#going to be sending an email to this professor apologizing for the final because she has just been so lenient on my work

[angered-box]

not failing one of my classes I was worried about

[sodacansculptures]

I started following you on Facebook some years ago, and then apparently forgot all about your stuff. It just popped into my head randomly and I wanted to see if you're still active and if you're still making soda can sculptures?

Hi, I apologize, I have no idea when you sent this since Tumblr (at least mobile) doesn't have time stamps, and for whatever reason, I don't get notifications about messages. You're the first person I've heard who has migrated from my Facebook page to my Tumblr, so thank you for joining the blog! Way more commentary here than there where my mom can see.

To answer your question succinctly: I am alive, and that's about the best I can say I've been since covid. 

(I have donation links at the bottom, if you feel moved to want to help me.)

The extended director's cut answer:

After I made the Eevee sculpture, grad school ramped up and I figured I'd return to sculpting after I got my degree and settled into a job. However, I graduated in Spring of 2020, so the job I had lined up was withdrawn, and with all the budget cuts and layoffs in my field, I was competing for jobs with people who were trying to reenter the field and had decades more experience than me. 

I did 100+ applications (I lost count at 120-something), dozens of interviews (including getting to the final round of all that had such a format--which is a stupid format. You don't need to meet me in a formal pretense 3 times, ask me riddles, have me take multiple hour-long aptitude tests, plus make me travel on my own dime just to tell me "no" and not even send like a "2nd Place Loser" gift basket or accept my LinkedIn request or anything). I got super stressed and super depressed. 

I was so busy with trying to find a job and trying to deal with the breakdowns of not finding one. I tried applying in all the fields I was capable of at all levels: executive, mid, and gruntwork. I was turned down from entry level, no-talent-necessary jobs because I was overqualified. I was turned away from the others because of the lack of experience and unprecedented level and caliber of competition.

I was (still am) unable to pay my bills and, when not having breakdowns, I was calling, emailing, filling out applications, etc. for any and all financial aid. It was very arduous work and tedious with all the documentation they wanted from me, hold times on the phone, etc. 

I had a non-profit (ADVOCAP) laugh at me when I asked for rent help because apparently they were overwhelmed and I wasn't going to get anything as I didn't have a job or kids and was considered a non-priority. Later when I was working with the ADRC, I asked if my case manager (I applied for disability, but I'll explain in a bit) if she knew of any rent help. She basically scolded me for asking and told me that it was unethical of me to seek that because "that's for people who actually have a chance." People who have jobs, she means. She explained that that money wasn't meant for me, and that was a whole unexpected slap in the face with a bag of dogshit. Didn't realize we had devolved into a utilitarian society quite that quickly.

I started working with FSET (my state's employment training and search help program. I was literally trying everything. Like I had also called my college and emailed all my professors asking for job help, and they had no answers other than like, "look online"). After months of no luck, FSET eventually convinced me to sign with a temp agency.

I worked 2 temp jobs that treated me like garbage (worsening my depression) and also paid me as such. I had lost all my savings to trying to stay afloat and my free time was non-existent, unless you count the hours I'd spend in the middle of the night just walking around my neighborhood listening to music--in an attempt to stop what seemed like endless crying--while I cried.

I tried selling plasma but they rejected me because I couldn't ever get my heart rate low enough, as my antidepressants increase heart rate. I tried going off of them, but I was on them for a reason, so I need to go back on.

When I graduated, I had bought myself a PS4 as a graduation gift to myself. I could afford it and thought I earned it. All the atmosphere of rejection and failure the pandemic created for me and my link to survival (employment should not be tied to survival. I was doing everything right and the system was failing me direly while virtually no one else who shared my experiences understood why I couldn't get a job when "everywhere is hiring" and "nobody wants to work anymore") and I started to hate myself for stuff like gifting myself the PS4. I felt undeserving, like a waste of resources, etc. because those were the messages I was constantly receiving directly and indirectly.

I eventually landed a job in my field and was hired on the spot. I felt like I had hit the jackpot and finally was going to be okay. Surprisingly to everyone in my life, the job made my life even worse.

I signed an NDA due to being horribly abused for the 10 months I was there, so I can't say much more than I just barely paid off my credit card, still had no free time as I was salary and worked nights and weekends in addition to my scheduled hours because the real reason they hired me instantly was not because I impressed them but rather because they were collapsing and desperate for anyone with some level of responsibility and capability. I hated that job, was bullied and abused extremely badly by coworkers and bosses and HR was no help, and when my performance review came back with negative impressions of me when I was sacrificing so much to keep the employment entity alive and functional, I completely broke.

I ended up hospitalized for months for suicide, and part of the NDA included resigning. I never fully recovered and don't think I ever will. I think I've seen and experienced too much to return to the idea that I could be the trailblazer my professors projected me to be (I now think professors don't actually provide an accurate representation of the field and encourage with no basis for their optimism). 

The human mind is very easy to manipulate with propaganda, and I didn't catch myself being in a sort of “main character syndrome” and thinking that because I was Valedictorian of my graduating class and that I had so many national and international recognitions, awards, accolades, and qualifications that I was, for lack of a better term, pulling myself up by the bootstraps and going to be rewarded with a promising future where success is not just viable but imminent. I knew the world wasn't fair and that some people could do all the prescribed “right” steps and fail, but the operating paradigm (that had been ingrained in me since childhood from teachers who saw me as bright) I had held told me that I was far too talented and hard-working to fail. I had very little doubt that I wouldn't be successful. I was an ideal, hypothetical model of a pre-successful American worker.

So anyway, I didn't expect to have all the trouble that I faced finding a good job. At the end of the first summer of covid with nothing but rejections and employers affirming to me that there was nothing I could have improved on to get the job other than have prior experience, I was a discouraged worker who didn't even try anymore. 

That's when FSET convinced me to do the temp agencies (who dropped me because one employer who was inhumanely abusive and ironically an HR department) gave a bullshit reason about me violating a protocol so they wouldn't have to make good on their promise to hire me after the temp period. 

(I had allergies and it was literally the exact week in September when allergies were at their worst. A coworker, who hated me for some reason I never figured out and can only assume was jealousy, reported me for having a runny nose and I was immediately escorted out for bringing covid symptoms into the building. If I didn't go to work any day I had a runny nose, I wouldn't go any day. I take allergy meds literally every day of my life. My parents kept me too clean as a baby or something and didn't let me eat enough dirt, so an allergy panel showed I was allergic to every single common indoor and outdoor allergen).

Back to my suicidal hospitalization: I could say so much on the inpatient part. Suffice it to say I was never given my meds and there were no groups because they were understaffed and constantly wound up/pissed because of the uncooperative patients, so it was like prison where you had to argue with staff to get your basic needs met, and no soft surface existed and the water was always freezing, so it genuinely felt like being locked in a concrete box with no sunlight, no one on your side (they lied and said they called my psychiatrist and therapist. They never did. They also lied about ordering my meds), and no contact with the outside world. It was like a cruelly-designed Mr. Beast challenge with no reward in the end. 

My friends said I was messed up for 2 weeks after and scary af because I was in survival-fight mode that would not turn off. I also was too overwhelmed by the outside world when I got out and could only eat pre-packaged snacks for a while because that was all I was used to/comfortable with.

Part of the agreement to let me leave inpatient was to do an intensive all-day outpatient program. I was actually dropped from that by insurance because I had undiagnosed ADHD among all my other issues and couldn't show up on time or sometimes at all. I still don't have my ADHD figured out because I had to convince my psychiatrist to refer me to a neuropsych who booked out for months to test me. I did it and got “Yes, much ADHD. All of the ADHD. Very wow.” So my psychiatrist finally believed me and agreed to start me on ADHD meds.

My psychiatrist and I are still working to find an ADHD med that would work for me. Vyvanse helped for a time, but my body metabolized it too quickly, leaving me with only around 6 functional hours in the day. I'm currently on extended-release Adderall, but so far not much help and there are too many other variables that could be fucking with it, like that my sleep-wake cycle is extremely unpredictable and I have a million appointments every day, so I am constantly sleep-deprived and am actually busier now than I was in grad school or any 8-hour job I worked.

The breakdown I had triggered me to develop fibromyalgia, so that has been a whole ordeal. I'm constantly in pain, it again took many months to see any doctor about it, and the meds take so long to start taking effect that we've been trying since June to find something that works.

The crucible that was my pandemic experience didn't refine me like fire refines gold or whatever the saying is but rather left me burnt, and not in the way that you can scrape the charred parts off of toast but like BURNT burnt (I can't think of an example. Maybe a popsicle. You're not getting that back once you take a flamethrower to it. Plus the stick would crumble into ash. RIP popsicle).

My life lately is a lot of appointments I often miss and have to reschedule, arguments with various agencies and even my doctors, breakdowns, and driving for Uber Eats because no one can fire me (but it pays beans and I get flack from restaurants and customers AND Uber because somehow the driver is the scapegoat for any issue that arises. I was so proud of my delivery aptitude and quality service until the tip-baiters and people being assholes for no reason started hitting me as common and daily occurrences). 

A lot of people don't understand how UberEats works, but Uber doesn't even pay their driver enough to cover gas or depreciation on their vehicle for the mileage, much less the value of the driver's time and physical efforts. Tips are literally ⅔ of my income and my income does not cover my bills despite all the time I put in and algorithm I set up for myself that determines which trips to accept/reject for the most profit. It's a very toxic and unprotected form of employment. A lot of people lie that I didn't give them their food so that they can get a refund, but that comes back on me and risks my account being deactivated. It's virtually a fear-based system with some tricky artificial competition that Uber likes to throw in from time to time to convince us to drive for less and less pay. 

I've looked into all the alternatives like GrubHub, Spark, DoorDash, etc. but I've been on their waiting lists for years, including GrubHub booting me off their list even though I was always quick to respond to their periodic question of if I still wanted to be on the list.

Between depression and ADHD, I can't work a normal job. I no longer have the capacity to keep a routine and can't show up to things with any level of reliability despite how badly I want to. I also don't have the spoons to deal with working with others or being accountable for tasks that feel--idk how to articulate it, but like--stupid to my autism. If something seems inefficient or not progressive (like not helpful to humanity) to me, I can't get my brain to do it. And with ADHD, if it's not interesting to me/something I am passionate about (I was extremely lucky that learning and receiving the praise from teachers I never got from my parents was my passion that got me so far and through multiple degrees), I can't get my brain to let me do it. Sometimes I just can't do anything, including things I want to do, and simply end up stuck. I wouldn't last in any job that wasn't self-directed and only happening when I have the spoons to be available. My options are very limited. And Uber can be slow. I've had times where I've waited 13 hours and not gotten a single request that wasn't going to cost me money to run.

Uber has some personal difficulties for me. In the summer, I found it a little bit fun, but now that it's cold, my Raynaud's is painful and I don't enjoy having to watch out for people who got their licenses from cereal boxes and don't know how to drive in the snow. It's an unpleasant sensory experience for me to work and honestly risky safety-wise. People don't turn on their porch lights for some reason (I have a headlamp now) and don't salt their walkways, and I'm uncoordinated because my dad didn't throw a ball at me enough as a kid probably, so there's ice, the treads on my boots are shot (and I can't afford to replace them), and I get banged up from falling on concrete. 

I have a chiropractor and physical therapist, and they each said even before this that they could see me every day and still have something to work on with me. It's affirming, at least, to hear that professionals can physically feel how in pain my body is and that it's not just me being a baby. Part of it, I'm sure, is that I have PTSD (including from the traumas of my various pandemic experiences) and have horrible nightmares every night where I jerk around a lot in my sleep. I wake up every day feeling like I got hit by a bus, which is also partially why I don't get places on time. 

On my own time, I'll spend 2 hours trying to get out of bed both overcoming the pain to move and convincing myself to get the willpower to. It's so much easier to just lie there and accept it, especially when I don't look forward to having to do another day. I don't feel rested because I spent the night working my body and brain, so I'm not sure I ever am rested. I need so much more sleep now, too, with fibromyalgia. This adds to my stress of outpacing my bills and just keeping up with the maintenance of myself and my apartment because that's less time I have to get things done.

I have 4 alarms (phone vibrating plus noise, an earthquake pillow one, my Fitbit vibrating on my wrist, and a Pavlok going all out screaming, vibrating, and shocking me with electricity), and it's still possible for me to sleep through all of them or somehow turn them off while half-asleep and go back to sleep. There are also times where I will be like, “Okay, getting up now,” and then I black out and it's 4 hours later and I missed 3 appointments that will take weeks to reschedule, if the clinic hasn't dropped me for the tardiness and absence. I'm running out of clinics to go to.

On a mental level, I am in a near-constant state of overwhelm that holds me inches from a full-blown, all-day breakdown at any given moment. Something about being so stressed with no relief for years on end has rewired my brain, I think, to make the adrenaline pathway so reinforced and the stress part of the brain overlit/overactive. I don't know how to relax. Doctors keep telling me I need to, especially with fibromyalgia, but I physically cannot seem to do it. I can't focus on anything like movies. Nothing is fun when I have always-present and terrorizing (by threatening my survival) pressure from all these stressors (mainly money. I'm in a constant race against my monthly bills, and each month, they creep closer and closer to outpacing me). I'm never happy to wake up and I'm always low-key scared. I'm desperate for security in any form.

I was so unable to do tasks after my suicidal breakdown that even though my psychiatrist, therapist, and general physician were begging me to apply for disability. I had hoped I just needed a few months of R&R and would be right back to being willing and able to work. That never happened, and it was extremely difficult for me to accept the fact that I was disabled. When I finally did, I begged for months for people to help me fill out all the forms (they were overwhelming me, which is, y'know, kind of a key feature of my disability) and no one did, so I lost months of time there. I eventually just had a moment of conviction or indignation or something that I was able to force myself to do them. I'm still kind of mad at everyone who didn't help.

My therapist actually did her best to help and, when the outpatient hospital ousted me because insurance refused to pay for it anymore, referred me to the county's CCS (Community Care Something-or-other) program. They gave me a worker who allegedly had some psychology- or human services-related degree who would help me function for 1 hour a week. I think the whole program is a farce and despite spending hours on this program, we accomplished absolutely nothing.

The first CCS worker I had was supposed to come over to my place (which had become a mess. I was a messy person before, as my apartment was a graveyard of unfinished projects due to my ADHD), but with my extended burnout, I wasn't cleaning and organizing on the level I used to. So I texted my CCS person a warning that my kitchen table was cluttered. I mean it to mean, “It will take me a minute to clear the table once you get here for your laptop for you to finish the unreasonably long entry paperwork on me, and I haven't gotten the energy to declutter it yet and won't until you get here because my ADHD needs a body double right now. She, for reasons I still don't understand, canceled the visit and never came. When I confronted her about what I meant, she was like…embarrassed to the point of not being willing to work with me anymore. There was a communication breakdown that I couldn't get her to communicate with me and she was somehow scared of how much and how articulated or something I communicated that she shut down. 

I understand I “overcommunicate” from the perspective of allistics and neurotypicals [I had a bad childhood and was invalidated and wrongly blamed for things a lot, so I give as much explanation as possible to avoid any misunderstanding and articulate to the point that there won't be any ambiguities and thus can't be twisted into reason to punish me when I've done nothing to earn punishment. My caretakers as a child had their own mental issues that led them to being unreliable/unsafe to me and didn't offer me any feelings of security in relationships, perspective of reality (them taking their anger out on me and telling me everything, including their personal problems, was my fault), and ultimately everyone seems to say they want transparency and communication, but from my experiences and perspective, they don't want that. I have no idea what they really want. I give the level of communication I would want someone to give me and hope that they will just discard the parts they don't need/want, and apparently that's me being a burden or something and a “bad” quality. 

Meanwhile, I WISH people would communicate and be transparent with me more. I think I am an understanding person who has done enough work on themselves to not repeat toxic patterns and be a healthy relationship to others. I don't listen to judge but to understand so I can work with the other person to fix any problems and work with what we got, not devalue them and distance myself or abandon them. Everyone on dating apps says they want this, but I've yet to meet someone who does. I think it's that people see this as an ideal but are unskilled at the time to play their role in the situation–both in offering and responding. I think I've put so many years of therapy and introspection into working on myself that others just haven't, so we're simply on different levels. I know I'm not alone in my experiences, but it's very isolating when you don't meet people who have done the same work.

Anyway, I got assigned a new CCS worker and she did not do all that work I described. When I was told I would be assigned to someone else, I specifically asked for one who has seen some shit and that nothing I do or say will move them. They did at least give me someone older with more experience, but she either over- or under-estimated me (I can't discern which). She, working in the same building as my therapist and being basically in at least a good bit of communication with her when I wasn't around, knew that I had a lot of crap going on that I needed more therapy/support/help unraveling and making sense of and peace with than the 45 min/week I got with my current therapist. So she offered to be like a second therapist and said I could tell her absolutely anything.

As the pattern of this narrative likely already cues, it turned out I could not tell her absolutely anything. I was a few months into my transition and no one prepares you for some of the changes. My endocrinologist had only told me, “You might go bald.” I thought my years of research and consulting with transmen in my life had encompassed all I needed to know. However, we sometimes do not know what we don't know and thus don't think to ask the questions we need to ask. As probably an autistic/abused person trait of mine, I speak very clinically and technically. At the time, I had recently been speaking with my therapist about anatomical changes that triggered emotions I was not prepared for. I attempted the same sort of conversation with my new CCS worker, but she yelled me for being inappropriate. Not just scolded but legit yelled, as if I wasn't a full grown adult capable of reason and discussion.

I was confused on what I did wrong, since I thought I was just taking her up on what she willingly offered. I am also a firm believer in the Mister Rogers quote about how anything that is mentionable is manageable (which goes back to why I don't listen to judge but rather to collaborate and also why I see disagreements as us vs. the problem rather than me vs. them. I do not feel the need to yell at someone unless it's like an emergency of some sort and there's a threat that yelling can somehow address and be beneficial to the situation). 

From my perspective, I was being shut down and punished/shamed for asking for help with a problem that legit scared me and that I was willing to be vulnerable enough to share. I consider that sort of thing sacred and not something that can be trusted in everyone's hands. But the way she responded, to me, reinforced that I was a person unworthy of help: a message received from my childhood caretakers and all the people who were supposedly there to help me during my pandemic crises. 

I couldn't bring myself to trust her anymore or even want to see her again. I'll admit that's a bit of my Emotional Dysregulation Disorder weighing in, but I didn't want her in any intimate spaces I'd need to let her into in order to serve me in her CCS capacity. I had had too many things go wrong lately in that time to not shut myself down to prevent more hurt by simply refusing any future opportunity for more hurt to occur. I was well beyond my limit and it took much convincing from my therapist for me to even give CCS a chance to help me.

Still, I asked to be reassigned to another CCS worker, this time knowing that I could not trust what they claim to offer and just keep the things we work on surface-level functioning--like cleaning my oven or going through the pile of mail I hadn't opened in weeks because their potential contents paralyzed me with fear.

I was denied my request and let go from the program as they felt I had burned through 2 workers and thus proven that I am not a good candidate for the program. I still don't agree with this and argued, but after weeks of (a reasonable number of) periodic emails and voicemails, I never got an email or call back. In hindsight, I maybe should have reported to the county what happened, but it's been like a year.

That mostly brings us back to the present. I have been back in FSET since Spring but just focusing on staying afloat with Uber/working on whatever I can handle. I had a whole researched and designed pitch asking them to fund the several hundred dollars it would be for me to become a mobile notary, but they denied my request as they lack the funds. They also denied my request for new boots for the Uber hazards because they felt it was a fashion thing and not a need. Agencies, or honestly anyone with any power over me, not understanding me even with my articulate, crystal-clear explanations isn't surprising to me anymore. And counterintuitively, more explanation (even from different approaches) does not help and just makes me think I'm weird, which somehow is taken as more cause to not grant whatever request it is I am making in the first place.

So I Uber, I argue with doctors and agencies to try to get my needs met, and I have breakdowns despite my efforts to not. I have always had a massive list of more sculptures I want to make. I do want to get to a point where I can make them someday. I've been waiting on disability for an answer for nearly a year and done all I can to bolster my case with getting doctor testimonies, giving my testimony, noting clinic visits so the person assigned to my case can view the findings of them, getting an ADRC contact to guide me (though looking back, she didn't help at all and it was me searching out and discovering everything on my own while all she did was forward what documentation I had to the state for me)... All I can do is try to survive until they say “yes,” but they usually say “no” first (which is why an alarming number of people file bankruptcy and/or die waiting for a disability decision), especially since mental health reasons are the hardest ones to get approved, and my ADRC contact has been using language such as, “This will make it easier for next time,” and I'm not prepared to hear her tell me she thinks we'll have to file another claim and wait another year, so I don't ask 

I feel terrible that I've not been sculpting or posting. I miss engaging the Tumblr community and sharing my art with people who appreciate it (and not tell me it's garbage. Wtf, Grandma). 

The fact that I couldn't actually bring myself to commit suicide and still don't even though the extremely-difficult-to-survive--particularly with multiple debilitating ailments--and high cost I incur daily to myself trying to keep my head above water as long as I can, tells me that there is a life better than this that I want to live. I can't fathom for myself anything other than what is current, and I am putting all my chips into believing that I could be wrong and there's a chance all my striving will eventually meet stable ground to rest upon, where I can return to myself and make art again. I hate to think this wreck is who I really am and want to believe this is just who I am under a stupid-amount of pressure that no human should ever have to endure. A lot of people have been quick to point out all the resources, but I guarantee I've pursued all of them hard and received some help but not nearly enough. It's hard to wrestle with the feelings of not being enough to live or not being worthy of living because it's such a struggle for me to throw enough money at bills/expenses to allow me to live. It shouldn't cost someone all of themselves to try (and imminently fail) to earn the allowance to live.

Things like the ACP and student loan freeze (I owe $80,000+ because college is an overpromising, commercialized thing that is more gamble than guarantee) are ending soon (or maybe have ended and I just haven't opened my mail to know), and I'm deathly afraid. Uber isn't enough and on down-times with them and when my various ailments aren't being debilitating, I work on selling things to try to make enough for the month. Obviously I'm eventually going to run out of things to sell. 

I'm also fearful that my estimated disability check, if I get one, is only going to be $900/month, because I didn't get enough work experience to be allowed more. I genuinely don't know that that's going to be enough, especially since the price of everything like rent is inflating. I don't know how long I can financially sustain my means of survival. But I'm still doing everything I can. It's jarring to go from decorated Valedictorian to…whatever exhausted mess this is. 

My parents stopped asking me months ago how things are going because they know it's never good. They don't have the means to help me as my mom got laid off of work, my dad has dementia and doesn't work, and if I have to live with them again, I would essentially be signing off on my own death certificate because even spending a few hours in that home, with those people, is enough to completely drain me, trigger so much PTSD, grind my mental health down even more with whatever new dynamics and energies they decide to inject in our interactions. I wasn't free to fight the battles I needed to until I moved out into my own private space, and since it is the cheapest option in the entire city and so necessary of a component to my mental health, my therapist identified keeping my apartment as my number one priority. With my mental health, I wouldn't do well at all or be able to get back on my feet if I was homeless.

This turned into a lot more than I intended, but I'm really satisfied that it explains my situation and makes it known that you can do everything right and still lose. The system will cannibalize you if you don't have money to start with and don't have the means to keep it coming. Poverty charges interest and there are no days off, especially if you're disabled. There are no real safetynets and the ones that exist are overwhelmed, underfunded, underpowered, and essentially only serve to make the ones who don't need them feel satisfied (and aren't outraged and pushing for changes) being sold the lie that those who need help have it available to them. Having an inside view of what the experience is, I am apalled at how little systemic support or consideration there is for the disabled, especially since it is the largest minority group that anyone can join at any time.

Some days suck worse than others, like when the weather is so bad that I cannot Uber or when my pain or mental state has been aggravated and I haven't made enough time for self-care so it has decided for me when self-care must be attended to. I wish I could give myself the self-care my mind and body need so I can be healthier, more resilient to setbacks, and feel less pain, but honestly some nights I don't even go to bed because there isn't enough time/I can't afford to not be working or selling things. Society likes to frame self-care as a luxury and only recently (since covid attacked everyone's mental health) did self-care start to be widely accepted as a need. It's just too bad all that rhetoric amounted to is awareness without action. Capitalism still demands and glorifies the nonstop grind, even if it kills us.

Obviously some days are better than others and it feels incredible when I feel a genuine smile spread across my face. I wish it wasn't so foreign of a feeling, but the fact that it is makes it more impactful. I try to give my attention to hope, even if I have no practical basis to believe it exists. 

Receiving this ask did ultimately bring a smile to my face because it means I'm still cared for in a world that kicks me to the ground daily and says I don't deserve care. It is so hard for me to even care about myself a lot of the time, with all the negative messages I've internalized from my dominatingly high ratio of experiences that are rejection or failure in some form. Ultimately, we all just want to be loved. Thank you so much for reminding me that pain isn't all there is for me (it's easy to get sucked into that mindset after years of nearly everything gutting me. I often fail to even notice myself falling into it and being consumed by it). 

I know I don't owe anyone an explanation for my absence and that no one is mad at me or blaming me for it that I would need to provide some sort of justification. But I wanted to communicate with you all because I love you. I genuinely mean that. 

I still think about this from time to time and I still want come back to making and sharing sculptures and just having fun hearing all the things you have to say about them and how delighting, inspiring, or entertaining you find them. I consider the ability to do that and this Tumblr page to be one of my greatest things I've made. I don't care about money and despise that money dictates virtually every aspect of my life in the worst way. Community, creativity, and self-improvement motivated by joy/love rather than profit/fear are of infinitely more value to me. I'm still pursuing that dynamic in the end through all of this.

By no means is anyone obligated to donate to me, but if you can afford to and want to, I'll post my payment platform things below (some may still have my birth name attached). Any amount helps and Lord knows I dove for a penny on the ground last week.

If you can't donate but still want to help, reblogging can help no matter how little reach you feel your blog has, and I also would appreciate words of encouragement or support. I also just want you to know that if you've been reading this far, I really appreciate that you care enough about me to do that.

All of my love,

Stan 

(They/Them)

PayPal:

@Stanwagner09

Venmo:

@asclw7643

Zelle:

Stan.wagner09@gmail.com

[faireladypenumbra]

11th Hour Advisor Drama - The Updated Version

Tl;dr: My advisor is increasingly hostile and passive-aggressive because of miscommunication over perceived slights and progress on a draft. They have been hyper-involved with my PhD. applications, but seemingly would not commit to their LOR anymore until recently. I've been encouraged to drop them from my committee, and report them to the DGS. Am I overreacting? Should I remove them from my committee with a semester to go, and should I find a backup LOR? I want to preface this story with the fact that in my program, we are not paid by our advisors. The department handles our pay: I report to the dept. head, Comp director, and DGS. We choose a major professor to offer revision guidance on our final defense and serve on our graduating committee.

I chose a professor I had worked with in my first semester: I didn't know her well yet, but our working relationship seemed good. She enjoyed my work/participation in class and introduced me to a few professional relationships that have been super valuable. She then courted me to re-take a class with her this fall, and suggested use my time to revise the paper I wrote for my defense project/final seminar paper/PhD. application writing sample.

This sounded good to me, so we met in August to discuss this project. Her guidelines were pretty light, and she only expected that I send her drafts of my statement of purpose and my paper at "some point" in the semester, for us to work on. I've been teaching two classes for the first time and taking one other grad course, so I worked on edits quietly for a few months. I quit a second job to buckle down and focus on my writing, but was still quite busy and found myself unable to make headway on both drafts until late September.

Around this time, my advisor vanished from contact until October, outside of class anyway, and suddenly reaches out asking about the drafts. The SOP was done, but the paper wasn't fully revised: they were a bit concerned, but set a goal that I should have the first five pages and lit review revised by November. They also agree that my other committee members should have a look at the SOP.

Things started to break down around this point. I and another grad student were late to her class because of a meeting that went over: we apologized, but this seemed to have set my advisor off, and I started receiving emails about how my other campus responsibilities in the graduate association were "distractions" for my writing, and why I hadn't finished on time. They started claiming that we agreed I would turn in my draft in September, and that they gave me a "full year" to edit this paper. Both editing projects have become very roundabout, she'd ask for drafts back asap, but then take weeks to make four syntax suggestions. She'd delete her own suggestions and blame me for adding them.

This came to a head two weeks ago, when I was called to their office and chewed out for "poor time management" on my draft (at this point, the paper was in a fourth draft). There were a lot of airing grievances: they wished I'd asked their permission before joining graduate extracurriculars, and they were unhappy with the questions I'd asked one of our class visitors (questions they had prompted me to ask for my paper). They felt these things were "warnings" about potentially unprofessional behavior. I left the meeting in tears.

Our exchanges since then have been tense and weird, particularly about my LOR. When I reached out to her to make sure she was still comfortable recommending me, she ignored me in conversation and in email. She finally committed the other day, but the entire exchange left me worried about what kind of LOR I was getting from my advisor.

After reaching out to other grad students, I found out that she has been doing this to at least one other person this semester, to the point that they plan to go to the DGS. She's done this to previous MA students here, and most of PhDs. avoid her. I feel terrible that I didn't do my due diligence before taking her up. I've been encouraged to try removing her from my committee and to report her behavior to the DGS, particularly if she uses these grievances against me in my course grade. I graduate in May, so I don't even know if removing them from my committee is possible so late.

How to survive this? Am I overreacting? Or should I try to remove them from my committee with a semester to go, and find a backup LOR?

[tom-holland-parker]

I Wanna Wear Your Tie

Request: Can you please do a professor tom x student reader, she’s of age of course, and he takes a liking to her for being so smart and he can barely contain himself with every outfit she wears. And one day after class he asks her to hang back and things get very SMUTTY?

Warning: 18 + SMUT (oral, choking, vaginal sex), student/teacher relationship, cursing, age gap (legal)

Pairing: Professor!Tom x Student!Reader

Word count: 4081

Masterlist

Tom knew from the first time you walked into class he was going to have a hard time. Not because you were a trouble maker, he heard from your other professors that you were an extremely bright and well rounded student, but because you liked to wear the shortest sundresses he’d ever seen. Tom knew he fucked up by developing a crush on his student. It was immoral and he could lose the job he worked so hard to get. 

Tom had been staring at the email all weekend, debating all his choices. He knew the right thing to do was to report it and let the school handle everything, but a big part of him told himself to do otherwise.

Dear Professor Holland,

I want to wear your tie while you fuck me

Love Y/N

Tom let out a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes, refreshing his inbox once more in hopes you had sent another email, an explanation or maybe even an apology, anything that would avoid him having to send the response that he had drafted Friday night after he received your message. Of course as the hours passed he knew that hoping was pointless, Tom sighed looking over his drafted email for what seemed like the 100th time before hitting send. 

Ms. Y/L/N

In regards to your last email I have no choice but to report it to the school. I do, however, acknowledge that you are one of my highest scoring students so it is only fair that I give you a chance to explain yourself. Please meet me in my office Monday after class

Professor Holland

Little did Tom know you were freaking out, spending Saturday nursing your hangover from partying Friday night. It was a drunken mistake, you would’ve never sent the email had you been sober but leave it to the vodka to let you do something stupid.

You had one day to come up with some apology and still couldn’t find the right words. Countless drafts saved in your notes app, but none good enough to express the regret you felt by sending that email. Of course time wasn’t on your side and the hours moved faster than usual. Finally it was Monday afternoon and you sat in your door waiting for your final class of the day, his class

“Maybe if you just tell him it was a mistake he’ll understand” Your roommate Kendra laughed as she looked at your computer, you’d been rereading the email for hours, hoping it would go away. Glancing at the clock you sighed, “I have his class in an hour, how am I going to face him”

“You could skip”

“I’m already in enough trouble as it is I can’t skip class” You sighed, closing the laptop as you moved to put on your shoes, “I’ll just give the best apology he’s ever heard of and hopefully it’ll all work out”

Kendra chuckled, “who knows maybe you’ll get exactly what you wanted”. You rolled your eyes, “I’ll text you after class”

///

Tom watched as you entered class, his eyes trailing over your outfit, you were wearing his favorite dress, white with blue flowers. He chuckled at your innocent appearance but frowned when he noticed you taking a seat in the back instead of your usual seat in the front.

You showed up to class right on time, looking at your feet to avoid any eye contact with Tom. It was hard to concentrate when all you could think about was that stupid email. It didn’t help that he was wearing a tie today, the same tie you’d imagine him gagging you with on most nights. You shook your head trying to focus on forming an apology that wasn’t absolutely pathetic

“Alright class is over, If you have any questions about the assignment you can” his gaze shifted towards you, “email me”

Your eyes widened as you distracted yourself by putting your things in your bag. As if the universe wanted to see you completely embarrass yourself in front of the teacher you’d been crushing on all semester, you piled out the class with the rest of the students, trudging down the hallway towards his office. You stood outside the door for a few minutes, pacing back and forth as you tried to compose yourself. You took a deep breath, gathering all your courage as you knocked on the door 

“Come in” You heard his muffled voice from behind the door. You took a deep breath as you twisted the door knob walking into the well lit office. 

“Hi Professor, you said you needed to see me” You say trying to seem innocent. He cleared his throat pointing to the leather seat in front of his desk, “Please have a seat” 

Slowly you make your way to the seat, placing your bag on the floor as you stare at him. Tom took a deep breath, opening the email as he passed you his laptop, “When I get an email from my brightest student I expected a question about her latest essay not this”

Your face heated in embarrassment as you handed him the laptop, “Professor I’m so sorry I was very drunk Friday night and I know that isn’t an excuse but I didn’t mean to send that. If I could take it back I would just please don’t report this”

Tom watched as tears slowly began to trail down your face, “y/n I’m not going to report you”. 

You looked at him in disbelief, “Seriously”

“but you’re not getting off that easily” He closed his laptop, “You’ll be spending the week and your weekend helping me grade papers”

You let out a sigh of relief, “thank you professor I’m really sorry it ever happened”

Tom chuckled, “You’re one of the smartest girls in my class. I would hate to see you get in trouble because of one drunk mistake” You wiped your tears away, feeling yourself relax now that you knew you weren’t going to be in too much trouble. “After all you’re only young once, just try to keep your thoughts in a diary and not your emails”

You chuckled, picking up your bag as you got up to leave, “will do professor”

///

Tom instantly regretted his decision. Don’t get him wrong, having the extra help was amazing but it was hard to concentrate when all you wore were short dresses. He spent all week sitting at his desk, too afraid to get up for fear that his body would betray him and you see the hard on he was trying desperately to get rid of. Seeing you in class was hard enough but when he watched you in what seemed like your natural element it changed something in him.

He watched as you sat on the couch in his office, your hair tied back and your glasses slowly sliding down your face, every once in a while you had to push them back in place. Tom couldn’t help but smile at the faces you made while reading the essays, a look of annoyance when you read over an obvious mistake or the way your eyebrows furrowed when you wrote the feedback. He tried his hardest to keep his laughter inside whenever you got distracted and drew little faces in the margins. He hated to admit it, it made him feel terrible, but he was a professor falling for his student

“Professor I’m not sure about this” You said getting up from the couch as you walked towards his desk. Your voice knocked him out of his trance as he watched you hand the paper to him, “See the evidence goes along with the topic sentence but the explanation is still choppy” 

You watched as Tom took the paper from you, your breathing hitching when his hands grazed over yours. You shook your head reminding yourself that you were already here because your stupid feelings and if you kept letting yourself indulge in what was supposed to be your punishment you were going to end up in the deans office.

“I see what you mean,” Tom said looking over the paper, “just circle the paragraph and place it in the pile and I’ll look over it later.” He looked up, surprised to see how close you were to him, your chest inches away from his face. It was just his luck that you decided to wear a low cut dress today.

“Okay” You replied, taking the paper from him as you slowly moved back to the couch. Tom glanced at the clock noticing how late it was getting, “Well it’s getting late and you probably want to spend the you weekend somewhere way entertaining than here so you can leave, punishment over”

“Are you sure? I still owe you two more days and it doesn’t feel fair to end my punishment early” You said, grabbing another paper. You weren’t sure if you wanted to stay because it actually felt unfair or if you really just wanted an excuse to keep spending time with him. 

“Well if you insist, '' he chuckled, a part of him happy that you weren’t eager to leave, “But we can finish this tomorrow afternoon, I’ll walk you out”

You gathered your things, meeting Tom at the door where he waited for you, his hand resting on your back as he guided you out the room, locking the door behind him. “It’s dark, I’ll walk you to your car, Where are you parked?” Tom said looking at the parked cars on the street

“I don’t drive” You said awkwardly, “But my dorm is only a few blocks away from here I don’t mind walking”

Tom shook his head, “No way I’m letting you walk, it's too dangerous, I’ll drive you.” You watched as he took his keys out his pocket unlocking the black BMW parked across the street.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way” you looked down on your feet, here you were again too flustered to even look at him. Tom chuckled at your nervousness, “Don’t worry about it. I insist on it.” Your breath hitched as he placed his hand on your back again, guiding you towards the car.

It only took a few minutes for him to get to your dorm building, “well here we are” He said, parking his car before looking at you. You glanced at him nervously, “Thanks Professor”

“Call me Tom” he chuckled, “But only when were alone”

You wanted to punch yourself for feeling butterflies but you couldn’t help it. “Well Tom” You laughed, calling him by his name felt weird, “thank you”

He watched as you moved to grab the door handle but froze, “Oh I forgot to ask you about your assignment”

“What’s up?” he shrugged. “Well I know you wanted us to write about how the author uses the women in his novel to display power but I can’t write about that. The author clearly doesn’t see the woman as symbols of power he sees them as sex objects, which is shown multiple times throughout the text so I can’t write about something that isn’t true”

“So you don’t believe sex is a form of power?” Tom questioned trying not to smile at the way your brows furrowed in concentration

“Of course I believe sex is a form of power but for the author to display women having sex as a symbol for powerful femininity the woman would have to own their sexual desires and wants”

Tom chuckled, “If you really feel so strongly about that then write about it, I’d love to hear more about what you have to say about owning your sexual desires. Seems to me you know a lot about that” 

“Oh my god” You hide your face in your hands, “I didn’t even realize-”

“Don’t be embarrassed, if you can’t joke about it then you’ll let it eat you alive” Tom chuckled

“Well” you smiled, “I should probably get to writing”

“Yeah you should”

You both didn’t even noticed the way you both began to slowly lean into each other, the tension in the car growing thick

“Goodnight professor”

“It’s Tom” He said with a smile

You scrunch your nose, “Goodnight Tom”

Your faces were inches away from each other. He couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at your lips before looking back at your eyes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same, “Goodnight y/n”

You both stayed silent, letting the tension take over. Your lips grazing over each other. The kiss was slow at first but it soon progressed into passionate open mouth kisses, both of you giving into your desires.

Your hands reached to grab his face, shocked at how soft his cheeks felt. “Wait wait wait” Tom said, pulling away slowly. 

You caught your breath, wiping your lips as you moved back into your seat, “I should probably go”

Before Tom could say a word you were out the car rushing towards the dorm building. “Fuck” he said to himself as he leaned back into his seat. He knew he’d fucked up, but he couldn’t help the way he felt when he kissed you.

///

When you knocked on Tom’s office door the next day you were even more nervous than you were Monday. You were too embarrassed and instead of facing the problem head on you did what you did best, ignored it. 

You spent the afternoon on the couch, headphones on as an excuse to block out Tom. If you had a question you didn’t ask it and when you had a comment you didn’t say it. It was pure torture for you and Tom, yet you both chose to ignore the elephant in the room.

As the hours passed and the sun began to set Tom’s patience was growing thin. He couldn’t pretend like the kiss never happened, and if he was being honest with himself he wanted more.

You sighed in frustration, as hard as you tried to concentrate on the papers in front of you, you just couldn’t. Thoughts about last night flooded your brain making it hard to concentrate on even the simplest sentences. You threw the paper on the couch, ripping your headphones off, “I’m sorry but this silence is killing me, can we just get this awkward conversation over with”

“Alright well” Tom stared at you, unsure what to say. Yes he felt wrong but he also didn’t care. He got a taste of you and now he wanted more, “I apologize for what happened, it was completely unprofessional on my part”

You cleared your throat trying to find the right response, “yeah, well, I'm sorry too, we were both in the wrong and it shouldn’t have happened and I’m really hoping we can just move past this” 

“Yes I agree” Tom nodded his head, “So how are those papers coming along?”

You shrugged, sitting down in the exact leather chair you’d sat in on Monday, “There needs to be a study group or something, I mean if this is the writing skills of our future world leaders I’m honestly a little concerned”

Tom chuckled, his hands instinctively reaching for his tie, something you noticed he did subconsciously. Your heart skipped a beat as your stomach fluttered, “god get a grip girl” You thought as you blinked your lust filled thought away.

Tom smirked, noticing your reaction to the way you reacted to him, “Yes well not everyone has an easy time with writing as you do”. He touched his tie again, this time tugging on the knot a little.

Your breath hitched as your brain went foggy. A low chuckle leaving his mouth as you shook your head, “Well I’m not that great of a writer, I mean I have countless drafts that no one sees”

“Really?” Tom played with his tie, loving how much the simple habit affected you, “How many drafts did you make before you sent that email?”

Your eyes widening in surprise, “no drafts. Drunk me is the best writer”

Tom smiled, getting up from his seat as he moved to stand in front of you. You watched as he leaned against his desk. You bit your lip as you leaned back into the chair, enjoying the way that Tom seemed so much taller than you.

“You know you probably shouldn’t say that to your professor”

You smirked, “There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t say to my professor” You were playing with fire but the heat felt too good, it made you want to know what the burn felt like. “Fuck it, what’ve you got to lose” You thought to yourself as you smiled.

“Oh yeah?” Tom’s eyebrow raised in question as he leaned down towards you, his face only inches from you, “things like what?”

You smiled bringing your lips close to his ear, “Like how much I want you to fuck me”

The groan that left Tom had your thighs clenching together, “Yeah you definitely shouldn’t tell me that.” You chuckled as you leaned back in the seat, Tom’s eyes moved over your body like you were a work of art, “but then again as a teacher I probably shouldn’t want to fuck my student so badly”

Your lips parted in surprise as Tom smirked, his fingers gently trailing up your thigh. Your breath hitched in anticipation but a disappointed sigh left your mouth when his hand didn’t move past the hem of your short dress. “If this happens no one can know”

You nodded your head as his hand grabbed your chin, keeping your head in place and forcing you to look into his eyes, “Words darling”

“No one finds out” You gulped, your body frozen. You could feel yourself getting wet from the power he held over you. The feeling of his having control over you was intoxicating

“And you understand that I will never use this against you? You can leave right now and I will forget this ever happened and we can go right back to our normal professional student-teacher relationship”

“I understand professor” You nodded, wanting nothing more than for his hands to be all over you. 

“Good girl” He smiled, placing a quick kiss on your forehead, “Now go sit on my desk and spread those legs”

You smiled, quickly doing as you were told. Tom chuckled, amused by your excitement. You watched as he got on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he places kisses up your thighs, occasionally leaving a mark that would stay for days to come. “You’re so wet, all this over a couple of kisses?” He teased

Before you could answer Tom moved your underwear aside, placing a gentle kiss on your clit. You moaned, your hand instinctively reaching for his hair. “I knew you would taste good,” He said, licking his lips. He ate you like you were his last meal, licking and slurping you like a starving man. 

You’d never been more thankful that the school was empty on Saturdays, no one around to hear the moans that Tom was coaxing out of you. “Oh god” Your hips shamelessly bucking against his face as he pulled your legs onto his shoulder.

“Tom please” You whimpered as his tongue slowed down to a teasing pace. He groaned, his large hand slapping your thigh, “It’s professor.” His voice was demanding and powerful. Your eyes rolled back as his fingers stretched you, toes curling as he effortlessly found your g-spot. “Professor please I’m gonna cum”

“Cum for me baby” He moaned, “I want your cum all over my face”

His fingers moved faster as you reached your breaking point, loud moans leaving your mouth as your back arched. You could feel Tom smirking against your clit as your legs began to slightly shake. 

“You sound so pretty when you cum” Tom said as he stood up, your cum making his face glisten in the last bits of light that came from the windows of the office. You couldn’t help yourself, grabbing his shirt to pull him closer as you licked your cum off his face. 

“Someone’s eager” He joked as you kissed down his neck. “Hmm I can’t help it, you just look so sexy with my cum on your face. Plus I’ve been wanting this all semester so are you gonna give me what I want or am I gonna have to get it from someone else”

Tom’s jaw tightened as he grabbed your wrist, “Don’t be a brat or I’ll edge you all night and leave you with nothing”

You whimpered as Tom pulled you off the desk, “Now if I remember correctly,” you watched as he loosened his tie, “You wanted to wear this.” You nodded your head, watching as he took off the blue and white tie, taking a deep breath as he placed it around your neck. 

“And as much as I love you in this dress, I think I’d prefer for you to be out of it” He smirked. You chuckled, turning around so he could unzip the dress, letting the fabric pool at your feet. Tom’s arms snaked around your body he pulled your back into his. His fingers playing with your nipples, squeezing and pulling the sensitive area. You bit your lip, rubbing your ass against his hard on, your pussy desperate for more attention.

“Professor” You wined, “I want you”

“So needy baby” He chuckled against your skin as he kissed up your shoulder and neck, “Don’t worry, you’ve been a good girl I won’t tease you too much”

Your head rested against his shoulder as his hand twisted the tie, making it tighter around your throat, “Is this okay?” You nodded, wincing when his hand roughly slapped your ass, “Come on sweetheart you're smart enough to know that when I ask a question I expect an answer. Now use your words”

“Yes Professor” You said moaning as his hand gently rubbed the area he’d just hit. Tom quickly unbuckled his pants, pushing them down as he aligned himself with you. He teasingly rubbed the head of his cock on your clit, loving the low whimpers that escaped your mouth as your hips jolted up. 

Tom’s grip on your hips tightened, pushing you down into the desk as he bottomed you out. You moaned loudly as he began to thrust into you, “This is what you wanted right? Your professor fucking you like a slut”

You gripped the desk, trying your best to keep your balance. Tom gripped the tie again, the fabric pulling your head back. “Faster please Professor” You begged as you moved your hips. 

His hips sped up as his hand moved in front of you tracing figure eights on your clit. You became light headed from how tight the tie was but you couldn’t care less it all felt too good. “Sir Please It’s too much I’m gonna cum”

“Go on baby cum on my cock, give it to me” Tom sped up, becoming needier as he came closer to cumming. He pulled your body into his, fucking up into you as he kissed the harsh line where the tie met your skin. The sensation was too much for you as you came, your walls squeezing Tom, milking his cock of all his cum as he came shortly after you.

Your body went limp, leaning against the desk so you didn’t fall to the floor. Tom sighed, pulling out of you, groaning when he saw his cum leaking out your abused hole. “You did so good” Tom whispered as he kissed up your spine, “Such a good girl for me”

You slowly got up, turning around to face him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Tom smiled, picking you up and moving you to the couch, where you sat cuddled in his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked, still placing kisses all over your body

“I’m cold” You said, your head resting against his shoulder. He chuckled, quickly grabbing his jacket from his chair before returning to your tired body. You laid in his lap with his jacket wrapped around you, Tom’s hand running up and down your spine as he kissed your forehead.

You glanced at the clock, “it’s getting late”

Tom sighed, “let’s just stay like this for a little while, then we’ll get you dressed and I’ll drive you to your dorm”

[tsukishumai]

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky. 

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out. 

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace. 

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously. 

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift. 

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly. 

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head. 

Semi Nude. 

You blinked once. Then twice. 

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands. 

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe. 

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway. 

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant. 

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro. 

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way. 

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes. 

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream. 

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs. 

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin. 

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind. 

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden. 

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home. 

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out. 

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you. 

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.” 

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!” 

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you. 

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture. 

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose. 

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles. 

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear. 

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves. 

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.” 

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you. 

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip. 

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb. 

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze. 

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought. 

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you. 

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him. 

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing. 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani. 

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t. 

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year. 

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected. 

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush. 

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs. 

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning. 

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.” 

“No, I definitely know you —“ 

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto. 

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door. 

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?” 

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out. 

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket. 

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder. 

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.” 

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“ 

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door. 

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in. 

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare. 

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen. 

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door. 

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?” 

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door. 

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift. 

[honeypiehotchner]

Unconventional (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — part one

The time has finally come 😈

This is just the first chapter, so it is slow (apologies) but I promise from here on out it picks right up xx

Warnings: none for this chapter! (one sexy thought, but it’s nothing)

Fic Masterlist || Hotch Masterlist

(picture from Unsplash)

Your AirPods vibrate gently in your ears from the bass in your favorite song. You shouldn’t have to psych yourself up this much to walk in here, but you do anyway.

“Here” meaning the office of the university’s newspaper. Your roommate, Megan, works here. For a senior staff writer, she sure does leave her notebook at home a lot.

You think it’s her last few attempts at recruiting you to the newspaper. But you’ve told her time and time before, you write fiction. Not about real people.

Still, because you love her, and because you’re passing the building on your way to the library, you stop by and bring her the notebook.

“You’re an angel,” Megan gushes when she sees you enter the glass doors. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Only a thousand times on the phone earlier,” you joke, handing off her notebook. She repeated it way too much, no doubt trying to kiss your ass so you’d bring the notebook to her. “I swear you leave it on the counter on purpose sometimes.”

“Once or twice,” she admits shyly. “But this time was a complete accident. I got carried away with something else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Please tell me ‘something else’ doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“What do you think it means?”

“A boy,” you deadpan. “Or is it a girl this time?”

Playfully, she smacks your arm with her notebook. “It wasn’t a boy, or a girl, for that matter! I just got an email that I wasn’t expecting.” She pauses, beginning to grin. “Aaron Hotchner emailed me back.”

Your raised eyebrows morph into confusion. “Who?”

Megan continues, not noticing your confused expression. “Well, he didn’t email me back. His secretary did. She said he’s free at eleven tomorrow for an interview, but that he’s booked up after. I already emailed my professor and she said she can meet with me during office hours so I can skip class to go to the interview. Isn’t that awesome?!”

You nod slowly, listening but not really processing any of it. You have no idea who this Aaron Hotchner is, but he must be important if he has a secretary sending emails and making meetings for him. And if Megan seems this excited.

“This is it,” she goes on. “My editor said I needed a big story for my senior year. This is my big story.”

“That’s great,” you grin, trying to mirror her excitement, but you don’t think you could match her expression if you tried extra hard. You’d have to...get a book deal. No, a book contract. Multiple books. Yeah, that would do it.

“Aye, look who it is,” a voice calls from the back, flowing to the front as staff writer Derek Morgan emerges. “Did you finally recruit her?” He asks, addressing your roommate.

You answer him. “No, she didn’t.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “It’s a shame. You could be my fifth date this week.”

“Fifth?” Megan gasps, smacking him with her notebook this time. “Derek Morgan, you player.”

“You know it, babygirl,” he winks.

“Ew,” you laugh.

“Yeah, save that for Penelope,” Megan teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

But this is the first you’re ever hearing of a Penelope. “Who? A woman? Derek Morgan knows a woman?”

“Funny,” Derek scoffs. “Penelope and I are just friends, you know that.”

“Hm, have you told her you’re going on all these dates?” Megan asks.

Derek goes quiet. And then walks off, claiming to have an interview to get to.

“Got him,” Megan snickers. “They swear they’re just best friends, but I think it’s only a matter of time.”

“I dunno,” you chuckle. “I don’t see him ever settling down.”

“Me either,” Megan sighs. “Anyway, thanks for bringing this. What are you up to today?”

“Heading to the library,” you reply, hearing her response from a mile away.

“Of course,” Megan rolls her eyes jokingly. “Well, have fun. Want me to text you to figure out dinner?”

“Sure,” you nod. “That’ll remind me to eat.”

“I know,” Megan chuckles. “Get outta here. I’ve got an interview to prepare for.”

“Right,” you pretend once again to understand the importance of it. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” she groans, heading back to her desk.

You place your AirPods back in your ears, relaxing as your favorite song automatically begins to play.

+++

The smell of old and new books mixed with freshly brewed coffee greets you as you enter the university library. Over at the desk, a familiar face looks up from his book, which is a feat considering he once recounted an experience to you of the time he read a novel straight through a fire drill.

“Hey Spence,” you smile, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “What’re you reading today?”

“War and Peace,” he replies with a small smile.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you read that last week?”

“I did,” he nods, turning the book around for you to see. “This is in the original Russian.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Of course. Is it just as good?”

“Better, actually.” He pauses then, putting the book down. “Do you need your usual room reserved?”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I think I’m gonna get a coffee and sit under the stairs again.”

“Okay,” he smiles. “I hope you make some progress today.”

“You and me both, buddy,” you chuckle, waving as you walk away, heading for the coffee shop that’s inside the library.

It’s called Roastin’ which you think was the university’s failed attempt at making it hip and cool. Regardless, the coffee here is amazing. If you come to the library, you get coffee here. It’s a given.

After grabbing your favorite coffee and pastry, you make your way over to the small table that sits underneath the stairs. It only has two chairs, but once you get your laptop and journal spread out, the entire table is covered.

Not that you mind, though. Not many people like sitting here because the table is so small and because the vibrations from footsteps on the staircase can be annoying. But once you put your music in, you’re zoned out.

You’re a senior Creative Writing major and part of your final portfolio is a finished draft of a novel. The plus side to this is that if it’s good enough, some professors might give you agents to send it off to or make other connections for you.

But that can only happen if you finish this damn thing.

You’ve written a few novels, but they’ve been science-fiction. And even then, only one of them is what you’d consider publishing worthy. Your professor for Advanced Fiction Writing has challenged you to write outside your comfort zone.

Only, she didn’t tell you she was doing that until after you told her what genres you’d written before.

Which means now you’re stuck writing a romance novel -- young adult or adult, she doesn’t care, just not full-blown erotica -- and you don’t know the first thing about romance.

Well, that’s not true. You had one boyfriend in high school that lasted for a few months, but it was high school. The most the two of you did was make out during a movie. And that was his idea of a date. A movie.

Granted, it is a cute date idea. Here and there. With him, it was all he wanted to do. And half the time, he wouldn’t be able to pay. So there you were, stuck sitting through shitty movies with shitty, overpriced popcorn that you had to pay for, too.

He wasn’t even that great of a kisser. Or conversationalist.

It was all around bad.

And it’s the only experience you’ve ever had with romance and dating.

So trying to take that, and take what you’ve seen in movies and read in books, and apply it to writing a novel of your own is...difficult.

Difficult meaning you haven’t started.

You don’t even have a title. And it’s due at the end of the semester. Because you’re graduating at the end of the semester.

The word count isn’t an issue. The minimum is 60,000 words, but you’ve written more than that in the span of a month. It’s a matter of having a good idea that you can run away with. That’s the issue.

And as you stare at the blinking cursor, you don’t think you’re going to have any luck today, either.

+++

When Megan texts you later to figure out dinner plans, she’s surprised to find you’re already back at the apartment. And that you’ve ordered pizza that should arrive soon.

“You doing okay?” She asks when she returns from work. She turns to hang her jacket by the door. “You’re usually nose-deep in your laptop still.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, setting down the random novel you grabbed from the library. It’s not even a romance novel. It’s science-fiction again.

Megan plops down next to you on the couch. “How’s the book coming?”

“It’s not,” you chuckle, propping your head in your hand. “I can’t think of where to start.”

“We should find you a date,” she replies seriously, prompting you to start laughing. “I’m serious!” She cries. “Not settle down, just a date. It might help.”

“I don’t have the energy to go on a date.”

“It doesn’t take energy.”

“Trust me, it does.”

“Okay, well, not with the right person,” she argues. “What about that boy at the library? Spencer, right?”

You scrunch up your nose. “Nope.” It’s not that he’s unattractive (because he isn’t; he’s very cute), he’s just not your...type.

But you don’t know how to explain your type to Megan without being embarrassed or teased for it.

“Why not?” Megan presses on. “He’s cute, he seems like he’d be into you.”

“He’s into books.”

“Perfect. So are you.”

You give her a look.

“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “What about Derek? He’d do all the flirting. It wouldn’t even be serious.”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh loudly. The day you go on a date with Derek Morgan will be a day that the sun blows up and kills everyone -- or starts the real life Maze Runner.

See? Science-fiction is where you love to be.

“Fine,” Megan breathes. “Since you obviously don’t want to talk about it, look at these pictures.”

She pulls her laptop out of her bag and opens it up, going right to the last page she visited. It’s this Aaron Hotchner’s website, but then she goes to a new tab and Googles his name, clicking on images.

“What are we looking at?” You inquire, leaning a little closer, but trying not to be too obvious.

“This is the guy I’m interviewing tomorrow,” Megan explains, then pauses. “Seriously, how do you just not know who he is?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’ve ever needed a lawyer?”

Ignoring your question, she goes back to the images. “He’s this crazy successful attorney. Rumor has it, he hasn’t lost a single case in his entire career. Not even when he first started. How insane is that?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty insane,” you nod. Insanely attractive. How old is this guy?

“It’s a shame he’s so old, though,” Megan continues, answering your mental question. “He’s like 43 or something.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say noncommittally, knowing that if she hears your tone, she’ll think you’re disinterested. When, in fact, you’re very interested.

That’s only a twenty year age difference, which isn’t bad at all. Especially if he looks like that.

He’s exactly your type. Tall -- 6’2” which is tall enough that even in your heels, you’d still be able to rest your head on his shoulder. Dark eyes and dark hair, styled neatly in a way that has you dying to run your fingers through it, mess it up, tug on the strands. He’s muscular, that much you can tell even though he’s wearing a suit and tie. The tie is the best part. What you wouldn’t give to have that wrapped about your wrists, knotted to the headboard--

A loud knock on the door has you nearly jumping out of your skin.

“Pizza must be here,” Megan says idly, placing her laptop down on the coffee table. “Did you pay online?”

“Yeah,” you nod, gluing your eyes to the images of Aaron Hotchner on her screen while she grabs the pizza. There’s a picture of him back when he graduated from the university. No wonder this is a big story. He was attractive then, too, but something tells you that you still wouldn’t have gone for him.

You like older men. There’s a reason you haven’t dated Spencer or Derek, or any other boy that has shown any ounce of interest in you since you’ve been here. They’ve all been your age, younger, or not old enough.

You’re well aware that it’s taboo. Age gaps are cute and all when it’s a 23 year old dating a 27 year old. But being seven years away from 30 and your partner being seven years away from 50 would definitely cause some societal side-eye.

You roll your eyes at yourself as you head into the kitchen area for drinks. You’re thinking about all of this as if you know Aaron, as if he knows you, as if there is even a chance. Hilarious. You should be a comedian if this writing thing doesn’t work out.

Megan takes the pizza to the couch while you fix drinks, but a loud sneeze has you turning around slowly, both drinks in hand.

Another sneeze. Megan groans.

Tentatively, you hand her the glass of water. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“Don’t say that to me,” she mutters. “I’ve been sneezing all day. I think I just forgot my allergy medicine last night.”

“Oh, yeah, probably.”

Brushing right over the issue, Megan grabs the remote and queues up Netflix on the TV.

You settle back against the couch cushions, stealing one last glance at her computer screen, Aaron Hotchner’s eyes boring into your own before the screen goes black as the computer falls asleep.

There’s a new face for you to fantasize about at night, at least.

Next chapter

[wh0re-4-techno]

2. PICNIC ((PROFESSOR TECHNO))

Description: Minx and you have a picnic on the grass field, discussing your very seemly normal meeting. But so some reason you couldn't keep your mind off of your new Professor.

Words: 2024

Last part ::  Next part

"Oh my god, I am so sorry for that Sir. You shy away, taking a few steps back from embarrassment, stepping away from the door frame, and him, he lets go of your arm. "No, no. That's alright. I run into people all the time on campus. Nothing to be sheepish about." He softly chuckles, it sounded so warm and welcoming. You look back at him, this time with a smile. Trying to reassure your professor.

"Well, it was my pleasure to meet you, Miss. Y/l/n." He sticks out his hand, which seemed a bit awkward as he was halfway through his door way and how you stood in the hallway. He had to bend towards you, you stepped forward to shake his hand.

They where slightly rough, but there where still softness to it. Maybe it was because he read through so many pages that his hands where becoming so rugged. He gently squeezed your hand, which you did the same.

His hands where so much bigger than yours.

As you pulled away from the interaction, "Can't wait to see you in my class, I can see that you'll do great." He said through a toothy smile and a wink. Your fingers where becoming warm, you grip them against your hand. "Thank you sir." You say as he closes his door.

You stand there for a few seconds, contemplating over this whole situation, but your feet started to move anyways. You walk down the hallway and down the many steps.

As you walk out of the building you pull out your phone. It reading '11:13am'. It felt as time flew by, where you really talking to him for about an hour?

Y/n to Minx:

R u at the grass field????

You send a text to Minx, she did mention that she would be meeting you there as you ran to that meeting. You walk your way to the grass field anyways without a text back, even if she replies with no, you where still going to be there. But you got a text back from her saying,

Minx to Y/n:

HELL YEAHHHHH! I have a picnic blanket too!

You softly giggle at her message, she always did little things like this. In a good way. You wouldn't have thought to bring a picnic blanket at all.

Soon enough you where at the grass, you look out in the many people whom decided to do the same thing you where doing. Many couple who where studying for a exam or doing homework, other where just making out with each other. Which you didn't necessarily care about PDA as much as the next person would, but for sure you wouldn't be caught dead sharing saliva with another person at the grass field.

Spotting Minx, who was laying on a classic red and white picnic blanket. She sat with a sandwich in hand, while her other hand was waving over to you.

Walking up to her you say, "Did you make one for me?" You gesture to her sandwich, which she simply rolls her eyes. She moves her leg to criss-cross so you would have room on the blanket. "No I didn't, sorry." She takes a big bite of it, you where fine without one, you weren't really that hungry anyway. "It's alright." You sit down, it was surprisingly very soft. "You where gone for a while."

As you sit you pull out the piece of paper that he handed you. "Yeah I guess." Unfolding it, you stare at it once again, going over every material you might need for his class. Your head slowly but surely started to drift off, thinking if the small amount of time that was spent on that office. How much you wanted to go back in there with him and just talk. Hearing his voice almost electrifying. Suddenly hearing Minx. "Earth to y/n?" Her voice was muffled but you could see her hand moving in front of you. Breaking you out from your train of thought. Minx asks you again, her face said it all, she was confused as why you where lost. "Are you okay up there?" She tapped her own head, gesturing to you.

You chuckle at her actions, "Yeah I'm fine, just looking at this." You hold up the paper. She 'oh's in realization, but didn't seemed that interested in asking more. "How'd it go?" You hummed at her question, still a little lost in your own head, but you figured out what she was saying. "It went well..." You placed your piece of paper on the ground next to you.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, taking another bite of her sandwich, which she was close to be finishing it. She eyed you before talking, making sure you weren't lying. "Really? That good?" Your eyes slightly widen, where you blushing?

She definitely could see now that you where you getting color on your face, "Okay now you have to tell me how was it!" She threw her hands up, "Excuse me?" Your lips parted as she asked that question, taking you aback of what she said. "You heard me! How was your new tech, is he hot?" She wiggled her eyebrows as she leaned forward, now you where definitely starting to blush. But you where unsure why she asked that out of all the other questions she could've picked. "TELL ME!" She half yells at you, grabbing your arms. Some people near by turned towards the both of you. Confused and somewhat worried as why she was yelling. You mouth out apologies for interrupting their time. You turn back to Minx, whom took her hands off of you and sat quietly, slight embarrassed by her own yelling.

"Okay okay, he was nice. I'm not gonna say anything more though." You throw you hands up in defense as she grunts. She slightly punched your shoulder, "You, ms. Y/l/n, are a fucken tease! You can't just say that and leave!" She raises she voice again, not as loud, but was starting to draw the same people to start looking back at the two of you. This time your getting embarrassed by her yelling. You shush her as she glares at you, somewhat unbothered at the people's attention. "Well. What do you want me to say?" You question her with a laugh as she doesn't stop glaring at you, finally taking her last bite of her sandwich. "What's his name?" She chews on her food while asking, gross.

But as you think, your mind goes blank.

What was his name? But then it hit you, you just didn't even ask for it. He knew your name, but you didn't know his. "I didn't even ask for his name." Your hands slap against your face, hinding away from the embarrassment. You slowly tip backwards, you could feel how hot your face was getting, you need to calm down before Minx could poke fun at you.

She didn't believe you at first but you didn't say anything else so she grabbed the paper that was beside you. She sighed at first but then started to laugh. You questioned her at first as to why she was laughing, but it was quickly answered. "His name is on the top of the paper y/n!!" She fell backwards too, the both of you laugh at the moment.

The two of you just lay back for a few minutes, taking breathes as you stare into the blue sky. Watching as the clouds fly by, it was good.

"His name is Mr. Technoblade, strange name huh?" Minx tells you, you didn't respond, just thinking about him. You got his name...

Technoblade.

Minx rose back up, still a little giggly that you actually didn't ask you your new Professors name. It was a thing that only you would do for sure. "Wait, did your counsel tell you his name before picking his class?" She asks, starting to remember that they did that. "I barely remember what day it is, what'd you think I would remember that!" You start to chuckle, she just shrugs it off.

"So when's your first day again?" She asks, while picking at the grass. "I think on Thursday. It should say the schedule on the back." You pick up the paper once again to read it.

There it was, the whole schedule on what day and what hour his class was on.

-----

After about another hour or so, you and Minx decided to head back to the dorms.

While walking back you pull out your Bluetooth earbuds, handing one to Minx. She gladly took one from you. You turn on Spotify to your special playlist for you and Minx. Some where her songs and the others where yours. It wasn't the best flowing mix of music as some where slow beat and others where pure punk rock. But seemingly each step the both of you where going on beat.

The both of you hummed out the songs that played. It were these sweet moments that you think back to when you think about Minx and your friendship. It was simple, but great.

Walking up each step together, passing random people and some that you seem to pass everyday. Making it to your door. Minx pulls out her set of keys and opens the door for you. "Thank you." She gladly took your thanks and closed the door behind her.

She handed the Bluetooth earbud back to you, you head towards your bed. Once you hop on your twin size bed you lay down. Putting your hands behind your head like this morning. Minx followed you and jumped on your bed. She sat on the other side of your bed, against the wall as she watched videos on her phone.

"You never went to class." You take her by surprise, as you where just relaxing and there wasn't any conversations happening between the two of you. "Eh, fuck it." You start chuckling and she does the same. "Yeah I'm just going to email my teacher that I wasn't feeling to good." She drops her phone to look at you. "Say that you threw up! It works every time." You explain to her, but her face is deadpan. "Really? That's the most used excuse ever Y/n." She roll her eyes at you, but you can tell she was still playing with you. "Then say you got food poisoning! I don't fucken know." You scoffed at her. She thinks for a few seconds then nods. "You're pretty smart for a 2nd year." "Oh shut up." The both end up laughing at each other.

-----

She turns off the light as it was past 11 already and the both of you had to go to classes tomorrow. You knew it was going to be boring as every class was, there wasn't anything exciting you anymore. Maybe it was because your honeymoon phase with college past or you where having enough fun at college anymore. You're only real friend was Minx, the others where people who you would talk in class and that was it. You didn't mind that Minx was your only true friend, but maybe it was time for you to find more people to hang out with, after all you could meet more people in your new class.

That's right, you had a new class to look out for. Next Thursday. You couldn't wait for it.

You pull your covers over your body, resting your phone on its side as you play a youtube video. Your head begins to think back to this afternoon, about your new class and how fun it might be. But then remembering him. Mind drifting to his voice, that voice. Hearing him softly chuckling while he drops his head. There was something in you brain telling you that you shouldn't be wanting to hear his laugh again, but why was it so tempting...

[dynyamight]

meet cute number 47 is interesting!

send me a writting ask

47. Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

“You got all that, right?” Shinsou asks, readjusting his stance, so others can leave their classroom door easily.

Midoriya hums absentmindedly. He’s still quickly jotting down the last few digits onto his planner. “And, you said tomorrow morning, around 7? At the library?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou shrugs, “Or anytime really. The deadline isn’t until next month, you know.”

“I kinda just want to get it done, as soon as possible.”

Shinsou breathes out a snort. “Figured you’d say that much. Just make sure you got my number. Repeat it, if you need to.”

“No time.” Midoriya drops his bag to the side, shoving his now closed notebook inside. “Thank you! I’ll text you later tonight!” He offers hurriedly, before taking off down the campus halls.

Shinsou’s warning falls deaf to his rushed mind.

He has to run the entire way, in order to graciously catch the last bus for the hour. Sweaty and flushed, Midoriya slumps into his seat in relief. Fortunately, he was able to cop a seat for himself, settling by the window and his backpack right next to him.

Staring out, Midoriya tries to remind himself of the rest of his priorities he needed to do.

He still needed to start on Doctor Chiyo’s online Physiology exam, and gather his notes for the open book portion. It was a bit bothersome to handle tests online, but if the rest of class prefers it, there’s nothing Midoriya can do about it.

Speaking of which, Ochako had requested for copies of those exact same notes, since apparently she barely writes anything during lectures. He wants to suggest to her to just simply take better notes, but alas, he will gladly help her out.

And, finally, Midoriya has to collect reliable, approved research articles for his and Shinsou’s debate, in their argumentative project in Communications. Being assigned “PRO SOCIAL MEDIA INFLUENCE”, while being the most uninvolved people on the internet, Midoriya and Shinsou had a lot of work to do.

Not to mention it was already 18:00 by the time he reached the school’s dormitories. And yet, he needed to shower, make dinner, water his plants, and watch the newest episode of his favorite drama, airing tonight.

University was eating him alive.

Thankfully, he’s able to complete half of his list.

He finishes the exam with a 98%, and quickly snaps the pages of his notes over to Ochako and Iida, making sure to highlight the main topics questioned in the exam. Ochako sends a ‘thank you’ gif, and Iida texts a long, yet endearing message of gratitude.

Midoriya doesn’t have time to shower, instead blasting the TV volume loud, as he waters his indoor plants at the same time. He overwaters them a little bit, busy glancing back at the screen for too long. But, at least he’s able to watch the episode. He pouts when it ends on a cliffhanger, almost drowning his bonsai tree in frustration.

He’s only able to warm up a plate of leftovers, and read through only one research article, by the time it’s already blinking 21:30 on his phone. Sighing, Midoriya closes his laptop and grabs his cell phone instead.

An all nighter wasn’t preferable. But, if Shinsou is working overtime at his late night job, Midoriya supposes he can stay up and keep looking through more articles, until he has at least the required ten.

Flipping open his planner, Midoriya inputs Shinsou’s number into his phone. He adds his name, a contact photo of him sleeping, and finally taps a quick message.

(21:38) < You working?

When Shinsou doesn’t respond right away, Midoriya simply sets aside his phone on his desk. Stretching his arms, he sighs in defeat, now expecting Shinsou to be stuck at work.

He’s never worked at a restaurant, but he bets Friday nights can get pretty busy. And, Shinsou always complains that group outings and dates tend to stay over, even after the place is supposed to close. And, Midoriya trusts his word.

So, by the time his phone dings, Midoriya has been clicking through more articles on social media, bookmarking a few to go over later, as he went.

He lifts his phone, and with a bright screen, a message stares back at him.

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > Who’s this

Oh, he did forget to specify. But, Midoriya smiles, having a small prank in mind. There was no harm in teasing his friends, let alone Shinsou, who definitely needed a good laugh, now and then.

(21:58) < It's the cutie from your communications class ;)

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > So, no one

(21:59) < Haha! I guess you’re right about that

(21:59) < Anyways, it’s Izuku! You still working late, Hitoshi?

shinsou hitoshi (21:59) > This ain’t Hitoshi

Midoriya's face drops, blinking. Oh god, did he mistype the number?

(21:38) < Wait, you’re not???

Another text pops up, shortly after.

shinsou hitoshi (22:02) > You got the wrong number

Embarrassment burning his entire face red, Midoriya wishes he could delete himself from the world.

(22:03) < I’m so so so so sorry!

(22:03) < God, I thought I wrote down my friend’s number right

(22:03) < But, I was in this stupid rush to get on the bus that I didn’t make sure

(22:04) < And, listen, if I had missed that bus, I would’ve had to wait

(22:04) < Not like a few minutes wait

(22:04) < Like, a whole two hours wait!

shinsou hitoshi (22:05) > I didn’t ask

Deleting the conversation, Midoriya erases the new contact completely. And instead, he looks back to his planner, and retypes the numbers in his phone onto a new conversation.

Hopefully, he has typed the correct series of digits.

(22:07) < Hey, Hitoshi! It’s Izuku

unknown (22:08) > ...

unknown (22:08) > What the actual fuck

unknown (22:08) > You've still got the wrong number, you goddamn idiot

Slamming his phone onto his desk, Midoriya grabs a pillow off his bed and shoves it in his face. The temptation to scream sounds awfully pleasant, but it’s too late at night to do so. His dorm neighbors would definitely wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

What’s wrong? Oh, he has completely done one of the most dreaded imaginary scenarios in his head; text a complete stranger. Twice.

What was he supposed to do now? Never text back? Delete it? Block it?

How is he supposed to contact Shinsou now?

His phone dings again.

Lifting the pillow off his face slightly, Midoriya eyes his phone warily from his swivel chair.

That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Another text from the same stranger sounds a bit unheard of.

After a seconds-long hesitation, Midoriya lifts his phone and opens it once more.

unknown (22:13) > Double check next time

unknown (22:13) > You can fucking wait the two hours, dumbass

Midoriya grows a little irked. He has a bad feeling that his stranger isn’t too friendly, to say that least.

There was literally no reason to text back something so rude.

(22:14) < Well, that wasn’t nice

unknown (22:15) > Wasn’t trying to be

(22:15) < ..Are you always like this?

unknown (22:16) > Pretty much

(22:16) < That’s sad

unknown (22:17) > What’s fucking sad is that I was woken up from my sleep

unknown (22:17) > Because a damn moron didn’t write down the right number

Midoriya winces. He hadn’t even thought about the other person’s predicament, let alone if he had interrupted anything.

(22:20) > I really didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry :(

unknown (22:22) > Yeah whatever

(22:24) > You should try to go back to sleep, then

unknown (22:25) > I was

unknown (22:25) > But the same moron from before keeps texting me

(22:27) > Who?

(22:33) > Oh.

(22:33) > It’s me, huh?

unknown (22:34) > No shit

(22:35) > Right, of course. My bad!

(22:35) > I’m going to just stop now

unknown (22:36) > Thanks

(22:36) > For the umpteenth time, sorry! ><

(22:37) > Okay, Okay! I’m stopping now, for real

Midoriya desperately needs to call it a night.

After going through his nightly routine, he slips under his bedsheets, exhausted. He sets an alarm for 5:00 on his phone, hoping Shinsou will show up at the library, regardless of the missing confirmation text on Midoriya’s end.

He keeps his phone on awhile longer, swiping through his professors’ emails, before a surprising text notification pops in front of him.

unknown (23:01) > FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

(23:02) > …

(23:02) > What was that for??

unknown (23:04) > I CAN’T SLEEP

unknown (23:04) > GOD, I CAN’T GO BACK TO FUCKING SLEEP

unknown (23:05) > AND IT’S YOUR FAULT

(23:06) > What do you expect me to do????

unknown (23:07) > HAHAHAHA OH DON’T WORRY

unknown (23:07) > IF I CAN’T SLEEP, NEITHER CAN YOU

unknown (23:08) > AND IF YOU TURN YOUR PHONE OFF I WILL SEND HELLFIRE

(23:09) > Wait

(23:09) > No, please

(23:09) > My alarm is on my phone, I need it on

(23:10) > I need to go to an important meeting for a group project at 7:00!

unknown (23:10) > Aw, really? :0?!

(23:11) > Yeah! I really do!

unknown (23:11) > Sike. I don’t fucking care

unknown (23:12) > Hope you eat shit tomorrow

(23:13) > ..Why are you like this?

(23:13) > I could literally be a twelve year old, for all you know

unknown (23:14) > I doubt fucking twelve years do group projects

unknown (23:15) > But whether you’re a damn infant, or grown adult, I hate you

(23:16) > I wouldn’t say I hate you. That’s too harsh

(23:16) > But, wow, you are very unlikable :/

unknown (23:17) > That’s the fucking nicest thing anyone has said about me

(23:18) > It wasn’t supposed

(23:19) > Nevermind.

(23:19) > Do you have any friends? Just might as well ask

unknown (23:21) > Surprisingly yeah

(23:22) > Oh, so you also agree. That it’s a surprise

(23:22) > At least you’re self aware :0

unknown (23:23) > Yeah, they are annoying as hell

unknown (23:24) > But, also pretty good people, I guess

(23:25) > Pretty good or pretty dumb?

unknown (23:26) > SHUT IT

unknown (23:27) > Only I can make fun of them

unknown (23:27) > You. Don’t.

(23:28) > You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that

(23:29) > I’m sorry :(

unknown (23:30) > You like apologizing, huh

(23:29) > There’s a lot to apologize for tonight

unknown (23:30) > Still, you don’t have to say it every damn minute

(23:32) > You probably don’t ever apologize

unknown (23:33) > Fuck no

(23:35) > Right, of course

(23:36) > Well, you know what I need to do tomorrow

unknown (23:37) > Unfortunately

(23:38) > What about you?

unknown (23:39) > I’m covering a shift at my shit job at the ass crack of dawn

(23:40) > Unnecessary visual, but I digress

(23:40) > Uh, where do you work?

unknown (23:42) > No. I don’t even know your damn name

(23:43) > I told you?? It was in my first text

unknown (23:44) > Yeah, I ain’t scrolling

(23:48) > Well, it’s Izuku. Midoriya Izuku :)

unknown (23:49) > Great. I still ain’t giving you mine

(23:50) > ?? Is there anything I can know about you??

(23:50) > You know more about me, than I do about you

unknown (23:51) > You know I hate you

unknown (23:51) > That’s plenty

(23:52) > But, I have been staying up for you :(

unknown (23:53) > Because it’s your fault I can’t sleep

(23:54) > You aren’t feeling sleepy yet?

unknown (23:56) > ..Are you

(23:57) > I asked you first

unknown (23:58) > I asked you second

(23:59) > That

(23:59) > Look, it’s almost midnight

(24:00) > Oh, now, it’s actually midnight

unknown (00:01) > I have fucking eyes. I can see the time

(00:02) > And we BOTH have places to be tomorrow

(00:02) > So, let’s just sleep. Call a truce, please

unknown (00:03) > What about my petty retribution

(00:04) > PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

unknown (00:10) > FUCK

unknown (00:10) > FINE

unknown (00:11) > I STILL CAN’T SLEEP BUT WHATEVER

unknown (00:12) > HOPE YOU FUCKING OVERSLEEP TOMORROW

The rest of the night, Midoriya hears his phone go off, but he doesn’t bother to open the messages. Fortunately for him, the time staying awake quickly catches up to his body, the moment he shuts his eyes. And, in an instant, he falls asleep, heavy.

However, he’s jolted awake by the ringing of his phone, the tone alerting him of an incoming phone call. Banging his head on the headboard, Midoriya blindly grabs and answers his phone. “Uh, H-Hello?” He blurts quickly.

“Tch.” A low voice emits, “You owe me, Deku.”

Click. The phone call ends.

Confused, Midoriya hurriedly rubs his eyes open. Running his messy curls through his fingers, he lifts his bangs up, in order to correctly look at the time.

The time was 5:10. And, his 5:00 alarm had been off the entire time.

And, instead, that same unknown number from last night was his saving grace.

[timelessduet]

For Victor: 2nd Entry

I’d like to dedicate this work to @sayumiht, a co-Victor stan who made this suggestion. Hope you like it. <3

Subtle Jealousy

Victor is a serious guy. As a CEO, he exudes intimidating and powerful aura wherever he goes. You can probably say everyone fears respects him. That includes her. But it was only at first.

MC still has high respect for Victor as a boss and investor of her company but things were different now. Before, she was as intimidated and fazed to the CEO of LFG like everyone else. That maybe he was just all business and nothing else. He wouldn’t waste time on nonsensical things especially if it won’t bring him any good or benefit. But now... she doesn’t feel that gap anymore.

It‘s probably because she's the object of his hidden affections and love. At first, he was indeed annoyed and mad at her for doing things wrong or talking back to him. He couldn’t tolerate such behavior. With her though, that he changed. He tried to be more patient and accept such changes to his once constant and uneventful life.

Victor admits he suppressed his feelings for her because he had a promise to fulfill for someone in his past. Who would’ve thought that the person he searched for the longest time was her all along?

The people closest to Victor know he isn’t a vocal person. He never really tells what he’s feeling. No matter who it was. That is until he admitted all his feelings to MC after confirming she also felt the same.

He was adamant to confessing first. It wasn’t because of pride or fear of being rejected. Victor considered her side and what she’d feel if that situation was to happen. Him telling her what he truly felt which was out of his character and her being put in a tight spot. He knew of all people how kind the girl he fell in love was. If anything, she’d give a dumb face out of surprise but in the end smile.

But Victor also thought how it would be in her shoes. He wasn’t the one who’d be dealing with a confession from him. It was her. She’ll have the burden choice whether she’ll accept or reject it. And depending on her decision, she’ll have to face the corresponding repercussions. He was well aware being linked to him meant the scrutiny of the public and everyone at work.

Luckily, she felt the same and they got together. After all those years of waiting, Victor is finally with her. Although there were slight changes after being in a relationship, one thing hasn’t change: he was still unable to convey what he felt into words properly.

Victor: What are you doing? You’ve been texting on your phone for quite awhile now. Don’t even think about complaining to me that you’re feeling dizzy or your head hurts later.

MC is currently on her way to work together with Victor in his car.

MC: Almost done. I’m currently talking to Professor Lucien and asking his advice about the current program we’re doing.

Considering the field of work, Victor understood MC had to meet and talk to different people everyday. Even he had the same thing going on. But he can’t help but feel a sudden distaste upon hearing another man’s name. He kept his eyes on the road but had a change in mood instantly.

Victor: Professor Lucien? You could’ve just come to me for advice.

MC: Huh? Should I ask advice from you regarding a neuroscience topic for a show? You’re being a bit weird today, Mr. CEO. The topic is Professor Lucien’s specialty. Plus I heard from Goldman you have a very busy schedule these past few days so I wouldn’t want to bother you with such matter. It’s all taken care of. Don’t worry.

The girl explained it to him but for some reason that even he couldn’t explain, he was silently becoming more and more irritated. With the looks of it, everyone at work will be his outlet.

Victor: Can you tell me what this is?

Victor said while looking sharply at the department heads. He was already in a foul mood after what happened while going to work and as much as he didn’t want to vent his annoyance to his subordinates, they weren’t being any help.

Department head 1: Sir it’s... we’ll revise the report as soon as possible.

Department head 2: We’re very sorry about this, Sir.

Victor: As you should. Get back to work. You’re all dismissed. Send me the revised report through email by the end of the day.

This wasn’t a great day at all. Victor was used to having tons of work and meetings but today particularly, he felt stressed and fatigued.

Goldman: Sir, MC called and just informed she’d be cancelling her meeting with you today. She said there was a sudden event invitation from her alma mater that she needed to attend to.

For one, Victor didn’t believe in luck. But why did it seem like he was quite unlucky today? He pinched the bridge of his nose before asking his secretary if there were still things he needed to attend to for the day.

Goldman: The last on your schedule for the day is with Miss MC, Sir. Since she cancelled, should we have the teleconference with A Company moved this afternoon instead?

The supposed meeting with MC was business related and her giving him a report but he also considers moments like that as some time off from his busy schedule. But now...

Victor: Don’t change anything. We’ll proceed to having the teleconference as scheduled. I’ll take my leave early so have the car ready.

Goldman was surprised the CEO would leave work very early which was unlike him but he didn’t say a word and did as he was told.

Seeming as to how he’s becoming more and more restless, Victor decided to give her a call. What happened next made him feel like he’s been soaked with freezing cold water.

Gavin: Hello, you’ve called MC’s phone. This is Gavin. I’m taking the call for her since she went for the restroom and left her phone with me. What’s...

Without hearing any further, Victor ended the call. It was rude and very unlike him to do have such behavior considering his professionalism and objective way of doing things but this...

Goldman: Sir, aren’t you going to Loveland High to meet Miss MC?

Victor: Change of plans. I’m tired. Go straight home.

Victor was sure MC wasn’t doing anything unfaithful or of the likes behind his back but what was it he was feeling? It was very unpleasant and foreign to him that he just couldn’t explain.

After reaching his home, Victor did his usual routines and finally rested on the sofa. He wasn’t fond of watching television but since his girlfriend produced tv shows... he bought a tv for the living area. Opening the tv, the program on was an interview with a famous superstar.

Interviewer: I see. This is a question many of your fans are curious about. Can we know what our favorite superstar’s future dream projects are?

Kiro: I think I’ve been able to do many projects thanks to my management and fans. But now, I really really want to have a project produced by MC. MC if you’re listening lets do a program together.

So even this young superstar knows his girlfriend. At this point, he wasn’t surprised. Coming to his senses, Victor thought this was normal. She was a producer earning her own reputation in the industry. He should be happy and proud about it and yet... he can’t keep his emotions in check.

Turning off the tv, Victor let out a sigh. He was lost in thought. Why was he feeling this way? He opened his phone thoughtlessly and flashed was his wallpaper. It was a picture of him and her the day they became official.

The picture was rather candidly taken to say the least. They were both wet after what happened in the pool but because of happiness and the effect of alcohol, she insisted on taking that photo on his phone. It was a selfie of MC’s tipsy self smiling while Victor instead of looking to the camera, had a look of tenderness in his eyes directed to her. There was no doubt that was the happiest day of his life.

With all the things that happened, Victor dozed off on the couch. He woke up to a warm hand intertwined to his.

MC: Victor, you’re up. Sorry... Did I wake you?

Victor: It’s fine. I think I dozed off for a while. What time is it?

MC: It’s 9 pm. I’m sorry about suddenly cancelling our meeting earlier. That was wrong of me. I promise to make up for it by doing whatever you want!

Victor: Dummy, you’re being too loud. It’s already late.

MC: Seems like Mr. CEO is back to his usual self after a good nap on the sofa. You still looked formal while sleeping though. Just a little less intimidating? Hope your back isn’t aching. I did want to wake you and bring you to bed but you seemed so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb your precious rest.

Victor: Idiot. You were apologizing just now for cancelling a meeting and here you are now blabbering about nonsense.

MC: !

Victor: You said you’d make up for it by doing whatever I want. I want you to just listen to to me and not say anything. I’ll only say or be like this once so listen carefully. Being with you made me into a dummy. You always smile and find meaning in the simplest of things. You’re kind to the point that you’ll unknowingly be taken advantage of. You complain about gaining weight but still heartily eat my cooking. You’re most of the times scared but put on a brave face and stick to your decision until the end. You’re probably the epitome of contradiction to me in every possible way.

Before, I worried how things would be if I told you how I felt. You’d be the object of everyone’s eyes and criticisms. You’d be looked upon differently. The burden of being with me concerned me more than anything else. Who would’ve thought I worried for nothing. You were a dummy who was capable of handling herself without my help or anyone else’s.

You’re probably thinking why is Victor being very outspoken today and if it’s already the end of the world... I know what’s in an idiot’s head that’s why. I felt strange emotions today. At first I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly but I think I figured it out. You may be all the things I’ve mentioned MC but you are my equal.

You are the only person who worries me and yet assures me everything is going to be alright. You are the balance in my life I never knew I needed until now.

I’m well aware of the fact that being with me has a lot of weight in it. Still you accepted me without hesitation. I’m sure this idiot will meet people... people far better than me and be fascinated by them. They’ll show or make her realize things I may not be able to. She has so much ahead of her and that I know very well more than anyone else. All I could ever do is wait for her and be the support she needs. She’ll stumble and cry but I hope she knows by the end of the day, she has me.

MC: I’m not sure if this is what I think it is but... is this Victor’s jealous side? Hmm...

Victor: Idiot. Think whatever you like. And didn’t I say you were only suppose to listen and not say a word?

[Author’s Note]: The lines above were supposed to be part of the story but since it kinda affects the speech of our dearest CEO...

Anyways, ahhh I hope I was able to do jealous Vic justice. 😭 He isn’t one to talk his emotions so I hope it still fits his character. What’s it like seeing a jealous LFG CEO? It isn’t the usual, right? Of course, he is Victor Li after all.^^

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 03

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Mentions of alcohol, a very long conversation happens where Hotch is a little buzzed. Big, BIG focus on their age difference, and unintentional misinformation. Spencer has no idea Hotch thinks he’s older, or at least not OLD older, and gets a little panicky/clams up -- and yes I realize Hotch could just background check him and find it out but he respects the man enough to not do that. The chapter is linear, it just encompasses a lot of time passing so hopefully that’s not too confusing. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 5025

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

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Chapter 03

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Early September 2010

--

And so, it begins.

The dynamic shift, the vast change in how Hotch and Dr. Reid had been corresponding for the past few months. Evolving from something so professional and academic to something… looser. More freeing. More room for error, of course, but the risk turns out to be more than worth it for what they gain.

The texts are sporadic, at first. Short interactions, here and there, all stemming from that first, longer conversation about Jack. Hotch follows up the very next day, after he gets to talk to his son in the morning over pancakes. Jessica hovering nearby the whole time. She had apologized for her harsh words, and commended him after the fact how he’d approached Jack on the subject and led the little boy into a conversation rather than a lecture like his teachers had done. Because, as Spencer had mentioned -- there was no need for one. Jack already had the situation handled.

[]6/4, 12:39[] You were right. 

[]6/4, 12:39[] He invited the kid that was bullying him over for a playdate. Trying to win him over by killing him with kindness.

[]6/4, 12:43[] My kind of kid. 

[]6/4, 12:44[] You’ve taught him well, Hotch.

And that was it. That was all it took to kick off what turns into a frequent occurrence. Slowly, as time passes, their quick texts turn to conversations that naturally revert to work. It’s where they spend most of their time, after all, and what they had bonded over in the first place. But unlike in their emails, it isn’t just about the cases or profiles or statistics required to crack them. It’s much more opinionated than that, erratic in it’s content and frequency. Commentary on Hotch’s team, ideas on the cases they work, case studies and research projects and sometimes even just office gossip that somehow always makes its way to Hotch’s attention despite everyone trying to keep it from doing so.

Or just Dr. Reid observing their antics. This is the beginning of the tonal shift, and Hotch can’t help but think… it just might be a welcome one.

[]6/12, 10:03[] Your tech analyst always sends me rainbow font emails.

[]6/12, 10:07[] Yes, she’s doing that with everyone on the team. It’s Pride month and she’s being supportive.

[]6/12, 10:11[] She considers me a part of the team? How sweet of her.

[]6/12, 10:12[] You are, and as far as the bureau goes you might as well be.

[]6/12, 10:13[] I doubt I could sneak you into payroll, though.

[]6/12, 10:21[] I bet Ms. Garcia could.

[]6/12, 10:28[] Don’t. Say. Anything.

[]6/12, 10:29[] But yes, she could. 

It turns into a small reprieve, for Hotch, in the constant deluge of bureaucracy and violence that fills his work day. The single moment he allows a sliver of himself to appear through the cracks of his armor he has to wear to guard himself from it all. To be the stoic leader the team needs, the unmovable tree in the storm.

Only in his quick, typed under the table conversations he has with Spencer does he allow himself the slips of humor. Barely there traces of a smile. Finding the smallest spots of light in his dark days, in his work that can surround and consume to the point of suffocation. Hotch thrives in it, he always has -- while others have drowned. But he doesn’t mind finding this small self-indulgence. Making the decision for himself that he can joke and poke fun at his work and not feel guilty about it. That, for once, he can allow himself this.

Until one day, Spencer returns the favor -- and starts talking about his own work.

[]7/21, 16:17[] If I leave all of my Ph.D. applicants in a ditch in the desert, is that still murder?

[]7/21, 16:30[] Technically or hypothetically?

[]7/21, 16:34[] Different question, would you be my legal council if I snap and it happens anyway?

[]7/21, 16:37[] Of course.

[]7/21, 16:38[] But as your attorney, I have to advise you that we never had this conversation, and murder is wrong.

[]7/21, 16:40[] Hypothetically. 

Spencer takes a little longer to open up, but when he does it is through this window into an academic world Hotch had never planned or thought he would ever be privy to. He begins to reveal pieces of it, bit by bit, until Hotch starts to form a picture in his mind of what shape this professor’s life really takes. Making deductions based on his speech patterns, what goes on throughout his day, his word choices, and profiling the man through text message without even meaning to. 

He tries to put a stop to it as soon as he realizes this. Dr. Reid isn’t just a consultant anymore, he is his friend -- and Hotch will always do his utmost to not profile his friends. But it’s a little too late for some aspects that can’t help but stand out as time goes on. Such as the inkling that the other man probably isn’t senile with a cane and a stooped back, like Hotch had first thought. Certain parts of his day allude to someone who is a bit fresher to the academic scene -- instead of spending decades on a college campus. 

But Hotch sets that aside, to be scrutinized at a later date, and instead turns his focus into enjoying what Spencer has to offer him. As his friend. The stories he shares freely, now that they’ve spent all this time breaking down the barriers. He regales Hotch with his own daily problems, grievances, as well as the little bright spots that he just wants to share with Hotch so that it can lighten up his own days. Which were much more bleak, and crowded with danger and horrid things. 

Hotch lives for those messages.

[]7/28, 20:42[] So I have a godson.

[]7/28, 20:44[] He’s four, and he just came to visit last week with his mother. Have you and Jack ever done science experiments at home? 

[]7/28, 20:46[] Because I have some that are definite crowd pleasers. Do them right, you can call them ‘physics magic’. I can send you the instructions, it’s well worth it.

[]7/28, 20:47[] I’m not sure how helpful I would be in a scientific area, but I’m always willing to try.

[]7/28, 20:49[] I’d require video evidence of it, then. 

[]7/28, 20:50[] But they are so fun, I’d forgotten how much.

[]7/28, 20:51[] No children of your own?

[]7/28, 20:54[] Never found the right person, but I always spent so much time on my degrees that I hadn’t really thought about being a parent. 

[]7/28, 20:55[] My Godson really brought it to light, though. I love having him here.

[]7/28, 20:56[] I bet he loves when you come around, or when they get to visit you, too.

[]7/28, 20:59[] I work in a science lab, with lasers and telescopes bigger than my first apartment. My approval rating is pretty high when it comes to my godson. 

Although Hotch finds that he doesn’t always start these interactions, the ones that lead to topics outside of work, he also isn’t against them in the slightest. They begin to start messaging at all hours, because of this; first thing in the morning, during their lunch break, whenever something pops up -- what used to be jokes that would just be kept to themselves, turn to conversation starters. And that development shifts the dynamic even more.

[]8/11, 10:31[] Coffee shops always make me feel old, and like I’m a grad student all over again.

[]8/11, 10:38[] You don’t have a T.A. to run and get you coffee?

[]8/11, 10:41[] Of course you would send out for coffee.

[]8/11, 10:42[] Well my order is two steps, not sixteen.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Tyrant.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Pretentious.

They start to tease, banter, and poke fun at each other. Comradery, friendship, and the more it goes on the more it seems to spiral towards something else. Something new.

But it’s these small moments, messages, conversations that can last a minute or an hour, that make Hotch’s chest feel so much lighter as the weeks go by. Hints of a smile easing onto his face, smoothing out and softening the edges in a way they haven’t in a long time. Garnering some attention from the rest of the team, or whoever is in the vicinity that felt brave enough to mention it.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“No one,” Hotch would answer, schooling himself and pocketing his phone. “Just a consultant on a case.”

-

This is how it goes… for months. 

They never speak on the phone. Never even hint at video calls. Never send pictures. (Although Spencer does make a mention once or twice about that promised video when Hotch finally gets around to attempting the ‘physics magic’ experiment he’d emailed him. Hotch secretly hopes that maybe, one day, Spencer will just get to show them in person. Instead of Hotch having to record it for anyone to witness.)

But they talk like clockwork. Play chess on the regular, allowing them to talk more fluently with a laptop to aid the flow of conversation. It starts with once a week, then twice a week, standing dates after hours that meld so seamlessly with their messages every workday. They keep it to the weekdays, at first, since Hotch is busy with Jack on the weekends. But that doesn’t last long. Suddenly, without warning -- it becomes every night as well. That shift is such an organic, natural progression, that it slips in without either of them making comment on it. A silent agreement, because mentioning it would mean admitting why they were pushing this in such a new direction. 

They just… missed talking to each other. Two days was too long. 

Now, it’s every day.

They text for hours; check in on each other at random throughout the day even when Hotch is on cases or Spencer is busy with his duties as the leading doctoral expert of Caltech. Times when they should be swamped, unavailable to anything other than their primary focus and work load, still littered with short messages. Before and after each flight, when Hotch gets back to his hotel at night, when Spencer has to lecture out of town and they just so happen to be passing each other during travel -- mere states away. So close, yet so far. It’s all the time, it’s constant, and it’s wonderful.

Spencer still helps with cases. Often, even more often than he ever helped the L.A. field office. But it’s not always through email, anymore. Sometimes it’s just easier for Hotch to shoot him a quick text. A detailed message in the middle of their everyday banter and dribble but no less out of place, knowing the good Doctor will answer him quickly. Time is of the essence when they are on a case, but they are always on retainer for each other. Waiting in the wings, ready to jump in with quick, snappy wit and bitten-back smiles, and Hotch feels so good. So light. Better than he has in years. 

Happy. 

Hotch is happy, finding a friend in Dr. Spencer Reid, even if sometimes that friendship seems to transcend layers he didn’t know were there. Developing into something else, something he hadn’t touched in a long, long time. 

Months pass. Months. Like a blur. Like they’ve only just started this thing that’s anticipatory and comfortable and flexible in its medium and that is so easy -- everything Hotch needs in his life -- that he can barely imagine what his days and nights were like before this. Before Spencer. 

But it’s months into this correspondence, this charged and bright thing, that he’s home late one night with a Scotch in one hand and a losing game of online chess long forgotten on his laptop screen. Lost in messaging Spencer, back to his phone instead of the chat feature of the chess game. Because texting is their comfort zone, now. He never thought it would be, had seen teenagers and adults attached to their phones like a lifeline and used to scoff about it, but he finally has begun to understand. 

Because here he is -- not even looking up when he takes a drink -- lost in his conversation with Spencer. Making each other laugh, in a way he hasn’t in so long. Loud and high and afraid he might wake Jack down the hall so he stifles it with another sip of his Scotch.

[]9/8, 21:12[] If Jack wakes up, you know that’s it for us. He’ll never go back to sleep.

[]9/8, 21:13[] Then stop laughing so loud. I honestly can’t imagine you laughing enough to wake him.

[]9/8, 21:14[] Usually I don’t. I never laugh like this, but I used to.

[]9/8, 21:16[] Mr. FBI isn’t allowed to laugh, I thought. Didn’t they beat that out of you at the academy?

[]9/8, 21:19[] I was able to retain a smidgen of humor, it’s well hidden. You just seem to bring it out more than others.

[]9/8, 21:20[] I’m flattered. 

[]9/8, 21:20[] You should be. 

[]9/8, 21:21[] If my team saw me crack a smile I’d probably be forced to get a CAT scan.

[]9/8, 21:23[] Do you need one? I have an M.A. in Cognitive Sciences, I’ll be your second opinion.

[]9/8, 21:24[] Probably, but I’ll live.

[]9/8, 21:25[] Very stiff upper lip of you. They teach you that at the academy, too?

[]9/8, 21:26[] No, that would be Scotland Yard. I liaised there for a while.

[]9/8, 21:28[] Wow, you get around. Have you been anywhere else on your global exploration?

[]9/8, 21:31[] Hardly that, I just go where the bureau tells me. I’ve already been bounced all over the country before landing at the BAU. All you can do is keep the ‘stiff upper lip’ and adapt.

[]9/8, 21:31[] “Keep Calm & Carry On”?

[]9/8, 21:33[] Garcia gave me that on a mug last Christmas. I still don’t know what it’s from.

[]9/8, 21:34[] Your age is showing. Get with the times, old man.

[]9/8, 21:35[] You’re one to talk.

[]9/8, 21:35[] What?

Hotch bites back a smile, thinking about how for months he had been so sure Spencer was this elderly professor in his 60’s or 70’s that just happened to find their conversations interesting. That was… very apparently wrong, Hotch can see that now, but he hadn’t had any evidence to the contrary for the entire time they corresponded those first few months. 

He could have done a background check on the professor at any time, is sure Garcia already has one saved in a file ready to send him at his first request, but it’s more fun this way. The not knowing, the learning about each other piece by careful piece. Even the smallest bits of information, such as age. 

He bet Spencer would get a kick out of his first impression of the man, though.

[]9/8, 21:37[] Oh come on, you know.

[]9/8, 21:39[] No, I actually don’t. Congratulations, you’ve stumped the super genius.

[]9/8, 21:39[] But really, what do you mean?

[]9/8, 21:42[] I always just assumed you are at least ten years my senior, maybe even fifteen. How are you more with the times than I am?

[]9/8, 21:43[] I work at a University. I am surrounded by hormones and the dribble of youth.

There’s a slightly lengthy pause after that exchange, enough Hotch starts to pay closer attention through the buzz of liquor settled over his skin pleasantly.

[]9/8, 21:49[] How old do you think I am?

[]9/8, 21:50[] I don’t know, is it rude if I answer?

Hotch is not laughing to himself, he promises. 

[]9/8, 21:52[] Why do you think I’m older?

[]9/8, 21:53[] This feels like a trap.

[]9/8, 21:53[] It’s not.

[]9/8, 21:56[] Well, honestly just from your academic achievements. Not everyone has that kind of time. And all your departments you run, you have to have a pretty level head and knack for maturity to keep that all in order. Especially doctorate students. 

[]9/8, 21:58[] Thank you, I think.

[]9/8, 22:00[] I bet you’re the coolest old man on campus, though, don’t get me wrong.

Hotch does outright laugh after he sends that, manages to keep it a little bit quieter, and commends himself on having the upperhand in the conversation for once as he stares at his phone for a few minutes, awaiting an answer. 

If he had to guess, Hotch supposes he’s held on to that stubborn image of Spencer being a stooped old professor out of habit. But the more the two have talked, after he'd gotten to know the man and his written verbal expressions and just the way his life runs day to day, it’s pretty easy to see that that is not correct. Spencer could be someone around Dave or Jason’s age, but more likely even younger than that -- closer to his own. 

And that… is an intriguing thought that sparks something in his chest. He smothers it with another sip of Scotch and realizes that it has been a solid five minutes of silence. With Spencer not even typing out a response.

[]9/8, 22:06[] Was it something I said?

[]9/8, 22:07[] No, I’m just… contemplating my answer.

[]9/8, 22:07[] Answer to what?

Hotch hasn’t drank that much, but he doesn’t believe he asked a question at all. He scrolls back through their conversation and doesn’t see one. Spencer has asked a good handful, though, all about Hotch’s perception of his age. 

Interesting.

[]9/8, 22:09[] Respond, not answer.

[]9/8, 22:10[] I’m all turned around now.

[]9/8, 22:12[] Flustered in your old age? Now I’m flattered. 

This is almost like flirting. Skirts the edges of it, and Hotch feels more emboldened to try the more Spencer tap-dances around what is obviously Hotch’s incorrect assumption of his age. He had had no idea Hotch thought he was older, that is apparent, and it’s throwing the other man for a loop for some reason Hotch can’t ascertain. 

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not old.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not even older than you.

[]9/8, 22:16[] And how do you know that?

[]9/8, 22:17[] Just trust me on this.

[]9/8, 22:17[] Well, how old are you?

Another long, lengthy pause that Hotch waits for with baited breath. He knows that Spencer is there, that he’s staring at his phone and trying to decide the best way to answer without really answering anything. It’s only a matter of minutes, but that is a long time for them. When they are deep in a conversation like this.

Hotch isn’t laughing to himself anymore, but he’s more pleasantly confused than worried. He really has no idea what is making Spencer so hesitant.

[]9/8, 22:22[] Spencer?

[]9/8, 22:25[] I’m not going to tell you.

[]9/8, 22:26[] What, you want me to guess?

[]9/8, 22:28[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/8, 22:29[] That sounds like a challenge. How many guesses do I have?

[]9/8, 22:31[] None. Listen, I don’t want you to know. I shouldn’t have said anything.

[]9/8, 22:33[] I’m afraid it’s going to change your perception of me, and we’ll stop talking like this.

[]9/8, 22:34[] Just keep imagining me with wrinkles and a cane, I’m okay with that.

That drops the small smile right off his face.

Hotch is… surprised by this turn of events. What could be so shocking about this that Spencer thinks they would stop talking to each other? They’re corresponding every night. How could he possibly stop on a dime like that?

It doesn’t make any sense. And that’s not the alcohol talking.

[]9/8, 22:37[] I honestly don’t see how that would be possible.

[]9/8, 22:39[] I’m not going to stop talking to you just because you aren’t the senior professor I imagined running Caltech with an Iron Fist.

[]9/8, 22:40[] Now you’re projecting. 

[]9/8, 22:40[] You saying I’m too strict?

[]9/8, 22:41[] Tyrant, I think was the term I chose. 

[]9/8, 22:42[] Pretentious.

[]9/8, 22:44[] But Spencer, unless you are somehow underage with five Ph.D.’s, there’s no reason for us to stop talking. 

[]9/8, 22:47[] You would not believe how many people treat me like I'm underage, to this day. So that doesn’t inspire confidence.

Hotch pauses with his glass halfway back to his lips, only a few sips left in the glass. Staring at his phone and struggling to make sense of what Spencer is saying. Hotch had been trying to joke and tease with him, but now the word ‘underage’ feels like a glaring beacon of a word on his screen. 

He’s very suddenly more than a little nervous, even through the haze of alcohol. He is 45 years old, no matter what he keeps telling Spencer -- there is a limit to this being appropriate or not. What that limit is, he’d have to consider when he’s more sober, and it makes him feel like he should be reigning in the flirtatious notes that keep worming their way into the conversation. 

But it’s not actually possible for him to be that young, and everything he’s learned about the man indicates he’s closer to his own age. Was he in his 30’s? Even that felt too young for what Hotch had (subconsciously) profiled -- no, it has to be something else. 

No matter what, he didn’t want to keep getting Spencer worked up like this about it. His age hadn’t bothered Hotch before that night, so maybe if he drops it they can revert back to how they’d been spending their late evening hours before this turn in the conversation. 

[]9/8, 22:50[] But I’m NOT underage.

[]9/8, 22:51[] If that needed to be said.

[]9/8, 22:53[] Can you buy alcohol by yourself?

[]9/8, 22:54[] Yes.

[]9/8, 22:54[] See this is what I was afraid of.

[]9/8, 22:55[] Relax, I was trying to tease you. 

[]9/8, 22:57[] You don’t have to tell me, Spencer. I’ll just keep picturing Sean Connery, or John Steinbeck in the later years.

[]9/8, 22:59[] I see you have a type. 

[]9/8, 23:00[] Well, who do you picture when you think of me?

[]9/8, 23:01[] Hugo Weaving, Matrix era. Or Richard Feynman.

[]9/8, 23:02[] Well now I feel typecasted. Who’s Feynman?

[]9/8, 23:02[] An American Theoretical Physicist from the 40’s-60’s.

[]9/8, 23:03[] Ouch. How old do you think *I* am?

[]9/8, 23:04[] I’m afraid to answer that.

[]9/8, 23:04[] O.u.c.h.

[]9/8, 23:06[] You’ve been borderline flirting with me, and you just said you thought I was in my 60’s! What was I supposed to think?

[]9/8, 23:07[] If you’re looking in that age bracket, I’m sure I can get you the Biology Department Head’s number.

[]9/8, 23:07[] He’s 72 with rheumatoid arthritis. 

[]9/8, 23:08[] You are hysterical. So funny.

Hotch is smiling wide down at his phone again, feeling lighter and glad he got them back on track. 

But… 

He can’t help but think back to what he just tried to drop entirely. Blame the Scotch, or whatever drive to know that makes him dig down and root out information in cold cases in his spare time, Hotch doesn’t think he can let it go. Not when it was something Spencer hadn’t meant to be a secret in the first place. Not when, knowing that it has created misinformation between them unintentionally, results in Spencer shying away and hesitant to tell Hotch anything more about himself. 

Not when he’d said ‘flirting’, because that had been what Hotch was doing, and he can’t even describe how disappointing it would be to quit while he was ahead. When the build up has been so gradual and easy and everything he’d been looking for and could never seem to find.

Now, this slight disruption is sticking in his mind, sharp like a thorn in his side. Always there, making itself known, and he wonders if he is lucid enough to try and draw the information out of Spencer via interview tactics -- or if the brilliant man would see right through any of his attempts.

Probably. Who was he kidding? Spencer had more degrees and college hours under his belt than Hotch could manage in a lifetime. Best to do this the old fashioned way, then.

[]9/8, 23:10[] 38.

[]9/8, 23:11[] Oh. Really? That’s kind of young to be Unit Chief, congratulations.

[]9/8, 23:11[] No, not me. You. I’m guessing 38.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Oh.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Incorrect.

[]9/8, 23:13[] I don’t even get a hint?

[]9/8, 23:13[] Nope.

[]9/8, 23:15[] We’re not playing a game. I’m not telling you.

[]9/8, 23:15[] So you won’t guess my age, either?

[]9/18, 23:17[] Chicken.

[]9/8, 23:17[] 45.

Hotch near throws his phone across the room. Almost makes a quip about how reading his file is cheating -- but he knows Spencer just made a stupidly accurate ‘educated guess’ because he knows fucking everything. 

They really should just put him on the payroll. Hotch is being selfish keeping the man all to himself.

But God, is he enjoying it, too.

[]9/8, 23:19[] There’s no way you profiled that with that kind of accuracy. 

[]9/8, 23:20[] How do you do that?

[]9/8, 23:21[] Black magic.

[]9/8, 23:22[] I’ll get it out of you one day, I swear.

[]9/8, 23:23[] And as a man of your word, I believe that you truly believe that.

[]9/8, 23:23[] Full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?

[]9/8, 23:25[] I live to amuse. 

[]9/8, 23:25[] And make you smile.

[]9/8, 23:27[] You are one of the few that do.

With a careful pause, nothing left in his glass, a thought perched on the edges of his mind that is already watery with cognitive dissonance, Hotch starts typing before he’s even fully made the decision.

[]9/8, 23:30[] You really think my flirting is borderline? I was going for subtlety, but I must be rusty.

[]9/8, 23:32[] Actually, I just thought I was projecting.

[]9/8, 23:23[] You were married, I didn’t want to presume.

Oh. 

The consideration is touching, and sobering even in the dimness of his home office, but it draws the softest of smiles back to Hotch’s face when he begins to type out his answer.

[]9/8, 23:35[] Thank you, for thinking of me first.

[]9/8, 23:37[] But Haley and I separated a long time before she died. We were actually divorced before she went into WICSEC. I miss her every day. But I did try to date for a while, before that. 

[]9/8, 23:39[] No luck? I would have thought the FBI badge would at least garner some interest.

[]9/8, 23:40[] I’ve been told I’m intimidating.

[]9/8, 23:41[] I don’t think you are.

[]9/8, 23:42[] You will if you ever meet me. I’ve made underlings cry before without speaking a word.

[]9/8, 23:44[] The Hotchner stare. Have you coined that?

[]9/8, 23:45[] I should. It’s got a ring to it.

They banter and causally slip a few more… flirtatious comments in, and Hotch realizes it really isn’t that much different than before. That he had indeed been flirting with the man long before he knew his age. Which was odd, he didn’t typically go for older men and women. But now that he’s aware Spencer is younger than he thought, possibly even his own age (he swears he is, would put money on it if he could), somehow there’s more of a charge in their correspondence, a warmth and buzzing elation that has nothing to do with his Scotch. Especially now that it’s long gone.

It’s all Spencer, and how they compliment each other, and Hotch finds himself near giddy with that information.

He tries, towards the end of the night where it tips over into the early hours of the morning, to imagine an image of Spencer again -- and finds that he doesn’t even care to. He’s enamored with the man and his wit and the way he makes Hotch laugh without trying. How he looks, his age, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not to Hotch.

But he is still curious why Spencer won’t reveal it. He can’t be that young.

[]9/9, 00:43[] You really won’t tell me?

[]9/9, 00:45[] Maybe one day. When I’m feeling brave.

[]9/9, 00:46[] Well, I’ll be there. Waiting. 

[]9/9, 00:46[] 32.

[]9/9, 00:47[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/9, 00:48[] There’s only so many numbers.

[]9/9, 00:50[] Goodnight, Hotch.

[9/9, 00:51] Goodnight, Spencer.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged List:  @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[buckys-black-dress]

a fine line, part four

a/n: heyyy! sorry this part took so long :( i was feeling really shitty this past week, so here it finally is! i hope u guys like it :)

wc: 3.7k words

-

This week was going... strangely well. 

And of course, it was because of James. 

On Monday when you walked into your first ever shared lecture, everything was already set up. There was even a coffee and breakfast waiting for you, which James graciously handed to you with a bright smile upon your entrance. 

“Good morning, Y/N. Did you sleep well last night?” He asks with an innocent smile, but you knew he wasn’t all that clueless. 

“Good morning James. I did, in fact, sleep very well last night. I hope you did too, because we have a long day ahead of us.” You give a tight smirk with your words, looking at the coffee and bakery bag in his hands. “What’s that?” 

“Oh! For you. This is day one, remember?” He says, handing you them and retreating to his desk. “Also, I spoke to Fury about the class sizes. Although he wasn’t much help and basically told me I was on my own, I did send an email to my students about the way they should behave while you’re here. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or anything.” 

“O-oh. Thanks. I really appreciate that.” You mumble, looking down.

“Yeah, of course. Is there anything else you might need to do this?” He asks in a sincere tone. You felt so weird. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Thank you, though.” You smile.

“Well, let’s get started then.” James turns around to open the door, waiting for students to file in until class officially started.

You were extremely nervous, to say the least, but it was comforting knowing that he was trying to make you feel more at home in this space.

Tuesday was more of the same. He, again, brought you breakfast, and had his class in line. But the thing that was different today was the sweet note attached with the lunch he brought.

Y/N, I hope you know how serious I am about all of this. Part of that means paying attention to what you like and don’t like. I know you hate milk in your coffee, large crowds, and when people think English class is a joke. I also know you hate hot coffee, but love tea. And you love grilled cheese, which is what I got you from that café across campus. Enjoy :) -BB

You smiled down at the greasy paper bag, smelling heavenly as ever. Your stomach rumbled after a long lecture with James, and just as you were to plop down into your office chair, a knock sounded from the doorframe, and a large body appearing.

“Hey. Like the lunch?” James asks, his hands in his pockets while walking in slowly.

“Y-Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, smiling down at the sandwich.

“I mean, I see you there a lot with Nat and Wanda, so I thought I’d treat ya to one. I pay attention to you more than you think.” He says, and your brows pull together as you try not to laugh. “I- that made me sound like a creep.” He looks down in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, James,” you smile, “I really appreciate it. Thank you.” You look down at the warm sandwich again. “Would you like the other half?” You extend it out to him, and he watches with wide eyes.

“Oh, n-no, I wouldn’t wanna impose like that, it was for you-” 

“James, I insist. Please, sit.” You motion to your chair across your desk. 

He sits with you and conversation flows easily between you two, and it was a huge change from where you two stood a month ago. If someone told you a month ago that James Barnes was trying to woo you, to make you accept his apology, then you would’ve laughed in their face. 

But sitting here now, with him, you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. 

That is, until you hear the clicking of heels from the hall, and a certain redhead peeking her head in your office.

“Oh! Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t realize you already had lunch plans,” Natasha says with a smirk, moving to leave your office. You watched with wide eyes, and you knew she was going to have a word with you about this later.

“Great.” You say, hitting your head against your desk, while James is chuckling from his spot.

“Y’know, she’s definitely somethin’ else.” He laughs, looking at you carefully. “It’s not a bad thing, right?” He asks.

“What’s not a bad thing?” You ask, confused.

“That Natasha saw us in here... together...?” He sounds like he’s asking a question, but he’s not sure.

“No... We’re... friends, right? Friends eat lunch together...” You tell him, although you also sound unsure of yourself.

“Yeah... friends.” Bucky feels his chest tighten in a way he’s only felt a few times in his life before.

You both carry on eating, but you don’t see the way he’s looking at you. It almost looks like... longing.

Wednesday was slowly escalating Bucky’s promise to you. After a long day of teaching, there was a bottle of wine waiting on your desk when you returned to collect your things for the evening. Another note was attached to it.

Dear Y/N, 

Here’s a little something to help you get through tomorrow and Friday. Hope you enjoy. :)

- BB

You look at the bottle, and it’s an aged Sauvignon from France. It was a nice bottle, and you know he took his time picking it out. It made your insides tingle knowing he thought of you and what would impress you. 

You picked up the bottle, looking at it for another minute before sliding it into your bag and gathering your papers and laptop.

You wanted to knock on his door to say thank you, but it was already shut, so you assumed he was either already gone or speaking privately with someone. 

You decided you would just text him to thank him, and with that you decided to leave your office for the night. 

Little did you know, James was having a conversation with one of the students he had come to love and whom he had become very close with over the course of their time together. 

“Dr. B, you weren’t being so subtle in class today, y’know?” The boy’s scratchy voice said.

“What’re ya talkin’ about, Parker?” His voice was tired from lecturing all day, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart rate picked up at the boy’s words.

“Well, with Dr. Y/L/N... I don’t know, you look at her like how I look at MJ...” He tells his professor.

“Well I sure hope so, ‘cause I like her... a lot...” Bucky shoves his head into his hands and takes a deep breath, while the student still stares at him.

“Well why don’t you tell her?!” Peter exclaims, hands flailing around with wide eyes. “You guys would be awesome together! Oh man, I can’t wait to tell MJ, she’s gonna love this- You know Dr. Y/L/N is like, her favorite teacher ever?-” Peter starts rambling, but is cut off by Bucky’s gruff voice.

“L-Listen, kid, it’s not that easy. I messed up with her before, and I’m trying to make it up to her. I did some things that... that I’m not proud of before, and now it’s time for me to win her over, but I’m runnin’ short on ideas, here.” He explains to the youngling.

“Oh- Well, what’re you thinking?” Peter asks, ideas already running through his head. 

And once Bucky explains what happened and what he’d been doing this whole week, Peter jumped in his seat.

“Maybe MJ can help! She sees her like, every day anyways, so maybe we can like, ask her to do something. Something subtle, but something Dr. Y/L/N will know is from you. We all know she doesn’t like all that flashy crap.”

And so the two got to planning the rest of the week, and came up with ways to have MJ help as well, just to add that little somethin’ for you.

Thursday went by in a flash, but there was something by lunchtime that you couldn’t shake from your thoughts. 

James hadn’t done anything today, and you were scared.

Scared that he gave up, that he doesn’t care anymore.

Scared that you’re not worth it anymore. 

By 3 PM, you couldn’t help but feel small and like a fool. You were sitting at your desk between classes, trying to work on some grading to take your mind off the events of the day.

Or lack thereof.

Until there was a knock at your door, a knock you’ve known for almost two years now. 

“MJ, come in! How are you today, hun?” You ask in the cheeriest voice you can muster right now. 

One of your most treasured students walks in and sets her bag down on the chair in front of your desk.

“Hi Dr. Y/L/N. I have a message for you.” She tells you very vaguely. You raise an eyebrow at the girl, but allow her to continue with a brief nod.

“Uhm, alright?” You tell her.

“Y/N,” you raise your brows at the use of your first name, “I know I haven’t always been the kindest you. I know that I’ve made you doubt me and my honesty. And I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’d like to change that. I’ve spent the better part of this week trying to figure out how I was going to make you understand just how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I made you feel like you weren’t enough, that you were the problem, but in the end, I had to sit and think.

This was all my fault. I made us this way, but now it’s up to me to fix it. I hope you know, you are one in a million, and I want you to see that. I want you to see yourself the way I see you. So, I have a simple favor to ask of you. Tomorrow night, be ready at seven o’clock sharp in your prettiest dress. Love, James.” 

And before your brain could even process the fact that James was asking you out on a date and calling you beautiful, the door opened once again, and a student you’ve often seen milling in and out of James’ office.

He was holding a bouquet of assorted flowers of beautiful greenery and colors that you’ve never even imagined of. 

“Hi Dr. Y/L/N. These are for you.” He hands them to you, and remember his name to be Peter Parker, MJ’s boyfriend. 

“Oh- Oh my God, thank you, Peter. And you too, MJ. You’re both absolute gems.” You say with a severe blush dusting your face. 

“Of course, Doctor. That’s all we’ve got for our part, have a good rest of your day.” MJ smiles as she grabs Peter’s hand and leave your office.

You wave them off and give them a sweet smile. 

You stare down at the floral arrangement in your hands, and couldn’t contain the wide smile that you had spread across your face.

You had only seen James through class today, and it had gone extremely well. You gave a full lecture, and your lesson plans had been going over really well with the class. Although James hadn’t done anything today, it had lifted your mood to see you were doing well with this lesson. 

But now, you were over the moon, and nothing could ruin your day.

You slowly bounded into James’ office, finding him facing away from the door, murmuring something to himself as he flicked his eyes from his computer to the papers in front of him. 

“Hey, stranger.” You say with another grin that made James’ stomach flutter at the sight. You were leaning against his door frame, bag slung across your shoulder and the flowers in hand.

“H-Hey. How are you?” He asks, standing up from his chair.

“I’m doing great. Better than I was earlier today. I uh... I thought you’d...given up on me,” you try to laugh it off, trying to make it look much less dramatic than you initial thoughts.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He walks up to you, tipping your chin up where your eyes meet his icy baby blues. “You... You are so important. Especially to me, and don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. I know I did it in the past, and there’s nothing I wish I could take back more than that.” He looks at you with such conviction, such purpose, that all you can do is nod numbly and stare back.

“I, uhm, Lucy’s waiting for me at home, I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” You say softly, still holding his gaze.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Have a good night, doll.” He says, softly smiling and backing away, but still facing you.

“Bye.” You smile, walking away.

“Bye.” James returns, a silly smile on his face.

“Bye.” You say again, laughing.

“Bye!” You hear him yell, but you were already out of his office. 

You hear his laughter mixing with yours, and you couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off your face for the rest of the night. Not when you got home and fed Lucy, not when you put the flowers in a vase, and certainly not as you fell asleep.

Friday was possibly the slowest day ever. You were in class all morning, and you were still giddy from yesterday. The lesson had gone exceptionally well, especially after the breakfast James brought you. 

You ate lunch with Nat and Wanda, having not sat down to have an in-depth conversation with them in quite a while.

“Soooo... what’s up with you and Bucky?” Natasha gives you one of her devious smirks, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Well, he’s been doing this... thing this week where he’s making it up to me for... everything, I guess?” You say. “And we’re going on a date tonight.” You don’t meet their eyes, but theirs widen as they share a look.

“And you didn’t think to tell us, you bitch?!” Wanda hits your arm, laughing out a scoff.

“I-I mean, it was a whole deal. He like- you know MJ and Peter? They came in and did this thing in my office, MJ read a whole note from him, and then Peter came in with a bouquet of these beautiful flowers. And then I went to his office to thank him, and we had this... interaction like... like it was magic.”

The way you spoke in awe had Natasha and Wanda confused, but also in awe. They were happy for you, after all you’d been through, it was comforting seeing you like this. You deserved to be happy.

“That’s really great, Y/N,” Natasha gently placed her hand over yours. Her smile was sincere, just like Wanda’s. You were genuinely happy in this moment. Not only with the prospect of your date tonight, but because of the people you were surrounded with. You were grateful for these two, because you didn’t know where you’d be without them. 

“So, are you two gonna help me get ready for my date tonight?” You ask expectantly, to which both redheads say,

“Duh!” And all three of you burst into a fit of giggles.

-

So now, here you were. It was an hour before James was set to pick you up, and you were dat at your vanity while Wanda curled the ends of your hair. Nat had picked out a gorgeous black dress for you, with strappy heels and a short cardigan for some cover-up. You had a robe on while you were waiting for Wanda to finish, so you could do your makeup. That’s all that was left, and the anticipation for 7 o’clock was killing you.

“Y/N, I can practically hear you thinking so hard,” Wanda laughs, patting your shoulder.

“Sorry, I just- I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date since... since forever. I don’t wanna mess this up, especially with him.” You explain to them.

“Y/N, think of like this... he’s making it up to you. You don’t have anything to worry about. He’s the one doing the impressing.” Natasha tells you, and you understand a little bit.

“Yeah, he’s the one owing it to you. You have nothing to worry about, dear.” Wanda reassures.

“Y-You’re right, guys. Okay, let me do my makeup, and then I’m ready.” You smile, because even though you were nervous you were also excited. This was a surprise, and you couldn’t wait to see what James had planned.

As 7 o’clock rolled around, Nat and Wanda eventually left. You were waiting by the door downstairs, waiting to see a car pull around, but instead what you saw made your eyes widen.

You peeked your head out the door, seeing James.

On a motorcycle.

“Absolutely not, James!” You yell, not even for a second thinking it was funny.

He doesn’t say anything, just moving off the bike and walking up to you. 

“Y/N... you look... beautiful.” He takes your hand in his, completely ignoring how you were not amused by the bike.

“J-James, I’m serious. No.” 

“Y/N, I promise, you’ll be just fine. You’re in good hands.” He leads you to the bike, pulling out a helmet for you. 

“Do you not own a car?” You whine, really not wanting to get on this death trap.

“You know I do, but I like to keep the element of surprise, doll.” He smirks that smirk, and you know you’re not getting out of this. 

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.” You say, waiting for him to get on first.

As you climb on, you wait for him to adjust himself, and you hesitate when the time comes to wrap your arms around his torso; your hands were just awkwardly hovering around him.

“Don’t be shy, doll.” You hear him say, suddenly just planting your arms into place quickly.

As James starts to drive, you feel yourself moving closer and closer to his body, eventually hugging up against him.

Bucky feels your body against his, and he can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest and every breath you take. He can feel it when he does something just a little bit risky on the bike, and how your breath catches in your throat.

And maybe he was doing them on purpose to feel your arms tighten around him even further. 

By the time you reach where he’s taking you, you’re sure you look like a mess. Helmet head, mascara smudged under your eyes. But Bucky can’t help but feel that this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.

You were perched on a lookout point of the city, and there was a large setup waiting for the two of you. A large blanket splayed across the grass, small lanterns scattered across the expanse of land along with a few baskets of food.

“Wow...” You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the scene. Bucky had really taken the time to arrange all of this... for you.

“Do ya like it? I know it’s not the ideal traditional first date, but I didn’t wanna take you to some fancy restaurant, and-”

“Bucky, it’s absolutely perfect.” You cut off his rambling and take ahold of his hand, leading him to the blanket and you both sit down.

“So, how did you even come up with this?” You ask, watching him pull out the food and a bottle of wine.

“Well, I’ll admit... it wasn’t all me. I had a lot of help from Steve and Sam, because at first I had no clue what to do. I didn’t know how to really make it special, so we sat down and planned this whole thing.” He explains.

“Well, make sure to pass on a thank you to them from me.” You giggle, taking a sip of the wine he poured you.

“You got it, doll.” He laughs, and you two continue to talk and drink until you felt a chill run through you from a cool breeze building up due to the cold air.

And of course, Bucky notices. You watch him pull out another blanket, opening it to cover himself, but he holds up the other end and looks to you.

“C’mon, it’s getting colder, isn’t it?” Bucky asks with a gentle smile.

You nod, scooting closer to him to get under the blanket. And maybe it was the warmth from the wine you had, or the blanket or being so close to Bucky, but you felt very warm and comfortable in that moment.

“The lights are so... pretty from up here. Everything looks so small from up here.” You tell him.

“Hmm... it is really beautiful.” You hear his gruff voice from his chest, and you look up at him from your spot with your head on his shoulder.

He was looking right at you, and you momentarily see his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. It felt like gravity was pulling you two closer together, and eventually your eyes both slip closed and all you can feel is the warmth of his lips on yours. 

And you never usually kiss on the first date, but this was different.

Bucky was different.

When you pull away from him, you struggle to open your eyes again, for the fear that this was all a dream and you’ll wake up if you do.

“Angel, open your eyes. Look at me.” Bucky says, and you do as he says.

You looked like a real life angel to him. Swollen lips, hair flowing in all directions from his hands being run through it and the wind from the motorcycle. Under the blanket, your hands placed on his shoulders, basically in his lap. 

And this is when Bucky knew.

This was heaven. There was absolutely nowhere else he ever wanted to be than with you.

Your eyes searched his, and all you could find was adoration, infatuation, and... love.

And this is when you knew.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

[anika-ann]

Attached - Pt.1

The Words of Doom

Type: (mini)-series, college AU, professor AU (technically)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 1880

Summary for the series: You messed up. Your very sleep-deprived Self attached the wrong document when emailing a professor and sent him one of the stories you wrote instead of an assignment. It should be embarrassing, really, but it wasn’t. It was worse.

Why did it have to be the smutty one? Why did it have to be the one starring his best friend, Professor Rogers? You were so screwed.

Aka the ‘you sent the wrong attachment to hot professor A that just happens to be about his friend hot professor B and now professor A is not able to look at professor B without wheezing in laughter anymore and you are unable to look at either of them’ AU

Warnings: swearing, literally one mention of a possible daddy kink, double entendre

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Your eyes felt like on fire, burning hotter than the sun above Sahara Desert; the metaphor your sleep-deprived mind came up with was only perfected by the huge dunes of the bags under your eyes.

You were running on disgustingly strong coffee and three energy drinks, but you summoned the rest of your strength and clicked on ‘send’, slumping so heavily into your chair that when your back hit the backrest, it almost toppled over—but never mind, you made it!

Penny, your gracious roommate, would inform you that had you started earlier and were writing the actual essay instead of wasting words on steamy stories that somehow filled the desired wordcount with considerably less effort, you wouldn’t have been turning into a zombie sending assignments several minutes before eight a.m., the actual deadline.

Yeah, well, sue me, I prefer romance to the World War II., no matter how important history is.

You were certain Professor Barnes would understand if you told him that anyway – he was a pretty easy-going guy for a scholar after all. Then again, you sure as hell didn’t want to test the theory out and so you tended to hand in your homework perhaps ‘minute to midnight’, but still in time.

You grinned as you checked the sent e-mail, proudly reading it had been sent at 7:56. You mentally patted your back, not having the energy to actually move to do that.

And then your Sahara-dry eyeballs fell lower on the screen and you let out a shriek of horror.

Your heart stopped in your chest before kicking in faster than it had been pumping after three Red Bulls.

The attachment.

Oh no.

OH FUCK, the attachment!

Now, it happened on occasion that people forgot to attach the files they spoke of in an e-mail, right? Sometimes shit like that happened.

But this… this was so, so much worse.

“Oh no,” you uttered under your breath, shooting up and suddenly sitting with back straight as a ruler just to look at the screen from shorter distance to-- nope, still there. “Oh fuck.”

You quickly scrambled to send another e-mail with similar text but the right file, along with a swift apology.

Sent 7:59.

You should be relieved. Perhaps Professor Barnes would notice the correct one first and automatically deleted the one that obviously must have been wrong.

So why couldn’t you find it in you to think you would have such luck?

At least if he opened the wrong document, he would understand very quickly that it was not what he had asked the students to do and would delete it before diving in fully, right?

But a worm of doubt – or intuition, whatever you wanted to call it – told you that it wouldn’t be the case.

You covered your mouth with your palms and screamed at the top of your lungs.

Penny, sleep-deprived considerably less than you because she was an actual responsible human being, walked from her room to the bathroom and blatantly ignored you, probably thinking you had missed the deadline by a minute and were now freaking out.

Oh, you wished.

“Pennyyyyyyyyy!” you cried out in a whiny tone, but she clicked the door shut as if nothing was happening. As if your whole life wasn’t in shambles because of one single e-mail. “Penelope, you get your ass back here! I need to know how to switch schools without having to repeat a year!”

Her wild black curls peeked from the bathroom, followed by an annoyed sleep-raspy voice. “Why? You accidently called Barnes a daddy in your message or somethin’?”

Your heart was still beating its way out of your chest, a low ominous hum in your ears. Gods above, you wished. Still would be easier to explain, like… you could claim it was a dare or something.

No, this was much, much worse.

Penny, apparently taken aback by the lack of your response, left the safety of the bathroom and approached your lair (probably stinking of sugary drinks and caffeine) and peeked over your shoulder, searching an explanation for your antics.

You only gulped, moved the cursor to the title of the document you had sent in your first e-mail and closed your eyes, actually feeling tears of humiliation stinging in them.

The silence that followed spoke volumes until-

“OH SHIT.”

You had just shared your smutty one-shot with your history professor, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that it was starring his rumoured one and only best friend he shared an office with. One who had acted like a substitute for two weeks when Professor Barnes got a particularly bad case of cold, but wouldn’t leave you without a lecture. Needless to say, Professor Rogers had also starred several of your steamy dreams after that and became a source of inspiration for your occasional writing streaks.

And now your history professor could read all about it and, god forbid, share it with the man who was the template of the main character of the story. You weren’t dumb; you alternated the names, just in case of you didn’t even know what (and it might have made you feel better about writing filthy stuff about a prof), but you went with the same looks including hair and skin colour, hairstyle, Rogers’ glorious beard and you certainly didn’t omit his surprisingly ripped body.

So, yeah. Penny’s ‘OH SHIT’ was pretty accurate.

You were so screwed.

Yes, once again, you wished.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had handed in your work on Friday morning and had been jittery all weekend, practically unable to focus on any of the studying you desperately needed to do. Normally, you might write some comforting piece to relieve your frustration, but that was not an option right now as simply opening a text editor gave you palpitations.

The all-nighter you had pulled didn’t exactly help your already non-existent ability to get your head on straight either.

You were looking forward to Monday and dreaded it at the same time – Professor Barnes was to give your assignments back with a mark and commentary. You were praying for Monday to come already, because you just needed to know the consequences of your actions. You were freaking out about Monday for very obvious reasons.

You had no idea what was happening in your first Monday class. Your lunch consisted of half bottle of coke.

And now here you were, seated in the second row of three, because that seemed like the safest place, a seat where Barnes couldn’t approach you from any angle.

When he entered the class, you decided to stubbornly watch the desk in front of you. Under any circumstances, you would not make eye-contact, wouldn’t raise your gaze. There was no fucking way anything would force you look his in the eye.

Or you thought so.

You hadn’t realized he would call out each of your names and would say the necessary commentary about doing well, missing something, excellent work, this one feeling a bit sloppy… out loud, which would made it truly impolite to keep staring ahead. With each work sent through the sea of people to hand it to those in the second row, your stomach was turning heavier, your heart beating faster.

And then Professor Barnes said your name and you winced in your seat, squeezing your eyes shut on instinct, the childish if I can’t see you, you can’t see me either kicking in.

He called out your name again as if there was a chance you missed it the first time and with a huge lump of panic in your throat, you blinked your eyes open and raised your gaze, only to meet his neutral face with just the tinniest twitch to the corners of his lips and a barely visible twinkle to his eye.

Your stomach dropped to the floor, your face burning with embarrassment and humiliation.

He held out the papers to the person in the first row in front of you, whose name you didn’t care for at the moment, and nodded his head.

“Not bad at all,” he said and that was the end of it.

Your essay landed in front of you and you finally breathed in properly, your hand trembling slightly as you noticed the circled B+ in the corner.

You were deaf to his next words, your heart jumping as you read the note by the mark.

B for the cliché used, + for the originality.

Huh. What a strange way to word an evaluation… but hey, you wouldn’t complain. For one, no one had filled a harassment complaint for your stupid ass so far and you had written this shit during an all-nighter and still got B+. This was the best outcome you could hope for; Barnes didn’t even give you shit about your... error.

A smile slowly found a way to your lips, a shy little thing, but definitely present, your mimic muscles, so stiff from trying to keep a poker face, relaxing.

You browsed over the other notes in red ink scattered over the pages, some sentences and phrases unlined and commented on, sometimes corrected, sometimes complimented to.

It wasn’t until you reached the red note that had one word from it actually crossed out and replaced.

Really hits the spot mark.

Your smile froze on your lips, your heart ceased to beat before kicking in with furious pace, loud pounding humming in your temples.

Oh god. Oh no.

Hitting a spot? He could have written it was ‘spot on’ or that it ‘hit the mark’… he made the mistake deliberately, you were certain of it – all of his other notes were so neat and thought through-

You checked the individual notes, your stomach twisting when you re-read them in a new light.

Nearly all the wording he had used was referencing to your… special assignment you had handed in.

Oh god, please, let the lightning hit me. Let the floor swallow me. Let the cardiac arrest momentarily trying to kill me actually kill me.

Interesting work for certain with a winky face?! Really? That would be innocent enough on its own, but it was feeling like a conspiratorial wink. The I know more than I let on and you know what I’m talking about wink.

The next one was a blatant double-entendre and you could bang your head against your desk for not realizing it first time reading it. Good writing, nice flow, clearly heading to the climax.

Your face was set aflame once more and despite your better judgement, you glanced at the professor momentarily showing whatever in his presentation.

He caught your gaze and had the audacity to wink.

You snapped your head away and silently whined, sliding down your chair nearly enough to lie on the floor.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

Why did it have to be the smutty one you sent? Why couldn’t it be a cute one at least? You had loads of those! Why did it have to be the one about Steven damn Rogers, his friend?

Why, just WHY?!

Professor Barnes had definitely read it. And for some reason, you had a hunch that he had showed it to his friend slash colleague he shared an office with too.

You whined some more and pretended that this day was the apocalypse and that you would never have to face either of the professors ever again.

Of course, you could not have such luck.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

There it is! Shorter chapter for starters. Just you wait ;)

I’m pretty sure something like this have been written before, but plot bunnies are little shits that refuse to leave no matter how much you kick them and beg them to go away.

I blame @pies-writes-and-more @kayteewritessteve and @queen-kass-the-writer for supporting bad behaviour, but they are not the only ones. You know who you are, don’t YOU? I am a weak human being and you are corrupting me. Thanks, sweeties ;)

Thank you for reading! 

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tags: @scentedsongrebel @patzammit @donutloverxo @annathesillyfriend  @orions-nebula @iheartsebastianstan @wxstedhexrt

If anyone wants on the taglist or out, lemme know via DM or an ask :)

-.-.-

ALSO. A friend of mine created a perfect artwork for this chapter/series and I wanted to share 😍🥰🤩:

Thank you, @chase-your-dreams-away 🥺

[carelessannie]

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 2)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory WIP

Starker focus (Tony x Peter), Winteriron (Tony x Bucky), with reference to Stucky, Stony and Stuckony

This is the “meet... awkward” for my AU, and takes place roughly 8 months before the first chapter. Enjoy!

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, OmegaSub!Peter, BetaDom!Tony, OmegaSwitch!Bucky, AlphaDom!Steve, Heavy Awkward Flirting, Cute Nicknames, Kinda Sexy Winteriron

Maybe it goes like this:  

8 Months Earlier

Peter is looking forward to seeing his Pack after class, definitely needing to cuddle up with Annie in their nest tonight. And maybe Clint will bring home pizza. It’s been a long-ass day.

Okay, definitely pizza.

From the front of the class, Peter can hear his professor introducing the guest lecturer, and he drags his backpack around to his seat to unlock his laptop and notebook. Just as he logs in and dates his notebook page, Peter looks up to see the most attractive man in New York walk through the door, smile to the class, and introduce himself.

Tony.

Tony Stark?

No Way. The Tony stark?

Peter's ears ring, and he swears he sinks three feet into the floor.

Mr. “just call me Tony” Stark is saying something about BioMolecular Engineering, about class credit, about new processes in the industry, about independent research opportunities, about the— wait.

Peter jerks in his seat, mouth ajar, as The Tony Stark lists benefits of working in his research lab for Stark Industries, a dream Peter has nursed since high school. He barely hears the rest of the presentation, focusing on closing his mouth and blinking, keeping hot Arousal out of his scent, adjusting himself in his pants—

“—and I’ll take questions up front if you have them, thanks."

There’s a round of lazy applause, as students start to pack up and file out, and Peter shakes himself, You have to talk to him. He scribbles a few questions on his notebook and throws everything into his backpack, floating across the classroom and to the back of the line.

When he finally steps up, both of them freeze. Peter restrains himself from scenting the older man right there in the classroom because hot damn .

Peter lets out a short gasp of “hellomynameisPeterParker,” thrusting his hand forward, and is pulled in for a firm handshake, Tony Stark looking into his eyes with a vaguely amused expression.

Peter lets go, reluctantly, and stutters out, “M-mr. Stark? I think I’d be interested in the semester research opportunity.”

“Of course, Peter Parker,” Tony turns and grabs a StarkPad, scrolling briefly before handing it over to Peter, “if you want to fill it out today, feel free. It’s an equal opportunity research grant, and provides a weekly stipend for the duration of the program.”

Mr. Stark continued with details, as Peter quickly puts his information in the application and presses “submit.” He peers up at the older man, Beta? Probably? Most of what he can scent is spice and fire– maybe cinnamon, or chai like Clint? It’s hard to tell without throwing his face into the man’s neck, and inhaling deep–

“Mr. Parker? Pete?”

Peter’s head shoots up, and he realizes he’s been still for too long without responding, and immediately goes to apologize, “Oh, I-i’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I just… I finished the application? Shouldn’t I submit– or, sorry– send in a resume? Sorry.”

Mr. Stark keeps his expression schooled, but Peter can tell that he’s holding back a smile. Dammit Parker, way to nail the first impression. He shifts on his feet, biting his lip as Mr. Stark shakes his head slowly.

“No, it’s okay Peter. Our admin team will review the first round of applications by department, and send out an email link for further information, alright?” he gives into his smile, reaching out as if to... what, comfort Peter? But aborts the motion and crosses his arms, flexing slightly under his navy suit.

“Do you have any other questions, Peter?”

“No, n-no not right now, sorry, thank you Mr. Stark, sir. Um. Okay? I’ll see you later?” and Peter beats a hasty retreat out of the classroom, feeling his scent shift Embarrassed and hot tears prick his eyes.

Why does he always give a terrible first impression?

—

Tony stands, shocked in the empty classroom, schooling his scent and his breathing.

Thank you Mr. Stark, sir.

He collects his things in a haze, heading back to his pack and thinking about the gorgeous omega who just called his name.

Damn. His Alpha and Omega are gonna want to hear about this.

2 Weeks Later

Tony is straightening up the last few items in the R&D lab, hearing Pepper’s complaints of You need to care about your work space, Tony and You need to prepare a safe space for interns to work, Tony. And Pepper is right, of course, so Tony keeps cleaning.

He hears the doors swish open, and sighs, schooling his expression to neutral. He whirls around, raising his hands to defend himself against what he assumes is a new portion of nagging from Pepper, and instead–

The pretty omega from NYU.

What? “What are you–” Tony starts, watching as– Parker? Pete, Peter?– clutches a bag close to his chest, large doe eyes widening in shock and fear and… yup, there it is, FearShockEmbarassed Omega scent floods the lab as Peter takes a step backwards, lips opening and closing in shock.

“Hey, are you–”

“I’m so sorry, I–”

Tony shakes his head, stepping a little closer, “No, it’s okay, Peter? Right? From NYU?” with a nod in confirmation, Tony barrels ahead, “I thought you were– no, it doesn’t matter. Are you, are you here for the internship?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, they said to come at noon, but I thought I’d get here early and, god I can’t believe it, I’m so sorry, I’ll just wait– uh, wait outside?” Peter stutters through the explanation, lowering his eyes and backing towards the door to retreat into the hallway.

“No, like I said Peter, it’s okay, honestly,” Tony looks around quickly, trying to find a seat for the started young man, and yanks out the stool to his workbench, “here, sit down, please?”

There’s a moment of stillness as Peter looks between the stool and Tony, muttering something under his breath and setting his jaw in determination. Damn this boy is adorable, and Tony forces himself to keep a neutral expression as the om– the intern – walks across the room and sets down his backpack. Tony turns to the other side of the desk to give Peter some space, and clears the last of the notebooks into a nearby drawer.

He wants to start a conversation with Peter, fingers twitching in the unbearable silence, but is saved by the lab doors opening again, revealing Pepper leading five lost looking interns into the room. She leads so gracefully, he thinks, and feels his scent turn Fond and Proud for the Beta. Pepper sits each intern down, greeting Peter as well, and before he knows it, orientation and introduction are underway. The interns have their own work benches, and Pepper lets another supervisor take over the first day paperwork.

While the interns work in silence, Tony refuses to fixate on Peter, even though he takes to the research environment so beautifully. He's smart, he makes the funniest sarcastic quips when he thinks no one is listening, and he's kind of quiet, but always speaks up when he has a strong opinion.

Tony keeps his interactions unbiased among the other interns, mostly betas and one alpha, and is so relieved when the day ends and the students finally shuffle out of the lab. Peter ends up last to leave, staring at Tony and nervously licking his lips as he shoulders his bag. He seems to hesitate.

“Yeah, what’s up Pete?”

“Oh… no, right, see you tomorrow?” Peter shifts back and forth on his feet.

Tony smiles, “Of course, early bird,” and honestly can’t help his eye twitching, helplessly, in a wink.

Peter stutters out some type of goodbye, and flutters back through the door.

Tony blows out a breath, “JARVIS, call Bucky.”

—

“So what you’re tellin’ me is, you’ve somehow managed to find a smokin’ hot–”

“Beautiful,” Tony interrupts, “and compatible–”

“Right, smokin’ hot, compatible omega, and you… hire him?”

“I mean, technically I didn’t hire him personally–”

“Tony–”

“No, you know what, I get it. It’s my fault I can’t have him. But Bucky, I swear he’s so damn smart, and I can’t even let myself hope about his orientation,”

Bucky groans audibly over the line, but Tony protests again, “–because I swear he would submit so beautifully, Bucky, I can just see it. And remember how I said he called me sir?”

“How could I forg–”

“It’s all I can think about. I don’t wanna be overbearing, but I’m completely helpless around him and have no idea what to do. Bucky, I winked at him. Winked. And he ran away so fast.”

He can hear Bucky laughing at him over the line, that idiot, and Tony drops his head in his hands.

“Want my advice, sweetheart?” Bucky doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I think you should take it slow and court ‘im. Sounds like it could be awhile before you can make anything official, and what is he, like eighteen?”

“... Twenty.”

“Okay, twenty. He probably isn’t looking for a permanent pack anyways, alright? Get to know ‘im at work, and as soon as you can, you should also put a stop to him seeing you as his boss,”

“Wait, but–”

“No, Tony. As much as it feels great for this little omega to call you ‘Mr. Stark’ and ‘Sir,’ if you want anything more with this guy, you have to work to even out the relationship a bit.”

Tony slumps down into a seat, sighing dramatically. Bucky goes silent as Tony processes what he’s saying. A thought occurs to him,

“Wait, is that how Steve got you?”

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, you know our Alpha’s ‘bout as subtle as a dump truck. His advice is gonna be, ‘sit the omega down, state your intentions to court him, communicate clearly,’ all that shit,” another laugh, this time fonder, “I’m just sayin’ to save that for later, okay? Take it slow.”

Heading towards the door, Tony signals for JARVIS to move the conversation to his phone as he heads home. He pops in an earpiece for the call, and makes sure Bucky is still on the line.

“Yeah, I’ll take your advice Bucky-bear. Hey, are you home?” Tony taps his foot as the elevator descends to the parking garage, feeling a familiar itch starting under his skin.

“Yeah I am, Steve’s out until later... why, what’s up?”

He gets out of the elevator, heading for his car, “I think all this talk of the perfect omega has me missing you. Wanna do something soft and dirty when I get home?”

Bucky hums, the sound sweet and tempting, even over the phone line, “Whaddya have in mind, my Beta?”

“Oh you know I love when you call me that,” Tony peels out onto the main road, heading towards their coastal property, their home, “I want you to contact Steve and ask him to pick up dinner, your choice. I’ll tell him what my plan is for you tonight, so he won’t be surprised. I’ll be there in thirty-five minutes and want you in the red room, ready to play, understood?”

Tony can hear Bucky breathing quicker over the phone as he responds, “Yes, Beta.”

“My good omega. And for now, let’s not tell our Alpha about Peter. Not unless it gets serious, okay?”

“Mmm okay, Tony. Hurry home,” and Bucky ends the call.

Tony steps on it.

[justcourttee]

And They Were Roommates-Pt 2

Marinette woke to the piercing ring from her alarm clock. With a groan, she blindly hit her nightstand, trying to find the snooze. 

“Marinette! If you snooze, you’ll be late again! Professor Brookes may like you, but she did threaten that one more tardy to the meetings and you’ll be fired!”

Tikki pulled at a strand of Marinette’s hair trying to pull the girl from her bed. 

“Tikki it’s just five more minutes, please!” 

“Dupen-Chang, Tikki wanted to wake you the nice way but if you don’t get your ass out of bed in the next five seconds, I will dump a cup of ice down your shirt.”

Marinette’s eyes flew open as she sat straight up, scowling at the sight of Chloe and Tikki high-fiving. 

“I hate you two.”

“Mhm, now go shower. You look and smell like you just wrestled with pigs.”

Chloe’s nose scrunched up as she threw a towel at the girl. Marinette rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, trudging to the bathroom. 

“Chloe, will you pick me out an outfit?”

“Already done, now hurry up!”

Turning on the water, Marinette noticed the dark ink covering her skin. A beautiful robin stretched from her wrist to her elbow, every last detail drawn with care. She sucked in a sharp breath as she allowed her fingers to trace over the artwork. As she stepped into the shower, her eyes never left the picture, scared her soulmate would erase it before she had a chance to photograph it for later inspiration. 

Turning off the water, she wrapped her towel around her body tightly before racing back to her room, almost diving for her phone. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth from the pure concentration of capturing the art at the right angle. Once she was sure it was photographed properly, she fumbled for the pen on her nightstand. 

“I love waking up to your artwork, would you mind leaving it for the day?”

She stared intently at her hand, waiting for his response that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. 

“Dupen-Chang! If you want a ride, you better be dressed in the next five minutes!”

Chloe's voice echoed through the apartment, snapping Marinette out of her trance. Within three minutes, she pulled on the dress Chloe had laid out and managed to pull her hair back in a messy bun, sticking a pen through it just in case. She was working on the heels when she finally felt the tingle. 

“Sorry Angel, important interview today. I’ll leave you something tomorrow though. Promise” 

Marinette let out a defeated sigh, but tried to push it out of her mind. After all, she couldn’t be mad, he had a life too, one he didn’t want to publicize and she could respect that. Putting the final touches on her outfit, she grabbed her purse, leaning down beside the dollhouse to allow Tikki to fly in. 

“Dupen-Chang!”

“Coming Chloe!”

Tikki let out a giggle as Marinette rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long day. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, can I see you in my office please?”

Marinette internally groaned as she plastered a smile on her face. She picked up her design book, throwing a cover over the mannequin before she turned to walk toward the professor's office. 

“What can I do for you Professor Brookes?” Her smile was sickly sweet as she stared down at the woman. 

“Sit, please.” Brookes didn’t even look up from her paperwork, just made a vague gesture to the seat in front of her desk. After several minutes, she finally looked up, making a show of clicking her pen shut. 

“Do you know why I called you in Marinette?”

“Because you were lonely and wanted someone to talk to?”

She offered the woman a pity smile, but Professor Brookes was not having it.

“You have refused every offer I have arranged for you in the past three months. Marinette, what did I tell you when you accepted this position in my work field for young entrepreneurs?”

Marinette let out a sigh, her eyes falling to the ground. 

“It’s easier to work under a big name and break away than it is to build your own empire. But Professor-”

“Exactly. So tell me, why exactly have you refused not only Giorgio Armani and Karl Lagerfeld, but now I hear that Audrey Bourgeois has been after you for years now and you’ve refused her as well!”

Marinette bit her lip, trying her best to level her breathing before she snapped at the woman. 

“With all due respect Professor Brookes, they don’t want my name on the designs. I can’t make a name for myself if everyone else is taking credit for my work. If there’s any way you can find me an internship under someone who will let me be myself I’d be more than glad to take them on.”

It was Professor Brookes turn to sigh as she slipped off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“You’re a talented girl Marinette, nobody is denying that. But you just don’t understand how the business world works. This work field is for entrepreneurs who will listen to my advice, not do everything in their power to ignore it.”

“I understand if you want me to relinquish my position Professor Brookes. I’m sure you could fill it easily.” 

The professor looked up, her face unreadable as she stared down the designer. Several minutes passed and a sinking feeling began to settle in Marinette’s gut. 

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, what you’re asking me to do is to find you a sponsor. They’ll put their good name on the line for you, allow you to take credit for your work, and in return you’ll give them a portion of your profit. That’s anywhere from 5%-25% depending on how the sponsor operates. If I do this for you, you are going to have to up your production levels from one outfit a week to three, which means you’ll need to be here for three days instead of just one. Is this something you really want?”

Marinette’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt her body flood with relief. 

“It is. I really want a sponsor.”

“Then it’s settled, I’ll need you to complete a portfolio including pictures of models wearing your designs and at least three test designs that I can send to possible contenders. The test designs allow them to view your work up close and personal to look at stitchwork and such. I’m assuming you already have models in mind seeing as you live with two of them?”

Marinette nodded, her heart feeling as if it were about to explode with joy. 

“I won’t let you down Professor Brookes.”

The designer stood hastily, practically running back to her workstation. 

“I’ll need all of that before the first day of spring semester Marinette!”

The professor's voice echoed in her ears but she was too stunned to care. She was getting a real chance and that meant she had to put everything into the next month. Sitting on the spinning chair, Marinette pulled out her phone to view the picture she had taken earlier. Admiring his sketch, an idea began to form in her head as she cleared the workstation, laying out her various pencils. 

After a couple minutes of sketching, her phone began to buzz. At first she ignored it, trying to focus on her design, but after the third time, she finally gave in. 

“Chloe, I’m sorry, I know I said 3 but it’s looking like 5 or 6 instead, I finally got the break I was hoping for.”

“Well that’s great Dupen-Chang, but you see, I have a guy here responding to the ad placed this morning and I just wanted to ask if we could interview him without you.”

Marinette sat down her pencil, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She distinctly remembered emailing Julia for the spot, but she never sent in the ad. So either Julia’s newest boyfriend was applying or someone from the news team was.

“He’s not dating Julia is he?”

“I don’t know, let me ask. Hey! You! You’re not dating Julia, right? No? He said no.”

Marinette shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to send apologies to the boy. 

“So?”

“Go ahead Chloe, that’s assuming you haven’t chased him off already. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.”

“Great, you’re the best. Congrats on your break, I’ll order some food from that italian restaurant near our apartment to celebrate.”

Before Marinette could even respond, the line went dead, leaving her to stare at her sketchbook in slight despair. The poor guy would be scared senseless before she even got a chance to meet him. With a sigh, she returned to her sketch, determined to finish at least one design before she left for the day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette waved bye to Professor Brookes before she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She had texted both Chloe and Adrien several times, but neither came to pick her up, something she was going to lay into them for. 

“Hey guys what’s the deal-”

She stopped in her tracks as her eyes couldn’t process the sight in front of her. Adrien was playing Ultimate Mecha Strike V, but that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem lied in the fact that some guy she had never seen before was battling him using her lucky controller. 

“Hey Mari! Meet Damian Al Ghul, our new roommate!”

The guy stood up, offering his hand, but Marinette’s eyes weren’t focused on his. Instead, she watched in horror as he tossed her control backwards onto the couch, the force sending it flying to the floor.

“Damian huh?” She pushed past his outstretched hand to pick up her controller, examining it for any cracks or chips in the paint job.

“Yes?” He moved his hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

Marinette sent a sour look at Adrien who only shrugged. 

“Damian is a double major as well Mari, history and business, sound familiar?”

“I hear you are quite competent in both subjects.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, setting her controller on the coffee table before standing to face the man.

“I’m more than ‘competent’, I excel in both with a perfect 4.0 GPA.”

Damian scoffed sending a wave of fury through the girl. Just who did this guy think he was? Adrien watched the interaction, amusement clearly written on his face. 

“So Mari, you want to play the winner of this round?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to study. My first final is on Tuesday, just ask Chloe to leave my food in the microwave, I’ll get to it later.”

Without another word, she marched back to her bedroom, shutting the door harder than she meant to. She pulled out her sketchbook, opening it to her unfinished design from earlier. Her pencil hovered over the page as she tried to remember the feeling she had earlier. 

“Tikki, how did I manage to let him get under my skin in less than five minutes?”

She let out a groan as she fell backwards onto her bed as the kwamii let out a giggle. 

“He’s got a unique personality, very straightforward Marinette. He almost reminds me of Chloe when I first met her.”

“That has to be it. PTSD from when I was 13 and Chloe was still a menace. I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get back into this design tonight.”

“That’s okay Marinette, let’s work on the last essay for your Grad school application!”

Marinette sat up to reach for her laptop, pulling up her browser that never closed. The Metropolis University website was still up, her application reading 95% complete. She clicked on the textbox and attempted to zoom in on the final question that had been bugging her for a week now. 

‘How will you use your education to benefit the world?’

“Why does my degree have to benefit the world Tikki? I just want to do something I love, can’t that just be enough?”

“You’ll think of something Marinette, you always do!”

“Yeah,” the girl huffed out a puff of air, leaning forward to reread the question for the hundredth time. “I always do.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Around 10:30, Chloe stumbled into their room, tearing through her closest.

“Marinette, come clubbing with me and Adrikins! He needs a distraction for the night or two if you know what I mean.”

She let out a giggle as she pulled out her favorite dress, not even bothering to shut the bedroom door before throwing off her top. 

“Chloe! We’re living with another guy now!”

“Yeah yeah Mari, you’re the only straight one here so there’s no problem!”

“Just because you’re not straight, doesn’t mean he can’t oogle at you.”

Chloe stood up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the girl. 

“Oogle? How old are you? 75?”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she stood up to pull her dress over her head. With her help, Chloe finished touching up her makeup. 

“So you gonna come with us?”

Marinette shook her head at her, earning a pout from the blonde. 

“Boo, you and Damian are both lame.”

Picking up her clutch, she opened it long enough for Pollen to fly in before shutting it tight. 

“You losers have fun tonight staying home.”

“I think I’ll just barricade myself in here instead.”

“Whatever.”

Adrien appeared in their doorway, equally tipsy as he offered Chloe his hand. Marinette watched with worry as they made their way to the front door, both stumbling over their feet at every other step. 

“Are you guys taking an Uber at least?”

“Yes mom!” They both looked at each other in shock before dissolving in a fit of laughter. Marinette rolled her eyes, waving goodbye as they slammed the front door shut.

With a sigh, she made her way to the microwave, hitting the reheat button for her pasta inside. 

“Is that an every weekend occurrence?”

Marinette jumped, whipping around to find Damian leaning against the kitchen counter, his face expressionless. 

“How about next time a warning like ‘Hey Marinette’ or ‘Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t reply, just remained stoic as he waited for her answer.

“No, it's not, just an occurrence whenever Adrien gets his heart broken. So try a monthly thing.”

He nodded in response, watching her carefully. Marinette shifted under his gaze, trying to keep her cool and not melt into a puddle. He may be a jerk, but he was still a hot jerk. The ding of the microwave severed the tension between them as she opened the drawer beside her, pulling out a fork. Sliding out her pasta, she didn’t even check to see if it had heated all the way through before she rushed past Damian and back to the safety of her room. 

He didn’t follow, but she heard him let out a thoughtful hum before he made his way back to his room, shutting his door. Letting out a sigh, she stirred through her pasta, reaching for the pen beside her bed. 

“How’d your interview go?”

She was halfway through her pasta when she felt the tingling. 

“Aced it. How was your day Angel? I apologize for not writing sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his formalness, trying not to let her smile get the best of her. 

“I finally got my break. I’ll be getting a sponsor!”

Finishing the last bite of her pasta, Marinette weighed the risk of running into Damian again if she went to put up her dishes. Deciding it was too great, she set the plate on her nightstand, mentally preparing herself for the backlash she would get from hungover Chloe in the morning.

“That’s fantastic, I hope it works in your favor habibti.”

A shiver ran down her spin as her cheeks flushed red. She had used google translate a few times of the names he gave her and was surprised to find the Arabic traces. When she asked him about it, he just brushed it off to being from his mother’s side, never bringing it up again. Picking up her pen, she etched a small Robin on her arm, leaving a space beside it to write;

“Your pictures always inspire my designs. I can’t wait to see what you leave me tomorrow.”

A minute hadn’t even passed before he responded. 

“If you wash your arm off now, you won’t have to wait.”

Her heart picked up pace as she rushed into the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at her arm. She returned to her bed, toweling off the few wet spots as she watched in awe as pen strokes tickled her skin. 

“He’s so talented Marinette!”

Marinette smiled as she watched his delicate art slowly cover her arm, her mind drifting from the stress of the day. 

“He really is Tikki, he really is.”

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @kris-pines04 @rebecarojas07

[blossom-hwa]

I know we talked about this kinda way back, but I would consider selling a piece of my soul for an official zoom class drabble with Lucas, please and thank you ❤😊 -🌻

ASKJDAHGL SUNNY I’M SO SORRY I NEVER GOT TO WRITING THIS, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS AS AN APOLOGY <3

3-year anniversary drabble game: send me an NCT/WAYV/Stray Kids/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and  I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Zoom Gone Wrong With Lucas Wong

Pairing: Lucas x fem!reader

Triggers: none

~

Lucas Wong, for the first time (well, not really, but he’s not going to get into that) in his entire life, has no idea what to do. 

Seriously. He knows other people are suffering far more than he is and he tries to feel grateful for what he still has, but for an extrovert who literally relies on people to give him energy, this feels like torture. The pandemic has sent his life to shit - online classes, virtual club meetings, being forced to stay inside for days at a time. 

And worst of all, the virus decided to hit literally days before he was getting ready to ask you out. 

”There are so many other things to be pissed about, and you’re hung up over this?” Hendery asks, poking his head out from the kitchen to see Lucas lying facedown on the apartment floor, limbs outspread like a pancake. “Oh, God, dude, get up. The floor’s disgusting.”

Lucas lifts his face, just barely. “But Henderyyyyy,” he whines, “she’s so sweet! And awesome! And the pandemic stole my entire chance at asking her out!”

“Do you not have her number?” Hendery closes the fridge. 

Lucas’s face plants back into the floor. 

“You absolute mess.” Footsteps vibrate next to his head, and then Hendery sits down, patting Lucas’s hair. “Just ask her out over zoom. It’s the best you can do beyond sending an email, which is infinitely worse.”

Lucas rolls over, a new light in his eyes. “Hendery, you’re a genius.”

“Yeah, I get called that a lot.” He gets up, presumably to go back to his room. 

“What, a genius?” Lucas’s eyebrows crinkle in disbelief. 

“No, Hendery.”

So he started off by holding up signs when the two of you were on the same zoom page. If you’re on the same page as he is, he reasons, you would see the sign saying “Y/N, will you go on a date with me?” that he puts up every time the professor turns around. But besides garnering a few very visible laughs (and audible, sometimes - one person forgot to mute themselves, so the professor turned back and Lucas had to put the sign down real quick), you don’t seem to notice anything, always looking up at the wrong time. 

(No one even bothers to tell you what’s going on. Haechan, the sophomore in his class, tells him all of his classmates have a group chat where they collectively agreed not to tell you anything just to see when you’ll actually notice. Lucas would beg for your number, but you’re not in the chat, so Haechan doesn’t have it.

And even if he did, as Haechan said, he wouldn’t give it to Lucas anyway.

They’re out to ruin his life.)

Then Yangyang informs him of the private chat feature on zoom (”Lucas, I thought you were, like, a millennial, but turns out you’re just a boomer”). After a week of no putting signs up (much to the disappointment of his classmates), he sends you a private chat message asking if you want to go out for coffee or something after you can actually go outside. 

He thinks he’s really slick until he gets a message back from the PROFESSOR telling him that all private chats go to HIM and warning him to please pay attention in class. 

Lucas turns his camera off for the rest of the lecture so he can scream into his pillow loudly enough that Hendery comes running in, sure he’s being hacked at by an axe murderer. 

Exactly one sign gets put up over the next week, mostly to make himself laugh slightly, but also to give his classmates some tiny measure of entertainment (look, Introduction to the Korean Language is not a very scintillating class, and Lucas takes his position as class clan very seriously). NEOMU LONELY is written in huge block letters on an A-sized sheet of paper.

Several people start visibly choking on camera. A snort sounds just barely before the students mutes themselves. Lucas smiles - at least some people are enjoying the spectacle, even if they aren’t you - and then, by some god damn miracle, you look up. 

The way your eyes crinkle as you start laughing is magical. Lucas thinks his heart is melting out of his body even though the image of you is grainy, under weird lighting, and overall just downplays your beauty to the greatest extent (though you still look cute, which Lucas finds somehow impossible - are you God?). 

Then the professor turns around and he has to put the sign down fast. 

For another week, Lucas debates what the hell to do. Nothing he’s done on Zoom has worked, and no one will give him your number (he’s tried asking several times - they all want to see how this plays out). Finally, on the second to last week before the semester ends, Lucas does what Hendery told him not to do. 

He sends you an email. 

(He’s not a stalker. He gets it from the mailing list for this class.)

It’s a long email, stupidly long, filled with Lucas rambling about anything and everything he finds cute or sweet or lovely about you. He almost chickens out and doesn’t press send, but his finger like... spasms or something on touchpad of his laptop and the email yeets into cyberspace, hopefully to your inbox. 

He waits several long hours for any email back. Hendery comes in at one point to steal Lucas’s phone charger and asks what the hell he’s doing, looking so jumpy. Lucas just says “I sent her an email.”

Hendery hits him. “You fucking idiot.”

Then, finally, a notification pops up that he’s got a new email from you. With shaking fingers, Lucas opens it. 

And he screams with joy when he sees that you’ve accepted his offer for a coffee date (though maybe a few Zoom dates will occur before that, you say, because the pandemic doesn’t seem to want to end anytime soon).

(Lucas totally rubs this in Hendery’s face the next day, saying that everything he said to do didn’t work and that the only thing he said not to do did. 

Hendery just groans and flops to the floor.)

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Souls of Mischief || Morgan & Caoimhe

TIMING: the recent past

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @evebrennan & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Two adjuncts square up against the new dean. Is it really a UMWC faculty meeting if everything goes according to plan?

CONTAINS: N/A

Since the dean of the arts and sciences college had gotten his face eaten and the volmugger dean who unofficially replaced him had been sliced and diced, the faculty meeting had to be postponed until summer. With all the deaths and disappearances from the last year, the faculty was able to squeeze comfortably into one of the small lecture halls from the early days of the school, pre AC. They were twenty minutes in and Morgan’s nose was starting to pick up the sour smell of human sweat filling the room. As she slumped deeper into her chair, she found herself thinking that maybe the volmugger dean hadn’t been so bad after all. At least his meeting probably would have been over by now.

She turned to the woman next to her. “Do you ever wish for a fire scare or a cryptid attack during these, or is that just a me thing?”

Humans were captivating for their creativity, and Caoimhe had never encountered anything as terribly uncreative as a routine meeting. Death by powerpoints, a man droning on about grading rubrics and research coming out of New York City. Somewhere in there was a hopeful message about Summer classes and plans for the Fall, but the man’s tone never changed. She felt liable to crawl out of her own skin should it go on for much longer, shifting restlessly in her seat. Typically, in a room so full, there would always be someone to whom Caoimhe was drawn. It was true, meetings sucked the creativity out of everything.

She was halfway through a list of ways she could get out of it, varying from a simple bathroom excuse to complete university meltdown, when a voice piped up from beside her. Ah, better. “Only every meeting. We could make it happen. Any of the above. I prefer bothering them with increasingly outrageous questions until they give up and let us go, personally.” She wondered how long it would take to get him going. If she could get him to give up before the PowerPoint was done. “Ten bucks says if we team up, we could be out of here before he can bring up the next slide.”

Morgan quirked her eyes with interest. Generally, the most she got out of someone was a little indulgent smile (so funny, Morgan; you and your little quips) or a grimace of agreement, because solidarity was the only thing that made these meetings bearable. No one really talked back, much less turned around and offered something back. Morgan scooted closer to the woman.

“Are you serious? Because I can’t tell if you’re serious, and if you’re not serious, I’m going to be really embarrassed when I ask that guy to explain why he chose the font he did for this thrilling presentation and no one jumps in to one up me.” She sat up a little straighter, tilting her head in a show of false interest at the presentation. “If we do make this work, we should give ourselves something nice. As a treat, you know?”

Oh, there was hope for the meeting yet. Caoimhe sat up, finding a grin that didn’t match the less-than-lively meeting topic in the least. She showed more interest in a matter of moments than she had for the entirety of the meeting up to that point, and she couldn’t even be bothered to care. It was so rare that anyone was willing to play along. Most meetings were spent tapping her toes against carpet, or filling quickly sketched staff lines in the margins of her notes. Some part of her felt she should pay attention, given she was new and working on a good first impression, but the meeting was unbearably boring, and there was someone present who was perfectly willing to cause some trouble.

“I don’t joke around when it comes to...joking around.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head around a laugh, turning back to the front. Displayed was a slide reading “2021 Changes,” and she was certain they’d been covering changes for at least thirty minutes. Freedom was imminent. “My vote is ice cream.”

Her vote was anything that wasn’t another staff meeting. She raised her hand, “Excuse me, sorry. I just couldn’t help but notice you’re using the Geometric theme by Slides. It’s an excellent choice, very clean. May I ask why Geometric instead of, say, Plum, or Spearmint?”

It took the New Dean several seconds to realize someone else was talking. He blinked behind his tortoiseshell glasses at Caoimhe, then at his presentation, then back again. “This...was recommended to me by my assistant.” He laughed affably. “And if you’ll observe, as we move on to the next section of the faculty code of conduct, the hexagons make for a very convenient grouping of text, so you can differentiate between the point and the rationale…”  He fumbled with his clicker and brought the next slide up.

“Oh, actually, I have a question about that formatting!” Morgan called. “The color contrast you picked is interesting, but I was wondering why you deviated from black and white. And why the font? It’s not so great for those of us in the back or with visual impairments. Which, I dunno, considering our disciplines is probably a lot of us, right?”

A few women sitting nearby sniggered.

“Obviously I can’t speak for anyone else, but everything you’re saying reads like gibberish to me. And I feel like my professional enrichment is being underserved.”

Ah, the next slide. Caoimhe was only allowed a moment of defeat before her partner in crime piped up, and the Dean’s initial laughter faded into a look of disbelief. The energy in the room changed. People were shifting in their chairs, interest piqued. Caoimhe could see a few burying their heads in the crook of their elbow, or covering their laughter with a hand over their mouths. She had a feeling she was going to like UMWC. Not if every meeting derailed so easily, not if she’d always have someone so perfectly willing to try.

“Oh, my deepest apologies.” There was a pause, then, while the Dean twisted the clicker in his hands and considered his next course of action. Caoimhe could see the red creeping into his cheeks, and she might’ve felt bad for him, if she wasn’t enjoying herself so much.

“There’s actually a site to help with contrast, as well as outlines of the best fonts to use in presentations. For example, Garamond fonts look very professional, yet are still easy to read.” Caoimhe grinned,  “I can send an email, even carbon copy your assistant, if you’d like.”

Morgan turned to Caoimhe as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, my gosh! Could you? That sounds so amazing and helpful. Barbara--” She waved down a woman two rows up. “You had a student who was color-blind and dyslexic last semester, right? Did you ever figure out what the best format and coloring was for him?”

“No, that was me!” Another woman, Stephanie Shannon, called. Stephanie liked to be an authority on things. It made it easier to correct everyone else. And so, when Morgan happened to call the wrong woman, of course she had to be corrected. Stephanie launched into a long anecdote about her student and the research she did, and which websites were not at all helpful, and so on.

The New Dean tapped his microphone. “If we could turn back to business--”

“I believe Doctor Shannon is still speaking,” Morgan said, unable to hide the glee in her voice.

“Thank you, Professor Beck,” Stephanie said, genuinely touched.

Morgan leaned back in her seat and turned to Caoimhe. “So, the real question is whether we want to see if his face is going to get any redder or if we want to pretend to go to the ladies’ room and never come back.”

Chaos ensued and Caoimhe barely managed to conceal a smile behind her hand. The careful structure of the meeting falling to pieces around them was almost enough to make her stay, but it was still a meeting, and she was willing to bet Doctor Shannon had about as much to say as the Dean did. The deed was done. If she stayed in her spot another moment longer, her laughter would give her away.

A quick excuse and she was tumbling into the hallway, the sound of continued arguing cutting off abruptly as the door shut in her wake. The amount of joy she derived from the dean’s expression as she ducked out was near pathological.

“Professor Beck, was it?” Caoimhe had grown well-accustomed to starting over, to finding her footing in new environments. There was always a nook into which she could burrow herself, even if it was a box-strewn hotel room rented by the week. She preferred it when it looked like this. Like university hallways and bookshelves, drifting notes from a piano in a practice room, and sometimes people. They were always the hardest. They had interests, opinions, smiles and laughter of their own. It was easy to leave behind a bookshelf or a piano. It wasn’t always easy to leave behind people, the rare friend. Professor Beck had jumped in with the same glee Caoimhe had, and she already found herself thinking about what it would mean to leave. “I’m stealing you for every meeting. I’m sorry, it’s just the way it’s going to be.”

Morgan followed her new friend out. People seldom questioned women leaving in pairs, and she’d just earned some much needed goodwill. When the doors to the lecture room closed behind her, she finally let herself laugh, more pleased with herself than she’d been in a long time.

“Why yes,” she said, bowing dramatically. “Morgan Beck, at your service. I am great at distractions, petty theft, and driving away unwanted attention. My knowledge of literature isn’t so bad either.” She laughed again and sidled up to the other woman. “I would be honored, thrilled even, to be your partner in crime for the next meeting. But first, I definitely want to know who I have the honor of being in cahoots with, and if I can steal you for my meetings too.” It had been a while since she’d had a reason to feel happy at work. Since she’d had a real friend she could do shallow simple things with. There was no keeping the supernatural from coming to her door no matter where she went, but a moment of good, a little bubble of fun and nothing now and then, could be worth a lot.

“Oh, Morgan!” Caoimhe stood up a little straighter, grinning. “English professor Morgan? Likes the Cranberries Morgan?” She gave her own bow, “It’s Caoimhe, Music professor, new in town. Also great at distractions, and car sing alongs like you wouldn’t believe.” Suddenly, White Crest didn’t feel quite so daunting. It felt just that little bit more like somewhere she could settle, if she ever found herself in a capacity to do so. Perhaps there was something to the fog, to the way it felt disconnected in a way no other town had managed. Perhaps there was something to letting herself have friendships in the in-between.

There was muffled arguing from behind the door, and Caoimhe descended into another laugh, moving further down the hallway. There’d been some mention of a treat in reward of success, and the rapidly derailing meeting behind them was definitely a success. “Now, as much fun as that was, I’ve already enlisted you as my arm wrestling champion, how could I possibly expect even more of you?”

“Yes! That’s me! And you’re Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe?” Morgan gaped. She followed Caoimhe down the hall, shoes skittering in a cascade of delight as she avoided the oncoming faculty approaching the door. “Oh, you’re amazing! You’re like the first cool person my age here and you actually give a shit about your students and teaching and you sing in the car too? Do you also sing karaoke? I just--feel like you’re one swooping in here and making everything here a whole lot better. Let me get you something, a drink, or lunch or whatever people with sudden free-time do.” She caught up to herself, hearing the echo of her own rambling and her unchecked enthusiasm in the hall. “Or, um, a rain check. Obviously. But, you really do seem great and this place isn’t kind to great people, especially when they’re isolated. And, you know, selfishly, I really do appreciate having a partner in crime. There’s only so much mischief you can get up to when it’s you against the world.”

“Okay, okay correction.” Caoimhe matched the same excited rambling coming from Morgan. She talked with her hands. Her mother would grab them sometimes, pin them to a table and say her name sharp, but with a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Caoimhe never did make an effort to fix it. “It’s you and me against the world now, so just jot that one down. Or...at the very least boring staff meetings. We can work up to the whole world part, but I’m dedicated.”

She tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her slacks. She liked the sound of Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe, and cool person, and lunch between classes. Of someone who seemed just as excited to wreak havoc as she was, who cared about her students, who liked karaoke, and oh. That one wouldn’t be the best idea, but the rest! Caoimhe would happily get behind the rest. “Yes to karaoke sometimes, no to the rain check.” She parsed through the onslaught to address one item at a time, quick and with just as much enthusiasm as the questions had been asked. “You seem great, I don’t rain check great. But reverse it, let me get you a drink, or lunch, or something.”

Morgan couldn’t fight the way she brightened up at Caoimhe’s assurances. “Okay! Then--” Shoot. She didn’t eat out anymore. Or enjoy most food. “Coffee? I know it’s hot and terrible outside, but we can get something iced. I know where the best places in town are.” And she could actually taste a quad shot latte. “I’ll let you pay this time, but only because it contractually obligates a second outing when I get to pay. And the sky’s the limit there, because while we adjuncts might get shit for pay, I get some very generous supplemented by my unspeakably wonderful future-wife.” She slipped her hands into her own skirt pockets and elbowed Caoimhe, grinning. “I like the sound of that, though: you and me against the department and really boring faculty meetings. Today the arts college, tomorrow the school, and then who knows?”