#actually i sit at my desk and read transcript to follow along while taking notes
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while listening to ep 9 i realized that my “listening to new tmagp ep” behavior is not how normal people experience podcasts
#actually i sit at my desk and read transcript to follow along while taking notes#and occasionally pause it to pace distressedly#sam saying he was going to [redacted] at the end of this ep made me sit on the floor for a sec#tmagp#the magnus protocol#tma
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City of the Living Dead
Chapter 6
"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.
It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.
"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them
WEL COME
LEON
Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.
Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."
"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.
"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.
"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.
Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.
When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.
"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.
YOU SUCK
LEON
"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"
"It's true though, you actually suck!"
"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.
"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."
Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.
"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.
"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.
"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Well, let's see who sucks now!"
Welp, that's my cue!
You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.
"I still suck, huh?"
"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."
"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."
"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.
"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."
"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.
"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"
"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."
"Dante already asked her out, so..."
"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.
"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."
"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"
"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."
"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.
"I really don't," he retorted back.
"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."
*****
Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment.
Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks.
There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both.
Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right?
Good luck, Leon.
By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.
Lieutenant Branagh
Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:
Be glad you're not here, rookie.
"Remember your fellow officers' names..."
"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.
You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.
Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.
"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"
Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...
It was his 18th birthday!
"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.
"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"
"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.
When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.
"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."
"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.
"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.
"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."
"I know you will."
"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.
"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.
"Nothing's really changed, huh?"
"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."
*****
So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.
Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.
#leonkennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy imagines#leon s kennedy x reader#leonxreader#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#residentevil2#resident evil fanfic#leon kennedy#leon kennedy fanfic
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Episode One: In the Middle of the Street TRANSCRIPT
[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.]
[Intro music players.]
ANNOUNCER:
Three-Eyed Frog Presents: Incident Report Number 31.
[Theme song fades to a stop.]
[click recorder on]
ARCHIVIST:
Test. Test. One, two, three. (mutters) Bloody hell, why does it smell like something died in here? Well, guess we can’t prove something didn’t, eh? The recorder seems to be working, at least.
My name is Val West. I’m the newly appointed head archivist at The [REDACTED] Institute, which documents people’s possible experiences with the supernatural for both emotional support purposes and to get recovery time off of work, school, et cetera if the trauma is deemed severe enough by their employers or other supervisory staff.[beat as they scoff] Supernatural doctor’s note, innit...
The Head of the Institute, Mr. Neil Banks, has asked me to record these accounts because, well, there actually isn’t really a good reason. [mutters] Didn’t spend eight years getting a masters in library sciences to read stories into a dusty tape recorder, but, we all have to get by.
I do, at least, have people to assist me: two researchers: Zach Zamuel-Imogen Baker, and Christine Lewis, along with, I’m told, a very well-respected psychologist: one [hesitant] Dr. Oliver Possum, who will be advising me on any cases where there is necessary psychological follow up. I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but hopefully they will be helpful.
I was also explicitly told not to look behind the bookshelf to my left, so I will be looking behind the bookshelf later today...right. Guess I should get started, then.
[Sound of papers tapped on desk to organize them]
ARCHIVIST:
[They clear their throat.] For the consideration of Ortolan Bunting Law Firm: Ayla Stephenson’s encounter with a house that did not exist and her subsequent request for thirty hours of paid time off. No date given. Fine by me. Not gonna lose sleep over improperly filled out paperwork. Well. Start? I suppose? Yes.
[ACCOUNT.]
I feel the need to start with this, so you fully understand what I’m trying to say. I have a feeling you’ll just dismiss my story otherwise. I’ve lived here going on ten years now. Moved here on the promise of a job from the same company that I still work for today: Ortolan Bunting Law Firm. I drive the same route to work every day. I mean, I looked up the quickest way on the map when I first moved to town, and hey, who am I to question that? If it works it works. No need to make something difficult when the map’ll just figure it for you that first day, right?
I guess I’m getting a bit off topic here, but my point is that I’ve been going the same way for a decade, which is to say that I know the route to and from work like the back of my hand. Sure, maybe I don’t pay attention to every detail every day, I mean after ten years, the drive is almost an unconscious thing-
ARCHIVIST:
(mutters) Not a great way to build up your story’s credibility but, I digress.
[ACCOUNT.]
-but I still know all the road’s quirks, even if they don’t stick out to me after all this time. I know that the first left turn light on the way lasts for about two seconds and if you’re more than two cars behind in line, you’ll have to wait a whole cycle to go. I know there’s a business center that, god knows why, has their logo done in comic sans just off to the right before I merge onto the highway. Once I’m on that freeway for about fifteen minutes, I can see this drive through coffee place on one of the adjacent streets. Every single morning the line’s backed up out to the street- you’d think there’d be a better way to do that, but that’s more of a personal gripe and certainly not the point. On my way back from work, I take a few side streets to avoid rush hour traffic on the main road- just the way the map recommended on my first day, of course, I’m not looking to get lost in the backroads. There’s a few old houses, sometimes I see elderly couples sitting out on their porches. Sometimes they wave and I do have the decency to wave back, though some of my colleagues might not believe you… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit put off by this whole experience and have been taking it out on some of my coworkers. All the more reason to give me the [THE ARCHIVIST sighs this last part out as they are once again pulled out of the story] time off that I so kindly requested.
ARCHIVIST:
That last line is crossed out. It appears that Ms. Stephenson was reluctant for her Firm to read that bit if this ever got back around to them. To be honest, the way that this is going, I’m not so sure that plea would have done anything for her, but I am, of course, to remain the impartial academic in my work here, so I suppose I’ll allow the defacing of Institute paperwork just this once, even if the scribbles are rather unprofessional.
[ACCOUNT.]
There're a few empty lots there too. I think at one point, the city wanted to buy them up and make a park, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. Really don’t think they will now. I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been going the same way day in and day out for ten years… I’d notice if something was different.
ARCHIVIST:
I’m assuming… that is the point of this report yes? [beat] Continuing on.
[ACCOUNT.]
Nothing that day was really any different, I’d say. Just drove to work, hit all the usual landmarks: waiting to turn at the light, glancing at the comic sans sign, thinking that that coffee shop is definitely obstructing traffic, the usual. Went to work, got through the day with… minor amounts of stress… I mean it’s legal work, it isn’t fun, but somebody’s gotta do it. Got off right at five, gathered up my things and left. I took my usual streets, not really minding anything, but I noticed no one was out on the porches. That’s not unusual, I know, people can be inconsistent, it’s not a big deal, but looking back? Maybe they knew something was off… I mean if I’d lived in that neighborhood I certainly would have.
[Eerie music begins playing.]
I always drive with the radio on, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts on a busy street where road rage can make its way into my thoughts. Guess I should’ve mentioned that earlier, huh? Either way it seems important that I say it’s part of my daily life. I do it every day, and I’ve never had a problem with reception in that area, so when the sound started to glitch out, I thought something was wrong with my car. It was frustrating, sure, but not a big deal, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the sound of static more than the average person.
I went through the usual useless attempts to fix it, of course. Smacked it a few times, turned it off and on again, but nothing changed. In the end, I just turned it off as I kept driving. Figured my own thoughts were better than the white noise that faded in and out of my speaker at an unpredictable volume. Things were fine for a few minutes. I’d almost gotten to the end of the street when I realized something wasn’t quite right.
At first, I thought maybe the light was just reflecting into my eyes weird. Maybe I’d just seen something out of the corner of my eye that there was a fine explanation for. Because… I knew this road. And there had never been a house there before. I was sure of it. A whole house isn’t something that could go up in a night, but you know that, you aren’t an idiot.
[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]
ARCHIVIST:
[pretentious bastard] I’d certainly like to think so, yes.
[ACCOUNT.]
But there it was. It wasn’t right next to the other houses, a few lots down the road instead. Other than my knowledge that it wasn’t there before, though, it could have blended into the neighborhood without anyone noticing.All things considered, it was a pretty nice house. Sure, it was done up in that fancy Victorian style and therefore inherently a little unnerving, you know how those old places just seem a little haunted even if they’re perfectly put together?
Still, beyond that, it was fine. Not broken down in that sort of creepy ghost way that you see in movies, or anything. The paint was pretty well done, only a little aged from the sun, and all the wood on the wrap-around porch was together. I mean if I was building a murder house, I would’ve splintered the boards and peeled up the exterior wall a bit, something along those lines, you know? It looked like someone could have been living out of it. Totally normal.
I know what you’re thinking, that I got out and had a look, but I can’t say I did. As the sun was going down? While I was all of a sudden unsure of my own thoughts? Really? No way in hell. I’m not an idiot either. So I kept driving. As I passed by, I got this strange feeling… like I wasn’t alone on the street. I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but with how much I was already questioning what I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and I sped away, not wanting to stick around any longer than I had to. Now, when I got home, I went through stages of denial before realizing that, hey, it wasn’t my damn neighborhood, and therefore not actually a problem that I would have to deal with.
At least until I was driving back from work the next afternoon. Funny how that works… your problems don’t just disappear because you’ve chosen to ignore them. Although ignore is a strong word considering I spent all day at work worrying about whether or not I should trust myself and whether or not I would see the house again when I drove home… I could’ve gone another route, of course. Could’ve gone even one street over and left it at that.
But that isn’t how it works, is it? I was so unsure of my own thoughts that I’d rather put myself in a situation that seemed potentially harmful than not know if I was wrong or not. [beat] So I went down the same route, just like I’d been conditioned to for the last decade. Once again, the couples were inside. They had to know something was wrong, I mean I was able to realize the house shouldn’t have been there and I didn’t even live in the neighborhood. I slowed my car to a snail’s pace as I inspected all about the street that I could. Not really sure what I was looking for if I’m being honest, but when I got to the house, I’d convinced myself that, yes, in fact, it was as real as the rest of the places on the block.
I don’t think it was really a conscious decision when I stopped the car. I’d just been going so slow already and… well I’d reached my target, hadn’t I? I sat and gazed over the house for a few moments. Looking over the perfect condition it seemed to be in, to no avail. It seemed to be perfectly normal. Maybe… Maybe I was really just in my head about all of this. Was it really that hard to believe? I should’ve just left, stopped staring at this place. Sitting there wasn’t going to change the fact that it was there, whether or not I could really trust my mind.
But… then I saw the curtains in the front window move. I snapped my gaze over to where I’d seen the motion and there was a little boy staring at me through the glass. He looked off to something behind the curtain before looking back over and waving, grinning a gap toothed smile at me. I... Well I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that so… I waved back. What else was I supposed to do? In an instance, I became convinced that I’d really just made the whole thing up. If there really was someone inside and nothing untoward seemed to be going on, the kid had seemed perfectly happy after all, then it had to be a real house. And really, if it had been some big spooky master plan, then why would he have acknowledged me? I’ve been to the movie theatre. I know children in horror flicks can be creepy, but just straight up waving at me like I was just another neighbor and nothing was going on? Didn’t exactly set up the sinister mood that I figured would have come from the place.
And then a hand shot out and. The kid recoiled as it shut, looking disappointed that he’d been caught doing something it was evident he wasn't supposed to. And I snapped back into trusting myself and sticking with my gut. I didn’t like the look of that. At all. Unfortunately, my whole life, I’ve generally been prone to the third fear response rather than either of the useful ones: I freeze. This time was no different. I couldn’t bring myself to drive away.
[In the background, eerie music begins playing.]
I sat there in dead silence for what felt like hours with a vague feeling of unease hanging in the air when the door opened. A man stepped out, wearing this fine tailored suit that I’d seen clients wealthier than I would ever be wear into my office and carried himself with the confidence of a person that knows no one is going to cross them. Despite all that, his face was soft. Approachable. Kind, even. Seemed like the kind of guy that knew he had money, but was willing to help you if you’d just say thank you afterwards.
As he approached my car he called out to me: “Hello there!”
Nice and friendly. Even with the strangeness of a few moments ago and my lingering unease, I could hardly bring myself to believe that this man would do anything to me. Sure, I was still stuck to my seat in fear, but he seemed perfectly safe. Maybe that’s just what it’s like to be charismatic though, looking back. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, but my pre-programmed social response got the better of me and I rolled down my window to meet him.
“Hi.” I said. Just a simple greeting until I could really figure out what was happening.
He put one hand on the top of my car and leaned down to meet my eyes. As he spoke, his smile never faded: “So… I take it… you can see this place?”
Well, I was so taken aback I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I just nodded. And the next thing he said, well… threw me a bit off. He stood up, brushed off his pants calmly, turned back to the house, began walking, and he just said-
[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]
ARCHIVIST:
Now there’s a profanity here that I will not repeat, but it seems Ayla’s statement finishes there.
[The Archivist sighs and shuffles their papers.]
ARCHIVIST:
There’s not much followup to be done here. Ayla gave us a street address, but didn’t actually tell us which house it was. [mutters] Perhaps she’s more of an idiot than she claims to be.
Regardless, upon investigating the street, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though none of our staff were familiar enough with the area to tell which houses should and shouldn’t be there. In my personal opinion, this is a mere case of a poor attention span. I can’t blame Ayla, I suppose, but was it really worth coming here and telling a whole dramatic story over it?
[scoff] There are some other areas of this statement that leave room for questioning and research, such as the radio static and the house’s residents. For now, however, I will be filing this one under “Irrelevant” in my mind. End recording.
[Recorder clicks on.]
[Recorder clicks back on.]
[There’s footsteps as HR walks down the hall. They knock on the Archivist’s office door. Meanwhile, the Archivist can be heard moving something.]
HR:
[muffled] Uh, hello? I’ve got something for the Archivist.
ARCHIVIST:
Oh, uh, yes, of course. Just let me— [They curse as they are heard tripping over piles of statements.]
[A pause.]
HR:
...should I come back at a later time, or—?
[The door suddenly swings open.]
ARCHIVIST:
Right. Blimey. Sorry about that, mate. What’s all this, then?
HR:
Er, are you the head archivist?
ARCHIVIST:
That depends, who’s asking?
HR:
Your HR. I’m also an intern under Mr. Banks, which brings about a whole array of other useless titles, but for your purposes, I’m just HR. My name is Luca.
ARCHIVIST:
Oh! Lovely. Mr. Banks told me I’d be seeing you. Um, pleasure to meet you.
HR:
Thanks, you—wait, wh—?
ARCHIVIST:
[trying to change the subject] Say, why are you here, Luca? Any plans for after your internship? I mean, surely, you have a field of study, a career plan?
HR:
[slowly, growing increasingly confused] Oh, um, yeah. I, um—well, I started here—um, yeah, after my internship, I. Uh.
ARCHIVIST:
It’s alright if you don’t have a plan, y’know. Took me a while to figure all my stuff out, and, well, I got out alive, didn’t I?
HR:
No, it’s just—I know I have something, I just. Um. [desperately trying to change the subject] What are you doing in there, exactly?
ARCHIVIST:
[beat] Oh, just some housekeeping.
HR:
...and that required you to move an entire bookshelf?
[A long pause.]
ARCHIVIST:
Listen, I know what this looks like.
HR:
Doesn’t he have a weird thing about that?
ARCHIVIST:
[passionate] Which is exactly why I did it! I mean, they’re not the heaviest bookshelves in the world, so it’s certainly not a matter of safety.
HR:
[mutters] As if Mr. Banks has ever valued the life and safety of his employees.
[Both are heard walking back into the office towards where the bookshelf was.]
ARCHIVIST:
[cont.] Which means there must have been something weird about the bookshelf—and I was right. See, look, there’s like a weird...hole. Thing.
HR:
...I’m guessing that’s why Mr. Banks made me bring you a shovel?
ARCHIVIST:
Hm? Oh, right, the shovel. Kind of forgot I had asked for that.
HR:
How did you not notice I was carrying it when I came here?
ARCHIVIST:
You see, within the hole, there’s this big mound of dirt, and I have reason to believe that there’s something hidden beneath.
HR:
[They sniff, then, disgusted] Oh god, why does it smell like something died in there?
ARCHIVIST:
That’s what I’m trying to find out.
HR:
Look, can’t you just...I don’t know, leave it? Like, just put the bookshelf back, spray some air freshener, and then be done with it? I really don’t want to have to write this up.
ARCHIVIST:
You expect me to work under these conditions? Having a mysterious hole in my wall with no idea what’s lurking within?
HR:
Look, I just think this is a really stupid idea. If Mr. Banks finds out—
ARCHIVIST:
He’s not going to! You— [they huff a sigh.] Would you just hand me my shovel? I’m going in!
HR:
Whatever you say.
[HR hands the Archivist the shovel.]
ARCHIVIST:
Thank you.
[They are heard shoveling for some time, before the Archivist finally seems to hit something.]
HR:
Is...is that…?
ARCHIVIST:
My god.
HR:
That’s a dead body.
ARCHIVIST:
Appears to be. [beat.] Do you know who it is?
HR:
I mean, they’re sort of hard to recognize now.
ARCHIVIST:
Perhaps the previous archivist?
HR:
I dunno, I never knew them.
[A long pause.]
ARCHIVIST:
Right, then. Back to work. Mind helping me move this bookshelf?
HR:
(under their breath) God, I’m gonna have to write this up, aren’t I?
[Recorder clicks off.]
[Theme music plays.]
[CREDITS.]
Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “In the Middle of the Street,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Luka Miller as HR. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!
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Objection!: Chapter 6
Chapter title: Truly Believe
A/n: This entire fic is just me loving Patton and projecting it onto the characters. I just love him a lot??? Also, would you guys like if I released like a separate chapter of just different moments of them in court? I have these small interactions between the group during trials and stuff and I think it would be fun. Let me know!
Make sure to leave me some comments, I really appreciate them!!
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words: 4483
summary: Logan realizes some of his feelings, Patton has a realization about the case
pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus
warnings: Murder mention, child murder, implied abuse, swearing, gun mention, abuse mention, abuse
Ao3 Link
“I'm so sorry Mr.Tolentino” Reeve rushes in, scattering files everywhere “I didn't mean to be late” Logan adjusts his position on the desk pushing up, sitting straight, he checks his watch scrunching his brows.
“You aren't late Reeve, you're right on time” Logan assures. Reeve gives Logan the same look he had given many a time, critical and very judgy. “Although everyone knows-”
“Early is on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable,” Both Reeve and Logan say in unison. Logan nods at Reeve approvingly, he smiles shyly. Logan gestures to the chair across from his own, Reeve takes it nervously, he was still getting used to Logan. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, something itching his mind.
“Yes, Reeve?” Logan sighs, noticing his erratic movement. Reeve chuckles feeling his palms grow sweaty. He set his things down by his side turning back to Logan, who waits impatiently.
“I have a note from P-Patton for you” Reeve informs, he has never wanted to curl up in a ball as much as he wanted to right now. “It's about the case files, and about...last night” Reeve adds quietly, Logan's eyes grew wide.
“Last night?” He asks cautiously, how much? About the talk, the children, the stars, the kiss on the cheek?
“Yes, about the man and thanking you for helping with the children” Reeve nods handing him the note. He takes it a little harder than he should have from the poor boy's hands, skimming it quickly. He feels a wave of relief hit him as the note goes on. He reads every line of the beautiful handwritten note, the penmanship was remarkable.
Hey Lo!
Just wanted to thank you for your help last night, the kids have not stopped talking about you. You might have to come over for dinner soon :)
I would love to. Logan struggles against his own smile, you really can write as you speak.
For your help, I'm sending Reeve over with some of my notes! And you’ll notice that you can actually read mine.
It was one time Patton, one time. Logan recalls when he and had Patton shared notes on a previous case. Patton had told him ‘He wouldn't need a doctor anymore, by the way, you write, you must be a great one. ‘ Not his best joke, but unfortunately very true.
Anyway, thanks for everything, can’t wait to get this case started.
Love, Patton!
Love Patton indeed. He hands the note back to Reeve who shoves it away scrunching his brows. Without command, he hands Logan a copy of Patton's notes that he had sent. Just as he had promised, his notes were organized, neat and well...extremely helpful.
“Brilliant” Logan mutters to himself, he flips through the notes scribbling down his own thoughts, feeling things fall slowly into place. “Absolutely brilliant, he is a ….” Logan searches for a word the could sum up how he felt. “A genius. Reeve come look at this” He ushers, Reeve, tilts his head, his face growing hot. Logan looks up, he sighs “You're here to learn, I might not be the one directly teaching you but at least you'll be getting something. So come look at these notes” Logan insists, his voice growing excited. Reeve decides to heed his command and goes around toward his side of the desk. He leans over catching up to where Logan was, his own excitement setting in. “What did I tell you, brilliant” Logan admires
“I see why he's so popular, I mean...wow” Reeve marvels watching as the notes dance from one page to another, each making sense, each claim backed up by mountains of evidence. Logan was picking a lock and Patton had given him the key. “What are those” Reeve inquires pointing at a separate file. Logan takes it studying it curiously, he nods as he read.
“Patton's transcripts, from when he first interviewed the client” Logans eyes were glazed over, Reeve swore he could see a sparkle. “Fascinating…amazing...” Reeve was questioning whether he was still talking about the actual files. He studies Logan deciding to put his deductive skills to the test. Logan's eyes were tired, poorly covered up with makeup. His cheeks were redder than usual, clearly burning with a blush. He was smiling, clearly engaging his zygomatic major muscle and his orbicularis oculi muscle, a Duchenne smile. Or, in layman's terms ‘Smizing’.
“Smiling with your eyes” Reeve mumbles softly, not softly enough however as this catches Logan's attention. He turns to face Reeve who scrambles away a little from the desk.
“Pardon?” Logan raises an eyebrow waiting for the boy to answer. He stutters over his words, muttering non-coherent sentences. Logan stands approaching him. “Reeve?”
“The Duchenne smile, more commonly known as ‘smiling with your eyes’” Reeve rushes, practically stumbling over his own words. “That's what you were doing, sir” He adds. He mentally kicks himself for that, preparing for the worst.
“Am I really that scary?” Logan sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sits down calmly, arranging the files on his desk. “Sit please” He mentions to Reeve who wastes no time doing exactly that. “Why did you scramble?” Logan eases, trying to understand. Reeve pauses
“Nothing sir, I apologize”
“No, no, I apologize, perhaps I've been a little intimidating” Logan admits, Reeve listens, a little too scared to move. “Smiling with your eyes…Odd” Reeve smiles, a little more confident now. He adjusts his back in the chair straightening it. “Why did you say it?” Logans asks, clearly, it was bothering him.
“Well, while you were looking through Mr.Hart's notes you seemed to be almost… enamored with them” Reeve explains cautiously, he feels himself clutching on to the sides of the chairs. Logan moves his head back for the first time, he didn't know what to say.
“I'm not infatuated with Patton” Logan retorts, Reeve might have laughed had he not been so scared.
“I didn't say you were ...but now I'm starting to think you are…” He mumbles the last part. Logan pauses, he wasn't really listening. Infatuated? With Patton? He thought back on the past years, even just last night. “Mr.Tolentino?” Logan turns back to Reeve who was watching him now as if prepared to take notes on whatever he did, analyze every movement.
“Let's say, hypothetically, and I mean hypothetically” His tone becomes firm, eyes taking on stern look. Reeve nods. “If I was…how would I approach...” He shakes his head waving the thought away. “Forget I said anything. You're here to learn what it's like being a lawyer let's get back to that” Reeve debates whether he was going to regret his next words.
“Buy him a coffee and a pastry from the coffee cart,” Reeve says, Logan turned to face Reeve once more.
“Why?” Was all he says, he was curious though. What would a delectable pastry and hot coffee do?
“It's a start, its a conversation starter, it's an excuse to talk to him and...it shows that you care” Reeve explains, he rambles but Logan understands. What he didn't understand is why? Why would he want those things?
“Tell me what went wrong with the ‘Scottsboro Boys’ case,” Logan asks, Reeve, tilts his head before frantically searching his notes. A wave of relief floods him at the subject change. He begins flipping through as Logan turns to his bookshelves. He tracks his fingers across the books skimming for a certain one. He hears light mumbles coming from Reeve behind him. Once he has located the book he turns to the next bookshelf, however, this one was covered in files. Each organized by date, what the trial was and whether it had been successful at carrying out justice, in Logan's professional opinion of course. He pulls the ‘Scottsboro Boys’ case reading through a copy of the original files with his own notes on the side. He hums softly before sitting back at his desk, watching Reeve who was now scribbling down some notes. He finishes quite triumphantly before looking up. “Ready?”
“Ready” And so they begin
Buy him a coffee and a pastry.
Shows that you care
~~~
Roman would be lying if he said that he didn't wish he could wake up this way every morning. And by that, he means having Virgil's Great Dane, Joey, hop onto the couch planting himself on top of Roman, licking his face. Roman felt his eyes open slowly, the light flooding into the room burning his dry eyes. He adjusts quickly to the slobbery mess on his face and the sudden added pressure on his chest. He looks up to find Joey breathing heavily, his paws folded in front of him, as he stares at Roman. He chuckles carefully sitting up petting the dog, Joey bounces, jumping off of him. He watches as the dog stands expectantly at his feet and decides he should probably get up. Wiping his eyes, stretching his arms he stands much to Joey’s delight. He follows as the dog walks happily towards the kitchen and thank god he did. Roman wishes he had a phone to take a picture of this. He watches as Virgil dances softly around the room humming along to the music playing in the background. He watches as Virgil prepares what seems like breakfast, for three. He turns finally spotting Roman and drops his pan.
“Roman!” He scolds, Roman, laughs going to help him clean up the scattered scrambled eggs on the floor. Joey has his own cleaning ideas, trying very hard to lick the floor. Roman holds him back stifling his laugh. “Good morning” He grumbles, picking up the fallen pan.
“It is a good morning indeed!” Roman exclaims happily. “Sorry for spending the night, the little guy tired me out” Roman rubs his neck, Virgil goes to pause his music turning off the stove. He hands Roman a cup of coffee, who having been here plenty of times, went straight for the cream and sugar.
“It's fine, don't worry, thanks for taking care of the kiddo in the first place” Virgil assures, leading the pair over to the table.
“Always and kiddo?” Roman teases
“Patton's rubbing off on me” Virgil jokes back, Roman releases a breathy laugh stirring his coffee. They yawn simultaneously gaining quite comfortable in the presence of each other, silent or not. They hear the light shuffling of feet both preparing for an incoming storm. They watch as little Damian comes scurrying in holding his snake plushie followed by Joey. He runs straight towards Virgil jumping in his dad's arms.
“Hi, Papi!” He squeals nuzzling himself into Virgil, he chuckles adjusting Damian's position on his lap. Roman watches with a smile, Damian fiddles with his plushie.
“Morning Dee” Virgil greets “Did you have fun last night?” Damian waves to Roman nodding.
“He's the best!” Damian exclaims throwing his hands in the air. The men chuckle at the small boy. “Can he always come here?” Damian asks his father, Virgil smiles. Roman folds his hands in his lap awaiting Virgil's answer, he raises his eyebrows. Virgil shakes his head at the judge.
“What do you want for breakfast Dee?” Virgil asks switching the topic, he didn't know the answer and would rather not discuss it at eight forty-six in the morning. Damian struggles in his father's arms making grabby hands at Roman, Virgil sighs at the smirk etching on the judges face. He stands, still holding the boy carefully giving him to Roman. “I will go make you some food” Roman nods completely focused on Damian now. Virgil makes his way back to the kitchen, still reaping the unfortunate egg incident he decides some cereal will do. He watches from afar, Roman and Damian seem to be deep in conversation. He seems to have some kind of idea and bounces off of Romans lap scurrying in the direction of his room. Virgil finishes serving his bowl of cereal and places it in Damian's highchair.
“He's so cute” Roman claims as Virgil sits back down. Roman awaits some kind of quip, but Virgil simply shrugs.
“Hey, no disagreements here.” Roman chuckles fiddling with his empty cups of coffee. “So, big day today. The trial finally begins” Virgil comments, something shifts. Roman exhales a long breath, some things he's been holding in. He doesn't want to discuss the trial, he's not sure why. Roman loves being a judge, serving justice, having total control.
“Yes it is, I have a meeting with Patton and Logan in my chambers in about…” He checks his watch rubbing his eyes. “Two hours” Virgil yawns nodding as Damian returns. How the kid has this much energy in the morning is something Virgil will never understand. Virgil picks him up placing him in his highchair. He instantly starts shoveling down his cereal, making a mess, much to Virgils ‘delight’. Roman watches wanting to stay here, frozen in this frame. Watching Virgil smiling at his enigmatic son. Its something Roman had always thought about, the prospect of a family. He always marveled at Virgil and Patton, their ability to balance a very busy work life and still have time for their children. Still, have the mental capacity to give them love when they go into work every day dealing with awful people. Roman is sentencing someone to punishment, to spend the rest of their days suffering. Do they deserve it? Yes. Does Roman know this? Yes. Does he still feel somewhat guilty every time the sound of the gavel hitting a hard surface echoes throughout the courtroom? Absolutely.
“I'm done!” Damian announces, throwing his hands in the air pridefully. Roman chuckles dryly at the small boy. His only worry in life is whether or not he can sing the alphabet or count to the number ten. Virgil stands, Roman follows, he picks up his son letting him out to play. Damian instantly rushes towards Joey who pounces licking the child. Roman kneels petting Joey softly, Virgil leads Damian to his room disappearing for a while. Roman sits on the ground now simply enjoying Joeys warm head laying in his lap. Virgil returns after a moment holding a now dressed Damian on one side and the boys backpack in the other. “I'm ready!”
“Yes, you are niño” Roman agrees, he stands dusting himself off, Joey whines at the sudden shift. Virgil collects a few more things, while Roman organizes himself.
“Ready to go?” Virgil asks, Roman nods following the detective towards the door. He helps him strap Damian into his seat before taking his place in the passenger's seat. Virgil slides into the driver's seat, Roman watches curiously as he goes through some kind of routine. First, he checks on Damian making sure the young boy is alright, then he checks the mirrors, once that's finished he turns on the car going through each small thing to make sure everything is in working order. Finally, he pulls out of the driveway, Roman leans his head against the window, taking this little time to himself.
~~~
“Morning Mr.Hart!” Jenny calls. Patton looks up waving, giving the sweet woman a polite smile. He hoisters his briefcase trying hard to keep everything from spilling out. This morning had been chaos enough, and the day wasn't going to get better. The twins had decided to pitch a fit about going to school, not even a day ago having wanted to go more than anything, claiming they wanted to hang out with Patton today. Which he knew was code for, ‘We wanna see Mister Logan’. He might have caved in had he not remembered he had a mountain of work to do, and that the trial was beginning this afternoon. So, after fighting for another hour, he finally got the kids to daycare where they now preside perfectly happy with their friends.
“Patton” Patton feels his heart sink, so close. He turns to face Liam who stands leaning by the door. He’s smoking a cigarette huffing away, now Patton's especially happy he didn't bring the kids. Liam puts it out after a moment approaching him. “Good morning” His voice, which once sounded so sweet, now felt like nails on a chalkboard as it tore its way through Patton's ears.
“It's not” Patton replies curtly, he hefts his briefcase some more, why did I pack it so heavy? Liam lets out a nasty laugh, he extends a hand out towards the briefcase. Patton brings it closer to himself, he doesn't need help, he needs to get to his office.
“Patton don't be stubborn, let me help” Liam tries again grabbing the handle, it's a rough touch, always has been. Patton struggles to free his hand, and briefcase for that matter, away from Liam. “Cupcake” His voice darkens, his eyes seeking vengeance. Patton squirms at the nickname, hating the awful taste it leaves.
“You didn't want to help before…” Patton mumbles finally pulling away. His case crashes to the floor with files and loose papers cluttering everywhere. He groans kneeling down frantically trying to gather everything. It was so neat, so perfect. Liam smirks maliciously before kneeling himself, he picks up a few papers reading over them. Patton manages to stuff most everything back into his case. He looks up at Liam expectantly holding out his hand for the final few things. Liam thinks for a moment for simply shaking his head, he continues browsing the files. “Liam, give them back, you're being childish” Patton says, he stands dusting himself off. Liam follows but won't give in.
“I'm being childish? You're the one who keeps ignoring me, won't let me see my kids and your running around with some...man-”
“I am not” Patton states firmly, he's not offended by the assumption. He just doesn't wish to carry on this conversation, and would rather not hear about Liam's thoughts, or Liams anything for that matter. He holds out his hand once more, signaling for him to return the papers. Liam rolls his eyes, shoving them into Patton's chest. “Thank you” He seethes, finally closing his briefcase shut. He turns to make his way towards his office but feels something clutch to his arm pulling him back. Liam digs his nails into Patton, he winces once more struggling in the man's grip. “Liam… “ he whines, his vision becomes blurry. It's not just the nails causing the incoming tears, though that contributes, it's just everything about his former partner. The things he did race through Patton's mind, things he had worked so hard to just shove away.
“You are so weak” Liam scoffs, he remains “You always have been, how you're a lawyer I will never understand” That cuts deep, and Liam knew it would. For years people, family, friends, anybody really, would laugh when Patton shared his dreams. He was much too soft to be a lawyer, he wasn't a shark, he cared too much. The comments continued even after he graduated from Harvard, even after he passed the BAR exam, even today they simply waited until the ball drops and Patton can't do it anymore. Patton tries again to no avail, Liam’s not fighting a losing war. He holds Patton close, if you were just passing by you wouldn't even tell something was wrong.
“Let him go” A stiff voice requests. However, it didn't really sound like a request, more of a command. Patton glances towards the source biting down a smile. Logan stands watching Liam, he holds some kind of hot drink in his hand and a small paper bag in the other. He looks as he always does, prim, proper, neat, and put-together. Except for his eyes, his eyes glare at Liam, Patton swears he can see a fiery pit buried deep in Logan's dark brown eyes. Patton turns back to Liam, but he won't budge, in fact, he digs further. At this point, it's a tug-of-war game and Patton has the unfortunate opportunity to be the rope. After a moment Logan walks towards them, he stands next to Patton still watching Liam. He might not be fighting a losing war but he just lost the battle. Liam pulls away finally releasing Patton from his hold. He grasps his arm massaging it, watching the color slowly return. Patton prepares for an argument but is instead met by a soft hand on his shoulder turning him away from Liam. He looks up to meet Logan's eyes, the fiery pit washed over by a calm wave. “Patton,” He says, Patton understands and they begin walking away.
“Thank you” Logan nods. They walk side by side through the courthouse, reaching a more secluded area Logan stops. Patton does the same, Logan faces Patton examining the be-speckled man. “Lo?” Patton wonders softly, Logan shifts turning his attention towards him. Patton instinctively backs up into the wall, he's not afraid but it's just something left over.
“I brought you coffee and a pastry” Logan informs, Patton tilts his head. He lifts his hands showing that he did indeed buy Patton a pastry and coffee. Patton lets out a small laugh, taking the food happily. “I hope it is satisfactory,” Logan says. Patton giggles smelling the coffee.
“It's great! I forgot to eat this morning so this is perfect” Patton compliments. Logan feels the heat rising in his face, a light tint of pink. They continue walking, Patton opens the bag revealing a vanilla cupcake. He pauses once more, feeling himself space out.
~~~
“Cupcake?” Liam asks, Patton looks up to see his partner returning home. He smiles at him, quickly returning his focus to the baby he cradles in his hand. Remus snores peacefully in his arms, something Patton would come to miss in the coming years. Liam approaches with a look of disdain, eyeing the baby as though it might do something horrible.
“How was work?” Patton asks not looking up from Remus little face. He wishes he could stay like this forever, his perfect angelic face, the way his eyes flutter open every few moments. Liam grunts throwing his stuff on the couch.
“It was fine...I have a stupid project I must do or my boss will fire me” Liam informs, Patton gives him an apologetic look.
“I'm sorry,” Patton says, Liam bites his lips watching Patton with the baby. Patton notices and lifts the baby. “Do you want to hold him?” He inquires softly, Liam stares for a moment before shaking his head.
“I'll just have someone do the project for me,” Liam says completely ignoring Patton's question, he feels his heart sink a bit. “If it sucks they take the fall if it's great I get the credit”
~~~
“Cupcakes aren't pastries” Patton mumbles, his eyes go wide “He didn't do it!” He exclaims, Logan feels Patton grab his shoulders and stare at him with his shining eyes. “He didn't do it! He's taking the fall! Logan, my clients innocent!” As if at this moment, he finally believes it.
~~~
Virgil swore he would never pull his gun on anybody but criminals and lowlife. But at this moment? It was very tempting. His hand flew to his holster as he walks into the courthouse seeing Liam stand by the reception area. The man turns, his eyes falling onto Roman and Virgil who glares back.
“You...son of a beech” Roman mutters, Virgil begins picking at his fingers fidgeting wildly. They walk towards him, Liam smiles mischievously.
“If it isn't Ronan and Virgin” Liam greets, Roman flings his hand towards Virgil holding him back instinctively. Virgil growls deeply at Liam, Roman keeps his hand on him not wanting a scene in his courthouse.
“You know what? I'm going to arrest him” Virgil declares, Roman makes no comment he simply stares. Virgil wasn't kidding, he removes the handcuffs from his side and gestures for Liam to around. Liam furrows his brows, waiting for the punchline.
“You're abusing your power, detective” Liam comments.
“Like you abused Patton?” Roman blurts, Virgil turns to him eyes wide. Something in Liams expression changes as he turns to face Roman now, he almost looks hurt but that quickly morphs into something beyond anger.
“You s-” He moves forward but Virgils too quick, he places himself in between Roman and Liam.
“One wrong move and I will actually arrest you” Virgil warns. He might be absolutely vibrating on the inside but he meant it. Liam eyes him for a moment before recoiling, Virgil nods. Virgil turns back to Roman who now watches a spot intently on the floor. “You good?” He asks. Roman looks up grounding himself as he focuses on Virgil.
“Fine” He looks over Virgil to Liam “Just would rather not have him here” Roman shuffles uncomfortably. Virgil ponders for a moment before smirking. “What?” Roman huffs, he continues smirking “No, absolutely not”
“Why” Virgil whines “Come on, you want him out of here, I want him out of here, I’m sure Patton wants him out of here” Virgil pleads, sure enough, Patton appears with Logan by his side.
“Patton wants what?” He asks Roman gives him an encouraging smile. He tilts his head before spotting Liam. “He’s still here?” He sighs.
“Yes, I am,” Liam remarks, he forces himself back into the conversation staring at Patton now. Virgil and Roman become on high alert, barricading themselves, while Logan places a protective hand on Patton's arm. It's delicate, it doesn't hurt. “Patton I would like to speak to you” Liam requests, making a trying effort to not look in the direction of the others.
“Why would he waste his breath talking to you?” Virgil snipes, Liam chuckles his raspy voice echoing through the foyer. Patton exhales sharply.
“I think we are going to go now” Patton informs, Roman and Virgil nod turning towards the now timid lawyer. Logan and Patton share a glance before they begin walking away. But alas, Virgil can't stride away without one final comment.
“Virgil” Roman warns, but Virgils not listening.
“If you ever come near him again” Virgil's voice is orotund. He points an accusing finger at Liam, the man might be taller but Virgil is pissed off. “I will not hesitate to reopen my case on you and put you away, do you understand?” Liam glares but he knows exactly what Virgil means. He takes a step back eyeing Virgil one last time before walking away. The swift bang of the door shutting washes over Virgil in relief.
“You should reopen the case anyway” Roman suggests half-heartedly. Virgil chuckles, before pulling out his phone and showing it to Roman. He marvels at the text smiling approvingly. “How?”
“I was a very secretive texter in school, and Remys always got the case ready to go...just in case” Virgil responds, he's not going to lie, the look of astonishment planted on the judge's face definitely left a sense of pride in the detective.
#objection au#sanders sides#patton sanders#virgil sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#remus sanders#deceit sanders#thomas sanders#youtube#logicality#prinxiety#ao3#archive of our own#writing#my writing
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Control and Release - 4
Series Masterlist
TEDTalk!Sam x Reader
Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.
Warnings: Humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, dub-con,
Words: 3800+
Beta: @ilikaicalie
Part Five is currently available (Part Six coming 4/1) on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<
-
A week goes by. You do your very best to act like nothing has changed when inside it feels like gravity has reversed. Up is down and right is wrong. Everything is different.
It’s just after three on Friday afternoon. Everyone is spread thin and that means he has more on his plate than ever. You’ve given up on seeing him alone this week, he canceled his monthly employee engagement meeting twice because of the workload, but it’s been rescheduled for four o'clock today. Two hours and you’ll be out of here for the weekend.
You’ve moved up the food chain, but only marginally. Afternoon mail delivery is now handled by a mousy college freshman named Bea who’s headed in your direction. You’re working to finish the current notes when the squeaking wheel on the mail cart stops at your desk.
“Please don’t tell me there’s more transcription from the Harrison case, I can’t handle any more of Joyce’s shorthand…”
“I don’t have anything interoffice for you - oh wait.” Bea crouches down, pulling a padded envelope from the very bottom of the trolley. “This one's for you. I don’t know what department it came from.”
“Thanks.” You take it, turning the feather-light package over in your hands.
There’s a small envelope taped to the front that’s stamped confidential in bright red block letters. Ensuring no one else is around you open it, removing the single piece of paper from inside.
Open in private.
That’s all it says, but the message is handwritten. This is Sam, it has to be.
Taking the envelope you find an available unisex bathroom and lock yourself inside, checking the door twice. Hands shaking, you tear it open and reach inside only to pull out a pair of red panties. Not exactly a thong, but there’s not much to them.
Searching in the envelope you find another note at the bottom.
Put these on and come to my office.
You haven’t worn underwear to work since your last encounter. He’d probably never know but following his rules makes your everyday a little more exciting. You step into your new gift, pulling them into place and throwing away the evidence before making your way to the rear hallway and the executive elevator.
Pepper is sitting at her desk as you approach, glaring at you with confused hostility. “What are doing here?”
“He asked for me.” You gesture toward the closed door of Sam’s office.
“You’re not on his schedule. The hour before the company meeting is always his prep time. No exceptions.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. He told me to come to his office.” You shrug.
“Well, I don’t have you on the schedule. Who messaged you? There must have been a mix up-”
“He did.” You confirm and she stops what she’s doing to stare you.
“Seriously?” Pepper closes her eyes, shaking her head as if it’s the most ludicrous
thing she’s ever heard. “What the hell does he have you doing for him?”
“I can’t talk about it.” You maintain composure, despite the excitement growing in your belly. He’s right there, on the other side of the wall. You can almost feel him.
“Y/N is here for you.” She announces your presence over the intercom. There’s an immediate reply.
“Send her in. Hold everything. No interruptions.” Sam’s voice commands from the small speaker.
Pepper raises her eyebrows, gesturing toward the door.
Sam’s standing in the middle of his large office, reading from an iPad. He’s rehearsing.
“Hello.” The door clicks shut and you stop where you are, standing place.
“Hello.” He parrots back, removing his glasses and setting them, along with his tablet, on the coffee table.
He appraises you, looking you over, head to toe as his eyes narrow. “You got a haircut.”
“Just a trim.” Your fingers twist into the ends of your hair. “Is that a problem?”
“No, but I would prefer if you start wearing it up when you’re at work.” He studies you thoughtfully. “It can be down, like this, when you’re with me.”
“Okay,” you agree.
“I have one more piece of business we need to get out of the way before we can move forward.” He gestures to the paper on the desk. You move to get a better look, only to find it’s a contract.
“You want me to sign this?” You look at him, unable to hide your surprise.
“Read it, then sign it.” He leans towards you, sliding the paper away from you, almost to the opposite side of the desk.
“Now?”
“Yes.” He takes a step closer, his eyes dropping down to your midsection. “Are you wearing what I sent you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you look over the agreement.” He turns you around, big hands curling over your hips until you face the desk.
Oh. You get it now.
You have to lean over the desk, your feet nearly leaving the ground, to be able to reach the document. He’s quiet behind you as you pull yourself together enough to read the first paragraph. He wasn’t kidding, this was a legally binding contract that started with an explanation of how any and all conversations and interactions between the two parties are to be kept confidential.
There are two hands on the outside of your legs, sliding under the hem of your skirt. You suck in a breath, fingers curling against the desk as he begins to lift the material up. “Do you have any questions?”
“I-I um,” you skim the rest of the paper. It’s basically a gag order, you tell anyone about this little arrangement and Sam can ruin your life. “This is what we talked about before.”
“Yes.” He purrs, successfully pulling your skirt up over your round little ass. The pads of his fingers trail along the edge of your panties. “Sign it.”
You pick up a pen off the desk and scribble your name at the bottom without a second thought.
“You’re good at taking orders today.” One of his hands grabs the globe of your ass, kneading the flesh. “Stand up and undress, everything except these.” He gives you a pat on the ass and you stand up, turning to find him watching you intently.
While he’s seen the most intimate parts of your body, he’s never seen you naked before. You have to look away from his eyes as you pull your sweater off, then unzip your skirt and step out of it. Willing a steady hand you reach behind your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the ground.
His office is cold and your nipples are rock hard within seconds as you stand there, practically naked, on display. “Would my like me to keep my heels on?”
“What did I say?” His eyes tick up from your breast to give you an annoyed tip of his head.
“Right,” you whisper, slipping off your pumps, toes curling into the plush carpet of his office.
“Turn around.” He twirls his finger in the air.
Slowly, you rotate in a small circle, letting him have a view of your body from every angle before facing him head-on.
“You have a beautiful body.” He comments matter-of-factly.
“Thank you.” Your response is barely audible.
Every time you’re with him, his very presence elicits anxious arousal that’s wholly unique. Despite his demeanor, he makes you feel more wanted than any man you’ve ever been with.
“Tell me, Y/N. Do you like sucking cock?” A grin tugs at his mouth, one hand shoved in his pocket.
Your entire body goes hot, quaking excitement sparks in your veins. This can go one of two ways, you can melt into a puddle on his expensive carpeting or you can pull yourself together and act as if you’ve actually seen a penis before.
You find your voice, lifting your chin.
“Yes, I love it.” You lock eyes with him.
“We’re about to see just how much you love it.” His tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip. “Over here, on your knees.”
Walking to him you get close enough to smell his aftershave, staring up at him for a second before dutifully dropping down, kneeling at his feet. You reach for his belt, but think better of it. “Should I?”
“Stay just like you are until I tell you to move.” He reaches down, trailing his thumb lightly over your cheek before unbuckling his belt, the subtle sounds of leather sliding against metal are all you can hear.
He unzips himself, suit pants dropping to his thighs, revealing plain boxer briefs underneath and the massive bulge of his cock. He palms his erection through his underwear and you watch, spellbound by the sheer size of him.
“Do you want it?” He asks evenly. You wait a moment, before you look upward to find him staring down at you, eyes glazed with lust.
“Yes,” your pussy is soaked, aching between your thighs.
“Beg me for it.”
You whimper, looking from his face to his hand rubbing his dick.
“Please let me suck your cock.” It’s forced this first time, you’ve never actually asked to give a blow job before. But Sam is all about firsts, it's his specialty. The moment the words leave your mouth, there’s a throb growing stronger, your empty cunt clenching in anticipation.
“You can do better than that.” He shakes his head.
“Please,” you sit up a little, looking up at him and giving in to your own need. You do want it and you only have to tell him to get what you want. “Please, I want your cock in my mouth. I wanna choke on you, take you in my throat. Please let me suck your cock.”
“That’s better.” He spits, shoving his boxers out of the way as his dick springs upward, bobbing in front of your face. “Open up.”
You don’t wait, just wrap your lips around the swollen head of his cock, sucking as if your life depends on it. He grunts and you take it as a sign of approval, sliding your tongue along the underside of his shaft. He’s huge, thicker than any man you’ve encountered before. You’d guessed from his stature that he was well endowed but this is something else altogether.
Cupping his balls in one hand and gripping the base of his length with the other, you begin to bob up and down, taking more and more with each pass. It’s not long before he’s tapping the back of your throat. Now it’s time to show him just how much you really want this.
Taking a breath you prepare yourself for the burn, letting him slide as far down your throat as you can bear. You hold him there, letting the muscles of your throat flutter around his cock before pulling back to take a breath as spit drips down your chin. Two lungfuls of air and you’re right back at it, bobbing like before only letting him slide deep with each stroke.
You feel a hand on your hair, twisting his fingers into your locks to get a tight grip. He pulls you back, painfully yanking on your scalp.
“Deep breath.” He instructs as you gasp like you’re about to dive underwater. He pushes you back onto his cock, shoving his hips forward and lodging himself right back in your throat, holding you there. His free hand reaches down, rubbing over the bulge of his cock in your throat. “Relax. Breathe through your nose and relax.”
You manage another two inches, gurgling on his cock, drool running down your chin, eyes watering before he finally releases you.
“I can do better.” You sputter, wiping your mouth, looking up at him. “I can take it all.”
“Ambitious.” He grins, a first genuine expression you’ve seen so far.
“Please, help me.” The words help me trigger something in him, his eyes narrow, mouth tightening.
“You’re gonna to stay still while I fuck your mouth, you understand?”
“Yes.” You nod, dropping your jaw open and sticking out your tongue. If you didn’t feel a whore before there’s no escaping it now. It’s a feeling that you didn’t know you craved, didn’t know you needed so badly, until he came along.
He grabs a handful of hair in each hand and forces his cock back into your waiting mouth, punching his hips forward at a comfortable pace. Every third or fourth stroke he pushes deeper and deeper until every thrust is testing your limits. And right when you think you can’t take anymore, he pulls you forward, pressing with unrelenting force as you fight the gag and your nose presses into his neatly trimmed pubic hair.
He rewards your efforts by pulling back for a moment before repeating the thrust. Then he does it again and again until your face meets the skin above his cock with every thrust. His soft grunts are closer and closer together. You wonder if he’ll cum right down your throat, but just as he’s nearing his peak he yanks your head away, leaving you gasping, mouth open and eyes watering.
“Up,” he uses his grip on your hair to lift you off the ground, backing you up until he can reach behind your hips to brace his hands on the desk.
He pulls your panties down around your thighs, bending his knees as he jerks himself. The tip of his cock is between your legs, an inch away from your dripping pussy and all you can think about is how badly you wish he’d turn you over and slide inside-
He cums with a muted groan, pressing the head of his dick into the crotch of your panties, shooting pearly ropes of cum until his spunk is thoroughly coating the red lace.
You’re panting, chin still wet from sucking his cock as you look down at his seed pooled in your underwear. He leans over, plucking a tissue and wiping the tip of his cock before tucking himself back inside his boxers.
You’re frozen as he reaches down and pulls ruined lace back into place, allowing you to feel the obscene wetness of his load pressed against your aching pussy. He pats your cunt twice as if to say job well done before hiking his pants back up.
“Get dressed.” He doesn’t even look at you, tucking his shirt back in. “If you make it through the meeting without squirming too much, I’ll let you cum once it’s over.”
You can’t speak. Sam goes back to reviewing his notes without another word and you wander into the bathroom, taking stock of yourself in the mirror. After several minutes of dabbing at your makeup and smoothing your hair back, you manage to look somewhat presentable but all you can think about is the thick mess between your legs.
When you emerge from the bathroom he’s adjusting his glasses in the mirror, glancing up to appraise his handiwork.
“Should I go?” You ask, squeezing your legs together.
“No. You’ll stay with me,” he instructs as there’s a knock on his office door. “Come in.”
“It’s time. You have to leave now if you want to be on time.” Pepper steps inside.
“I’m ready.” He confirms, looking to you as he heads out. “Lets go.”
“Where do you think you’re doing?” Pepper tries to stop you as you follow Sam out the door.
“I need her.” He offers with even looking back.
Sam leads the way, walking a breakneck pace as you and Pepper jog behind him.
-
The auditorium is on the other side of the sprawling campus. This once small law firm has erupted into a multifaceted company specializing in the tech industry, dealing in everything from intellectual property rights to a division known as The Institute that assists in writing policy for political approval.
All of this is Sam’s brainchild.
The monthly meeting is less a traditional meeting and more a presentation. A thousand employees pack into the auditorium to listen to Sam talk about the future of the company, where they’re headed and how each person is a integral piece of the puzzle. He’s an engaging speaker, his success speaks for itself, but seeing him on stage is whole other animal. He’s given three TED Talks, each one racking up millions of hits on Youtube.
Other members of the board of directors are often on stage, sitting in chairs, watching and nodding in approval. Pepper is always directly behind him, arms folded into her lap, transfixed or at least faking it.
Someone from IT is hooking a mic pack onto the back of Sam’s suit pants as Pepper goes over the last minute changes. It’s a few more minutes of prep and then he’s ready to address the company. You look around, unsure if you’re meant to stay backstage or find a seat in the audience with everyone else, when Sam turns back to you, cocking an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?” He snaps his fingers. “Come on.”
“My God.” Pepper hisses, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you with her.
By the time you walk out onto the stage there’s a smattering of applause rising from the audience. An extra seat is placed next to Pepper’s chair and you sit down as Sam begins to speak.
The employees here are engaged. It’s a progressive company that offers competitive benefits and obscene salaries for anyone who’s willing to work hard and put in the hours. Sam’s a son of a bitch and a tough guy to work for, but he puts his money where his mouth his.
There are two spotlights above the stage shining down onto you, hot as the noon time sun. After five minutes you’re sweating, and after twenty it takes everything you’ve got to stay still in your seat. For an hour you do your best to just sit there in front of a thousand people, with Sam’s cum wet and warm between your legs.
Just when you think you can’t take anymore, there’s a round of applause and you realize he’s done. You jump up to follow him, happy to be out of the public view. He stops in the wings, turning to Pepper.
“Wait here.” He instructs. “Y/N, with me.”
There’s a small, windowless room to the right of the stage. It’s big enough for a table, two chairs and not much else. Sam shuts the door behind you, reaching for a lock but there is none. There are crystal clear voices just outside the room, there’s no privacy in here.
“Stand here.” He points and you comply, walking toward him, resting your back against the unlocked door. He pulls your skirt up, snaking his hand underneath, wedging between the sticky flesh of your thighs. “Were you paying attention out there?”
His voice is low, just loud enough for you to hear.
“No.” You murmur as his fingers slip inside your panties, pressing over the mound of your sex, then lower. “I was so hot I-I couldn’t pay attention.”
“Is that why?” He smirks, stepping closer. He’s sweating, just the same as you, body heat radiating off him. “Next time I expect you to take notes. There’ll be a quiz afterward.”
“I’ll do better.” You nod, mouth falling open.
“You have homework this weekend.” His eyes are relentless, he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. His fingers are playing over your sex, the tips just barely pushing between the lips of your pussy.
“I’m a good student.” You mean it honestly and his eyes narrow, looking at your mouth with a carnal hunger that you’re getting to know well.
“Every morning, and every night, I want you touch yourself. Make yourself wet but don’t cum. No orgasms until the next time I see you. Understood?”
“Understood.” You swallow, your pussy throbbing, begging for him to slide inside and offer relief.
“You did well today.” He cooes, leaning forward, pressing the weight of his body against you, pinning you to the door. “You’re a mess down here. Did this turn you on? Feeling my cum between your legs with everyone watching?”
“Yes.” You whimper, legs shivering.
“Do you want me to make you cum now?” His mouth is against your ear, the heat of his body nearly suffocating. He’s big and heavy, you couldn’t move if you wanted to.
“Yes, please.” Panting you try to open your legs further. You want him to shove his fingers inside you, to bend you over and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.
“No more talking.” He hisses. “Don’t make a sound.”
His middle finger dips into your cunt, but only enough to wet the tip before finding your clit. He rubs you firm and even, up and down, up and down over your throbbing apex as you struggle to suppress the urge to moan. It doesn’t take much, maybe a minute of his finger working diligently until your orgasm builds and explodes. He clamps his free hand over your mouth, the weight of him pushing the breath right of your lungs while you whimper into the palm of his hand, empty cunt clenching again and again.
He removes his finger from your clit, cupping your pussy with his whole hand between your legs, gasping in his hand as he keeps you in place, silent and struggling to stay upright. If he weren’t supporting your weight, you’d already be on the floor.
“Say thank you.” He whispers, taking his hand away from your mouth, placing it on the wall beside your head. Pulling back he looks at you, that intense gaze that gets you every time. The hand cupping over your sensitive cunt gives a gentle squeeze and you flinch in response.
“T-Thank you.” You mutter, throat bobbing, swallowing hard.
“You’re welcome.” He steps back, relieving you of his hands and body as you nearly wilt to the floor, barely managing to stay upright. He takes a moment, smoothing out his shirt, adjusting his tie before giving you a final look and then he’s gone.
-
Part Five is currently available (Part Six coming 4/1) on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<
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distractions | Part 2
gif originally posted by baejinsgirl
characters: bae jinyoung x reader, the rest of wanna one?
word count: 2.1k
genre: fluff, angst? hmm enemies to lovers au?, classmate au
author’s note: heres the continuation of part 1! make sure to read the first part first before reading this one so you dont get confused! i might post two more parts for this but i’m still not sure yet! i hope you like it and as always, let me know what you think! thank you! and i’m soooo sorry this took so long.
masterlist | part 1
you squinted your eyes at the four men who just entered the classroom
mainly focusing on the most familiar one
you blinked, many times, trying to check if it was really him
you shook your head
it was him
god. you. are. so. lucky.
you lifted your head up to meet his eyes
he smirked at you
and you just glared at him
he paused for a moment on his spot
your gaze still locked on him as he made his way to the empty seat beside you
he was followed by his friend who was pretty tall
they both sat on the empty seats beside yours while his two other friends sat behind them
you shifted your eyes in front of the classroom trying not to get distracted by your new classmate
your new seatmate
your teacher came into the classroom with a bright smile on her face
the loud murmuring and silent screaming immediately faded out
“Good morning everyone! Welcome! I will be your home teacher for this year! its senior year and I hope you will do your best!”
ugh, senior year, you thought
this year, your last year in high school
you promised yourself that you would focus this year
focused on your studies, extracurricular activities
you wanted to make it to your dream university with an amazing transcript and highschool background
you promised no distractions this year
you wanted it to be better compared to last year
you immediately snapped out of your thoughts when your teacher, Ms. Kim said, “So, shall we proceed with introducing yourselves?”
the class nodded in harmony
she started calling people who sat in the first row until she said
“Now, onto our student council president”
you stood up from your seat and fixed your hair a bit
everyone applauded
except for the man who sat beside you
he had his chin resting on the palm of his right hand as he looked up at you
a part of you somewhat felt nervous with his eyes stuck on you as you try to introduce yourself
“Hello everyone! good morning! If you don’t know yet, my name is Y/N and I’m the president of the student council! I hope that we can make our senior year the best together and as individuals!”
you confidently said and sent your classmates a sweet smile
“Thank you Y/N!” she paused and removed her eye contact with you and looked at the person who followed your movements with his eyes
“Now, onto the young man beside Y/N”
you turned to him to look at him
meeting his eyes, he came back to his senses
here comes the whispers and the murmurs again
the girls around the classroom eyed him
all attention was on him
he stood up from his seat as you sat down
he gulped
“Good morning, I’m Bae Jinyoung. I’m a transfer student for this year. I hope we can all get along and make senior year a great one.”
he managed to introduce himself in a cold tone which made the girls in the room squeal a little bit
you rolled your eyes in annoyance
what’s so special about him thats driving them crazy?
anyways
Ms. Kim dismissed the class early today so that you guys can go and find your classrooms
you grabbed your backpack that laid on the floor and carried your notebooks with your right hand
ready to leave the classroom to go to your other classes
until Ms. Kim called out your name
“Y/N!!” she shyly shouted
you hurried to her desk at the front, realizing that there weren’t as much people left in the classroom anymore
“Yes, Ms.Kim?” you smiled
“Can you do me a favor, dear?” she asked
you smiled brightly, “Yes! Of course!!”
she handed you a class schedule
you scanned it with your eyes
it wasn’t yours tho
“Can you help one of the transfer students find his classrooms? I checked everyones schedule and yours was the one that had the most classes with him!”
your eyes widened in shock
Ms. Kim looked gave you a questioning look, “Is there something wrong?”
“Oh, no no! May I ask who’s schedule is this?”
by the name written on top of the paper, you knew who it was
you just didn’t want to admit it
you wanted to double-check
or maybe exchange with someone else
“That’s mine.”
a deep voice came from behind you
you closed your eyes tightly while taking a deep breath
slowly, you turned around
a tall figure towering over you and Ms. Kim
“That’s my schedule.”
“Ah. I see”, that was all you could say
he grabbed the paper from your hands and looked at it
“So, Y/N, can you help Jinyoung?”, Ms. Kim asked
“Uh, uh, y-yes for sure!”
“Okay thats great! See you guys later!” she said waving to the both of you as she left the classroom
you were about to follow her out until the deep voice called you
“Where are you going?” he said
you stopped but you didn’t turn your back to face him,
“To class.”
you could hear footsteps coming towards you from the back and you knew it was him
“You do know that you’re supposed to help me, right?” he leaned down a bit to say it from the back of your ear
you turned to face him
and you grabbed his schedule from his grip
“Follow me”, you ordered
he did follow you
you showed him his classes and it turned out that he was in 3/4 of them
you were with him for chemistry, english and math
the only class you didn’t have with him was history
he attentively followed you and he listened carefully whenever you gave him instructions
after showing him all of his classrooms (which most of them turned out to be yours as well)
it was finally time to head to your chemistry class
when the both of you reached the classroom
you walked in together
you spotted your friends in a corner of the classroom
they smiled when they saw you
but those smiles slowly faded when they saw the man beside you
they weren’t disappointed
but they were sort of confused?
you ran to them and greeted them
“He seems really familiar, whats his name?” your friend Hana asked
“Hes a transfer student. His name is Bae Jinyoung”
you looked at Jinyoung who was currently talking to one of his friends who turned out to be in the same class
anyways, the class started and you all seated in your seats
surprise! he sat beside you
tbh during the time you were showing him his classrooms
he was different compared to what you thought he was
he was actually really quiet
and you didn’t think that he would be the opposite
you both got closer since you sat together and you were in each other’s classes
classes with jinyoung weren’t that bad
you initially thought that he would be as cocky or rude like he was when you first met him
sometimes, he would ask you for help since you sat together
“Okay, but just help me with this one!! Its the last one, I promise!” he shyly slides his paper closer to you
“YOU’VE BEEN SAYING THAT FOR THE PAST 10 QUESTIONS” you groaned at him
“Its that laaaaaaast one!!!”
you still ended up helping him tho
sometimes, he would annoy you by poking the side of your arm during class
and he wouldn’t stop doing so until you turn to look at him and he would just smile at you foolishly
or sometimes, he would move his chair closer to yours and put his rest his arm in your chair
and just watch you do your work while he stare at you
“Hi.”
you would then turn to him and say
“Can i help you?”
he shakes his head and gives you a slight smile
after a month or so of sitting beside him in the classes you have together
you got to know him better
a lot better than your first impression
he would also always ask you if you need help when you’re stressing out about planning for the next event for the school
“Are you sure that you don’t need any of my help?” he asks
“Yes, i’m sure! Thank you for asking” you force a slight smile even though you were so stressed
also,
since you’re not in the same history class
he would also offer to walk you to class since you would have to carry a few textbooks
“Come on, I’ll walk you to class! My class is literally just a few steps away from yours” he said as he starts to carry your textbooks in his left hand
“You know you don’t have to right?” you shyly respond to him
he turns to you and say, “Yeah, I know!! But I insist! Like what I told you, my class is also in the same floor”
hes such a gentleman tbh
one time, during a day when there was a school event
you went to class wearing a short skirt and a formal top
you needed to dress up as you needed to speak later in front of the whole class of 2018
it was to let them know about the plans for the prom coming up
“What are you wearing?” he asks you with a serious look on his face
“Clothes obviously, what else?” you answered him
he started taking off his denim jacket and he said
“You’re going to sit later up in the stage, infront of everyone and that’s what you’re wearing?”
you looked at him as he handed you his jacket
“What’s this for?”
“Use it later to cover yourself when you sit down”
an unexpected heat came rushing to your face and you were afraid that he would notice that you were blushing
“T-thank you” you said and turned to return to your seat
slowly dying in the inside
on another day, during lunch
your friend Hana mentioned again that Jinyung looked familiar
you asked her where she might’ve seen him
but she was still unsure
“You know, you’ve been hanging out a lot with Jinyoung lately” she said
“We have majority of our classes together thats why I’m always with him” you said as you took a bit of your sandwich
“Are you dating him?”
you almost choked on your sandwich when you heard her next question
“WHAT? NO, we’re just friends!” you stated
“I was just reminding you because you promised yourself that theres going to be no distractions this year… and I was thinking that he might be one of them”
you looked at her this time
“What? No, no. Baejin is not distracting me in any way possible” you gave her a reassurance smile
“Baejin? Isn’t it Iinyoung?”
“Oh yeah! But he told me to call him Baejin instead”
she stopped talking but she just looked at you again quietly
“What?” you asked
“No one calls him that except for you and some of his friends”
thats when it hit you
the whole day that day,
that was all you could think of
you noticed that it was true
you and some of his friends are the only ones who call him that...
you were walking to class
with nothing in your mind
except for what your friend said
and then,
someone yelled your name
“Y/N!”
you turned to see Baejin running towards you
you felt your heart beat a little faster than normal
he wrapped his hands around your shoulders
which made your heart beat faster than before
whats this feeling? you thought
the next day, during lunch
you carried a tray to your table that had your lunch and wallet in it
“Aren’t you going to eat?” you asked Hana who was currently following your movements
“I forgot to bring my money” she frowned
you felt bad for her because she didn’t have anything to eat
and so you offered,
“Go take my wallet and buy something” you smiled at her
her face lit up and she said “Oh my god, You’re a life savior!”
she grabbed your wallet and opened it
Hana stopped for a moment
her smile fading away again to a confused expression
“What’s up? Are you okay?” you worriedly asked her
she pointed at the baby picture of you and your friend from when you were kids
Hana started to laugh and said, “I knew it! I knew he looked familiar!”
you were confused for a second
“Yeah, that’s my childhood friend, why?” you suddenly felt cold
“Bae Jinyoung looks exactly like him!” Hana exclaimed
posted on 180209
#bae jinyoung#bae jinyoung imagines#bae jinyoung scenarios#bae jinyoung au#baejin#wanna one scenarios#wanna one imagines#wanna one au#produce 101 scenarios#produce 101 imagines#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios
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as in ‘crush’
joshua x reader
word count: ~ 5900
a/n: american university!AU; ambiguously non-american/non-native english speaker!reader; probably too much actual talk about IPA; the tiniest dash of nsfw at the end
If only the course listing had warned you that concentrating in your English phonetics course would be made ten times harder by developing a truly GPA-threatening crush on one Joshua Hong.
“To facilitate pronunciation, the nasal consonant changes its place of articulation to match that of the consonant directly following…”
You are really trying to follow along with your professor’s eloquent example of an assimilation rule in the phonetics of standard English. Thus far all you have written down in your notebook, however, is just “ASSIMILATION RULES”, underlined twice with ‘homorganic nasal rule’ jotted underneath it. Since then, all you’d managed to do was rewrite over the word homorganic several times over. A part of you was trying to remember whether the professor had pronounced homorganic with five syllables or four. So at least you were still a little bit studious.
Most of you, however, is having to focus way too much on not letting your gaze flicker over to your left to where you know Joshua is sitting. He’s probably having no trouble at all following the lecture. His calm yet intensely focused gaze had been one of the first things that you’d been taken by. Other than just his overall appearance, which has been a distraction since day one of class.
“I think I’ve been mispronouncing im-polite for years,” Seungkwan whispers to you from the desk next to you, emphasizing the nasal enough for you to clue in that he must be referencing the phenomenon your professor is going on about.
Most of those in Phonetics of the English Language are international students. Without anyone suggesting it be done, you tend to arrange yourselves in the classroom so that you’re arranged by homeland, or at least by mother tongue. You happened to be one of two in this class from your country; the other girl always sits on your right.
As it happens, the small group of students from South Korea sit to your left. Seungkwan was the one who sat on the rightmost end of that group, and so it was purely by this coincidence of this self-selected, entirely unofficial seating chart that the two of you struck up a friendship which seemed to exist exclusively within this one classroom.
You’re doing your best not to make your horrible infatuation with his friend too obvious.
“What does homo-organic mean?” you half-mouth at him, gesturing with your pen to your sorry looking notes. Seungkwan holds back a snort of laughter and shrugs at you. You give him a panicked look and then turn to your right, whispering desperately in your first language.
When you glance back over to Seungkwan, he raises his eyebrows to wordlessly ask if you got an answer.
“Can we compare notes after class?” you ask quietly. While you're posing the question, you gaze flickers beyond him and two more desks down to where Joshua is still. He has one elbow propped up on the fold-down desktop, chin resting in his palm and fingers curled in towards his lips.
“If you take notes!” he nearly threatens to go above the volume any student would dare use during side conversation.
“Shht, okay, okay,” you wave your hand at him to urge him not to risk making any kind of scene and turn your attention towards the front of the room.
Fifty-three minutes later, when the professor has struck her signature end-of-class pose of shutting her folder of notes and settling both hands on the table in the front of the room, the room erupts into a symphony of languages. Yours included, as you bid your compatriot goodbye. You about close up your notebook when Seungkwan pauses his conversation to remind you that you’d asked to revise together.
“I’ll meet you at the chairs in the hall?” The word lounge occurs to you to use, but you aren’t certain if it counts if the comfy furniture and low-set tables aren’t technically in a separate room of themselves. He nods and then slips back into Korean with his friends. You take it as your cue to finish gathering your things.
It’s cooler in the hallway. You’ll never understand why the university seems to think the classrooms can only either be uncomfortably warm or overly air-conditioned. You arrange yourself with your notebook and the course’s main textbook, already searching for extra answers in the chapter you’d only half-read the night before.
You hear Seungkwan and his friends leaving the classroom before you look up to see them. They’re laughing and (you assume) saying their goodbyes as he breaks off from the group to join you.
The two of you spend about twenty minutes going over notes and textbook chapters and doing google searches in your respective languages just to double check. At the tail end of this, Seungkwan is making notes in Hangul in the margins of his notebook while you’re busy flipping through the syllabus.
“Oh, I’m so glad the homework is just some IPA transcription,” you think out loud.
“Ah -- is it really?” Seungkwan doesn’t sound as relieved as you as he glances over at the paper in your lap. “I hate those assignments.”
“Why? It’s much easier than having to read all that theory and research.” Sure, the international phonetic alphabet had taken some getting used to, and one of the front pages of your notebook was covered in your handwritten practicing at writing the symbols out along with your notes on model words you were confident of in English for each consonant and vowel.
“I worry I don’t know how to say things correctly. Then get it wrong because of that.” He frowns only for a moment before his phone buzzes and distracts him from the conversation at hand.
“I’m happy to help if you ever want to check transcriptions together.” You doubt he’ll ever take you up on the offer. That’s been your experience with most other classroom friendships since you started school here. Friendships had mostly been found in your dorm’s common room and in extracurriculars.
“Thank you,” Seungkwan gives the standard response to such an idea, looking up from his phone with a sincere smile.
When you arrive to the next class session approximately ten minutes early, Seungkwan comes in shortly after and promptly starts asking to compare your homework. You blink with surprise for a moment before you click into action, pulling out your notebook and flipping the page where you’d completed the required transcriptions. In his evident rush to verify his work, you decide it’ll be easiest just to hand over your notes. With other students streaming you, you watch as Seungkwan glances back and forth between your work and his own.
“Ah, wait, why did you write this one with epsilon, but not schwa?” he asks, nearly slamming your notebook back onto your desk and pointing at the neatly-numbered seventh one down on your paper.
“Well… it’d be, like… wunt if you wrote it with a schwa. And it’s went,” you explain simply.
He glances over his shoulder, checking which of his friends have already arrived. “Thanks,” he says, and then he rounds on Joshua, nearly yelling something emphatically to him in Korean that has you feeling guilty even if you can’t understand a single word. An apologetic smile twitches at your lips when Joshua glances in your direction while Seungkwan is pointing at the transcriptions on his paper dramatically. As far as your aware, this is the first time Joshua has ever looked at you intentionally; the first time he’s looked at you for longer than a millisecond and it’s absolutely overwhelming to think that it’s happening because of homework corrections of all things. You divert your gaze before you get the chance to see the smile Joshua sends your way even as he’s being reprimanded.
Two weeks later, midterms are officially right around the corner. You have a study session scheduled in the library exactly fifteen minutes after your phonetics class finishes with a group of students in your semantics course. You spend probably a good part of the second-half of the lecture worrying about whether or not your classmates will able to help you with the questions you still have on the midterm material.
The moment your phonetics professor finishes going over the format of the midterm exam and announces she’s done for the day, you’re hurriedly putting your belongs back in your bag. The moment you’re about to stand up, however, a figure suddenly appears in the space you were about to step into, bocking your quick departure. You look up and find yourself at a total loss for words when Joshua is smiling down at you.
The hand holding the strap of your backpack lowers meekly as you give him a curious look. You close your mouth as soon as you realize you’re practically gaping at him.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
You nod, feeling as though the gesture must look dumb.
“Seungkwan says you’re really good at IPA and I think I’ll legitimately fail if I just using a schwa every time I can’t figure out a vowel. So, do you think you could help me study up on that?”
This is a joke. You think as much because the universe would never be so kind as to dump a beautiful boy in need right at your feet with a smile as sweet as Joshua’s. “Okay,” you answer despite the paranoid voice chiming in at the back of your mind trying to convince you that this will be a horrible mistake.
“Cool. Would the student lounge on this floor work?”
“I have to go to the library,” you snap back to your reality. “Um, now,” you add as you take a glance at your phone’s screen. Another international student has frantically texted you that he’s gotten to the library early and is already freaking out at the prospect of sustaining small talk with the quick-talking native speakers in your study group.
“Oh,” he sounds disappointed and your wistful heart is devastated at the notion. “Do you have enough time to take my number? We can text to figure out what’ll work.”
You’re in a daze through the whole exchange. Mostly because Joshua’s fingers brushed against your own as took your phone to type in his contact information. It wasn’t what you’d call sparks. More of a numbing sort of static that washed over you in a wave that left your fingers itching to be wound up with his.
“If you don’t text him I will grab your phone and message him on your behalf asking when he’s next available to spend a couple hours making out,” your closest friend scolds you in your shared mother tongue in the dining hall during lunch the next day.
You blush, and find yourself grateful - and not for the first time - that there’s no guarantee those around you can understand what you’re saying.
“I don’t think I can be alone with him. I’ll go out of my mind. My soul will escape out my stupid, open-hanging mouth and he won’t even get the help he wants.”
“There’s no way this guy is that attractive. You need some perspective, I swear.” She stabs a fork into one of the fries on her plate and then points it in your direction as another idea occurs to her. “Getting the chance to help him might help you realize he’s not some flawless being dropped down from the heavens. Nothing messes up my infatuations like hearing a guy say something completely wrong on a basic facts level.”
“IPA is hard,” you defend, saying only the acronym alone in English.
“And you are really smart for mastering it. Be confident!” she urges. “We’ve also yet to consider that he might be asking for help from you not just for the sake of passing your phonetics midterm.”
Before you can reply you hear your name from over your shoulder. When you turn to look, you nearly drop your fork when you’re greeted with the sight of Joshua.
“Hi,” you switch into English and worry instantly that you might have food in your teeth or unflattering crumbs fallen in your lap.
“Everything go alright with your library thing?”
“Is that him?” your friend asks, utterly shameless with the confidence that he wouldn’t be able to understand.
“It was alright,” you answer Joshua without acknowledging her.
“Oh, good.” He smiles and you’re certain your mirrored expression will give away the answer to your friend’s ignored question. “Any time to help a guy out with phonetics today?”
“Sure.” The word slips out before you think it through.
“Awesome.” His smile only flourishes. “I’m just grabbing lunch now but I’ll text you when I’m done?”
“Okay. That sounds good.” Truly, you’re astonished that you don’t stammer over your agreement.
Does my dorm work?
It had taken you a good fifteen minutes to answer that text after it first arrived from Joshua. You’d been managing a cohesive, casual conversation about when and where would work best to study up until that. Once you’d brought yourself back to rational thought, you’d message back that it would be fine.
Which is how you’ve ended up standing outside a dormitory other than your own with a bag full of your phonetics materials and your phone in one hand as you wait nervously for Joshua to come let you into the building. He appears with a bright, appreciative smile and holds the door open for you as you come inside.
“Sorry if my room’s kinda a mess. My roommate and I keep putting off our big clean-it-all day,” he apologizes in advance as he leads you up the stairs to his floor.
His room doesn’t look that bad at all, save a few stray wrappers from snacks and bit of strewn laundry on the side of the room you quickly discover is not Joshua’s. When it’s decided that the most convenient place for you both to sit and work through the phonetic alphabet together is side-by-side on his bed, you’re grateful that the only thing that crosses your mind is how soft his duvet is.
“So… the IPA vowels?” you recall him mentioning being his point of weakness. He chuckles, and you spot a slightly embarrassed tinge to his smile. “Do you want to show me your transcriptions from class?”
Joshua hops up from the bed and brings back his notepad from class. “You’re playing teacher here, so no laughing,” he requests as he hands it over, opened up to a page full of messy IPA with corrections written in anywhere he could find space.
“You’re… obsessed with the schwa,” you conclude after about forty-five seconds of scanning the page.
“Hey! Obsessed is the wrong word,” he suggests, propping one socked foot up on the bed as he leans back on his hands, “I just default to it.”
“It’s usually not a stressed vowel,” you begin with, as you lean down to grab a pen out of your bag. With one hand holding his notebook, you resort to uncapping your pen with your teeth, holding the cap between your lips as you twirl the Bic around in your fingers to slip it onto the backend. Your preoccupation with the task means you miss the way Joshua’s gaze zeros in on your lips at the action; his own press into a thin line as he reminds himself you’re just doing something practical.
“This is an IPA chart for vowels, okay?” you speak idly as you start drawing out the arrangement of front-central-back and closed to open sounds. “And your favorite is right in the middle, mid-central. It seems like you mostly confuse it with other mid-placed vowels. But… um, both front and back placed ones.”
“You’re losing me already,” Joshua confesses with another short laugh at his own expense.
You hum lightly, drawing over a few of the phonetic symbols a second time as you try to think of how to explain it. “I usually think of an example word. One syllable. That way I know what sound for sure goes with each vowel.”
“Like, epsilon is more front than schwa,” you tap lightly at where the symbol is positioned on the chart you’d written out in his notebook. “And it sounds like in ‘bet’.” Joshua’s spine straightens up some as you beginning this explanation. You jot down your example underneath the symbol and underline the e in bet. “Then, more closed and more front is the /e/, which makes the, um… ‘ay’ sound, you know, like…”
“Bait?” he suggests. You nod, smiling encouragingly as you copy the word down, once more underlining the vowel. “Your handwriting’s nice,” he compliments as he leans in slightly to get a better look at everything you’re putting down.
“Nearby,” you carry own without expressing any kind of gratitude. His closer positioning has you feeling a bit more self-conscious. “Is the small capital i. It’s easy, like what’s in the word ‘it’, or ‘miss’, or... ‘kiss’.” He hums in understanding beside you.
“The back ones you mix up with schwa are maybe a little harder.” You tap the back of the pen against the paper; you hope Joshua won’t know it’s a sign of your nerves at his proximity. You’ve been smitten enough so far with just the look of him. You hadn’t anticipated that the smell of him would endear you all the more to him. A stay glance over towards his dresser doesn’t tell you what cologne he wears, but you’re certain he must be wearing something. No one smells this nice all on their own.
“Open-o isn’t too bad. Just, if anything makes the sound like in ‘thought’, it’s this one.” You circle the vowels in the word lightly, the ink barely leaving a mark on the page. “And then there’s the caret, which is sort of… right in the middle of schwa and open-o?” You trace the flipped v shape of the symbol. “It’s the ‘uh’ sound, as in ‘crush’.”
“I think I say it was a schwa,” he muses, watching as you write the word out.
“Crush?” you repeat, finally lifting your head to look at him.
“Crush,” he echoes more firmly. You have to admit his vowel is a bit more relaxed than when you pronounce it, making it sound closer to the schwa sound.
“I don’t know,” you surrender, fearing yourself unable to sustain eye contact without starting to blush. “You’re probably right.” You can practically hear the scolding your friend will give you for not sticking with confidence already. “You’re probably the best at English of the international kids in our class, I mean,” you reason.
“I’m from California,” he corrects you after a beat of awkward silence. You look up at him for a moment just to confirm his sincerity and proceed to shut your eyes with a grimace of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize because it feels like the only thing you can do. “I assumed because…”
“It’s okay,” Joshua cuts in gently, like he wishes this whole thing had not come up in the first place. Another aspect of the situation for you to feel guilty for. “It happens.” You are filled with dread. Just because he’s dealt with this sort of mix up before doesn’t make you feel any better for having added another tally to the instances of it.
Your mind is searching for some kind of segue into leaving, or any kind of excuse to get out of the room.
“They’re pretty close in pronunciation,” Joshua points out instead, pointing to the caret and the schwa on your vowel chart. Guilt still leaves you wordless, so you nod in agreement. “Maybe I should try a couple transcriptions with the tips you’ve given so far?” he changes the subject officially. It’s obvious he wants to move along. At this point abiding that desire seems like the only polite thing to do.
You only spend fifteen minutes more in his room, helping him through a few transcriptions with the vowels he struggles over the most. When you gather your things to leave, he offers to walk you back down to the front door of the building. You accept only because insisting he does otherwise seems like it will make things more awkward.
When your phonetics class rolls around again, you stop in your tracks at the doorway when you see the Seungkwan and Joshua have traded spots. Trying not to make your missed beat too obvious, you push yourself back into motion and slip into your usual seat.
“Hey, how’re you?” asks Joshua, eyes following you as you settle in.
“I’m okay,” you answer as you flip through to a clean page of your notepad. “Tired,” you add for a touch more honesty as you turn your head to look at him. “How are you?”
“Same, pretty much.” He shrugs. “I think I did alright on the transcriptions for today. Thanks again for helping me out with that.” You feel forgiven, or even as though he was never mad.
Throughout the entire lecture, your gaze plays a furtive version of tag with Joshua’s. Every so often you’d let your glances meet for more than a second. And these instances are accompanied with an upwards tick in Joshua’s lips every time, however fleeting the expression was before one of you would redirect your sight to the front of the room or to your notes. It feels as though each flickering glimpse at one another is tugging away at whatever chance at subtlety you ever had.
Next class, when it’s time to take the midterm exam, you sit one sit further over than usual. Putting space between you and Joshua is the only chance you’ll have at passing.
Come Thursday, when all your midterms have been completed, it’s easy to convince you to attend some party being thrown by some friend-of-a-friend in one of the suites in the more modern dormitory. You and your friends made the trek across campus with plastic water bottles filled with cheap whiskey and lemonade.
It isn’t difficult getting into the building. It takes a few moments of pounding on the front door before one of the residents passes by and is kind enough to open it for you. From there, finding the suite hosting the party is as easy as following the sound of heavy bass and loud chatter.
The suites may be bigger than a standard room, but it’s absolutely packed with students eager to let out pent-up stress from midterms. You take a large gulp from your bottle as your friends make their way further into the festivities.
Loud music keeps you from hearing Seungkwan calling your name the first time. He’s impossible to miss once he taps you on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you out before!” he exclaims the obvious.
“Me neither.” You have to shout from the volume around. “How did your exams go?”
“Ahh,” he throws his head back dramatically before putting it in clear terms, “I’m so glad they are over!” You nod an eager seconding of the sentiment. Unsure what else you can say to him, you take another drink from your bottle instead. “That doesn’t look like water,” Seungkwan comments with a grin.
“Do you want some?” you offer, “It’s lemonade and, ah… Jack Daniel’s?” You only half remember the brand name of the bottle your friend had passed you.
“Sure,” he accepts quickly; it’s likely the answer he would have given regardless of what you told him was inside the clear plastic. You hand it over and watch him grimace as he swallows a sip. “That’s strong,” he tells you as he passes it back.
“Sorry,” you laugh as you bring it back up to your own lips. “Sidenote -- is English easier to speak drunk?”
“Yes!” Seungkwan concurs, smiling so brightly that you can’t help grinning back at him. “Should we be drinking before class?” he asks facetiously.
“Probably not,” you advise through giggles you might not have had if it weren’t for the buzz of alcohol in your system.
You watch with widened eyes as another boy comes all but crashing into Seungkwan, arm looping around his shoulder and saying something energetically in Korean. You’re about to turn to go find your friends again when Seungkwan calls out for you to wait. He says something more to the newcomer which you can’t understand, though you swear you hear the name ‘Joshua’ somewhere in the middle of it. The stranger’s lips quirk into a smirk as he glances over to you.
“My name’s Jeonghan,” he introduces himself at Seungkwan’s behest. You give him your own and find that the handshake the two of you exchange feels oddly formal in this setting. “Let’s go find Shua!” he proposes immediately after, handshake turning into him leading you through the crowd unexpectedly. Seungkwan yells something at him in his first language as he tails after the two of you.
Joshua, as it turns out, is sitting playing some card game you don’t recognize in one of the bedrooms with a handful of others. He looks up from his hand with evident surprise as you three of you burst in. You find yourself caught in the middle of a conversation you have no chance to following as the three boys carry on in Korean. Jeonghan releases your hand around the same time that Seungkwan leans into your shoulder in a gesture that seems like it’s solely so he can keep his tipsy self upright.
“Sorry,” Joshua tells you just as you’re beginning to feel truly lost and a little bit paranoid about what they’re discussing. He stands up from the game in order to speak to you directly. “Jeonghan is ---”
“I’m what?” Jeonghan doesn’t let him finish, slinging an arm around Joshua much as he’d done to Seungkwan not long ago.
“It’s okay,” you intervene, utterly uncertain what’s going on but hoping nevertheless that you can take this chance to switch the conversation into English. “It’s nice to see you.”
“You too.” Joshua smiles softly, and the expression shifts as soon as he glances to Seungkwan. It makes you feel like that fleeting look had been exclusively for you; that is was something quiet and meant to be kept between the two of you.
“How do you think the phonetics midterm went?” you ask, twisting the cap of your bottle back and forth idly.
“I have no idea! But could you believe one of the transcription exercises on it actually had the word ‘crush’ in it? I nearly gave up then and there,” he remarks. Up until that moment, you had forgotten about that particular part of the test. Though you had shared a similar feeling in the moment.
“How did you end up transcribing it?”
“With a caret, like you said.”
You burst with laughter and cover your eyes for a moment your free hand. “I used a schwa because of you!” you admit, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I guess we’ll find out which one’s right in the next week or so,” he laughs along with you.
You turn when you hear your name being called and send a quick wave in the boys’ direction before heading back out into the suite’s common room, where two of your friends are waiting with curious looks on their faces.
You don’t see Joshua for the rest of the night. Or rather, you don’t see Joshua again until hours later, when the bottle has long been emptied and you’ve started sobering up. You’ve switched your heels for the cloth flats you’d smartly thrown into your purse before leaving for the night and failed in convincing your friends who haven’t already left with somebody that it’s time to go.
You send a brief text that you’re leaving to the group chat to prevent any confusion before you begin your way down the staircase. It’s in the landing between floors three and four that you see Joshua again. He’s chatting with other students you don’t know, and you plan on slipping by without saying anything to him. In part because you know your hair and makeup must both be mussed up from the dancing you’d spent most the party doing.
You’re two steps down the next set of steps after passing by the group when his voice calls your name and draws you to a halt. With one hand holding the straps of your heels and the other one the handrail, you turn to face him. “Are you heading home alone?” he asks; there’s a different kind of concern in his tone than the one you’d heard from your friends.
“Yeah, it’s… less fun in there without being drunk.” The thought sounds worse out loud than it did in your head. But it makes Joshua laugh and sends you another one of those small smiles that you’ve officially decided are not good for your health with the way they make your heart flutter.
“Do you want someone to walk you?”
You don’t feel compelled to have someone go with you. You feel confident enough in the way home and lack fear in crossing campus alone at this hour from the number of times you’ve done it before. So, do you want someone to walk you? No. But do you want Joshua to go with you?
“That would be nice,” you say, smile growing in spite of yourself.
“Give me one minute to grab my stuff?” he requests. You nod. The moment he disappears, you lean back against the wall of the stairs as it dawns on you that you’ll be spending a good ten-minute walk alone with Joshua. The two of you hadn’t spent time alone since the study-session-turned-disaster.
True to his word, Joshua is coming back down the stairs before too much time passes. If he’d taken any longer, you think to yourself, you might have fled.
The awkwardness you fear will come never does. He asks you about where you’re from, about what made you want to study in the States. He’s patient when you struggle to find the exact words or syntax that you want. So much so that you’d say it doesn’t even require any patience on his part to sustain a conversation with you. You rally questions back at him and hang off every syllable of his answers.
It’s good that you both know the campus well enough that you can get away with spending most of the walk looking at one another rather than where you’re going.
He doesn’t work up the nerve to take your hand until the two of you are already at your building’s front door. The gesture keeps you from reaching into your purse for your keys. His hand sways back and forth with yours as you turn to face him with directly. “I’m sorry again, about Seungkwan and Jeonghan. They should know how frustrating it is to have people saying things you can’t understand right in front of you.”
“I’m not worried,” you try to prompt a smile back onto his features. “It would be self-centered to assume they were talking about me. I just… happened to be there.”
His head falls forward for a moment, blocking you from seeing most of the repentant look that crosses his face as he thinks of how wrong you are there. But he can’t bring himself to tell you that they were speaking almost exclusively about you.
“It’s a bit rude either way,” he tells you in place of any admissions.
You shrug and fail to find any words as Joshua lifts his eyes yours once again. There’s a shift in the atmosphere. A thin wire has been drawn between the two of you and is waiting simply for the right tug that will make the whole thing snap. You move a centimeter closer, testing just what will break the tension. The fingers laced with yours press a fraction firmer into your skin.
And then the moment is shattered by the door of your dorm digging into your back as it’s opened from the other side. You’re jostled forward, nearly into Joshua’s chest before you catch your balance. He releases your hand in the same instant.
“Sorry,” the girl leaving the building says casually as she passes the two of you by.
Deciding it’s a sign, you take hold of the door before it can close all the way. When you turn to bid him goodnight, you find he’s taken a step closer to come inside as well. You tell yourself he’s just taking the way home all the way to your own door. It would parallel the way he’d insisted upon walking you to the front door of his dorm before.
You pull your keys out of your purse while the two of you are still going up the stairs to your floor. When you reach your door, Joshua catches you off guard as he brushes a hand against one of the cut-outs of motivational words you and your roommate had put up in honor of midterm season. “This is cute,” he remarks, scanning over the rest of the decorations on your door. You fiddle with the key in your hand and tell him it was your roommate’s idea.
“Is she in?” he asks, turning at the shoulder to face you while his hand still rests against the glossy wood of your door.
“I don’t know,” is the only honest answer you can give. “I know she went out tonight but I’m not sure where.”
“Can I come in if she’s not?” is his next question, and this one you have no idea how to decipher. So you answer nonverbally, with the ambiguous combination of a shrug and a nod at the same time.
At least, you have no clue until Joshua provides a touch of clarification in the form of a soft kiss. Your heels and keys all clatter against the hallway floor as the affection makes you drop everything. He pulls away from you with a chuckle that’s warm against your still-parted lips.
He crouches down and picks the shoes and keys up for you. “Only if it’s okay with you,” he reassures as he hands your keys back out to you.
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and avert your gaze to unlock your door.
When you flick on the lights, you’re embarrassed by how relieved you are that your roommate isn’t yet home. You give him an okay sign with your fingers and wave him inside.
Joshua closes the door behind him and sets the heels he’d picked up for you down beside the door, careful that they remain upright even once he’s released his hold. You toe off your flats and set your keys down on your desk.
He catches your stare while he’s shrugging off his jacket and sends you a new smile. It isn’t soft and secret like the ones you’d been melting over before. But it sends a spark down your spine all the same. As he comes close, you find yourself immersed once more in the that unnamed, pleasant cologne of his.
“Still okay?” he checks as his hands find their way to your hips.
“Definitely,” you respond, though your racing heart protests that it might not be okay if you end up bursting from the strange fortune midterm week has brought you this semester.
You only get a momentary glance at the smile your consent brings to his face before his kisses have you closing your eyes and surrendering to feeling.
But the chances for soaking in Joshua’s different smiles are far from over.
For instance, in about twenty minutes he’ll be smirking up at you from between your thighs and asking which IPA symbols you’d use to transcribe the first of moans he draws from your well-kissed lips.
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MM071 - No Inspiration Behind a Desk
Inspiration must be the precursor to creativity. If you job required you to be creative, you need find sources of inspiration. Ernest Hemingway and Zane Grey was outdoorsmen. Rudyard Kipling traveled to several continents, including Africa. Get out from behind you desk to find inspiration.
Episode Transcription
[INTRO]
♫ Trenches by Pop Evil ♫
*Alex*
Welcome to Morning Mindset. A daily dose of practical wit and wisdom with a professional educator & trainer, Amazon best selling author, United States Marine, Television and Radio host, Paul G. Markel. Each episode will focus on positive and productive ways to strengthen your mindset, and help you improve your relationships, career goals, and overall well-being. Please welcome your host; Paul G. Markel.
*Professor Paul*
Alright let’s get right into it. Thank you once again for following along with this and listening every day, I do appreciate it. Today we’re going to talk about Inspiration. Now you may not have a job, task or career that requires you to be creative. Not just follow a set plan, but come up with fresh, new ideas. As your beloved host, and I hope I’m beloved, I have to come up with a new topic every day.
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As I look at me notes here, this is episode #71. That means that I have had to sit down and think of 71 topics to talk about. *Laughs* I will be honest with you, occasionally, if I’m sitting in the office with the laptop open, I won’t be able to do it or I find it difficult. I find myself staring at the computer. That’s because inspiration very rarely comes from behind a desk. Now you can be creative & productive behind a desk. You can sit at a desk and use your laptop to be productive or to create, but very rarely does inspiration come from there.
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Inspiration is the precursor to creativity. If you have no inspiration, it’s hard to be creative. Have you ever had someone come to you, let’s say you needed to come up with a new sales pitch or you needed to come up with 3 bullet points to sell a product or something of that nature. Someone walks up to your desk and says “Hey, give me 3 words to describe this product. Go.” or “Come up with a phrase to help me sell this product”, or what have you.
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You say “uuuuuh…” Very few people can just, on the spot, spit out new, multi-million dollar ideas. Most people actually have to take the time to think about it, they have to be inspired. There are many ways to find inspiration or get inspired in your own way. Personally, my inspiration comes from going outdoors, into the field, wherever the field may be. The hills, the desert, what have you. Ernest Hemmingway, Zane Grey, and Rudyard Kipling all found inspiration from traveling and the outdoors.
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Ernest Hemmingway & Zane Grey if you look them up, they’re described as anglers, outdoorsmen, conservationists. Rudyard Kipling, the man who wrote “The Jungle Book” and “Gunga Din”, the poem you may have read when you were a kid, he was born in India. He returned to the UK, he lived in the USA, he traveled to Africa, he got around. Here’s what I’m telling you. If you’re looking for inspiration, stop looking for it from behind your desk, because it’s really hard to find it there.
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I don’t know if it’s the wide-open spaces, or the fresh air, or the last of clutter, or the lack of distractions that helps me, but it’s probably a combination of all those things. But what I’ll do is I’ll take my rifle for a walk, and I’ll go and sit-, I’ve been doing this for going on 20 years now. I’ll always take a notebook with me, because generally while I’m sitting there quietly and patiently, you know looking for game. Varmints or what have you, and I’ll have ideas. Because I’m not distracted, there’s nobody around for the most part, and I’m just out there with my thoughts, out there in the open.
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Now that may not be your bag man, maybe you wanna travel to the beach and sit in a chair and watch the waves roll up on the beach. Watch the tide, man. Maybe you just wanna go to the park and watch the ducks swim across the lake. Whatever it is that helps you find inspiration, but you’re probably not going to find it sitting behind a desk. And yes, I came up with today’s topic while I was sitting out in the field, taking my rifle for a walk. As a matter of fact I have several topics written down in my notebook, so I’m glad it all worked out.
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That’s it for today, that you very much for joining me. If you would be so kind as to go to Amazon.com and you can get a paperback book or Kindle edition. Books such as “Dad Rules; Wit & Wisdom from a Dad to Whom it may Concern”, “Team Honey Badger; Raising Fearless Kids in a Cowardly World”, Faith in the Patriot; A Belief worth Fighting For”, “The Intolerant Christian”, and many others available on Amazon. If you do nothing else, share this with someone else in your life, I’m sure you know someone who would appreciate it. I am your host Paul Markel, and I’ll talk to you again, real soon.
[OUTRO]
♫ Trenches by Pop Evil ♫
*Alex*
Thank you for spending time with us today. To get show notes, submit a topic request, for more from your host Paul G. Markel, visit MorningMindsetPodcast.com. That’s MorningMindsetPodcast.com. Please leave a review of this podcast on your favorite podcast player, we appreciate your time & effort, and we look forward to reading your honest feedback.
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