the working title is “it’s the apocalypse, bitch.”, and it’s going to feature ted/hidgens, paul/bill/emma, alice/deb and charlotte/melissa! (bonus, a little bit of emma/melissa because you know what nonmonogamy rights!)
please, if you read it and like it, reblog and comment?
OH MY GOD, THIS IS PERFECT. Thank you for this @sweetsmalldog!! 💖
59. “Whether or not you believe it, I actually care for this dumbass bitch.”
“You ready for this?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s not a big deal.”
“‘Not a big deal?’ Curt, she’s your boss.”
“Look, let’s just get this over with, okay? On three. One, two-“
Curt and Owen clumsily barged into the office with the force of two battling oxen, almost toppling into each other.
Cynthia didn’t even look up from the giant newspaper she was flipping through. “If you two are gonna make out, don’t do it in my office. This desk has seen enough chafing in its time,” she said casually, lounging with her glossy black high heels propped on her desk.
The pair glanced at each other, then stared at Cynthia in disbelief. “What the- wha-you- you already knew?”
Cynthia snorted. “I’ve known you two were doing it since day one, Jesus Christ. You think I’m stupid?” She took a puff from her cigarette, laughing. “That’s Curt’s job.”
Curt twiddled his fingers. “Well, we weren’t exactly sure what you’d think. You know, since we work together and all...”
“Oh, please, like I fucking care what you and Owen do behind the scenes.” Cynthia smirked, clearly amused. “Frankly, I just found it hilarious that Curt could score with someone so out of his league.”
Curt rolled his eyes. Owen glared at her, then put a protective arm around Curt. “Whether or not you believe it, Cynthia, I actually care for this dumbass bitch.”
Cynthia raised her hands defensively. “Hey, I believe it, I believe it.“ Shaking her head, she added, “Goddamn, I have to admit, you guys...you guys are...cute.” She gagged. “Oh god, that’s disgusting. Forget I said that.”
Curt exchanged a suggestive glance with Owen, as if to say, Now? Now.
“Well, you’d better get used to it. Because we’re getting married,” Owen announced, squeezing Curt’s hand, “and you’re invited.” Curt beamed at him.
“Wow, finally,” Cynthia said, tossing her cigarette in the trash. “I’d be happy to come to you guys’s wedding. Unless, of course, there’s a national emergency, in which case you’re both fucking toast.”
Owen smiled mischievously. “Can you imagine that, Curt? A mission on our wedding day,” he teased.
A million lights began flashing in Curt’s head. His eyes widened as he turned to stare at Owen.
“Babe, that just might’ve been your best idea yet.”