#john krasinski

[soapsmoviesfootballfan]

[soapsmoviesfootballfan]

[serendipity-in-love]

[filmesbrazil]

[soapsmoviesfootballfan]

[slutgeant]

Omg a jim writer! Your account is beautiful. Maybe to start could we just get some cutie dating headcanons? :) xx

i've never done headcanons before so please don't nuke me

masterlist

To be your lover. - j.h

✧ he insisted you keep it private at first. he didn't trust a single soul in that office to act cool about it. "i only want you. and now i have you. i don't need their approval to confirm that"

✧ he absolutely loves sneaking around. he'll purposely stand behind you at your desk, leaning in with his hand on yours as he guides the mouse, pretending to "help" with a tech issue. he'll talk right into your neck, breath making your skin tingle

✧ he'd save a seat for you during michael's talks in the conference room just so the two of you can pass notes or whisper silly comments.

✧ he loved doing this thing where he'd pretend to 'bump' into you in the break room. as you'd rinse your mug, or get a refill of coffee, he'd lazily walk in, whistling, just to see you smile. his broad and tall frame would block the view from the door while he shoots you a wink, maybe whispering something dirty.

✧ and he'd plant a soft kiss right to your temple before someone (stanley, usually) walks in, who couldn't give a shit about office drama

✧ he knew when you got the munchies. so before you'd head to the vending machine, he'd leave a note on a pink post-it, complete with a doodle of Dwight's classes and a deformed basketball (an inside joke). "meet me in the copier room. now."

✧ and when you'd arrive (post-it note in your pocket so that an unwanted guest doesn't intrude), he'd grab you by the waist and kiss you like he hadn't eaten in weeks. it's soft, hungry, desiring, and loving at all.

✧ michael forces the office into an after-hours group dinner, to celebrate his improv class' first year over, and you two have to act like casual coworkers.

✧ under the table, Jim's knee presses firmly against yours, staying there the entire night as a silent anchor while Michael rambles. his hand also makes its way to yours, drawing circles on your wrist.

✧ he walks over to your desk and throws a cd on your desk. it's inside a boring, empty jewel case labeled 'quarterly sales reports.' he leaves it on your desk with a completely serious face, whispering, "michael needs you to review these numbers."

✧ you go home and shove it in your cd player, pen and paper in hand to take notes. but you're met with the familiar, heart-softening tune of 'every breath you take' by the police. tour song. then a recording of him chuckling before he speaks. "that was our song that we danced to at phyllis' wedding. dunno if you remember but..." a deep sigh.

✧ "i think it sums us up perfectly. well, me. i watch you a lot. well- not- you get what I mean. anyway, the next songs are ones that remind me of you. you don't have to listen to the whole thing. love you."

✧ of course you listen to the whole thing.

✧ you're relieved to hear the clock hit 5 pm at the end of a rather gloomy monday. Everyone leaves, taking their umbrellas out the holder by the reception desk. your dumbass had forgotten one. so you prepare to use your coat as a shield. shame. it was expensive.

✧ but. jim waits by the front door for you, pops open his massive golf umbrella, and brings his arm completely around your shoulders to pull you tight against his side. he deliberately tilts the umbrella so it covers you perfectly, leaving his own left shoulder getting completely soaked just to keep you dry.

✧ you wake up chilly on a weekend morning and grab one of his soft, worn-in gray hoodies or flannel shirts. you didn't live together yet, and forgot to bring clothes after the improptu night of passion. when you walk into the kitchen, his eyes light up completely seeing how oversized it looks on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the shirt big enough to serve as a dress and make your legs stick out. he pulls you in by the fabric of the hood, rolls up the sleeves for you and whispers, "you're keeping that, by the way."

✧ he remembers a random, specific childhood story you told him about a superhero or character you invented when you were eight. mr bunny, you'd called him (to no surprise, it was a rabbit in underwear, a cape and a red eye mas). mr bunny was a masked hero that saved animals from rabies. he then tracks down a local scranton comic book artist to sketch a full, high-quality blueprint of his hidden lair, and mr bunny himself, in all his mighty underwear glory. the blueprint includes inside joke rooms (like a "dwight's cage to watch us makeout") and a tiny, detailed sticky note on the drawing that says, "thought your hero needed a lair to rest after all that animal-saving."

✧ you both go to a dusty thrift store on a boring saturday, but instead of just browsing, he turns it into a silent, competitive performance art piece. he finds a stack of bizarre, vintage 1970s, opens them up, and subtly points out the dirtiest paragraphs while keeping a completely straight face. his smile slowly starts to appear by hearing your giggles though.

✧ you complain for weeks that your office chair has a squeak that is driving you insane, but Michael keeps ignoring your requests.

✧ jim waits until a friday evening when everyone leaves. He sneaks into the back storage closet, finds the absolute best, most comfy mesh chair, and swaps it with yours. he spends an hour adjusting the armrests and lumbar support perfectly to your height. when you arrive monday, your squeaky chair is sitting at dwight’s desk, and Jim just gives you a knowing look from across the room.

✧ you two have a slightly mundane date night at the local chili's, eating cheap nachos and laughing at the trashy low-light decor. while you're in the restroom, jim takes the paper receipt, flips it over, and quickly scribbles a hyper-detailed "review of the evening" using a cap-less pen. he writes things like: "food: 6/10. your laugh when the waiter dropped the tray: 11/10. probability that I am going to marry you: 100%." he folds it into a tiny square and slips it into the battery compartment of your car key fob so you find it months later.

✧ people only find out because of kevin. kevin walks into the breakroom while jim's leaning in just a little too close to you by the vending machines. he stops, his eyes go wide, and a massive, slow grin spreads across his face. "I knew it!" jim instantly smiles, realising the secret is out. the sneaking out had been fun but he got sick of guys asking you out. "okay, kev. you caught us. but you gotta keep it on the down-low, alright? If michael finds out, it’s over." kevin proceeds to tell everyone, because he had money on you two.

✧ and now that you two don't have to hide, it feels good to openly hold hands in the break room. and then you realise the downside when phyllis sneaks onto your table, interrogating you about jim's habits. in front of him. "does he forget to flush? bob does that." creed passes by to get soda, and then casually comments. "congratulations on the baby." "oh, no, i'm not pregnant" "i think it's gonna be a boy" jim's eyes rise into his hairline.

[onesnlclipaday]

Day 52 Season 46, Episode 10 The Dividend

[slutgeant]

hi love!! had a cute idea for a jim halpert fic that not too many have done, and id love if you did it in your style ♡ it had been around a week after pam rejected jim, and jim was feeling dejected. out of the blue, michael gives him a new hire to train. jim is disinterested at first, but with forced proximity, reader's perfume & sweet nature, he realizes there are other girls in the world; other girls in that office, like the one sitting next to him who keeps lightly knocking their knees together & giggling at his jokes ♡ thought this was a cutesy fluff idea, but if you dont do it thank you for taking the time to read this <3 cant wait to see your future writing

almost cried while writing this. jim halpert the man that you are. listen to the song while you read this. trust me.

masterlist

There's only me and you. - j.h

✧. ┊     PAIRING: jim halpert x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 3.1k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: sexual references but that's about it, pg-rated, no use of y/n as always

Jim had never felt this kind of a hurt before. A hurt so raw and brutal, it made him want to pack up his bags and move somewhere. Anywhere.

Sure, he knew what a risk it would be to confess to Pam, especially with her wedding lurking around the corner. But god, he'd hoped that in those stolen glances and warm smiles, maybe she loved him back.

His lips tingled with the feel of her lips on his. Not a good reminder. He didn't enjoy kissing her like he thought he would. Instead of everything clicking into place like he dreamed, it reminded him of everything that was wrong with the world. And the worst part? He didn't think he could ever move on.

Jan, the ever-so-stern boss, took some sympathy on Jim and gave him a heads-up about Stamford, where he demanded a transfer after what happened with Pam. It wouldn't be the same anymore, staying in Scranton. Without he and Pam's shared jokes, the office wasn't worth staying at anymore.

But of course, fate is funny.

Jan told him Stamford was to shut down anyway, due to their boss, Josh's "betrayal." So a few of the best employees would be transferring to Scranton. As well as the new hire. And to soothe his disappointment, Jim got a pay raise, and a fancy new title to put on his desk plaque. "Assistant Regional Manager." He couldn't wait to see Dwight's reaction to that.

He's nice enough to the fresh blood, sure. He isn't exactly the "welcoming committee" type. He only realises he has to actually try when Michael instructs him to train the new hire- a fresh graduate, who Josh promised to train himself before, well, the Great Betrayal.

"Anyhoo, Jimbob, Jimmy Jam. Show her 'round the office, see if she's got good pipes."

Jim sighs and leaves before Michael decides to make more inappropriate comments about the newbie. He hadn't noticed her when she first walked in with the Stamford transfers. He was too busy trying to avoid Pam's gaze and ignore Andy's desperate pursuit of her. The new hire is sat at the only available desk behind Kelly, her eyes locked blankly on her computer screen as Kelly runs her mouth about the most exciting new news about Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz's breakup (He knew all the details already because she managed to find him alone in the break room earlier). Jim leans on the partition between her and Toby's desk, exchanging a look with her. She gives him a tight-lipped smile, universal for "Save me, please."

"Kelly, you mind if I borrow the new kid for a minute?"

"Sure," Kelly smiles up at him. "She probably needs a minute to process the drama."

"Totally right," the hire stands, quickly rushing to Jim's side. "I owe you big time for getting me out of there. I haven't been able to work a wink since I arrived."

"I'd consider Kelly one of the more sane ones here. You're in for a treat." He spins to face her, really looking at her for the first time. She was nothing like Pam. She was nothing like any girl he'd ever been with, really. She was beautiful, but in a haunting way. Like a girl you'd see at the airport or a cafe, and you would just stop and stare, but never actually go up to her. She would linger in your thoughts and show up in your dreams but you never knew her name. But here? He knows her name.

"Martin and Tony have already quit. I'm just starting, so I wanna tough it out." Her words snap him out of his directionless ponder.

"And I'm here to help you with that. Jim Halpert." He thrusts out his hand. She takes it, her hand soft.

"I know. You're the assistant manager." He nods, smiling in his signature way.

"And as assistant manager, I'm promoting you to the desk beside me and not Kelly. So we have some chance of getting work done?" She lets out a breath of relief at his offer.

"I. Love. You." Then she scurries off to her desk, presumably to pack her things.

Those words can't leave his head as we walked back to his desk. She'd been joking, of course. He can't care less about her.

He trains her how he would anyone else. But she's a clever girl. Quick learner. They must be putting these kids through hell in college. Back in his day, they'd be lucky if the professor showed up to class. Soon enough, she's competent enough to ride solo, showing better results this early in than the others did in their whole careers. And she's funny.

The dashboard clock clicks to 4:15 PM.

The heat in the car is a welcomed contrast against the late autumn chill outside. He keeps his eyes on the Pennsylvania highway. She is rifling through the glove box after her first ride-alone with Jim.

"You have six packs of napkins from three different fast-food chains, but not a single pen that works," she says. She holds up a dried-out ballpoint. "This is a hostile work environment."

He snorts, turning the wheel slightly to merge onto the interstate. "Those are a prized collection of napkins. For coffee spills. And Dwight probably stole the pens."

"Dwight spent twenty minutes this morning measuring his desk with a ruler because he swears the alignment is off by two millimetres."

"Did you help him?"

"Obviously. I told him magnetic forces from the breakroom microwave were warping the wood. He’s currently wrapping his desk legs in tin foil."

He laughs out loud. It's not the polite, corporate chuckle he uses for Michael's terrible conference room jokes. It's real. Like he used to with Pam. It fills the quiet space of the Corolla.

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. She's looking out the passenger window, a tiny, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. For the first time in three years, the drive back from a client feels short.

"That's evil," he says, though his tone is entirely fond.

"Evil? This is tame, Jim. The stuff you've done is far worse and let me remind you-- I learn from the best."

"I had no idea business school taught you how to use psychological warfare."

"I had to survive somehow."

They pass the "Scranton welcomes you" sign. Usually, a knot of boredom tightens in his stomach right about here. Today, he finds himself slowing down, wishing the traffic back home was just a little bit worse.

They walk back into the building, the chilly autumn air outside instantly replaced by the familiar hum of fluorescent lights. Instead of heading straight back to the bullpen, she makes a sharp detour toward the breakroom. Jim follows her like a puppy, not having the time to think about it.

She stops in front of the vending machine, leaning her forehead against the cool glass to inspect the rows of chips.

"Tragedy" she sighs, pointing a finger at a vacant metal coil. "The baked potato chips are gone. Kevin must have had a stressful morning."

"Kevin doesn't need stress to clear out the machine," Jim says, leaning his shoulder against the soda machine next to the vending machine. "He works on a strict biological clock. But if you're looking for tragedy, look at row D-4."

She follows the number, squinting. "An expired pack of strawberry licorice?"

"From 2004. A Dunder Mifflin relic," Jim nods solemnly, a playful smile on his face. "We keep it there to remind us of our mortality."

She laughs, a sharp, bright sound that echoes off the linoleum walls. She reaches up to adjust the collar of her cardigan, the sudden movement kicking up a wave of air right between them.

Jim takes a breath, and his brain completely stops.

He catches the full, concentrated hit of her perfume. It isn't the sickening, suffocating pine spray Phyllis uses, nor the medicinal lavender Angela favours. It's diferent. Light, crisp, and hits him right in the chest, smelling faintly of sweet citrus mixed with a warm, clean vanilla. The scent fills the cramped space between them, and for a second, Jim completely forgets what they were talking about. His eyes lock onto the small slope of her neck where her collar shifted. It is intoxicating.

"Hey," she says, snapping her fingers right in front of his nose. "Halpert. Are you staring at the licorice or dissociating?"

Jim blinks, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. He clears his throat quickly, hoping his voice doesn't sound as choked up as he suddenly feels. "Uh, neither. Just calculating the odds of that machine eating your dollar."

She looks at him, her eyes narrowing in amusement. She steps a fraction of an inch closer, holding up her wrist right beneath his chin. "Wait, smell this. Honestly. Does this smell like 'Sandalwood Citrus' or does it smell like the industrial cleaner Michael uses when he spills chili?"

The proximity makes his chest tighten. The warmth radiating from her skin mixes with that sweet vanilla scent, making his heart hammer a shaky rhythm against his ribcage. He leans his head down just an inch, taking a wary sniff.

"Definitely cleaner," Jim says, his voice a little rougher than usual, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I hate you," she laughs, pulling her hand back with a dramatic eye-roll. The lingering scent of her perfume is still floating between them, thick and warm in the air, making the thought of going back to his desk feel completely impossible. But he does. And he steals glances at her over his computer. He watches her face prop up on her hand as she scrolls through emails, looking miserable. A hair strand falls into her eye. She blows it off with a huff. He can't look away.

"You’re like a skyscraper," she mutters, her voice dropping as she slides her chair closer.

She peeks under the gap where their desks lock together. His long legs fill the narrow space, leaving her nowhere to put her own feet. The tight fit makes every slight movement electric.

She taps the heel of her pump sharply against his shin, letting out a soft giggle. "How tall are you anyway? Six-five? Six-four?"

"Six-three."

She goes quiet. She is too busy using his knees as targets, tapping and bouncing her shoes against them like she is playing a slow game of under-desk beer pong.

"You're like invading my desk space."

"That was never a problem before you," he withdraws his legs from under the desks and angles them away. "You're disrupting my comfort."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so..." He chuckles at her, shaking his head, tongue in between his teeth.

He walks home that night in the biting cold, coat wrapped around him but it's not what's bringing heat to his cheeks. The way she laughed at him was burned into the back of his eyelids. His phone buzzes- "4 new voicemails" with the number for the Dunder Mifflin reception phone. Pam. He feels sick.

He puts the phone to his ear, stopping his walk so he doesn't collapse. He didn't want to hear what Pam had to say, didn't want to shadow his giddiness with the sadness that never truly left.

"Hey, Jim. It's me. I took over Pam's phone line. Michael has me staying late. He has some initiation ritual for me," Jim stands frozen on the dark sidewalk as she fills his ear with her exasperated complaints, her voice warm, breathless, and entirely undoing his resolve. He hadn't expected her at all. "I think he's pretending to knight me like he's the Queen of England. Was it just as rough for you when you started?"

"Jim. Me again. I think I'm gonna die. He has me riding a broom named "Maximus". He put on a wig and is pretending to be a maiden in a tower. I'm using a cucumber as a sword. Save me, Halpert."

The voicemails detailed her wild evening into his ear on the sidewalk, and the heavy knot in his stomach just evaporated. It felt like the exact second the rain stops and the sky clears.

He flashes Pam a tight smile on his way in the next morning. And then approaches his desk to find a coffee takeaway from his favourite place down the street. With a small note on a post-it. "I'll be out with Michael today. Don't do anything too fun without me x." He must've been grinning like an idiot, because Dwight notices.

"Her handwriting's terrible."

"I think it's fine. It's cursive-y." Jim places his blazer on the chair, bag under the desk. The space felt too empty without her.

"Cursive is meant to be slanted. Hers is entirely standing straight. It's barbaric."

"What's really barbaric is that she isn't here today," Jim mutters.

"She's unfit to reproduce with. A man requires a woman with ample breasts and child-bearing hips."

"I'm not looking to reproduce with her," but his voice was unconvincing in the way it came out. "And I think her breasts are good." Dwight snorts but doesn't say anything else.

Jim shakes the soda machine to retrieve his bottled water in the break room, later. He saw her opting for water a couple days ago, so he thought he would too. He'd been putting on a few pounds anyway. The soda had probably gotten to his head at this point. It finally releases when Kevin walks in.

"Hey Jim," the man drawls.

"Hey, Kev. What's up?" Jim asks, unscrewing the lid of his healthy alternative.

"Well, we were curious who you were gonna sleep with this week."

"Why, Kev, you wanna book an opening?"

"No but we have a bet and I wanna win."

"Okay," Jim leans against the machine, pretending to think long and hard. "What are my options?"

"Well, Pam. And the new hire." He freezes at the mention of her. Why was she even being considered?

"Oh, Kev, the newbie and I are friends. She's my trainee."

"You keep telling yourself that, but we've seen you look at her that way." For once, the sarcastic James Halpert, who always had an answer to everything, was speechless. Kevin drones on in the background about which one would be better suited for him (the new hire, because that's who he placed his money on) based on physical appearance. But Jim doesn't listen. Dwight's comment earlier and now Kevin's question, made him feel sick. He hadn't thought of her that way, had he?

He sits up in his bedroom, moonlight drowning the room in silver. He flicks her note in his fingers. He brings it up to his nose and breathes her scent in. "I'll be out with Michael today. Don't do anything too fun without me x." No one had ever cared for him enough to remember his coffee order, and even leave a note explaining their absence. No one had ever cared enough to put an x at the end of their notes. No one smiled at his dumb jokes like she did. Or touch him so casually it drove him insane. No one looked at him with that glint in their eye. No one whispered to him so lovingly.

It is in this moment that Jim forgets about Pam. He didn't mean to, obviously. But the heartache that had been eating away at him for weeks and the fleeting glances she gave him (subject much to his overthinking) didn't take up space inside him anymore.

He remembers her laugh, her perfume, her witty remarks, her eyes, her jokes. Jim Halpert's shattered heart and even lower self esteem is beginning to be healed again. And for the first time in a long time, there is hope.

Jim's old spontaneity resurfaces. He grabs his sweater off his chair and puts it on, grabbing his car keys. He first grabs shitty flowers from CVS, then takeout from that Chinese place she opts to go to every time they go out for lunch, and drives to her place (he hadn't mean to memorise her address but he couldn't help it). Before he can talk himself out of it, he raps on her wooden apartment door. He waits a beat. Two. Three. He hears a soft "meow" before the door opens. And there she stands. Soft, sleepy, hair tousled, makeup clearly not removed, legs deliciously peeking out her nightgown.

"Jim?" she yawns, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey. I know you'll probably hate me for waking you up but...I missed you today." He holds up the peace offerings in his arms. She just stares, dumbfounded.

"You woke me up to talk," she glances back at the clock. "At 2:13 am?" He nods, swallowing thickly. He knew this had been a bad idea but he'd been too giddy not to see her. "Oh my god, is that China Moon?" Nod again. She breaks into a grin, clapping her hands lightly. She steps aside to let him through, her white fluffy cat trailing him.

She's just finished eating her egg roll when he speaks. "I saw your note today."

"Yeah? I wanted to say hi but you were late."

"I know, that's why I came here."

"I had a crazy day. I think Michael is insane." Jim chuckles at that, nodding.

"Yep. I've been trying to get him to do an MRI for years. To see what's wrong up there," he watches her wipe her hands on a tissue, voice dropping. "I think...Everyone in the office thinks we're a thing." She goes very still, watching him for any indication of his thoughts on the matter.

"That's...ridiculous. You're my...trainer."

"I don't think it's that ridiculous," he whispers. The last time he confessed, it had felt wrong. Heavy. Now he feels lighter than ever. He meets her softening eyes. "After Pam, I remember thinking 'this is it.' I never got the woman of my dreams. I fell in love with a woman who was never gonna be mine. I think I gave up. But then you come along..." he lets out a shaky breath, warring with emotion. "God, you..."

He must've been making a fool out of himself, for she cups his face, with hands so soft and warm, they'd made his body tingle. She moves to her knees on the couch, hands sliding into his hair. His eyes flick down to her lips. She takes the hint, softly pressing them to his own.

When he kissed her, he knew she was the one. Instead of reminding him of everything that was wrong with the world, the kiss, clicked everything clicking into place like he dreamed.

And no one mattered but her.

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