#instead he would rather get a summer job. A SUMMER JOB. YOU’RE A UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR

[fingertipsmp3]

Tell me why this man asked me to write a character reference for him. What do you even put

[zafirosreverie]

Must be the eyes (Teacher!Agatha x Fem!Student!Reader) part 2

(Part 1)

a/n: this is long, like, really long. Uppsies

- - - - - - - - - - -

Salem ... you were going to Salem !!

Nick laughed at you when you jumped out of happiness, before wrapping your arms around him and spinning him around. You were quite excited.

"I see someone is excited" he laughed as you let him go

"Sorry" you laughed "I just can't believe it! We’re going to Salem, Nick!" you screamed with excitement

"Yes yes, I was in class too, history girl” he laughed again "But it doesn't seem a bit strange to you that just last friday you mentioned that you wanted to go, and today, monday, they tell us that they will take us on a field trip precisely to Salem? Not to mention that Ms Harkness doesn't seem like the kind of teacher who wants to take her students on trips. "

"So?" you asked. You knew exactly what he was implying, but you decided to play innocent "Maybe the universe thought it would be a good time to pay me what it owes me"

"Suuuuure. And Ms Harkness totally wasn't looking at you during the entire announcement" He said

"She wasn't" you agreed, making him roll his eyes.

Except that she totally was. Nick was right. From the moment the older woman had walked into the classroom, you could feel her eyes fixed on you. At first you felt like you were in trouble, but when she started talking about the trip she and professor Maximoff had planned, a part of you (a small and somewhat selfish part) couldn't help but think that maybe she was doing it for you.

It was silly and you knew it, why would a woman like Agatha Harkness go to the trouble of planning a whole field trip, getting a hotel, food and transportation for almost 30 students, just so that you specifically could fulfill one of your dreams? Not to mention, there was no way she knew about it.

But the feeling that you were something special to her, even if it was only in your imagination, was enough for you.

You sighed "Nick, if you're still upset about the project, I'm sorry ok? But don't get me in your business with her"

"Hey! I didn't sleep all weekend to finish it, okay?" he defended himself "I didn't even go to the movies with Dalton, Y/N. Do you know what that means? I missed a date with him!" he pouted, making you laugh

"First of all, you had almost the entire month to do the project, you shouldn't have put it off until the last minute. Second, it wasn't even a date! You haven't been able to confess your feelings to Dalton in two years"

"So? At least I'm making progress with him, you've been drooling over our teacher since the first day of college and all you've done is have these tense discussions with her."

"Shhhhh" you shut him up "shout it out to everyone, would you?"

"Hey, you started"

"It's different and you know it Nick" you sighed "You're only a year older than Dalton. There are at least 10 years between me and Ms Harkness, not to mention that she is our teacher!"

"Pfff, 10 years? Come on Y/N, we both know she's probably twice your age" Nick scoffed

"She's not that old" you blushed "And that's not the point anyway"

"Right" he nodded "the point is that your girlfriend is going to take us all to a haunted town just to make you happy" he smirked.

"My what- she’s not-" you stuttered.

Nick laughed and you flushed with both embarrassment and anger. You ran after him to try to hit him, not noticing the pair of blue eyes staring at you from a window.

________

Agatha sighed to herself as she watched you walk away with that little friend of yours. She had watched all the interaction and when she saw you blush she wished she could listen, but you were too far away.

However, what she did hear were your screams of excitement and she couldn't help but notice that her heart leapt a little at the thought that it was she who had made you so happy.

Again, she would never tell anyone, but the only reason she had agreed to accompany Wanda was because of the conversation she had overheard, when you told Nicholas that you didn't have money for two trips.

At first, it had been easy to lie to herself, saying that she was simply killing two birds with one stone: Wanda could have her field trip and you could visit Salem at no expense, that way you could save up to go elsewhere in summer.

However, when Wanda asked why she had specifically chosen your class, she hadn't known what to answer. She wanted to see you happy, she felt you deserved everything in the world, but she couldn't say that to the redhead, so she had given a bad excuse that your group was the least problematic. Wanda hadn't believed it, but at least she had the decency not to comment on anything.

She told herself that she had to be more careful. She couldn’t let anyone, student or teacher, find out that perhaps it was no longer simple affection what she felt for you.

When she walked into your classroom, however, she couldn't help staring at you from the get-go. She didn't want to miss your reaction to the news. From the sparkle in your eyes, the way the corner of your mouth lifted, how your nose wrinkled, the way your shoulders tensed, and how you clenched your hands to avoid showing your emotion.

She wanted to see all of that.

But that had made her look at you the whole time. She never once had she taken her eyes off you, almost forgetting that it was supposed to be a school trip, for all of her students, not a surprise gift specifically for you.

Even if that's what it really was. As she had told Wanda, she was more than capable of teaching Salem's history without having to take you there, but she did it for you. And a small part of her wanted to tell you, she wanted you to know what she had done, she wanted you to understand how much you meant to her, without having to use her words.

She wasn't sure if she'd made it, but your excitement was enough for her. She just wished she could be the one receiving that crushing hug, instead of Nicholas.

"Earth to Agatha" said a voice behind her, making her jump

"Maximoff" she sighed "No one told you it's rude to approach people like this" she crossed her arms and frowned.

"In my defense, I've been here for about 15 minutes, it's not my fault that you get lost in your thoughts so quickly" the redhead teased as she handed her a coffee "It must be age"

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you called me old, just because of the coffee" the brunette growled, taking it.

"Lucky me" the youngest smiled "So, ready for the trip?" she asked

"There's still a whole month to go, cutie" she said

"Don't even remind me, I was hoping they'd let us go sooner" sighed the redhead.

"Wanda, I know they are university students, but not all of them have the income, no matter how little the school charges them. We have to pay for transportation, meals and hotel, not to mention that many of them will want to buy souvenirs or do another activities" Agatha reminded her

"It's a field trip, Aggs, not a vacation."

"Try to convince 30 students of that" scoffed the older woman

"... fair enough" sighed Wanda "and we still need another chaperone"

"What do you mean?" Agatha frowned "Isn't that why I'm going?"

"Yes, but as we also take male students, by law we must bring a male teacher too"

"That’s bullshit"

"I know, but I'm not going to complain and risk losing my permit."

The brunette thought about it for a moment before sighing. Wanda was right. And she wouldn't risk having the trip canceled either, not after seeing how happy it made you.

___________

It was the longest month of your life! You were too excited, you could hardly think of anything other than the trip. You had worried a bit that it was too expensive, but were pleasantly surprised when you realized that it was less than half of what the trip would cost you alone.

Besides, Nick had told you that he could lend you money if necessary. It wasn't that you were broke, far from it, but being a college student, living alone in a rental department and with a part-time job, was difficult.

However, you had managed to save enough money to pay for the trip and still be able to even spend a little on souvenirs or other things, which would be necessary to thank your boss for giving you permission to be absent for two weeks and your friend Alisha for covering you.

"Hello" you smiled at the secretary

"Good afternoon" she replied, a little serious but at least she smiled back at you "can I help you miss?"

"Yeah, uhm, I'm here to pay for the trip to Salem, group 203" you said

"One moment please" she nodded and pulled out a couple of lists "Your name, queen?" she asked kindly

"Y/N  Y/L/N"

The woman scanned the names with her eyes, searching for the letter of your last name, but you felt your stomach drop a little when she frowned before looking at you.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asked

You blinked in surprise before nodding.

"How strange" she said "it appears that it is already paid"

"W-what?" now you frowned "It must be a mistake"

"No, Y/N  Y/L/N, paid. Are you sure you didn't forget? It usually happens" she assured you, smiling at you.

But you knew that was not the case. You hadn't paid before because you didn't have the money. Damn, you were sure you were the last to pay! You were supposed to leave in three days!

"No" you said softly "I'm sure I didn't pay for it"

The woman was about to say something when you heard a rather familiar pair of heels coming up behind you. You didn't even have to turn around to find out who she was.

Agatha smiled as she stood right next to you, her hand pressed to your lower back. She smiled at the secretary before speaking.

"Good afternoon, Lu" she said to the woman

"Good afternoon, Ms Harkness"

"Is something wrong? Or why the long face, Miss Y/L/N?" she asked, smiling at you

It took you a moment to answer, too stunned by the warm touch of her hand on your back and the smell of her perfume filling your air.

"Someone paid for my trip" you said simply

"Excuse me?" she asked confused

"Someone paid for my trip" you repeated "it wasn't me, miss"

"Well, I still don't see the problem" she smiled at you "maybe that little friend of yours paid for you, or someone is trying to win your heart" she winked

The way she said the last part sent a chill down your spine. It felt too intimate for some reason.

"Either way, I wouldn't worry about it" she said, pulling you out of your thoughts "take advantage of it, Miss Y/L/N, not all of us are lucky enough to be given a free trip, right Lu?"

"Absolutely Ms Harkness"

You weren't so convinced, but you weren't in a position to argue with a teacher and a secretary, they were two against one. That and the hand on your back was too much of a distraction to think properly.

You nodded and thanked them before turning on your heel to go find Nick, hoping it was really him who paid for you. You immediately missed the warmth of the hand on your back.

____________

Well shit.

You cursed yourself while running around your apartment. You were sure you had set the alarm, but it hadn't gone on. If it weren't for the fact that you had left the window open and the sun hit you in the face, you wouldn’t have woken up.

When you looked at the clock on your desk, you jumped up. You noticed that your phone had not charged at all and was, in fact, turned off. Double shit.

You tossed it along with the charger in your backpack, after getting out of a quick shower and bouncing around the room as you put on your floral dress and a pair of tennis shoes. You did not care about the mess you left, you would fix it when you returned.

You had 20 minutes to get to school or you were saying goodbye to Salem.

_____________

Agatha tried to appear neutral as Wanda took roll and Jimmy helped the students put their bags onto the bus as they arrived.

She supposed it could have been worse. Of all the male teachers in the school, Jimmy Woo, the chemistry teacher, was the most educated and one of the few that Agatha actually liked a little. At least the students listened to him.

Not that she was really paying attention to that, if she was honest.

Actually, the only thing on her mind was you. Nothing new, but this was different. You hadn't arrived yet and they were 15 minutes away from leaving. She was beginning to worry.

She didn't understand what was happening, you were the most excited about the trip, she had paid for you, and yet you weren't here? She had thought you would be the first to arrive. Have you regretted it? No, you would have told her or Wanda. Something happened to you? Surely Nicholas would have said something when he arrived.

So why was there no sign of your precious face? The brunette could convince Wanda to wait for you a little longer, but she wasn't even sure you were going to come. That made her sulk quickly.

She had agreed to take this trip, for you. If you didn't show up, she would have done everything in vain! She didn't even want to go to Salem to babysit! So you had better arrive in the next 10 minutes or you would be in serious trouble when they come back in two weeks.

"Smile Harkness" Wanda laughed, seeing her partner with her arms crossed and a frown "We're almost gone"

"Good, because we still have five hours of travel and I'm already starting to get tired of the voices of these children" she growled.

She really did hope her concern wasn't so noticeable.

____________

You sighed in relief when the taxi finally arrived at the school, seeing that the bus was still there. You did it!

You walked quickly, smiling at Professor Woo, who kindly put your suitcase on the underside of the truck.

"We were waiting for you, miss Y/L/N" he said kindly, helping you up the steps.

"Oh no, am I the last one?" you asked, blushing with shame.

"That's right" said Professor Maximoff, smiling at you as you went upstairs.

Well, at least no one had noticed. The rest of your classmates were all talking to each other, laughing and some flirting, not paying attention to the fact that you had just arrived. Excellent.

Except ... oh no.

You looked for Nick, to go sit with him. Sadly, it looks like Dalton was ahead of you and your best friend was too busy flirting to have saved you a spot.

"Take a seat please Y/N" Wanda told you

"Uhm ... where?" you asked, pointing to your companions.

The red-haired woman followed your gaze and realized that you were right. All the seats were taken. That made her frown. They were supposed to have all seats counted, so she, Jimmy, and Agatha had taken the liberty of using two seats each. But it seems they had miscounted.

"Well, I suppose you will have to sit with one of us" she told you.

You nodded, but didn't move, not knowing exactly which of the three to sit next to.

Fortunately for you, you didn't have to make the decision.

Agatha had kept a sigh of relief from escaping her lips when she saw you and Jimmy getting on the bus. She had been biting her nails nervously.

Your choice of clothes had not gone unnoticed and she, taking care that neither Wanda nor Jimmy caught her, let her eyes roam your body. The dress fit too well on you, hugging all the right parts, and ended just above the knees, allowing her to observe your beautiful legs.

She was so busy scanning you with her gaze that she almost missed Wanda's comment. "I suppose you will have to sit down with one of us." Her reaction was almost automatic.

She got up and motioned for you to sit in the window seat. "Take a seat, miss Y/L/N" she said, a little anxious, but with a frown so that the others would think that she was simply desperate to leave.

You blinked before nodding and scooting into the seat. You tried not to show any emotion when the older woman sat next to you and her thigh brushed yours.

You didn't know if you wanted to curse Nick for abandoning you in favor of flirting, or if you wanted to kiss him. You had five hours to think about it from here to Salem.

Wait. Five hours. Five hours trapped between Agatha Harkness and the window and without the possibility of distracting yourself with your cell phone. Oh shit.

___________

"It's not as bad as I thought" said Wanda "You were right Aggs, it's the least troublesome group" she laughed

The older woman rolled her eyes without answering. Her friend was right, most of the students were behaving quite well. There was no excessive yelling, no one was getting up from their seats or causing trouble, everyone seemed more interested in catching up on gossip.

But that didn't mean she liked being there. Her head was already spinning and there were still another three hours to go. The only good thing she had was that you were next to her.

Sure, she had to act nonchalant with you, just trying to get you talking a few times (which didn't work, but at least you had smiled at her and that was enough for her), but she couldn't help stealing glances from you every now and then.

She had given you the place by the window with the excuse that she needed to be in the hallway so she could throw death glares at others and make sure everything was in order, but the truth was, she just wanted you to be able to see everything. So that you don't miss even the entrance to the town.

It had worked for a while, because you looked quite entertained. Until that moment.

When the brunette looked at you sideways, she could see that your eyelids seemed to weigh and how you were starting to nod. Agatha had to admit that a sleepy Y/N was probably the cutest thing she had seen in a long time.

You struggled to stay awake, but after two hours of staring out the window (you were definitely not looking at your teacher through the reflection, thank you very much) your eyes felt tired. Maybe, you could sleep for a while, and hopefully when you woke up, you would be arriving in Salem and you wouldn't have to deal with the blush on your cheeks caused by the mere presence of your crush by your side.

It seemed like a good plan.

Sighing and careful not to kick the older woman, you settled into the seat better, closing your eyes and blocking out the noise around you. It didn't take you long to fall asleep.

Agatha knew the exact moment you had been lost from the world of the living, when your head began to tilt a little. She inwardly cursed you for being so cute.

However, she froze when she realized that little by little, you were sticking closer to her.

At first it was just your head leaning in her direction, but then you were leaning on her shoulder. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling (actually, it was perfect), but it did make her pulse race, especially when you kept falling more and more on her, until you ended up with your head on her chest and basically using her breasts as a pillow.

"Ok, okay, don't panic, everything is fine" she thought "act normal, you are a teacher taking care of her student, nothing to see here"

But she could feel her heart racing at a thousand kilometers per hour and as much as she didn't want to wake you up, she doubted you couldn't hear it, you had your hearing just above it!

She was too busy trying not to move, not to bother you, that she didn't notice the knowing looks and smiles that her two colleagues shared.

When Wanda stood up to supervise the students in the background, she raised an eyebrow, smirking at Agatha. The older woman rolled her eyes and mumbled something about not wanting to wake you up out of mere politeness, but the truth was that her arms burned with the need to hold you and pull you closer to her.

____________

Wanda giggled and motioned for Jimmy to take a look at Agatha's seat. When the man did, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

At some point during the trip, the brunette had fallen asleep too, probably bored of not moving so as not to wake you up. However, it seemed like her precautions weren't working on autopilot, because the moment she fell asleep, she leaned on you, portraying a cute scene with you on the older woman's chest and Agatha's head on top of yours.

Wanda took out her cell phone and quickly took a photo of you two.

"This is gold" she whispered to Jimmy "this is valuable blackmail material, Harkness will have to do what I ask for at least a month"

"I guess I owe you 10 dollars" said the man.

When they were discussing the details of the trip, the redhead had told him her theory about how the brunette felt about you. Surprisingly, Jimmy hadn't been shocked, he didn't think the other woman had a crush on her student, but he wouldn't look down on Agatha if that was the case. They had both gambled on how long it would take for the woman to start being more obvious.

"And a coffee when we get to Salem" Wanda reminded him.

_____________

Agatha woke up when a particularly loud sound from the movie they were playing in the bus sounded from the speaker above her head. The woman blinked several times, before looking around her.

Jimmy seemed absorbed in the movie and Wanda was asleep. And God knew what the students were doing behind her.

But that was not the important thing. What mattered was the bulge in her arms.

Your hair had fallen over your face, so the older woman gently brushed it away, letting her fingers brush against your skin. You were a beautiful sight. You always were, sure, but just like that, asleep and vulnerable, you were just breathtaking.

Looking at the clock, Agatha knew that they were about to arrive in town, and although she didn't want to wake you up, really enjoying having you like this, she also wanted you to see everything. So she gently started shaking you to wake you up.

You groaned a bit at the annoyance, but in a few more moments your eyes began to open. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did, you frowned.

Why were you so low? You remembered falling asleep almost glued to the window, so why weren't you there? And why did you have a pillow? You hadn't brought a pillow with you.

It wasn't until you caught a familiar scent that you realized you weren't on a pillow. You were on top of your teacher. More specifically, on her chest. Shit.

You got up quickly, muttering an apology and trying desperately not to look at her. You just used Agatha Harkness as a pillow! What an idiot! She sure hates you now.

The older woman was a bit surprised when you jumped up, almost hitting her in the process. If it wasn't because you looked adorable with a red face, she would have tried to comfort you. Besides, she couldn't risk any of her colleagues finding out about her feelings for you.

So she didn't say anything, as if nothing had happened. But she was loving the nervous version of you more and more.

_______________

When you entered the city, you completely forgot the whole incident. Your mind quickly entertained with the landscape and you could see how all those witch tales came to life in front of your eyes. Definitely better than Disneyland.

Agatha couldn't help the pang of pride she felt when she saw your excited face. It was a good choice to sit you by the window. If anyone deserved to have the best possible experience in Salem, it was you.

She just hoped the rest of the trip would go without incidents. Not that she thought falling asleep on her was a bad thing, it was just that she trusted herself less and less to keep herself under control.

- - - - - - - - - - -

tags: @midnight-lestrange @everythingmarvelsherlockspn (tag not working) @amethyst-bitch @juliejules-089 @powerfulmagicalgirl (tag not working) @novohyde @annie-mit-ie​ @agentbrownierso​

[starlightstevie]

fic recs / may 2021

Happy summer! I know I missed last month’s fic recs so hopefully I’ll make up for it with these brilliant fics. Hope you guys enjoy!

warm water by @xbuchananbarnes​ Thor x reader: Thor comes home to find his love.

*passionate & burning by @peachyteabuck Thor x reader: You’re busy with working from home, but Thor has other plans for the day.

but i just wanna hear your voice by @blackberrybucky Thor x reader: Thor comes back after they defeat Thanos and tries to make things right with you.

*all there’s left to do is run by spacelabrathor Dothraki!Thor x reader: Horse warlord Thor finds you a captive in a raid of a desert village and gives you a choice. Freedom by a quick death or taking his hand and going with him, to be his. You choose life, and with it, a husband who is wild and fierce and more than you could have ever imagined.

*summoned by @darklydeliciousdesires​ Old God!Thor x villager!reader: The buffet of offerings, all of which shall placate, appease and satiate every whim and desire of the gods is laid out and ready, you amongst them.

ships in the night by @sugardaddytonystark Pirate King!Thor x Dora Milaje mermaid!reader: When Thor, the infamous Pirate King, lays down anchor in Wakanda, the last thing you expect is for him to ask for aid from your own king. You volunteer your assistance, leaving the home you’ve always known to set sail with King Odinson and his crew.

*cut offs by @milaonthemoon Frank x reader: You get kidnapped and Frank has to get you out.

tired by @castawaybarnes​ Frank x reader: Keeping yourself awake waiting for Frank was getting easier once you got used to the bitterness of black coffee.

*ash painted lips by @sebbytrash Frank x reader: Frank is your lifeline, protecting you like only he can do but you harbour not-so-secret feelings for him that threaten to shake the foundation of this steady, necessary partnership.

scales of justice weigh the consequence by @inspiresimagine​ Frank x reader: the world is black and white until you find your soulmate. you’re a single mom in NYC accustomed to life as-is, but apparently, the universe has other plans. namely? frank castle.

*generosity by @pumpkin-stars Frank x reader: AKA: The five (or more) things Frank usually does when he fucks you, and the one time he does something different.

poltergeists for sidekicks by @bubble-tea-bunny​ Frank x reader: Frank’s lost count of the days he’s come home to you already fast asleep.

*frank + overstimulation by @honeychicana

*frank + rough sex by @sweeterthanthis​

*frank + breath play by sweeterthanthis

*frank + doggy style by @honeydulcewrites​

*frank + gun play by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (2) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (3) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + overstimulation by honeydulcewrites

*frank coming home to you by honeydulcewrites

*untitled frank smut by @luciilferss​

*playing with frank’s hair by inspiresimagine

frank + praise by inspiresimagine

*frank putting you in a headlock while fucking you by @punani​

*nobody else but me by @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ Shane Walsh x reader: Shane knows exactly what you need.

the comet by @mcubabydotcom​ Steve x reader: You and Steve witness a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.

*the punishment by ozarkthedog Nomad!Steve x reader: You disobeyed Steve and now you must make it up to him.

*headinthequinjet by xbuchananbarnes Steve x reader: Steve’s having a hard time breathing.

*shotgunning with chris by ozarkthedog

*cockwarming with chris by @buckyssimp​

*a teal crushed velvet ride by @ozarkthedog​ Chris x reader: You love Chris’s Teal Velvet Pants. He notices and decides to indulge you.

*don’t look away by ozarkthedog Chris x reader: Chris fucks you against a mirror.

*keep the heat by ozarkthedog Andy Barber x reader: Andy fucks you in the coat.

*i don’t work jobs (i am a job) by @peachyteabuck Andy x reader: Andy needs to teach you that “staying at home” doesn’t preclude a little thing called “work.”

*worst behaviour by buckyssimp Professor!Bucky x reader: Bucky notices you staring at him during class. 

*lipstick stain by @xbuchananbarnes​ Bucky x reader: Bucky could recognize that laugh anywhere.

bucky takes care of you by @buckyblues

*you better act like this dick belongs to you by buckyblues

*lazy day with bucky by buckyblues

*pegging bucky by buckyblues

*bucky tit fucking you by buckyblues

something new by @mxsamwilson​ Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes: Fellas is it gay to receive an intimate haircut from your boy? (ft Bucky being hopelessly in love with Sam but too much of an idiot to tell him).

*the magic word by @whateveriwant Bucky x reader: Bucky agrees to try something you’ve always wanted to do with him, but only under the condition that a certain word be employed if need be.

warm by @revengingbarnes​ Bucky x reader: “The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?”

patterns by @xbuchananbarnes Bucky x reader: Bucky plays with your hair.

pretending to not feel alone by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: Bucky, hopeless romantic, meets you, committed cynic. What could go wrong?

*bucky’s first time in 70 years by @luciilferss

*fluorescent adolescent by @ohbuckie​ College!Bucky x reader: Bucky fucks you on his bedroom floor.

*it’s a cruel summer by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: You and Bucky are friends with benefits, but what happens when you realize you want more?

*sex on legs by @navybrat817​ Bucky x reader: Bucky looks good in anything.

ride with me by @jurassicbarnes Detective!Bucky x Biker!reader: When his best friend forces him to third wheel on a road trip, Bucky doesn’t expect for it to become so eventful, let alone find something, or rather someone worth staying for.

*going live by @ritesofreverie​ Camboy!Bucky x reader: Your new neighbour looks familiar, where had you seen him before?

*stranded by @honeysucklesteve Dad’s best friend!Bucky x reader: When your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing.

if i could fly, i’d be coming right back home to you by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Exile over, Sam comes home to you.

baby, i still see ya by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Sam comes home, the future calling to him. He sees you again, and gets a little caught up in the past

*if you ever want to be in love by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: How your relationship with Sam falls apart and comes back together.

taller than me by @kaitsukibakugo Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya: Katsuki has found love with someone who years ago he never would have expected. Now Deku is his husband and he’s noticed something else he never thought possible: Deku is taller than him.

*would you like to stay forever? by kaitsukibakugo Pro Hero!Kirishima Eijiro x reader: Sparring with Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro in his private gym at his home doesn't seem like a bad idea if you don't count the fact that you really, really like him.

how your bnha fave acts when they realize they’re in love by @inthorantine

*bnha love island headcannons by @doinmybesthere​

*first time bj headcannons by @shoutogepi

*the best pussy eater of mha by @dearestdynamight​

passing the night stars by @hoe-doroki Hitoshi Shinsou x reader: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

*let’s talk about deku’s hands by @rat-suki​

*waking up deku by spacelabrathor

*deku comes home after a late shift by doinmybesthere

*slow stroke king izuku by @sems-diarie​​

*champagne problems by @some-kindofgnome​ Katsuki Bakugou x reader: You were slipping between Bakugou’s fingers faster than ever now. Instead of letting it happen he clung to you even tighter. Instead of letting you go, instead of accepting that he’d driven this relationship into the fucking ground, he’d promised himself that he could still save it.

*presented by @tteokdoroki​ Dragon King!Katsuki x reader: On the twenty-first birthday of Katsuki Bakugou, an offering is made in his honour as he becomes chief of the dragons. Clans usually offer up sacrifices of berries or nuts, salts and fresh catches. But for those of Dargon’s blood, their offering is a mate... And that mate is you.

*domina by rat-suki Katsuki x reader: He’s just so hot when you get under his skin. You can’t possibly stop now.

*baby, i’m a haunted house by @ketslketslketsl​ Yakuza!Katsuki x reader: It’s been a long six months since you last saw him.

i’m a liability, get you wild, make you leave (i’m a little much for everyone) by @willowser Katsuki x reader: There’s no reason for Katsuki to be here. It’s all he can think, bitter, as he stares at the paint peeling from the door, exposing the wood grain underneath its thin coat. Old and distant, this house; too far from the city to make the trek worth it, for your job to make sense; too ancient to be lived in by the number 12 hero in Japan. If he closes his eyes, he can hear Lake Biwa from his position on your porch and the soft sway of the water almost calms down the storm that’s been building in him since he boarded the train, since he nearly snapped his phone in half.

*we are the foxes (and we run) by @spacelabrathor shoyo hinata x reader: After everything, the end of the world and the chaos and destruction that reigned after society fell, it takes a lot to surprise you. And yet, when you come to the edge of the pit, a gasp wrenches from you like someone gripped it in their fist and yanked. Laid out on the bed of leaves at the bottom of the pit is...something. Someone. Or, Hinata falls into reader’s pit trap after the end of the world. This is the story of how she pulls him out, drags him to her bunker, and they grow together. 

*dark priest!Obiwan Kenobi by @mandosmimi​

you’re the former babysitter of zemo’s son by @helahades​

*mando doesn’t realize how big his dick is by @cptnbvcks​​

[theasstour]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

Monday, 25 September 2017

It was strange to Y/N that she was enjoying herself as much as she was just then in an educational setting. In school, she had never really liked any of the subjects besides English, and here at uni, she got to sit and listen to professors who were truly experts on English literature ramble on about Othello and specific analysis on act 3 scene 3. She loved every single second of it, and was sure she could sit there for hours on end just listening to her professors. At one point she was sure this would all get tiring and she’d hate University, but in that moment, hearing her professor, Richard, talk about things that truly interested her, was such a breath of fresh air compared to what she had experienced previously.

The door to the lecture hall opened, and since the doors were right by the blackboard where Richard stood talking about Othello and the ‘temptation’ scene, all eyes landed on the blonde girl in pink shorts and a white jumper. She smiled at Richard, mouthing a “sorry” before taking the first free seat she could find, which was conveniently right beside Y/N. The two girls shared a small smile themselves before Y/N went back to focusing on the lecture happening in front of her. Y/N was hunched over her notebook, writing something off from the PowerPoint slide displayed on the wall in front of her. She did not know how much time went by, she was listening too intently to care about that, but suddenly, the blonde beside her rested her back against the seat and leaned a little closer to Y/N.

“This is quite boring, innit?”

Y/N looked to her left, and to her surprise, realised that the girl who had walked in late was Chloe. The same Chloe who she had met when she registered a week and some ago. She must have been too caught up in the lecture to pay proper attention to her surroundings.

Chloe let out a small chuckle, nodding in the direction of the PowerPoint before she continued to whisper. “The lecture. I knew we’d be discussing Shakespeare in Introduction to English Studies, but Othello’s just fucking boring, innit?”

“I…” Y/N looked at the PowerPoint for a few seconds, then back at Chloe. “Sure.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Chloe just studying Y/N, eyes searching her face. “You like Othello.”

Y/N felt a sudden urge to relate to Chloe. Since they had met earlier and since she hadn’t made tons of friends on her course yet, she wanted Chloe to be her mate. If they got off on the wrong foot today, they might never sit next to each other again.

“It’s not as good as Twelfth Night, not as bad as Julius Caesar.”

Chloe continued to just look at Y/N, but suddenly, a smile came creeping over her lips. “Take it you like Shakespeare.”

“I like analysing his work, yeah.”

“More of a Modernism, and sometimes Postmodernism, girl myself.”

“I’m not big on either of those.”

Chloe let out a small chuckle again. “You won’t be taking Postmodernism next year then?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Chloe only crossed her arms and stared ahead, still smiling. For a second Y/N was afraid she might have said something to make Chloe detest her, but the next, she reminded herself that she had to live her truth regardless of what anyone said about it. “Guess we’ll just have to enjoy each other’s company in the core modules then.”

Y/N felt a few butterflies in her stomach at that and could not help smiling back at Chloe when their eyes met again.

“How come I haven’t seen you at any Freshers parties yet?” Chloe asked.

“Been busy applying to jobs and such,” Y/N explained. “Gotta get one as fast as possible ‘cause I need money to live.”

“Ahh, fair.” Chloe nodded. “One of my course mates, Hayden – think they’re up there somewhere –“ Chloe pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating further up the lecture hall. “Has decided they’re going to start an Uno society.”

“Uno?” Y/N frowned. “As in the card game?”

“Yeah,” Chloe laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be nice and all, but they’re very passionate about it. Have yet to come out with me, Thian, and Annalise. Those are my other course mates, by the way.”

Y/N nodded. Was she just incompetent at making friends or was Chloe just very good at it? How had she made so many friends, made a small group by the sounds of it, and Y/N had barely talked to anyone on her course yet?

“Hayden promised to come out this Friday, though,” Chloe smiled. “You should come, too.”

For some reason, both nerves and excitement rushed through Y/N at that. She smiled back. “I’d love that.”

“Wicked. It’s at my Dinwiddy flat.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Uni accommodation at Helmond is a huge piss take, I tell you. I feel like there’s mould everywhere.”

“That’s just UK houses in general. We’ll all die from it one day.”

“It’s literally disgusting,” Chloe said. “Also, one of my flatmates never does his dishes. It’s minging. And it’s started smelling, too.”

“Oh, my days.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad I just immediately moved in with my best mate instead of going through the whole uni accommodation thing. At least I can be assured that they do their dishes and no food’s left on the kitchen counter for too long.”

“Oh, that sounds lush.”

The people around Y/N and Chloe were all starting to pack their things and get out of their seats. Seeing as the two of them were sat by the edge of the row, they had to get up rather fast and let people through. So, that’s what they did. Y/N put her notebook and pencil case in her rucksack and slung it onto her back before she and Chloe made their way out of the lecture hall and out into the hallway beyond.

“There they are,” Chloe grinned, waving as she saw a small group of three standing by the wall a bit further down. “Come say hi.” Though Chloe wasn’t looking at her, Y/N assumed she was talking to her, so she followed her over to the rest. “Gang, this is Y/N, the one I met while we were both registering.”

“Ah, you’ll be Y/N, then,” a man with protruding cheekbones, a strong jawline, and deep set, brown eyes said. The Viet man’s smile lit up the room they were standing in, and it made Y/N’s overthinking ebb. “I’m Thian, pleasure to meet you. Chloe told us she met you, but never saw you since.”

“Proper rude of the universe to keep us away from each other for so long,” Chloe said.

“I’m Hayden,” a smaller person said with the greenest eyes and long brown hair. They too had a smile like Thian’s, but this one displayed crooked teeth, which made Y/N more at ease with her own bottom teeth that were the same.

“And I’m Annalise,” the last one said, her hair dyed an unnatural dark red colour that Y/N absolutely loved. “I think I saw you in a Critical Reading seminar.”

“Oh, yeah, I think we might be.”

“We’ll have to sit next to each other next time!”

Y/N could detect a slight accent, but she could not tell where Annalise was originally from. She suspected Germany, there were tons of international students here after all, but Y/N did not want to assume.

“Guys, we have to plan the first Uno society meeting,” Hayden said, looking at the time on their phone. “It was so nice to meet you, Y/N, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

She just smiled. “No, totes get that. I need to get back to my flat, anyway.”

“See you around, then,” Chloe smiled, waving as the four of them walked off.

Y/N walked home to Orsman Road. Though she knew there would be less walking if they took the tube, it would also mean that she had to walk on and off boiling hot tube trains and stations, and she was not about to do that. She was sweating enough in the late September sun as it was, she did not need the tube to contribute to her sweat moustache as well. Instead, she plugged her earbuds in and listened to her most recent playlist on Spotify, humming along to her favourite tunes as she walked.

She stopped by Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland station, buying herself a sausage roll and an iced latte before walking the rest of the stretch home. Hackney bustled around her, with tons of cars, double deckers, and mopeds driving by, as well as all types of people milling to and from work. The early autumn sun was still a little too hot, but it seemed like most Londoners were soaking up the sun while they could. They were walking by in shorts, tee shirts, and summer dresses, while the only reason why Y/N was dressed in her tee shirt and trousers, was so she would not quite literally go up in flames on the way home.

Y/N arrived at Orsman Road not long after her trip to Gregg’s, and walked up to the flat. She locked the door once she was indoors, checking the kitchen and the living room to see if anyone was there. To no one’s surprise, none of her three other student flatmates were home in the middle of the day on a Monday. She walked up the stairs and to her room, letting her door be open so she could air out a bit more. Her windows had been open all day, so her room smelled fresher than normal as she entered. That just reminded her that she had to buy some scented candles or air fresheners to liven up her room.

Putting her rucksack down by her door, Y/N started looking through the two bags that she had yet to pack out from. In one was most of the stuff she’d put on her desk when she finally bought that, and in the other were loads of decorations that she had yet to bring forth. She started pulling out fairylights that she wanted to hang across her room or over her wall, when she heard footsteps. Out of the door directly to the right once you came up the stairs, came a man with short dark hair and a strong build, thin lips and pale skin. He must have heard movements outside his door, because his eyes landed on Y/N almost right away. However, he smiled at her and Y/N immediately knew who this was.

“You’re Y/N, then,” Mason said, walking over to stand in the doorway of her room. “Mason, your third flatmate.”

“Thought I’d never run into you,” Y/N smiled, making his smile grow.

“Yeah, got here like two days ago, and have been all over the place since. Helped some of my mates move into their flats, been at work, and at rugby practice.”

She nodded. “Busy man.”

“Very busy.”

“Lucky I caught you now, then.”

Mason nodded his head. “Would have eventually. Knowing Nath, he’ll probably end up forcing us all to bond as a flat at one point.”

“Sounds horrific.”

“It was. It will be,” Mason laughed, leaning against the doorframe and pushing his hands into his grey joggers.

Y/N furrowed her brows. “It was? He’s done it before?”

“Yeah, our first year. He made everyone in our flat bond, he especially talked about flat yoga sessions and shopping trips when he was drunk or high as a kite.”

She dropped the fairylights and turned her full attention on Mason. “You lived together your first year?”

Mason just looked at Y/N, blinking a few times. “Yeah.”

“All three of you?”

“All three of us. Me, Nathan, Harry, and like five girls.”

Y/N felt like screaming, but lucky for her dignity and Mason’s ears, the front door opened and closed. Nathan’s singing could be heard all the way upstairs. Instead of screaming, Y/N called Nathan’s name, not caring that Mason saw just how annoyed she was now. Poor bloke had no idea what he’d just said. Nathan strolled up the stairs and looked in Y/N’s room’s direction, his face lit up at the sight of Mason and Y/N together.

“What a view!” he grinned. “What’re you two bonding over?”

“Right now we’re bonding over being your friend,” Y/N said.

“Which I’m sure you’re both honoured to be, yes.”

“And I just heard you’ve lived with Mason and Harry for the last year, but have not told me,” Y/N said, ignoring Nathan’s previous comment.

Nathan looked to Mason, and then back at Y/N. “No, Harry moved in later. He lived in another flat first, hated it, and since him and Mason were good mates, he got to move into our place since one of our flatmates dropped out our first week.”

Not caring that she would smudge her makeup, Y/N ran her hands over her face. “How long did he live there, Nate?”

Silence for a second or two. “Start of second semester till we moved out.”

Y/N let go of a heavy sigh. “Nathan, why didn’t you just tell me?-“

“-I know, I know, I know,” Nathan started, walking into Y/N’s room and sitting down on the floor beside her. “I’m a shite friend.”

“You really fucking are,” Y/N said, swatting Nathan’s hand away when he tried to take hers. “Harry was both of our friend when he lived in Notts those months, and I literally had sex with him.”

Mason took a small step back in pure shock, blinking rapidly as if an eyelash fell onto his eye.

“Don’t I have a right to know you’re living with him?” Y/N asked.

“You do. Of course, you do. I just… I thought I told you at one point, and when I got home and I found out I hadn’t told you… I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“How about just telling me?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Instead of hiding it from me like that.”

“Technically, I didn’t hide anything ‘cause I thought I-“

“-Nathan, I’ll literally skin you alive-“

“-Fine, I should have told you,” he groaned, taking her hand this time and holding it tight in his. “How can I make it up to you?”

Y/N thought for a moment, but came up with the perfect solution. “By coming with me when I go out with my course mates on Friday?”

Nathan just looked at her, blinking once. “My punishment is to… go out with you and your mates?”

“Yes. I barely know them, I need moral support. No matter how bad the person giving me said support actually is.”

Nathan looked down at their hands, patting hers slightly. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks.”

He continued to look down at their hands as Mason’s quiet footsteps back to his room sounded throughout the first floor. “I do have a lecture that finishes at 7pm-“

“-You’ll skip that lecture if you so have to.-”

“-Yes, ma’am,” Nathan answered without hesitation, kissing her hand and getting up from the floor. He gave her a small smile. “And I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you.”

Y/N nodded. “Is there… Is there more you haven’t told me? In regards to Harry?”

Nathan pretended to think for a few seconds, eyes getting big as if he remembered something.

“Nath?”

He chuckled. “No, nothing.”

Y/N hit him on his calf before he walked away. “You’re bloody buying the first round of drinks on Friday.”

“As I should,” was all Nathan said before he danced off to his room. Y/N picked up her fairylights again, trying to get them out of the messy tangle they were currently in so she could finally make this room look like her and her new home.

Friday, 29 September 2017

Y/N was nervous. She was usually nervous before going someplace she had never been before, or to meet people she had never met, but it was never like this. Her nerves were almost always drowned by her natural eagerness to be around people, to be surrounded by friends and strangers. However, this, her first pre-drinks at uni with other people, had her feeling a little too nervous for her own tastes.

She loved parties. Fuck, if she could party every single day, she would. She did not care about the hangover that came the following day, as long as she had a good time the night before. At home in Nottingham, she would have loved to party as much as she had in London, but for some reason, meeting as many new people as she had, made her nervous for some reason. It was weird to Y/N because she loved making friends, but it was different here. She had yet to figure out what about University that triggered this reaction out of her.

A knock sounded at her door and she grunted, which Nathan took as a good enough sign for him to be allowed entrance. He grinned, sitting down on Y/N’s fluffy dark blue duvet cover and looked his best friend up and down.

“Lush,” he said.

Y/N glanced at the mirror in front of her again, running her hands down her sides. Her black ruched detail ribbed crop top fit her perfectly, making her tits look exceptionally good, and the gold necklace and earrings topped it all off. The crop jeans in light wash blue were tightened at the waist by a black belt with silver eyelets, the black lace up boots made her almost as tall as Nathan. Though Y/N had been out on town in Nottingham with this very same outfit, she was unsure about it now. There was a familiar fear in the back of her head; one that had not visited in a while, one that would lay low until it saw fit to paralyse her. Y/N was experiencing only the tip of the iceberg now. The rest would reveal itself later, it would all melt and drown her in nervous ticks and anxious tendencies.

God, she hated how nervous she was. This was not like her at all. Nathan knew this, which was why he picked up on how unusually quiet his best friend was. He got up from where he was seated on the bed, walking over to Y/N and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“What’s up?”

She took a deep breath, looking at him in the mirror. “You remember the party at Jack Lloyd’s?”

“When we were 17?”

“Yeah, and I was nervous to wear that tight-fitting dress? ‘Cause of my stomach?”

“Yes, even though you had no reason to be nervous.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m feeling like that now,” she admitted. “Not as intensely, but it’s there and… I haven’t felt this nervous about being seen in a long time.”

“What do you mean ‘being seen’?”

“When… When you’ve had and still have a hard time accepting yourself, it’s hard to let others look at your body ‘cause you don’t want to exist outside your own head, if that makes sense? Being seen means people will have an opinion, it means they’ll piece together this image of you before even getting to know you. It means them judging you on your looks alone before they get to actually know you.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders a little, Nathan squeezing them ever so slightly. “My confidence is much better now, but I still have those moments every so often when that 17-year-old girl I used to be will come back and whisper something discouraging into my ear.”

Nathan nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck and bringing her to him. She melted into her best friend, taking a grip of his forearms. “I know it’s much easier said than done, but focus on now. You’ve come so far, and though that 17-year-old is part of the reason why you are who you are today, she’s got nothing to do here. 19-year-old Y/N has come so far, she has no time revisiting the past ‘cause she’s going to a party tonight, and it’ll be fucking fantastic, yeah?”

Y/N chuckled, closing her eyes as Nathan planted an encouraging kiss to her cheek. “Guess you’re right.”

“Of course I fucking am.”

She laughed.

“Now, get your vodka, tequila, sourz, or whatever the fuck you’re drinking, and let’s go.” Nathan let go of her and walked to the door, opening it. “You got Chloe’s address?”

“Yeah, it’s Dinwiddy, flat 10.”

“Uni accommodation?”

Y/N huffed, reaching for her purse and putting it over her shoulder. “Did you expect my first-year mates to live anywhere else?”

“Not really. Dunno why I’m shocked.”

Y/N searched through her purse, checking she had everything she needed before reaching for her plastic bag where her drinks were.

“Still remember when I lived in Coopers Court with Harry and Mason. Oh, how time flies.”

Y/N stopped short, narrowing her eyes. “I still cannot believe you didn’t tell me anything about you living in the same flat as Harry your first year at uni.”

Nathan sighed.

“Cannot believe you didn’t tell me he went to Helmond. Cannot believe you wanted us to live together without at least informing me-“

“-Mate, are we done with this?”

“Don’t think I’ll ever be done. You tricked me into this.”

“I did not.”

“What did you think was gonna happen when I found out?”

“We’ve been over this,” Nathan said. “I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Harry did not react like this when I told him I promised to live with you my second year, your first year.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, having already heard this.

“In fact, he did not mind one bit living with you.”

“I mind living with him.”

“Clearly, or else we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”

Y/N tutted, walking past Nathan and down the stairs. “I’ll let this argument be for the time being, but expect me to pick it back up again tomorrow when my mind’s not all over the place. I want to be able to fucking destroy you.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

Y/N and Nathan started walking in the direction of Dinwiddy, the biggest uni accommodation at Helmond, where most students ended up staying. Parmiter Street was a mere 30-minute walk away, and though they could have easily taken the tube, they both knew that it would be best for them to get some fresh air before drinking. Y/N also wanted to walk off some of her anxiety, though she was fairly certain that would not happen. On one hand she was looking forward to meeting Chloe and the rest of her English Lit gang, on the other, she was nervous. Her nerves came more from fear of experiencing the same blinding anxiety she had when she was younger, for that same feeling of helplessness and bottomlessness that it had brought her. What if it appeared when she was drinking? What if it got worse as she got drunk?

She hated how moving away to London and to University had brought her so much doubt. It was like she had to figure out who she was all over again. Here, it was only Nathan who knew her. Well… him and Harry, but the latter did not count. If Y/N so wanted, she could become a new version of herself. She knew that was something uni offered; finding a new you and shaping it into a person you want to be. There were several things Y/N wished she could change about herself. She had a horrible temper, was a little too loud at times, took many things far too personal, and more. She was unsure how much independence and a new environment could help make her a better version of herself, but she hoped Helmond and London could help her to some degree.

Once they arrived at Parmiter Street, Nathan walked straight onto Dinwiddy campus grounds and showed them the way to flat 10. The brown brick buildings rose five storeys high around them, shaping a small T formation with some benches along the stone path where people could sit on the few occasions when the weather would allow it. Nathan had been there the year before, loads of his friends from his Criminology course had lived at Dinwiddy accommodation and therefore hosted pre-drinks there. Nathan knew his way around, and, sure enough, he showed them right to flat 10. On the right hand-side, the first building, Nathan strolled over to the entrance.

He met Y/N’s eyes, trying to get a picture of just how nervous she was. After all, these were her friends, and had they been home in Nottingham, she would not have been this nervous at all. Nathan was not anxious at all, and he had never talked to – never met – Chloe or any of Y/N’s course mates.

“Listen,” Nathan said, giving Y/N a small smile. “If it gets too much, we’ll just go home, yeah? I won’t leave your side.”

Y/N smiled back, nodding her head. “Yeah. I’ll send Chloe a text saying we’re here.”

“We could just ring the doorbell.”

She looked at him. “Nath.”

“Y/N.”

“What were phones invented for if we’re just gonna ring people’s doorbells? I’m sending her a text.”

Nathan reached forward and rang the doorbell, making Y/N raise her eyebrows at him and take a deep breath as not to throw him against the brick building.

“Yes?” came from the speakers beside the doorbells. It was Chloe.

Nathan nudged Y/N, nodding in the direction of the speakers. She glared at him. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ahh, brill!” Chloe unlocked the door for them and Nathan opened it, letting Y/N enter first. They walked over to the stairs, looking at a sign there that showed them flat 10 at the topmost storey.

“They don’t even have a bloody lift, do they?” Y/N asked Nathan as she looked around.

“Gotta walk, mate.”

“Fuck me,” Y/N groaned as they began their ascent.

“I’d rather not.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed a bit. They made it to the fourth floor, and Y/N knocked on the door as Nathan breathed heavily beside her.

“Hi,” Chloe smiled as she opened the door, stepping aside to let Y/N and Nathan in.

“Hiya,” Y/N smiled back, feeling her heart beat hard inside her chest. Something about Chloe’s smile, the reminder that she had invited Y/N over, that she wanted her there, settled atop Y/N’s shoulders, making them sag to a comfortable level. “Brought my housemate, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” Chloe said, turning to Nathan.

“Nathan,” he smiled. “Thanks for letting me come here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chloe said, closing the door and showing them the way down a corridor towards the shared living space where a heavy bass was throbbing. The fluorescent lights overhead in the hallway resembled those at a petrol station, making Y/N squint as she entered the living room. There sat everyone she had the pleasure of meeting earlier that week. Hayden, Annalise, and Thian were all  around the table with a glass each to drink. Y/N smiled at them, waving her hand as they all grinned back at her. She still felt like she was intruding.

“Y/N, Nathan, do you like sambuca?” Chloe asked, walking over to the kitchen bench to fetch plastic shot glasses.

“Never say no to sambuca, ey?” Nathan grinned, nodding for Y/N to go sit down so he could follow her lead. “We’ll have a shot each of you’re handing out.”

“I am, indeed,” Chloe said, getting two shot glasses and walking over to the table, placing the glasses in front of Nathan who looked absolutely ecstatic.

“Thanks, babe,” Y/N said.

“You lot playing a drinking game?” Nathan asked, getting his drinks out to mix them all together into his paper cup.

“Yeah, we’re playing Never Have I Ever,” Hayden answered. “However, if no one drinks, everyone’s got to take a sip except for the person asking, but the person asking’s gotta take two if no one drinks.”

“Ahh, alright,” Nathan said. “Creative. Love it.”

“This is Y/N’s friend, Nathan, by the way, guys,” Chloe said as she came back over with shots for everyone.

“Oh, yeah, this is Nathan. He’s a second-year, we live in a flat together in Haggerston.” Y/N suddenly felt stupid for not introducing him right away so that Chloe had to. She felt her cheeks heat up, but she refused to look like she felt headless. Instead, she got her vodka and cranberry juice out, mixing it as Nathan spoke beside her.

“We’ve known each other forever, so she moved in with me and my flatmates this year instead of moving into uni accommodation,” he elaborated.

“You knew each other in Nottingham?” Chloe asked, and, for some reason, the fact that Chloe remembered that made Y/N feel all kinds of warm.

“Yeah, been best friends for years.”

“How nice that you got to live together here,” Chloe smiled in Nathan’s direction, then at Y/N.

“It is, isn’t it?” Nathan said, looking at Y/N and giving her a small wink before going back to his drink.

“Right, we need to take advantage of being first-years and get drunk as often as possible,” Thian said. “So, tonight needs to be good.”

“It’ll be good regardless,” Annalise retorted, taking one of the shots from the tray Chloe had brought to the table.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Hayden asked.

Thian nodded. “Pub or club?”

“Don’t really feel like clubbing tonight, you know what I mean?” Chloe asked, the other three coming with exclamations of agreement or nodding slightly. “Pub then?”

“We have a pub right by us,” Nathan said. “Only 30 minutes away and it’s the best one in Haggerston, in my opinion anyway.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose some. “The Stag’s Head?”

“Yeah, it’s always full and they sometimes got live music and everything.”

“We could go there, yeah,” Chloe said. “If everyone’s in.”

“Could we take a bus there?” Hayden asked.

“30 minutes isn’t a long walk, though,” Chloe chuckled. “As long as Nathan and Y/N show the way, we won’t get lost.”

“Don’t count on my navigational skills when I’m under the influence, babes,” Nathan said, making the others laugh.

“We’re better off using Google Maps, he might just show the way to the Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland where he thinks the entire staff’s got a crush on him,” Y/N said before taking a sip of her drink, laughter erupting again. It felt good, like a pat on the shoulder, and Y/N instantly eased. Maybe she had not lost her old self at all, maybe she could still feel at ease, even around new people.

“They all flirt with me, and who can blame them?” Nathan shrugged his shoulders, whipping his head to the side so his lush, curly red hair dangled at the top of his head, grinning his wide smile and making the lip piercing shine in the fluorescent lights overhead.

The rest of the night went on, and it was easier to talk to everyone as time progressed. Not only because Y/N got more and more intoxicated, but she also just felt better after getting to know them all. Hayden always laughed the loudest, and their laughter was also very infectious, making it hard not to chuckle along with them. Annalise, though she sometimes stuttered over a few English words, was incredibly considerate and would urge Y/N to continue on with her story when others did not hear her. Thian offered Y/N tons of shots and complimented her on her outfit, making it easier for Y/N to feel good and seen, as she had been terrified of back at the flat. Chloe was easily the boss, and did most of the talking, though no one seemed to mind. After all, Chloe had introduced everyone to everyone, so people knew her the best out of everyone.

As time went on, Y/N just felt better. It was easier to talk to everyone and, at one point, she thought she was back at home in Nottingham, introducing herself to strangers at a party. They all made it easy to forget just how nervous she had been. It made her look forward to seeing them in her other lectures and seminars the coming week and all those weeks after that. Maybe these were the people she would spend her time at University with, and that excited her.

Bottles emptied and the volume inside the uni flat had increased massively. It was close to 9 when Chloe suggested they leave, and assured Y/N that she could leave the little she had left of her vodka at her place to pick up another day. Y/N took her up on the offer, insides warm from both alcohol and Chloe’s hospitality.

Nathan showed the way towards Haggerston and The Stag’s Head, arm entwined with Y/N’s for most of the way there. At one point however, Y/N let go of him and ended up walking beside Annalise and Thian, talking about one of the texts they had to read by Tuesday. It was such a mundane conversation, complaining about course work and talking about coming deadlines, that it felt like they had been mates for ages. The chat flowed so easily, the laughter rolled off their tongues, and it just made sense for all of them to be together, walking along the dark London streets in their tipsy states, making their way towards what would hopefully be the first of many trips to a pub.

They arrived at Orsman Road and they could hear The Stag’s Head before they saw it. Y/N had never paid it much attention. She knew she would end up popping by once or twice during her time at uni, but she had not envisioned her checking it out that first week. Nathan held the door open for everyone, resting a hand at Y/N’s back as he followed her indoors last.

The pub was small, but Y/N was sure that it was bigger than it appeared late on a Friday evening. Straight ahead, in a V formation, stood the bar, a wall filled with bottles of all alcohol imaginable behind it, lit up by red light which fit the dark red of the counter surrounding it. Far down to the left, it seemed the rest of the pub disappeared from view, but judging by the stairs Y/N could see, she supposed there was a loo somewhere in that direction, and it also looked to be where one could go to reach the smoking area. People were both sat and stood by the bar as well as booths along the walls. What appeared to be the stage further down to the right was unoccupied by any performers, though a few lads stood there with a pint each. There were no free tables, and this put a damper on the mood quite quickly.

Nathan, however, pulled them all towards the smoking area and they were all pleasantly surprised to see a free table and two benches untouched. Fairylights hung over the outdoor space, from the house and over to the fence on the other side. It lit up just enough, made it possible to see, but not too bright for people to squint when walking out into the night. A few empty pints and a smoky ash tray stood in the middle of the table, but Nathan put the glasses on the brick fence before everyone sat down.

“Alright, I’ll pay for your drink,” Nathan said, smiling at Y/N. “Anyone wanna come to the bar? Y/N’ll watch the table.”

“Ah, yes.” Chloe got up, the rest of the gang following along and walking towards one of the two entrances to the pub. Y/N got her phone out, looking to see if she had any notifications she had to check out, but there were none. She was about to resolve to scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, when she heard a slightly familiar voice.

“Hi there.” Mason sat down on the edge of the opposite bench, a cigarette in hand and a small smile on his lips. “Didn’t know you and Nath would come here tonight.”

“Oh, hiya,” Y/N smiled. “No, we didn’t know where we’d go after pre-drinks. He suggested this place, so we brought some of my course mates with us here.”

“You going out later?”

“No, think we’re just gonna stay here.”

“Yeah, this is a chill place,” Mason said, puffing out some smoke.

“This is my first time here.”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “Is it?”

Y/N smiled. “You think I should’ve come here earlier?”

“More to do with the fact that our flat just loves this place, thought Nathan would’ve at least taken you here already.”

“He did now.”

“It’s my favourite pub around here, and Harry-“

“-Mase!” Nathan exclaimed, grinning as he came over with two gin and tonics. “You’re here as well!”

“Yeah, it’s a Friday night, innit?”

“Hi,” Chloe said, sitting down beside Mason with a wide grin on her face. It seemed like she wanted to introduce herself or to be introduced, but before Y/N could say anything, the conversation resumed.

“Hey,” Mason answered, looking back to Nathan who seemed to be ecstatic to see one of his flatmates. “Hear you haven’t taken Y/N here till now.”

Nathan sighed. “Not like I didn’t want to, just haven’t gotten the opportunity.”

“What’s so good about this place?” Y/N asked, looking from Nathan to Mason.

“Just close, innit? Also, it’s crowded, but it’s not as crowded as most pubs down by Kingsland Road,” Nathan elaborated.

“You lot have a good night, yeah? Need to get back to my mates.” Mason leaned past Chloe, stumping the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray before he got up, walking over to a big group of lads. Chloe stared after him as the rest of the conversation around the table started back up again, Y/N pretended to not see how she was checking him out. It felt like she was intruding on a moment that was not meant for anyone but Mason to see.

“You’re living with him?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s well fit.”

“Guess.”

Chloe giggled. “You’re taking the rule to not shag one of your flatmates seriously, then?”

“Shouldn’t everyone?” Thian asked, furrowing his brows. “It only complicates everything.”

“How? It’s only a shag. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with them,” Chloe said.

“Can’t really control your emotions, though.” Nathan shrugged. “Two of my flatmates last year shagged. He had feelings for her, she just wanted a one night stand. Didn’t end well.”

Y/N put her drink back down on the table after a long sip. “Well, if you’re clear beforehand and make it clear that it’s only for this night and there’s no emotions behind it other than temporary bliss, then that’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Hayden said, shaking their head. “It’s an unwritten rule. Don’t shag your flatmates.”

“Is it a serious rule?” Annelise asked, furrowing her brows.

“It’s got serious consequences,” Hayden answered.

“But if you’re both aware it’s only a one time thing, then is it serious?” Y/N asked.

“Babe, sex is complicated. You’re always just gonna be connected in a way, you know?” Nathan said.

“I can promise you I’m not connected to Ollie Lee in any way, shape, or form,” Y/N huffed, sipping her drink again as Nathan laughed, the other joining in because of Y/N’s obvious distaste in this Ollie Lee.

“Was he awful in bed?” Chloe asked, smiling as she looked between Nathan and Y/N.

“No, I was just desperate one night last year.” Y/N rolled her eyes at herself. “Let’s just say that mid-shag he asked me if I had to go to the toilet, and when I said no, he told me that whenever I felt like I had to, just pee on him instead.”

Gasps erupted around the table, and a second later, everyone started howling with laughter. Nathan kept on hitting his thigh, leaning into Y/N and laughing. Though it was a fairly embarrassing story on Y/N’s part, her definite lowest of low, she could not help feeling good about making everyone laugh like this. Looking around at everyone, she suddenly felt very good about herself, despite this being her worst sex story ever.

It was not like Y/N had fucked her way through Nottingham and had tons of stories to tell. In fact, she hadn’t shagged that many. She had had sex with eight people, three of them being women, one non-binary, and the other four men. She had been very vocal about the fact that the best sexual encounters she had had, were with women. They had all been so nice, and though it had never escalated to anything romantic beyond that one night together, they had made Y/N feel the best she’d ever felt. She suspected women just knew what to do, that they cared how she felt and did not solely care about their own release.

The group ended up just sitting around and talking for a while. It was nice to go somewhere outside of the uni setting and get to know some people, this was what uni was all about, or so Nathan had told her countless times. These people were as anxious about making friends and being liked as she was, but there they all were, making friends and going outside their own comfort zone.

At one point, Y/N had finished her drink and went to get another round for her and Nathan. The pub seemed to be even more packed now that it was closer to midnight. Everyone wanted to drink the week away, to forget about their lives for a little while and just spend time in good company. Y/N strolled over to the bar, looking up and down the counter to see if any of the bartenders were free to help her. The second her eyes landed on a familiar figure, she halted.

Harry’s eyes were already on hers as he stood almost right opposite her mixing a drink. He let go of a sigh, looking down at whatever he was mixing.

“You…” she started, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got to be fucking everywhere.”

“Only ‘cause you’re every single place I usually am,” he said, continuing to make whatever drink he was making.

“Do you work here then?”

He looked over at her, raising one of his eyebrows. “I’m not a hallucination now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Can’t believe you thought I was a bloody hallucination.”

“Believe it. It’s all Nathan’s fault anyway. I’ll never forgive him for forcing me to live with you for a year.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “To answer your question: no, thought I’d help out behind the bar to get me adrenaline going.”

“Well funny,” Y/N said. “You got me cracking up, can you tell?”

“Last time I checked, I got you laughing pretty hard, yeah.”

“That’s literally two years ago now.”

Harry finished the drink, putting it in a glass and placing it in front of the person standing just beside Y/N. Her eyes first landed on the watch on his wrist, the nice brown leather, and then her gaze travelled upward. She looked up at the man who was already staring at her, giving him a smile when she smiled at him. Their eye contact was put to an abrupt end when Harry poked the man’s hand holding the drink with the card machine. Y/N looked back at Harry, and then at another man with strong build and big, curly hair who stepped into view beside Harry.

“I’ll take care of her, Kai,” Harry said.

This Kai looked at Harry, blinking once before he met Y/N’s eyes again.

“She’s my flatmate,” Harry elaborated, making Kai study Y/N a bit more closely before he nodded once. He was very good looking, with a broad nose, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, his brown skin glowed in the dim lights of the pub.

“That new one,” Kai said.

“Yeah.”

Kai smiled then, nodding in Y/N’s direction. “Nice of you to come check on Hazza. It’s always hectic on Fridays.”

“Oh, our other flatmate took me here, I didn’t come by choice.”

Kai’s eyebrows rose on his face and he looked at Harry who barked out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders at Kai as they exchanged a look. Harry walked over to stand right in front of her, signalling to Kai that he could take care of this one. Kai walked off, taking someone else’s order.

“Even feistier than I remember, you are,” Harry said.

She cocked her head to the side as Harry gathered a glass for her drink, already assuming that was what she was going to get. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it before.”

It left her lips before she even registered she was thinking it. Harry only took a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, clearly choosing to ignore her statement. “What can I get you, Y/N?”

“Sex on the Beach, please,” she said. “Two of them.”

“Alright.” Harry started making them right away, signalling to someone that he’d be right with them after this. Y/N looked around her, meeting the gaze of the man who had just stood by her at the bar. He raised his glass in her direction and she smiled back. She definitely had to go talk to him after this. He seemed to be a bit older, maybe five years older than her, but just for tonight, she did not care.

Y/N glanced back at Harry and watched him, fascinated by how fast he managed to make the drinks. “How long have you worked here, then?”

“A year abouts,” Harry said. “Worked in a hotel when we moved to Brum. Tended to work at the bar when the bartender was out.”

Y/N nodded, eyes on his hands as he poured ice, shots, and all types of alcohol and liquids into her drink. “You lived there till you moved to London?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering all of the things that were left unsaid between them. All of those words, moments, and memories they had created during those months the two of them had crossed paths in Nottingham.

He cleared his throat as he put the drinks down in front of her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t much like Brum.”

Y/N took a grip of the glasses. “And why’s that?”

“Dunno. Just didn’t find my footing proper.”

“In the two years you lived there?”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Y/N clicked her tongue. “Was it that bad?”

“Nah, I met tons of ace people and Birmingham’s a decent place, but…” He shrugged again. “Dunno.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to decipher his words and if he was being truthful or not.

“Anyway,” Harry said, nodding to the drinks. “Take that other drink to Nathan – as I’m sure it’s for him – and when you bring that middle-aged man home later: please, be quiet. I have rugby at 11 tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “How dare-“

“-Y/N, what’s taking so fucking long?” Nathan shouted as he came up next to her. His eyes fell on Harry behind the bar. “Oh… forgot to tell you Harry works here.”

“Nath, shut the fuck up,” Y/N said, looking from Nathan and back at Harry.

Harry nodded towards the door, silently telling them to fuck off, and they did. They walked back to the rest who were still sitting by the same table outside. Nathan took his drink from Y/N and sat down, but just as Y/N was about to sit down, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She looked over her shoulder rather fast, blinking a few too many times when she locked eyes with the same man who had been standing beside her by the bar.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a broad smile.

Y/N almost felt herself blush. “Hey.”

“I’m George.”

She smiled. “Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, he gestured at the bench where she had just been about to sit down. “Mind if I sit down with you?”

Her smile widened. “Not at all.”

Y/N felt fucking terrible. Her room was too hot, too humid. Body sticky with sweat, limbs aching, throat burning with yesterday’s alcohol, and head throbbing, she opened her eyes slowly before shutting them again, groaning into her pillow. She hated herself for not drinking as much water before bed as she usually did when coming home from a night out. Sitting up, she looked down at the man beside her, racking her brain to remember what his name was. She ran her hands over her face, reaching for her glasses so she could see something, but quickly realising she left her contact lenses in the night before. Her eyes were so dry it hurt to blink and she suddenly realised why her head was hurting more than normal. Cursing herself, Y/N got out of bed with her glasses perched at the top of her head, picking up a tee shirt and some tights, pulling on her fluffy dressing gown before she made her way out of her room as soundlessly as possible.

She stumbled her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. First thing she did was take her contacts out, struggling to do so as the contacts were so dry, her eyes having dried out with them. She splashed water in her face next, then drank the equivalent to the Atlantic Ocean before splashing even more water on her face. She then put her glasses on, realising that she had to let her eyes relax some after what she had just put them through. It took her awhile to gather up the courage to go to the toilet, where she made herself throw up the nausea she was feeling before having a very long peeing session.

Moments of the night before came rushing back to her, and as she sat there on the toilet, she remembered more and more. The name George came to her like out of a fog, and then the details started falling into place. She remembered how he’d bought her more drinks, how the two of them had sat talking all night about nothing in particular. She remembered his hand on her thigh and him leaning into her to whisper in her ear. Then they were in her room, her front against the mattress and his weight on her back. It was all hazy after that, most of it just a mess of limbs and chasing a release that she had never caught up with. Though Y/N usually made it clear that she hadn’t come, she was too worn out to tell George. She remembered falling asleep almost the second they were done. To say she had been underwhelmed was an understatement.

When she was done, she walked down the stairs for the kitchen. Once again, she was left stopping right in her tracks as she walked in. Harry stood by the stove, eyes on the pan in front of him where he was making eggs, a few asparagus and peppers cooking beside the two frying eggs. For a moment, she debated walking back upstairs and leaving Harry to it, but then he glanced over at the door to his right, meeting her eyes right away. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning back to his breakfast. God… Y/N wanted to set herself on fire. It’d be better than staying inside a room with Harry alone after years apart.

He wore rugby shorts that reached mid-thigh, a white tee shirt to go with it, and a hairband to keep his hair out of his face. Y/N realised just then that he was getting ready to leave for rugby as he had told her yesterday he would. She could remember him doing rugby when they knew each other three years ago as well, but she didn’t think he’d still be doing it.

The small conversation they had in The Stag’s Head the night before lingered in the air between and around them. That was reason enough to turn and walk upstairs again. But as Y/N remembered who was waiting for her in her room, she stepped into the kitchen. She got two slices of bread and put them in the toaster, getting some butter and milk out of the fridge as she waited. She watched Harry’s back as she filled the kettle with enough water, quickly looking away when he moved to put his eggs on the two slices of bread on his plate. Biting her lip, Y/N got a mug and a teabag, looking back over at Harry as he stood holding his breakfast plate. Y/N took a deep breath, knowing exactly what she had to do.

“Okay,” she said only a second before Harry turned around to face her, mouth open as if to say something. He must have noticed the tension as well. “We need to talk this through. We can’t live together for the next year if it’s gonna be like this. Just gonna put that out there right away.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Y/N leaned her hip against the counter, feeling relieved that she was not the only one out of the two that had thought about how incredibly awkward this was. “You’ve thought about it too?”

“Of course. I’ve been fuming ‘cause Nathan didn’t tell you sooner, and I’ve also found it annoying how I’m the bad guy in your eyes when this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Nate.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I haven’t thought of you as the bad guy-“

“-Y/N,” Harry said, putting his plate down on the counter again. “You’ve been angry at me this whole time. I can tell.”

“My frustration with you has got nothing to do with this situation, but all to do with how you just left without even saying goodbye before you moved away.” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trying to not blame you for this as well, but you’re right, Nathan’s the one that made this happen, we should be angry with him.”

“So you have been mad at me.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it just easier, no matter how stupid the reason, to just find more things to make you angry at a person? To make you hate them even more? Isn’t it just satisfying to find other ways to be frustrated with them?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am.”

“Anyway,” Y/N continued, getting her bread slices out of the toaster to put butter on them. “Why didn’t we say anything? If we’ve both thought it’s been awkward, I mean.”

“You’ve been busy shagging men 10 years older than you, I didn’t get the chance.”

“Look at you not being frustrated or annoyed with me.”

“I told you to be quiet last night,” Harry said, getting a fork and putting some asparagus and paprika in his mouth. “You weren’t.”

Y/N got the kettle as it finished, pouring some hot water into her mug. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve been angry with me.”

“Not angry, just…” Harry sighed. “Fine. A little angry last night, yes.”

Y/N smiled. “And he wasn’t 10 years older than me, he’s five years older.” She paused. “I think.”

“Right,” Harry said, eating more of his breakfast. “Listen…” He swallowed. “I think we should just… We should just address it.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet, looking at the other and waiting for them to say what they were both thinking. Though it looked like he was about to reach for his bread to take a bite, Harry stopped himself. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “It was fucking terrible. That first time…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes before he ran a hand over his face, remembering it all over again. “I didn’t even last a minute. It was mortifying.”

“It wasn’t half as mortifying as you trying to go down on me afterwards.”

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that wasn’t really…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, we were both part of it. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“You hear all these stories about how losing your virginity is supposed to be so beautiful, but it’s not. It’s really fucking not. Especially if you lose it to someone else who hasn’t had sex before, it just makes it double as awkward.”

Y/N nodded. “It was shit. Both of us were shit.”

“Exactly.”

“But I hope you know the reason I’m frustrated with you isn’t because of that.”

Harry looked away, biting at his bottom lip before he said, “Yeah, I know why.”

“Good, just wanted that to be clear.”

Harry nodded, taking his bread slice in his hand, making sure the egg wouldn’t fall off before he brought it to his mouth. “Well, now that we’ve addressed that, let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.”

She gave him a small smile before taking her teabag out of her mug and throwing it in the bin. There was still some tension in the room, but not enough for Y/N to want to set herself on fire like she had wanted to before. Just as she was about to take a grip of her plate and cuppa, the sounds of footsteps made her look up. George, who had been asleep last time Y/N checked, walked by the kitchen, halting as he saw Y/N and Harry standing there in the kitchen. He gave them both a smile Y/N could tell was forced, and then walked straight for the door without a single word or a second glance. Y/N and Harry looked at one another, sharing a look before they both chuckled ever so slightly.

“Cracking bloke,” Harry mumbled.

“Innit,” Y/N huffed, picking up her breakfast. “Have fun at rugby practice.”

“Cheers.”

She walked by him, hoping that her room did not smell of George or anything resembling alcohol or sweat. If it did, she would hit her head against the wall. But, lucky for her, George had left the door open, which had given the room a little bit of time to get the smell of last night out. After putting on her fluffy duvet cover, she opened the windows to let some fresh air in, and left her door open as she sat down in bed with her laptop, tea, and breakfast.

Just as she was about to put her plate down on the nightstand, she noticed something already laying there on top of her books. Adjusting her glasses, Y/N squinted at the object. She put her plate down on her duvet cover and reached for the wristwatch George had left. It was the nice leather one she had seen last night by the bar, the one that had caught her attention first. The digital clock seemed to have stopped working, displaying a random time that Y/N in her hangover state could not tell anyone what was. She was too fucked to even try and understand the numbers in front of her.

She put the clock back on her desk, hoping that she’d run into George soon so she could give it back to him. Or maybe Nathan could stalk Facebook and find him so she could message him there to tell him. She was glad she hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with George as she did not want to meet him again, but right now, she wanted to give him his watch back.

Y/N heard the front door open and then close, indicating that Harry had just left for rugby, and, as far as she could tell, she was the only one currently awake in her flat. The morning was quiet, she felt oddly at peace as she put on Fleabag and sipped her cuppa, and little did she know, this would be one of those rare moments over the last three years that this emotion inhabited her body.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 7th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta reader! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache​ 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh​ 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

[plaidbooks]

The Detective and the Teacher

A/N: This idea kinda came out of nowhere, but I needed to get it out of my head (like most of my stories). It’s a two-parter, and I’ll post part 2 tomorrow. If people are interested, I could make it into a longer series, but I also am kind of ok with it being short. Also, idk how to write dates, sorry

Tags: None for this part, next part will

Words: 3k+

I have a meeting with a cute guy in my class. You should come, meet him

You rolled your eyes at the text your friend sent you. She was a professor at Fordham University, teaching Risk and Crisis Communications to undergrads and graduate students. She, however, was happily married. But that didn’t stop her from finding cute guys in her class and trying to set them up with you. “They’re college students; they’re going somewhere in life,” she would argue. Besides, her idea of “cute college guys” wasn’t totally off; the main problem was waiting for someone around your age to be in her classes. You were a teacher yourself, in your early 30s, and most people taking her classes were right out of high school; way too young for you.

It was the beginning of summer in New York, so you didn’t have classes, instead volunteering at the library. Your friend, Professor Stafford, was teaching night classes this semester; sometimes she stayed after class to help a student if they asked…and they couldn’t make her office hours. So, it was 8pm by the time you were walking the halls of the University, a coffee in your hand—an excuse to meet with a friend. It was her idea; if there was a potential date for you, she’d text you, you’d come to the University with a coffee or food to deliver it to her before the meeting, then casually “bump” into the student. You made it to her classroom, handed her the coffee.

“So, what’s his name?” you asked, grinning.

She took the coffee gratefully, taking a sip before replying. “Andrew Wise. He’s one of my top students; I think you’ll really like him.” She gave you a playful wink and you rolled your eyes.

“You said that about the last three guys, and they were all snobby jerks,” you laughed.

She opened her mouth to respond when there was a soft knock on the door, a man poking his head in. “Uh, Professor Stafford? Should I wait outside?”

“No, no Andrew. Come in. This is just my friend, dropping off some coffee,” she said, beckoning him in.

You looked Andrew up and down briefly; he seemed nice, and there was nothing really wrong with him, but just the vibe he gave off had you instantly thinking, nope. You gave a smile and wave to your friend before heading out, letting them have their meeting. You didn’t feel like waiting, like trying to come up with a reason to wait, to talk to Andrew after his meeting. Instead, you wandered through the hallways, looking out the windows to the trees, the sky darkening. The sunset was slowly fading, the sky changing from the bright pinks and oranges to the pale blue of evening. You were so engrossed with the picturesque beauty of it all that you walked face-first into another person, the side of your face fully connecting with their flat, warm chest.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you said, pulling back to steady yourself, looking towards whoever you had just stumbled into. You looked forward and your eyes met chest, covered in a plain, Fordham U shirt. Your eyes travelled upwards into his face and you had to stop yourself from staring; he was, well, cute.

“It’s fine, really. I shoulda been watching where I was going,” he replied back, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back, his brow was furrowed, though his bright blue eyes hinted at amusement.

You smiled up at him, and he returned it, a goofy grin pulling easily across his face. “No, I was definitely admiring the view,” you gestured out to the landscape. You noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder, “and now I’m holding you from your next class.”

“No, no, I’m done for the night; just heading home actually.” He readjusted the backpack, as if your gaze had shifted it. He glanced over the balcony and towards the sky. “It really is a pretty view, huh?”

Your eyes never left him as you agreed. God, you’re acting like a teenager in a shitty romance novel, you thought to yourself, trying to snap out of whatever trance you were in.

“So, uh, do you go here?” he asked, eyes sliding back to you.

You shook your head. “I don’t, no. Uh, Professor Stafford is a friend of mine. I was just stopping by to say hi,” you explained.

“Professor Stafford? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. I dunno if I know them,” he said, contemplating. At some point during this conversation, you both fell into step next to each other, both heading towards the parking lot.

“Are you taking any Communications courses?” you asked.

“And that’s why I haven’t heard of them; I am not,” he grinned. “I’m a law student.” You nodded in understanding; while you thought Communications could be beneficial to a law student—to most students, if you were honest with yourself—most people didn’t take classes outside of their majors. Especially in a field that was so dependent on passing an exam.

“Well, if you ever need an elective, I highly recommend her class,” you smiled.

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You walked in silence for a moment. “My name’s Sonny, by the way. Sonny Carisi.”

It had just hit you that you never introduced yourself; with the shock of literally walking face-first into someone, then the easy conversation, it had completely slipped your mind. It was like you were old friends already. “Oh, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Nice to meet you, Sonny.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he gave you that goofy grin again, and you swore that you swooned right there. How did he do that with just a smile? You made it to the parking lot and found that you were parked semi-close to each other. He followed you to your car, something that you initially thought should raise alarms in your head, but something about him was calming, unthreatening.

“So,” he started as you unlocked your car. You opened the driver’s door, then leaned on it, him standing near the front of your car. He suddenly looked nervous, bashful, and it made him look even cuter. “Can I maybe buy you a coffee sometime? To, uh, make up for running into you,” he quickly added.

You felt your face grow warmer as you blushed, your heart fluttering. Did he just ask you out? “Uh, yeah. I’d like that,” you replied, unable to stop yourself from grinning broadly at him.

He smiled himself, seemingly happy that you agreed. “Great! How about tomorrow, say 10am, Cuppa Beans on 6th street?”

You quickly thought through tomorrow, made sure you had nothing scheduled in the morning. “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you there, Sonny.” With that, he made his way to his car while you got into yours. Once he was out of your line of sight, you flailed your arms in disbelief—you got a date with a super-cute law student!

 *****************

You woke up the next day early, wanting to shower and pick out something cute to wear. While you got ready, you thought back to the information you had found last night. You weren’t stupid enough to go into a date blind; you googled “Sonny Carisi��� the first moment you could the night before. And when that came up with nothing substantial, you asked Professor Stafford for help. Turns out, Sonny was a nickname; his real name was Dominick. With that knowledge, you were able to find that he was a detective for the NYPD, specifically for Manhattan’s SVU department. That gave you a little bit of a pause; you couldn’t imagine having to deal with those kinds of cases, what kinds of things Sonny had probably seen on the job. You wondered if that did anything to his mind, weighed on him at all. You hoped so; someone would have to be a monster for it not to. Maybe that’s why he was a law student, maybe he wanted out. Maybe he wanted some sort of revenge against the predators that he couldn’t get as an officer; some sort of control by being the prosecutor tasked with sealing them away rather than seeing the crime scenes.

You pushed the assumptions out of your mind; you didn’t know this man, not yet. You had met him less than 24 hours ago, had a small chat. He seemed nice enough, and he was definitely attractive. You resolved to judge him based on what you gained from first-hand experience, and to shove everything you learned online, all the conjecture out until you knew more.

Cuppa Beans was relatively close to your apartment, and it was a bright, sunny day in New York, so you opted to walk. Besides, you loved the fresh air of the city, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft breeze playing with your hair, the cacophony of sounds that others most likely found annoying or monotonous. You wore a simple, navy blue sundress that had a white tie around your waist, a big, white bow on your hip. You made your way through the crowded streets, full of people hurrying to whatever their destinations might be. You were early; you always were. But you didn’t mind; Cuppa Beans was set up for either those who wanted a coffee and to move on with their day, or for those who wanted to sit and relax, a shelf of books on their counter for anyone to read while they enjoyed their beverage. You ordered then sat, skimming the worn spines of books until a familiar one stood out to you. You picked it out, looking at the familiar cover. Remembering one of your favorite scenes, you opened the book, flipping the pages until you found it, then you quickly got lost in the text while waiting.

“[Y/N],” a happy voice greeted, pulling you out of the book.

You glanced up, Sonny standing in front of you, his trademark grin on his face. He pulled out the chair across from you as you closed the book, putting it back on the shelf.

“Hey Sonny,” you smiled. Right then, the barista brought you your coffee and you thanked her.

“Ah, I thought I was going to buy you a coffee,” Sonny said, jokingly offended.

Your smiled widened. “You have to order something to sit here, sorry,” you explained, taking a sip. Sonny ordered his coffee, and the barista left to make it.

“It’s fine; maybe I can convince you to let me buy you lunch instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you asking me out on a second date before we’ve even had our first?”

His cheeks reddened and his eyes widened slightly. “Well, it doesn’t have to be…I mean, it can be an extension of this one?” You laughed, and he tried to switch the subject. “So, what were you reading when I got here? You seemed really into it.”

You nodded, grabbing the book once more. “It’s called Wind from an Enemy Sky by D’Arcy McNickle. It’s very good; I’m thinking of using it in my class next year.” He furrowed his brow at this. “Oh, I’m an English teacher at Townsend Harris High School…I know, I’m not a college professor at Fordham like my friend, but I like teaching high school.”

“High school, huh? I couldn’t imagine trying to teach a bunch of teenagers anything,” he smirked.

You nodded; that was most people’s reaction. But it was also that reaction that made you want to teach high school more. “It’s not as bad as people seem to think. They are people, you know. Just treat them with respect, and they’re pretty receptive. I mean, you’re going to have those class clowns, but you just have to know how to deal with them. Stimulate their minds in other ways,” you explained.

The barista gave Sonny his coffee, and he sipped at it appreciatively. “So, what’s the book about?” You started off slowly, explaining the main plotline of the book; how it followed Bull, the leader of the Little Elk tribe, and how it talked about how homesteaders came into the West, encroaching upon their land. But you couldn’t stop yourself from diving in, talking about the inherent cultural appropriation that the main antagonist has, how from the first page, you know how the story will end in tragedy, how the ecocentrism worked, and ending with how important it was for teenagers to read and understand books that were written like this; from the other side, from people other than white men.

By the end of your monologue, Sonny was blinking at you, a dazed look on his face, though something else underneath, something that looked a lot like admiration.

“I’m sorry; that got a lot more in-depth than I thought it would,” you said, cheeks turning red. Sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself from getting into a text you really liked. Your students usually picked up on that and took advantage of it; many classes ended without the students talking because you had steamrolled over the conversation.

“Hey, don’t apologize for your interests. You just know…a lot more about themes and novels than I do,” he smiled.

You sat up at the praise but were still feeling embarrassed at the word vomit that had occurred. Taking a page out of his book, you decided to switch topics. “Tell me about yourself; how is it working as a detective and being a law student?”

Sonny’s brow furrowed, “how’d you know I was a detective?”

You face felt even warmer, and you knew you were fully red now. “I, uh, googled you last night…nothing personal, just wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, a serial killer or something,” you laughed nervously, and he smirked.

“No, I get it, that’s smart, really. Can never be too safe.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve wanted to be a lawyer for a while, now, but the timing just never seemed right, ya know? So, after high school, I just kinda went into the academy; I knew I wanted to help people, and I figured that was a good way to do it. It wasn’t until recently that I figured ‘why not’? So, now I’m taking the night classes to try and get my license, pass the bar.”

You nodded along with his story; you yourself changed your major a couple times before settling into where you were. It was definitely normal, and you believed wholeheartedly that anyone could go back to school at any point in their life, learn anything they wanted to.

“Are you going to switch out of law enforcement when you pass the bar, then? Become a prosecutor? Or are you just taking law classes to help you in your detective work?” you asked. The idea occurred to you while in the shower; knowing more about the law could help in the interview rooms, when he interrogated suspects. You knew he said he wanted to be a lawyer before, but that didn’t mean he was going for it.

“I’m…not quite sure, yet. I really like being a detective, ya know? I like helping people. I guess at this point, I just want to pass the bar; that’s where my focus is…when it’s not at work,” he explained. “I can figure out where to go after that.”

You nodded again. “I couldn’t imagine trying to work full time in…that department, and then also take college classes,” you commented. You shuddered remembering your time going to school full time and working retail at the same time.

“It can be…taxing sometimes. But at the end of the day, it’s nice knowing I’ve helped somebody.” There were unspoken words in the air, and you could hear them as if he had said them. You noticed it in his eyes, the flash of sadness as he thought about the ones he couldn’t help. But the moment passed, and his bright blues were clear once more.

That answered your other question; some cases did hit him hard. But, as you had also decided, that was a good thing; cases like that should pull on heartstrings. You noticed he had a hand on the table, and you reached up and slowly, so slowly, put your hand on his in comfort. That goofy grin reappeared on his face, and he interlaced his fingers with yours.

You both finished your coffees, then left the shop together, Sonny holding the door open for you, his hand never letting yours go. By some unspoken agreement, you both started walking down the street, hand-in-hand, arms swinging slightly. You asked Sonny about his semester and listened as he rambled on about some theory he had to memorize, or some law he had to apply to a fake case for a class. You realized that you enjoyed listening to him talk; he was very animated, dropping your hand to gesture in front of himself, then taking your hand again, before dropping it to gesture again. You smiled, then laughed as he described one of his professor’s insane expectations for how much he expected his students to read and write, wondering in awe how Sonny managed to juggle all that schoolwork plus his job.

“Do you sleep?” you finally asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Some nights,” he replied, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Maybe because you were feeling bold, or maybe because he did already kind of ask you on a second date, but you replied with, “maybe I can help with that sometime.”

He stumbled a step, his hand gripping yours tighter as he struggled to stay standing, and you giggled. His cheeks were red, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then his phone rang. He dug it out, answering with a terse, “Carisi.” It was interesting watching him go from a flustered mess one moment to focused detective the next. He nodded against the phone, even though whoever was on the other end couldn’t see him. “Yeah, alright Lieu, I’ll be there in 20.” He hung up then gave you an apologetic look.

“Duty calls?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, just got some new…developments on a case I’m working. I’m so sorry about this—”

“Don’t be, I get it,” you cut him off, giving him an understanding smile. If you wanted to try and continue seeing him, then this may become a habit…and you did want to try and see him, even though you’d only been on one date. You already felt a closeness to him that you couldn’t quite explain.

“I parked over at the coffee shop; I can walk you back there,” he offered, extending his hand back to you. You took his, interlacing your fingers once more, and hurried back towards the shop. Before he left, he handed you his card—you struggled not to laugh at the fact that he carried these around on his day off—and you put it in your purse, vowing to text him later that night, to set up that lunch that he offered to take you to.

“So, you do want a second date?” he asked, hopeful. You smiled; he was all in a hurry to head to the station, to get into whatever work awaited him, but he had stopped dead in his tracks at the prospect of another date.

“Of course. I had a great time today, Sonny.”

He grinned back at you, making your heart flutter in your chest. “I had a lot of fun, too. Hopefully our next date won’t be cut short.”

[poutyhannie]

Here is some fraking Han Jisung, my bias and muse. :)) 

warnings: angst, college student!han jisung, college au

word count: +2k

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Nervously, you open the door to your first summer class at the university you’d be attending in the fall.  Having been sheltered throughout your private school education, you really didn’t know what kind of people you’d meet at your university, being that it was home to over 40,000 students.  However, you were relatively mature and could hold your own.  All you needed to do act tough and above it all.  

Your walls have served you well from heart ache before.  

Not specifically on the field of romantic love, but of platonic love.  Your last ‘best’ friend had held your vulnerable heart in her hands and utterly mutilated it to the point where its scars and scabs formed a hard, impenetrable shell.  And you learned to like it that way.  Being in control of who you opened up to and knowing how to act so that others wouldn’t get close to you.  You never denied that it wasn’t lonely but at the same time, you’d rather be lonely and cry alone into your sheets than have a facade of companionship and cry onto the shoulder of someone who used you.  

You tuck these reminders into the back of your mind as you step into the lecture hall.  It could fit over three hundred students but because it was a summer class, there were about a third of that.  Still, your palms began to moisten at the chitter of so many people.  Studying their faces as you head to the empty front row, you conclude that most of them were just as wide-eyed as you.  Except, they sooth these nerves by guarding themselves with a plethora of friends.  

You’d researched your professor before enrolling in her course.  She was renowned in her field, having been one of the group who was tasked with translating an undecipherable ancient text a few years back.  Clapping her hands, her surprisingly booming voice silences the lecture hall, “Alright, class.  First day of summer courses.  Some of you are future freshmen here and some are continuing lower and upperclassmen…”

Listening intently, it’s all the more obvious when the door swings open and a wide-eyed boy hurries into the room.  Internally groaning, you realize you didn’t block the seats next to you with your bag.  Surely he wouldn’t choose the front row in a hall full of them.  You don’t make eye contact with him as he enters the room, quickly bows and mumbles an apology, and you especially don’t make eye contact when you feel the heat radiating off of him when he plops down right next to you.  Annoyed, you sigh, engrossing yourself in your notebook as the professor continues her lecture about Old English epic poetry with a forgiving smile at the boy’s direction.  

Though he smells like the scorching summer sun, when he leans over, a refreshing, warm scent fills your nose.  It reminds you of soft, wooly blankets, which, you tell yourself, would be horrible in this weather.  “Hey, what’d I miss?”  The boy whispers at you, his hushed voice irritatingly fanning over your cheek.  You finally glare at him and he still wears that dumb wide-eyed expression.  It falters a bit at your harsh gaze but he stretches his smile wider, tilting his head.  Your stomach squeezes again at the prospect of a new person and you quickly shove your notes at him to get him to stop talking to you.  Taking out his own notebook, which is yellow with patterned black bees, he nods, copying your notes.  When he’s done, he gives you a content, toothy smile and hands you it back.  

You chose not to notice it before, but his dyed blonde tips poke out from his black bucket hat and you wonder if he wore a hat because he didn’t shower.  His collarbones stick out from under his baby blue t-shirt and the little green bird emblem on his chest is almost as cute as the bees on his notebook.  He’s tucked in his shirt to his black, tech wear pants which are laced with silver chains.  Looking down, you can see he has chunky, black boots and wince at how sweaty his feet must be with those fluffy pink socks poking out of his boots.  Still, his lightly flushed face doesn’t show signs of perspiration.  By the time you look back up to his face, he’s intently taking in everything the professor is saying.  You follow suit.  

When students begin glancing, antsy at the clock, your Professor reminds the class that she has office hours.  Quickly and wordlessly, you shove your notebook into your backpack because that boy seems like he has a novel at the tip of his tongue.  With a groan, you realize the only exit is blocked by his chair and when you turn to face him, he smiles brightly, shoving out a hand.  “Name’s Jisung.  I guess we’re desk buddies now?”

Giving him a tight smile and firm shake, you reply courtly, “Yeah, I’m Y/n.  See you tomorrow.”

When you pass him, he still wants to say something.  “Do you wanna study together later?  It’d be easy to finish the homework before tomorrow then.”

You glance back at him, donning your best bored, accusatory, and patronizing look, “I don’t like studying with other people.  Thanks for the offer though.”  

Walking off with that cold combo, you expected to never hear from the baby blue boy again.  

Still, here he is in the library, leaning over your shoulder annoyingly to stare at your book.  With an amuse smile he whispers, “What question of the homework are you on?”

“23.”

“Wow,” he lets out a low whistle, “You’re quite the reader, huh?”

You ignore his remark and ignore him when he plops onto the seat next to you.  Thankfully, he pulls out a well-worn copy of Beowulf rather than talking to you.  The next two hours continue in silence as you efficiently finish the ancient epic for the umpteenth time and complete the homework reflection questions.  You easily fill out all them, recycling your old views of the characters, symbolisms, and plot into your answers.  However, the last question in bold stops you short because of its moral aspect absent in the other, more literal questions.  

“Was Grendel justified for killing those in the mead hall?”

Obviously, any reader would side with the monster slaying Beowulf, but the way she phrased the question prompts you to think that maybe she wants a different answer.  After pausing for a moment, you begin your answer, something along the lines of empathizing with the annoyed monster who just really wanted the late night partying to end.  Chuckling to yourself, you realize how much in common you have with Grendel.  

Forgetting the boy’s presence, you relax, stretching out your arms.  He looks up at you from the book, his eyes droopy and glossed over. “You done, study buddy?” He asks around a yawn.

Though the nickname prickles your annoyance, you nod and begin packing up your bag.  “See you tomorrow.”  Is all you can manage to give his hopeful gaze.

He’s on time today, scurrying into the seat next to you.  Without a bucket hat, you see his blonde tips and black roots fully.  He seemed to have showered.  The boy wears a pastel pink shirt this time, chains still jingling infuriatingly at his hip.  “Hey, Y/n,” he greets.  You expect him to launch into a monologue—or more accurately, a soliloquy because you wouldn’t be listening—but instead, he leaves you at that and with his toothy, uneven grin.  

Your Professor’s voice interrupts his dangerous smile, “My last question which asked whether Grendel was justified or not was almost entirely responded with that he wasn’t.  I would disagree with that and I agree with Y/n.”

You feel his stare as you will your cheeks to stop flaming at the unsolicited eyes of your classmates.

“We always want to side with the ‘good’, with those who don’t kill that we’re so ready to don a mask of righteousness.  I believe Grendel was justified because the people in the mead hall needed to be good neighbors.”  She smiles, continuing, “if both sides had just shown kindness, compassion, and understanding, they’d all be alive.”

Your heart tweaks at her lecture, hitting too close to home for your guarded liking.  

Though you carry out the rest of your day busily, your mind is stuck on her words.    Guiltily, your mind wanders to the boy as you walk back to your dorm as the sky turns black.  You had already moved in, but your roommate was going to join you in the fall so it was empty.  Just how you liked it.  You fill your head with thoughts of your dorm, cleaning, and classes just so that you don’t have to think about his gummy smile, his fluffy socks, or his comfortable silence.  Maybe you had judged him too hard, even with your walls, you could have at least be civil.  What was his name, again?  He had given it to you on that first day…You try to drift off to sleep but the guilt in your heart still gnaws.  

There he is again, in the middle of the Uni courtyard in the middle of the day, laughing his ass off with two other boys.  Just as you force your gaze away, his meets yours, recognition spreading a smile over his face as he beckons you over.  Your shoulders drop in annoyance, but you quickly remember last night’s guilt, walking over to the laughing boys.  

He nudges you softly, “Y/n, I want you to meet my friends.  This is Bang Chan hyung,” gesturing to a black haired, charming older boy who gives you a dimpled smile and extends his hand.  “This is Seo Changbin hyung.”  A shorter, cold-looking boy gruffly nods at you and you like him immediately.  

Chan lifts his eyebrows at you, “We were just gonna go grab a bite, you hungry, Y/n?”

You begin to shake your head until you see the boy’s—Jisung’s, you remember now—excited eyes and how he’s bouncing on his combat boots.  “Sure,” you sigh in defeat, “I’ll go.”

You learn that Chan is a lot older and has an administrative job on campus, impressive for someone so young and that Changbin is studying to become musical producer.  Quite the weird mix of interests and people, but they seem to enjoy each other’s company so much, you assume there was history.  When you ask about it over fries and burgers, Jisung nods excitedly, “Yeah, I knew Channie hyung and Changbin hyung were both coming here so I reeeeally wanted to come here too.  I’ve enrolled for the fall but wanted to come sooner.”  Chan giggles at the younger boy’s excitement and gives Jisung more of his fries.  

Changbin shifts, looking at you with a calm, still gaze, “We’ve known each other since before Jisung was a teen,” he shrugs, returning to his food, “it seemed natural to continue college together.”

You feel a pang in your chest, looking quickly down.  You’d always say to your best friend that you’d both get into your dream college and graduate together.  Their unchanging friendship festers a longing in your heart that you’ve tried so damn hard to lock away.  Thankfully, they don’t notice your moment of weakness and begin conversing about Jisung and your summer course.

“Yeah,” Jisung reminisces, laughing, “when I first saw Y/n, I thought I’d shit my pants.  She gave me this glare when I sat down next to her.”

Changbin laughs, a bubbly giggle you’ve never head before, “Well you probably did something.”

Jisung’s eyes widen and he snaps his head towards you, a fry frozen on its ascent to his already stuffed mouth, his cheeks round.

“No, no,” you respond quickly, shaking your hands in front of you, gut dropping in guilt again, “A lot of people think I’m a bitch.  Its not Jisung’s fault.”

Chan giggles, nodding his head eagerly, “Yeah, I’m sure you really scared our precious little Sungie.”  Cries of protest and denies erupt from Jisung, who continues whining at his hyungs.  You choose not to notice but you watch them longingly, the ache in your heart for someone tearing a hole in your chest.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[morningfears]

Television Romance [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 (some swears, nothing major)

Summary: Natalia Adler is a stressed out grad student who attempts to escape the noise of her office by visiting her favorite coffee shop. However, instead of a few hours of writing, she gets a lap full of coffee and a date with the most gorgeous guy she’s ever met.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Two

The graduate student office was usually busy, bustling with activity and overflowing with graduate students working on various research projects or grading coursework as well as undergraduate students seeking assistance with assignments. It was always difficult to concentrate among the din, there was always some conversation or another taking place that was much more interesting than writing yet another proposal, but Tuesdays were the worst.

On Tuesdays, the graduate teaching seminar met in the student office. For an hour each week, the teaching assistants dragged whatever chairs they could find to the center of the room and formed a circle to discuss problems that had arisen in their classrooms, questions they had about university policy, and an article on teaching practices they were assigned to - but never actually did - read. The class was supposed to be useful, a way for them all to prepare for their futures as academics, but it usually turned into a shouting match as the stronger personalities argued over one another about best practices in classroom management. And after, when the dust settled and the faculty facilitator was gone, students who didn’t have a one o’clock class stuck around to catch up on whatever departmental gossip they’d missed throughout the week.

Most days, Natalia was able to tune it all out. Her desk was in the corner, hidden behind a flimsy partition, and her noise cancelling headphones worked wonders to drown out the arguments. She didn’t love catching snippets of pointless conversations about which departmental policies were outdated - they all were - or which graduate students were sleeping together but she made it work. However, today was not one of those days.

She had several important deadlines looming over her head - conference submissions, revisions for a potential publication, the first draft of her thesis proposal, all due within days of one another - and she was feeling overwhelmed. The argument as to whether the department was too hard or too soft on students - or whether professors played favorites - was only making things worse. Instead of subjecting herself to two more hours of torture, she decided to pack up her bag and head to the coffee shop across the street. Even if it was loud, it had to at least be less hostile than the office.

She stood, satchel slung over one shoulder with her cellphone and headphones in hand, and glanced over the top of her partition at the girl who sat across from her. Nicole, like Natalia, wore headphones whenever she worked in the office and only glanced up when Natalia tossed a paperclip at her.

“I’m going to Molly’s,” she announced when Nicole pulled her headphones away from her ears and glanced up at her. Natalia struggled to keep her voice quiet in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself, though she was half certain she could yell and still not be heard over her colleagues. However, she remained cautious as the last thing she wanted was for anyone to join her. “You want anything?”

“A new job, a better salary, a husband who takes out the trash… I could go on,” Nicole answered, rolling her neck and grinning tiredly at Natalia’s deadpan expression. “I’ll settle for a caramel latte, though. With almond milk and extra caramel, please. I’ll Venmo you.”

“I’ve got it,” Natalia assured her with a wave of her hand as Nicole reached for her cellphone, “you got me boba last week. You have class at three, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicole sighed as she dropped the device, straightened up in her chair, and pulled a face as she glanced at the syllabus tacked to her partition wall. “We’re going over how Marxism influenced Burke today. I think I’d rather chew off my own foot than try to teach a group of undergrads about either Marxism or Burke.”

“I know the point of college is to make kids think,” Natalia began as she hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and ambled around her partition to stop beside Nicole’s desk, “but I’m glad I got the class that’s a little more, ‘well, duh,’ than that. We’re going over how fundamentally fucked the US healthcare system is today.”

Nicole paused for a moment, staring at Natalia with a look that reeked of both annoyance and exhaustion, before she dropped her head to her desk and asked, “Is it too late to drop out?”

This was a conversation they’d had at least once a week since their first semester of graduate school and Natalia bit back a laugh as she nodded. “Yep. You’re halfway through your thesis proposal, no quitting now,” she pointed out as she nodded toward the stack of books on religious rhetoric that Nicole had stacked on her desk. “Anyway, only eight more months until we’re free.”

“I’m three pages in,” Nicole informed her, a pitiful whine erupting from her throat as she lifted her head and ran a hand through her unwashed curls. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Natalia, who had been under the impression that she was impossibly behind although she only lacked a completed methodology section, grimaced upon learning just how far behind Nicole was. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and, although she had her own deadlines to meet, offered her assistance. “I’ll probably be sticking around after class tonight,” she informed her as she thought about the papers she still needed to grade, “if you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Nicole sighed as she turned in her chair and smiled at Natalia, the exhaustion evident in her features although they were only a month into the semester. “I’m thinking about a writing party on Friday so that people can submit conference papers and then go get hammered after. You in?”

“Always down for drinks after opening myself up for rejection. You can send out an email and maybe follow up with a GroupMe or something. Your husband won’t mind you spending Friday with us?” she asked as she glanced over at the group of students, now talking instead of arguing, that still remained in the room. Although they got on her nerves sometimes, she had grown to love most of them.

“He’s going to a football game with some friends. If I stay home, I’ll just end up falling asleep in the tub with a glass of wine. I’ll send the email after class,” Nicole answered as she grabbed her headphones and moved to reposition them onto her ears. “Go, get out of here before someone stops you. You’ll be back by three?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before you have to leave. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. See you in a bit,” Natalia hummed as she tapped the top of Nicole’s partition before maneuvering around the group that crowded the doorway and stepping out into the hall.

The building itself wasn’t that busy, it rarely was, but campus was teeming with students as Natalia stepped outside. They typically opted for afternoon classes rather than morning ones and it was obvious that classes held after lunch were the most populated as she watched students wander from building to building. Her own undergraduate experience had been very different - classes as early in the morning as she could get them and work in the afternoons until late at night - but she understood the desire to take advantage of the opportunity.

As a graduate student, her schedule was a little different. She was usually the first one to arrive in the office, just to get a little work done, and held office hours during lunch. She was a TA for a class that met on Tuesdays and Thursday at three and had her own classes to attend, with each of the three meeting once a week, starting at six p.m. and ending at around ten. 

She was busier than she had ever been, even busier than the two years she spent working two jobs and overloading her class schedule. It was harder and lonelier than undergrad had been. She had little time to feel human or socialize without anyone outside of her program, however, she told herself that it would all be worth it when she finished and had a master’s degree under her belt.

Natalia made the most of the few minutes it took her to walk from her office to Molly’s, the closest coffee shop to campus that wasn’t the always crowded Starbucks in the library. She rarely got to enjoy her days. They were usually spent locked in the office or cooped up in the library, neither of which had enough windows. Although it was September, fall still seemed a lifetime away. 

She could still smell summer as an occasional ocean breeze wafted through campus. The sun was bright and high in the sky and the air was warm. It felt like the height of summer, as it usually did in Los Angeles, and she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear a dress instead of pants as the slight breeze kept her from overheating as she entered Molly’s.

The little coffee shop was every Instagram obsessed student’s dream. The exterior was nondescript with plain white walls and a small patio with string lights and a few small tables, however, the interior more than made up for it. There were walls covered with ivy - though Natalia didn’t know if it was real or not - and neon signs littered around the space. There was also a loft with tables and chairs that always seemed to be quieter than the rest of the shop.

It had all been too much for her the first time she visited. It seemed gimmicky, not the kind of place she wanted to frequent even if it was convenient, however, her opinion changed the moment she tried the coffee. Her predecessors in the program hadn’t been wrong in telling her that it was the best coffee she could get and that it served as a good hideout when the office got to be too much to handle. She understood why it was frequented by both students and the outside community, even if it took them too close to campus.

Although the coffee shop was bustling with students rushing in and out between classes, filled with the sounds of conversation and the excitement that came with a new school year, it still seemed quieter than the office. After ordering her iced coffee and settling into a table near the entrance, Natalia slipped her headphones back on and bit her lip in concentration as she opened her laptop and began working on the revisions she’d gotten back from her co-author.

It was difficult, not paying attention to the patrons that entered the shop as she loved people watching, but Natalia kept her eyes on her screen and typed away. If she had glanced up, she might have seen the looks that people threw one another as two men entered the shop. She might have seen how a few snuck pictures with their cellphones or how others whispered excitedly as they passed them by. But she didn’t. All she saw was the cursor on her document blink as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

She focused on typing a new explanation for a concept she thought she’d covered well enough to need no further explanation, a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over her head as she let the reviewer’s comments weigh on her pride. However, as she got into a groove, her word count quickly climbing, she felt something cold splash against her right side.

She sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before she pulled her headphones off and blinked at the coffee that stained the right side of her dress and dripped from her skin. Ice cubes gathered in her lap, cold seeping through the fabric of her dress as she attempted to process what happened. It took a few more seconds of staring at the mess before she picked up her laptop and held it away from the growing pool of coffee. Ice cubes clattered to the floor as she stood and she grimaced as she watched them fall. She looked over the computer, sighing in relief when nothing appeared to be wet, before she lifted her head and looked at the person responsible.

Any other time, her attention would be on how beautiful the man in front of her was. He stood a head taller than her, easily, with broad shoulders and a surprised expression that she was sure matched her own. His blonde curls had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the blue slightly, and his cheeks and upturned nose were tinted pink in embarrassment as he looked over the damage he’d done.

They stared at one another for longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on her face just as hers lingered on his, and she was glad that he at least had the decency to stare at her face instead of the wet fabric clinging to her. The man beside him, slightly shorter and more amused than embarrassed, nudged his friend who moved as if he were a video that had been taken off pause.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his words rushing together as he watched her place her laptop on a neighboring table to keep it out of harm’s way before she reached for a few napkins. “Fuck, here, let me help you with that.”

His hand bumped into hers as he reached for more napkins and began wiping at the table and, as cliche as it was, she felt a jolt of something shoot down her spine as she quickly pulled her hand away. It was easy for Natalia to ignore the feeling as she watched him make matters worse. She tried to hide it, however, she couldn’t help but grimace as she moved her bag away from the table, slipping it over her head in an effort to avoid him sweeping coffee inside it.

She shook her head at his apology and reached for another handful of napkins. “It’s okay,” she sighed, not wanting to be rude even though she knew she’d have to take time she was planning on using to write to go home and change before class, “at least it was iced coffee.” She tossed the soaked napkins into the trash and bent down to pick up the ice cubes and cup from the ground. “What happened, anyway?”

“He tripped,” the shorter, dark-haired man informed her before he took a sip of his coffee. He still looked amused, positively delighted as he watched his friend struggle to find the right words to say, and Natalia bit back a laugh as she realized everyone had a friend like him.

“I didn’t trip,” the taller man defended with a roll of his eyes, cutting his eyes at his friend before returning his attention to Natalia. He met her eyes sheepishly, the embarrassment softening his features as he explained, “Someone bumped into me on their way in and I, uh…” He trailed off, clearly having planned on saying that he tripped, and dropped his gaze to the floor as Natalia laughed.

“Tripped?” she finished, a smile on her lips despite the situation. When the taller man grimaced, bringing the hand not full of soaked napkins up to rub at the back of his neck, she laughed once more.

“Fine, I tripped,” he acknowledged, “but it wasn’t just being clumsy. Someone really did bump into me.” He gave his explanation more to his friend than to her and she wondered how often he found himself tripping over thin air. He looked solid, like he wouldn’t be the type to trip over his own two feet, but looks could be deceiving and she knew from personal experience how annoying it was to be the clumsy friend.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a little more sincere in her assurance this time as she offered him a genuine smile. “Nothing spilled on my laptop and it wasn’t boiling so, worst case scenario was avoided. I think I’ll just not sit near the door next time, though.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he agreed. His lips were quirked in a smile, grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, and he still held the soaked napkins in his hands. “I still feel bad, though. Can I make it up to you; buy you a coffee or something?” he asked, a hopeful lilt to her voice that told her he wasn’t just looking to make up for spilling coffee on her.

As much as it pained her to turn him down - and it hurt quite a bit as she found him to be beautiful, even in basketball shorts and a t-shirt - she didn’t have time. “That would be great,” she began, a rueful smile on her lips as she grabbed her laptop and slid it into her bag, “but I have to run. I need to go get changed before class. It’s really okay, though. No big deal.”

She didn’t miss the nudge his friend gave him and raised an eyebrow as she watched him swat at his friend’s elbow. “I, uh, how about dinner, then?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. 

He looked so earnest, his skin still tinted pink and his eyes wide, and she felt a giddy excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach. He was gorgeous, the kind of guy she never imagined would be interested in her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if that chance would turn into a disaster, but she found herself wanting to take that risk.

“I have class until ten tonight,” she told him, biting back a coo when his face dropped at what he assumed was her rejection, “but if you tell me your name, I think I could free up my Friday night for dinner.”

He blinked, surprised at how her sentence ended, and smiled at her. He had a unique smile, his teeth on full display and tongue pressed to the back of them, and his eyes brightened as he nodded his agreement. “Right, yeah. Luke,” he introduced, moving to offer her his hand before realizing he still held the wad of napkins. “This meeting isn’t really going that well, huh?”

“I’d say it went south when you dumped coffee on her,” the friend commented, not even bothering to hide his grin as he watched the interaction unfold before him. “All downhill from there, mate.”

“I’m Natalia,” she introduced, pointedly ignoring his friend’s comment with an amused glance in his direction. “I’ve had worse first meetings, don’t worry. My freshman year roommate opened a door on me and gave me a concussion. You just stained a dress.”

“Oddly, that makes me feel better about this, thanks,” Luke laughed as he reached out and dropped the napkins into the garbage. “Can I get your number? That way you can go change now and we can make plans later,” he clarified, smiling at her as he offered her his cellphone to put her number in.

She felt Luke’s gaze on her as she put her number into his phone and she offered him a smile as she handed the device back. “I have one request for Friday,” she told him as she grabbed her own phone from the table and grinned at the text he sent her with his name, “no tables near the entrance.” Luke laughed at her request, a sound that she found endearing, and Natalia grinned at him. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“See you on Friday,” he confirmed, grinning as he watched her step around him.

Natalia and Luke maintained eye contact for a moment, each giddy and grinning as they felt the butterflies of something new on the horizon, before Natalia bumped into something solid on her way out and made a face before quickly turning to apologize. She tossed Luke a wave over her shoulder, her own cheeks burning in embarrassment, as she heard his friend mumble, “Wow, she’s perfect for you.”

As she stepped out into the world once more, she grinned at the encounter. It made her lose an hour of writing time - and ruined her favorite dress - but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d been single for years and hadn’t had any luck with dating apps. She knew that a boyfriend wasn’t the most necessary thing in her life, however, it might be nice to be the girl with a date for once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Luke was gorgeous.

Whatever the future held for them, she found herself looking forward to it. 

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: If I try to start another series, someone fight me. Like, actually, genuinely fight me. I’m focusing on Rose Tattoo, These Violent Delights, and this. (And MF if I get inspiration but those updates are more sporadic, never meant to be regular, sorry. :() I want to write a few one shots but they’ll likely be shorter and just fun, you know? Not super plot heavy. I may or may not update the next chapter of this sooner than a week because this is kind of short. But, hey, I’ve got all the time in the world because after I defend next week, I’m done with grad school and that’s mildly terrifying. Anyway.  Here we go.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog​ , @333-xx​

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Literature Past and Present

AU-gust Day Two: College AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: G

Summary: Gold’s trepidation at returning to university to get his degree over two decades after he first dropped out is put to rest on meeting one of his professors, Belle French.

Note: This is set in the UK in my alma mater.

===

Literature Past and Present

Despite this being something that he had wanted to do for a long time, Gold couldn’t help but feel a distinct sense of fear as he made his way across the university campus towards his very first class of the term. 

For a long time after he’d dropped out of university the first time, Gold had worked on the principle that he didn’t need a degree and his business ventures had worked perfectly fine without one for many years. 

Now that Neal had graduated and had a family of his own, and now that his property ventures and the antique shop did not require as much of his personal input as they always used to, Gold had found his tune changing slightly. Hearing about everything that Neal had got up to during his own studying days had reignited Gold’s interest in learning.

He had no desire to participate in the usual student lifestyle, he was far too old for that now, but his desire to go back and actually finish his degree this time was becoming stronger and stronger, until he had bitten the bullet and applied to study English as a mature student at the local university. 

He would be the oldest person in his class by quite a way; he held no compunctions about that. He was prepared for all the strange looks that he would receive, surrounded by people more than half his age, which was why he was arriving early. Hopefully, he would be able to find a seat at the back of the room, nice and unobtrusive. As long as he made it clear that he was here to learn and not get involved in anything else, then he’d be left alone. 

He made it to the room where the first seminar of the semester was taking place and peered in through the glass panel in the door. He was the first student to arrive, but the professor was already there, tapping away on her laptop whilst the screen showed the first slide of a presentation. 

Gold took a deep breath and entered the room. The door squeaked ominously as he closed it behind him and the professor looked up, giving him a smile. 

“You’re keen. We’re not due to start for another fifteen minutes, you know.”

Gold nodded. “Yes. I, erm… Yes.” 

He sank into a seat at the back of the room and the professor continued to type for a while. The slide on the screen showed her to be Dr Belle French, and it welcomed him to English Module 1001: Literature Past and Present (Part One). 

Gold pulled his notebook and pens out of his bag. It was like being back at school again, just as nerve-wracking, although he was sure that this particular teacher wouldn’t be as strict or terrifying as the ones he had known in his childhood, and that would make for a better experience. He looked down at the reading list. He’d enjoyed going through all of the books over the summer, especially reading the ones that he had already read in a different, more critical light, thinking about the messages that the words conveyed, either intentionally or otherwise.

Presently, Dr French stopped typing and closed the laptop, coming round the desk and leaning back on it.

“So, can I know the name of my diligent student?”

It took Gold a moment to twig that she was speaking to him and not to any of the other currently non-existent people in the room.

“Raymond Gold,” he said eventually.

“Pleased to meet you, Raymond. I’m Belle. I don’t stand on ceremony in my classes; Dr French always sounds so stuffy and formal. So, are you taking English as a single honours course or a supplementary?”

“Single.”

“Great! In that case, I’ll be seeing you again – I take a lot of the analysis and writing skills lectures as well. And if you’re that way inclined, I teach all the feminist literature modules to the second and third years.” She laughed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so forward, but I’m all for pimping my courses on the first day. You never know what might stick in people’s heads. So, what made you decide to choose English?”

“Well, as you can probably see, I’m not taking a degree to help me on my future career path.” He paused. “I apologise, that sounds like I’m disparaging your field as not being useful.”

Belle shrugged. “I don’t mind, it’s a common argument. ‘What can you do with a BA in English?’ as the Avenue Q song puts it so well. I mean, I’m happy to have the argument with you, but we’ve only got seven minutes before the class starts and I can go on all day if I’ve a mind to. Anyway, go on.”

“What I mean is, when I decided to come back and get my degree after far too long since I dropped out, I was lucky to be in the privileged position of being able to study something that I wanted to study just because I enjoyed it, rather than having to think about what could be the most advantageous to me in the future.”

“I like that sentiment.” Belle smiled. “I wonder how many more people would follow their dreams if they had that same chance. And obviously, I’m biased, but I must say that I’m very glad that English is the subject that you enjoy and chose to study. I’m lucky really, I knew that all I ever wanted to do in my life was work with literature and write, so becoming an academic presented itself to me as a career path early.” She paused. “Do you mind if I ask what your career has turned out to be?”

“I’ve done all sorts of things and had all sorts of investments, but mainly antiques trading. I learned on the job and never looked back. Well, until my son graduated, and I realised that I wanted to have that learning experience again. He never let me hear the end of it, teasing me that I was trying to steal his thunder. I know he’s pleased deep down. Dropping out was one of my biggest regrets.” Gold laughed. “I did law the first time around. I think I’ve made a much better choice this time.”

“Well, naturally I think so, but I’ve got a vested interest in keeping you on this course.” Belle winked, and Gold had to look down at his pens with intense interest. He absolutely could not be developing a crush on the professor on his first day. Student-teacher liaisons were not a good idea. Although, that said, that was usually because the students were a lot younger than the teachers in the position of power, and he could safely say that was definitely not the case with him and Belle. All the same, it would be a bit strange. No, he could not and would not fancy Dr French.

At that point, their conversation had to break off as more students started to arrive and take their seats, and Belle started to talk to them as well. Although Gold received a few odd looks from his classmates, once the seminar began and people began to talk about the subject rather than themselves, things became much more relaxed. Gold kept his head down for the most part, not getting too involved in the lively debates, but he was content to listen and learn. Every so often, his eye caught Belle’s, and she always had a smile for him.

Gold sighed. This was not a very auspicious start to his degree.

X

Belle held her office hours on Wednesday afternoons, traditionally the time of the week with the least scheduled lectures and seminars. It was always hit and miss as to how many visitors she would get on any given week; sometimes they were queuing up outside her office before she even got there, and other times she could sit with the door open for the full two hours and not hear a peep from anyone.

They were about a quarter of the way through the semester, and this week was one of the quiet ones. The students had a paper due the next Friday, so she anticipated a last-minute rush the next week. Today was the calm before the storm, and she was sitting happily in the late autumn sunshine that streamed in through her window, reading a novel. There was plenty of academic work that she could have been doing instead, but she never liked to get stuck into anything during office hours in case she was interrupted and lost her thread.

A knock on the doorframe pulled her out of her thoughts and she spun around in her chair to see Raymond Gold standing there, looking nervous. It was the first time that he had come to her office hours. That wasn’t unusual – some students never came, and others were in practically every other week. Belle didn’t begrudge either type; everyone had their own ways of learning and studying.

“Hi Raymond, come on in. What can I do for you? Is it about the essay?”

He shook his head, coming in and sitting at the other chair in the room. Being a junior lecturer as she was and not yet a tenured professor, Belle shared her office with a colleague, Merida. They got on well and were almost never in the office at the same time, which was a blessing when it came to office hours as there was really not enough room for more than two people in the glorified broom cupboard that they shared.

“No, it’s not about the essay. Well, it is a bit, I suppose. I, erm, I read your book.”

“Oh.” Belle felt herself blushing. Publishing her book had been a strange point in her career; she was so proud of her achievement but at the same time she still felt ridiculously egoistic to be recommending her own work to her students as a study aid.

“I just wanted to talk to you about it,” Raymond continued. “I really enjoyed it. It was very insightful.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Not many people can sit through two hundred pages of contextual analysis of the Brontë sisters which basically boils down to ‘who’s worse, Rochester or Heathcliff?’”

“Heathcliff, by a mile,” Raymond said. “But I think there’s a lot more to it than that.”

They continued to talk, Belle checking that there was no one else hanging around the door wanting to speak to her every so often, but they were not interrupted. It was wonderful talking about her passion, and even more so finding that one of her students shared it.

She sighed inwardly. She had vowed when she had first discovered Raymond in her seminar that she would not treat him any differently to the rest of her students because of his age, but now she was having more and more trouble with that. Not with treating him any differently in class, that was never a problem. But with this moment now, with the moments when they spoke outside of the academic context. He was closer to her own age than every other student she’d met – he was actually older than her, which was rare in academia. Outside of the classroom, it was harder and harder to see him as a student and not as… something else.

She wondered what the etiquette was in these circumstances. Rules on student and teacher fraternisation were in place for a reason, but he was a very different student.

Belle waited until he had left before knocking her head against her desk with a groan. The last few minutes of their conversation had become stilted, as if they were both waiting for the other to make the first move. She couldn’t be imagining it that he was grappling with the same kind of feelings that she was. She could see it in his dark brown eyes, watching her whilst she talked animatedly about her pet projects.

“So, I take it that the head-desk has something to do with the handsome chap who I just walked past?” Merida came back into the office and took the now vacant chair, prodding Belle until she looked up and nodded.

“What do I do now, Merida?”

“Well, I suggest you run after him and ask him if he wants to go and get a cup of tea, but then that’s just what worked for me and Mulan.”

“He’s one of my students, Merida.”

“Really? Wow.” She looked over her shoulder out of the room and ducked back in. “Well, he’s not got to the stairwell yet. How long are the corridors in this building? It’s downright ridiculous.”

“He’s a student, Merida.”

“Belle…” Merida sighed. “Go with your gut, love. All things considered, is it really going to be as much of a problem as you think it might be? You’re both definitely grown-up, I’m sure you can be civil about the whole thing.”

Belle nodded. Merida was right. It might not be orthodox, but then, Raymond was not exactly an orthodox student.

She got up and left her office, following him down the corridor at a pace that was not quite a run but definitely not just a walk. She caught up to him in the entrance.

“Wait, Raymond.”

He turned back towards her.

“Belle?”

“I was just wondering… I don’t have anywhere to be until five. Did you want to get a cup of tea maybe?”

Raymond smiled. “That would be lovely. And my friends generally call me Rum.”

“Rum. I like that.”

Belle couldn’t stop smiling as they made their way to the small café outside the humanities department building. She was very happy to be considered a friend, and maybe, in time, more than a friend.

[vex-bittys]

Flufftober 2020: Day Three

Prompt: College/University AU

Pairing: SpicyHoney

Category: Romantic

----------

Stretch walked into his Human Cultural Studies classroom on his first day of college and nearly turned around and walked right back out again. Of course his brother had criticized him about his decision to delay college for a few years… and then a few years more, but he never imagined that he’d put off his education long enough that a childhood friend (and unrequited high school crush) would end up being his professor.

Obviously, Edge considered his education and career a priority and had focused on it immediately following their high school graduation. It didn’t surprise Stretch. He admired the goal-driven skeleton for his ambition and tenacity, the very same attributes that made scoring a date with the other skeleton extremely unlikely for a dedicated ne’er-do-well like himself. As if to underscore this fact, Edge scowled at him the moment he slouched into the classroom and sank into a seat in the back of the room.

The scowl maintained its position on Edge’s angular features as the skeleton professor prowled through the room, handing each student a hefty course syllabus. When he arrived at Stretch’s seat, the scowl transformed into a smirk. Stretch reached for the syllabus, and Edge yanked it away, holding it just out of his reach.

“NICE TO SEE THAT YOUR MODUS OPERANDI OF PROCRASTINATION AND LAZINESS HAS SUBSIDED, CARROT,” Edge said, voice pitched low so that only Stretch could hear his words. Stretch could see that Edge’s tongue was still as sharp as his cheekbones, but he loved antagonistic repartee. 

“wrong as ever, Edgy McEdgelord. i intend to procrastinate lazily throughout my entire indenture as a student here until i receive a degree that i will never use as i pursue my preferred career of wasting my life entirely through inactivity,” quipped Stretch, loudly enough for the other students to overhear. Several of his classmates tittered, but Edge just gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“GOOD LUCK TRYING TO PASS MY CLASS THEN.” He slammed the syllabus down on the tabletop in front of Stretch and stalked off with his usual grace, though his usual grace involved a hip sway that Stretch couldn’t help staring at.

It was going to be a long semester.

The first near-perfect test score might have been a fluke, but the next few established a pattern that Edge couldn’t deny. He stood next to Stretch’s usual seat near the door, shuffling through mediocre and abysmal papers to present the highest score in the class to the student that he had expected to do the worst. Secretly, though, the grumpy skeleton professor was proud of Stretch for applying himself and showing off the intelligence that few knew he possessed.

“TOP SCORE AGAIN, CARROT. AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS PAYING ATTENTION.” He actually handed the paper with its marked absence of red ink to Stretch instead of tossing it down onto the table as he so often did.

“when you’re up front lecturing, i just can’t look away,” Stretch admitted honestly. His SOUL ached, feelings that he thought had been laid to rest long ago stirring again any time the professor so much as glanced his way with those dangerous red eyelights. “to be honest, though, i’m surprised you remembered me that first day. i didn’t think you ever noticed me in high school.” Stretch winced at his own babbling.

“OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU. HOW COULD I FORGET SUCH A-” Edge closed his mouth abruptly, scrambling for a word to replace “handsome” and change the tone of the sentence “- SUCH AN UNRELENTING SLACKER.” Edge lifted the other students’ test results to cover his blush and hurried back to his own desk.

It was going to be a long semester.

By the time the course ended, the tension between the two skeletons had only gotten stronger. Edge avoided Stretch like a highly contagious plague, and Stretch’s notebook contained more sketches of his professor than lecture notes. The end of the class should’ve been the end of the awkward teacher-student interactions, but Stretch couldn’t help checking the online course list for more classes taught by his rekindled crush.

Stretch’s eyelights scoured the classroom for any sign of seating and found none. Perplexed, he watched Edge stroll into the classroom, wearing something that definitely was not his usual tailored shirt, tie, and slacks. To Stretch’s untrained fashion eye(socket), the outfit resembled pajamas- something Stretch might wear on the first day of class, but Edge would never leave his house in under normal circumstances.

Stretch hid his confusion by calling out a question as Edge strode past him. “what am i in for this semester, Edgelord? philosophy of ancient civilizations? monster-human history and politics?” Stretch had picked a more advanced course, looking for a challenge… and another chance to impress the other skeleton.

“THIS IS ADVANCED JUDO,” Edge stated flatly. 

For once, Stretch had no response, and a wide smile crept across Edge’s features when he realized that he had the upper hand. Moving as swiftly as a striking cobra, Edge grabbed Stretch, spun, leaned, and tossed the slacker over his shoulder and onto the mat. Stretch laid on his back on the ground with an audible “oof,” completely stunned and just a little bit in love. 

“nice pajamas,” he wheezed.

“IT’S A JUDO GI,” sniffed Edge loftily, staring down at his student. “I AM GUESSING THAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS CLASS SO THAT YOU COULD SPEND YOUR TIME LOLLYGAGGING AND BEING UNCONSCIOUS ON THE FLOOR, BUT I AM HERE TO TEACH YOU. NOW GET UP.”

Edge offered Stretch his hand. Not suspecting any foul play, Stretch tried not to blush when their hands touched. Edge tugged Stretch upwards, then dropped backwards, falling to his back and using one leg to propel Stretch over his body and onto the mat behind him.

It was going to be a long semester… but Stretch kind of liked it.

The moment enrollment opened after the summer break, Stretch sat at his computer, scrolling through a list of professors to see which classes were available from Edge. He considered filling his entire semester exclusively with those classes, but he needed to work his way through the recommended curriculum if he actually wanted a degree and not just a chance to stare longingly at a handsome skeleton professor.

“is this advanced judo 2?” Stretch asked, a picture of innocence as he sank gratefully into a chair at the back of the classroom. Edge paused midway through writing a lesson outline on the whiteboard.

“NO. THIS IS PHILOSOPHY OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATIONS, THOUGH I’M NOT ABOVE PUNCTUATING MY LECTURES WITH JUDO FLIPS IF YOU’D PREFER THAT METHOD OF LEARNING.” The writing resumed.

The judo flips proved to be unnecessary; Stretch aced the course as easily as he’d aced the others. The lanky skeleton was a single semester away from an Associate’s Degree with a sterling 4.0 grade point average and the acclamation of every professor and department head that he encountered. His chosen degree entailed English credits, though, and Stretch could no longer put them off. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Edge led the English department and handled all of the high level courses personally. 

Basic English and literature classes filled quickly, but the high level classes required Edge’s personal stamp of approval for any student who dared to request them. Stretch submitted his course schedule online, and Edge invited him for an interview the very next day. This would be a one-on-one meeting in Edge’s office, and Stretch found himself uncharacteristically nervous at the thought of facing Edge alone.

Stretch knocked on the door to the English administrative office, and when Edge called for him to enter, he did so with an attempt at his trademark humor.

“is this the Doki Doki Literature Club?” he asked, stepping into Edge’s unsurprisingly spartan workspace.

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS,” Edge answered drily, “AND I SUGGEST YOU ACTUALLY READ YOUR COURSE DESCRIPTIONS IN THE FUTURE. NOW HAVE A SEAT, OR WOULD YOU RATHER CONDUCT OUR MEETING FROM YOUR BACK ON THE FLOOR.”

Stretch pretended to consider the offer, and Edge stood up and reached for him across the desk as if to grab him for a flip. His face moved close to Stretch’s, and without thinking, the lazybones leaned forward and kissed him.

Startled, Edge kissed back, taking far too long to shove the other skeleton away. “SUCH BEHAVIOR IS INAPPROPRIATE BETWEEN TEACHERS AND STUDENTS,” he rasped, shaken, and Stretch, face flaming with an orange blush, fled the office and the campus. Edge regretted his severity immediately, but immediately was too late.

Taking any English classes at the college would now be impossible for Stretch. The conflict of interest could cost Edge his career as a professor. Edge had rejected him anyway; seeing him on campus would hurt too much.

The counselor, unaware of Stretch’s reason for dropping out of college in his final semester, argued for him to stay. Stretch refused. Dropping out of college seemed fitting for someone with such slothful habits. The only thing he truly regretted was running away without telling Edge how he felt. Hood pulled over his lowered head, Stretch left campus for the last time…

… and bumped into someone carrying a box full of odds and ends.

“WATCH OU- CARROT?”

“professor?”

“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?”

“i dropped out. i didn’t want you to risk your job…”

“I QUIT MY JOB,” said Edge. “I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO DROP OUT IF…”

“if?”

“IF WE STARTED DATING.”

The two skeletons stared at each other. Edge had already resigned. Stretch had already dropped out. The staring continued until Stretch broke the silence.

“soooo, boyfriends then?”

Edge let out a long-suffering sigh. “YES. BOYFRIENDS.”

READ ON AO3

DAY TWO | INDEX | DAY FOUR

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND STUDENTS

The values of the elite, others feel a little nervous about it, because it would cause the founders' attitudes toward risk tend to be the boss of someone much older than you, and b since he's probably a founder, he can pay himself nothing. Redwoods mean those are the parts where the fog off the coast comes in at night; redwoods condense rain out of fog. Aim for cool and cheap, not expensive and impressive. So despite those millions in the bank, you're still poor. During the Internet Bubble there were a number of startups that need less than they used to. It's a tossup whether Castro Street or University Ave should be considered the heart of the Valley is done in the cafes on or just off University Ave in Palo Alto. In some cases you may collaborate with other students, and this remark convinced me that Sarbanes-Oxley loosened. It's hard to follow, especially when you're young. It's not the sort of uncool office building that will make your software worse. It's not what people learn in classes at MIT and Stanford that has made technology companies spring up around them.1 The main reason they all acted as if they got the answer to some math question before the other kids.

Palo Alto is a place they come to meet investors. Well, no. If you walked around their offices, it seemed like a software company.2 Presumably they were driven by whatever makes people in every other society invent cosmologies. I know that have the right kind of place for developing software. Investors all compete with one another for deals, but they know better than to use it. Or rather, investors who do that will get corrected in the process is option pools.3 But in fact we were doing exactly the right sort of person who would like to do, your best bet may be to choose a type of work that could turn into either an organic or two-job route is that it's slow and uncertain.

That's an important difference because it means a startup could do. Once we reach that point, we take one of two routes. I was a kid I thought they protected inventors from having their ideas stolen by big companies. The problem was, since we'd been about to be acquired, we'd allowed ourselves to run low on cash. So a language that people don't learn merely to get a job.4 We've found this principle very useful, and we were growing at 10% a month. If you work hard at being a bond trader for ten years, thinking that you'll quit and write novels when you have enough money, what happens when you quit and then discover that you don't notice.5

Always produce is also a heuristic for finding the work you love. But should you start a company. The kind of philosophy I'm advocating won't be able to achieve the essayist's standard of proof, not the mathematician's or the experimentalist's. He has noticed that theoretical knowledge is often acquired for its own sake, out of curiosity, rather than becoming philosophy professors. You couldn't just do what you wanted, and that probably made a difference. It turns out to have been temporary. Others say I will get in trouble for appearing to be writing about things I don't understand.6 If two companies have the same drab clunkiness as anything else that comes out of a new funding round we needed to raise more to keep going. Soon after we arrived at Yahoo, we got an email from Filo, who had been crawling around our directory hierarchy, asking if it was really necessary to store so much of our data on expensive RAID drives. The acquirers already have brand recognition and HR departments. Talk to as many VCs as you can, though.

Kids who know early what they want. On the whole they've done better than the companies that weren't. So don't get demoralized. Still more dangerously, when you think about it if you're trying to negotiate with them. In fact, they rarely seemed to arrive at it. For example, if users searching for compact disc player end up spending considerable money at sites offering compact disc players, then those pages will have a higher relevance for that search phrase, even though the phrase compact disc player end up spending considerable money at sites offering compact disc players, then those pages will have a higher relevance for that search phrase, even though the advertisers are paying and users aren't. Increasingly, startups are a big risk financially. Could other countries introduce more individualism into their technology companies and research labs without having it metastasize as strip malls?

Customers loved us. Usually there is something even better than C; and plug-and-so is an animal. People who don't want to be CFO of a public company now. A few ideas from it turned out to be. Because people in the Valley.7 It causes you to work not on what you want and get out of the way. This money isn't revenue.

But there is no need for rounds to take months or even weeks to close, and once founders realize that, it's going to feel terrible sometimes, then when it feels terrible you won't think ouch, this feels terrible, I give up.8 I, Ada have lost, while hacker languages C, Perl, Smalltalk, Lisp. They may also make the biggest investment. There is no core of knowledge one must master. So mainly what a startup buys you is time. We felt like our role was to be impudent underdogs instead of corporate stuffed shirts, and that this company is going to discover those. Perhaps more importantly, you'll get into the habit early in life of thinking that all judgements are. The reason: today's teenage hacker is tomorrow's CTO.9 Some angels, especially those with technology backgrounds, may be satisfied with a search result than going to the site and buying something?

Notes

The First Two Hundred Years.

More precisely, investors treat them differently. Everyone's taught about it.

There's no reason to believe this number is a function of their initial funding and then stopped believing, so presumably will the rate of change in response to what modernist architects meant. I overstated the case, as they seem like noise.

If they really need that much better, and would not be true that the only result is that the path from ideas to startups. In the Daddy Model and reality is the only ones that matter financially, and there are not the second clause could include any possible startup, unless it was true that being so, you have to talk to a VC who got buyer's remorse, then over the details. Record labels, for example, the number of situations, but there are no startups to have had little effect on college admissions there would be to become one of their growth from earnings.

This is a new generation of software from being contaminated by how you spent your summers. By a similar effect, at least, as Brian Burton does in SpamProbe.

It was common in the computer world recognize who that is a bad idea was that professionalism had replaced money as a constituency. Some find they have to factor out some knowledge. He, like a knowledge of human nature, might come from meditating in an empty room, you might be an inverse correlation between launch magnitude and success.

I was as bad an employee or as outside counsel, they cancel out and you start to be hard on the spot as top sponsor.

If you seem evasive than if you repair a machine that's broken because a it's too obvious to your instruments. Some want to turn Buffalo into a great programmer is infinitely more valuable, and that modern corporate executives would work so hard to judge for yourself and that modern corporate executives would work so hard to mentally deal with the sort of idea are statistics about the idea that they probably don't notice even when I switch in mid-twenties the people who run them would be easier to get a small proportion of spam. Xkcd implemented a particularly clever one in a limited way, without becoming a Texas oilman was not in the standard edition of Aristotle's contribution?

There is one that did. He was off by only about 2%. We just store the data, it's because of some power shift due to the yogurt place, we found they used it to colleagues. There can be a trivial enhancement of HTTP, to mean starting a company.

[jojosbizarreadventur]

Time’s Crusade: Chapter 2 (02)

also available on AO3 (under emih)

This chapter: The events leading up to the infertility discovery. Also, fuck cool jazz.

warning (just in case): oddly-detailed smut (is this allowed anymore on here idk)

Summary: Yesterday in 2011, your husband Noriaki and close friend Jotaro were both murdered together just months before your university graduations. The day before yesterday, you discovered that your nerve-wracking IUI procedure was successful. Two months before that day, said close friend made a proposition to the both of you due to your husband’s recently-discovered infertility.

Today in 1988, you’re over 20 years into the past of an alternate universe, suddenly tasked with trailing after different versions of your late husband and close friend as they travel with unfamiliar faces to Egypt, determined to confront the man you now work for.

And in the following days, you discover how easy it was for your sentiments to change.

02

A Promise, Part 2

Summer, 2011

You planned everything.

Actually, you and Noriaki planned everything. You two designated a day, a time, the setting— as strange as that sounds. Before such issues, you sort of just… you know, went at each other when you both felt like it. Logistics going beyond ‘not busy, foreplay, take clothes off, more foreplay, fuck, orgasm’ had never been considered by either of you, but here you are. You both made sure this would happen when you were both ready, where no one or nothing would disturb you two. You were sure that everything would go smoothly… you mean, you both did all the necessary steps, right?

Yet, you stared— dumbfounded— at the plastic pregnancy test a little over a week later.

{    | }   ——   Pregnant { |  | } / Not Pregnant {    | }

That’s the third time. 

The third fucking time.

You were seriously ready to dunk that plastic piece of shit in the garbage bin, along with letting out a good shriek. Though, that might get you some written complaints from the neighbors, and you at least had the decency to prevent yourself from doing so.

But why?! 

You were so confused, proceeding to run a hand through your hair and groan in frustration. It got to the point where you even started to think if the at-home pregnancy test you bought was faulty, but then that’d mean that everyone you bought so far were all shit. That couldn't be the case at all, unless the creator above you was trying to get back at you for something you had no recollection of. You even bought different brands each time, but you realized that regardless of label or color scheme, they were all manufactured with the same function. 

And… well, they worked, but not in the way you wanted them to.

Noriaki wasn’t there when you took the test, as he was on campus that day for class. He had already left about two hours ago, leaving you by yourself as you didn’t have class today. You were thinking of getting a head-start on your work until you remembered about the pregnancy test that you bought from the convenience store.

This time, you were just going to be honest with yourself— you failed to conceive for a third time. The myth (and eventually-executed plan…) of fucking in different positions to increase the chances became less funny as each pregnancy test you took kept resulting in negatives, so for this attempt it was something forgotten altogether. At this point, you weren’t really sure what to do besides giving the ‘announcement’ to Noriaki… again. Same announcement, possibly same reaction.

June

The first time you announced that, anyway, Noriaki seemed very nonchalant. At least that’s what he looked like on the outside.

He was actually bummed out a bit. The process of trying for a baby seemed to be more complicated than he expected; rather, you two actually had to make an effort to ensure that you get a positive test. Perhaps it was his fault for being too clueless. Hours after you told him, he was awake beside you as you slept in bed, thinking to himself that maybe asking his non-married colleagues about babies was not the best idea. Noriaki even asked Jotaro during one of their rare gym outings, who simply claimed that he focused on marine biology, not that type of biology while on the treadmill.

Besides, this wasn’t something you’d want to blame him for— not in a million years. It’s not like he did anything wrong. You even suggested that you two just try again and see.

So you did days later. 

You were pretty sure you couldn’t walk the day after, as your thighs and the rest of your legs were more sore than usual. You remembered groaning and moaning about it that day— about how you remembered about walking to and from the station, to and from campus and all that. In response, Noriaki only gave you a cheeky laugh and a peck on the cheek as he worked on his project.

…that teasing lovable bastard. 

You were probably ready to offer to fuck him again right then, but you held back. He needed to get that project finished, anyway. The professor for that class had a reputation of being a strict asshole; after all, you overheard a girl sobbing over one of his assignments in the library one time as she expressed her anger to her friend. Anyway, you weren’t willing to let your husband face that geezer’s wrath just because you wanted to suck him off first and possibly distract him. Besides, you were still pretty sore.

Then, the pregnancy test after that came out negative too. 

Hints of worry came from Noriaki’s face, though he still refused to give up. He recommended for you two to be serious about it next time. That meant getting rid of every distraction around you— getting work done early and whatnot. You accepted, believing that your hefty schedules were the culprit; after all, you two were pretty damn busy.

Even Noriaki was giving himself— then you— some positive reinforcement on the days before. If he had done something similar at the beginning, you probably would’ve questioned his motives for doing so, perhaps even showed some astounded face at such determination. However, as it was already going to be the third try, you teasing about it would make no meaningful contribution.

To think something like this would be of your utmost worries lately— during your last year of university, no less— was rather weird. Instead, you should be focusing on your senior research project, or the unofficial job offers you’ve been getting since last year. This was bound to get you stressed, as you had to deal with a bunch of shit that, frankly, had no place in your mind right now.

On the ‘designated day’, you temporarily let go of your restlessness to spend some time with your husband, whom you’ve only been married to for almost two months now. Time sure does fly, doesn’t it?

It’s a day when neither of you have any on-campus commitments, which also happened to be a good day in ovulating. The day before, you both decided to stay in the library to prematurely cram and finish every known assignment meant for the rest of the week to clear your minds. Doing this started to take a toll on the both of you, however— the amount of times that either of you sighed, leaned back and stretched, or rubbed your eyes (or, in Noriaki’s case, took off his reading glasses) was ridiculous. You weren’t even sure if it was going to be worth it at the end.

No— it was, as you kept convincing yourself over and over again. 

Even on the train ride home that night, where your head fell onto Noriaki’s slouched shoulder as you both refrained from going into a deep sleep so soon. It would be worth it, it would — you were sure that by next year, this would be something you’d look back on and laugh about. 

But enough about that.

The next day first started off in a mundane fashion. 

After waking from your slumbers, Noriaki went to go to wash his face in the connecting bathroom as you scrolled through your smartphone in bed. You were suddenly reminded about yours and Noriaki’s lunch break yesterday, where Noriaki mentioned some rumors surrounding a new model of smartphone from the same lineup that yours and his phones came from (he had apparently overheard it during his internship). The previous phones were all released in the summer, so maybe it’s a good time to start being on the lookout for them, you thought—

“We should cook breakfast today.”

You snapped out of your thoughts and turned your head.

Noriaki came walking out shirtless. He had just finished patting his face dry with a towel before looking over at you. Naturally, you gave him a warm smile, even if the sight of his defined chest was starting to stir you.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you complimented, setting your phone down beside you on the bed sheets. “We haven’t really had the time to do that recently, no?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” he agreed as he walked over to the tall built-in dresser to grab a new shirt. He must’ve accidentally wet the first one while washing his face— that was a tendency he had that he often complained about. “Pancakes, maybe?”

Groaning as you sat up, you stretched your arms out as you responded.

“That really fluffy recipe?”

“Of course.”

Without any sort of looming distraction, you two were finally free to go about your day as you wished. That meant actually being able to cook breakfast together, possibly screw up the recipe (it happens), lounge on the sofa, take naps or quick jogs (depends on the week), or do some other stupid shit that were quintessential for a pair of college students. Well, a pair of college students that happened to be married to one another, but neither of you regret it one bit.

You’re quick to follow a shirt-clad Noriaki out of the bedroom and over to the small semi-open kitchen. With the help of the wall being open— giving a view of the equally-small living room— you’re both able to listen to and watch the morning news from the kitchen as the ingredients were being gathered and prepped.

“We should make enough for tomorrow morning, too,” Noriaki suggested as he pulled open several drawers. “Also, where’s the spatula?”

“Already planning on it,” you responded, whisking away as you held the bowl of mix. “And the spatula is, ah… check the one closest to the sink. I think it’s there.”

Once he finds the utensil, the process continues much more smoothly. Here and there, you both crack jokes at one another or focus your attention at the television screen (Noriaki resorted to only listening). You’re talking about the news or discussing future plans to go out. Within the next fifteen minutes, a healthy stack of pancakes sat on top of a nice serving plate on the counter. Turning the stove off, you sigh and stretch your arms out again as Noriaki placed the other utensils in the sink to soak.

For a moment, you lock eyes with one another. You both cherish the sight in front of you, knowing that these will be the same set of eyes you get to see for however long your lives are.

Geez, you’re already both thinking about how fucking cliché you might come off as, but you both genuinely enjoy the sight of each other. Mornings like this were something you needed to have more often, as you both have been wrongly deprived of such. You’ll both be mourning its loss the next day… 

Noriaki’s eyes drift down, and he’s taken aback.

“You have pancake batter on your shirt.”

Eyes shooting downward, your jaw drops.

“What the hell, ” you breathed out, pulling the hem of your shirt taut as you scrutinized the stain.

“You didn’t notice it until now?” Noriaki questioned, approaching you as he chuckles.

You shake your head.

Noriaki’s arms swiftly glide around your waist as he plants a kiss on your lips. You hold onto his biceps; you’re noticing how the muscle there is a little firmer than you remember. There were occasions where he’d head out to the gym with Jotaro, though this was rare as even the temporary memberships were ridiculously expensive, and last time, Noriaki had to stop Jotaro from getting into a fight with a taunter.

Your hands then shift up to his warm cheeks, where your right thumb gently brushed against the bone. You’re locking eyes with him again, the sight of his lavender-grey irises through his glasses remind you of your luck to be with such a wonderful man. Though, this sight is gone once again as you lean in to kiss him again, albeit with fervent feeling. Your eyes close, your lips are locked, he’s running a hand through your hair as you back up onto the front of the countertop. The front of his thin pajama pants is what you’re feeling as his growing erection presses against you, and as you shift a little in your spot he only pulls you in closer for your body to act as some sort of friction against him.

Suddenly, you pull away.

“I— do you really want to do it… now?” you asked hesitantly, hands still cupping his cheeks. “We just cooked…”

On your right was the stove top, and on the right of that the plate of uneaten pancakes sat on its serving plate. The glass bowl of assorted fruit and slowly-melting butter sat next to it. You both look down at yourselves, obviously noticing the outline of Noriaki’s erection pressing against you. Though, his arms continue to be wrapped around you.

“Fuck— yeah, you’re right,” Noriaki breathed out. He let one hand go from your waist to run the hand through his red hair. “I’m actually starving, sorry.”

You titter.

“No need to be sorry, we have all day,” you say, forgiving him. In fact, you actually did have all day; however, only this day. Starting tomorrow, you were both going to return to your normal schedules, but with a lighter load than normal. You did finish a good portion of your work, yesterday.

“Right, right…”

Noriaki’s a bit disappointed, though you’d admit that you felt the same way. He reluctantly pulls away from you, and you don’t fail to notice the transferred pancake stain.

“Aw, my shirt stained your shirt…”

——

Lunchtime had already passed for the both of you. 

Before Noriaki kissed you, stood up, and headed to the toilet, you two had been lounging on the sofa and ‘watching’ television for the past hour. ‘Watching’, as in either being fully immersed in the morning drama or talking and not paying any attention; the latter had happened more frequently. At one point, there seemed to be some sort of sad, tear-jerking, and contemplative scene playing in the background, but you were more interested in the story Noriaki was telling you at the time. He kept laughing as he told you— some geezer who worked at another technology-focused school in Wakayama-ken had been caught stealing a bunch of weird shit like schoolgirls’ uniforms. 

Geez, talk about no dignity. Too bad Noriaki forgot the guy’s name; neither of you actually wanted to end up working with a person like that in the future.

You now grab the wireless DualShock controller, which sits next to the console on the television stand. It wouldn’t hurt to play a few games; after all, it’s been a while since you’ve played. Though, right on top and out of place— considering the shelving unit that contained all of yours and Noriaki’s games— sat a case for the cartridge of Deep Sea Crossing: New Reef. 

As you plop back down on the sofa, you’re wondering when Noriaki got the new game. You’ve been seeing reports of it being constantly sold out even with the restocks recently, so you’re not sure how he managed to buy a copy considering how little free time he had before.

Well, you shrug and wipe your forehead. If Noriaki doesn’t get out here sooner, it’ll probably be too late for him to help build the underwater town with the help of the blobfish assistant.

——

Arousal was like an avalanche.

By nighttime, you two were at your breaking points. You had spent time in the kitchen cooking again, though for dinner this time. The amount of space to move within the kitchen was practically non-existent, which meant that there were a uncountable amount of times that you bumped into Noriaki or vice versa. Your hips, elbow, and/or shoulders would collide. Sometimes you had to bend over to reach inside a cabinet, and if Noriaki had to walk pass you, his pelvis would accidentally bump into your hip or bottom if he wasn’t careful.

Honestly, you were probably thinking that it had to be on purpose. That actually happened more than once, and you didn’t fail to feel the gradual hardening at the front of his pants.

It wasn’t any better while you two were eating. You two were sitting at the rounded glass top table closer than usual; oftentimes, you’d opt to sit directly across from him. As you conversed, Noriaki’s breath would hitch as you’d accidentally have your hand resting on his shoulder, then sliding down to his back, around his waist, and to his thigh and knee. His eyes would intermittently dart down, seeing you massage the area excruciatingly slowly. There was a sliver of hope— maybe, just maybe you’d slide your hand up a little higher to where the drawstring of his pants were. Maybe you’d grab at the waistband, reach in, or… or something. 

Noriaki Kakyoin was not a desperate man. He was not supposed to be the type of person to submit so recklessly; in fact, he had spent years trying to move away from that kind of mindset in hopes of becoming a strong-willed person who wasn’t so easily swayed. Yet, you had become the only person that could push him in that direction of need, and he didn’t know whether to hate himself or begrudgingly accept it as he felt your warmth and experienced euphoria.

You both felt that familiar aura around you. Though, you continued to act as casual as possible, acting normal and not-at-all-aroused as you both washed the plates together. You mentioned the need for a dish-washing machine in your apartment— it’s so fucking ridiculous, you discussed and laughed, you two had a built-in fish grill but not a built-in dishwasher, for heaven’s sake— while your heart was practically palpitating. The proximity to Noriaki was starting to be intoxicating, and it only took a question of consent and barely a minute to strip him nude and see him for all he was worth.

Afterwards, it only takes a glance at one another to genuinely start. You stare into each other’s eyes again, silently communicating. Noriaki’s eyes occasionally avert to your bedroom door and back to you, and you do the same.

This was a funny aspect of marriage, especially between people who understood each other inside and out. You seemed to know what the other was thinking, even with the lack of actual verbal expression. And this time, you and Noriaki were good examples of this because of the leap of faith you both take— one that would surely affect your future.

You’re kissing. You’re kissing and holy shit does it feel inexplicably amazing to feel his soft lips connected to yours. Refraining from touching one another for a number of hours seemed criminal, but this build-up… this build-up is great. It’s satisfying to come to such a conclusion (no pun intended) and— oh, his hand’s fingers are buried in your hair. His slender fingers slide through, and feeling him gently hold onto you makes you— for some reason— step backwards. Of course, he follows as you continue to kiss; he occasionally and lightly sucks on your bottom lip, or you roll the curvature of your lips over his. Variations of this keep happening and happening, and you’re not sure of where your feet are taking you until you bump into the actual door of the bedroom. 

Upon impact, Noriaki grinds against you, making you whine against his mouth. He temporarily releases his lips from you— foreheads and nose tips still touching— to sharply inhale and exhale again and again, trying to process the feeling of his erection rubbing against you again. You feel his breaths hitting your burning skin, moving your hands to his chest, his shoulders, his jawline, his cheeks, and back down to his chest as you kiss him again. You both inwardly cringe at the sudden feeling of your teeth clacking with the other’s set before letting your tongues come into contact and swirl around one another. The back of your head is resting on the wood of the door, and Noriaki’s hands shift downward to your breasts, your waist, your hips, your ass cheeks, and he takes the time to knead them as you continue to deep kiss. Instinctively, you wrap a leg around him, and then do the same with the other, which he graciously accepts. 

The throbbing on your behalf seems to be more noticeable to you.

Though you’re supporting yourself by having your legs tightly wrapped around Noriaki—along with him having an arm around your waist now— he takes the time to find the door handle and open it. You almost have to help him, but he gets it eventually. Noriaki starts to lead you into the familiar room, but he has to stop kissing you and back up briefly to turn on the lights with the switch. You both titter before you finally reach the foot of the bed, in which case he slowly lowers you as your legs release from him.

You have to awkwardly scoot up and shift on the bed as he slowly approaches you by using his knees. Your breathing is substantially labored now, especially as your legs instinctively spread open to welcome him.

It suddenly occurs to Noriaki that your clothes were still on you, which was not what he needed right now.

“Can I undress you?” he asks— pleads, voice barely above a whisper. His lips are a bit swollen from kissing you, and he’s already taking off his own clothes. 

All you do is nod in a of-fucking-course fashion in response, and Noriaki doesn’t hesitate to pull off his own shirt, pants, and boxers and hurl them somewhere in the room first before tending to you. 

He first reaches to your shirt, briefly fondling your clothed breasts before grabbing the hem of your shirt to pull up. Because you haven’t been wearing a bra all day, Noriaki is undeniably thrilled to see your already-nude breasts as you lay back down. He plays with them— he takes the time to gently knead the mass of one, fitting your erect nipple between his index finger and his thumb as he noisily sucks at the other. You let out a long but quiet moan, absentmindedly letting your fingers run through his red locks as he alternated between each of your breasts. The weight of his body rests on you, but you don’t mind.

When his lips finally let go of your nipple, you whine at the missing feeling of his warm mouth on your breast. Noriaki sees— hears your reaction, and he compensates by moving his lips lower and lower, occasionally taking the time to peck and kiss the skin on your ribs, waist, and stomach before reaching your elastic waistband. He doesn’t hesitate to pull both of your pants and your panties down, briefly seeing the glistening wet stain in the undergarments as he throws both to where your shirt was on the floor. His lips immediately go back to your exposed mons pubis and downward, and you jolt a bit from the feeling of his warm skin.

You swear you hear Noriaki’s phone ringing behind you on the nightstand, but he takes one glance at it before ignoring it.

Noriaki gently kisses your clit before lapping up your wetness. After taking a few short trips down and back up, he audibly moans at your taste. The vibration that his moan emits onto the lips causes you to tense up; your toes curl as your fingers gently grab onto his red locks. He’s not stopping— he won’t stop, thank-fucking-God, and you feel him lightly rubbing your clit with his thumb as he continues to eat you out— holy fucking shit. He teases you by moving his hand, letting one finger— no, what the fuck, two fingers— slowly enter and exit you as he flicks your clit with his tongue. This elicits a louder, more desperate moan from you; your fingers, entangled in his hair, tighten its grip before Noriaki abruptly pulls away from you again.

Instead of getting mildly offended, you stare up into Noriaki’s lust-ridden eyes. Your breathing has gotten heavier, and you see your own chest rising up and down. The fingers that briefly fucked you had already gone to his cock, lazily stroking the hardened organ. You didn’t think it would be possible, but you swore that you got even more aroused at the sight of your husband doing that.

Sitting up, you opt to go on your knees and bend over in front of him. He’s already staring down at you with anticipation; the slender fingers around his cock tighten just a bit before reaching to your flushed face. His fingers brush against your cheek before gently cupping your face. Neither of you have forgotten the fact that his cock— which had started to leak pre-cum— was now at eye-level with you.

Both of you briefly glanced at Noriaki’s phone, which started to ring again. Opting to ignore it and look up at him, your breaths start to hit his tip.

You start to ask with a small but increasingly desperate voice, “Can… can I…?”

Noriaki knows what you’re trying to ask.

“I… I will probably cry if you don’t,” he responds with a joking tone, though he isn’t joking any longer when you suddenly wrap your fingers around the organ. His breath hitches; he lets out a quiet whine as he watches you pull his foreskin back to taste and suck.

As your cheeks hollow a little, you take the time to swirl your tongue around his glans before bobbing your head. The hand that had its fingers tangled in your hair for a few minutes tightened its grip a little to keep you in place as he shallowly fucked your mouth.

“Nngh— ah, shit, this feels so good,” Noriaki hissed. The moment he sees you flick your tongue against the underside of his cock, pulling up another hand to his balls, he yelps. “Ah… wait… nn, wait, nonononono— if you keep doing that I’m literally going to cum into your mouth—!”

Like last time, he abruptly pulls away from you with heavy pants. His cock was still slick with the mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva now that it’s been slid out of your mouth. Noriaki continues to hold your head, feeling his tip touching your lips as he stares down at you in astonishment. You only give him a cheeky grin at him in response.

Admittedly, being familiar with his taste and feeling, you would’ve liked to continue sucking him off. Not this time, however; perhaps another time.

It doesn’t take long for you two to be situated— your head on the pillow now that you’ve fallen back onto the bed and scooted up, while Noriaki leaned over you. Both of your breathing patterns were heavy, labored, and he’s spreading your legs wider before rubbing his cock down and up, down and up the open lips. Noriaki was supporting himself with his well-defined arms, which you held onto as he smoothly pushed in thanks to your wetness and… holy holy holy shit he’s thrusting— he’s thrusting already, oh my fucking God—

Your moan is louder than the last ones you’ve let out, because this godly, perfect man that you’ve had the pleasure in marrying is actually having you— he knows you’re getting addicted to the thrill of it just from the yes’s and the pleases and the mores and the you feel so fucking goods and you swear you’re probably going to cry. Lifting your hips up, you wrap your legs around his waist, indulging in his quick, desperate thrusts because— the angle he’s fucking you is different now, yes, holy shit— he’s hitting that soft area within you, he’s been stretching you out a bit but shit you don’t know when you’re going to cum but at the rate he’s going it’s probably going to be fucking soon.

He quickly leans forward to briefly lock lips with you again, swirling his tongue around yours— you realize that he tastes like matcha from dinner and yours and fuck he’s getting faster. He moved away from you to hold onto your hips now, his grip is tight enough to leave marks, he’s pulling down your hips harder as he thrusts into you, you hear him grunt and moan and—

—you hear his phone ring again. God, what the hell is up with that stupid phone? Without thinking, you grab his phone from the nightstand and throw it behind him. You both hear the loud thud as it comes into contact with the floor.

Noriaki doesn’t seem to care, however. His brows are creased, he’s only interested in making you both feel good. You’re… you’re pretty sure you’re almost there, your body’s tensing up, you’re letting out moans and whines, you’re feeling yourself dissolve into this pool of pleasure and you cry out his name— he’s starting to babble, he’s saying he loves you, love you so much— fuck you’re perfect you feel so good you’re mine I’m going to cum I’m going to cum fuck—

He stills as he lets out a loud but broken moan, save for the brief moments where his hips jerk as he spills into you. You felt his cock pulsating within you as you panted after crying out, surprised at how fast you two came to your orgasm. You both had been refraining until now to let out steam, so you suppose that explains it.

Once Noriaki pulls out from you, you lay there feeling empty between your legs. Shakily, he goes over to where you threw his (unharmed) phone on the floor, picking it up before heading back to the bed. Noriaki kneels down in front of you, phone in hand when it rings yet again.

This time, you actually manage to see the Caller ID.

Jotaro Kujo 𝐉🤚  

“Was it actually Jotaro that kept on calling you?”

Your breath hitched as you felt Noriaki’s hand slide down in between your legs.

“...yeah,” he replies, handing you his phone to see.

Out of all the nights Jotaro could’ve called, it was this night. 

You could’ve sworn the man was much more preoccupied than usual lately— he even said so himself. He had been swamped with preparing all of his requirements for graduate school, as he planned to pursue a doctorate in marine biology after graduation. This included gathering all of his transcripts and recommendation letters, composing a personal statement, and studying for the TOEFL and the GRE… all of which he’ll use to apply not only for schools here but also for several schools outside the country.

Of course, the thought of Jotaro leaving Japan made you bummed out. After three years, you two have become pretty good friends. There was the ‘warming-up’ period as Noriaki predicted, but after that Jotaro seemed to tolerate you. Sure, you and Noriaki could just call him on the phone or Skype him, but it wasn’t the same.

Noriaki continued to slowly rub your clit in circles as you decided to pick up the call for him. Making a strangled noise in response to him rubbing faster, you slap a hand over your mouth. Jotaro had recognized from your voice that it was you when you greeted him, but he wasn’t sure what you were doing at the moment.

“Hey, how are— what the hell are you doing? Are you okay?”

Your husband’s hand abruptly froze as you resort to gripping his arm— the one whose hand was touching you.

“Ah, our air-con isn’t… working,” you stated stupidly, rolling your eyes at the sight of Noriaki desperately trying to hold in his laughter. You didn’t try to stop him, however, as he— quite literally— had the upper hand with his fingertips just barely pressing your folds now. “It’s hot… it’s hot as hell in our apartment right now.”

This was, in fact, true. You didn’t discover the malfunction until lunchtime earlier today, but you and Noriaki made a mutual agreement not to tamper with it. Even if you two could hypothetically work together to fix the issue yourselves, the landlord would probably berate the both of you until your ears fell off. Or kick you both out. That seemed more likely.

“Eh— just build another one, obviously.”

“That’s not— stop laughing,” you respond, bursting out laughing as soon as you hear Jotaro letting out a rare chortle. “You— you say that as if that’s the easiest thing to do. You might as well create your own fucking body of water so you can do your research there.”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Jotaro joked.

Noriaki’s already slapping the bed sheets with his other hand, silently laughing hysterically. You roll your eyes, despite your amusement.

“Ah, but seriously… do you mind telling Noriaki that I left my copy of New Reef at your apartment?” Jotaro asked as he calmed down. “I came over last week to take turns playing it with Noriaki while you were at your research-thing, and I accidentally forgot it. I’ve been trying to call him to tell him that I’ll pick it up, but he’s not answering.”

You blankly stared back at your husband, who stared back at you. Of course, you both remember what you did his phone as he fucked you earlier.

Also, it has now occurred to you that the copy of Deep Sea Crossing: New Reef was not, in-fact, Noriaki’s. You suppose there’s always something to ruin the day.

“Ah— yeah…” you trail off. “I’ll tell him.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He hangs up.

“...so… that’s not your game?”

Noriaki pursed his lips, shaking his head.

“It’s been sold out for days. Jotaro said that the only reason why he managed to get it was because he actively waited for it, as in had a timer set and everything. He’s been telling me about how stressed out he is from practically kissing up to professors in order to get recommendation letters, so playing the game calms him down.”

You take a deep breath.

Suddenly, he’s staring— almost… almost in awe— at your entrance, which slowly continued to leak out his own cum. You blush under his stare, even though there’s really no need to be a prude about it now.

“How exhausted are you?” Noriaki asks as his eyes avert from between your legs to your face.

“Ah… honestly, not much.”

You saw that cheeky grin on his face.

“That’s great,” he commented while he started to rub at your clit again. You bit down another moan as you melted under his touch. “I didn’t think you came as much as you wanted to.”

July

Now, back to this pregnancy test.

You’re already lying face down on the sofa, hearing your slippers fall as your feet continue to dangle off the seat’s armrest. Turning your head to the side, you find the pink pregnancy test casually sitting on its packaging, which sat on a few tissues.

It’s like the result is just there, mocking you.

There was one idea that popped in your head, but you immediately shoved it away out of pure fear. It wasn’t a thought that you wanted to confront— not now, not ever. You didn’t even want to be preoccupied with such a question today. Though, as you get the same result over and over, it becomes a bit tempting for your thoughts to veer that way.

Was there something wrong with your body? Anything?

Was there?

Growing up, there hadn’t been any indication that there was something going on with you, or had the history of—

—it hits you.

You decide that it’s time to speak with Noriaki when he comes home.

“Are you alright?” Noriaki inquired hours later, voice soft and touch gentle as he wrapped his arms around your abdomen from behind. He lightly rested his chin on your shoulder.

That night, you were both in the cramped kitchen of the apartment you shared together. In the air was a mix of aromas, from the occupied fish grill beneath the stove burners to the pasta sauce currently being mixed and heated.

Noriaki offered to cook the pasta tonight, but you opted to help him with slicing ingredients and grilling the fish as he did so. You snickered at the uncommon combination of grilled salmon beside some inauthentic seafood pasta— Noriaki had forgotten the ‘original’ recipe from Jotaro’s mother, apparently— but you knew the deed was heartfelt.

Though, your thoughts on what happened earlier were still intruding. It hasn’t taken the exit door out of your mind at all, to the point where it started to distract you and make you unproductive. Damnit, you had work to do! It was just some stupid, maybe faulty pregnancy test— as you angrily thought to yourself multiple times. You could try again, as Noriaki would reassure you. Try again… 

Try again… 

Try again…

But what if you couldn’t— no. It’s… it’s not possible. It can’t actually be happening. 

“I took another test.”

Noriaki’s breath hitches at your words. He quickly recognized your tone of voice, and if he remembered from the previous times, he knew you had an uncomfortable expression to match.

You heard him sigh, and the arms wrapped around you tighten just a bit.

“…if it’ll make you feel better by having answers, we can both get tested,” Noriaki suggested, though you can hear his reluctance.

This time, you whipped your head at him in surprise. 

He knew exactly what you were thinking.

——

In the last five-and-a-half years of being friends with Noriaki, Jotaro had never seen the redhead in such a state.

He’s crying, first of all— tears continue to flow slowly but effortlessly down his cheeks. Said cheeks are also flushed red, because he’s drinking; the refilled shot of liquor in Noriaki’s hand is an indication to Jotaro that he’s not planning to stop anytime soon. Yet, even when Jotaro reminded him that that shot is at least his eighth one, Noriaki didn’t seem to give a shit in the slightest.

They’re lucky that they’re drinking in Jotaro’s living room and not in public. Jotaro knew that Noriaki would die of embarrassment the next day if he got inebriated enough to vomit and/or pass out.

On the other hand, Jotaro’s own shot is left untouched on the coffee table because the sight of Noriaki starts to scare him a little. Between the two of them, it’s probably a good idea that one of them remains mostly sober anyway. Despite reaching legal drinking age before you and him, Noriaki always had a pretty low alcohol tolerance. Jotaro swears that you even have a higher tolerance than your husband, considering the amount of times you’ve talked to them about getting dragged to the ‘work nights’ at the local izakaya.

Right… you. 

Noriaki’s wife. 

The wedding wasn’t even that long ago.

Beneath two empty bottles of liquor on the coffee table was Jotaro’s white hat, his shot glass, and an open folder of papers vaguely stained with tears and alcohol. The printer ink displaying the name and general information for the clinic are a bit smudged, now.

“What did you get on the TOEFL, by the way?” Noriaki slurs, wiping his flushed and tear-stained face with one hand. His hand is trembling— good grief— and he does it rather haphazardly, practically slapping himself in the face.

Jotaro doesn’t hesitate to answer. Then again, he’s not sure if Noriaki is in the right mindset to talk about the clinic visit right now.

“Eh… 106 overall.”

Noriaki’s brows shot up. “Wow, really? That’s great, JoJo. Really great. Wonderful. Love it. And to think you used to be the kid who didn’t give a shit about English.”

Jotaro huffed. “My mom and my old man speak it. I also did, in-fact, use your old flash cards that you gave to me—”

“—English is really useful here in Tokyo, you know,” Noriaki interrupted, making Jotaro give him a pointed look. Maybe it was a bad idea to answer the TOEFL question, after all. “Big companies like it if— hic— you speak other languages besides Japanese because it increases your marketability especially because, you know, you’re petting the dolphins and starfish—”

“—that’s not what I do—”

“—and you have to travel all around the world and meet new marine biologists and talk to them and if they can’t understand you then they’re gonna be like [hey you speak English now or go back to Japan you big-cock motherfucker] and then you’re gonna get mad and punch them in the face and you— hic— won’t be able to see dolphins anymore because you’ll get arrested again—”

Jotaro yanks the fully-filled shot from Noriaki’s hand, not minding that some of the liquor splashed on their chests. Noriaki definitely seemed to not care. The black-haired man was practically fuming.

“Shut the fuck up, we need to talk about this right now,” he spat, roughly moving the empty bottles to grab the folder of documents. “By the way, good grief, you already ruined the front pages.”

“She has her own copy,” Noriaki blurted out, now a bit despondent from being separated from the shot glass. Jotaro had to swat his friend’s hand away from his own glass on the coffee table. “My wife, I mean. My lovely wife, I love her. I love her so much.”

“Yes, I know you do.”

“I love her so so so so much,” the redhead blabbered, blatantly ignoring Jotaro. “I love her, I love her, I love her. I love her so much, and I can’t make her happy. I can’t— hic— make her happy, JoJo. I— I can’t give her a child. I can’t father her child. I can’t be a father, JoJo. I can’t be a father, I can’t, I can’t— why can’t I be a father, JoJo?! Why?! Why— hic— not?! Why must I be cursed like this?! ”

Jotaro grabs onto his friend’s shoulders, prompting him to stop yelling. The last thing they need is for one of Jotaro’s neighbors to send a complaint about them, because he did not want to deal with that at the moment.

“Noriaki, listen to me, listen to me,” Jotaro demanded, hardening his glare at him. His eyes temporarily avert to a suddenly-manifested Hierophant Green, which unraveled its legs into its usual web of tentacles. The green humanoid Stand proceeds to dramatically slide to the floor, laying down with its arms stretched out. Though, even with the lack of conventional eyes, Jotaro knew that its expression was representative of Noriaki’s current breakdown.

“She can’t even see Hierophant…”

“Yes, I know— Noriaki Kakyoin, I swear, listen to me.”

Finally, the red-haired man locks eyes with him. 

The sight of Noriaki’s red, puffy eyes and the tears that flow down his cheeks as he sniffles is forever burnt into Jotaro’s memory. Cursing to himself, Jotaro loosens his grip on Noriaki’s shoulders.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he admitted rather bluntly. “You’re not the Noriaki I know.”

“Do you still know him anymore?” Noriaki slurred, rubbing his face with both hands.

Jotaro irritatedly sighed. “Yes, I do. Deep in your gross, sad, drunk mind, he’s there. And I want to help him. He’s been avoiding a conversation with his wife, but I think he has to get on with… that. They need to talk about what to do from here on out.”

“But what if they talk? And he finds out that she hates him?”

His eyes widened at him.

“...she— she doesn’t,” Jotaro choked out, astounded by his words. “She loved him before, loves him now, and will love him until the end. Their friend just hopes that… they don’t get mad if, ah… damnit— if he suggests that he serve as a sperm donor for the child they wish for, because he really cares about them and… hates to see them… like this…”

November 26, 2011

Your conversation with Vinegar Doppio lasted a little over an hour.

Every now and then he double-checks to see if it’s good for you to call him so early in the morning where you are; though, every time he asks, you assure him that it’s fine. It’s not like you had interest in sleeping anytime soon at… nearly 3 or 4 AM. You’d even let this call go on for longer, except he had to continue working on his essay— he was telling you its abstract earlier— about sound communication between frogs. Which, after he hung up, left you sitting up in the living room alone.

How exactly you met Doppio in the first place was a strange series of events. This all involved getting lost in an unfamiliar city, an aquatics championship, a yelling match with an Italian butterfly swimmer, and a variety of ‘phones’ that you didn’t realize classified as phones. 

But that story is best saved for another day.

However, when you did meet him, it had only been a year since his step-father— his only remaining family member— had died. Doppio told you about a fire that burned down the village he grew up in, lamenting the loss of everyone. His step-father, a priest for a local church, had been one of the casualties. The pink-haired man described it as gut-wrenching and sinful arson, furiously upset that he had been away and busy at university in Rome as it happened. He only became aware of the circumstances when he returned home during the winter break and saw only charred debris and some makeshift barricade. And judging by the state of the barricade itself, it happened months before he arrived.

These days, he apparently lives with several roommates in Rome. You guess it explains his ability to sustain himself, now that he’s been orphaned for nearly four years. You’re actually not sure what happened to his parents, but you respect the tacit wish of not discussing it.

“[I believe that someone purposely burned down my village in Sardinia],” Doppio asserts on the other end of the line. “[We were a very tight-knit group of people. I can’t imagine that any of my neighbors would commit something so cruel].”

You furrow your brows. “[Do you have any leads? Like… um, who… caused it?]”

Suddenly, you hear Doppio’s breath hitch. 

He’s quiet— he stays quiet for a while, in fact— and you silently curse to yourself. You must’ve hit a nerve, visiting a particular subject that the Italian man did not want to acknowledge. Yet, he answers, albeit with a voice deeper and a tone harsher than you’ve heard the usually-friendly man speak in.

“No.”

...you slowly blink, clearly taken aback by the sudden change.

Hm.

It’s not something you decide to dwell on anymore. Though, it’s probably best that you change the subject in order to not make Doppio any more uncomfortable.

Taking a deep breath, you’re immediately reminded of your own predicament again, which seemed apropos to discuss now.

“Well, I don’t know who… targeted… my husband either.”

“Where were you when it happened?” he asks with an abruptly softer tone and demeanor.

Now that you think about it, Doppio might actually just be sleep deprived.

“I… was, um… out of town,” you admitted, averting your eyes to the hardwood floor beside you. “I was visiting my hometown— you know, west side of Japan, kinda far from Tokyo— and… well, it’s normal for me. I go once every few months; sometimes my husband goes with me, sometimes he doesn’t. He didn’t go with me yesterday because he had class and…”

You trail off.

On the other side of the line, you know that Doppio is confused by your gradual silence. At this point, you’re just sitting up on the futon and blankly staring. You can hear him say your name, asking you if you’re still there.

If… if there was just the slightest change in Noriaki’s schedule… if the professor for that class had scheduled his class the day before or after Friday, then… oh God, Noriaki would still be here, right? Right? If he went to Iwami-chō with you instead of class, he would not be in a body bag right now. And because Noriaki wasn’t home, Jotaro wouldn’t bother to come over. He would’ve escaped death as well. Yet, fate is convulsing, it’s turning and warping into a series of events that starts to eat at you, fuck, it’s like it knows the effect it’ll have on you as you start to process that they will never be alive again and for you to see their faces just one last time—

“—and you came home later? Where are you staying?”

Your thoughts slowed down. 

Massaging your temples, you deeply inhale before responding to Doppio in a shaky voice.

“...I came home later. And— and… Doppio, I swear to God, I have no idea what to do… I mean, I’m staying at…”

Goddamnit, you were crying again.

You had an inkling— unexplainable, at that— that perhaps Noriaki’s professor had nothing to do with it. Though, you didn’t know what else to think at this point.

——

Just now you’re starting to get tired— fuck, you didn’t even sleep. You had that brief phone call with Doppio a few hours ago, hoping not to wake up your friend or her son in the other room. An hour ago, you sat up from your futon because you heard the wails of the baby, rubbing your eyes. You were supposed to be awake now anyway, as you were supposed to head to the police station in an hour for questioning.

Now that you think about it, your trip to Iwami-chō yesterday might seem suspicious to law enforcement, considering the murders occurred at around the same time. You mean, this was the type of shit you heard of on those forensic crime documentaries. To experience something like this in your lifetime just felt wrong, like it was in the universe’s favor for you to become… you don’t know, a suspected and accused murderer. 

It’s insane, really. But it’s not like you can avoid that.

——

The back of a hand was planted on your forehead, snapping you out of your never-ending thoughts. Your eyes darted around, once again immersing yourself in the environment you briefly left.

You were sitting at the round wooden dining table. In front of you were your laptop— which had long gone into sleep mode by now— along with your open textbook. The mechanical pencil that was in your hand had fallen onto the mostly-filled notebook, having rolled off the table and onto the floor beside your sock-clad foot.

The owner of the hand pulled away, narrowing her eyes at you as she studied your face. 

“Are you getting sick? Stop what you’re doing right now.”

Instinctively, you brought your own hand to your face, feeling your sweltering skin. Even though the detail of your reflection wasn’t so vivid in the black laptop screen, you knew you had dark circles under your eyes and probably the most dehydrated skin anyone has ever seen. Who knew that skipping skincare-related deeds for one day could do something so drastic to your emotionally-exhausted self?

“How could you tell?” you asked your friend dryly. With a bored expression, you shoved your cold hands under your thighs, lightly swinging your legs underneath the table.

Your friend, Tomoko Higashikata, sighed heavily as she placed her hands on her hips.

“You’re looking pale,” she bluntly informed, leaning forward to collect all of your utensils and materials to put away. “I think it’s time you stopped doing work for the rest of the day. Have you eaten yet?”

As if on cue, hunger started to gnaw at you.

The events from yesterday now serve as an impetus to distract yourself as much as possible, though you realize that it’s causing you to forget even the most basic necessities for your body.

You mean, this is normal… it is. On your busiest days and nights, where all of your focus was on whatever you were working on, you’d prioritize that over anything else.

Well, except Noriaki. If he needed anything, you were there in a heartbeat. You’d just multitask— if possible— and he’d leave you alone on his own accord so you could be finished quicker, thus being able to spend more time with him. Although, there were times— you knew, he’d express his own feelings about it— he’d wish you could remember the world around you. Remember that outside the apartment windows, there was life you both could enjoy together.

You wanted to laugh every time Noriaki said that; he used to say that in a ridiculously dramatic way. He’d grab a chair and sit near you, and what he did would depend on the day. Sometimes he’d just be doing some light reading from his textbooks, like the one about color theory when he took that web design class one semester. When he finished his own work, he’d prepare some snacks for the both of you. On other days, he’d do small talk. You typically spoke less during these moments, but you’d ask him questions that were introspective or complex enough that he’d go on and on to answer. When you worked, his voice as he spoke served as music to your ears— as weird as that may sound.

To think that you took something that seemed so minuscule for granted.

“…no,” you weakly answer Tomoko. 

You leaned back into your chair, eyes lowering to your abdomen.

Her eyes followed your own, settling there as well. Expression softening, she placed your utensils and textbook back in your backpack, sliding the laptop in the provided separate compartment inside.

“You definitely need to eat then— I finished the nikujaga,” she finalized, gesturing for you to stand up. “We need to make sure you’re as healthy as possible for the following weeks.”

Suddenly, you were kind of glad you opted to stay with her. She sure as hell knew what to do, mainly because you didn’t. Clearly you didn’t even give two shits that you were in this state; who knew what would’ve happened if you’d let it continue?

The second you told her of last night’s events, Tomoko had offered to let you stay over for as long as you needed. This happened shortly after your whole breakdown at the apartment complex, where you were then suggested to stay at a nearby hotel while the whole ordeal would be dealt with by law enforcement. You already had a number of useful items with you in the backpack that you brought to Iwami-chō, such as your phone, pocket money & payment cards, various IC cards, your laptop, school-related shit, and your passport; however, everything else was back at the apartment. 

You’ve been doubting the likeliness of you getting anything back within the next few days.

Her apartment was smaller than yours and Noriaki’s— if not even smaller— and there was only one bedroom. She even suggested that she sleep in the living room, which you adamantly rejected. It was her own apartment, after all. However, your rejection was also out of convenience for her to care for her son. Just a few months ago, Tomoko had given birth to the boy, whose crib currently took up the corner of her bedroom. This explained her absence from work a while ago, forcing you to converse with the other interns instead and do errands with her after your shift.

You were given a brief overview of the circumstances preceding that; apparently, she had a one-night stand with some foreigner last year who was here in Tokyo for a business trip. She wouldn’t tell you the foreigner’s name or anything about him— which was fine, because you probably wouldn’t have remembered any of it anyway— but you knew she must’ve liked him enough to be willing to carry his baby to term, even after he left and returned to who-knows-where.

How she simultaneously managed to raise the baby alone and go to school at Gakudai baffled you, though all you had was respect for her. To think you both met at work and, during pre-pregnancy, would bond after your assistant and her intern shifts during the company-funded nights at one of the surrounding izakaya.

You were still planning to use the laptop, which she had just put away in front of you. As she walked back into the kitchen, you realized that her back was to you while she turned off the stove’s heat. Your hands slowly grabbed the device from the still-open backpack, gingerly lifting and resting it on the tabletop. It’s not like she’d be able to see you—

“— oi! What did I just say?”

Groaning loudly, you lean back in your chair again and rub your face with your hands. 

“I just—” you interjected, frankly feeling a bit nervous seeing Tomoko storm over to you. Why did she seem exponentially more terrifying when doing this? “—come on, Tomoko, I just need to do— my work —”

Tomoko was currently playing a little tug-of-war with you. It took all of your strength to hold onto your laptop, but even then, she managed to yank it from you with a yell. You yelped and cringed at the sight of her nearly dropping it on the hardwood floor, and gave her a look of indignation when she grabbed everything else from you.

By the way, when the hell did she get that strong? Was it from carrying her son all the time or something? If you got a little stronger from carrying a three-point-something kilogram baby after delivering it… you mean, what you experience in the months before doesn’t seem to be like a bad trade-off… 

She ignored your glare as she shoved everything inside your backpack— closing it this time— and proceeded to carry with her into the kitchen. The sound of your backpack being placed on the floor, the cabinets opening, and the grabbing of bowls and utensils resonated from there as you remained in your seat at the dining table, pouting.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Tomoko tells you, and she says it in what you perceive to be a weird, motherly, disappointed tone.

The bowl of food and chopsticks are carefully passed to you, and the mere presence of it overwhelms your senses. Your friend sits across from you with her own bowl, glancing over at you before you both put your hands together and say grace. After wiping your hands and picking up the pair of chopsticks, you didn’t even realize how hungry you were, finishing the first third of food in record speed.

At some point, Tomoko repeats her words from earlier.

“I wish you took me… what I say… more seriously,” she expressed as she set her chopsticks down horizontally on the bowl’s edges. “You’re… what? Three weeks?”

You shrug nonchalantly, not making any effort to recall what the fertility doctor told you two days ago. “I think so.”

She gave you a deadpanned look.

“You think—” Tomoko abruptly paused, massaging her temples and taking a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to get pissed at you any more, especially while eating dinner. “—damnit, okay. Have you taken your vitamins? Or… any supplements?”

“Ah…” you trail off, setting your chopsticks down in a way similar to hers. “I was given folic acid and… stuff, I don’t remember.”

To be fair, as an engineering major, it’s not exactly a priority to be taught how to remember things compared to how to do them. Although, you know you might be annoying Tomoko with this skill set.

“Yes, that’s it— have you taken them yet?”

Your eyes avert away from her. This, on the other hand, is something you do know.

“...they’re at my apartment.”

Tomoko’s expression softens all of a sudden. 

She doesn’t have anything to retort with, but she opts to help you out. Standing up, she heads back into the kitchen to reach into her medicine cabinet. Of course, she swore that she had an extra bottle of folic acid that she could just give to you. There was currently no need for her to have a large stock, as she’s now able to go out more frequently since giving birth.

While grabbing the bottle, Tomoko remembers the phone call she had with her father this morning. You were out of the house and at the questioning, so it’s not like you were there to overhear their conversation. She hurries back out over to the dining table with the bottle in hand, quickly thanking her as she hands you the bottle and scoots her chair forward.

“What’s the… hurry?” you retorted, an amused glint at your eyes. Her expression seemed to contrast yours, however, and your amusement wanes.

You hear her take a deep breath, mouth opening and closing in an act of hesitation.

“I just remembered… ah, my dad told me this morning that there’s a family in our hometown, Morioh-chō, that got… murdered three days ago,” Tomoko tells you with a solemn expression and tone, and as expected, your eyes widen. She starts to gnaw on her lower lip before continuing. “It’s all over the news in the region, and… they’re trying to look for the person who did it… I mean, my dad said that they virtually left no trace of themselves at the scene…”

What she tells you leaves your throat dry, unable to enunciate any words.

If you could recall correctly, you did see blood through the opening of your apartment door. It was dark in and outside, yes, but it spattered the white walls and stained the hardwood near the door itself. The memory of that is practically burnt into your mind— unlike other things— and it’s just so… ugh… 

Regardless, you now wonder: was there any trace of whoever murdered your husband and friend? Did forensics manage to pick up on anything within and around the apartment? You haven’t gotten word from law enforcement yet, so that’s all a mystery to you right now. In your grief, it all seemed like an ornate plan to test your patience. You did not want to sit on your ass and wait too long, only to find out that the perpetrator walks scot-free while you remain relatively traumatized by yesterday’s events.

“A 16-year-old girl, her parents, and their guard dog were all brutally stabbed,” she elaborated, stomaching her nausea from imagining it. Tomoko momentarily avoids your eyes, worried that she might have ticked you off by mentioning this. Yet, she can’t seem to restrain herself.

You swear that you hear her gulp before she dives in, asking you a question that she definitely and immediately regrets asking afterward.

“...is, ah… is that what happened to your husband and his friend?”

Your gaze on her briefly hardened before softening.

Was it?

“N— no,” you mumble, staring down at your half-eaten bowl. “They— I was, ah… I’m not— I wasn’t allowed to view the autopsy, so I actually… don’t know. I don’t know what happened to them, I really don’t. I… don’t, I don’t…”

You had your elbow rudely propped up on the table as you facepalmed, forcing yourself not to tear up in front of your friend. 

Tomoko’s brows crease.

“You… don’t have to talk anymore if you don’t want to,” she offers with a quiet, gentle voice.

“Please, thank you,” you pleaded, arm unceremoniously slamming down on the table as you locked eyes with her. “It’s so… so difficult for me— I hate… oh my God, I hate imagining and trying to figure out what happened to them… I haven’t able to find out, I haven’t been told anything, please…”

“Okay, it’s okay, it’s okay… I’m sorry,” Tomoko reassures with haste, silently cursing to herself. She proceeds to reach out to you, briefly placing her hand over yours in sympathy. “I… let’s… let’s talk about something else. How about that? Is that alright?”

Your solemn, yet forgiving expression is enough of an answer. 

She gives a small nod as she diverts the conversation.

“So, ah…” your friend trails off, pursing her lips. Tomoko’s stuck in thought for a moment before she starts speaking. “What are you… planning to do after graduation?”

That was okay to ask, right?

Shrugging, you answered in a bored tone as you wiped your eyes, “Well… I’ve been getting informal employment offers since last year.”

Tomoko’s eyebrows raise.

“It’s November, now,” she points out. “Companies should’ve sent you formal offers last month. Did you accept… any of those offers?”

“Eh… not exactly,” you confess, avoiding her eyes in shame. “It’s— it’s not because of this or…”

You hear Tomoko say your name with a frown on her face.

“Look, it’s… weird,” you continue, scratching the back of your neck. “There’s a high chance that Toppan’s recruiting me, since I’ve already been doing basic assisting for the actual semiconductor researchers. I didn’t even conduct actual fucking research, but I know that if I accept their offer, then I’ll be there full-time. If I don’t accept it, I kind of just threw away my future. You know how it is— our whole ‘work or die’ type of life here.”

“If you accept their offer, then you have to permanently live here in Tokyo,” Tomoko realized with a stunned look. “Is… you know that, right?”

During your occasional nights at the izakaya, you might’ve mentioned from time to time a desire to get out of the bustling life of Tokyo. Even with the returns to Iwami-chō, it didn’t feel like it was enough for you.

You pick up your chopsticks. “...yes, I do now. I mean, after… you know, ah, my worries about relocating because of my hus— his work are supposed to be gone… now. Even then, I’m not really sure what I’m going to do. I planned everything with the expectation that Noriaki would be at my side, but…”

“Take as much time as you need to adjust,” Tomoko consoled. “But you should know that this is not impossible to overcome. You may think that you’re on your own, but you have a larger support group than you think, you know.”

In response, you give her a small smile.

“Thank you, but enough of me— I’ll just… take another look at my offers. After all, I think there’s still time for me to accept Toppan. And if not them, then another company. Anyway, what... what about you?”

“Well, it’s… weird, I agree,” the black-haired woman says. “I’ve started thinking of where I’ll be after graduation, and for a while… I’ve been considering of going back to Morioh-chō. I’m planning to work as a teacher there—”

“—doesn’t sound so bad—” you mumble to yourself.

“—right? And trust me, I enjoy being in Tokyo, but… I just can’t imagine raising Josuke in a large area like this.”

This is the first time you’ve heard Tomoko say the kid’s full name around you. Oftentimes, she just referred to him as 'JoJo'.

“So you’ll be leaving Tokyo?”

“...yeah, I guess so. My business internship at Toppan already helped me get some teaching offers around S-shi, and I’ve been eyeing one at an all-girls high school in Morioh-chō.”

Nodding, you take another bite of food as she talks about her well-planned future.

——

The walk to the apartment complex is substantially more eerie than you remember.

You were able to persuade Tomoko into letting you out of the apartment unaccompanied tonight. The new-mother gave you a hardened look the second you asked, offended that you would ask such a question. There’s a little part of you that even regret asking, but you needed some time to think on your own. Going into different parts of the apartment to… contemplate had been proven ineffective; after all, each attempt had been interrupted by loud cries and rushed slipper-clad footsteps to its source.

Tonight, you said that you were going to the convenience store. It wouldn’t take long.

Or so you claimed.

To be fair, you did go to the convenience store to pick up items from a list you’ve complied this morning after the visit to the police station. You were still rather spooked from the questioning, so you opted to postpone the convenience store visit until now. The plastic bag containing prenatal stuff and snacks were shoved in the backpack you carried on your back. That was something you were able to get back, too.

Once you arrived at the train station, at least a million different emotions rush through you. It reminds you of your long days on campus, where you’d return home to see your husband. Sometimes he’d be on the sofa, the dining table, or even in the damn kitchen, studying as he ate. You’d take off your shoes and give him a quick kiss; when he ate, you always tasted the essence of that food on his lips. You’d spend the rest of the night with him, as usual.

Yesterday, you lost that.

You’re now reminded of yesterday, yet again— after all, this was the exact station you had arrived at shortly before your whole breakdown. As you walk, your footsteps loudly echo against the pavement. It feels like you’re ready to wake up the entire fucking block.

The moment you see the apartment complex around the corner, you feel your stomach churning. You tense up. Your jaw clenches. 

Shit, maybe you shouldn’t have lied to Tomoko. Maybe you should turn back now, avoid this area like the plague for the rest of your time here in Tokyo. Instead of the only year of good memories you had here, the memory of last night starts to cloud your perception of it, and goddamnit is it painful. You should be heading back to the station. You should be going back to Tomoko’s apartment, welcoming the environment that you were barely familiar with. You should be conversing with her, maybe even getting a chance to hold baby Josuke.

Your feet continue to move, however.

Initially, you remember being confused at the sight of your neighbors and some officers standing outside or near the stairwell. It was the dead of night after all; what happened? There wasn’t any fire, any offending tenant being escorted out the building— nothing. This is what you’re thinking before you see other individuals in front of your door, and that’s when you start to panic. Did Noriaki call them? What was going on? Why were they there at your apartment, specifically?

You snap at the sight of the body bags shortly after.

Suddenly, you curse to yourself aloud at the memory. Your actions at the time were uncouth, sure, but that’s a normal response to finding out your friend died, right? To finding out that your fucking husband died, right? If you didn’t react at all, surely that’d be more suspicious. Your ‘overreaction’ should be justified… you think.

The rustling from the park’s trees start to sound. It’s interesting to note that like the apartment you shared with your high school friend three years ago, yours and Noriaki’s apartment complex was coincidentally built next to a park as well. And at this time of night, it’s already empty as expected.

There’s a brief moment where you turn your head, believing that you might’ve heard footsteps. You decide not to mind it anymore; it’s probably just the wind tumbling down empty bottles or forgotten flyers or some shit.

Your chest starts to heave; you can’t believe you’re here again. Your gaze moves up the apartment complex to yours and Noriaki’s apartment door, seeing the area blocked by reapplied barricade tape. The sight of it makes you wonder— albeit morbidly— of the sight inside. What exactly had been knocked down, destroyed? Had any of the windows been smashed open? What did the walls and floors look like besides the blood stains and splatters? Where… 

Where in the apartment did each of them die? Did they die beside one another, or in separate areas of the apartment? How did they die? What was used to kill them, what time exactly did they take their last breath, what—

—tears start to flow down your cheeks, and you didn’t even realize. 

Though, what you do realize is what actually seem to be footsteps. 

Your mind had not, in-fact, played tricks on you. 

There’s someone here.

Sniffling, you feel a rush of panic before calming down. It’s nothing; honestly, it’s probably just someone returning home from work. Yes, that’s who that is. You don’t know them, but that seems most likely. Hell, they might even be from the same apartment complex, maybe even a neighbor you’ve never met. They’ll probably give you an awkward nod— it happens— before going on their way home to rest for the night. They’ll leave you alone, maybe wonder about the strange woman (or neighbor) who stood in front of a building for no apparent reason.

The footsteps don’t seem to stop.

It’s as if… they’re approaching you.

Okay, this is not the time to panic. Perhaps you should move out of the way, give them space to walk? Yes, you’ll do that. 

Taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes and face, you head over to the nearest crosswalk. Even without the presence of actual vehicles on the road, you still take the time to wait and use the crosswalk out of habit. It doesn’t take long to head over to the park, anyway. There’s the… slide, the swings, the monkey bars, the sandbox— all quintessential park and playground equipment. Beside the sandbox is a hedge, which was beside the thick trunk of a cherry blossom tree. What was remaining on that tree had already fallen. Were you just observing around the park to distract yourself? Of course.

Wait, why are you still hearing the footsteps? 

Who the hell is this?

Why are they following you?

This is not the time for you to deal with… whatever this is. You just wanted to take a look at the apartment complex, not suffer from whatever wrath you face. You’ve dealt with enough.

Seriously, this person has probably the loudest fucking footsteps you’ve ever heard in your life. Just a few minutes ago you were thinking that you were the titleholder for that as you walked through the neighborhood.

You whip your head around.

You blink.

It’s a man wearing a long, orange robe-like garment over a black turtleneck. You could see black and white vertical-striped pants— no, in fact, they were crotch-high flat boots. They were worn over black slacks. Normally, this would look out of place to you; though, considering the size and nature of this city, you’re sure you’ve seen someone else before with an outfit worse than his. He has short, black hair with well-defined and ring-like curls, which he runs a hand through.

“[…is there a problem, miss?]”

He’s speaking English, and by his accent you could tell that he was American and probably a tourist. 

Geez, these tourists. Maybe he was lost? Though it seemed a bit irresponsible to travel around in an unfamiliar place alone at the dead of night, regardless of crime rate. Yesterday didn’t help Tokyo’s, though.

All you do is give him quizzical look in response, which makes him backtrack. The man with the orange robing clears his throat.

“[Sorry, um… my Japanese is shit—]” he admits as his voice softens, before he clears his throat again and waves his hands. “[Uh…] is something wrong—?”

His pronunciation is, admittedly, pretty bad, but you understand him just fine.

“[—I speak English],” you interject before apologizing. “[Yeah, sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t… tell you… um…]”

“Why are you here at this time of night?” he suddenly asks back in English, attempting to strike a conversation with you— a stranger. He swears that you were crying just now, based on how red your eyes seem to be.

...okay, now you’re tempted to make a bet.

Are you going to die tonight?

You notice that he had completely disregarded telling you his name, making your shoulders tense up. The man in the orange robing lazily gestures to the apartment complex across the street as he continues. “It’s rather late— I doubt anyone in the building is awake right now, but that might’ve change considering what happened in that apartment.”

He takes the time to point to your apartment door, still surrounded by barricade tape. You purse your lips.

“Well… have you heard about the murders in that small town in S City three days ago?” you ask with a cautious tone, remembering what Tomoko told you earlier. “It’s only north of here. And… you know, it just feels… weird for it to be a coincidence with what happened yesterday.”

You don’t know why, but you’re feeling an inexplicable urge to continue being near this person. Despite your growing reluctance, it’s as if your body rejects the idea of staying away from him. Oddly, this ‘aura’ reminds you of being with Noriaki, but maybe that was you missing him dearly. If this— you and this strangely-dressed stranger meeting— happened on any other night while he was still alive, he’d go out on a limb to ensure your safety. You would’ve just called him for help or something, but now you can’t do anything.

He slowly nods, quietly humming. There's a brief glint of recognition in his eyes, but he doesn't comment on it; instead, he decides to continue playing along the murder-mystery-fascinated, inquisitive personality he presented himself as to you.

“I… haven’t heard of that, actually. Was it done by the same person? Do you know?”

You shrug, unsure of the answer yourself. “I… don’t know. I mean, there was plenty of time for the perpetrator to travel from S City to Tokyo between Wednesday and Friday.”

He continued to follow you, even when you started to stroll near the hedge and the cherry blossom tree.

“So you do believe that the same person did the murders here and there?”

“I— well, I didn’t exactly say that…” you deny, frowning.

The man in the orange robing titters, which you end up copying out of pure awkwardness.

To be fair, that didn’t sound like a terrible assumption, considering how close in date they occurred with one another. But there’s a part of you that doubts any sort of connection between them. It just seemed too… predictable. You mean, if they are connected, and the perpetrator for the case up in Morioh-chō or the case here is found, then that’s relieving.

For some reason you didn’t know, you were expecting for a lot more to come from this case.

——

[STAND NAME]

テイク・ファイヴ — Take Five

[STAND MASTER]

???

——

“You might as well have,” he countered, cheekily smiling down at you. He’s Noriaki’s height, if not a little taller.

You huff. “I guess.”

He chuckled.

“So…” he pivots, quietly snapping his slender fingers in a syncopated beat. Immediately manifested behind him was his Stand, Take Five, who stomped towards you. “Uh… what do you think about the 1980’s? A fun decade, right?”

You slowly blink at him.

Huh.

What the fuck … is he asking? That’s… excuse you, what the fuck? Why would he… why would he think that now was the best time to ask that, the stupidest fucking question ever?

To you, all he does is stare at you, awaiting your response. But who… who does this guy think he is? Is he trying to play some sort of game with you, here? He may ask more questions, he might approach you even further, and God you will not give him the chance to do either. The only thing you want right now is to stay alive to see the downfall of your husband's murderer. No questions asked.

The man in the orange robing notices your lack of reaction to his Stand. In fact, you don’t even show any sort of acknowledgment. You don’t seem to hear the Stand’s footsteps. Not a stare or even a glance towards its towering figure. You continue to stare at the man himself, giving him a flabbergasted look at what you perceive to be a random question. Oh, this is absolutely intriguing— yes, oh-so-intriguing.

You were not, in fact, a Stand user. Ironically, you were married to one, and were friends with another one. But you had no Stand.

He felt like laughing again. 

This was going to be a lot easier than he thought.

“Um… I guess,” you agree with a bored and borderline annoyed tone. “I wasn’t even born yet at that time, so…”

How were you supposed to answer that, anyway? What kind of response was he honestly expecting from you?

You feel your hand brush against the hedge, which only at that point do you notice how much he’s stepped towards you and how much you’ve stepped back. This is already outside of the lot of the park, meaning it's the perfect time to get the hell out of there and head back to the train station. Yet, you're just… stuck— not literally— and you continue to stare up into his eyes. He's not terrible looking, but you aren't staring into his eyes out of attraction. God, no.

This guy clearly has no perception of boundaries, by the way.

Yeah, maybe it’s really time to leave. But you don't. You're getting annoyed at yourself by the second.

“Great… well, anyway, I think you’ll have a fun time.”

…what—?

And with that, the man in the orange robing seizes you by the neck— you don’t even process the action for a split second—

— and forcefully shoves you in the small space between the tree trunk and the hedge, into that nothingness, ignoring your hack and hoarse yell— what the fuck is going on, whatareyoudoing—

He makes sure that he’s able to get your entire body through, lest you become the splitting image of your husband. 

It would be quite difficult for his boss to work with half a body.

—

--> To Be Continued -->

Up Next: A love-hate relationship with an Arrow served with a side of flesh.

Link to the Table of Contents

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Little Big Secrets (Sriracha, Part 16.)

Description:  A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: Living on your own in a lonely trail in the middle of the woods was like a living a fairy tale. And the prince charming was taking good care of you.

A/N: I just want to say that the Murray Bauman scene leads to the "Get awaaaay from me" scene in season two since he gets mad at him.

Word count: 2.8 K

Tagging: @nemodoren​ @creedslove​

Master list: H E R E

It was a crazy idea... But somehow... You managed to make it work during September, so October was somehow even better. It took a while to accept the fact that Hopper leaves pretty early in the morning and comes back pretty late in the evening and that you have a whole day for yourself. You became Hopper's little secret no-one could find out about. And this time for real. You practically went under voluntary lock-down, sometimes leaving to Bloomington for groceries.

You had officially started the semester at the university of Hawkins, because the dean, Mr. Clarke, was your parents‘ good old friend. You straightaway lied to him - you told him that you have a really bad illness and that you had to stay in Hawkins because of that. Every Friday, you met up with Aiden, who gave you the homework professors were sending you and every Sunday, he came back for it. Your mother obviously tried to find out where you are and who do you live with now, but Aiden kept his mouth shut. 

He, in the end, was a proud younger brother, because not everyone had the balls to actually do something as bat shit crazy as you did. You were one crazy motherfucker and Aiden couldn't but adore you. You never took him near the trail, you never told him where you live at the time - he just knew that you're alive and well and that Hopper's looking after you. Honestly, that was everything Aiden needed to know. You definitely looked happy, clean, nicely dressed, which told him that the man wasn't abusing or hurting you; in fact, he was treating you like a damn princess.

Since Hopper was out most of the weekdays, you made a small pact - it was okay to go on a walk around the quarry or go to grocery shop in Bloomington to keep you socialized and not feeling isolated. In the end, Hopper wasn't holding you in his trail against your will and he made sure you're free to leave every time you wanted to. But you agreed that going into Hawkins would be a dumb idea. So you didn't ride your bike there.

Every day, Hopper rode home with an uneasy feeling in his chest - what if he would open up the door and you would be nowhere to be found? He slowly grew to accept and to look forward to the fact that every time he comes home, there's someone who will spend time him, who would ask him about his day and well being, who would care about the man under though jokes and swearing. And his heart was pounding rapidly every time his car turned to drive into the driveway in front of the trail.

But every time he stopped the engine, the lights were on and he saw you opening up the door, coming towards him with a big, lovely smile on your lips to kiss him and tell him that you've missed him there.

Sometimes he had to stay longer at the station. Every time, you promised him that you'd wait for him but every time he entered the door, you were dead asleep on the couch with your homework and books everywhere around you, or the book you've been currently reading on your thighs. Every time he saw you there, he didn't know how the hell he got so lucky because the laundry was always done, the trail was perfectly tidied up and there was a home-made cooked meal waiting for him. And you, a beautiful and smart young woman, were waiting for him to come home. He, of course, carried you to bed - he got pretty handy with that.

Your presence was a kind of personal talisman to him. Since you started being a part of his life, living with him and accepting the role of being his actual girlfriend, his usage of Tuinal was less and less frequent. You knew that sometimes, he took a pill but both of you sometimes sat down and drank a beer or two or smoked and it almost seemed that the demons inside his head are getting quieter and quieter.

Sometimes, he woke you both up when he had nightmares about Vietnam or Sara, but usually, as soon as he felt your body pressed into his, your lips whispering him sweet nothings and calming phrases, he really cooled down rather quickly. You made him talk. Every single time, you made him talk so you could understand better, hugging him the whole time.

And you never turned away. You were fighting those demons by his side, not leaving him in the dark for a minute. You went to sleep only when he said that he's ready to go to sleep as well, sometimes distracting him with making him make love to you.

Nights of furious fucking were mostly far behind you; except when you had a shower together, which was almost every other morning before he left for the station. The nights spent away in his bed now felt more emotional, deeper than ever before. He could last for hours when he was in the right mood, not missing a single opportunity to eat you out as if he hadn't got a chance to do so in weeks.

Sometimes you argued, because every normal couple did, and honestly, he knew better than arguing with you since you got into his head in no time every single time. He could pinpoint name the moment when he had an argument coming his way - you had a long ass monologue, ending it with a mocking question. Sometimes you told him that he's a jerk (and many other names you could think of), sometimes he told you that you're just a small girl and brat, but usually, the arguments were thrown out of the window in no time as Hopper undressed you and fucked you literally everywhere he could - on the terrace, on the dinner table, in the waters of the quarry, on the couch, on the ground, literally everywhere.

Needless to say, you had your demons as well, you just wanted to live in the fairytale for a little longer - your mother was reporting you missing every other Friday and Hopper pretended to look for you meanwhile having you in his trail.

"Chief. Chief! Mr. Hopper!" - Your mother called out at him the first time, running after him as soon as he parked his car in front of the station. He was terrified for a second. Did she know? Did she find out? Did she know what you two were up to and that, in fact, you're in a secret relationship?

If she did, he was fucked up in the butt. Hopper, as every grown-up man, did know that one day comes to a really embarrassing situation. That day when you both will have to say it out loud, to tell the secret to your parents, to your friends, his co-workers, people in the town... And Hopper was sincerely afraid of that day. Yet, when she looked at him with her face completely clueless, he understood that she doesn't know. To be honest, he was terrified of the day she finds out.

He was sure that he castrates him in the most horrendous way possible and that even you, no matter how bat shit crazy or tough you were, won't stop her from doing so.

"Mrs. Y/L/N. What happened? Is everythin' alrite?" - Hopper asked worriedly, pulling the best acting so he could just lead her into his office. Flo immediately knew that it's your mother and her look was definitely concerned. His co-workers liked you, you were a little sunshine. What if something happened to you?

When your mom sat down in his office, he took a deep breath in, offering her a cup of coffee or water. She accepted the water, gulping it down in no time at all.

"It's about my daughter. Do you remember her? She was helping you out at the station during the summer." - She asked. Hopper could see that it's breaking her heart.

Do you mean that sweet little baby girl who's cooking and making laundry at my trail? The beast who makes me fold every piece of my damn clothes? That angel who stays up with me until I'm not too scared to go back to sleep? You mean that sunshine who screams my name and moans so loud that you have to hear it here in Hawkins? He could ask all of these questions, instead, he went...

"Yeah, the annoyin' kiddo who threw up on my Blazer. Hard to forget. What happened to her? Is she alrite?" - He asked seriously, showing some actual concern. He was playing on really thin ice. One dumb joke or wrong word and she knows where you're at and with who you're living.

"She ran away. She was supposed to study in Indianapolis, but she called me and told me that she decided to stay in Hawkins. She's living with someone, but... I'm just concerned, you know, Chief? What if anything happened to her?" - She asked with tears in her eyes. Aiden told her million times that you're alright and doing well and your father told her that you're a damn adult and you can do whatever you want to. If you fell in love and stayed in Hawkins, damn, you had every right to do so. He loved you no matter what. Only your mother was paranoid and scared out of her mind.

"I'm afraid that I can't take any actions against this, ma'am. She's a legal adult, she has the right to live her life the way she finds appropriate." - Hopper said, crossing his arms on his chest. That was right. You were an adult who could actually decide what you're going to do with your life.

"I know, I know... But, Chief, I beg you. If you or your colleagues see her and talk to her, please, tell her to come home. We miss her." - She leaned in to hold his shoulder with honesty and before Hopper could answer something, she stormed out of the office.

Powell, Callahan, and Florence asked about your well being because of course, they did.

"She ran away? Wow." - Callahan answered honestly while Jim leaned his ass into the counter in their office while eating Flo's homemade pie. - "She never seemed to be the type to do so."

"Come on, you shit head, I know you wanted to ask her out. You're just surprised that someone has done it first." - Powell hummed from his crosswords and that caught Jim's attention.

"You were pinning after that kiddo, Callahan?" - He asked rather quietly, showing some actual disgust. Any of the men had a clue that he's pissed because you're his girlfriend, they just figured out he's pissed about Callahan so blatantly speaking up about crush on an actual student.

"She's a really fine woman and I'm a simple man, what can I say, boss? She's smart, damn cute and can bake the best pies in Hawkins. No offense, Flo." - Callahan looked at the old lady who furrowed at him.

"I just hope that she's fine. She was more responsible than the three of you combined." - She told him and focused on another book in her hands, this time a book about gardening. And yes, she was probably right.

"I hope she comes back one day. No matter who that guy is, I bet she would be happier with me." - Callahan said courageously and Hopper grinned at that claim.

As he walked back to his office, he mumbled Keep on dreaming, lover boy, but not quietly enough, so Powell heard him and pretty much chuckled at that. That day, Murray Bauman also took the station by a surprise, storming directly into Hopper's office.

He was talking and talking while Jim just spaced out, his mind stuck on one thing - giving you a nasty call on his personal line to assure himself that men like Callahan won't even get near you. But at one moment, Murray just slapped his desk to bring Hopper back.

"Can you, at least for a moment, stop thinking about sex and pay attention to what I'm saying?" - He asked rather politely, making Hopper rather uncomfortable and unable to speak.

"Excuse me, Murray?" - Hopper asked back unbelievably, staring Murray down.

"I said that no matter what chick's on your mind, you have to let it go for a while. She obviously has some good influence over you, I'm sure she has to be great, but I have some really alarming information for you." - Bauman hissed at Hopper ironically, making him not uncomfortable, but straightaway mad at him. - "I told you I saw a UFO flying by Hawkins middle school earlier this morning!"

"Out of my damn office, now." - Hopper muttered out and massaged his nose. Murray hasn't moved an inch, so Hopper stood up, ready to help him out of that damn chair. - "I said get out of my fuckin' office immediately." - Hopper hissed back and this time, Murray left in no time at all.

Hopper could ignore your mom for the first two Fridays she came to beg him. But when she came the fourth time, he knew that you both need to talk about it already. You had to tell her no matter how much it will change your relationship. He was encouraging himself for almost an hour before he turned right at you while you sang Talking In Your Sleep while cleaning up the dishes.

"Baby, I think we need to talk somethin'." - He mumbled into the back of your neck, gripping one of his shirts you stolen in his hands, pressing his body on yours. It was still fascinating him - you were so small, gentle, lovely and adorable and yet you chose him from all the boys that you could have.

"Something on your mind?" - You whispered back, turning around to sit on the countertop next to the sink, hugging his waist with your knees. - "Do you want me to change the washing powder again?" - You hummed while untucking his shirt so you could unbutton it and kiss his chest. You were one greedy creature and honestly, Hopper couldn't have enough of it.

It made him properly terrified when you got your period for the first time in his presence. You were grumpy, in pain and curled up into a small ball. Hopper did his best to brighten up your mood - he bought you ice-cream and candy, made you his Triple-Decker Eggos Extravaganza just the way he loved it, brew you cups of coffee the whole weekend, but you still seemed to hate him every minute of your period.

Although, when you hadn't got the red alarm going on, you were the most nuzzling and caring creature he has ever seen. And now, you were distracting him with fucking, again. But he let you continue and watch your lips slowly kissing every inch of his chest you could reach.

"It's about your mom." - Jim whispered and caressed your temple as your fingertips slid down to the hem of his jeans.

"What about my mom?" - You hummed back, working on his belt. You never fucked on the countertop. It was an inconvenient place to do so, but you were willing to try everything.

"This needs to end, baby. You have to tell her." - Jim said in a serious tone, pinning your wrists to the wall, leaning in to kiss you properly.

"Of course." - You whispered back when he let you catch your breath. - "I was thinking about next Wednesday, dinner at their place. How does that sound, big guy?" - You moaned when you felt as he spread your legs even wider than before. There was definitely hot fucking on the countertop coming your way.

"Will you tell them about all of this? About us?" - He asked a bit worriedly as you wiggled in your wrists to slide the shirt off his wide shoulders.

"You can correct me if I won't. You're coming with me." - You mumbled when he took off your shirt and smiled as his hands palmed your breasts, playing with the nipples. - "You have to keep her from... Oh my Lord... From killing me."

"Do you think she won't kill us both, huh?" - Hopper hummed back as he leaned in to slowly kiss a trail down your chest.

"Let's hope she won't." - You breathed out before your panties disappeared and Hopper got on his knees.

[problematic-nova]

This commentary is a bit different this time. Rather than Sherlock meta, now that everything Oscar did is out of the bag, it's taking a closer look at upper academia, and how something like Sherlock and Oscar could actually play out in real life, because it was another one of the inspirations for this fic. I'm from the US, not the UK, which of course has its differences, most notably in the UK's lack of tenure. But I did talk with some UK academics when outlining this fic, and was assured my reasoning was sound. These stories of abuse come out of UK universities just the same as they do US ones-- professors are just even more protected here than they are there.

(As an aside, none of this is at all meant to scare anybody heading into college or grad school. I was in two different programs, and while my mentor for one was a fucking nightmare, my two mentors for the other were absolute angels. There are plenty of supervisors that do very good work. If you're applying for such positions, what you want to do is talk to students currently in that professor's lab/studio/whatever, alone (I very gleefully sent an entire group of prospective students running from mine), and try and see what you can find out from former students. High numbers of transfers/drop outs are not a good sign. Neither are high numbers of students that graduated, and then left the field entirely.)

For many STEM degrees, your graduate school experience is you, beholden to your supervisory professor (PI), for 4-6 years. To even get into a good graduate program, you will also have needed to have extensive research experience in your undergraduate, underneath one or two other PIs, and you will need good recommendation letters from them as well. Humanities degrees are even more of an apprenticeship model, but that's really what it is-- if you have a competent mentor, and you're a good student who works hard, you'll be all right. If you have a good mentor, the experience can be amazing. If you wind up with a bad mentor, it can be a career-ender.

The problem is, in these fields, you don't have a choice: if you don't have a recommendation letter from your PI, that's it. You won't be hired, or accepted to any future programs. If you wind up with a bad mentor, your only choice is to suck it up, stick it out, somehow get yourself through the program without a competent teacher while still getting their letter, and graduate as quickly as you can.

And bad mentors do, often, look quite a lot like Oscar. The sexual abuse is less common, and even for tenured profs in the US, a sexual relationship with a student is grounds for termination. But everything else that Oscar did in the fic was something I saw profs do in my own time at school: not bothering to show up to meetings with students or other staff, shrugging their own responsibilities off onto their students, demanding they work twelve+ hour days six/seven days a week, sabotaging them to their final committee hearings, and in STEM fields, scooping their data and publishing it out from under them. (I once even saw a PI threaten their post-doc with deportation.) The structure of upper academia unfortunately rewards such behavior: you are guaranteed a slow, steady trickle of young, inexperienced students, who are excruciatingly reliant on your approval, don't have a backup program/plan to fall back on, and are probably lacking in any other professional experience. Most don't realize the appropriate boundaries to set, and even if they do, will be too afraid to try and set them.

What options does a student in such a situation have? Well: not many.

A student can report things to the administration. But the administration is very invested in protecting their respected professor, and not all in protecting their dime-a-dozen, shit-stirring student. This is a report that is also likely tantamount to career suicide: while these reports are technically confidential, like I said above, these programs are pretty close to apprenticeship models. The prof in question is not going to be wondering who made this report, and other professors in the department (whose approval you will need for collaborations and your hearings to defend your research) will hear about it too: they will hear that a student whined about their friend and colleague, in a field where students whining about their colleagues for non-issues, like a deserved failing grade, are very common. And, at least in the US, if your professor is tenured, unless you have something actually illegal to report, your report will amount to /absolutely nothing/.

For example: Sherlock's ulcer story was inspired by my own. I had a different medical condition (and there was no sexual abuse), but all the other details were the same-- I had been doing extra work for my prof that undergrads weren't meant to do, work that she had ‘offered’ to sign me up for because I was ‘so talented’ (read: a doormat) and wouldn't take no for an answer. Later, I was injured over summer, outside of school, and got a doctor's note stating that I couldn't continue that particular work. I showed it to my prof and the dean of the school, and, in writing, established I would not be doing that extra work this semester (which, again, I was not even meant to be doing in the first place). A few weeks later, one day before the drop date (therefore preventing me from withdrawing), my prof went behind my back, signed me up for it anyway, explicitly against multiple school rules, and told me I would just need to withdraw from my other conflicting classes. Classes that she had known about, and knew were requirements for my other degree program. She announced that my doctor was a quack, that she would pay for me to see a massage therapist instead, and proceeded to lie to me when she assuring that she'd arranged matters with the other profs, who would work to accommodate me. They had no idea what I was talking about.

I was in a uniquely protected position, so I did report her to the school, to a very understanding administration, who told me everything that had happened was shockingly inappropriate and unacceptable, and that they were amassing a case against her. As it turned out, they had reports of abuse of power, racism, staggering incompetence, refusal to perform her expected duties, and extremely unprofessional displays from many other affected students. Their stories were just as wild and unbelievable as mine, any one of which would've been enough to get someone fired from a more ordinary job. In the end, she wasn't even reprimanded, and I was told my only option was to stick it out, or drop out of the program and my degree, with one semester left to go. I, very stupidly, chose the former, and as a result of ignoring my doctor's note, still have chronic pain, and ironically enough, now can't even use the degree I made that sacrifice for because of it.

Sherlock would actually be an exception to all of this. When you are /that/ intelligent, and going by the fandom's assumptions, have that much money/all those family connections, you can't really fail badly enough to not be able to get back up. If he'd wanted to find a graduate program that would take him, he could have. But for everyone else, like Victor, what Oscar did to him genuinely was a career-ender. He wouldn't have been able to get hired for any decent position, and he wouldn't have been able to get an acceptance at any other program to try again, after nearly ten years of working towards that degree.

Basically, fuck upper academia with a rusty steak knife.

[raptorginger]

Stacks of Pretty Paper: chapter 1

for @sofondabooks

Ben reached under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with his trademark annoyance.  He heaved an exasperated sigh and hissed through gritted teeth, “Did any of you read Thomas for today’s session?”

His ten graduate students all squirmed guiltily in their hard plastic seats, their faces flaming.  Anxious hands fidgeted with copies of the heavy tome and shuffled print outs of the articles also assigned as supplementary reading.  The small seminar room felt like it shot up ten degrees in temperature as they all fidgeted nervously under the power of his righteous anger.  Ben counted to ten in his head before he released his nose and looked up.  All ten students sat up straighter like they’d been electrocuted, gaping at him like he was about to swing the sword at their execution.  He maneuvered to the front of the class, his large hands clasped behind his back.  Of course, he hadn’t expected them to read Hugh Thomas’ 500 page monograph The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066-1220 in one week.  That wasn’t the point.  The point wasn’t for them to read every word.  The point was to teach them to read the important ones.  So far, this was a lesson his students had failed to grasp.  

He leaned over the long table, bracing himself on the scarred faux wood surface with his fingers, tension visible in every muscle, every nerve, as he waited for one of these overworked, overtired, “adults” to say something.  Ben felt his Alpha side rearing its ugly head in disappointment, and he tamped it down.  Nonetheless, all ten bodies flinched as if he’d struck them.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand timidly poke up.

“Yes, Marta?”  he said, relieved.  It would be Marta.  As an Omega, a mated Omega but an Omega all the same, she could probably sense his displeasure more acutely than the others.

“I-I believe Sir Thomas’ point is that even though the English majority was initially hostile to the minority of conquering Normans, those Normans were quickly assimilated, and within a generation, thought of themselves as English, not Norman.”

Another student, Duffy, spoke up, adding cautiously, “To add to Marta’s point, the English at the time were made up of several different ethnic groups, but they all saw themselves as English.  They had a history of rapid integration of new groups.”

“Yes, very good.  Let’s work from there.  What factors led to the Normans’ integration?” Ben said, trying to sound more pleasant.  More pleased.  Duffy and Marta grinned and looked to their classmates, who looked relieved as they all let go a collective breath.  Discussion picked up from there, and Ben more or less let his students take the floor, interjecting whenever they started to get off topic.  

He knew most of them were bullshitting, but he didn’t care.  Anything to get through this three hour weekly seminar as painlessly as possible.  He had his own work to do.  He’d gotten an email earlier that day saying his Interlibrary Loan order had come in, and he was anxious to get it.  He’d also had a hold placed on the new monograph on Old English vocabulary for months, and he’d been told it had been returned and it was finally his turn to check the damn book out.  Nothing was going to stand in his way of having a productive day at the library.  Not even that impossible woman.  That new librarian.  He hadn’t met her, only communicated with her by email, but she’d proven aggravating and obstinate.  This Miss Johnson had taken over this summer when the old librarian, Doctor Ackbar, had retired.  Ben much preferred Doctor Ackbar’s old fashioned approach to Miss Johnson’s new one.  Doctor Ackbar had bent over backwards for the academics of Chandrilla University, allowing them unfettered access to the library’s materials and resources.  Under Ackbar, Ben never had to worry about his reserves being placed back out in general circulation or his permanent loans being recalled.  Ackbar had believed, and rightly so, in Ben’s opinion, that academics like himself were the lifeblood of the University, and it was the job of the University to keep them happy.  Miss Johnson had other ideas, apparently.  The first week of classes he’d received a rather curt form email saying that all reserves and permanent loans were being recalled and placed back in circulation.  Ben had sputtered at his laptop screen in shock, and he almost threw the thing against the wall as he read on.

“There has been a culture of elitism and arrogance among the faculty of our prestigious university, among members of certain departments in particular, that the Library can no longer abide.  Our materials are for every member, faculty, staff, and student alike, and I intend to see that fair and equal use is restored.  Therefore, I demand the return of all loans and reserves dated prior to the start of the year by this next Tuesday.  Permanent loans and reserves longer than one month will no longer be tolerated,” the email had said.

Ben had roared in anger and threw a panicked look around his office as he tugged his dark hair in frustration.  He had maybe twenty books out on permanent loan from Ackbar, all meticulously annotated and bookmarked for his research on medieval ethnic terminology.  He’d had to spend days-days!-at the department copier, copying pages and re-annotating everything.  He’d made one of the student assistants take everything back to the library, unsure if he could set foot in the building without throttling Miss Johnson to within an inch of her miserable spinster cat-loving life.

“You know, Professor Solo, Miss Johnson isn’t that bad,” the student, Evan, had said while Ben shot off an angry email to Miss Johnson.  Just who did she think she was?!  

Ben had glared at Evan, but he didn’t back down.

“Seriously!  She’s super helpful if you’re looking for something specific!  She, like, knows everything and knows the library backwards and forwards,” Evan had insisted.

“That’s what happens when you’re one hundred years old and have no life,” Ben had muttered under his breath.

“Umm, Professor?  She’s not...old,” Evan had chuckled on his way out of Ben’s office.

Ben had rolled his eyes and resumed his aggressive highlighting.  An email notification pinged his inbox.  Ben grit his teeth, seeing it was from Miss Johnson.

“I’m sorry that my new policies are an inconvenience to you, Doctor Solo, but you are, in fact, one of the worst offenders after Doctors Snoke and Dooku.  Several students and faculty have inquired about materials that have been loaned out to you, and I’d like to see that those materials are made available to the people that need them.  I am given to understand that there was an unofficial policy of faculty loaning out materials checked out to them long term to others and then returned to said faculty member instead of the library, but that can no longer be borne.  It is against library procedure and best practices.  Again, sorry for the inconvenience.”

Ben’s least favorite coffee mug had shattered against his office wall after he’d finished reading that missive.  

As his seminar began to wind down, Ben began to pace anxiously, waiting for the clock to strike ten.  When it finally did, he called out to his class, “Office hours are cancelled for today.  If you have any questions on Thomas, email me.”

He was out the door almost as fast as they were.  He rushed to his office and grabbed his leather satchel and shoved his laptop inside.  He check the front pocket to see if his notebook was tucked safely inside.  It was.  He threw a few pens and pencils in before grabbing his keys and slamming his door.  He walked hurriedly down the hallway, pointedly ignoring Doctors Holdo and Nammit, who were leaning against their own doors, chatting animatedly about whatever is was modern history professors chatted about as they held cups of stale office coffee.  He could feel their eyes on his back as he sped down the hall and towards the elevator.  He knew he had a reputation as an unsociable hardass, but he didn’t care.  He believed in his work, not in all the bullshit rigamarole that his colleagues did.  He should be judged on the quality of his research, what he put forward into the academic world, not on his ability to hold a wine glass and make chit chat with donors and Fellows.

He shoved open the door to the History Building with unnecessary force, staggering back as the sun hit his eyes.  His pace slowed.  It was a bright, beautiful day.  One of those days photographers managed to capture for a brochure.  The air was fresh and crisp, slightly cool with early fall.  Smiling students with backpacks slung over one shoulder strolled across the sidewalks that crisscrossed the campus.  Tired grad students, heads hung low, dashed from one end of campus to the other.  Professors with paper cups of expensive coffee strode smartly in pairs, carefully avoiding the groups of undergraduates.  The leaves on the trees still held their green and fluttered delicately in the breeze.  The University practically sparkled with vitality and life.  

The library was thankfully close to the History Building, and Ben was in a good mood when he pushed into the revolving door.  A few students scurried past him, avoiding his gaze.  Not that he paid them any mind.  His tan tweed coat with worn leather elbow patches, his sharp modern glasses, and his bourbon leather wingtips all screamed hardass uptight professor.  He did wear jeans, but he preferred dark rinse, and he had them all perfectly tailored at Saks.  He was pretty sure the students could tell, and that made him even more intimidating.  Tailoring jeans was a concept beyond them.  Ben preferred things that way.

He loved the library, even if he didn’t love who was currently running it.  His home away from home.  He made his way to the main circulation desk to inquire about his reserve.  His good mood quickly soured when the student assistant informed him that Miss Johnson had not yet made the book available.  

“Where is she!?” Ben snarled at the frightened young Beta girl.

“F-f-fourth floor,” the girl stammered out, pointing up the stairs.

Of course she’d be on the fourth floor.  His domain.  Ben stomped angrily away from the circulation desk to a nearby set of stairs tucked unobtrusively beside the elevator bank.  He quickly climbed up, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor where the Interlibrary Loan office was.  The office was quiet, students and older staff members moving around desks and carts quickly.  Paper slips fluttered and crinkled as they moved by, the smells of dust, Mylar, and paper strong in the enclosed space.  Ben felt more at ease surrounded by the familiar smells.  He inhaled deeply, trying to relax further, but an unfamiliar scent caught him by surprise.  It was very faint, but it tugged at him insistently.  Female Omega.  Unclaimed female Omega.  Another patron, maybe, Ben mused.  Long since gone.  Or, perhaps, a scent absorbed by one of the books on loan.  Too bad, he thought.

Another student worker slid his pile of books over to him, typing quickly and scanning the barcodes.  

“Yale wants this one back quick.  They’ve only loaned it for the week,” the student murmured apologetically.

Ben groaned.  That would be how this day goes.  Another day at the copier.  “Fine,” he grumbled, grabbing the stack and heading out of the office.

“You’re welcome.  Alpha jerk,” he heard the student mutter sarcastically under his breath.  He ignored him and made his way up to the fourth floor.  He kept to the wall, running his fingers along the ledge of the waist high windows until the neat rows of desks and armchairs started.  He bounced his palm over seat backs, counting in his head until he reached the sixth.  There, he stopped and set his things down.  He was alone up here, unsurprising for such a beautiful fall day.  He reached into his bag for his laptop, situating the device in the middle of the desk.  He set his notebook beside it, and his stack of books on the other.  He tugged a folded piece of paper from his pocket, call numbers scrawled hastily on the wrinkled paper.  Most were crossed out, meaning he’d already gotten what he needed from them.  A few were yet to be examined.  Ben’s eyes went to the first number on the paper and then up to the guides on the ends of the shelves.  Five down, one back.  He started forward slowly when it hit him again.  The alluring scent of the Omega, and this time he could scent her individual notes.  Lavender.  Bergamot.  Mixed with the cellulose of the books around him, Ben could swear he was in heaven.

“Omega, where are you?” he whispered quietly to himself.  He began to meander through the stacks, running his fingers over old bindings and sniffing occasionally.  If the scent began to fade, he’d change direction.  What began as aimless wandering became an almost desperate hunt as her scent led him deeper into the maze of the stacks.  It was only him and the Omega.  His Alpha instincts were kicking in the longer it took to find her, the glands in his neck itching and beginning to throb the stronger her scent got.  Find her, now!

Finally, he spied a mostly empty cart at the end of one of the shelves, a paper sign taped to the side that said “For Reshelving.”  A water bottle sat beside the few books.  He’d found her.  He slowed his pace, his steps turning quiet and almost predatory as he approached the shelf.  He could hear a faint humming as he stepped into the aisle between the stacks.  He leaned against the corner for support as he watched her for a moment.  Tall and slender, she was dressed casually but professionally in a dark grey pencil skirt, creamy silk blouse, and a deep purple cardigan.  Her warm brown hair was swept up in a messy bun, and a gauzy pale grey scarf was tied loosely around her neck, concealing her scent glands.  Her skin seemed to glow, and Ben could see golden freckles dancing on her cheeks.  Even in heels, she was struggling to reach the shelf where the particular book in her hand belonged.  She used one hand to lever herself upwards and stretched to tuck the book into its proper place.  Her blouse went up with her arm, giving Ben a brief glimpse of her bare abdomen.  She stumbled a bit as she caught his scent, her nostrils flaring delicately and a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“There you are,” he purred approvingly as she settled back on the floor.

She turned, startled, her hazel eyes wide and sparkling.  Her pretty pink lips parting slightly as she looked him up and down, taking in the Alpha before her.  A look of confusion clouded her face, and then her eyes turned flinty.  Ben took a step back, confused.  Omega is angry.  Omega is displeased.  She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and glared at him.

“Professor Solo, I presume,” she said in a quiet, clipped voice.

“And you, Omega, are?”

She inhaled sharply at the use of her designation, as if he’d insulted her, her lips coming together in a tight line.  “The bane of your existence, according to you.  Miss Rey Johnson.  The librarian.”

Oh HELL no, Ben thought as his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

[quicksilversquared]

A Musical Connection Ch. 5

In a world where soulmate bonds can range from a simple matching mark to timers to shared dreams, of course Adrien would get saddled with an inconvenient bond that keeps him from going out and living life- because whenever his soulmate sings, Adrien has to as well.

But the singing, as inconvenient as it is, presents another opportunity. Can Adrien use it to track down his soulmate?

(Ch 1)  (Ch 2)  (Ch 3)  (Ch. 4)

(AO3) (FF.net)

Adrien winced as he ran his hand through his hair. The spray that his stylist had used to keep his hair in place despite the sometimes gusty wind had resulted in hair that felt rather like a helmet, even if it looked very stylish still, and he couldn't wait to wash it all out.

"Well, at least that didn't go over time," Plagg offered as Adrien closed his door behind him. "You ended early, even- no?"

Adrien was shaking his head. "Nathalie has started adding an hour to all of my photoshoots to make sure that the photographers and other models and staff don't charge overtime just because we got interrupted. But yeah, at least it was only part of one song today." It wasn't the worst photoshoot he had done, not by far. It had just been exhausting, and sitting outside and trying not to look chilled in the late fall air wasn't easy. He had makeup coating his ears and cheeks to hide the red from the wind's chill, and that was just as uncomfortable as the cold itself. "I'm gonna go shower and get all of the gunk off. You know where the cheese is."

"We're getting low!" Plagg called as Adrien gathered up a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. "Can we go to the cheese market soon? We haven't been in ages!"

They hadn't been since Adrien's soulmate bond showed up, he meant. Adrien thought about it. "If we can go early. My soulmate won't be up then. Hopefully."

Plagg cheered loudly.

Adrien shut the bathroom door, heading over to the sink and starting to scrub the layers of makeup off. His cheeks were red from the rubbing, even with the makeup remover on his washcloth.

The makeup artists had really caked it on thick this time.

By the time Adrien had gotten the last streaks of his photoshoot makeup off and got the shower running, he was already feeling better. When the familiar tickle in his throat appeared, Adrien only grinned and started singing along whole-heartedly, even using his shampoo bottle as a microphone as he stepped under the shower head.

It was one of the only times when he could truly enjoy his soulmate bond, when he was at home and not trying to get anything done. His soulmate knew quite a few songs, most quite energetic and fun, and he didn't have to try to think about the words at all. They just flowed out, easy and free.

Adrien supposed that it was a good thing that he wasn't a half-bad singer. Sure, he would never grace CD racks or anything, but he wasn't anywhere close to the yowling cat that his Lady sometimes joked he was.

(She hadn't actually heard him sing anytime recently, actually. She couldn't judge him on his fifteen-year-old self's singing skills.)

His soulmate swung from an upbeat, peppy song to a slower one, powerful and sweet. Adrien tipped his head back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair and belted out the words, careful to not get any soap in his mouth.

"And just for this moment, As long as you're mine, I've lost all resistance-"

The rest of his shower went by in a flash, and then Adrien was toweling himself off and tugging on fresh clothes, ones that hadn't been tossed over the back of a metal folding chair in the change tent for part of the day and then knocked onto the ground for the rest of the photoshoot. His hair got a quick toweling of and brushing out, and then Adrien shoved it back away from his face instead of styling it.

He wasn't going to be going out for the rest of the day, after all. His father might give him some sidelong looks, but that was fine. Adrien wasn't going to pay him any mind.

"Oh god, the soundtrack's started," Plagg grumbled as Adrien came out, still singing. "Really? You look like a dork, holding your hairbrush like that."

"-helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down! Oh, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, in the most delightful way!"

"There's no medicine in the world that is delightful," Plagg informed Adrien helpfully. "It's gross, all of it. I've had Chosens try to give me their nasty human medicine when I get sick. Don't ever try it, or I'll bite you."

Adrien ignored Plagg, heading over to his computer to pull out his books to do a few Chemistry problems and singing all the while. He didn't have to think about the songs at all as he sang, so it really wasn't that distracting as he worked out the chemical equations. In fact, it was actually rather enjoyable.

Even if he hadn't met his soulmate yet, Adrien always felt closer to her when he could sing along properly like this. He often felt a bit bad about grumbling and sighing over his soulmate bond, especially with as frequently as he complained about it and tried his best to resist the singing. When he resisted so much, Adrien often felt like he was, in some way, rejecting his soulmate.

And he wasn't. He didn't want to. After so long thinking that he would spend his life alone and lonely, without someone who just got him, Adrien was glad that he had a soulmate. It was just that he would have preferred a different kind of mark to show his bond, something that would allow him to go about his day a little more normally.

But his bond would allow him to track down his soulmate while things like simple matching marks and timers didn't. As long as Max's methods could produce results, Adrien should be able to locate his soulmate before much longer.

Humming now- apparently his soulmate had settled down a bit, and good thing too as Adrien's throat was starting to feel a tad sore- Adrien finished up his Chemistry homework, then settled down with a reading for his Plant Bio course. He shot a text off to Nathalie letting her know that he would take dinner in his room, as his father would complain if Adrien were to start singing again if he were in the dining room, and then went back to his coursework.

If his soulmate properly stopped singing later, he would try to watch a few recorded lectures and get a bit ahead of the syllabus. If his soulmate followed her patterns from previous semesters, she would start singing more again towards the end of the semester. Now that Adrien knew- or, well, suspected- that she was at a university theater, that made sense. Two musicals per semester, and performers would logically be practicing more when they were right about to start their performances. That made things a little inconvenient for Adrien, unless he planned ahead.

And since Adrien wanted to minimize any resentment towards his soulmate bond getting in his way, he would work around it and adapt.

  "Hey, Alya!"

Alya grinned at Marinette as she slid into the seat next to her in the cozy diner they had chosen to meet at. "Hey, girl. Nino said sorry he couldn't make it, but he's got class to go to."

Marinette made a face. "Ugh. Class this early? No thanks. I didn't even want to get up this time. But there's a sale at the fabric shop today, and I had to swing by before and I wanted to get in and buy some things I need before supplies went." She patted the bulging bags sitting on the floor by her feet. "This'll be fun to work with. And I restocked my threads, and my needles, and zippers and buttons and-"

"Your whole sewing kit then, basically." Alya snagged the menu from Marinette and scanned it. "I bet your parents were surprised to see you up so early."

Marinette giggled, remembering her mother's face when she saw Marinette barreling down the stairs over two hours before she normally got up. "She wanted to know if there was a fire upstairs or something. And I did tell them about the sale yesterday, but apparently they forgot."

"Is anything in there for the theater?" Alya wanted to know as she flagged down a waitress. "Or do you not need anything for Mary Poppins?"

Marinette shook her head. "All of the costumes have been made, and all of the sewing for the sets got finished, too. And the school pays for all of those supplies, so it doesn't really matter as much when I buy stuff."

"So what do you do when there's no more work on the costumes to do?" Alya wanted to know. "I'd like the pancakes and eggs, please, and a glass of orange juice, please," she added to the waitress.

"I'll have the same," Marinette said, smiling at the waitress. The woman nodded and headed back towards the kitchen. "I keep the outfits organized, because if it were up to the cast, things would just get hung up whenever at the end of performances and dress rehearsals," she told Alya. "And there's other plays going on that aren't musicals, that's just what I tend to spend most of my time on, since they're so big. I just finished altering some things for a blackbox play, and I've got to do some repairs on the outfits that I just got back from another play, because they got stretched and torn a bit. I get them cleaned before they get put away, too."

"Mending and laundry. Yeah, I really see why you stay at that job." Alya gave Marinette a long look. "I get that it pays, but really. When was the last time that you made an entirely new outfit for the theater?"

"Little Shop of Horrors," Marinette answered promptly. "We didn't exactly have a giant plant costume sitting around. And some of the costumes needed some major alterations."

Alya groaned. "You know that isn't what I meant. When have you designed anything? You're too good to just be a seamstress for a university theater department."

"I'm thinking of getting a part-time internship with a design house this summer," Marinette said with a sigh. She had been thinking about it more often recently as her professors stressed the importance of getting a foot in the door to the fashion world, even though she still had a couple months before she would be able to apply to anything. "Since the theater thing only takes a few hours each day most of the time. Then I would get a foot in there, but I could keep the good hours from the theater during the school year."

That only made Alya look more exasperated. "I'm sure you could find an internship that would work around your classes. Mine does."

"That's not what other students have found," Marinette said firmly. She knew Alya had her best interests in mind, she really did, but Alya hadn't looked through the postings for jobs and talked to the older design students. "And I enjoy my job. I'm not going to leave it."

"If you're sure." Alya leaned over, poking through Marinette's bag. She made an appreciative noise when she found the length of red silk that Marinette had bought. "Ooh, this is pretty."

Marinette grinned, thinking of the dress and flared pants she was planning on making with that particular fabric. She was going to do a few black accents on it, a subtle reference to her Ladybug colors without doing the spots like so many other people did. She probably wouldn't get around to making it for a bit- after all, she had things she needed to do for her classes and also for her job that came first- but she had the designs all drawn out and the measurements made.

"And velvet!" Alya exclaimed, still digging. "And- oh, this is pretty. Your colors are always great."

"Well, I am a designer. I have to have an eye for color." Marinette watched as Alya pulled a rainbow of fabrics out of her bag, oohing over each one. There was a ton of fabric, enough that the other customers were giving them odd looks, but Marinette knew that she would end up using most of those fabrics up in the next couple of months. It was just part of being a fashion student.

She had gotten spectacular deals on each and every one of those lengths, good enough to make her want to spontaneously burst out into song in joy. Since she had had no desire to get booted out of the fabric store, she had contented herself with humming merrily as she picked out fabrics and loaded them into her cart.

Alya just shook her head. "It's not just the designer thing. I've seen some so-called fashion students gasping over the ugliest colors in the store and making up designs with fabrics that I thought belonged in the trash. They clearly have no idea what actually looks good."

Marinette hastily muffled a laugh. As much as she was loath to admit it, just because she hated to speak ill about another person's art, Alya had a point. Some of her classmates were so focused on making something unique and never seen before that they lost sight of what actually looked good. She personally preferred to balance new and timeless style, comfort and fashion.

"Oh, is that who I think it is?" Alya asked, cutting across Marinette's musings. She pointed across the cafe at the blond man who had just entered. Marinette squinted and- yup, Alya was right, it was Adrien. Alya waved, catching his attention. "Adrien! Over here!"

Adrien looked startled, but he only hesitated for a second before heading over to their table. Marinette was surprised to see that Adrien didn't look as cheerful as he normally did, though he tried for a smile as he stopped by their table.

"Hey, you two," Adrien greeted them. Even though Marinette had cleared space on the seat next to her for him, he didn't sit down. "I didn't expect to see you guys here!"

"And you would never expect to see Marinette this early, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Alya soldiered on. "And don't just stand there, Adrien, sit down! Don't be a stranger. Or do you have somewhere to be?"

Adrien sat, placing his bag on the seat next to him. He didn't look comfortable.

"I was showing Alya some of the stuff I bought at the fabric store this morning," Marinette explained as she slid fabric back into the bag. She paused to let Adrien feel the silk before tucking it away as well. "There was a sale."

That got a laugh out of Adrien. "Oh, is that why you're up? I thought we normally wouldn't see you for another couple hours."

Marinette spluttered. "I- oh, that's not nice. I'd normally be getting up soon, not in a couple hours."

Adrien grinned at her. "Oh, we know. I was just teasing." He leaned over to hug Marinette, pressing her into his side. "We wouldn't be seeing you out and about for a couple hours, then. Not unless you had something to get to, at least."

"Speaking of seeing people, we weren't expecting to see you here," Alya told Adrien. The waitress returned with their drinks, and Alya accepted hers with a thanks. "I thought you weren't really going out much these days?"

"I was going to get a box to-go, honestly. I just wanted to get out of the house." Adrien flipped through the menu that the waitress had handed him. "Though I suppose I could have just asked our chef for a box, too, and had a picnic of sorts somewhere. I just didn't think of it."

"Well, now you have somewhere to sit while you eat." Marinette took a sip of her juice and then pushed it over so Adrien could have some. "And people to talk to."

Adrien was still looking a bit uncomfortable for some reason, and Marinette wondered if he had actually been on his way somewhere and just didn't want to talk about it. She tried to subtly glance at his wrists- maybe his soulmate mark was a timer, and that was why he had snuck out- but no, Adrien's wrists were clearly bare, devoid of any marks. Clearly whatever had gotten him out of the house was some other reason entirely.

"Do you have designs to go with that fabric?" Adrien asked after he had placed his order and assured the waitress that no, no one else would be joining them. "You must, right?"

Marinette grinned and nodded, pulling out her sketchbook. "Yeah! Some are still going through revisions, of course, but I have them nailed down enough to have rough yardage figured out." She flipped the sketchbook open and pushed it over towards Adrien. "That's what I have planned."

She watched as Adrien flipped through the pages, giving each design a careful look-over, reading her notes and tracing over some of the lines lightly with his finger. Out of all of her old friends, Adrien was the one who gave her designs the closest looks and gave her the most constructive feedback. He looked at the designs as more than just a pretty picture, looking at the design as a fashion piece as well. Even if fashion wasn't his field of study, Adrien had been exposed to it enough over the years to develop a pretty good eye.

"This are going to look amazing, Marinette," Adrien said after a minute. He didn't look as excited as he normally did when looking at her designs, but Marinette wasn't going to take that personally. It was obvious that he was having an off day. "Just like always. There's some new techniques you're using, aren't there?"

Marinette grinned, impressed that he had noticed. "Yeah! I learned them in my techniques class and I immediately got some ideas of what to make. I probably won't be able to make much anything for myself until the semester has ended, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

It didn't take long for their breakfast to be delivered, with Adrien's arriving at the same time despite his order being put in a bit later. He ate quickly, leaving money for his meal before taking off with a wave.

Alya didn't look surprised, but Marinette was super-confused. The Adrien she knew spent as much time as he could with his friends, even occasionally risking his father's wrath to eke out a few more minutes together with them. But Adrien seemed uncomfortable while out in public, a far cry from when they had hung out together at Alya's apartment.

Had there been some sort of incident with his fans during one of the get-togethers that she had missed during the Little House of Horrors run? Marinette had thought that people had backed off a bit after Mr. Agreste had sent a lawyer after one particularly aggressive fan, but there was always the occasional person who was willing to brave both the former supervillain and all of the security that he had just to get a bit closer to Adrien.

If she had been as into him as she had been when she was younger, Marinette would have surely heard about whatever had happened by now. But it had been years since Marinette looked up articles and videos about Adrien, mostly because it felt like invading his privacy.

Besides, the articles weren't very accurate. Adrien was a fairly private person, keeping his public social media profiles minimalistic, with only information about his upcoming modeling events or Gabriel lines posted. The tabloids had to guess and make things up for most of their articles and, well...

They weren't very accurate. Clearly the reporters had never actually talked to him in person.

"So, back to what we were talking about before," Alya said, cutting across Marinette's thoughts- maybe she should search Adrien's name again, just to check- "Your new show is gonna run in a few weeks, right? Is it any good?"

"Are you kidding? It's fantastic." Fully distracted, Marinette's attention returned fully to Alya. "You should come watch one of the shows. We've got some great child actors in it without our normal cast. They're surprisingly good at singing, considering how young they are."

Alya barked out a laugh. "Wow, such persuasive powers you have there. All right, all right. If I'm free one of those nights, I'll go. I might not be, though," she warned. "That's gonna be a busy time for my internship, too."

"That's what you always say." Still, Marinette wasn't too bothered. Alya had never really been into plays, so it was no big surprise that she might not come and see the show. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Alya laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll try. I promise."