’d love to interact with you on the story plot .. rant to me what you hate or like idc :D i want to talk with my readers! to thank you all for reading and spending some time here

omg i didn’t know if I made the right choice of making Mark Lee as this character, but I want it to be him.. I’ve been writing a lot of Jaehyun and Yuta fic and I guess Mark can be a refresher. Please let me know if someone else suits this better!

[onlydreamofmysoul]

The Prince and The Pornstars

Chapter Three

Okay guys! This is a super special chapter because we’re featuring the amazing art by my S.A anon. This is the costume Leo wears in this chapter and I’ve said it a million times but oh my god, this art absolutely blows me away.

Characters by @lumosinlove​

Leo 

“Hey um, Leo? You’re Leo right?”

Leo looked up to see the cute new fluffer standing in the open doorway of his dressing room. “Yeah,” He said, standing and offering his hand, “That’s me.”

Finn smiled and shook his hand. “Celeste sent me - I have your costume for today.”

Leo took the hanger from him, eyeing the leather skirt and very few accessories. “Huh, I don’t see why they’re bothering to give me clothes at all.” He joked with a wink and delighted in the way Finn flushed. Logan had been right - this boy was very innocent. 

“I’m also supposed to ask that you be in the makeup department in twenty minutes.”

Leo smiled, a little charmed by how nervous Finn was. “Cool thank you! Do you mind waiting for a minute? I nearly always have a costume I can’t tie up myself and then I end up stranded.” He chuckled, remembering the intricate ties on a costume he had two months ago and having to slip into Logan’s room to have him tie it up. 

 Finn nodded and shut the door, standing awkwardly. Leo raised an eyebrow. “You can sit down, you know.”

“Oh right, thank you. Um, do you want me to look away.”

Leo laughed again. “Finn sweetheart, you’re working as my fluffer today, I think I’m okay with you seeing my dick.” He paused, smiling to himself as he pulled off his shirt. “Thanks for asking though, that was nice.”

Finn nodded, fiddling with the lace of Leo’s shoes which were still in his hands. “So how does one become a pornstar?” He blurted, then flushed an even deeper red. “Sorry, I don’t know if that’s like something I’m meant to ask or not? I was just curious because like obviously pornstars exist but you generally don’t just bump into one on the street so like… how did you end up here?”

Leo glanced up at him as he pulled on the black fishnets. “A guy I used to date actually. Well he used to do adult movies and I was his date to a work event and I met some agents and well,” He shrugged, “Here I am.”

“Oh.” Finn said. “So you do just bump into them on the street.”

Leo laughed, surprising himself. “Yeah, I suppose you do.” He wiggled into the leather skirt, noting the way Finn looked anywhere in the room except at him. “So how does one become a fluffer?”

It was Finn’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Apparently you need to be a fluffer here before they let you, you know, actually do any makeup. They really did not prep me for this in school.”

“Well I mean, we have plenty of school boy outfits lying around, so if you want to pop one on I’m sure we can re-educate you.” Leo teased and was pleased to see a real smile appear on Finn’s face. Leo took the shoes from Finn, realising that this costume had needed no assistance.

“Oops, sorry.” Leo said, “I suppose I could manage this one after all.”

Finn watched him lace up the heeled, holographic boots. “That’s alright, it was fun talking to you.”

Leo smiled again, then held his hands out to Finn. “Okay help me up please cause oh my god these are so high.” Finn stood up and took Leo’s hands, carefully pulling the blond boy to his feet. In the heels, Leo towered over Finn. Leo stumbled a little and steadied himself with his palm on Finn’s chest. 

“Oh sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve worn heels this high wow.”

Finn laughed a little, seeming more relaxed now that he wasn’t the only one falling around like an idiot. “You’re okay.” He told Leo, moving his hand away from Leo’s waist where he had caught him and Leo felt a strange sense of loss at the movement. “I haven’t been able to get out two sentences here yet without blushing, so really, I think you’re winning.”

Leo chuckled with him as they both left the room to head down to the makeup department. Anywhere else and Leo would have been acutely aware that he was shirtless and wearing a dog collar but here it was nothing. There were people who worked on all different levels so you saw a nice mix of people in full suits right down to Leo in next to nothing. 

“So do you like working here?” Leo found himself asking, knowing their world must seem so strange to an outsider. Leo remembered the feeling but it was dulled a little now that he was so accustomed to it. 

Finn shrugged. “Am I allowed to like it? I never know what to say I mean like if I say I like my job it insinuates that I like jacking guys off which might make me seem a little creepy.”

Leo laughed properly at that as they turned the corner and he was just looking over to Finn when Leo collided with someone. 

“I’m so sor- Oh hey Lo.”

Logan, still in his jeans and jumper peered up at him. “As if you weren’t tall enough already Nutty.”

Leo rolled his eyes, stooping a bit to press a quick kiss to Logan’s lips. “Fuck off Tremblay, you know you love it.” 

Logan just snorted as he pulled away. “Hey Red.” He paused, staring at Finn’s Finding Nemo t-shirt. “Or maybe I should call ‘Fish’ from now on.”

Finn wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t.”

Leo groaned, tilting his head back as Logan’s eyes lit up. “You’ve done it now Finn,” Leo said “He might not call you anything else for the rest of your life.”

“I could call him ‘poisson’.” Logan interjected. 

“Baby do not call him poisson.”

“Mon poisson rouge.”

Leo sighed and looked at Finn apologetically. “He’s gonna call you a red fish forever now.”

Finn ran his fingers through his hair self consciously even as he smiled. “I suppose there are worse things to be called?”

“Ha!” Logan cried victorious. He kissed Finn on the cheek and then Leo on the lips. “He agrees with me. Mon poisson rouge it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now go away cause we need to get to makeup and you’re making us late.”

“Just tell Celeste you were with me. She loves me.” Logan boasted, walking backwards away from them. 

“Oi, she loves me too!” Leo argued. 

“Both of you are dumb. Obviously we blame me. Celeste may not love me yet but I’m new and people are always nicer when you’re new.”

Logan and Leo stopped and looked at Finn. 

“Damn poisson.” Logan muttered. “You’re good. We might just have to keep you around.”

Leo loved getting his makeup done. Sure, taking it off was a bitch, but he loved the feeling of the brushes and products decorating his face, it was soothing. 

“So, you and Logan are together?” 

Leo went to open his eyes but Celeste tutted disapprovingly so he kept them closed. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

“Oh, cool, that’s cool.”

Leo dared a peek at Finn while Celeste rustled around in her makeup bag sensing there was something the redhead wasn’t saying. “You can ask questions you know.”

Leo’s eyes were closed again, but he knew Finn was blushing. “Is it not weird working together?”

Leo hummed thoughtfully, he and Logan got asked this a lot as soon as people found out what they did for a living. “Like in a jealous way? Because no. I love him and he loves me and we’re both secure enough in our relationship to trust that. I mean what we do here is just a job, it’s hard for a lot of people to understand because our society indoctrinates us to believe people in a relationship belong to one another and while he’s mine and I’m his, we’re also our own.” Leo paused, laughing a little self consciously. “If that makes any sense.”

Celeste moved on to Leo’s lips, so he opened his eyes to see Finn nodding along. “I get that. I think I meant more like - doing scenes together? Is that not weird?”

Leo blinked, pleasantly surprised that Finn didn’t assume that he and Logan were some possessive primal creatures. “Oh, no, we don’t do scenes together.”

Celeste hushed him for a moment as she lined his lips. Finn watched what she was doing carefully and Leo was painfully aware that Finn was now staring at his lips. 

Celeste moved on, dusting his collarbones with glitter and Leo started talking again. “Me and Lo, it’s for us. It’s not something anyone else gets to see.”

Celeste met his eyes and smiled knowingly. Finn just nodded, lips parted a little. Leo felt something he couldn’t fully explain twist in his heart and somewhere in the back of his mind there was this acute feeling he had never had before. There’s something missing. 

“Alright boys, off you go.” Celeste said, running her eyes over her handiwork appreciatively. “You’re due on set in five.”

Finn and Leo strolled side by side down to the set they were using today. This time, it was a room that had been created to look almost exactly like the red room in 50 Shades of Grey. Kasey, Leo’s partner for the day was already there, laughing with Dumo their director. 

Pascal grinned when he saw them walk in. “Leo! And who is this?”

Leo grinned and threw his arm casually over Finn’s shoulder. “This is our new fluffer, surely Celeste told you about him.”

Pascal’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah yes of course, Finn oui? Welcome!” 

“Dumo is Celeste’s husband.” Leo muttered as everyone started getting set up. He took his place in a throne-like chair in the middle of the room just as Dumo called two minutes to start. 

Leo looked up at Finn and swallowed. “So um, I kind of need you to uh…”

“Get you started?” Finn finished with a smirk and finally, he wasn’t the one blushing. Leo bit his lip and nodded. 

“Yeah, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. So um, what do you want me to do?”

“Just-” Leo reached out and took Finn’s hand, guiding it under the skirt. “Just like this.” 

Finn took initiative this time and took Leo’s cock in his hand, trying to control his face as he realised the sheer size of the boy in front of him. Leo’s cock filled quickly as he stroked him, and Leo noticed Finn watching carefully to see what worked best. When he was fully hard, Finn paused. 

“Is this okay or should I keep going?”

Leo blinked, coming out of the little haze Finn put him in. “No, no that’s fine, thank you.”

Finn smiled and moved away as Kasey walked up, already naked. 

“Okay is everyone ready?” Dumo called, watching everyone nod their assent.  “Yes? Okay good, and action!” 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to sit there.” Kasey growled, walking over and tipping Leo’s chin up with a single finger. 

“I’m sorry Daddy, I’m such a naughty boy.” Leo blinked innocently. “Maybe you should punish me.”

Kasey pulled Leo out of the chair, sat down himself and then tugged Leo on top of him in one smooth movement. Leo had known it was coming but it was still a little dizzying. 

“Look at you all dressed up for Daddy.” Kasey purred, rubbing his hands up Leo’s thighs and cupping his bare ass. “I think I know the perfect punishment.”

“Okay freeze!” Dumo yelled and Kasey and Leo stayed exactly where they were as the camera’s paused. Leo saw Dumo go to Finn out of the corner of his eye and then Finn was walking up to Leo. 

“Hey Leo? I’m going to prep you now if that’s okay?”

Leo laughed at the absurdity of the situation. This was totally normal for him, but the strangeness of the whole thing wasn't lost on him. 

“Yeah Finn, go ahead.”

Kasey grinned up at Leo. “Why do we always have to do the Daddy scenes?”

Leo groaned as he heard Finn popping the cap of the lube. “I know right! It’s always so weird for me cause like damn I haven’t got daddy issues.”

“Okay Leo, I’m gonna start now.” Finn said and Leo nodded, then gasped as Finn pressed a finger inside him. Leo dropped his head on Kasey’s shoulder and tried so hard not to react even though every cell in his body screamed for more. 

For a guy who was new to this, Finn really seemed to know what he was doing. After he had slotted three fingers in comfortably, Leo nodded and Finn was handed a cloth to wipe his hand off before he moved away to go wash up. 

When everyone was back in position, Dumo called action again. 

“I think I know the perfect punishment.” Kasey repeated and then he pulled Leo down right onto his cock. 

Leo gasped in shock, acting as if he had no idea what had been coming. He rode Kasey for a while, and they changed positions a couple of times until they were done. He went straight to the shower, letting the warm water wash over him for a minute and his mind slipped to Finn. Then to Logan. Then to Finn.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Finn’s fingers felt inside him. Somehow it made Leo think of Logan. Their technique was in no way similar and Leo had no idea what it was, all he knew is he wanted Logan to feel it too. Or to feel them both. Was that crazy?

He got dressed quickly, towel drying his hair. He had taken off most of his makeup before the shower but some mascara had clung to his lashes and now he looked like a panda so he was carefully wiping away the black smudges when Logan came in.

“Salut mon coeur, c’est juste moi.”

“Hey Lo, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Leo heard Logan flop down on the couch as he turned on the tap to splash water on his face and wipe away the makeup-remover. He heard the door open again and figured it was Logan going to get something from his own room when he heard the murmur of voices. 

He came out of the bathroom to see Finn sitting next to Logan on the couch and something in Leo’s heart stuttered at the sight.

“Hey guys.” He said, smiling weakly. Logan looked at him, a little in concern, but only because he knew Leo so well. Finn grinned, a little awkwardly.

“I was just bringing this up to you,” He said, holding out Leo’s own eyeliner. His skin was sensitive and he only used one brand, so he always brought it himself just to make sure there would be no mix up. 

“Oh,” He heard himself mutter dumbly. “Thanks.”

He took the pencil from Finn, their fingers brushing as they did but Leo moved away quickly, putting the eyeliner in his backpack. Leo slid onto Logan’s lap, noticing the way Finn tensed as if he was just about to get up, but Logan held out his hand, showing them something he had pulled up on his screen.

“Oh my god, have you seen this post by Sidney Crosby?”

Leo half fell in his haste to look at it while Finn froze. “You guys like hockey?”

Logan smirked, leaning over to ruffle Finn’s hair. “Oh mon poisson rouge, you have so much to learn.” He patted the space on the cushions left between himself and Finn and Finn moved to fill it, his thigh pressed right up against Logan’s as he peered into the phone screen.

“We love hockey.”

[jalapeno-princess]

A Love For The Ages

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 5.7K

Genre: The fluffiest fluff that I have written in a while and it makes me sad that this isn’t my reality :(

Summary: Being an executive researcher, Mark has a lot on his plate as it is. He has one of the highest positions at the company he’s employed at, which means he has a huge responsibility in bringing the company success. Unfortunately, the more time he spends trying to win over other businesses in to becoming clients and partners, the less time he has to spend with the love of his life. You. 

A/N: Hey guys, slowly but surely I am getting back in to the rhythm of writing again but I still have a tendency of starting a story and not finishing it so please be patient with me. This story is based on “Groovy Kind of Love” by Phil Collins and I highly recommend you listen to it it’s so good @God why am I single? Happy reading!

When I'm feeling blue All I have to do Is take a look at you Then I'm not so blue

When you're close to me I can feel your heartbeat I can hear you breathing in my ear

Wouldn't you agree? Baby, you and me Got a groovy kind of love

Any time you want to You can turn me into Anything you want to Any time at all

When I kiss your lips Ooh, I start to shiver Can't control the quivering inside Wouldn't you agree? Baby, you and me Got a groovy kind of love

This is a very big deal, it can bring millions of dollars to our company. The success of our company is in your hands Mark. We’re all counting on you.

Those words repeatedly replayed over and over in his mind like a broken record, taunting him—making him feel as though such a heavy burden was placed on his shoulders. It had already been such a long day at work; he was coming up with multiple proposals, contacting potential clients, checking up with current clients and doing his research on a business deal with one of the biggest tech companies in the world. 

Minutes felt like hours and the day went by agonizingly slow. One hour before he was supposed to leave—with the very tiny amount of energy he had left, he reached for his phone and re-read the messages you sent to him at the beginning of his shift. Honestly, your sweet  and heartfelt words were what kept Mark going throughout his exhausting and frustrating days at the office. You were his motivation; just looking at a photo of you or hearing your gentle and extremely calming voice could break him out of any dejected state. The thought of arriving home to you is what prevented him from having a nervous breakdown. 

Unfortunately, to Mark’s dismay, right as he put his phone down, both the director of his department and his manager walked in to his office to talk about the business deal your boyfriend was assigned to. Just a few months ago, Mark was given a promotion to marketing executive—a position that was usually given to employees that have working at the company for many years. 

Your boyfriend was extremely intelligent; he graduated from the University of Southern California with his Master’s degree in business and communication at the prime age of twenty-three years old. He had only been working at the company for a little over seven months when the CEO of the company himself told Mark of how proud he was to have such a hardworking and extremely talented employee working at his company. 

Mark was a very humble and soft-spoken individual; he was never one to gloat nor did he ever talk highly of himself. But his colleagues and his higher ups were extremely vocal about the fact that he was one of the best people who worked at the company. As grateful as he was to have been given such a prestigious position, it was also a lot more strenuous and draining work he had to accomplish. It also meant spending more time at the company—working ten to twenty hours overtime and less time with his favorite person in the entire world. You. 

He had a hard time understanding how someone could be so selfless, patient and understanding. Not once have you ever made him feel bad about not being home as often as he should and you were so supportive. You did things for him without being asked and you sacrificed so much of your time, effort and energy to make sure he was well taken care of. 

You’d wake up an hour earlier than you needed to just to make him breakfast, prepare a nice, hearty lunch, iron his clothes for the day and to make sure he had everything he needed in his suitcase. Some days, he regretted taking on the position. Sure, it was nice getting to call himself an executive, he had a spacious office with a beautiful view of the cityscape all to himself and the pay was pretty good for someone at his age. Yet, none of that mattered to him. He would rather be making less than half of his current pay check and be cooped up in a tight cubicle if it meant getting to be around you more often. 

To Mark, you were so much more than just his girlfriend. You were an angel—an otherworldly being sent in his life to be a hiding place; a place of solace, happiness, comfort and love. The two of you have been together for almost three years now and he could confidently say that these last few years have been some of the best years in his entire twenty-seven years of existence. 

You were his person; his soulmate. A best friend, personal chef, comedian, nurse, teacher, therapist and shoulder to cry on all in one. Even if he was taught from a young age that nobody was perfect, to Mark—you broke that cliché entirely. Not only were you the most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on; you had one of the most generous hearts and kindest personality someone could have. Everything about you was simply breathtaking and it made him feel like such a terrible boyfriend that he was unable to cherish you and give you the attention that you never failed to shower him with—the attention you deserved. When the two older men explained that the company’s reputation was on the line, he wanted to scream. 

There were more than a thousand employees working at the company and he had five other colleagues assisting him in this project, so why were they expecting so much out of him? Mark understood that they believed in him and they were sure he was capable of such great things, but they were only making him feel a lot more pressured than he already was. 

He went in to work that morning with a huge smile on his face after waking up an hour earlier to cuddle with you and to catch up on your life since he hasn’t had the time to really talk with you. It was relaxing; he allowed you to do the talking and leaned back so he could really take in your effortless beauty, award winning smile and contagious laughter. Your boyfriend was a simple man. Moments like those were when he was his happiest. Hell, he was his happiest whenever he was in your presence. 

You meant the entire world to him and Mark was very good at thanking whatever higher power brought the two of you together on a daily basis for allowing him to be the lucky man who got to love you and be graciously loved by you. His mind was filled with the thought of you and getting to be back in your arms again but eagerness to leave for the day was now ruined. 

Their unwavering hope and huge amount of trust in him led him to stay back a couple hours longer. He sent you a few apologetic text messages, claiming that he wanted nothing more than to fall apart in your arms and have you hold him as he cried from how worn out he was but that he really needed to make sure his proposal was one that would impress their aspired business partner and make his management proud. You replied back within seconds, telling him that it was okay and that he should think about taking a vacation to get some well deserved rest. You also told him that you were extremely proud of him, that you loved him with every fiber of your being and that you would wait up for him no matter what time he ended up coming home. 

His heart fluttered and he could physically feel his cheeks warm up as his eyes grazed over your love confession. God, he couldn’t even fathom in to words how madly and irrevocably in love with you he was. Your words motivated him; any ounce of fatigue that he felt disappeared and he soon began typing away at his computer. He dug deeper in to his research and made sure to analyze and re-read his proposal to make sure everything was grammatically correct and that there weren’t any spelling errors. 

When he felt content with his finished product, he decided to call it a day and mentally groaned when he saw what time it was as he punched out. 11:42 P.M. He was supposed to leave more than five hours ago and it didn’t even matter that he wasn’t as tired as he should be. The image of you sitting on the couch or lying in bed—waiting patiently for him to arrive made his stomach churn. 

He came to the decision that once this entire business deal was over, whether the company decided to sign with his or not, he was taking a break and he was determined to make up for lost time by taking you somewhere you have always wanted to go. After packing up and making the journey to the parking lot, he got in to his car and briskly made his way back to your shared apartment—but he came up with an idea out of the blue and made a quick stop at the grocery store to pick you up some flowers and a quart of your favorite ice cream. 

Since it was so late, there was hardly any customers and he was glad; not being able to wait any longer to finally be in your embrace again. Although he saw you earlier that morning, any time spent away from you felt like a long, gruesome day—sometimes it felt like weeks. His friends would tease him about how clingy he could be whenever it came to you and that he was whipped beyond belief to which he would immediately respond with a smile. 

He didn’t care what anyone had to say about him and the way he was quite the lost puppy because of you. He loved it—it just proved that he loved you more than anyone in the world could possibly love another person. So whenever one of his friends would joke around about how big of a hopeless romantic he was, Mark would shrug them off and boast confidently about how much he adored you and how you were the reason for his existence. 

Mark ran at least three red lights and he thanked God that no policeman was around because at the speed he had been driving, your boyfriend was sure to get a ticket or two. The second he pulled in to the garage, he made a beeline up to your unit and prayed that you were still awake. Though, if you just so happened to fall asleep even if you stated that you would wait up for him, he couldn’t blame you. 

You were just as much of a hardworking person as he was and you were extremely dedicated to your job as an elementary school teacher. Your boyfriend envied you. It was obvious that you loved your job—you enjoyed working with children from a very young age and even if the pay wasn’t all that great, you didn’t seem to care. One of your characteristics that Mark appreciated the most about you was the fact that you cared about helping others in any way you possibly could, not caring about what you would receive in return. 

Plus, unlike a lot of people working nine to five, you genuinely found delight in being able to help enhance the minds of little ones and to teach them everything they needed to know. He’s visited you at your school multiple times and he’s been able to sit in while you taught your students. It was more than just a job to you—Mark knew that you would be a teacher without getting payed if there was ever a situation like that. 

He wasn’t being biased because you were his girlfriend but your bubbly personality, the way you would spend your hard earned money to buy your students supplies, gifts and anything you needed for the classroom and just the way you talked with so much excitement in your voice as you’d tell him some stories from work, he knew you were the best teacher your students could have. 

When he walked in the door, his heart fluttered at the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts; your long, smooth legs clad of anything—dancing along to the playlist he made for you of songs that reminded him of you. You were currently standing at the kitchen counter and he could tell you must have been too busy looking at the recipe book while swaying along to Bruno Mars to realize that he was now home. 

He bit his lip watching your hips move ever so gently and although his clothes could be a little baggy on you, your curvaceous figure he was obsessed with was on full display. In his opinion, you looked amazing in every single item of clothing you wore. A blouse and a pencil skirt, a little black dress, sweatpants and a hoodie—it didn’t matter, whatever you wore caused his mouth to water. But whenever you’d wear one of his shirts, Mark was sure that’s when you were the most lethal. He wanted to give you his entire closet just so he could see you in his clothing. 

Your boyfriend couldn’t really put his finger on it—maybe it was because you were just so beautiful and you matched everything you put on or because seeing you in something that was his reminded him that you belonged to him—that you were his just as much as he was yours. 

You had yet to acknowledge his presence and as much as he wanted to continue drinking in your effortless beauty, he was sure the longer he were to watch you, the closer he would get to the brink of insanity, and he just really wanted to kiss you. He attempted to tip toe towards you; he wanted to surprise you and when you jumped as he brought his hands down to your lower waist and placed his chin on your shoulder, he was confident that he succeeded. 

“Hey baby. I’ve missed you so much. How was your day?” 

You spun around and beamed up at him with your adorable cheesy grin; Mark could feel his heart rate increase. You really were the best thing to ever happen to him. What war did he fight in his past life to deserve you? 

“I’ve missed you more my love. Today was great. The kids had a math test and most of them passed with flying colors. There’s also a book fair that started on Monday and they were all so excited to explore the many books on display which gave me a nice break from teaching. I would ask you the same, but by the dark circles under your eyes alone, I can already tell that you had quite the rough day.” 

You brought your hands up to his cheeks and cupped either side of his face; grazing your thumbs right under his eyes. He gave you a sad smile before leaning down to place a sweet kiss upon your lips. 

“Baby, you know it’s okay to ask for help right? You don’t need to suffer all alone. You already do so much for them and I can totally see why they are putting so much faith in to you, but you’re only human Mark. You’re going to burnout at this rate and I’m afraid that you’re going to end up in the hospital if you keep overworking and stressing too much. I know you want to make everybody happy, but sometimes it’s okay to be selfish if it means putting your happiness first. I made you your favorite; it’s in the fridge, you just have to heat it up. I also pre-ironed your clothes for tomorrow, I did a load of your laundry, I took Milo out for a walk and I’m currently making you some chocolate chip cookies because I know how they’re your weakness and there’s a bath with your name on it—oof—“ 

He gave you no time to say anything else before pulling you closer to his body if it were even physically possible. Mark’s friend Jackson called the two of you magnets; your boyfriend had the tendency to hold you very tight. Wherever you would go, everyone who knew the two of you could expect Mark to follow along. 

This meant grocery shopping, doctor’s visits, family and friend outings, he would even go shopping with you and Mark was the type of boyfriend who followed you around, giving his opinion on what he thought would look good on you—both makeup and clothing wise although he made it clear that you were one of those girls who did not need makeup at all. You were already a sight for sore eyes bare-faced and he’d admit that makeup only enhanced your beauty, but he found you even prettier without anything on your face. 

Hearing that you completed all these tasks for him; especially after coming home from work even if you didn’t consider teaching all that burdening—he was sure you were equally as tired—it made tears build up at his eyelids. Mark thanked you on a daily basis for all that you’ve done and continue to do for him. You were so thoughtful and your actions only proved to him that he was your main priority. If only he could say that you were his.

If there was anything Mark could change about his life, it would be the amount of time he’d spend in yours. You never showed nor did you tell him that his lack of presence bothered you, but he had a feeling you probably desired more time with him. The two of you were a couple and even if you’ve been together for quite some time, you both were still in the honeymoon stage. You were practically obsessed with one another, so it was natural that you’d want to be around him more often. 

Mark only ever saw you on the weekends; in the morning before work and right before you’d go to sleep. He’d give you gifts and write you letters to show his appreciation but there was so much more he wish he could do to explain just how grateful he was for you. Your boyfriend didn’t even notice that he started to cry until he felt your delicate fingers swiping along his cheeks. Right as you were about to say something, he reconnected your lips together and kissed you fervently. His lips were now smashed against yours; the need to have your mouth against his own was driving him crazy. 

Out of everything the two of you did in your relationship, kissing you had to be his favorite. Your boyfriend made it his duty to tell you how he thought you were a goddess and worshiped your body as though it was a holy temple every time he had the chance which was almost always. He adored your facial features and God took his time with you. Every curve, every freckle, beauty mark and birth mark—he could locate each and every single one. 

Right after your passionate love making sessions, you’d fall asleep because the two of you normally would go multiple rounds for at least two to three hours. He’d stay up and gaze at you in awe of your gorgeousness—basking in all of your beauty. 

Yeah, he was definitely whipped. 

Out of all your body parts though, your lips had to be his favorite. Well, other than your breasts, your thighs and your ass. But your lips were so cute; they were heart shaped along with being the prettiest shade of bright red. Plus, they were his own personal drug and to say your lips were addicted was an understatement. 

Once he began kissing you, there was no stopping him. It was understandable knowing that make out sessions would turn in to love making sessions not too long afterward. He couldn’t help himself. Your lips molded perfectly with his. It was as if God actually made the two of you for each other and it was a huge honor to call you his significant other. 

The older boy lifted you up on to the counter as if it was the easiest thing to do, but it wasn’t something he wasn’t used to. He didn’t even pull away to take a breath or anything, he wanted to continue kissing you—he moaned when you sucked on his bottom lip and brought it in between his teeth. When you pulled away to take a quick breather and to recollect all your sanity, your boyfriend let out the most adorable whine and placed his forehead against yours. 

“Wow—um—Hi.” You giggled softly at his choice of words but it was typical Mark to have this kind of reaction after you literally knocked the wind out of him.

“Hi.” He brought his thumb up to your bottom lip and gently glided it—giggling as you brought it in your mouth. 

“I love you. There’s nothing else I can say but that and I need you to know that the love I have for you is genuinely indescribable. There aren’t even enough words in the dictionary that can form a sentence that can describe the impact you’ve had in my life. You—you are a marvel. You are everything I could have ever wanted in a life partner and more. So much more. I know you hate it when I say this, but you are perfect. I mean it y/n. Every single thing about you is just simply perfect and I just—thank you for allowing me to be the extremely lucky person who gets to receive your love and affection on a daily basis. You’re my entire universe, you mean everything to me. You are everything to me and I will spend my entire life giving you the world on a silver platter. Today was shit, I don’t even need to go in to detail about it but it fucking sucked. I was supposed to come home to you six hours ago. Six hours—you know how much sex we could have had—ow, what? I’m deprived baby, it’s been an entire week since you got my dick wet but I’ve been fucking hard every single day. Anyways, before you give me bruises and not in the ways I would prefer, all I could do was think about you. You would think my mind would be clouded with this stupid proposal but no. My beautiful baby was all I could think about—what you were doing, what we would be doing if I didn’t work so much, how your day was so far, if you are all your meals, if you were staying hydrated, if you were thinking about me the way I can’t seem to stop thinking about you—“ He brought back some of your hair and placed it behind your ear while playfully poking your nose in the process. 

“No matter how shitty work or even just life in general can get; my whole world could shatter and I couldn’t give less of a shit. I could lose my job or get demoted back to my previous position and I wouldn’t care. They could take away my car and force us to move out of this place and I wouldn’t even bat an eye at our misfortune. I don’t need anyone or anything on this hell forsaken earth but you. You’re a need. I need you. I’m nothing without you. I think I would die of a broken heart if I were to lose you and I’m going to make sure that I never end up in a situation where you’re no longer in my life. I hope you know you are stuck with me forever. You’re the reason I wake up with the biggest grin on my face every morning. Whenever I’m feeling sad or I have no energy, I just take a look at you and I remember why I do all that I do. Why I suffer through so much unnecessary bullshit, why I don’t end up in a mental institution—I remember why my heart is always so full and feels as if it’s about to leap out of my chest. You are my reason. You and I, we have a love that people could only dream of experiencing. Fairytales can’t even compare to what we have. My bosses, they always tell me how proud they are of me and they’ll congratulate me about my hard work but I really do not give a shit about anyone else’s opinions other than yours. Oh—before I forget, I um—I bought you some flowers; they didn’t have your favorite but these ones reminded me of you and I also got strawberry cheesecake ice cream to which I’m sure is probably a milkshake now and the flowers are probably smashed but—“ 

Mark should have expected the kiss as a way to silence him and his insecurities or doubts, it was a reoccurrence whenever he talked negatively about himself or the way he did things. The way you and your boyfriend always reassured each other and complimented one another so frequently was one of the many reasons why the two of you were so perfect together. He was surprised to say the least; most of the time, he took the lead in initiating kisses or your love making sessions because he was the more dominant figure in your relationship but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have your fun every now and then. 

Slowly, his hands made their way in to his shirt that you were wearing; gliding his fingers along your hip bones and running his hands down your sides. Both your lips and his were swollen to the tenth degree. The kiss was soon growing sloppy and intense; Mark felt as though his body was on fire and he was being consumed by the flames caused by you and just your presence alone. It didn’t matter that the two of you kissed every single day, he’d get butterflies in his tummy on the daily. 

He could be on the verge of falling asleep but the second your lips are on his, Mark would get a burst of energy that he didn’t think he was physically capable of and it would last for the entirety of your late night romp. His dress pants were extremely tight at this point and the frustration he felt from work was now turned in to sexual frustration. Once he was done pouring his heart out to you, he was going to make his way inside of you. 

“Mark, you didn’t have to get me anything at all, but I’m extremely grateful. You’re so thoughtful; you sounded so tired and you could have came straight home but you didn’t. They’re beautiful—thank you. I—I’m at a loss for words. I’m still taking that all in. God, we’re so cheesy but I love it and I love you. So fucking much. Everything you just said, the way you feel about me is the exact way I feel about you. Whenever I hear someone say the word “perfect”, my mind automatically wanders off to you. One of my students actually asked about you today, wanting to know when Mr.Mark was going to visit again. I swear, those kids adore you more than they do me and they’ve only met you three times. I don’t blame them though, you’re exceptionally wonderful. I’m not going to lie, I do wish that we could see each other a lot more often. You’re one of the only sources of happiness I have in my life. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining and I’m fine with any kind of communication with you—just hearing your voice keeps me going throughout my day. But I would rather see you in person than through a phone screen during our lunch breaks. I went out with my friends the other night and they were all talking about their relationships and how it’s healthy in a relationship to go on dates frequently to keep the spark alive. I didn’t think about it until they brought it up but we haven’t been on a date in almost two months. We’re both so busy and so exhausted, so I brushed it off. I miss it though, I miss doing cute and domestic things with you. I miss how life used to be like before we entered the real world and had to start adulting. I miss seeing you smile—genuinely. I miss hearing your childlike laugh, it takes a lot more to get a reaction out of you these days but I can understand why. I just—I miss you. You’re here in my arms, yet you feel so far away. I’m sorry, I’m being selfish and I shouldn’t have said anything—“

“Y/n, you’re not being selfish at all baby. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a terrible boyfriend—don’t give me that look, you know it’s the truth. You never fail to make me and our relationship our main priority yet I can’t do the same for you and I hate sitting in my office after hours, thinking about you eating dinner by yourself or having to do errands by yourself. I hate the thought of you being alone. God—you need to know that there is nothing more I want in life than to spend every single minute by your side. I really don’t mean to be so down in the dumps all the time, I’m trying my best to not show how much work is tearing me apart because I don’t want you worrying about me. You already have so much more to worry about. I knew I was neglecting you, but hearing you describe how the distance makes you feel—I’m so fucking sorry baby and I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me apologize but I am sincerely so sorry. I can’t promise you that things will go back to the way they used to be before my promotion but I will promise you that I’ll try harder. I’ll be more involved, I will make sure you never question my feelings for you ever again. I will make sure  that you feel loved—cared for—I will take care of you the way you so diligently do for me—to the point where you will get tired of me. You know, if you want me to ask if I can return back to my previous position, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Just say the word and I’ll go back to being a researcher—“ He frowned as you shook your head in disagreement at his proposition. 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you lose the job you’ve worked so hard to receive. You’ve worked your ass off for so many years to become the extremely talented and hardworking supervisor of your division you are now. Plus, they were already working you to the bone when you were in research and you were getting paid less than even a fourth of what you are now. I’m sorry baby, I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you feeling bad that we hardly ever see each other or that your a terrible boyfriend. You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for my love. I love every single thing about you; the way you would sacrifice your food for me if I didn’t end up liking mine, the way your eyes crinkle whenever you laugh, the way you put your heart and soul in to each and every single one of your endeavors, the way I feel so safe and sound in your arms. I will admit, yes, I used to reminisce on what our life used to be like before we both grew so busy, but it’s not like we’re far apart. I know couples who barely even speak to one another and they see each other throughout the entire day. I think the distance makes our hearts grow fonder in a sense. I miss you for hours on end, but the yearning is all worth it once we go to bed together. What’s a couple of years getting to see you only a couple of hours a day when we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together—well, I mean, if that’s what you want but—“

“Don’t finish that sentence. No buts. Unless it’s yours. I swear I went over this with you many times, you’re stuck with me for eternity. I’m going to marry you one day. God, you’re so fucking wonderful. I don’t ever want to stop reminding you of how amazing you are. Those words aren’t even enough to describe how enraptured I am by you. You would think my confession of how madly in love with you I am and how I would rather die than to live in a world without you would be enough to describe just how deep my love for you goes.” 

He brought your left hand up to his mouth and kissed the tip of each and every single—letting his lips linger on your ring finger. He giggled as blush soon appeared on to your cheeks in shyness. 

“Soon. I promise you. I’ll give you the wedding and the ring of your dreams. Every single guest we invite will be able to witness the love story of a lifetime. Our love is one they’d write novels about. You and I were made for one another. Your soul and mine are one. Every beat of my heart, every breath that I take, it’s all because of you. I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle—even more so for you to take my last name. Y/n Tuan, sounds perfect to me. I’ve been secretly attaching my last name to your name since the beginning of our relationship. Even only after a month, I knew in my heart that you were the girl I wanted to settle down and start a family with. Forget seeing you in my future, you are my future. After everything you just said to me and all that you prepared for me earlier, I think I might just skip a step and give you a baby. I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby inside of you. But until then, why don’t I show you just how much I love you while I’m inside of you?”

[darling-i-read-it]

The Number of the Beast Is 666...

3x12

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism

Author’s Note: Second to last episode. I’m in my feels. I love this show so much. I hope you guys enjoy!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: The FBI enlists the help of Dr. Fredrick Chilton in hope of drawing Francis Dolarhyde into an ambush; Will's empathy for Dolarhyde impacts his psyche.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

Will sat across from Bedelia. She had her legs crossed, her stance closed. She would likely not open up to him here, not in this space. It felt too much like a therapy session for his taste. You were healing quickly but you weren’t able to make it to this mock session. Instead, Bedelia was curious to know how Will was taking this.

“I look at my wife and I see her dead. I see Mrs. Leads and Mrs. Jacobi lying where Y/N should be,” he said, his voice bitter. Bedelia nodded slowly.

“Do you see yourself killing her?” she questioned. Will rose his chin up at the accusation. 

“No. I see myself killing the rest of them,” his voice lost some confidence as he spoke that but he quickly regained it, “but not her.”

“It’s hard to predict when brittle materials will break. Hannibal gave you three years to build a family and a life, confidence he’d find a way to take them from you,” Bedelia stated. 

“So you know?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I guessed.” Bedelia thought about you as a mother. It seemed like such a foregin way to describe you but not exactly wrong. “Hannibal wants to take her from you because he couldn’t have her.” 

Will raised an eyebrow.

“Alternatively,” he suggested, “I don’t think Hannibal knew that it was going to be Y/N.” 

“But he wants her. Aggression can be effective means of maintaining order in a relationship. Which relationship that is is debatable.” Will adjusted his seating. 

“What’s he going to take from you?” he asked.

“Is it important to you that he take something from me?” she questioned.

“Hannibal has agency in the world.”

“Hannibal has no intention of seeing me dead by any other hand than his own, and only then if he can eat me. He’s in no position to eat me now,” she said smoothly. He nodded in agreement. 

“If you play, you pay.” 

“You’ve paid dearly. As has your wife. That knowledge will lie in the skin forever.” She thought about that for a moment. “It excites him to see you marked in this particular way.” 

“Why?” 

“Why do you think?” 

Will studied her, amused and almost annoyed by her psychiatric games. He played this enough with Hannibal.

“Bluebeard’s wife. Secrets you’re not to know, yet sworn to keep,” he said. Bedelia raised her chin and shook her head, ever so slightly.

“I was not Bluebeard’s wife, I was your wife’s stand in.” She paused. “But if I was, I would’ve preferred to be the last.” 

Will considered this. He thought about you. He was away from you and that seemed nearly illegal. You and him had always been together. But then he thought of Hannibal. He thought of you and Hannibal. He thought of the three of you. His mind slowed for a moment. 

“Is Hannibal…in love..with me?” he asked. Bedelia smiled.

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment in the very sight of you? Yes. But you are not just you. You come with Y/N Graham as well.” She reminisced on the days before Florence for a minute. Seemed like ages ago. “When Hannibal would hear the two of you bunched together like that he got irked, like his mind could only comprehend his want for one of you at a time. And then, as time went on, I think he realized that you came together. He could have both of you. The Grahams.” Will took this at face value. In a way, it was something he had always known. “But does she ache for him? Do you?” Will did not answer. He just stared. Bedelia went on. “Once you catch the Red Dragon, you can take your wife and your dogs home again. But will you go?” 

-

Hannibal stood across from Jack. They hated the presence of each other but stiffled it, for presence purposes. 

“Will’s thoughts are no more bound by fear or kindness than Milton’s were by physics. He is both free and damned to imagine anything.” 

“Now that he’s imagined the worst,” Jack stated. Hannibal nodded. 

“Like ducklings, we imprint on those ideas that grab our attention,” he explained.

“What’s got your attention? God, the Devil and the Great Red Dragon? I couldn’t believe you messed up with him Hannibal.” Hannibal ignored the last comment. That was an anger used to simmer for another time.

“Lest we forget the Lamb.”

“Will is the Lamb of God?” Jack asked. Hannibal thought about this for a moment. 

“Hide us from the wrath of the Lamb,” Hannibal settled on.

“Who’s ‘us’?” Jack asked. Hannibal smiled.

“You, me, his wife and the Great Red Dragon.” 

-

You walked with Alana down to Hannibal’s cage. Your shoulder ached and pained you but you ignored it as best you could. She looked at you steadily as you approached the door. 

“Have you spoken to Will?” she asked. You looked over to her.

“He doesn’t even know I’m out of the hospital. Which will hopefully not cause any panic,” you muttered offhandedly. You glanced over at her and she saw an ounce of fear in your eyes. 

“You know, when I found out I was pregnant it wasn’t exactly a shock. But I was scared. I knew the world my child was being brought into. But he’s okay now. It’ll all make sense, I swear it,” she promised. You gave her a sensitive smile and nodded softly. 

“You brought a Verger baby. I’m bringing a Graham baby who will hear conflicted stories of the great Hannibal the Cannibal. I worry that I will bring the baby here to see him, if he’s still here. And they will be raised with him in the back of their minds, always wondering what exactly went on between their parents and a serial murderer,” you whispered carefully. As you finished you turned to the door and opened it before she could say anything more. 

She let you walk through the doors alone. 

Hannibal was standing at the glass. It was like he knew you were coming but the look on his face betrayed him. He was surprised to see you. And even a bit relieved, you could tell. You walked up to just a few feet away from the glass and stopped.

“Your shoulder-”

“It’s okay,” you promised. You glanced down at the floor and noticed that all of his things were gone, including his desk and chair. Reminded of the days when Will was in prison, you tentatively sat down on the ground. 

  Hannibal watched you and stayed still for a moment. Then he sat down in front of you on the ground. You smiled gently at the gesture.

“Will told you?” 

“Yes.” You looked into his eyes. You stared into them, deep into them.

“I have a feeling that you will not be here to meet them,” you stated. “I don’t know why. I just feel like something is bound to go wrong. We will catch the Dragon and then we will go home and nothing will be the same.” Hannibal watched your emotions rise and fall. Your face that he yearned to touch. He almost reached his hand up to the glass.

“What will you name them?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. But Will is never going to allow Hannibal, if that’s what you want,” you said laughing. 

“Pity,” he said and even he was laughing a bit. “I did not tell him to hurt you.” You nodded.

“I know.” You leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it then?” 

Hannibal smiled.

-

As you walked out of the room Alana gestured to you. Apparently Jack and Will were already in the building. 

You walked into the room with Alana and Will stood up.

“I was worri-”

“You never would have let me come if I told you. How’s Bedelia?” He shook his head and grabbed you by the waist, kissing you on the forehead. It conveyed his worry. He turned back to Jack.

“Eight people dead in a month. We can’t play a long game. I say we go for it. You know I know it’s the best way to bait him,” Jack said. He didn’t even glance twice at you. 

“You know Jack, if you had wanted me dead you didn’t have to go through all these lengths to make an attempt. Bringing Will, talking to Hannibal, calling the Dragon. It was all so extensive,” you sneered. Jack gave you a look.

“We don’t have time for this.” You slammed your hands on his Alana’s desk that he was standing behind. 

“It could have been me Jack. You would’ve had to go to my funeral and sit in the front row next to my grieving husband and wonder, ‘huh could I have done something to change this outcome’. And your mind will say no and so my husband would have sat there, thinking it was his fault, for the rest of his life!” you screamed. Jack was still. He had seen you like this once before. When he arrested Will. Alana watched from where she was standing by the window, a proud look on her face.

Will was more or less scared.

“And what do you do now? What do you do now?!” you asked. “Oh yes. The only logical solution. Send Will into the fire and bait the Dragon.” 

“Will suggested i-” he started but you gave him an ice cold look.

“I don’t care.” 

“We’ve fooled ourselves once into believing we were in control of what was happening. Are we still under that delusion?” Alana asked. You turned to her and Will did as well and as he did so he staggered. He had seen something in his head. 

“The Dragon has a certain abstract curiosity about me Y/N. All psychopaths are narcissists, they love to read about themselves. We should use Freddie.” You turned to him and he saw again whatever he had seen on Alana’s face. He grabbed your arm out of instinct. 

“I’m not letting you put yourself in harm's way.”

“We’re already in harm's way. Both of us.” 

“She would need to interview you,” you said. “Take your picture.”

“We’re in it now. Can’t go home as long as he’s loose. I really bad mouth the Red Dragon in Tattlecrime and then give him a shot at me.” You turned to Jack Crawford.

“If I had to choose, it would be you giving the interview. You risking your life. You.” 

-

You sat on a desk. Will stood just in front of you, his leg touching your knee. You had your fingers wrapped around the underneath of the desk as you looked over at Freddie Lounds where she sat. Chilton was in front of her, Alana and Jack elsewhere in the room. 

“There’s a strong bonding of aggressive and sexual drives that occurs in sadists at an early age,” Chilton said. 

“He's a vicious, perverted, sexual failure. An animal,” Will stated. You stared at Will and noticed that it had caught Chilton off too. You smiled a bit at the corners of your mouth. 

“The savage acts aimed primarily at the women, and performed in the presence of family, are clearly strikes at a maternal figure.” 

“The Tooth Fairy’s the product of an incestuous home.” Freddie scribbled this down aggressively, eating it all up.

“This is the child of a nightmare.” Those words hung in the air for a moment. Freddie pressed the stop button on her recording. 

“We need a key shot taken in your ‘Washington hideaway’,” Jack said. 

“Can I flip off the camera?” you asked.

“You’re not going to be in the picture,” Will chastised. You shrugged.

“I’d love something like you in a bathrobe, at the desk, poring over an artist’s conception of the Fairy,” Freddie said, holding up an artist concept drawing of Francis. You raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll stand by the window.”

“I don’t know, the bathrobe seemed compelling to me. Maybe I’ll pick up my first copy of Tattlecrime,” you said. Will gave you a look but you just smiled. Freddie seemed to like that you agreed with her.

“Make sure you can get the fountain and the Capitol dome behind me Freddie. The Red Dragon has to be able to find this place, if he wants to,” Will finished. Freddie nodded and walked over. “Would you like to be in the picture, Frederick?” 

-

Alana slid a package through Hannibal’s cage.

“May I open it privately?” he asked.

“You may not.” 

She looked down at it as he started to open it. The box fell open to reveal two lips, no longer attached to their owner. Hannibal contained his surprise and anger. He took one between his fingers and straightened his backs.

“As though presents would allow me to forgive him,” Hannibal muttered but still, he put the lips between his own and ate it.

-

You stared at the screen in front of you. On it was Frederick Chilton, notably restrained. Beside you stood Will and at his desk was Jack Crawford. 

“I have had a great privilege. I have seen with wonder and awe the strength of the Great Red Dragon. I lied about Him. All that was said was lies from Will Graham,” Chitlon said. You straighten your back. “He made me say them. I have blasphemed against the Dragon. Even so, the Dragon is merciful. He knows you made me lie, Will Graham. Because I was forced to lie, He will be more merciful to me than to you, Will Graham.” You hated this. Every fiber of your being hated this. You wanted to turn it off but you didn’t, you needed to see the end. “Reach behind you, Will Graham, and feel for the small knobs on the top of your pelvis. Feel your spine between them; that is the precise spot where the Dragon will snap your spine. There’s much for you to dread. From my own lips, you’ll learn a little more to dread.” 

“Turn it off, Jack,” Alana said and Jack nodded, turning it off. You felt your spine all of the sudden. You were aware it was there. You felt it being tugged by a phantom force and turned to your husband, shaking your head. He stumbled back into a chair, head in his hands. 

You sat in front of him and grabbed his hands. Your skin touched his face as he held your hands there, blocking his sight. You turned to Jack Crawford. If looks could kill…

-

Bedelia looked at you two. Back again, sitting together. Your shoulder slumped but otherwise seemingly unaffected. Whatever emotional tole this may have taken, you did not show it on your face. 

Will on the other hand.

“Would you like to talk about what happened to Frederick Chilton?” she asked.

“The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished,” Will said. 

“Contrapasso. If you play, you pay,” she repeated. 

“Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face and now, he doesn’t have one,” you said. 

“We’re all making our way through the Inferno. Dante’s pilgrims,” Bedelia siad.

“We’re pets, not pilgrims. And the Great Red Dragon kills pets first,” Will muttered.

“I hate that name. I wish we knew his actual name so we could call it so. It must be something mundane, something so unassuming,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“You put a hand on Dr. Chilton’s shoulder for the picture Will. Touch gives the world an emotional context.” She gestured to the hand that was brushing yours. Not holding. Just touching. “The touch of others makes us who we are. It builds trust.”

“I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity,” Will argued. You felt that wasn’t true but you didn’t say it. 

“To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?” Bedelia questioned.

“I wonder,” Will muttered. 

“Do you really have to wonder?” she questioned. He paused.

“No.”

“Did you know what the Great Red Dragon would do Will? You were curious what would happen, that’s apparent. Is this what you expected?” Will was glad you were there. He grabbed your hand fully.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“Then you may as well have struck the match. That’s participation.” She studied the two of you. “Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has both of you.”

-

“He did Chilton like it looked like you did Freddie Lounds. Hannibal said he would, in his own way,” Jack muttered. They stood outside of where Chilton was being taken care of, you beside him and Will. 

“He wanted to make amends to Hannibal,” Will said. You crossed your arms.

“He’ll have to do better than that.” Jack walked inside of the room but before Will walked in you grabbed his arm. 

“I hate this. I have a pit in my stomach and it won’t go away,” you whispered. He faced you completely and put his hand on your cheek, moving away some hair. 

“That’s a baby,” he joked. You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I mean a feeling Will.” 

“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” 

You didn’t believe him.

3x13

[fiftyyearfilms]

50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘—but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post: 

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001. 

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011. 

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

----

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[wr1ter-reader-dreamer]

Waiting (Pt. 1)

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

A/N: This story is an original work of fiction inspired by actors I like. If you like it too, please reblog it and leave a comment. Also check out some of my other works at my master list linked below. I welcome feedback, so let me know how I could make my posts better! Thanks, and enjoy <3 

Masterlist

Part 2  -  Part 3

He had been away filming for months, and it was hard. We had gotten by with late night phone calls and Facetimes, but it was obvious how much we missed each other. Usually I was able to take time off to spend a week or two wherever he was filming, but not this time. This time the director had requested no outside guests, hoping that it would keep everyone focused so they could finish as fast as possible. Never before had I hated his job as much as I did now, but it was his passion, so I tried not to show it.

The calls and Facetimes had been innocent at first. We would end almost every night with a summary of our days, a statement about how much we missed each other, and a declaration of love. Days where we knew we would be too busy to call would see numerous Snapchats with short captions about whatever we were thinking at the moment. Everything was going fine the first month, but then everything changed.

I had been having a particularly hard day at work when I got a text from Timothee to check his Instagram. Curious, I immediately clicked open the app and looked for his most recent post. What I saw had my body instantly heating up.

The picture was a first look of Timmy’s character in the movie. He was dressed in period garb with black leather pants and chainmail. His hair was cut shorter than usual, and he was looking off camera with a serious look on his face. The image radiated power and authority, a look I usually only saw from Timmy in bed.

Sucking in a deep breathe, I attempted to rein in my racing heart. I didn’t bother texting him back, knowing he would see that I had liked the post and that he would know what it had done to me. For now, I tried desperately to focus on my work until I could get home and show him exactly how much I had liked the picture.

That night our FaceTime hadn’t been so innocent. Instead we both showed each other just how much we had missed the other with lowly spoken words of praise and need. After that, all of our conversations had an underlying, if nor outright, sexual tones. It was obvious that we needed each other in a more carnal way that neither of us were bothering to hide.

It was no surprise really that we had come to this. Timothee and I had always had a very active sex life, and that didn’t change just because he was away filming. After almost two years together, we knew all of the alternative ways of getting each other off. If anything, it was surprising that we hadn’t started this earlier.

We continued like this for two months, our calls now ending with breathless “I love you’s” after we were both temporarily satisfied. Neither of us was a stranger to the fact that the tension and sexual frustration was building the longer he was away. I needed him, and he needed me, and the last day of filming could not come fast enough.

Just when I thought I would die from frustration, Timmy announced in an excited call that he would be him in two days. Bubbling with anticipation, I prepared for his arrival. I re-stocked the fridge with all his favorites, changed the sheets on the bed so he could crawl into fresh ones, and even bought a new set of lingerie that I knew he would love.

I took off of work the day he was set to arrive, knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus. Instead I set my focus on preparing for tonight. Timmy’s plane would arrive relatively late, and I knew he would be hungry, so I made his favorite dinner. I also took a shower, shaved, and put on the lingerie under now of his oversized t-shirts so that I was prepared for desert. It was a tradition to spend our first night back together relieving all of our built up tension, no matter how late he got in. 

Finally, I got the text that he had landed and was in a car on his way home. Squealing, I set out dinner on our small table and went to the entry hall to wait. I knew that it would take a while for him to arrive, but I was to excited to do anything else. I had missed my sweet boy more than I ever could have imagined, and I was so happy to finally get to be in his arms again.

Lost in my thoughts about his soft smile and fluffy brown hair, I almost missed the sound of the key turning in the lock. Still, there was no way I could miss the door swinging open to reveal my handsome boyfriend, a large yet tired smile on his face.

“Timmy!” I squealed, rushing into his arms and almost knocking him over in the processes.

He laughed and dropped the bags in his hands so he could wrap his arms around me, “Hi, mon amour.”

Eagerly I pulled back from the hug only to connect my lips with his in a frantic kiss. Pushing up on my toes, I tangled my fingers in the base of his now grown out curls and tugged lightly. He growled, returning my kiss briefly before pulling away with a quick peck.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he sighed as he smoothed his thumbs over my cheeks and looked at me, “I almost forgot how beautiful you are.”

Rolling my eyes, I nipped playfully at his thumb before stepping away entirely, “I made you dinner.”

“I can smell that,” he smiled, hand trailing down my arm to my own so as to not loose contact. After so long away he didn’t want to let me go for a second, and I was perfectly fine with that. 

I bent down to pick up his bags as I said, “Why don’t you get started, and I’ll take these to our room?”

“Merci, mon cher. Hurry back, though. I miss you.”

Smiling, I nodded. I quickly took his bags to our room and deposited them in our closet before glancing in the mirror. Briefly, I fluffed my hair and smiled, then made my way back to where Timothee was tucking into dinner.

“How was your flight, handsome?” I asked as I sat beside him and tangled my fingers with those of his free hand.

Taking a moment to chew and swallow his bite, he shrugged, “Long and boring. This is really good.”

“You should know by now that I can cook when I want to,” I teased playfully.

He rolled his eyes with a smile, “But you prefer when I do it.”

I shrugged, “Not my fault those French grandparents of yours taught you so well.”

With a laugh and a shake of his head, he reached for the glass of wine by his plate. I watched mesmerized as his long fingers wrapped atone the simple glass and brought it to his lips. His soft lips curled around the rim, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed a large gulp. Then he returned the glass to its place by his plate, and my eyes lingered on his hand.

He had such nice hands. Long fingers, wide palm, perfect for curling inside me or pinning my hands above my head when I was naughty. Instantly my body heated uo, reminding me just how long I had gone without those hands on me.

Timmy must have noticed my gaze because he sighed. Blushing at having been caught, I looked up at him to find an apologetic look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked with a slight frown.

He sighed again and turned slightly to rest his arm on my shoulder and play with the ends of my hair, “I’ve had a really long day, mon amour, and I have to be up really early for a photoshoot tomorrow.”

“So?”

“Baby,” he said softly, abandoning my hair and cupping my cheek, “I can’t tonight.”

“Oh,” I said dejectedly.

“I’m sorry, amour. I know how much we’ve both been looking forward to this, but I need to get some sleep.”

Plastering a small smile on my face, I shook my head, “It’s alright Timmy. I understand, and I can wait.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning down slightly to catch my eye.

“Of course.”

He smiled and pulled me into a big, “Je t’aims, douce fille. Merci.”

“I love you too, Timmy. So much”

And that was how we broke tradition for the first time. Timothee finished his dinner then took a shower while I cleared the table. When I was done, I got ready for bed, making sure that he didn’t see my disappointment. I knew that his job was important, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad. I hadn’t lied. I did understand, and it was fine. I was perfectly capable of waiting. I just didn’t realize how long I’d have to wait.

A/N: There are a second and third part to this, so make sure to hit the link above to read them! And if you’d like to read more of my work, make sure to check out my masterlist, also linked above.

[swanlake1998]

Pointe Magazine Article: Chloé Lopes Gomes Speaks Out About Racial Harassment at Staatsballett Berlin

By: Chloé Lopes Gomes As Told To Laura Cappelle

Date: December 1, 2020

(tw: racism, anti black racism, abuse)

In November, the French dancer Chloé Lopes Gomes went public with accusations of institutional racism against Staatsballett Berlin, first reported by the German magazine Der Spiegel. In the article, several anonymous dancers confirm her account. Lopes Gomes, 29, who trained in Marseille and at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy, danced for the Ballet de l'Opéra de Nice and Béjart Ballet Lausanne before joining Staatsballett Berlin as a corps de ballet member in 2018, under then co-directors Johannes Öhman and Sasha Waltz. After the company told her in October that her contract, which ends in July, would not be renewed, she shared her story with Pointe.

I didn't know I was the first Black female dancer at Staatsballett Berlin when I joined the company in 2018. I learned that from German journalists who came to interview me almost immediately. I grew up in a mixed-race family—my mother was French, my father from Cape Verde—and I was educated to believe that we all have the same opportunities.

My brother and my sister also went to prestigious dance schools [her brother, Isaac Lopes Gomes, is now a dancer with the Paris Opéra Ballet], and I didn't really think about my skin color while I was training. I spent four years at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy. I didn't necessarily feel safe in the streets in Russia because people stared at me, but I was still awarded scholarships and my teacher loved me.

I quickly realized that auditions and company life were a different story. The day after my audition in Berlin, in early 2018, one particular ballet mistress told a colleague of mine in the company that she didn't think the Staatsballett should hire me because a Black woman in a corps de ballet isn't aesthetically pleasing. This ballet mistress was in charge of the corps, and for over two years, she discriminated against me because of my skin color.

That colleague warned me before I started, but I was hopeful I would also work with other ballet masters. No such luck: I was under her supervision 90 percent of the time, and we started with Swan Lake. I was one of six new women, and the ballet mistress immediately took a dislike to me. She bombarded me with corrections, and when the premiere arrived, she told me that all the women needed to color their skin with white powder. I told her that I would never look white, and she replied: "You'll just put on more powder than the others."

I spoke to Johannes [Öhman, co-artistic director at the time], who decided I should stay as I was. The ballet mistress took the fact that I went to him as an affront, as if I'd undermined her authority, and she started saying overtly racist things.

Since I didn't speak German and she didn't speak English, we communicated in Russian initially, so my colleagues didn't understand when she would say casually: "You're not in line and that's all we see because you're Black." And then, when she was handing out the Shades' veils for La Bayadère, she got to me and laughed, in front of other dancers: "I can't give you one: The veil is white and you're Black."

I again told Johannes, who said it was unacceptable but explained to me that she had a lifetime contract, which means you're untouchable in Germany. Johannes asked if I wanted him to talk to her, and I said no, because I was worried it would get even worse.

I was so anxious and unwell that I ended up with a metatarsal fracture. I should have been back after two months, but six months later, I was still in pain, and the doctors didn't know why—until a neurologist told me it was linked to stress and prescribed antidepressants. Suddenly, the pain went away completely.

Johannes left Staatsballett Berlin abruptly last January. On the day he announced it, the ballet mistress told me that now I was going to have to use white powder. I ran into the current interim director, Christiane Theobald, in a hallway while in makeup for Swan Lake. She asked why I had whitened my skin and said that I wasn't supposed to do it, but the ballet mistress was in charge of rehearsals and didn't leave me much choice. I felt like the company's ugly little duckling.

This ballet mistress also had me and a few colleagues re-create a painting of a Black dancer surrounded by white dancers. When I asked what the photo was for, she said she wanted to show her friends that they had "one of those" too in the company, as if I were a zoo animal.

My colleagues didn't want to take the picture, but there is an atmosphere of fear in the dance world. The ballet masters are the ones who are in the studio with us all the time, who hold the keys to our evolution. If you're on a one-year or two-year contract, it's very easy for the company not to renew it, whereas some ballet masters are employed for life. They're more privileged than even some directors, and that creates a power imbalance: We should be on an equal footing contract-wise.

The Staatsballett doesn't have a safe way to report discrimination or harassment, and there was still blackface in the repertoire when I joined. In Nutcracker, some children were required to paint their faces black, while I stood in the corps behind them.

I was called to a pre-dismissal meeting with Christiane Theobald in October. She did not dance professionally, so she said she relied on the ballet masters' advice. I was told that they needed to let some dancers go due to COVID, and that I would be happier in a smaller company, because I hadn't been onstage much. I explained why that was, and what had happened to me. She admitted it was terrible but said my race wasn't the reason they were firing me.

I know I was fired because I'm Black. From the beginning, I didn't stand a chance. Christiane Theobald is part of an old-fashioned system: She has worked for the company's administration since 2004, and she let me go even after I told her about the racism I encountered. My contract runs through July 31: I've been cast in reduced, COVID-friendly versions of Giselle and Swan Lake and I still want to work.

There is still this idea in the ballet world that you have to suffer to make it. We—the younger generation—can't accept that anymore. Ballet must reflect society. I don't want to be abused just to be able to dance. I want to be happy in my life, not just when I step onstage.

Editor's note: In a statement to Pointe, Theobald, who cannot comment on personnel matters, says that an internal investigation into Lopes Gomes' allegations is underway, and that the company plans to conduct antiracism training and workshops for all employees. "I am sorry to see that there is an employee at the Staatsballett Berlin who had to endure a very stressful situation for a long time and that the situation could not be resolved beforehand. Discrimination and racism is a highly sensitive issue that is of importance to society as a whole, including the Staatsballett Berlin. It is very important to me to live a discrimination-free corporate culture and to implement it where it does not yet exist 100 percent."

[ourimpavidheroine]

You've given us your favorite records, so how about your favorite movies?

Okay, sure! Under a cut though, because it’s long.

In no particular order!

Strictly Ballroom (1992)

Oh my god, one of the funniest movies ever made. Every single thing about this movie makes me laugh out loud - in fact, I laughed so loud in the theater when I saw it the first time I’m surprised they didn’t kick my ass out. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched and re-watched it. My late wife and I used to quote this film back and forth to each other all the time. 

“Arms, Clary!”

“That was unexpected.”

“I’ve got my happy face on today!”

There’s a lovely little romance going on and a quote that I live by:

A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

Thank you, Baz Luhrmann. 

Bringing Up Baby (1938)

Screwball comedy romance with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. Still funny, over 80 years later. Mistaken identities, a harrassed archeologist and a clueless rich girl, so on and so forth. If you watch it, you will see shades of Wu and Sayuri in Susan, for sure. (And some Zu in David.) The comedic timing of this movie is sheer and utter perfection. Not a single beat wasted. Brilliant, the entire thing.

Moonstruck (1987)

God, what isn’t there to love about this movie? CHER. A woman coming up on middle age who has settled into widowhood without a whimper decides to marry a man she’s fond of for no other reason than she thinks she should meets the fiance’s younger brother and her entire life goes, as her Italian Catholic mother says in the middle of church, “...down the toilet.” This movie was handled with so much love and care, it deserved its Oscars. If you’ve never seen it, you should.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

I saw this movie the one and only time I visited the States after I moved to Finland. I had left my wife here in Finland but had my 20 month old autistic twins along and my mother was being beyond horrible to me and I was exhausted and just wanted to go home. There was one afternoon where my favorite uncle came to me, gave me his car, and told me he was going to watch the kids and for me to go out and have a breather. I decided to see a movie - I can’t remember which one - but the paper had gotten the time wrong and it had already started by the time I got there. I asked the woman selling tickets what she recommended that was coming up and she very fervently told me to go and see this one.

Still one of the best movies I have ever seen. The acting is so subtle, so beautiful, and the scenery! The ending broke me, just shattered me into a million pieces. Years later, when my wife died, I knew exactly that feeling of desperately wanting to go back in time and somehow do it all right and all I can say is, both Michelle Yeoh and Zhang Ziyi get all of my love forever for doing it the way they did.

I bought it when it finally came out on DVD with English subtitles and I made my late wife watch it with me and she sobbed at the end and told me I was cruel for making her watch it. (Guess what, babe? You were crueler for making me live it.)

The Handmaiden (2016)

Normally I am not all that keen on books being made into movies. I fucking loved Sarah Waters’ Fingersmith and wasn’t sure about it being taken out of its Victorian England setting into 1930′s Korea but oh my god I have never been happier to have been proved wrong in my life. THIS FILM. Listen, it is one of those rare times when a book and an adaptation can stand next to each other, equally as good, equally as strong, despite the differences. There is so much to unpack about women’s experiences with sex and how that compares to how men dictate those experiences to them and the movie never drops the ball with this. Frankly, I had seen Oldboy and Snowpiercer (among others) and I really did not think Park Chan-wook had it in him and shame on me for that.

Warning: this movie is HOT.

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

This is a damn good movie. Charlize Theron elevates anything she is in, and as Furiosa - dirty, grim, disabled, clinging on to tattered hope with desperation - she just takes this film to another level. Plenty of other good performances - including Tom Hardy, who’s never afraid to drop himself into a role - and some frankly astonishing editing work by Margaret Sixel as well as a male director who understands, deeply, how to film women without subjecting them to the male gaze. This is not a schlock film, despite the franchise it belongs in. It’s good.

I saw this film the night before my wife died; the last time I spoke to her on the phone I told her that I’d take her with me to see it again, I knew she’d like it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to separate this film from that loss, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Still wish you could have seen it, babe. You would have loved it.

The Great Race (1965)

Is this a great movie? Not critically speaking, although Jack Lemmon is brilliant, as he almost always is. Rather, it was a movie my father and I loved together, and I have so many good memories of watching it with him whenever it would play on TV (these were the years before VHS even, never mind Netflix) and eating popcorn and laughing together.

We loved the huge pie fight scene so much that on my 16th birthday my father bought 3 dozen store bought pies, defrosted them and/or baked them (with the help of our neighbor, who was in on the secret) and he woke me up that morning, told me to get dressed and come outside, and he got me with a pie to the face right as I walked out the door and the two of us chased each other, throwing and dodging pies, making an unholy mess, slipping and sliding all over our deck and driveway, stumbling and laughing hysterically.

It is one of the best memories in my life. How many other girls can say their fathers gave them a pie fight for their sweet sixteen? This movie makes me laugh and, more importantly, remember my father with so much love.

The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

I did love all three of these films. Were they perfect? No. (I am still salty about Faramir’s entire movie arc and the fact that Merry was just Pippin 2.0 instead of the distinct character he was in the books.) But they were made with so much love and heart by people who loved and cared deeply for the source material. And they were astonishing in scope as well. Just glorious to see in the theater.

I first read those books when my father lent me his copies when I was eight and they were a vital part of my growing up; to see Peter Jackson and his entire cast and crew love them as much as I did was genuinely special for me.

The other two films are just as good with some astonishing moments (Billy Boy’s last minute song in The Return of the King still gives me goosebumps) but this was the first one, and just remembering holding my wife’s hand as we both gasped together over the scope of it was a memory I will keep with me always.

When my wife and I went to see this one here in Finland I was pregnant with my twins and I was like, oh my god, please die already Boromir because were twins on my bladder and I knew if I didn’t get to a toilet soon it was going to be all over. (It was a long movie without a pee break for a pregnant person, let me just say.) I was never happier for a tragic end to a movie in my life, LOL.

The Matrix (1999)

Dude. Dude. Just the concept of this movie. The Wachowski sisters have never limited themselves and that’s what makes them so different and so exciting. One of the greats of Sci Fi and, as far as I am concerned, one of the greats bar none. Yeah sure, I know it isn’t a critical darling but lord, I am not a film critic, just someone who loves movies. And I love this one. 

(And excuse you, Elon and the rest of you alt-right men’s groups, you dicks, for appropriating the whole blue/red pill thing: it’s a concept from two trans sisters, so fuck right off with that.)

My best friend, who saw it with me the first time (I took my late wife to see it later in the year when she arrived in the States) laughed at the whole little kid with spoon scene. That’s like listening to you, she said. I never know what is going to come out of your mouth or whether I’ll understand it in the moment but it will eventually make sense to me. Which pretty well sums me up, I think. And this movie as well.

The Piano (1993)

There is a moment, in this gorgeous, deeply beautiful, aching film, where Harvey Keitel fingers a small hole in Holly Hunter’s stocking and it is the most erotic heterosexual thing I have ever seen. Trust a woman director to understand why women would love this. There’s Harvey Keitel’s character: older, soft around the middle, barely literate, covered with traditional facial tattoos. He’s nobody’s idea of hot. But he understands what this woman in particular needs, understands what she is telling him without words, and that’s what he gives her and it is erotic beyond measure. It’s not about what he looks like; it’s about how he understands her.

Holly Hunter does this movie without speaking a single word or getting any subtitles and short of a few brief translations by Anna Paquin playing her young daughter still manages to express herself. It’s brilliant acting. (And look, I know - today we’d look for an actress who was mute to play the role, and rightfully so. It still doesn’t take away from Hunter’s performance.)

Ada drowned in the original script but Jane Campion changed it at the last minute when filming and it was the right choice. The absolute right choice. Ada deserves her freedom and her chance to pursue her own happiness.

[rhetoricalrogue]

Untitled angst for your Thursday evening.  A slight re-writing of the post-Carnival Operation events, featuring Adam and my Detective Aubrey.

Aubrey’s key slid into the lock and she leaned against the doorframe, hand hovering over the doorknob.  There was something unsaid between her and Adam, and she chewed her lip while trying to figure out how to broach the subject.

“You’re tense,” he commented, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat.  “Is it about...your friend?”

She closed her eyes at the tone that he used.  Do you have feelings for her? “I don’t regret telling you all that Bobby and I have a past,” she started slowly, turning to face him and raising her chin high. No, I do not.  “But please don’t use that tone when speaking about him.”

She watched as his mouth curled downwards into a deep frown.  “Are you worried about him?”

“It would be heartless of me not to be worried.”  She took a deep breath.  “Do you have time to come inside?”

The frown never shifted from his face, but he nodded.  “It would be wise to check your apartment for dangers,” he agreed, following her in as she opened her door and dropped her keys into the little ceramic dish shaped like a fox that sat on her entryway table.  Her boots came off next, then her coat.  Walking around in her socks, she took stock of her living room - sofa moved over, the easy chair next to it overturned, her coffee table on its side and all the contents that had once sat upon it strewn out nearby - and made her way into her kitchen to fill up her electric kettle.  Aubrey grabbed her favorite mug and plopped two bags of peppermint tea inside it before adding a generous dollop of honey and several spoonfuls of sugar.

“I very nearly married Robert Marks,” she started, her normally quiet voice sounding loud in the silent apartment.  She watched as Adam paused in righting her furniture, his movements deliberate as he placed things back where they belonged from memory.  A small part of her had to wonder if his precise movements were to keep himself from breaking any more furniture, or if something of hers would join Nate’s end table before this conversation was over.  “We dated for almost ten years and lived together for eight of them.”

“Apparently that did not come to be.” 

She flipped off the kettle as it finished its heating cycle and added the water into her mug.  “No, it didn’t.”

“What happened?”

Aubrey made her way over to the sofa and curled one leg underneath her.  She flexed her left foot, the same foot Adam knew had been injured to the point of her retiring early from her career as a dancer.  “I met Bobby during an interview.  At the time, he was a reporter for a prestigious Arts and Entertainment magazine in the city and was doing an article on the rising stars of the dance world.  As one of those up and coming dancers, we sat down at a cafe for our interview.  That interview turned into an invitation for lunch, and then a dinner date the next week.”  She cupped her mug in her hands and held it to her chest, not so much to drink it, but more for the warmth it provided.  “I was new to the city, I didn’t know anyone beside the people I’d made friends with in my company, and here was this charming guy, paying attention to me and making me feel like the most important person in the world.  I was young and impressionable.”

Adam moved away from the furniture and strode towards the windows, his hands pushing aside the gauzy white curtains as he checked for damage to the glass.  “You loved him.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I did.  I loved him very much.”

“And yet you’re not with him.  Why?”

She frowned and set her mug down on the coffee table.  “Because he didn’t love me.”  She twisted her fingers in her lap.  “Don’t get me wrong, I think he liked me, and he never treated me poorly, but he didn’t love me the way that I loved him.  The way that I wanted someone to love me.”

She stared at the space between the sofa and the chairs, swallowing thickly as she remembered how Bobby had fallen, the blue and white swirls of whatever disease the intruders had infected him with spreading over his handsome features.  “He was going to propose to me.  I found the ring while I was packing up his stuff.”  She gave a bitter laugh.  “It was gaudy as hell, but oh, I would have worn it proudly.”

“Why did you leave him?”

“I didn’t.  He left me.”  She reached over and picked up the mug again, this time taking a sip.  “When I was the principal dancer, I opened so many doors that were otherwise closed to him.  Want an interview with a director? Aubrey can organize it.  Tickets to see an opera for free, with backstage access?  My reputation and connections could arrange it.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was using me to further his career.  And then when I got hurt…” Her breath hitched and she curled further into herself.

“He cut his losses.”

She nodded.  “Without his meal ticket opening doors for him, he needed to find someone else.  That someone else just so happened to be a stage actress too new to the scene to know he was already taken.  My friends tried to warn me, but I wasn’t worried.  I was convinced that she was another of his close friends.”  Tears prickled at her eyelids and she angrily scrubbed them away.  “I was so stupid.  At least he had the decency to stay with me while I recovered from surgery, even if that meant he was sleeping behind my back for the better part of a month before he finally went you were my well of info, but now that well’s run dry.  No hard feelings, Aubs.”

Adam clenched his hands into fists at his sides.  “He didn’t deserve you.”

“I know that now.  Didn’t make it hurt any less then.  I just lost the one thing I was most passionate about and then the man I was ready to spend the rest of my life with all in the span of a few weeks. I had to get out, so I packed my belongings and came home.  I wasn’t sleeping at night, so volunteering for the night clerk position at the station felt like I was at least doing something productive instead of wallowing in grief.  I liked it so much that I enrolled in police academy training, and the rest is history.”

He seemed to hesitate, but eventually sat down on the edge of the sofa next to her.  “I understand why you’re upset about him now,” he said.  “I apologize for making light of your worry.”

“Thank you, Adam.”  Aubrey took another deep breath before turning so she was facing him.  “You should know by now that I respect you.  And you should also know by now that I...have feelings for you.  Feelings that I haven’t allowed myself to feel for anyone in the past four years.  I want to be as open with you as I can, which is why I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

She twisted her fingers again and pressed her lips tightly together, almost as if she could keep the words she was about to say at bay.  “Before the attack, I kissed Bobby.  Had we not been interrupted, I probably would have slept with him if he had asked.”

Adam paused for the briefest of seconds as he let what she just said sink in before he shot up from the sofa.  “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that if...when Bobby wakes up, it’s the first thing out of his mouth!  I wanted to tell you first so it wouldn’t come as a shock.”

“Why would it even shock me, Detective?”  His arms were crossed in front of him almost as a shield to deflect whatever she said next.

“Because of whatever,” she gestured towards him.  “This is between us!”

“There is -”

“No.” she stood up and faced him, her arms stiff at her sides.  “I heard you talk with Nate tonight.  He can tell, just as I can that you feel something for me.  The carnival?  That picture?  Adam, that was real.  You can’t stand here and tell me otherwise.”

He sneered.  “If it was so real, then why were you so willing to sleep with your ex-lover tonight?”

“Because I was upset!  Jesus, Adam, I just…” she ran her fingers through her short hair, pulling at the strands in frustration.  “To hear you say that you felt nothing for me hurt, then for Bobby to show up when I needed someone the most...Look, I know it was wrong and I know that I would have regretted it tomorrow, but I’m so fucking tired of having something I want dangled in front of me only to be pushed aside and I wanted someone to touch me, someone to want me, even for only a moment.”

She stared up at Adam through blurred vision, willing the tears welling in her eyes to stay where they were, even as her lip trembled with each breath.  Those green eyes of his were cold, like flecks of glass, and her heart broke at the fact that she had been the one to dash any hopes of maybe someday being with him.  “The apartment is secure,” she said hoarsely, breaking eye contact.  “I’ll be fine by myself.”

Adam gave a slow nod before taking a step away from her.  “Lock the door,” he said quietly.  “I don’t want...it would be inadvisable to leave it unsecured.”

She silently nodded, hands clutching at the sleeves of her sweater.  How was it that only a few hours ago, she’d been so happy?  Aubrey followed him to the door, turning the deadbolt and the lock below it before pressing her palms to the door and looking out the peephole.  Adam was standing in the middle of the hall, his face to the door.  She watched as he raised a hand as if to knock, but then paused, letting his hand fall back to his side before slowly turning away.

Something hot slid down her cheek and she pressed her forehead against the wood, finally letting herself cry.  She let out a shaky breath, swearing that it felt as if someone was on the other side of her door, palms pressed just inches away from hers.

She was too much of a coward to look to see if it was the case.  Instead, she turned away and crawled into bed still in her street clothes, the blankets wrapping around her as she curled into a ball and fell into a restless, yet blessedly dreamless, sleep.

[tinydooms]

Hi. I just love your stories. They are very well written and I can actually imagine the characters doing that. Can you write a story on Evy coming back to library and arranging it after Imhotep's death and Rick helping her out with that. I always wondered about that but couldn't find anything written in it.

Thank you! I’m so glad you like my stories; that is the best compliment a writer can get! I’ve had a go at your prompt. It turned out rather longer than I’d anticipated. I hope you like it!

A Bit of a Mess in the Library

Cairo, November 1922

“Wow!”

“Oh, please don’t,” Evie said crossly, unpinning her hat and tossing it down on a table. “I told you it was bad.”

Rick stood in the doorway, eyes wide as he stared around the wreckage of the library. “You told me you made a ‘huge mess’. This is a lot more than a huge mess!”

Evie sighed. In her absence, Mohammed, Abdul, and Bob had at least righted the bookshelves, all eighteen of them, but the books and papers and periodicals themselves were still scattered willy-nilly around the room. In a way it was a blessing--any attempt by an untrained layperson would make even more a hash of the categories and alphabetization--but it was also a damned nuisance. Looking at it with fresh eyes, she could see why Dr. Bey had simply locked the doors in her absence and cursed her for breathing. 

It was Evie’s first day back at work after their misadventure at Hamunaptra. Rick had offered to walk her to work, ambling along beside her as they took the tram out of Zamalek into the center of Cairo and walked the last few streets to the Museum of Antiquities. He was looking quite dashing, if Evie thought so herself, in a suit of soft dark blue twill and a brown homburg and Evie was proud to have him on her arm. Still, she had felt a twinge of worry as she unlocked the library door. She had warned Rick about the mess, but seeing it now and seeing his wide eyes, shame flooded her and she turned away. 

“Hey,” Rick said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not broken beyond repair, right? We can fix it.”

“Yes,” Evie said forlornly. “But one does feel a real prat for causing this in the first place.”

“How did you do it?”

Evie pointed to the ladder on the floor under the books and narrated her attempts at shelving, her thoughtless accident. Rick listened, biting his lip, his face going through a series of extortions. When she finished, he gave a great shout of laughter and put his hands on her shoulders. 

“Evelyn Carnahan,” he said, grinning, “you are a firecracker.” 

He kissed her forehead and Evie relaxed, grinning sheepishly. 

“I suppose that’s one word for it. Anyway, you mustn’t tell Professor and Mrs. Emerson what happened.”

“Of course not.” Rick shrugged his jacket off and slung it over the back of a chair. “We’ll let them think the mob got to it.”

“Oh God, can you imagine?” Evie shuddered. She knew what happened to libraries when angry people got to them. 

“Yeah.” Rick shook his head, rolling up his sleeves. Really, he had wonderful forearms, and such lovely hands. Evie almost didn’t hear his next question. “Where should we begin?”

“Um.” She looked around. “The A’s, I suppose. Yes, the A’s. Let’s start by just putting the books on the shelves in their appropriate sections. If you see anything that looks bent or damaged, put it on the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They set to work, hefting books up into the shelves, working by author and subject. Really, it wasn’t difficult work, just time consuming and quite labor intensive. Evie watched Rick out of the corner of her eye as he slotted books back into the heavy oak shelves. He handled them gently, respectfully, occasionally pausing to read a title or look at the cover. It still amazed Evie that he was here at all, that he liked her--loved her--well enough to stay; that he was happy to take direction from her and content to work alongside her. The work went so much faster with two hands. 

“Were you going to do all of this yourself?” Rick asked after a while. 

Evie, halfway up the bookshelf on the step ladder, leaned down to take a couple of books from him. “Ideally I have assistants, but they’ve all swanned off to Luxor to see Howard Carter’s new find. I may ask Mrs. Emerson if she knows anyone willing to help. She knows everyone.”

“She’s the acting director’s wife, right?” That was the other thing about Rick that still amazed Evie: he listened to what she said and remembered it. 

“That’s right; Amelia P. Emerson. She’s very efficient; she’s the one who helped us the most after my parents--well. In any case, she’ll likely be able to rustle up some help.”

Rick smiled up at her. “Can she rustle up some sliding ladders that we can bolt to the shelves? It’s no wonder that everything fell over if you’re only using a sliding ladder to reach the high shelves. You should at least have an A-frame.”

“I’ll put it on my list,” Evie said, smiling. 

After a while they stopped for tea, made in the kettle in Evie’s tiny cupboard of an office. They had made good progress, finishing up the A’s and B’s, heading onto the C’s. Still, it would take at least a week to get everything off of the floor, and longer to reorganize and alphabetize. Rick leaned his elbows on the table as Evie spoke, scribbling notes on a pad of paper. 

“--and I’ll need to have a look at the card catalogue while I’m at it; it was due for an update even before all this,” she finished. She rubbed her brow between the eyes. “Oh dear, it’s all too much, isn't it? I can do it, but it will take forever.”

Rick spun the pad of paper around. “The way I see it, we need at least six other guys helping us, maybe eight. It took the two of us about an hour to re-shelve one side, right? So if we have five teams of two, including us, working to stick everything back into place, we could feasibly have everything put away by the end of the week. And then you get some actual librarians in, some assistants, and work your magic putting everything in order.”

Evie looked at the paper. Rick had drawn a small diagram of the bookshelves, and the teams at each. A little of her overwhelm subsided. His plan was very pragmatic. Then his words registered--including us--and she looked up at him. 

“Do you mean to say that you want to come every day and help me with this?” 

Surprise passed over Rick’s face. “Yeah, if you want me to. I’ve never worked in a library but I’m pretty good at cleaning up.”

“You darling!” Evie said. “May I kiss you?”

For a little while they were quiet, nuzzling each other, Evie’s arms around Rick’s neck. Really, he was the loveliest man, the most attentive, the nicest--

“Evelyn?” came a voice from the library proper, and they parted, reluctantly. 

“Here I am,” Evie called, straightening her collar as she went back out into the disheveled space. 

Mrs. Emerson stood in the doorway, looking about her with no small degree of amazement. In her seventies, she had thick grey hair and a permanent sun-tan, rewards of a life spent excavating alongside her husband. Evie had idolized her as a child; now, Mrs. Emerson’s respect and lifelong support were deeply cherished. 

“Good Gad, my dear, what happened in here? It looks as though someone knocked the whole thing down! I warned Dr. Bey that he needed different bookshelves and sturdier ladders.”

“Er,” said Evie, astonished. “I’m afraid that’s almost exactly what happened.”

Mrs. Emerson shook her head. “Curse it; we must order in some rolling ladders.”

“That’s what I said,” Rick said. 

The two women looked at him, standing there in the doorway to Evie’s office, his shirtsleeves rolled up, the very picture of manly beauty. Mrs. Emerson’s eyebrows rose; she darted a curious glance at Evie. 

“I don’t believe I know you, Mr…?”

“This is Rick O’Connell,” Evie hastened to introduce him. “He was our guide out to Hamunaptra and now he’s...now--” 

How did she describe Rick to someone like Mrs. Emerson, who was well-known to be both fiercely feminist and entirely devoted to her husband? Lover was not the right word for that proud Victorian, nor was it the correct term, yet boyfriend seemed so casual. 

“I’m Evelyn’s assistant,” Rick said. “Can I offer you some tea, Mrs. Emerson?”

Mrs. Emerson looked between the two of them, her gaze turning humorous. “Thank you, Mr. O’Connell. Their guide out to Hamunaptra, were you? And did you find anything?”

Evie and Rick glanced at each other. “Yes,” Evie said, “rather too much, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Emerson looked them over again. “I will take that cup of tea, Mr. O’Connell. Evelyn, you both must come along to Emerson and tell us everything. I suspect there’s more of a story here than just a messy library.”

“It’s a hell of a story,” Rick said. 

“They usually are,” Mrs. Emerson said wryly. “I have some experience in that field, as Evelyn can tell you. Come along, now, both of you.”

In the end it took a month to clean up the library, even with the assistants that Evie brought on to help. Rick turned out to be a marvelous assistant, helping wherever he was needed, never complaining, always making some kind of conversation to make Evie laugh even if they stayed long past museum hours writing new cards for the catalogue. And if he proposed marriage one evening over cups of tea and ginger biscuits, well, the reader knows what Evie’s answer was. 

[notquitecanon]

Clean Break // Marvel/Criminal Minds Crossover (reader insert)

yeah, no one asked for this, it’s entirely self-service bc I’m trash

______________

Early 2010

You slammed your go-bag down in your car, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. Logically, you knew it had been a bad call- physically confronting the unsub by yourself when he had a hostage. Bad Idea. Not to mention some other risky calls you had made lately... 

But you pulled it off, getting the kid-safe and subduing the bad guy. Hotch didn’t see it the same way, not only had he pulled you away to scold you in private- but there had also been a yelling matching in front of part of the team. 

As soon as the jet had landed, Hotch ordered you on two weeks suspension. You had arguments on the tip of your tongue, but the warning look Derek was sending you from behind Aaron told you to just accept it.  This team was like a family, and sometimes families fought. 

As you slid into your driver's seat you could still vividly feel the white-hot embarrassment of the entire team staring at you while you collected your things. The awkward “I’m sympathetic but you lowkey deserve it” smile from Spencer. JJ and Garcia promised to get lunch with you soon, and Prentiss offered to meet for drinks as well, which you politely smiled and nodded too knowing they’d be too busy with cases. Rossi had stopped you on your way out and told you to, “Get your head on straight.”

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the steering wheel with one hand and roughly turned the key to start the engine. My head is on straight, they’re just not willing to take risks. You bitterly thought as you drove out of the parking garage. As you merged into the street, you finally got radio signal- the speakers flickering to life with an all too familiar, “I am ironman”  before merging to another later interview with the billionaire turned superhero, Tony Stark. 

You flipped to the next station, flinching at the terrible techno beats before flipping it again, this station flooding your car with drawling, “he-done-me-wrong” country music. You flipped it back, another irritated sigh, “Iron man it is.”

“I can’t trust the military with my tech, obviously, but it has too much opportunity to just shove in a box. So the responsibility falls to me to use Ironman to save people.” Tony Stark explained you could here the self-righteousness in his voice. The profiler is you couldn’t help but scoff. 

“Classic Narcissist with savior complex tendencies.” You remarked as you drove. You turned down the volume as you continued your drive, the suburb of Quantico slowly turning into bigger city D.C. 

Finally, you slid into a parallel parking spot across from your apartment building. The drive made the red-hot anger turn into defeated resignment, you knew you made mistakes and Hotch called you on it- he wasn’t singling you out, even if he was a little harsh, in your opinion. You recognized you arguing hadn’t helped your situation, I dug this grave, now I have to lie in it. But I can lie in it with the nice bottle of wine Rossi got me for my birthday. 

Resignedly, you started making plans for your two weeks as you rode the elevator up to your floor- you juggled thoughts of visiting your family back home, maybe visiting some old friends, briefly, you thought of starting an online dating profile and going on some dates. I should call and apologize to Hotch, he might have been harsh, but I definitely provoked him. You thought as you unlocked your apartment, quickly turning off your alarm before taking off your gun.  

You looked around your apartment, all the lights were off, deathly silent, almost empty. Two weeks of this, I’m going to go crazy. 

Four days later, you had officially run of out things to do. You had cleaned, cooked, tried new restaurants, shopped, rented movies, even read books that Spencer’s suggested list. You were going stir crazy- the Team was already on a new case according to Penelope, your old friends were all working, and your family was weirdly busy. 

On the fourth day, you went to the movies, returning to your apartment at 9:30. Immediately, you knew something was wrong- as soon as you stepped into the apartment, you noticed the lights, all were off (which you knew you didn’t do) except one light in the living room. I know I unplugged that lamp. 

You grabbed your gun off the entryway table, a million possibilities going through your head as you flicked the safety off and began stalking towards the living room. As you rounded the corner, your eyes landed on your intruder. 

“That won’t be necessary, Agent.” 

His voice was deep, confident. Your intruder was a tall, dark-skinned man, a black eye-patch matched the near floor-length black leather coat. He was wearing a black turtle neck, black slacks, and (shocker) black shoes- and was sitting in your favorite chair, only partially lit by the lamp beside him. Your trained eyes easily picked out the three guns he had hidden on him. 

“Who the hell are you and why the hell are you in my house?” You growled, still not lowering your gun. 

“My name is Nick Fury, director of SHIELD, and I’m here to offer you a job.” 

____________

“So you want me to profile a billionaire, a former Russian spy, a SHIELD agent, and Modern-day Jekyll/Hyde?” You asked sarcastically after Director Fury explained his proposition.  

“Possibly more. And then I want you to tell me if my initiative will work.” He nodded, you quirked an eyebrow. 

“And will my opinion matter if I tell you something you don’t want to hear?” You inquired, carefully watching him for an answer. 

“It will influence my decision, yes.” He nodded. He was a good liar, but you still noticed the subtle ticks. You ignored them. 

“Why me? I have a whole team of talented profilers-” You started, thinking of Hotch and Rossi’s experience, Reid’s brilliant mind, Derek’s determination, JJ and Prentiss’s unique methods of profiling... 

“No, your team’s first loyalty is to the Bureau, Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi will never leave the FBI, we tried to recruit Dr. Reid out of college he turned us down, Jennifer Jareau gets too caught up by her family, Prentiss was a good candidate but not while her mother is still working, political agenda gets very dangerous. Derek Morgan is too headstrong, especially when it becomes to .” He paused, before nodding to you, “Additionally, you’ve got a good bit of experience with the BAU but haven’t been there long enough to be considered a security risk to SHIELD, also with the recent sanction, we’ve determined that you’re willing to take risks that the FBI won’t let you take. That what makes you attractive to SHIELD. The sanction also gives a convenient break to recruit you to SHIELD.”

It was like a combination of Hotch and Spence talking to at you, slightly completely overwhelming. “You don’t have to decide now, but here’s my card.”

And then Director Nick Fury was gone as quickly as he came. And you had some thinking to do. 

______

“Hey, Hotch, I know I’m still suspended, but I’m just calling to update you- because well... well you’ll understand soon. I’ve made some personal decisions, and some things are going to happen soon, and I just wanted to let you know that it’s not because of my suspension. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not angry, and this isn’t a spiteful or rash decision.” You explained to the voicemail, almost relieved Hotch didn’t actually pick up. He’d ask questions that you couldn’t answer, but you couldn’t stress enough that you weren’t mad at him or anyone on the team. 

Director Fury had officially stopped dealing with you directly, instead sending another supposedly high ranking SHIELD official. Agent Coulson had decided it was best if you didn’t tell your team about your transfer, that he’d handle everything (re: go above Hotch’s head and handle everything at a political level). While most FBI agents knew about SHIELD,   Phil had stepped out for a moment allowing you to quickly leave the voicemail, which made you feel better about leaving your team.  

“So, uh, yeah, tell the team to be careful. I can’t say anything more, but, uh yeah. Bye, Hotch.”

You clicked off the call, shoving the cell in your pocket. Phil stepped back in, as always followed by three agents. “Well, you are officially an Agent of SHIELD. I’ve sent Agents to your desk to pack it up. Agents will also pack up your apartment, Fury wants you working ASAP.”

You simply nodded, zipping up your go-bag. Ain’t no rest for the wicked.

_______

Meanwhile at the BAU:

Dr. Reid glanced up at Aaron Hotchner’s office. He’d been on the phone for an hour, pacing his office back and forth. “What do you think is going on?” 

“No idea, but with that look, it can’t be good.” Prentiss thought aloud, glancing at the young doctor before watching Hotch through the blinds. Derek came up beside her, sipping at his coffee. 

“Think it has anything to do with (Y/N)?” He asked, leaning against the desk. JJ, on her way back to her office, stopped by. 

“We’ve been fielding so many calls from higher-ups. So I don’t think so, Strauss was pretty indifferent about (Y/N)’s suspension.” She said, lowly. Suddenly, Aaron came out of his office causing everyone to hurriedly go about their business- trying (and failing) to be inconspicuous as they stared after their supervisor who rushed out of the BAU. 

“What was that all about?” Prentiss asked, staring after him. 

“Uhh, guys?” Garcia called, approaching the other agents as quickly as the ridiculously tall orange heels she was wearing that day would let her. 

Derek Morgan quirked an eyebrow, quickly concerned after noting the shock on Garcia’s face. “What is it baby girl?” 

“So I was just checking on our absent friend, trying to see what she was up to and whatnot, and when I checked her facebook, (Y/N)’s page was deleted. And I know you’re asking, Garcia, why does this matter? I’ll tell you, because then I checked every other social media page she has- and they’re all gone. Her home phone is cut off and her lease was broken today. So either she’s Gone Girling us, or someone is trying very hard to make sure she doesn’t exist anymore.” Penelope listed off, words flying out of her mouth at a rate that was dizzying. She paused to take a breath, but Rossi had emerged from his office, standing against the railing that separated him from the rest of the bullpen. 

“My bets are on them.” He announced motioning to the entrance. The rest of the team snapped their heads that way, all eyes widening at the posse entering. Four agents, two men and two women, were trailing behind a woman who appeared to be in charge. Hotch was hot on the head-woman’s heels lowly hissing something at her with an angry look plastered on his brow. 

The entire team jumped up when the four henchmen (for lack of a better word) began rooting apart your old desk while Hotch was still arguing with the woman in charge. “Hey, Hey, you can’t just tear her desk apart, man!” 

Derek was the first to argue, but they just ignored him, throwing books, personal items, and office supplies into boxes. Morgan flicked his eyes to Hotch, “What’s going on?” 

Hotch didn’t answer Morgan, instead, using his size to try and intimidate the agent, “You can’t barge into my bullpen, and start packing up her desk.” 

Spencer watched the tense interaction, but approached the other most experienced person in the room instead, “Who are these guys, Rossi?”

“SHIELD, I’ve dealt with them once or twice- but it never turns out good.”Rossi divulged, his eyes never leaving the SHIELD agents. While almost every FBI agent knew about SHIELD, not many knew that much. Everything about SHIELD was a rumor at best and classified at worst. The doctor’s eyebrows crinkled, remembering the recruiting agent that approached him at his first college graduation as he watched Hotch.

 “You can’t pack up her desk and then ask us to pretend like she never existed! That’s one of my agents and this team deserves to know the terms of this transfer!” Hotch demanded, his voice loud and scarily determined. That was the voice that sent killers shaking, but this SHIELD supervisor didn’t waiver.

“She’s not your agent anymore, and contact has been severed at the orders of someone far above both of our heads Agent Hotchner.” She paused, watching her goons put lids on the three boxes they’d packed, “Now, we will be leaving. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.

”It only took them five minutes to erase every shred of evidence that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had ever stepped foot in the BAU. The only proof they had was memories.

 Chatter immediately broke out amongst the bullpen, but Hotch stopped it with a simple sentence, “Meet in the briefing room.”

______

“....some things are going to happen soon, and I just wanted you to hear it from me first so I could tell you I didn’t do it because I was mad at you or my suspension... I just wanted to let you know that I’m not angry, and this isn’t a spiteful or rash decision.” 

There was a pause in your voice, before you resumed, “So, uh, yeah, tell the team to be careful. Go out, save some people, and put some sickos away for me… I can’t say anything more, but, uh yeah. Bye, guys.”

With that, the voicemail clicked off. The team sat in silence, each person quietly processing the voicemail, every verbal tic, every pause, every quiet chuckle. 

Hotch cleared his throat, “I got that voicemail as I walked into the BAU today, immediately thereafter I received calls from both FBI and SHIELD superior officers telling me the (Y/L/N) was being transferred to SHIELD. She has been ordered to maintain zero contact, and, as far as we know, will not be returning to the BAU.”

“Sadly, we don’t have time to argue with the higherups, because we have a case and it’s time-sensitive…”

So with heavy hearts, the BAU kept moving and tried to ignore the empty seat at the round table.  

_______

yeah no one asked for this but Imma keep writing it until I’m tired of it