#many a time on my way to school i turned back to double check my straighteners were off

[imaginaryberries]

Recently I saw someone on the Glasgow subreddit post about an experience they'd had in primary school of being taken to a 'safety centre' as a class where they were put through various simulations of dangerous situations - like loads of wee rooms, one for example being set up to be a train platform with a track that had a fiver on it, to show the dangers of jumping on to the tracks, that sort of thing. Reading the post was like a jumpscare because I remember this too, and the one that always haunted me was the one that was set up like a kids' bedroom and they showed you all the potential fire hazards - plug sockets by beds, charger cables getting hot etc.

Something I'd forgotten though, but then vaguely remembered once I'd read it, is that they also then simulated a fire happening. Like, room filled with smoke, people banging on doors and acting like it was real etc and you had to escape without making the mistake of grabbing the door handle (as it would be hot and your skin would melt and stick to it) and whatever.

The thing is. Obviously unbeknownst to them but still something that could be predicted to have happened to at least some of the children going through this. I had already had a traumatic fire experience very similar to this a few years previously. When I was a kid my dad's neighbour set his flat on fire and we all had to be evacuated. It was a Defining Childhood Event for me.

Like. The OP of the Reddit post only wrote it in the first place because they'd been explaining it to Australian friends who were horrified. It just seems an insane thing to put children through when like I said, there's bound to be a portion of them who will be legitimately retraumatised by it. I'm a lot better than I was but I have previously been, like, OCD-level anxious about fire, and those two incidents - in fact the 'safety centre' one more than the actual fire - are absolutely the reason why. Obv teaching kids to be careful is important but I feel like there are better ways to do it lol

[alexiroflife]

"five more minutes?"

part 2.

college au, grungy!choso, fluffff, beginnings of mutual pining

choso kamo x writing tutor!reader

Synopsis: your last tutoring session of the day catches you off guard when the hottest guy you've ever seen in your life walks into the writing center

to sum it up: you and choso didn't expect to enjoy each other's company so much and your giddy awkwardness shows it

WC: 3,700

Warning(s): none, just you and choso being cute as hell

-> guys i am speechless thank you so much for +2,000 followers y'all are amazing i love you so much

You, in truth, never wanted to be a writing tutor.

Your English professor had recommended you to do so, seeing that you had a tendency to excel in your creative and academic writing courses. Your major in english and the years prior you spent scribbling away the fantasies of your mind in middle and high school certainly were to commend for you exceptional writing skills now, but you find that any time you’re actually forced to put pen to paper instead of doing so on your own will dulls the experience entirely. 

You can’t necessarily complain too much because you are getting paid (certainly not enough as a junior in university), but you don’t exactly enjoy the tediousness of having to sit down with freshmen who are crawling their way through their introductory writing courses, fighting to keep their engagement as they try to rush you through your hour and a half appointment- despite how badly they need it.

Writing is an art, and should be treated as such, but god, the way the intro courses are treating it and how the students treat it accordingly truly hurts your soul. Especially because they’re required classes, and people never fare well in classes they’re forced to take. You have first hand experience with that.

You’re almost done for the day when you double check your schedule to see that you have one more slot filled before you can call it a day.

Sighing, you lean back in your desk chair and click on the profile of the boy you’re meant to be meeting with. Apparently he’s in a grade above you working on a seminar. You raise your brow, curiosity striking you. You don’t typically find many upperclassmen coming to your services since they normally already have the writing training that they need and have been crafting enough essays to get the hang of things, or are simply too lazy to be bothered with visiting the writing center.

You don’t have much time to ponder it before there’s a knock on your office door frame, signifying the arrival of the person you are to be mentoring. You look up, and the breath almost flies from your lungs when you see a tall brunette clad in heavy, dark cargo pants, a tattered band tee, and a puffy jacket. His heavily lined, violet eyes meet yours tiredly, though after a few moments, a sprinkle of light flickers its way into his irises upon registering the sight of you. 

“I’m… uh, here for my 3:30?” his remarkably deep voice mumbles out as he stares at you pensively, ringed fingers clutching the strap of his beaten satchel book bag. “You’re (Y/n)?”

You blink. “Oh, y-yeah. Sorry,” you clear your throat, hastily throwing on a friendly smile. “Come in. You can take a seat right here.”

You gesture to the chair before you at your desk, and he approaches, slinging his bag from his shoulder to the floor and seating himself in the cushioned seat. 

You scroll through your computer mindlessly to relocate his profile and exactly what he is here for, but you can’t deny the fact that your mind is immensely distracted by the presence of the man sitting in front of you. You can feel his pretty eyes wandering over the room, bouncing over you then to his lap. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from practically screaming, for this kid is insanely attractive in a grungy, silent loner kind of way, and you’re unsure of how you’ll even be able to focus throughout the session.

“It’s Choso, right?” you ask, turning from your monitor to meet his diamond eyes.

He nods, pressing his lips together. “Yeah.”

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you. Why don’t you walk me a bit through what you need help with?”

He releases a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his head and averting his gaze. “I don’t know, my senior sem professor said I needed to work on my paragraph structure for the essay part of the project,” he explains almost disinterestedly. “I don’t really know what she means, so I figured I’d just come here.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Do you have a draft that you can show me?”

Choso reluctantly nods once more, leaning over to collect his bag and pull out a thin stack of papers. He gathers them in his hands and as if embarrassed, slides them across the wood table toward you. You take it from him and briefly skim over the words, the title catching your eye.

“You’re a bio major?” you ask, interest piqued.

“…Um, yeah. I’m writing about blood coagulation… it’s kinda boring stuff I guess.”

“No way, I think that’s sick,” you say casually, flipping through the other pages. “I could never begin to understand that stuff.”

You miss the way Choso’s gaze lingers on your face in momentary, subtle surprise. Your eyes fly up from the page to him again, and he immediately looks away. 

You place the papers back down. “I can kinda see what your professor means just by first glance,” you tell him, reaching over to grab a red pen from your pencil holder.

“That fast?” Choso asks, raising a brow.

You chuckle slightly. “I mean, I didn’t get to see everything obviously. I was just browsing, but I do this a lot. I notice you tend to jump from one thing to another without a solid transition.”

“Oh.”

“That’s okay, though. And was it just paragraph structure…? Was there anything else you specifically wanted to look at?”

He shrugs stiffly. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I’m… less of a writer and more of a researcher. I don’t really- I’m not too good with this kind of stuff in general. I just do the work.”

“That’s no problem. You’ve got the important parts down,” you assure him. “Here, why don’t we move to the center next door? It’ll be easier for me to help you with your paper when I’m next to you instead of sitting across.”

“Sure.”

You believe that you have sabotaged yourself in suggesting so, though moving to a less cramped room is something you always do with your clients. Even so, the second you and Choso seat yourselves beside each other at a rounded table in the next room, with another appointment taking place across the room and rather distant from you, his scent of woody cologne consumes your senses the moment his breeze blows past you with his settlement into his chair. 

Your eyes go slightly wide, his arm inches away from brushing yours when he throws his bag over the back of the chair. While he pulls out his computer and gets his papers and notes situated, you sneak a glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He beholds the facial structure of a model, a rather bored, tired energy capturing his eyes but emphasizing his beauty nonetheless. His hair, you think, is styled uniquely into two ponytails, but it somehow complements his aura perfectly. Tendrils of chocolate brown sweep over his forehead and behind his ear, and that is when you catch a peak of a tattoo creeping up his neck from behind his jacket collar. 

This guy is too gorgeous for his own good. Part of you doesn’t believe that he is aware of his beauty himself, for he carries himself as though he wishes not to be seen, or more accurately, hardly pays any attention or care to how he is perceived by the surrounding world. He’s reserved, calm, and oh, the way his Adam's apple bops when he clears his throat softly is criminal.

You’re prepared to ask him about his tattoo when you recall that you are supposed to be maintaining a professional, yet amiable environment. To make it obvious that he’s captured your attention and then some would interfere with the entire purpose of his appointment, which he scheduled for academic assistance with you, a tutor. 

You immediately avert your gaze when reality smacks you in the face and you shift your focus back to his paper, sliding it under your palm and ripping the cap of your pen rather harshly. Just as you turn away, Choso finds himself peering over at you, but far less sneakily. 

He had come here expecting to despise the entire process, for his pride is slightly wounded that he even has to visit a writing tutor, but he refuses to allow his lacking skill in essay craft to debunk his grade in something he is so passionate about, and something that he desperately needs to graduate. Besides, he has come for help early enough in the process for it not to have much of a strain on the final product overall, but when he found you in your office, he hadn’t expected to be working with someone like… you.

He was expecting a stuck up hermit who was prepared to tear apart every single piece of his rough draft that he had thrown together, sneering down at him through round framed glasses and frowning at his sheer inferiority within the English department. Instead, he’s greeted with you; a fresh, friendly and drop dead gorgeous face that welcomes him in with no judgment. Aesthetically, and likely spiritually, the two of you can’t appear more different, but you don’t seem at all moved by his dark presence. You smile at him, and you compliment his work though no one has ever taken him as a guy interested in or withholding the brains of one who desires to study the inner workings of the human body. He half thinks you’re just being nice because it’s your job, but he can’t help but take a liking to you immediately solely because of how pretty he deems you to be.

Not only that, but you guide him through each and every one of his stand points within his draft, circling words, marking down sentences, scribbling little notes in the corner summarizing the main point he wishes to get across and how he intends to prove so with his research. You listen to him after asking him to explain something you don’t quite understand, and your eyes search his honestly as he mutters through his intentions that are yet to be properly conveyed on the page. You then nod along with him and tell him that he makes perfect sense when he talks, then you freely provide suggestions about how he can improve this portrayal of understanding in a different way.

And everything you tell him, he understands effortlessly. You have a way with your words and how you transcribe them into something that can be put into paper. You know absolutely nothing about what Choso does academically, but somehow, you magically transform that unknown into what you do know. You tell him that literacy is universal, so it’s easy for you to take any topic and help him construct it properly for literary intake. 

Choso finds himself enraptured by your tutoring. He’s agreeing with you, humming in interest and pointing at the things you write for him, typing away at his notes to record everything he’s hearing. He’s taken by the way your lips move when you speak passionately, intelligently; how your hands swirl animatedly with your speech as you paint physical pictures in the air of what you are verbalizing; how you grin widely when Choso adds onto your suggestions, proving that he is getting a hang of what you are telling him. And above all, Choso can see the joy in your eyes as you help him, how entranced you are by the chance to hold an intelligent conversation about what you have mastered doing and what Choso has mastered doing.

You actually like tutoring him, and Choso can tell because he has come to enjoy being tutored by you within the hour and a half block that you are given.

The two of you only make it through about eight of twenty pages before you somehow get off topic, minutes past your block has ended.

“How long have you been a tutor?” the purple eyed man beside you questions suddenly. You look up, closing the cap of your pen with a gentle smile. You don’t even notice the other appointment in the room leaving, the two of you now completely alone.

“Just for a little over a year,” you say. “I started at the beginning of sophomore year last year.”

“So, you’re only a junior,” Choso observes.

“Didn’t you know that when you clicked my profile on the tutoring site?” you tilt your head.

Choso shakes his head, looking down as he reaches his hand to his keyboard and bouncing his leg. “I… wasn’t paying attention,” he mutters and you laugh slightly.

“You could have picked anybody to help you, then.”

“Yeah, apparently,” he hums. “I’m glad I got you though.”

A certain giddiness captures you as your light smile brightens. “Really?”

“I- just mean, you’re a good teacher,” he adds quickly, brows drawing together. His jumping knee leans over the slightest in his manspreading position beneath the table, leading it to bump against yours clumsily. The two of you look down at the same time, and he brings his leg back in hastily. “Sorry.”

“You’re good,” you bring your shoulders up as you crowd your hands in your lap, his brief contact having startled your nerves. “And thanks. I try my best. I actually had fun during our session.”

He turns to look at you. “You had fun trying to fix my awful writing?”

“No, no,” you chuckle. “Usually I help a lot of freshmen and they don’t really care what they’re writing about, but you really seem to.”

He hums. “I get it.”

“So… why biology? Why blood function?”

“I don’t know. It’s always been cool to me, how much stuff happens inside the body that we can’t see,” he says lowly. “I also… got money to come here in high school for science and all that. It’s kinda always been something I’m good at.”

“You say that like it’s not a big deal,” you raise your brows, turning in your chair to face him completely. He glances at you momentarily from the side, but keeps himself awkwardly forward as he clicks randomly away at the keys on his computer. You can see a dust of pink creeping over his pale skin as he eyes his screen. 

“It’s not really. Plenty of people have scholarships and stuff.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make yours any less impressive,” you say, and his blush brightens. He’s so cute. “What would you wanna do with that when you graduate? This is your last year, right?”

“Oh, uh,” he tilts his head back. “I’m looking for work now… but I don’t know, not a lot of jobs in my field would really…” he tries to find a way to explain. His lips tug to the side and his brows angle, hand finding his locks. “...approve of the way I present. I could probably get away with being a lab tech, but if not, I’d do something behind the scenes. Maybe get another job in retail, too.”

You hum, looking over him. “Is it because of your…” you stop to point to his neck. He looks at you quizzically, reaching his hand to where you point. His face relaxes in realization.

“Yeah,” he breathes out a light laugh, and you shiver. “Didn’t know you could see that.”

“Only a little…” you grin. “What is it?”

He takes in a deep breath, looping his fingers over his jack and pulling it down from the skin by his ear. His face is still lit with a pinch of color as he averts his gaze, tilting his chin so that you can see the sharp lines of ink swerving from behind his ear down to his collarbone, a cyber sigilism design. 

You gulp, your own face growing warm with heat as you examine the way his muscles ripple beneath the tattoo, his face bored though leg still jittery with nerves. 

“I like it,” you say as he releases his jacket and lets it rise to conceal his neck once more. “It suits you.”

He looks at you, pursing his lips. “Thanks. I have a lot more.”

“Yeah?” your eyes dash over his frame out of curiosity.

“You won’t be able to see them,” he tells you, and you snap your eyes right back up to his face. A small smile plays on his lips.

“O-Oh. Right,” you stammer. “How many do you have?”

“At least, like, twenty by now.”

“Really?!” you gasp, rather impressed. “Did they hurt?”

“Only a few, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Hmm. You’re making me think I should get a tattoo.”

Choso’s lips curl into a full fledged grin as he examines you, seemingly amused by the idea. You falter slightly when his teeth reveal from behind his soft lips, a dimple prodding in the corner of his cheek with his smile. “You’d get one?”

You pick up on his slightly playful tone and raise a brow. “Why? I don’t look like I would?”

He shakes his head. “I mean- well, no, but-” he paused. “I guess I don’t look like I’d want to be a medical professional, so.”

You can feel your smile widening, your heart brimming with excitement as he opens himself up to bantering with you. And his smile… you would have never expected such an angelic sight on someone like him. You knew he was handsome before, but now with his eyes shining with humor, his cheeks flushed, and a tumble of shy laughter spilling from his throat, you’re willing to risk everything for a chance to hear him laugh again.

“See?” you muse as he finally closes his laptop.

“Where would you get one?”

“Uhhhh,” you try to think. “Maybe… on my shoulder?”

“Yeah?” he pokes out his bottom lip and nods. “I think you’d pull it off,” he goes to tuck his papers back into his bag, keeping his eyes down as the next phrase falls from his mouth. “Maybe I should take you to get one.”

Your brows jump at his suggestion, unsure of whether he is joking or being serious. He catches your eye when he pulls himself back up, heliotrope pools simmering with that hint of bashfulness as he looks at you through his long lashes. 

“Y-You know,” he starts once more. “After you finish helping me with the rest of my essay.”

Your mind clicks when the topic at hand shifts back to the reason why you are sitting with him in the first place. You turn to look at the clock on the other side of the room and widen your eyes when you find that it is half an hour past when you were meant to be finished. “Speaking of,” you start. “We ran really late.”

Choso perks up, following your gaze. “Oh… shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to… keep you.”

“No, it’s okay! Really. I didn’t even notice what time it was,” you say. Choso stalls with his hand on his computer, having prepared to put it away, but something in his mind is making him hesitate.

“So-”

“Did you-”

You both stop, having talked over each other, and you laugh nervously. “Sorry, you first,” you tell him.

“No, you go.”

You oblige. “Well… when are you free next? We can keep working on your draft. Maybe in the library soon if you want a change of scenery? Or not, we could just stay here.”

You don’t know why you’re all of a sudden acting like a child struggling to speak before him. You are meant to be scheduling a follow-up, as you do with everyone you tutor, but somehow it feels as though you’re asking Choso out on a date.

Before you can say anything more, the brunette is nodding before he even comprehends what you’re asking. “Yes. The library is good. Let’s do that.”

You grin, relieved. “Okay. Cool. Great. When-?”

“Whenever,” he rushes. You blink, and he reels in upon noticing how quickly he answered. He turns away. “I mean- whenever you’re free.”

“Next week? Same time?”

He hums. “Yeah. That’s- that’s perfect.”

You go to stand as Choso reaches for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The two of you stand before each other, silence taking you as you find yourselves unsure of what else to say. 

You look to the side and notice that Choso’s computer is still sitting on the table. You reach out for it, gathering it safely in your hands and presenting it to him. “Here. Don’t forget this.”

He looks down at the device and his brows lift. “Oh, yeah. Right,” he takes the computer from your hands, brushing his fingers accidentally with yours, before pulling it into his grasp and tucking it into his bag, lowering his head to hide his flustered expression. “Thank you. And thanks for the… the help.”

You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

You remain before each other for a moment more, neither of you desiring to leave just yet. 

“Should I, you know, give you my contact?” Choso suggests, and you perk up. “For next week, and I guess in the future when we schedule other appointments…”

“Oh, yeah! Sure, here.”

You pull out your phone and let him hover over you, his scent invading your senses once more as he types his number into an empty contact. You call it once he is finished so that your number can pop up on his phone, and he leans away. “Got it.”

“Great,” you smile at him. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

You watch his tall figure trudge away, out of the doorway and down the hall with his face into his phone as he works to save your contact. The moment he leaves, you heave out and press your hand to your chest, excitement fluttering through you in the form of butterflies. 

Hell. What you would have given to get just another five minutes alone with that beautiful stranger. Maybe he would have asked you to hang out sometime properly. 

[phantom-0-writer]

original prompt: Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program

scene 1

table of contents

------------

scene 2: tim’s arch nemesis 

“Have a good day at school Masters Tim, Thomas, and Damian.” Alfred wished, as they all got out of the car. 

“Later, Alfred.” Duke waved as the car left the drop off zone.

The three of them walked together until Tim remembered the conversation from Bruce’s study. He peered over his shoulder at Damian who was trying to act nonchalant as he ditched the principal's office. Tim turned and stopped right in front of Damian ``Ohoho, and where do you think you’re going Damian?” Sneaky little plans for a sneaky little kid, huh.

“Tsk.” He rolled his eyes at being caught 

Tim smirked at him, the words hillbilly civilians echoing in his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the principal’s office?” 

“I was just on my way.” Damian said, trying to seem unbothered as he walked away. 

“Y’know one of these days he’s gonna snap and finally murder you.” Duke mused next to him, before they split into their separate hallways. 

“Better people than him have tried.” They shared a small laugh. Finding his usual seat in homeroom, Tim scrolled through his phone until class started. 

At the bell Ms. Kross stepped to the teacher’s podium to start the daily announcements. “Hello class, happy Wednesday.” She smiled at them, “You’re all chipper as usual,” she commented humorously to herself at the silent audience. “Well today is the day I’m sure all of you have been waiting anxiously for. Before I announce everyone’s placements after the midterms, I just want to remind you all that grades only matter so much in the grand scheme of things, and if you did not score as well as you would’ve liked, there's still time to do better.” Ms. Kross gave them the yearly pep talk, as the system booted. 

Tim had been attending Gotham Academy since the first grade, and he was familiar with the ins and outs of the system now, as opposed to the many students that often filtered in and out of the Academy. Gotham Academy is one of the best schools on this side of the coast and many affluent families would send their kids here. So naturally the Academy was incredibly competitive and so much as one point could move you from 5th place to 50th. 

The competitive atmosphere of Gotham Academy had never been too hard of a burden on Tim’s shoulder. Since grade 3 Tim has easily been placed first in his grade without so much as a sweat, no matter the amount of Robin, or Red Robin responsibilities on his shoulders. Knowing this year would be no different, Tim let his chair lean back leisurely as his other classmates sat forward in anticipation. 

“With no further ado, this year’s first place as for now is Daniel Fenton.” Yup, just like every other- Wait. 

“What?” Tim asked, the front two legs of his chair hitting the floor hard. Tim looked at the screen in disbelief, only to have his suspicions confirmed. 

“Mr. Drake, is there a problem?” Mr. Kross asked, surprised. 

“Are you sure this is right?” Tim asked incredulously pointing an accusing finger at the screen, there's no way that he- Timothy Drake - placed second?

“Yes, Mr. Drake, I assure you this sheet has been double, triple, even quadruple checked. There are no errors.” Ms. Kross smiled exasperatedly. 

Ms. Kross continued down the list of names in the class, announcing their places but Tim wasn’t paying attention. Tim glared at the spreadsheet at the front of the class, waiting for it to correct itself. But no changes were made. The name placed at the top of the list had been burned into Tim’s skull. 

Who the fuck is Daniel James Fenton? 

----

Bonus:

Bruce waited his turn in the pick up line, ready to see his kids' surprise when they found out that he came to pick them up instead of Alfred. When it was finally his turn to pull up to the curb he smiled happily as Tim, Damian and Duke entered the car. 

“Surprise.” Bruce smiled at them.

“Oh, Bruce. Alfred didn’t come today?” Duke asked with a smile. 

“Nope!” He said driving into the street. “Since it’s just us today, how about we go grab ice cream?” Bruce offered, looking at his passengers in the rearview mirror. 

“Ooh ice cream after school!” Duke cheered. 

“I could appreciate some ice cream.” Damian nodded from his seat. 

“Oh how did meeting Daniel go today, Damian?” Bruce remembered. 

“It was fine. Daniel is not entirely despicable.” Bruce blinked in surprise, Damian seemed to have taken a great liking to the kid if he was already calling him by his first name, especially on day one. “Not entirely despicable” and “it was fine” in Damian-speak usually meant that he had had a phenomenal time. 

“That’s great, buddy.” Bruce turned to tell him when he stopped at a red light. “Duke, how was your Chemistry Test?” 

“It went okay, I think. We’ll just have to wait till the results come out, I guess.” Duke shrugged. 

Bruce nodded at the information. He was doing a good job. Engage, Assess, Appreciate. That’s what Dick had said. 

Tim. There was something today, he had mentioned it offhandedly. What was it? Right! The placement release. 

“Tim, how did your-”

“Shut up.” Tim seethed from the back seat. Bruce saw the irritation radiating off of him and decided that today, nor any day, would he be ready to deal with that.

“Ok.”

[fandomwritingbit]

William Afton x fem reader

Babysitter

A/N: This is a second stab at the babysitter trope because it’s just delightfully filthy, it’s not at all connected to the go I had before (which you can find - here). Also this is my first time writing somnophilia so I hope it’s good. 

Synop: Reader is a regular babysitter for William, one night she stays the night as he is working a late shift. He comes home annoyed and the sight of her asleep is just too tempting.

Warnings: smut, non/dub con, somnophilia, age gap, inappropriate relationship.

You pull the duvet cover up over one of the children you’re babysitting, her voice catching your attention with its whiny tone. “I can’t believe you’re making us go to bed this early.” 

You smile at her and shake your head. “Lizzie, it’s half nine on a school night. You know the rules.” She pouts looking at you with pleading eyes. You know that she just wants to stay up and spend some time with you, it’s not surprising, with two brothers it’s no wonder she wants some time with another girl. She looks up to you and as sweet as it is, you know better than to delay her bed time. 

“Pleease, y/n.” She tries again and you chuckle as you turn on her nightlight then her big light off, coming back over to prop her pillows up. 

“Nope.” You say through a grin, “Now lie down if you want tucking in.” She does, though her dissatisfied expression doesn’t shift. And so, bringing the duvet up under her chin you tuck it tight at her sides, just how she likes, knowing that despite the whinging she’ll be asleep in 10 minutes tops. You stand up and head for her door, stopping just before you leave, “Night night, Lizzie. Remember the quicker you get to sleep the sooner we can make breakfast in the morning.” The little lass smiles and you notice the sleepiness of it even in the low light of the room. 

~

Elizabeth is asleep before you can gather your stuff and lock up downstairs, just as you thought. So you go about checking on Evan asleep in his room as of an hour or so ago, happy to find him still settled. They’re good kids, never any trouble really. You’ve babysat for the Afton kids many times, as a local young lass with a liking for extra pocket money it was a handy job. You would pick the two youngest up from school, take them home and cook dinner, help with homework, all the good stuff. Their dad worked long shifts at his restaurant, so usually you’d stay and put the children to bed, getting yourself home once he’d come back. But tonight was different, Mr Afton had told you he won’t be back til the middle of the night and offered you to spend the night in the spare room; which you took him up on. 

The room is probably the smallest one in the house, not that you mind, it is a double bed with an end table and a chest of drawers. You put your bag on top of it, taking out your wash bag and heading to the bathroom, where you then ready yourself for bed. As it’s only one night you didn’t bring any pjs, only your clothes for the morning, so you strip down to your panties, take off your bra and keep the shirt you’ve been wearing today on, thinking that that should be good enough to sleep in. Yes, it’s revealing but if you need to tend to the kids you can always put your trousers back on. 

You don’t notice your discarded bra, abandoned on the bathroom floor.

Once in bed you set your alarm for seven in the morning, knowing you’ll have to help Mr Afton with the school run tomorrow. Again you don’t mind and you’re paid well for your time. And you like Mr Afton. God, how can you not? Such a handsome bloke, lean and sharp. Smart as anything too, you’ve listened to him talk on the phone, all business, shrewd and confident. Yeah, you like him alright. 

~

William gets home in the early hours, some time after 3am and the happy silence of his home isn’t enough to quell his silent anger. An incident at the restaurant has left him with paperwork up to his nose and a tonne of wasted stock, and with rent and utility on the way he was stressed to all hell. Even after staying nearly all night, there was still some much to do when he went back in tomorrow afternoon, and lord knows Henry won’t be helping much. 

He moves through his house as quiet as he can, careful not to wake anyone up even with his terrible mood. Poking his head in on his children, he smiles in satisfaction at your work. You’re such a good little lass, looking after them so well, you’re more than worth what he pays you. Honestly, the kids love you, even Michael isn’t annoyed by your presence and he couldn’t ask for a prettier thing to be milling around his house. He chuckles at that thought, you’re a damned tease even if you don’t realise it. What with all your tight jeans and shirts that pull away when you bend down, it’s hard for him not to look at you, but so far that’s all he’s done. That and a bit of harmless flirting. 

He pops into the bathroom to wash his face, hoping that will help clear away the stress of the day, except he doesn’t make it as far as the sink. Stopping still at the sight of your bra left on the floor. It’s a surprise to say the least, you’ve never struck him as the black lacy type, least of all when looking after his kids. And especially so given you’re not a careless individual. He grins as he picks it up, rubbing his thumb over the peak of the cup where your nipple would harden at such an action. The image goes straight to his cock, he’d wager you are much too inexperienced to wear such an article.

It would be a shame to just leave it there all night, so he keeps it in his clasp as he leaves the room, a naughty idea crossing his mind. 

But as he passes the spare room that he notices you’ve left the door cracked open. He’s not delusional, he knows it’ll be to hear the kids if they need you, but a very persuasive part of him wonders if you could have left it open for him. After leaving your bra in the bathroom it doesn’t seem outlandish, rather like you’ve left him a trail to follow and he wouldn’t dream of denying that invitation. 

The light from the hall cuts through the room as he cracks it open, his eyes quickly finding your sleeping frame laid on the bed and an almost sinister smirk creeps across his face. Such a lovely girl just laid there, having no clue that he was taking in the sight of you. Whether you did do this on purpose or not is irrelevant to him, there is only so much teasing a man can take.

He stands there in the doorway for a moment listening to the tickly feeling in his chest of doing something he knows he shouldn’t, his silhouette casting a large shadow into the room. It’s a familiar feeling but one that just never dulls. 

Still careful to be silent, William slowly enters the room, reaching behind himself to close the door, the room remaining dimly lit due to a lamppost outside the window. His hands move automatically to the buttons of his shirt, still unsure of what he was going to do even as he took it off, dropping it down to the floor. His belt was harder to take off without the suspect clinking noise but he manages it and his trousers follow suit. Standing over you there with his cock rock hard behind his boxers, he feels like some all powerful monster and it’s just delicious. 

The bed dips as he gets in beside you, lifting the duvet up and scooching in until his chest is pressed against your back, your warmth utterly intoxicating. You stir, a soft sleepy moan leaving your lips that makes his dick twitch. This is wrong in so many ways but he doesn't care, especially when his cold hand finds your leg, tracing up to the soft skin of your thigh and groaning when he feels the fabric of your panties. Though he skims over them for now, eager to feel more of you. It’s so easy for him to reach up under that shirt, trailing up over your stomach whilst softly grinding his stiffness into your behind, the knowledge of no bra making precum coat the tip of his cock. 

A cold hand grabs your breast, gently squeezing your flesh before taking your nipple between his fingers and tugging it lightly, it hardens instantly which makes him grin wolfishly. You again stir, arching your back into him, your behind rubbing against his erection. Your body subconsciously leans into the touch so he can’t help but give you what you want, largely because it’s what he needs.

So he shifts position, lifting your leg forwards to gain access to the part of you that was calling for him. He traces over your clothed pussy, brushing over your clit a few times and feeling your body tense with the slight stimulation.  

“Is that what you like, sweetheart huh?” He whispers, his breath spreading goosebumps along your skin, it doesn’t wake you but it’s close to. The throbbing of his cock makes him want you to notice. From there he slides his fingers under the fabric, immediately finding your core slick and gooey, he glides them through your folds, gradually becoming more risky with how he grinds his hips into you. The stimulation makes you moan, your eyes fluttering open and body instinctively trying to pull away, but he holds you firm, his other arms sliding under you to clamp over your mouth, disguising the sounds that tear from your throat. 

He shushes you repeatedly, his voice low in your ear, “Shush, sweetheart. It’s alright.” You’re ravaged by confusion, unable to tell if this was real, the fingers coated in your slick teasing your entrance and rubbing your clit felt achingly so, but how could this happen- it couldn't possibly be happening. 

You groan something into his hand and he briefly pulls it away enough to hear you, prompting you to say it again with a hum. Your brows are knitted as you speak, still trying to pull yourself away from him and the growing feeling building in your core. “...Mr Afton?” He grins into the back of your neck when you say his name like that.

“Yes, lovely.” 

You moan as his fingers find a perfect rhythm on your clit rubbing it vigorously and making the coil in your stomach tighter by the minute. “What… what are you doing?” It’s hard to speak, you’re so shocked that he’s doing this, that you’re living through it right now and that it feels so good. 

He doesn’t answer you, just chuckles into your skin, you aren’t riving away from him anymore but rather grabbing at the quilt now sticking to your sweaty skin, unable to decide if you want all this to stop or if you need him to continue. Your lower stomach is riddled with knots that are just begging to snap, the sensation completely overwhelming. You’re moaning pathetically, causing him to shush you again, you sound so good right now he’s dying to relieve himself somehow and just rubbing against you isn’t enough anymore, not when he knows how sweet and wet you are for him. And just, just as you’re screwing your eyes up ready to slam into your climax he stops, leaving your pussy twitching on the brink of your end. 

“Mr Aftonnn.” You whine, devastated that ecstasy was ripped from your tongue and desperate to feel it again. He moves behind you, pulling down his boxers enough to let his cock out, hissing as he strokes himself. You feel him pressing against your behind, then the stickiness of his precum smearing on your skin. 

“You gonna let me fuck that sweet little pussy?” The sound of his voice is so insanely dirty it has your head spinning, you nod, not remembering that he can’t see you. “Huh?” He prompts again, sliding his cock between your legs, the head notching against your entrance in such a way that it almost makes you jump.  

“Yes. Please.” You manage your voice hazy with tiredness and arousal, he doesn’t wait a moment, pressing himself inside the size of him stretching you to accommodate him. You whimper before he even gets to the hilt, your hands balled up in the sheets. 

He groans, sniggering slightly at how good you feel around him and unable to resist he starts fucking you. It’s an earth-shatteringly slow pace that has his tip pressing flush into your sweet spot, each time feeling like he was stealing the air from your lungs. The bed creaks with the movement, though he only just notices over the pretty sounds you’re making. You can’t help it, your orgasm is raising its head almost immediately and you want it so bad that you’re begging incoherently, grabbing at his hand which has found itself squeezing your breasts. And despite trying to keep the noise down his pace grows faster and more needy, the lewd sound of your wet cunt taking him in becoming more frequent. He’s muttering the dirtiest of things in your ear, mixed in with praise for how good you feel and how well you’re doing.  And it’s too much. Shuddering you hit your climax hard, muscles tensing as your wall clamp down around him and fluttering in the most perfect way. 

He grunts, fucking you more selfishly as your tightness begs him to cum. His pace wavers before he does shoving himself as deep as possible as he bursts inside you, filling you up without thinking. You gasp a little, still reeling from your orgasm but still aware enough to feel the sensation of his cum leaking out of you as he pulls out, leaving your cunt twitching. 

“Such a good girl.” 

[dulcewrites]

ewan in the saltburn trailer is j sooo giving private school filthy rich aemond i love it

AND YES HE NEEDS HIS POC GF

I have been feeling…. less than inspired lately about hotd tbh but hopefully this will spark something. I know no one asked for this lol. This was inspired by Beyoncé’s Upgrade U. Honestly, I don't think Aemond would be much of a loser in a modern setting. He would be far too elusive and people would find him interesting simply based on that. But I am combining/changing some lore here so he is a #loser in this like I am assuming Ewan's character is Saltburn is.

Upgrade You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x rich!reader (wc: 2k)

Summary: You have always enjoyed having a project to build or fix up and Aemond Targaryen is no different

You flick a spoolie brush over your brows as you finished up your makeup. The lights from your vanity mirror illuminating you as you put the last touches on your face.

"I don't get it," Melanie sighed as she hugged one of your pillows to her chest. She sat crossed legged on your California king bed. "You're like the smartest person I know. Why do you need to be tutored?"

"Everyone can improve themselves, no matter what someone's specialty may be. Remember that."

Melanie nodded enthusiastically. Sweet girl, you think. A little daft at times but nothing some time under your guidance cannot fix.

She tilts her head curiously. "You are pretty dressed up for a library meeting too."

"Another lesson," you fluff your curls then turn from the mirror to her. "Do not let anyone tell you that you are overdressed. Does the library have a dress code?"

Melanie shakes her head slowly.

"So, who is going to tell me to change?"

"... No one?"

"Exactly."

Melanie chews on her lip in thought as if she is taking mental notes in her head. Though she is not wrong you are quite dressed up just to be studying. But your advice was also not wrong; any moment to be noticed should be taken and made the most of. If are to come into contact with any of your peers, why not make the best impression possible. You also do not have in it in you to tell your new pupil about the real reason as to why you were making this little trip. Best move through life with your cards close to your chest as your mother tells you. You can only imagine how wide Melanie's hazel eyes would get if you told her what you had up your sleeve.

Much like how you help the girls around you cultivate their futures, you must look out for your own as well. Your phone dings, and you smile when you check the notification.

Aemond Targaryen.

Archaic, some would say. Sending the feminist movement back 50 years, many could argue. Being realistic is more how you would put it. You have money, sure. Your parents have afforded you all the opportunities they wanted you to have, and for that you are grateful. But you are not naive; this is still very much a man's world. No matter how much money you have, there will be people who will look at you and hate you for having the gall to want more. For having ideas and wanting to express them. For looking the way, you do - for using the way you look against them.

You may not be able to have a seat at the table... but you can have someone build another for you.

Your family may have resources and money. But they do not have 'my father can use company family buy his way into politics; my mom has ancestry that traces back to French royalty' reach.

Luckily for you, there is someone who does have that access.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing some TLC cannot fix. It was one of your best traits: finding the diamonds in the rough and polishing them off so they shine brighter than before.

You go over to your closet and open the double doors. As your eyes search over the different handbags, you call out back to Melanie.

"Watercolor Dior saddle or creme Bottega Jodie?"

"Dior," she calls back.

You check yourself in the mirror before existing the closet.

"Well," you twirl for Melanie. You run hand over your midi turtleneck dress. You knee length boots clanked around as you moved in a circle.

"Perfect," she beams.

She sees you out to your car. With the window rolled down, she waves you off like a mother seeing their child off for kindergarten.

"Happy studying!"

Sweet and simple, just how you like em.

———

You always thought the best thing about Oxford was how it looked in the fall. The leaves begun to change, sprite green to a blend of red, orange, purple, and brown. Made the most picturesque background. But it seemed like how gently the leaves fell from the trees was the only thing that was coming easily.

Maybe it was naivety on your part, but you thought when you showed up in four-inch patent leather Aquazzura heels and literally no books, Aemond would have got the hint. And yet, here you were talking about the components of stockholder’s equity, as if you cared.

"So," you interrupt him mid rant. "Any fun plans for Winter break? I know it is a while away, but everyone is already taking about what they are doing."

He wrinkles his nose, his glasses being pushes up in the process. "Probably just dinner with the family."

Right. The compound. At least that is what the Targaryen main home looks like. You of course needed to your research.

"Well, there is this crazy Christmas that happens before everyone leaves," you shuffle closer to him, and you hope he gets a whiff of your perfume. "Maybe we can go together?"

Aemond snorts and looks down bit sheepishly. "Highly doubt, I am invited."

You fight the urge to sigh wistfully. Cute, smart, wealthy as fuck... and apparently awfully insecure. Everyone throwing the party should be falling at their knees to have him around. But you have since understood during your time at Oxford that many students here do not understand the opportunities in front of them.

If Aemond had any real confidence, he'd say fuck it because he could buy everyone going if he wanted to. They ignore him because he allows them to. And then you realize he is one of those people; the delusional 'I want to get by on my merit not my name' kind of people.

Oh sweet, silly boy.

"That doesn't matter," you wave him off. "Besides, if anyone says anything, you can just say you're with me. Consider it a thank you for doing this for me."

You let your hand slip on his thigh and squeeze slightly.

"Better yet, let's call it a date."

Rhaenyra would think for the amount of money her family has; they would be able to afford stronger liquor. But she has a feeling that it has nothing to do with money, and more about the 'champagne only' rule Alicent liked.

The expansive backyard was decorated impeccably, as it always is for the annual holiday party that they throw. Twinkly lights in the trees, red and green everywhere, and even a frankly nouveau riche ice sculpture. The affair was black tie, and Rhaenyra could feel the eyes of some guess when she showed up in a red fitted suit. Taking small sips from her glass, she looks around the area. She swears the more years go on, the less she recognizes who is invited to things like this.

"Don't tell me step-mommy has put you in timeout."

She rolls her eyes when she hears a familiar voice. Daemon comes to stand next to her, with a small glass in his hand.

"No, you fucker," Rhaenyra then frowns. "Where did you get the scotch?"

"Why do you think I am in timeout?"

Her uncle always found a way around the rules. Rhaenyra blows air out of her cheeks in annoyance. She looks down at her watch; another rule is that they were required to stay at 2 hours. Only 45 minutes has passed since she arrived.

"Heard you are going to the company retreat this year," Daemon downs the rest of the drink and winces at the burning.

"Someone has to represent the family with dad," she shrugs, a small amount of smugness seeping into her tone. "He asked me to go."

"Hmmm," Daemon smirks at her smugness. "You and Aemond."

Rhaenyra blinks confused. "What?"

"Yup," he leans against the wall. "I suppose Viserys found a new muse."

Rhaenyra snorts at his words but then licks her lips nervously. It sounds cruel to think, but it was never something she ever really worried about - her father preferring her siblings over her. At least not something she worried about in her adulthood. Sure, as a girl, newly off the passing of her mother, seeing her father marry a woman only six years her senior rattled her. Aegon being born shortly after only made things more tense. But, and to his own detriment really, Viserys had made sure she came first.

"I did not know Aemond had an interest in the company in the first place."

"He didn't," Daemon's mouth pinches a little. "Not until... recently."

Rhaenyra follows her uncle's gaze out to where Aemond was standing. He always managed to look more grow up than his sibling, more than Helaena and Aegon. A mimicry that Rhaenyra thinks he picked up from his mother, but something seemed different now.

New haircut, no glasses, new suit. Armani? No, Tom Ford. With a Cartier tie clip and sparking cuff links to match. He is surrounded by some of the lawyers that work at the company.

"Looks like university has done him well," Rhaenyra tries to sound as even keeled as possible. "Good for him."

"No," Daemon sounds bored with her strained pleasantries. "That is what pussy does someone who has never got any before."

Rhaenyra blanches. The last thing she wants to think about is her younger brother having sex. She sets her champagne down in disgust.

"Don't be gross."

Daemon huffs before directing his attention towards the other side of the courtyard. His eyes zero in on Alicent, who tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder as she laughs with a young woman. A pretty young woman.

"Only met this semester and managed to get a holiday party invite, and a seat next to mother dearest. She must some charmer."

"You know," Rhaenyra starts. "Not every woman that is around this family is some sort of ruthless social climber."

"Of course, not every woman. Only the smart ones."

She sighs. That was not just pointed at the girl, but at Alicent too. Even though Alicent grew up with an even cushier life than they did. A type of old money that even the Targaryens had to give credence to. Strangely enough, Daemon seemed to take Viserys remarrying worse than Rhaenyra did. Even Rhaenyra over the years has grown to accept the fate that is their blended family. Accepted it enough to be cordial, albeit sometimes still awkward, with Alicent. They have forever been bonded in having to deal with the moods that come with Viserys Targaryen. But Daemon... it seems like he has never forgiven his brother for the act of moving on. He seemed to only grow more jaded since the divorce from Laena.

"How do you even know this?"

"Aemond told Aegon who told Helaena who told Rhaena who told Baela who told me."

Rhaenyra breaks her gaze from the two women. "Keeping tabs on your nephew that you barely speak to?"

Daemon gave her an empty smile. Almost a little cruel like he would crush her like a bug if it would not so pitiful. "You naive little thing. When you figure things out, let me know."

Rhaenyra wants to ask him what he means by that, but Daemon pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against to leave Rhaenyra alone.

Alone was a feeling she was used to. Rhaenyra often found solace in the loneliness that she found herself stuck in. If she did not find comfort in it, it would swallow her whole. Jaw unhinged and bloodthirsty.

Her eyes went back to the where Alicent and the girl were sitting, but Helaena seemed to replace the girl's place to speak with her mother. Instead of getting chummy with Alicent, the mystery woman had gone over to Aemond. Rhaenyra felt a little queasy watching them. Like watching two little dolls or those silly little cake toppers people get. Picture perfect like the stock photos that came in picture frames.

She shook her head at herself with an internal laugh. Here she was picking apart her baby brother's seemingly first real relationship; she was no better than Daemon if she did that. It was she told herself when she watched one of the wives of the company's lawyers come up to the girl and give her kiss on the cheek. Like they were old family friends.

Rhaenyra suddenly finds herself straightening out her jacket and her heels moving across the outdoor area. Might as well introduce herself... as a kind sister figure, of course.

She has a funny feeling she will be seeing this girl around more often.

[anzulvr]

How would first kiss with Karma look like?

♡ Karma x reader, oneshot! ♡

Korosensei is DEFINITELY playing a part in this.

He’s dragging the entire class down with him too.

It’s like the same vibe to what they tried to do with Karasuma and Irina. ( Where they’re over here trying to play Cupid and matchmake people.)

Neither one of you will admit to the other you like eachother so they take it into their own hands

The first Step of Class E’s plan was set in motion, Korosensei had handed everyone a personalized pop quiz.

He made sure to give you math questions he knew you’d struggle with because that’s Karmas strongest subject.

He did the same with Karma giving him very complicated questions on (your favorite subject but anything other than math).

He pulled Karma and you aside asking you to tutor eachother.

Karma would be helping you in math and you’d be helping him in (subject).

You were both pretty confused because Korosensei could help the whole class study at once if he wanted to but neither of you said it since it was a good excuse to hang out with eachother after school.

Step 2 was up and done by the time you were headed to Karmas house to study.

Thanks to Itona and Ritsu they’d gotten a couple of tech tricks down their sleeves ready to go.

You start working on the assignments and after a few minutes of talking the song double take by DHRUV starts lightly playing in the background.

“Can you hear that?”

“..yeah what the hell??”

Step 3 is set in motion

Sugino is in charge of dimming the lights and so he does 😭

Then [favorite flower] appears in your hand.

Korosensei put it there at mock 20, he also shoved Karma towards you.

Muramatsu and Hara were in charge of dropping rose petals down the stairs.

It’s so awkward and Karma gets back to his spot so quickly.

Now both of you are visibly embarrassed😭

“I swear I don’t know where any of this is coming from.”

“This has to be Korosenseis way of messing with us.”

You both start looking around, then, lo and behold Rio and Fuwa fall out of the cabinet they were hiding in.

“Rio I told you you were taking up too much space!”

“I was trying my legs were hurting!”

Korosensei gets out of his hiding spot to frantically checking to see if they’re hurt.

Since their cover was already blown the rest of the class came out of where they were hiding.

It was actually pretty impressive how so many of them managed to hide in silence for long, minus the way Rio and Fuwa fell, everyone had been really sneaky.

You look around and notice Korosensei had a camera on him, Maehara took a step forward getting out of the curtain he was hidden behind of and winced when he realized he accidentally pulled the rope that was attached to a “Congratulations on your Relationship!” Banner. (They couldn’t find one in store so Sugaya designed it and Ritsu got it printed out.)

After seeing Maehara messed up anyway Okajima pops one of those little confetti cannons when he notices everyone turned to look at him he goes “sorry the urge was too strong I really wanted to do that.”

Everyone starts frantically apologizing like:

“We shouldn’t have done this we’re sorry for being pushy!”

“Yeah- also Karma we ate the brownies in your fridge, planning this was a lot of work.”

Except for Terasaka and Hazama both of them are just like “You’re telling me we were dragged here for nothing??”

Nagisa is the last person to say anything “We were being pushy I know- but we only wanted to help you out since you like eachother.”

Before you can reply they’re out the door. (They were too scared to hear anything Karma had to say)

The second they leave you both are laughing so hard and just poking fun at the whole situation.

“What where they even going for they made it seem like a proposal—”

“Right! I thought I was imagining things until Rio and Fuwa face planted!”

After a while of joking back and fourth you decide to bring Nagisas apology up.

“About what Nagisa said… you like me?”

“what about you- do you like me?”

“Hey! I asked you first.”

“I thought it was obvious I do.”

Karma leans closer to you

“Can I?”

You kiss him and *click*

Korosensei was at the window with the Camera still, he flew off fast when he realized the flash was on.

“Huh maybe they’re plan wasn’t as stupid as we thought.”

“Do you think the whole “im sorry” act was apart of the plan or just a happy accident?”

“Happy accident? I take it you liked the kiss then?”

“Shut up.”

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

where you go, i go (2)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)

TW⚠️: angst, toji being toji, reader thinks about killing someone, gojo is in his tweaked out enlightenment era soooooo gojo a little creepy and eerie

Part 2 of what you see, i see

She had been going through the motions for the rest of the day, she hadn't even bothered to stop by her school clubs, until she arrived home. A sickly sweet scent of pastries attacked her senses the second she entered. Her house doubled as a bakery for the first floor. It was a popular hang out place for people her age especially for couples. There was a parade of them this time - cheerful couples were already sharing their coffees and sugary pastries.

The universe was laughing at her. It had to be. Why else would there be so many happy couples in the store right now? It was pointing and laughing hysterically on the ground saying: "That's what you get for ignoring me! That's what you get for resenting my gift to you!" Because that's what a soulmate was, a gift. A rare and wonderful gift that no one believed in, except for those who have experienced it themselves, and she had lost it; lost him.

She almost cried on the spot.

Her mother waved gleefully from behind the register, her daughter seldom returned it as she went up the stairs. She dropped her school bag in her room besides her desk and, face first, flopped on her bed.

She closed her eyes. Nothing, there was nothing.

Her lip quivered as tears began to sting her eyes, but she couldn't cry. Not when her mother was expecting her to change and put on an apron and help as she always did after school. She could silently mourn him tonight.

She let out a shaky breath. Did she even have the right to mourn him? She had never met him or talked to him. Everytime she thought of him recently was only to insult him or dismiss him entirely. No, she did not have the right to mourn him and she deserved to feel empty on the inside.

She put on a clean apron and slugged her way down stairs with a smile as she took over her mother's place at the register. Her mom kissed the top of her head and beamed at her with a thumbs up.

She never understood why so many people hated working retail, but now, she did. She had to force a smile and treat every customer kindly, all the while, she was dying on the inside.

A man had come in. Tall and insanely buff, a scar on his mouth. He ordered the cheapest pastry on the menu and handed her a wadded up yen. Her blood turned cold when their fingers brushed.

Her mother quickly took the money away from her as she gave her a quick command to check on the oven in the back.

She swallowed and listened to her mom. Her steps were quick as she pushed the double doors that led to the kitchen, she hugged herself.

It was him. It had to be him. That was the man who killed Gojo Satoru. She reached for a knife and gripped it tight. She should kill him. Her soulmate was dead and he was the reason why. She should try and avenge him.

Sheshouldsheshouldsheshouldsheshould-

The oven blared next to her. Her head snapped to it as the knife clattered on the ground, and with shaky mitted hands she opened the oven, and took out the fresh pastries.

Those were dangerous thoughts; thoughts she never thought she would ever have against anyone. She took off the oven mitts and looked outside the circle window of the kitchen - he was leaving and her mother was watching him like a hawk, even when the bell rang sharply with a muffin in his mouth as he walked outside with the rest of the crowd. She didn't know what possessed her to run after him, but she did. Maybe, all she wanted to know was why he had killed Gojo Satoru. Maybe, she wanted this man to kill her too, so she wouldn't feel empty inside anymore.

A blur of a conversation as the words tumbled out of her mouth: "Why? Why did you kill Satoru?"

She didn't register anything other than his gruff voice, "Ah, he had a soulmate. If I were you I'd keep that information to yourself from now on." Uninterestedly, he continued, "You wouldn't want the Gojo clan to know about you. No doubt, they'll try to marry you off to another member of the clan." and then, kept walking.

She didn't hear the interest in his voice when he said to himself, "But she would be worth a lot of money if I did take her to them." He would negotiate a price first to see if he was right about her being worth any money. He would worry about that later, right now, he had a star plasma vessel to turn in.

A sharp tug on her arm is all that stopped her from running after him again.

"______! What were you thinking?" her mother gritted out as she led her back into the bakery. Her mother's voice is strict and unwavering, "Go to your room."

And she did.

She tossed the apron on her desk and kicked her school bag. How was she supposed to live like this with the rest of her entire life half-full?

A sob violently escaped her.

This was how everyone else in the world lived, she realized.

Aching and alone.

Desperate and searching.

Wanted and unwanted.

Now, she was just like everyone else like she had always wanted. She supposed, she couldn't complain.

She laid in bed, wrapped herself in a blanket - trying to keep warm, but she doubted, she'd ever feel warm again as she cried herself to sleep.

She dreamt about Satoru. Flashes of a long chain, of red, of purple, of blood, of a crowd clapping, of someone wrapped in a white sheet, of a long dark hallway.

The universe was laughing at her again. Why else would it give her dreams about him?

An uneasiness settled into her bones. Someone was watching her. The grim reaper, no doubt wearing the face of her soulmate's assassin. If death wanted her, so be it.

She kept her eyes closed.

She saw herself sleeping soundly in death's gaze. She saw the time pass through her window changing from sundown to night as death continued to watch her intently.

Hours had passed.

00:57:39

She wondered at what specific time the grim reaper would take her.

1:13:01

Did it want her to open her eyes?

1:13:10

Probably.

1:13:15

The grim reaper has been patiently waiting for her.

1:13:17

Why keep death waiting then?

1:13:20

Her eyes fluttered open.

Beautiful, vibrant cerulean blue.

It was not death. It was -

"Satoru," she whispered.

"______," he whispered back.

Satoru was sitting down on the floor extremely close to her bed with his legs crossed while his hands rested neatly on his ankles. There was dry blood on his face and on his white dress shirt.

Her mouth moved but no sound came.

"You were crying," he said as he caressed her cheek soothing his thumb along the trail of stained lines that her dried tears had left, "alot."

So, he had seen everything.

She put her hand over his and gently rubbed circles.

Satoru scooted closer to her bed, "I didn't like seeing you cry," his hand trailed up to her scalp, "or frown," and gently ran his fingers through her hair.

He laid his head down on her bed and stared at her with those vibrant, sparkling eyes; eyes that could see everything she could never see.

She touched his cheek gently, "I didn't like not feeling you."

Her whole body shivered. Satoru was here, in front of her, and she was still cold.

"Are you still cold?"

She nodded.

Never letting go of her, he kicked off his shoes and climbed under the blanket with her. He wrapped his legs around hers as her arms wrapped under his uniform jacket.

With his hand still tangled in her hair, he said, "Better?"

His heartbeat had returned to her. They were beating in unison again.

"Better," she hummed. "You?" She asked.

His lips pressed softly on her forehead, "Much better." He tugged her in closer into his chest.

She smiled.

She was warm again.

@whatamidoing89 @mr-underhills-things

Part 1: what you see, i see

Part 3: you know i adore you

Part 4: i'm crazier for you

Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party

Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold

[sunarots]

so high school ━━━ atsumu miya

24. dinner date ♡

You look at your reflection in the mirror, regretting not bringing some basic makeup. The fear of someone seeing the two of you and taking a picture (or ten) and uploading them online has your heart pounding, but knowing that it’s Atsumu with you makes you feel slightly more at ease.

And, of course, the worries in your mind on why Atsumu asked you for dinner on this ‘date’. Could you even call it a date? A pretend date? Who knows… The complexity of your fake relationship has played a major part on you not wanting to leave the house, knowing that someone would spot the two of yous and rip you apart even more. But, you couldn’t deny that you were relieved how close you had gotten to Atsumu. Even more so that he seemed to forget that you were pretending in private, what with your many evenings spent together on the sofa watching movies.

Did he want a relationship? Is that why he asked you here? Was he going to confess?

You splash some of the cold water in your face, an attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts running rampant in your mind. Taking in a deep breath and flattening out your dress, you gather your things from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and make your way out from the staff area and head towards the table. You give a small smile to the bar supervisor in passing, who'd shown you the ropes and basics for serving drinks and how they take orders.

You try to avoid the tables where people are sitting to get over to Atsumu as unnoticed as possible, sliding into the seat facing towards the door. "Are you sure you don't mind paying? I can pay-"

"If you say yer gonna pay me back for anything ever again, I'm gonna have Omi chase you around the apartment with a spider," he threatens, pulling his mask down to sit beneath his chin. He takes a sip of his coke, running a finger around the rim of the glass. "Do ya know what yer having?"

You nod your head, picking up the menu and pointing to it. "Kelp and soy sauce onigiri. It caught my eye immediately. What're you having?" You lean forward, elbows on the table for support to see what he'll say.

"Tuna mayo, I love tuna." Atsumu closes over the menu, setting it down carefully on the table top. He fills up a glass with the water he'd got for the table and slides one over to you before filling one for himself. "So, how was the first day? Think yer gonna be back?"

You nod your head, taking a sip of the water with a small smile. "Yeah. It was really good. It's not the first customer service job I've had. The hardest thing is remembering how to take the order. It's numbers and letters, and I'm so lost half the time. But I'll get used to it. I was also shown the ropes on the bar, too. So I can now make very basic alcoholic drinks."

Atsumu grins. “Well, I just got even luckier.”

You can’t help but laugh at his comment, covering your mouth with your hand and leaning back in your seat. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” You shrug your shoulders and try to stop yourself from laughing even more, taking another drink of water to try and help your drying throat. “How did practice go?”

“So productive,” he answers, his eyes rolling as he speaks. “Apparently it was my fault that Bokuto wasn’t feeling his best, but I’ve not done anything to him!”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding eye contact so you can get out, “Well, we are kinda forcing him to keep this secret…”

When you look back at him, he’s running his fingers across his chin, visibly cringing. “Shit… I didn’t think about that.” He sips his coke, setting it back down. He goes to speak, immediately stopping himself when his brother appears by his side.

“Hey, I know what her having, but I need to double check what y/n’s having.” He looks at you, waiting for your response. Once you confirm your order, you turn back to face Atsumu your anxiety returning.

He’s playing with the chopsticks once set carefully on the table, twirling them in his hands. You can feel his knee bouncing beneath the table. When his eyes lock with yours, you try to read his expression. There’s an unfamiliar look in his eye, a strong fear.

He clears his throat, looking around to make sure no one’s near enough to hear him and sets the chopsticks back down. “Do you…regret this?”

You furrow your eyebrows, heart stopping. You adjust the strap of your dress, straightening your posture and trying to hide the hurt on your face. “Oh… Um, I- I don’t. Do you?”

Atsumu rapidly shakes his head, holding up his hands. “No, no, no. That’s not- that’s not why I asked. I don’t regret it. Like, at all. I just…” He takes in a deep breath to calm himself, regain his thoughts. “It’s just that my fans can be a lot sometimes, and I don’t want ya to feel like they matter more to me. They do matter, but not the mean ones. I don’t claim them.”

You feel your nerves melt away, a warmth growing in your chest. Your smile grows, a soft laugh of relief slipping past your lips. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re a hot and famous guy.”

You realise what you’ve said when Atsumu reacts, his eyes wide and his signature cocky grin. “Y/n l/n. You think I’m hot.”

Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you’re thankful that one of the waitresses is approaching with your food.

“Hi, Miya-san. I’m assuming the fatty tuna is for you?” He nods, picking up his chopsticks and saying a quiet thank you.

Once the waitress has set the food in front of you and backed away, you immediately start eating to try and stop Atsumu from saying anything else. For the most part, it works. The meal is silent, save for compliments over the food. Once you both finish, you take Atsumu’s plate and set it atop yours.

“I’ll take these up-“

Atsumu stops you, taking the plates from your hands and shaking his head. “You’ve been working all day, I’ll do it for ya.” You don’t have a chance to offer, because he’s already out of the seat and away from you.

Settling back in your seat, you keep your eyes fixed on him. Your eyes scan his outfit, the tight-fitted shirt framing his muscles and a pair of baggy jeans that are hugging his thighs. Atsumu leans across the bar, handing over the plates and saying something that makes the supervisor laugh. He waves to his brother, before turning around locking eyes with you, the corners of his mouth tugging up. He taps his hand against the bar, pushing himself away and making his was towards your table. He slips back into his seat, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Don’t think I’m letting ya forget ya said that I’m hot.”

You press your lips into a firm line, trying to stop yourself from embarrassing yourself anymore. You fight back the smile wanting to show, running your fingertip along the edge of the table and considering your options: deny it, or push your luck. “I have eyes,” you mumble, a part of you hoping he doesn’t hear it.

Unfortunately for you, he does. He straightens up, laughing louder than he should have, and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the same one who said ya can’t have my ego getting too big?”

You shrug your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You know you’re hot. Your ego’s already big in that area.” You tuck your hair behind your ears.

Atsumu takes in a deep breath, forcing out, “I really like ya, y/n. A lot.”

It takes a moment for you to process his words, leaning further back into your seat. Your heartbeat grows faster, taking a sip of water to try and keep yourself calm. “What?”

He looks around himself before clearing his throat, leaning forward over the table. “Um, I like ya. I have for… a bit. A few weeks. And I’d like to see where this takes us.” He waits patiently for your answer, elbows rest on the wood. Despite the confidence on his face, you can see the concern in his eye.

“Really?” Eagerly, he nods his head. You can feel the smile breaking through. “I’d like that.”

Atsumu’s quick to rise to his feet, the chair squeaking against the wood. He tucks it under the table, outstretching a hand to you. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

# fun facts !

unlike y/n, atsumu didn’t go through her drawers

masterlist. previous | next

summary. after your best friend reveals he’s moving out of your shared flat, you’re presented with a tough choice: let one of the creeps who are begging you to let them move in with you, or find a cheaper flat in another area of town. a do-over couldn’t have come at a better time for you, but your only option for a place to stay is with someone your best friend knew from high school, and his two teammates.

taglist (open!). @reignsaway @yuminako @thiisisntlovely @diorzs @aboutkiyoomi @spicana @bakingcuriosity @kr1nqu @savemebrazilhinata @dazqa @sereniteav @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @sleezzsister @hermaeusmorax @giocriedpower @sophosphorescent @gigiiiiislife @zazathezaer @rrosiitas @iaminyourfloors @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sillygooseymood @ellouisa17 @wakashudou @punkhazardlaw @arminswife12 @libbymeows @thomatri @nanamis-right-tiddie

[ventismacchiato]

27 just playing the part — falling for ya, literally !

scaramouche x g!n reader

It’s already dark when you all set foot into the carnival, yet it’s still noisy and alive. It’s magical how a parking lot in the fall can be transformed into summer at a Coney Island. The cotton candy machines on every corner, kids with caramel stuck on their cheeks, and the smell of burnt popcorn wafting through the air. It was wonderful. It was romantic. Much better than the sports game.

By the time you can look around and ask what everyone feels up to do they’re already off in pairs. You look to your left to see Scaramouche, who was looking up at the rides the carnival had to offer before turning to you.

“Cant believe I’m stuck with you, again,” he grumbles, grabbing ahold of your elbow and leading you through the crowd.

You hold up your handful of tickets, “I guess we have to use these together.”

You both ride everything. There’s a Ferris wheel and a carousel and bumper cars, where Scaramouche annihilates the court, and flying swings and a mirror maze. The two of you even fold your legs up into the baby train and ride that, too. In between you get a stick of cotton candy, taking turns tugging on it with your teeth. He doesn’t let you pay for anything.

Finally, you reach the looming roller coaster the two of you had been eyeing the entire night, waiting for the lines to shorten and for your stomach to not betray you.

A group of girls let you both cut in line, giggling behind their palms at Scaramouche. The boy handling the tickets stutters his way through handling your tickets and locking you both into the ride, face tomato red when Scaramouche thanks him.

You glance around as the ticket boy checks on everyone’s seats, mentally counting how many people have been all over Scaramouche. You never gave it much thought on how he was one of your university’s most desired men. You now started to understand why.

The rollercoaster starts with a jerk that thankfully snaps you out of your trance. You focus your attention on Scaramouche’s demeanor, his arm draped across the back of the cart you were in, right behind your back, looking around as the ride climbed up a hill slowly. The wheels clinking and creaking with each track. When you round out at the top, right on the edge of the first drop, you spare a glance at Scaramouche who holds a small smile on his face as he takes in the sight of the park around them. His eyes masking his inner child. The carts begin to dip downward at the same moment your eyes meet Scaramouche’s.

You aren’t sure who starts to fall first.

just playing the part !

masterlist — prev | next

‘You aren’t sure who starts to fall first.’ do you guys get the double meaning 🤭 cus they’re on a roller coaster so sexy of my brain omg

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

taglist—CLOSED: @monochromaticelliot @kaedear @stxrgxzxr @shirmxie @elakari @lacy-lady @linn-a-a @one-offmind @kithewanderingme @quepasoash @leathernourishingshoepolish @mangobee @lxry-chxn @dameofthorns @scarasaver @kythe1a @elysiasbae @hikaru-exe @tokkishouse @raiihoshii @cherrybeomgyu @kunikuzushiit @thenightsflower @lilneps @goodthingimsam @lovelyiez @euhla @beriiov @abvolat @kittycasie @b0bafl0wer @bubblyclouds @atlatcaheart @artssleepy @baelloraa @tartagli-yuh @satowaluverr @hangesextra @scaranaris-lil-niko @caffinatedcoma @wheneverthesunrise @hajimeseyo @itsyourgirlria @hyunrei @redactedhimbo @caliginous-skies @vinskyspuff @miissfortune @criminalinthemaking @scaramouches-girlfriend @scrmgf [1/3]

author’s notes: the victorious soundtrack came on while i was writing this 🎶 freak the freak out 🎶

[lalal-99]

of dirty cheats {h.j.} | track 6

©July 2023, June 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: The one where you're hungover and visit home.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: Aaaand, I'm back! I'm sorry for the long wait, but if you've kept up with my life, there's been so many things going on... Anyway, this chapter concludes the overwork of previously posted chapters, and the next one will be brand new. I hope you enjoy this. If you do, please leave comments and reblogs. They always encourage me so much!!!

Tumblr works on a reblog system. Please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people. Thank you :)

Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You

You woke up the following day with the sun shining in your face and your head spinning.

Nausea overtook you within seconds, so you rushed one hand to your temple in an attempt to massage the pain away. It lifted some of the discomfort while also shielding your irises from the light, but it was hardly enough. Every effort to get up got cut short when you noticed Jisung’s arm snug around your waist, holding you close. It took you a couple of seconds to untangle one arm and reach for your alarm on the bedside table.

7 am. You shouldn’t have gone out yesterday.

Five more minutes of dozing and some careful wriggling later, you sat up, taking a moment to asses your state. The initial urge to throw up subsided once you came to a standing, although you still moved with care. It wouldn’t have been the first time, your initial assessment was completely off.

Your whole body was in a state of freezing, even once you had gotten dressed. Slipping yesterday’s clothes back on, you snatched one of your boyfriend’s hoodies, so you wouldn’t catch a cold on your way to your place. Also, your mini-skirt was too mini to be considered everyday attire. The length of the hoodie would shield most unwanted attention to your exposed legs.

Worry spread in your veins when you noticed Felix’s empty bed while gathering your belongings.

After the party Jisung and you had decided to sleep over at his place for convenience. It was distinctly closer, and you needed to get him into bed sooner rather than later. Which turned out to be tougher than expected. He had quite a lot to drink as the night progressed, so you stayed with him. Felix hadn’t made it home after your run-in in the bedroom back at the frat house, and his absence filled you with concern. He couldn’t have been avoiding you on purpose, could he?

“Baby?”

You turned to your hoarse boyfriend, whose eyes remained shut as he searched for your body next to him.

“I’m here. You alright?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in two hours when I’m all caught up on sleep.” After about 4 hours of actual rest, you weren’t doing much better than him on the tiredness scale. Still, you were up, and he— wasn’t.

“You’re not going to your class this morning?”

A sarcastic chuckle and Jisung rolled over, pulling the blanket deeper into his face.

“Can you close the blinds before you leave?”

You did so after slipping into your shoes. It annoyed you that Jisung was skipping class—this habit being one reason his grades had suffered back in High School. Yet, there was nothing you could truly do about it. He was in no state to tend to anything but his sleep deprivation, and you knew how he could get when overtired. After all, you were driving back home later today. You figured he would be less annoying once he had caught up on at least some of his sleep.

“I’ll be back at 10 to pick you up. Can you be ready by then?”

“Sure.” You knew there wouldn’t be a further answer, his mind already dozing off again. You left the room to be on time for your own morning lecture. One of you had to be responsible, after all.

The morning progressed so slowly, it was painful.

By the time you reached your class, you had somewhat woken up. A very intended goal, achieved by two double shots of espresso and a cold shower. Although your headache never truly left you, you made it through the first two hours of the day. Turned out, Jisung wasn’t the only one skipping morning classes today. About a third of the chairs in the lecture hall remained empty, thanks to Jackson and his gift of throwing amazing parties.

Unfortunately, that third also included Yuqi. Without her and her endless chatter about the latest trends or her latest crush, it was harder to stay awake. You must have dozed off half a dozen times, so you might as well have stayed in bed after all.

The anticipation of home was the one things that helped you power through. It had only been about two weeks since your move, though you already missed your family like crazy. This, by far, was the longest time you had been away from them. Ever. The thought of walking your hometown streets again was the light at the end of the tunnel— in this case Macroeconomics 101.

You must have mentioned your excitement about visiting home countless times to Jisung. So, why was it that when you reentered his dorm three hours after leaving, he hadn’t moved at all?

“Dang it, Jisung, you said you’d be ready by 10.”

“Why are you mad? I’m perfectly on time.”

“It’s 10:05, and you are still in bed. Unshowered.”

“I’m getting up already.” Your annoyance rubbed off on him, his tone raspy from alcohol, lack of sleep and irritation. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Said panties, mind you, the same ones he couldn’t wait to get into the night before. He definitely hadn’t sounded so frustrated at you then.

You suppressed a scolding reply, aware of how it held power to start a full-on fight, making you even less on time. It took a lot of willpower to push the urge to confront your boyfriend about his choice of words down.

Stumbling out of bed, Jisung picked up some fresh clothes and his shower gel, before leaving with mumbled sounds of disapproval. A heavy reek of sleep and alcohol veiled the room despite the open window, so you moved closer to it. The nausea, yet again, vanished.

You ran your hand down your tired face, letting your bag fall onto his sheets.

“Is he always in a mood when he’s hungover?”

You sighed, “It’s really frustrating.”

Felix nodded, letting his phone fall onto his pillow. You could feel his eyes lingering on you, lip caught between his teeth and his leg bouncing, restless. It didn’t take more than a glimpse from your peripheral vision to identify his mood. Tired, nervous. Anxious. Of course, you knew what he was biting his tongue about. Remembering his shock and angst when you had walked in on him yesterday, it surprised you, he even spoke to you. And you were even more surprised when he was the first to mention it.

“Y/N?” You met his glances with a kind smile, leaning up against the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about something. About what happened— yesterday, actually.”

“You mean when I walked in on you?” His earrings dangled along to his nod. You swore you heard his heart pounding through his chest.

“I was wondering... If you— whether you saw—” He struggled to find the right words to voice his question before giving himself a push. “Exactly how much did you see?”

“Well,” you started, getting up and walking over to his bed to join him. Having this conversation with him called for physical proximity. “I saw you in bed. Naked, and with someone. With—” You cut yourself off, sending him a comforting smile. Felix’s face was about as white as fresh snow. By the time you ended your sentence, fear clouded his irises, “A boy.”

A tear slipped out of his eye and into his lap as he stared at his hands. He was avoiding your gaze, so you brought your hand to his back, rubbing him through his shirt. Hopefully consoling him. You could feel his shallow breaths become steadier, so your comfort must have worked in some ways.

It took him a few more deep breaths to speak up, your silence helping him voice his thoughts.

“I haven’t really told anyone. Ever.”

When he turned to face you, you saw a hint of dread in his eyes. As though he was expecting a negative reaction to his revelation. Or that you’d out him to everyone. Had it been anyone else, that assumption would have hurt you. Though you figured this reaction was only fair, coming from him. He barely knew you. He couldn’t have known how unreasonable his fear was.

“How long have you known?” you questioned, trying your best to not overstep the boundaries. To help him understand how you wouldn’t feel any different about him because of what you saw. What you now knew about him, as apparently the only person on earth. Well, apart from that guy he had been with the night prior. He must have figured from contextual clues.

“Honestly, I always sorta knew. But I only started accepting it a few months ago. I tried dating girls for years, but it never felt right. The guy from yesterday... He was kind of—” Felix stopped again, trying to find the right words. “He was my first guy.”

“Oh, honey!” You pulled him into your chest, your hands wrapping around his body. Felix soon hugged you back, holding on so tight your shirt wrinkled. As though he had needed this hug more than anything. It lasted for a couple of seconds, maybe even a minute, tears hitting your shoulder and drying on your shirt. “Thank you for telling me,” you mumbled against his skin. The burden of keeping his secret hidden fell from his shoulders with every tear.

“Thank you. For accepting me.”

“Of course.” As you drew away, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, eventually calming down. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t think I’m ready yet. I should tell my family first, but I’m afraid they won’t take it as well. They don’t really— believe in this stuff.”

“Well, you can always come to me when you need someone to talk to.” You shared a moment of eye contact, smiling at each other. “Now to the important stuff. Who was the guy?”

Chuckling at your question, Felix took a tissue from his nightstand, blowing his nose. When he met your gaze, you saw a spark behind the watery curtains. “It’s this guy from my Psychology class. We never talked before yesterday. But then we shared a moment and somehow— I don’t even know how, but one thing led to another. Kinda like in the movies.”

“Damn, that sounds like straight from Hollywood. Was he any good?” Judging from Felix’s suggestive expression, eyebrows raising and eyes gleaming, you could tell his answer. “I take that as a yes. Well, I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have minded some further details on last night. Whether Felix would be seeing the guy again outside of classes. Or whether he even wanted to or rather explore his options, now that he had the opportunity. Felix, too, seemed eager to finally have someone to talk to about this.

It was the creak of the door thrown open that stopped your conversation. Jisung rushed in, hair wet from his shower, fresh clothes clinging to his moist skin.

When he noticed your proximity, Felix’s eyes reddened, Jisung’s eyebrow quirked. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing,” you replied, sending Felix a wink as you rose from his bed. “Are you ready?”

“Two more minutes. I need to pack some things.”

“Are you kidding me? I told you to pack your stuff two days ago.”

And just like that, your mood suffered another hit, although you tried to not let it affect you too much. When Jisung started throwing random items onto his bed, you sent Felix a sarcastic eye-roll. He couldn’t help a relieved grin from spreading, the Mount-Rushmore sized rock finally lifted from his shoulders.

“Well, since you’re already pissed, I might as well tell you now.” What an awful way to start a sentence. “I’m not sober enough to drive yet. So, you’re gonna have to get us home.”

Not the easiest task with your brain still thumping against your skull, but at least Jisung could help you stay awake.

When you were younger, you used to be embarrassed by where you lived.

You had always felt bad for your privilege. Guilty even, seeing none of your friends lived a life close to the one you had. Most of your friends lived in small and run-down apartment-complexes, confined to little space and sometimes even sharing a bedroom with several siblings. Blame the recession that had taken its toll on their parent’s income.

It mostly seemed like they had made due with it, finding their content in it. It was still uncomfortable whenever you invited anyone over to your place.

You felt the worst about growing up rich when you met Jisung.

His dad had left the family when he was seven. His mother stranded alone in an apartment she couldn’t pay for and with two children she hardly had the money to feed.

She already worked one full-time job when his piece-of-shit father left. She needed to pick up another part-time one just so they could afford their most basic needs.

By age ten, Jisung supported his mother’s second job, cleaning the houses of the rich and wealthy on weekends. With his sister in a time-consuming gifted program—paid for by a scholarship—he had no other choice. Jisung needed to put his own interests behind if he wanted to keep the roof over their heads. Being the sweet son he was, he did exactly that. Without a single complaint about the afternoons his friends spent hanging out at the mall or enjoying their hobbies.

When you invited Jisung over the first time, your friendship only weeks old, you felt ashamed. He lost control over his facial muscles, his jaw slacking when he saw the entrance of your house. He almost passed out when you showed him your new Nintendo in your room. Jisung forgot all about the expensive gaming console once he realised you didn’t have to share it. Neither your toys nor your room, which already took up the space of his whole apartment. A Queen sized bed occupied the middle of your room, and still left enough room for a motherland of games.

It wasn’t until Jisung invited you to his apartment, that you fully understood his mesmerisation with the simplest things in your house. Like the fridge, which was taller and broader than the two of you combined. Or your couches—plural, not singular.

You tried hard not to let your pity show while meeting his mother and sister. You feared you’d say something to offend them, making them feel bad or appearing like a snob. Needless to say, you didn’t talk much that afternoon.

Jisung never once gave you any reason to feel any more guilty than you already did. He assured you time and time again that you had nothing to be ashamed of. You had your own hardships, your own problems. And his family was doing fine. He couldn’t remember a time not sharing all their meals at a tiny table or sleeping in the same room.

Nothing about that changed when you fell in love at 14, two years after meeting.

Still, that same guilt knocked down your self-esteem whenever you passed the mansions of your street in Jisung’s rusty, old car.

Your boyfriend had slept through the whole two-hour drive from campus to your home. It had annoyed you in the beginning as you had hoped to get some time to talk. As your carefully crafted playlist progressed, all annoyance faded into the air. Plus, speeding down highways and crawling through neighbouring villages made you nostalgic. By the time you arrived home, Jisung had caught up on his sleep and you were beaming in excitement.

Your dad was already waiting for you, ever so happily smiling as he hugged you.

“I’m happy you’re home,” he mumbled against you as he pulled you in. His statement wasn’t needed with how visibly content he was, having his only daughter and future son-in-law back.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you.”

“We,” Jisung corrected, nodding to your dad. “We missed you.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here. Brunch is ready as soon as you are.”

At the mention of food Jisung’s stomach rumbled, sending him into a laugh.

“He’s ready, too,” your boyfriend translated the sounds as you placed your bag beside the door.

The TV played in the living room, overshadowed by the juicer-sounds in the kitchen. The smell of fresh oranges filled your nostrils, your mouth watering as you stepped through the doorway.

“Is that orange juice I smell?”

“Y/N!” The young woman jogged around the island, pulling you into a bone-crashing hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, Jia.”

“What about me?” Jisung questioned, taking over your space once Jia let you out of your hug.

“I missed you too, but a little less.”

“Wow. Thanks, sis.”

“So, how’s university? Tell me everything.”

Jisung did. He told his sister all about his dorm, new friends and courses he visited. All the while, you only had one ear with them. The other was searching the attached dining and living area. Soon enough, your eyes joined as you wandered the lower floor of your house. You identified a pair of tiny dinosaur-themed socks discarded on the coffee table. The couch stood buried under plastic toys and books, a children’s show playing on the flatscreen.

When you found the rest of the room empty, you exited the living area altogether. As soon as you set foot into the hallway, you finally heard a familiar voice call out to you. Your head turned and you found a small figure running towards you. Quick reflexes came into play when he all but jumped into your arms, making your heart jump through your chest.

“Mama!” Tiny arms wrapped around your neck and tears immediately filled your eyes.

“Hi, baby.” His breath hit your neck as your heartbeat accelerated. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he answered as you picked him up, giving him a small peck on his cheek.

“He couldn’t stop talking about seeing you again. He barely slept tonight.”

With your dad by your side and your baby in your arms, you reentered the kitchen. When he saw Jisung, your son’s eyes reshaped into hearts.

“Papa!” You couldn’t set him down quick enough before he began sprinting towards his father.

Jisung picked him up and spun him around once before hugging him tightly against himself. “Hi, Ki. You miss me?”

“Yes,” the boy agreed, his smile reaching from one ear to the other. Seeing him so joyful made your heart swell and you swiftly wiped your tears away. For the first time in two weeks, you felt at home.

“Should we eat?”

Your dad was already one step ahead, carrying the pan filled with pancakes from the stove to the table. Four sets of tableware were set up neatly as fresh-cut flowers decorated the scene. Food from all sectors of the food-pyramid occupied the dark wood, making your mouth water.

“Did you set the table, Dad?”

He laughed at your assumption, “I wish. It was this wonderful lady right here.” He pointed at Jia. “Remember, you can move in whenever.”

“You might say that now,” Jisung interrupted, taking the seat between Ki and his sister, “but wait ’til you actually live with her. She’s a slob. A big-brain slob, but a slob.”

“Says the boy who uses his dirty underwear as parquet flooring.”

Ki giggled at that mental image, munching away on the food his grandfather had set on his plate.

“We haven’t lived in the same room for 3 years. I’ve changed.”

“Y/N, back me up here.” You looked at Jia while filling the fresh orange juice into the glasses by everyone’s plate. “You’ve lived with him for the past 3 years. Does he still keep his dirty clothes anywhere but in the hamper?”

After he had moved from his childhood room into yours a few years back, you remembered this habit of his. Vividly. It had been the main reasons fights would break out between you. Other than the constant debate on how to raise a baby, of course. Over the years, it had gotten better; his clothes landed closer and closer to the laundry basket each week.

“He tries, but he never mastered reaching into the hamper. I don’t know how someone’s aim can be so off.”

Jia laughed, Ki joining in once he understood your words to be of the joking kind. He was at that age where he tried mimicking the people around him. That included emotional reactions from the ones closest to him. And to think you were missing this crucial part of his childhood.

“Complain as much as you want. Ever since we moved to campus, I’ve been very diligent about keeping things clean.” Your expression told him that you had seen his room and didn’t quite agree. “At least Felix never complains.”

“This Felix guy sounds like a catch.” That you couldn’t disagree with. “Glad you got a decent roommate.”

“He’s alright. Although—” Setting his fork and knife beside his plate, Jisung took a sip from his glass. “What were you two hugging about before? You seemed… close.”

There was no undertone to his question other than wanting to know the content of your talk. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Jisung was hinting at something.

“Nothing. Just small-talk.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. Though you figured a little white lie couldn’t hurt, knowing all it did was hide the secret Felix had shared with you. Jisung wouldn’t have judged Felix if you had told him, but you didn’t believe it was your right to out him. Especially after promising you wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Really? I could swear he was crying or something.”

“Oh, that? He was going through some personal things.” A little closer to the truth but still not revealing the whole story. Jisung seemed to believe you, and why wouldn’t he have? Had it been something that concerned your boyfriend, you would have told him. Didn’t have a reason not to. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

“Alright.” Your boyfriend picked his cutlery back up, slicing some of his son’s food for easier eating. “You’d tell me if it was serious, though. Right?”

“Of course,” you agreed as you beamed at your son. His mouth was stuck in a grin while he shoved spoons full of pancake into his mouth. “Everything’s alright.”

Brunch continued with little distraction. The topics reached from your future sister-in-law’s studies, which she was about to finish, to your son’s upcoming birthday. Still over a month away, but you could never start planning too early. It almost felt like you had never left. Your family, spending the late morning like you had any other weekend before moving to live on campus.

Your son’s lack of sleep showed right after he finished his plate. Despite his best efforts to keep himself awake, his eyes fell shut every few seconds. After missing you so much the past weeks, he wanted to spend any minute with his parents. It broke your heart. Of course, you knew it was better this way— staying close to campus and concentrating on your studies while your son stayed with your dad. Providing him the childhood he deserved. Still, it hurt you, knowing Ki missed you so much. Your own pain played a critical role in that feeling as well.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Jisung explained as he lifted his son from the high chair. Ki waved at you, already half asleep, as his father carried him out of the room.

Your dad had left a minute or two earlier, telling you about a discovery he had made while cleaning the attic. Thus, Jia and you were left to clean up the table, which you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to catch up, something you had wanted the past few weeks but had never found the time for.

“So? How’s Uni for you? Did you make a ton of friends already?”

“I don’t know about a ton. But I did meet some people already,” you told her as you filled the sink with soap and water. “There’s this girl, Yuqi. She’s in my marketing classes, and she’s very nice. We get along great. And then, there’s Felix.”

“Sungie’s roommate?”

“Yes. He’s also very nice. I can see us becoming close.”

“That’s good. You never know when you’ll meet those people, but some of them will stick forever.” You nodded at her words, feeling like you had found two of these forever people in Yuqi and Felix. You had hardly met anyone you could open up to like you could to them, not even your High School friends. “How’s my baby bro doing on the friendship front? Is he adapting?”

“Surprisingly so. Jisung found a group of boys he’s been hanging out with. They seem cool; down to earth. They’re having a positive impact on him already.”

Had Jisung overheard your conversation, he would have most likely confronted you. Why would you talk about him behind his back like this? As though he was a social outcast you had to chaperone in his endeavours to make friends? However, he would have had to agree with you in the end.

Since you met him, Jisung hadn’t had the easiest time meeting new people. He was often awkward in social situations, and the lack of a filter caused him more problems than it fixed. You for one, loved him for it, as you always knew what was going on in his mind. Other people, not so much. In the past, Jisung had gotten himself in trouble due to saying the wrong things in tense situations. His social anxiety had only worsened the older he got. Having made friends already—without much effort—was a big deal.

Jia, being his older sister, knew about his issues.

“I’m glad he’s doing alright. It sounds harsh, but I wasn’t expecting him to make friends. Or worse.” She placed the dishes in the dishwasher as her eyes met yours. “He could have made the wrong friends.” You could tell where she was going with this. Her transition felt rather forced, but who could blame her? You, for one, had expected her to ask even earlier. “Speaking of—” And there it was. “Did you run into him already?”

Sighing at her words, you started scrubbing the pan below the soapy surface of the sink.

“We did.” Jia nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Seems like Jisung and him kept in contact. He invited us to this party at his fraternity yesterday.”

“So you talked to him?”

“Yup.” From her reaction you knew that she wasn’t satisfied with that. Jia was trying not to get too caught up in how you had talked to the one person she never wanted to think about again. After all, she couldn’t control who you ran into and chose to spend your time with. That went for both you and Jisung. Although, you were a bit more reserved about your relationship with the one who shan’t be named.

“I’ll regret asking later, but—” Again, you knew exactly what she was about to ask. “Did you meet— her?”

You placed the clean pan onto the rack to dry, taking off the cleaning gloves to hang them over the tap. You had thought a lot about how to approach this, but couldn’t come up with a painless explanation. So, the truth it was.

“I think so. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I believe she might be my roommate.”

A huff escaped Jia’s lips at the irony. “Of-fucking-course, she’s your roommate. And let me guess. She’s super nice and not at all a bitch who stole my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t cheat on me and break my heart. That was all him.”

The glimmer of hurt in Jia’s eyes reminded you of that afternoon you found her crying on your doorstep. Her makeup smeared over her face and body trembling in your embrace. The pain wasn’t the same depth as three years ago, but you could tell it had left a scar. How couldn’t it have?

Jackson and Jia had been together for three years when she discovered his infidelity. There had been talks of marriage already, when he decided to throw it all out the window. And the worst thing, Jackson even tried to deny it when she confronted him. What he didn’t know was that Jia had seem them together. Two hours she had driven to campus to surprise him one weekend, and all to see him hugging and kissing some hot piece of ass. That’s how Jia had described her boyfriend’s affair after spotting them together. It had taken her around a minute to realise what was happening, then she up and left again.

A surprise phone call later that weekend Jackson answered with shock and denial. Not five minutes later, Jia decided she couldn’t hear it anymore. Like that, three years ended in what you could only describe as the second most heartbroken you had ever seen a person.

So, yes. The woman was still hurt. She was still in pain. Although that pain had morphed into hatred along the way.

“If it’s any comfort, she doesn’t seem to know you existed. And—” The next part was a shot in the dark. Hopefully, Jia would understand the humour in it all. “She started dating a woman immediately after Jackson. Said he made her realise she’d be better off without a man.”

That, Hwasa had told you in confidence. But seeing as it lightened the mood, you didn’t regret telling Jia. “Okay, that does make me feel better.” The atmosphere lightened up after that, though Jia needed to get one last thing off her mind. “But, you should keep track of that friendship between Jackson and Sungie.”

“You think?”

“Jackson himself might not be the problem. As hard as it is for me to say, he has a good heart. But that hardly goes for those friends of his. They’re some sketchy people.” Jia’s eyes showed honest concern. So much so that it worried you a little. “To this day, I believe he wouldn’t have done what he did, had his friends not had as much impact on him. They kept telling him he was too hot to let opportunities for hookups with random girls pass by. That our relationship was holding him back from reaching his full potential. And that’s a literal quote I overheard one of them telling him over the phone.”

“What? That’s crazy. Why did Jackson let them talk like this about you?”

“Who knows? But the matter of fact is that Jackson is a confident man. Always was. My brother, however...”

You understood she was hinting, again, at his social introversion.

“Since Dad left us, he’s been searching for a father figure in the older men around him. Do you remember that guy, Wonho, he hung out with in High School?”

“Do I? The dude was the personification of steroids.”

“Exactly. And Sungie had the biggest man crush on him. You do recall how that ended, right?”

“He broke his wrist trying to lift double his weight.”

“I love Sungie to the moon and back, but he has serious daddy issues. Not that it’s any his fault.” Jia had a point in everything she said. Even though you hoped Jisung couldn’t be manipulated, you understood it wasn’t impossible. “That Wonho-guy was his hero for months, and he wasn’t even trying to be. Imagine what could happen if some seriously sketchy guys meet him and see a trainable puppy.”

There was a moment of consideration as you imagined what Jia had described. Jackson and she had been happy before they went to university. Much like you and Jisung, they had been together a long time. Still, something inside you told you that Jisung wouldn’t hurt you like this. Jackson was a good guy, and they had been good together. But they also had their fair share of issues. Jisung and you, that was a whole other thing. You were soulmates. You had a son. Other than sweeping them under the rug, you talked about your relationship problems.

You wanted to voice those thoughts to Jia, but before you could do so, your dad and Jisung entered the room. Your dad carried a thick book, showing it to your boyfriend, who laughed at whatever he saw on the page.

“Baby, how were you so cute as a baby? I could eat you up.”

Your confusion resolved when your dad explained the situation. “I was showing an old photo album to Jisung. I found a stack of them in the attic.” Flipping the page, another chuckle escaped your dad’s lips. “Look! It’s you and your father. Gosh, I haven’t seen this picture in ages.”

At those words, a smile spread over your face as you made your way to his side of the book. And sure enough, there you were. Sitting in a flowerpot as your father held you up, smiling into the camera. The unfamiliar image warmed your heart, despite the tinge of sadness that appeared whenever you saw a picture of him.

“Your father was so handsome,” Jia said as she caught a glimpse.

“The most handsome,” your dad agreed, looking up from the page. “He did some modelling work while we attended law school and was good at it, too. Even made it into some magazines. He was so handsome even, it took me months to finally muster the courage and ask him out. And thank God, I did.” With those words, his eyes met you, still completely captured by the picture. “He would have been so proud of you, honey.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as a smile plastered your face. Oh, what you’d give to have the chance and talk to him one last time. You would have told him so many things. Most importantly, you would have told him about the family you had found between all the grief and loss. The ones surrounding you, being the closest to you. And, of course, Ki. The love of your life.

No doubt, he would have loved your father as much as you did.

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harry is y/n's boss, and he's also a super rich ceo :)

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Y/N never planned on becoming a personal assistant.

In fact, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life. College was enlightening because she was having a good time learning a little bit of everything, but it was almost…too much. How was she supposed to settle on just one career when the world was filled with so many different  opportunities? 

So while working as a personal assistant was never a part of her life’s plans, the older Y/N got the more she realized that life is funny sometimes and try as she might, it’s impossible to plan for everything. Besides, working as a personal assistant for an extremely successful (and surprisingly kind) CEO did have its perks. The pay, for starters, was better than anything she would’ve earned anywhere else working three times as hard, and not to mention the flexibility he allowed her was unheard of.

Thus, Y/N earned extra money working for Mr. Harry Styles when she wasn’t busy with class or school work, and in return, he paid her fairly and treated her with graciousness - he even bought her dinner sometimes and ate it with her late at night in his office when they were spending time combing through files and reviewing reports. He was a fair boss and always understanding whenever she told him she had more work than anticipated and wouldn’t be able to go in to help that day. According to Harry, she was a student first, and an assistant second, so he never pressured her to put the company above her studies. 

Being Mr. Styles' personal assistant involved lots of calls, setting up meetings, and checking his spreadsheets and productivity reports. Occasionally she'd do the whole “run-and-get-his-coffee” thing, but that didn't happen often - and when he did, he always made sure to buy for Y/N as well. 

“Miss Y/L/N? Could you come to my office when you get a free moment, please?”

The sound of Harry’s voice crackles through the intercom in Y/N’s tiny space, a room adjoining his own office. Additionally, it functioned as a waiting room of sorts when people were meeting with the boss. Y/N enjoyed surveying the expressions on her co-workers' faces whenever they met with Mr. Styles. Everyone always seemed so nervous and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. Was he not as nice to everyone else as he was to her? 

“Sure thing,” she holds down on the button beside the speaker as she relays her response. “Is there anything I can bring you beforehand?” The button is released as she awaits his answer. It comes immediately.

“That’s alright, Y/N. I just need your help reviewing something. Won’t take long.”

Y/N ignores the flutter she feels in her tummy when Harry calls her by her first name. He didn’t do it often but sometimes he did, and she couldn’t deny she liked the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. 

“Be right there, Mr. Styles.”

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“Do these numbers look…odd to you?”

Y/N leans forward in her seat across from Harry as he turns his large monitor screen to face her. She’s faced with a busy spreadsheet filled with numbers, and a confused expression quickly overcomes her features. 

“What numbers am I looking at, sir?” Y/N can’t help the heat that begins to flood her face. “‘M not too familiar with Excel…know I probably should be seeing that I’m an assistant and all that but-”

“It’s fine,” Harry cuts her off with a small smile on his face. “It’s a busy document. I could’ve been more clear - I was referring to the bolded numbers. They’re smaller than last month’s, do you agree?”

With her attention now directed to the right part of the document, Y/N examines the numbers as she tries to think back to last month’s revenue. While it differed, she didn’t think it was significant. Then again, she wasn’t the one running a multimillion-dollar company.

“I see how there’s a bit of discrepancy. I can double-check and look through all of the documents to ensure everything has been accounted for if you’d like, sir.” Y/N watches as her boss’s shoulders noticeably slump in relief.

“Could you do that?” His tone is hopeful, eager. “I mean, do you have the time? I’m already running late to a meeting that I sent the Zoom link for, gotta hop on and get a handle on that…”

For the first time since Y/N began working for Mr. Styles, she senses that he’s overwhelmed. He’s usually so calm and carefree, much more carefree than she imagines she would be with such big responsibilities, but right now he seems…tense. Upset.

“I just need to get a confirmation for that event you’re speaking at next week and then I can do it.”

“I owe you dinner. Thank you, Miss Y/L/N,” he gives her a pointed look. “I’ll share the spreadsheet and documents from the previous and current months with you, and you can let me know if I missed anything.”

Even though Harry’s bought her dinner more times than she can even count before, something feels different about the way he says it this time. She has to look down so he doesn’t see the sheepish look on her face. 

“I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

Harry grins. “I know.”

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As it turns out, Harry did make a mistake.

It wasn’t a big deal and easily fixable but man was he grateful to her.  No one made Y/N feel smarter and more appreciative of her being there than Mr. Styles. 

“That’s great, really,” Harry tells her for at least the third time in ten minutes. “I would’ve never caught that. Never! ‘M not ashamed to admit a second set of eyes is always helpful - at least for me.”

Y/N looks down to hide her timidness. She loves praise, but it still makes her shy! “Well, thank you, Mr. Styles. I know you have like, actual people for this…” she pauses as she shifts from foot to foot. “But if you ever just want me to take a quick peek ‘cause I’m right next door, I don’t mind.”

Harry gives Y/N a look she can't quite discern before speaking again. “I think I'll be taking you up on that. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Already helped me out so much today, don't you still have that project you need to finish up for your class?”

“Are you sure?” She gives her boss a puzzled look. “I have, like, a ton of work left to do here.” 

“Someone else can do it,” he flashes her a warm, dimpled smile. “It's fine, Miss Y/L/N. School first, remember what I always say.” 

Y/N ignores the sensation she feels in her belly from Harry’s stern tone of voice. “Yes sir. I….thank you. I appreciate it. I can make up the time and stay later tomorrow-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry straightens a stack of papers on his desk. “Same time tomorrow, or will you be coming in a bit later?” 

“Can I let you know tomorrow? It depends on how much of my project I finish tonight.”

“That works. Please get home safe, Miss Y/L/N. Try and enjoy the rest of your day.” 

“Thank you,” Y/N quietly responds.  When she turns to exit his office, she hesitates before turning back to him. “Are you gonna leave soon too?” She hoped she wasn't overstepping by asking. 

Harry lets out a quiet laugh. “Hopefully. I have one more meeting, and have to make sure everything is ready for a deal we're closing on tomorrow.” 

“Okay…well, see you tomorrow,” she pauses before quickly adding. “I hope your night doesn't run too late.” 

“Me too. Thanks, Y/N.” 

Harry looks back down at his work, and Y/N takes that as her cue to leave. She gently shuts the door behind her and lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding once back in the privacy of her own office. Y/N felt so flustered! The fact that Harry was allowing her to leave early so she could finish her homework didn't surprise her - it wasn't the first time he did it, and it wouldn't be the last. She was mainly just surprised Harry even remembered she had a project! Y/N mentioned it to him once briefly last week when she first had assigned it and said nothing else about it. To know that he remembered and was concerned about her finishing it on time made her feel…cared for. 

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Y/N is drowning.

As it would turn out, her project was turning out to be a lot more time-consuming than she initially anticipated. She had to write a research essay and create an infographic to supplement it, and she was still stuck on the research part! She’d been working on it for hours– ever since she finished class at 10 am, but now the time was after 1 pm and she needed to be to work in an hour. Even though Harry always told her school came first, she wanted to be a good employee for him! She already left work early yesterday - she couldn’t skip out on her shift. Y/N realized she was an…untraditional employee, and she didn’t want to be fired so Harry could have an assistant with more availability. He always told her he appreciated her help whenever she gave it, but she still couldn’t help feeling like she didn’t do enough. She flings those thoughts to the side as she refocuses her attention on her work. 

Y/N falls so deep down the Google rabbit hole that she doesn’t realize the amount of time that’s passed until her phone is ringing. The name “MR. STYLES” lights up her phone and she curses under her breath as she realizes she was supposed to be at the office nearly 30 minutes ago. She picks up and immediately begins apologizing. 

“Mr. Styles! I’m so sorry, I lost track of time because I’m just so overwhelmed with this project and it’s not really going that well but I can be there in twenty minutes, I promise!”

There’s a small pause on the line before Harry replies. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

His answer takes Y/N aback. The last thing she was expecting was for her busy boss to offer up his assistance with a trivial college research project. “But…don’t you have, like, work to do?”

“I always have work to do, Miss Y/L/N,” he answers nonchalantly. “It can wait. I am the boss, after all. Why don’t you come in and let me take a look?”

Y/N’s hesitant, not wanting to bother Harry with something he was so far removed from such as her college assignments, but he was offering, and well…two heads were better than one. So Y/N tells him she’ll be there shortly, thanks him again profusely, and ends the call. She sits unmoving on her couch for a second after hanging up, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in her tummy. Mr. Styles wanted to help her! With school work! It made her dizzy to think about it for too long. She finally stands to gather her things, trying to stick to her promise of arriving as quickly as possible–Y/N figures she’s already kept him waiting long enough.

She makes it to the office fairly quickly, greeting the front desk staff as she walks through the lobby. Harry’s corner office was located on the very top floor of the 20-story building. It was quite the view. Y/N sets her tote bag down on her desk before taking out her laptop and notebook filled with information pertaining to her project. She takes a deep breath before knocking on the door connecting her office with Harry’s. He lets out a quick, “Come in!” to which Y/N complies, letting herself in.

Harry looks up from his computer once she enters the room, his hard gaze immediately softening. “Oh, Y/N. You look so tense. Come sit, let me see what we’re working with.”

“I’ve got a bulk of the research done,” Y/N mutters quietly as she pulls back the chair from his desk. “I’m just having a tricky time organizing my thoughts.” She slides her open notebook across the table at him, watching anxiously as he reads over her tiny scrawl. After reading over her work in silence for a couple of minutes, he clears his throat and speaks.

“Is it just me, or have school assignments become enormously mundane?” his brow furrows in confusion. “A research paper and an infographic? Bit of an overkill, hm?”

“That’s what I said,” Y/N shakes her head in disgust. “Everything on my infographic is coming straight from my paper, anyway!”

“How about I start making an outline for your paper?” He looks down at the notebook again. “I think I can see where you're going with this. ‘M not very creative though, maybe you can get started on your infographic.”

“You could do that for me?” 

“After all you've done for me?” Harry sucks his teeth. “C’mon. I'm no monster, Y/N.” He flashes her a dimpled grin. 

“Thank you,” Y/N says for what had to be the hundredth time that day. “Anything helps, Mr. Styles. I owe you one.”

Harry waves his hand dismissively. “None of that. Would you like to work here, or are you going back to your office?”

Y/N looks down at her clammy hands folded in her lap. “If you don't mind, can I stay here? Just so you can ask me questions about my work if you have any?”

“I think that's a wonderful idea,” he tilts his head curiously at her. “Have you eaten today? I was thinking of ordering something. Does Thai sound good?” 

“Oh, I had banana pancakes this morning before class,” she bites her lip. “I'm okay.” 

“Nonsense. It's already past three,” he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a take-out menu. “This place is great - I'm a regular. Let me know what you'd like. I always get the basil stir fry.”

Y/N wordlessly takes the menu and reviews it for a few moments before settling on a crispy tofu dish. Once their order is called in, Harry locks his phone and places his attention back on Y/N.

“Someone will bring that up to us when it gets here. Let's get started, shall we?”

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Harry’s the first one to break their comfortable silence. 

He pushes his glasses up on his nose, clearing his throat. “What do you think about this, Y/N?” He turns his monitor toward Y/N so she can see what he’s doing. He has a neatly organized outline, bullet pointed and everything.

“I think it looks really good,” Y/N says with a nod of her head. “The bullet points look like they’ll be easy to follow. Thank you for your help."

“I like helping you. You help me all the time.” Harry says this so matter-of-fact, as if he were stating the sky was blue. He wordlessly turns back to the document he has open, beginning to type again. They’re interrupted twenty short minutes later by a knock on the door.

“Come in.” Harry calls out curtly. The door opens and in walks someone Y/N recognizes from the accounting department.

“Mr. Styles, I have those reports you needed finished. Would you like to review them?”

“Not now,” he responds immediately. “I’m busy.”

The accountant has a look of what she assumes to be slight annoyance on his face. She wonders if Harry catches it. “I’ve been trying to go over these things with you for nearly a week, sir...it needs to be signed off on and submitted.”

“It’ll have to wait, Mitch.”

Harry’s answers are short, and it’s obvious he’s not in the mood to talk about work. The accountant opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but stops himself, turning to leave instead. Harry doesn’t seem perturbed at all, but Y/N feels bad! Was Mr. Styles putting off work to help her?

“Okay, sir,” the accountant turns to place his hand on the doorknob. “Perhaps we can review tomorrow?”

“Perhaps.”

The accountant opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something but he decides against it, deciding to just leave instead. After a somewhat awkward silence, Y/N breaks it.

“Thank you for helping me again. I know I keep saying that, but I know you’re really, really busy.”

“Again, I like helping you," he pauses. “Why don’t we call it a night now? I’m sure you’ll do more work when you get home anyway.”

Y/N nods at this and grabs her notebook from in front of Harry, shutting her laptop. "Thank you again."

"Let me walk you out. I'm going that way too."

Y/N walks through the door to her own office and gathers her bag, slipping her laptop inside. She turns around to find Harry standing in the doorway giving her an expectant look.

"Ready?"

They enter the elevator together and Harry presses the first floor button, pressing his back against the wall. Y/N does the same. As the elevator descends to the first floor, Y/N feels Harry’s eyes on her but she doesn’t turn to look at him. Once the elevators open, they exit the elevator and make their way towards the parking lot.

“My car’s on this level,” Y/N tells Harry, exiting the elevator. “Thank you for walking me with me, Mr. Styles.”

“Of course. Same time tomorrow?”

“I’d like that,” Y/N gives Harry a bashful smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Styles.”

With that, Harry gives her a small grin as the elevator doors are closing. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Please let me know what you think! Part 2 soon :)

[tangledinink]

Okay! One last I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? oneshot, and then next week we'll get a new chapter... and this week's piece is about Mikey! :) Read it on ao3 or below the cut.

It had all started with a beautiful shade of ultramarine.

And it wasn’t as if Mikey took issue with the color itself-- it was a lovely shade of blue. That wasn’t the problem. And quite frankly, he didn’t notice it at first, but at some point halfway through his fifth-period class, while his eyes were wandering idly around the room, looking at nothing in particular, just roaming for the sake of roaming while he listened… he had paused, frowned, and back-tracked to do a double-take.

Ultramarine?

That was so odd, because… Usually, Mona was midnight blue. Her life color was a lot darker than this, richer, slightly less saturated, and closer to a shade of navy than… this.

I mean. There was nothing wrong with it. Ultramarine was a good color. It looked good on her…!

But it wasn’t hers.

Mikey had frowned a bit, his brow twitching slightly. He had never seen anyone’s life color change before. Was that a thing?... He supposed he had no way of knowing since it was just this weird little quirk that he enjoyed on his own, so it wasn’t like he could look it up or ask anyone, but… he had never seen this happen before.

Did something happen to her, he wondered? He had worried about this for a bit and endeavored to check in with her later, just in case, but then had let it go. I mean, what was he supposed to do about it?

But then she wasn’t the only one.

He noticed it slowly, but more people’s colors seemed to shift throughout the remainder of the class. Bit by bit, things began to tilt just ever so slightly to either the left or right on the metaphorical color wheel, not wrong but not exactly right, either. By the time he got to his next class, everyone’s colors were just a little bit off, and beginning to blur slightly, kind of fuzzy around the edges, and Mikey was starting to freak out just a tiny bit.

The shimmering, bouncing lights came after that. They teased at the very edges of his vision, tickling at his eyelashes, but never there when he tried to turn around and see them. And the more it happened, the more nervous he became. His stomach flip-flopped, and he resisted the urge to fidget in his seat. Something felt… wrong. He wasn’t very focused for the rest of the class.

It had been just after the final bell of the day, amongst the chaos of the entire school’s excitement of being dismissed, racing through the hallway, when a portion of Mikey’s field of vision gave out from under him. And suddenly, there was this big, fuzzy patch of black on his left side. No matter how many times he blinked and rubbed at his eyes, it wouldn’t go away. It was suddenly like he was halfway blind. And then he for-real started to panic.

He was debating whether he should take out his phone and call one of his family members, like, right now, or if he should try to make his way to the nurse’s office on his own (could he still do that--? School was technically over--) when the pain started.

It was like being hit by a freight train. 

He nearly dropped his books at the impact of it when it truly settled in, the knot in his stomach from before now rising up into full-blown nausea, threatening to overtake him. He came to a very sudden stop in his journey, finding the nearest wall to hang onto and squeezing his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to vomit.

Oh my god.

It hurt so bad. 

The pain was absolutely dazzling, pulsing bright and vicious through his head. It felt like he had some sort of hot, heavy, alien creature attached to one side of his skull, burrowing its way into him, and he could feel its heartbeat. And it was absolutely all-encompassing. He couldn’t even make his feet move-- all he could do was stand there for a second and try to breathe, to swallow repeatedly, and try desperately not to throw up here in the hall.

For a second, he just stood there and he thought, maybe it’ll go away. 

Maybe it’ll get better.

But it was just getting worse.

It was so loud. It was so bright. Every voice and shuffled foot and slam of a locker door was like a drill buzzing straight into his brain, and the fluorescent lights overhead were eating him alive, and he couldn’t move, but he had to-- He had to do something.

He was so, so certain that if he stayed here any longer, he was absolutely going to die.

We gotta do something. Come on. Move. You have to get-- somewhere. Not here. To the nurse’s office. They’ll be able to help, but you have to move. Go on. Move! Move your feet! He begged, and eventually, miraculously, his nerves listened to him.

If anyone noticed him, stopped him, asked if he was okay, he couldn’t hear them, because he was putting every piece of energy that he had into making his body move instead of curling up into a little ball on the floor. A few tears were already beginning to track their way down his face as he trembled, panicked breaths rattling through his chest. He ducked and weaved past other students in his frantic retreat, but he couldn’t see anything properly out of his left side, and he kept bumping into people. And he wished he could stop and apologize and see if they were okay, but he couldn’t. He just-- He had to not be here. He really, really had to not be here. He was on the fifth floor. His goal, the nurse’s office, was on the ground level. 

Oh god. 

This was the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life.

He made it about as far as the stairwell before he couldn’t move anymore.

---

Once he hadn’t been able to make himself go any further, the pain and nausea overwhelming him, he had stopped for a bit, leaning against the cool concrete of the wall and clutching his books tight in his hands as he focused simply on breathing. 

At some point, he had taken out his phone, attempting to text one of his family members to send out an SOS, to tell them that he was fucking dying in the stairwell and that he loved them and that his final wish was for them to give all his artwork to the MOMA, ‘cause they’d be damn lucky to have it, thank you, and everything else to charity, but it was like looking at the goddamn sun. Every time he tried to draft out a message or even just navigate enough to place a phone call (at this point he was tempted to just straight up call 911, which felt pretty dramatic for a headache, but every second that passed the statement ‘I’m dying’ felt a lot less like hyperbole and a lot more like a real, actual possibility,) he was hit with this bright, hot white pain on top of the already thick layer of pain and his head would throb and his stomach would lurch and his knees would buckle, and eventually, after a few attempts and a good deal of frustrated crying, he just gave up.

By the time he had gotten here, the crowd had already thinned out quite a bit, with the main max exodus of the final bell already having tapered off. Only the occasional group of students would come through, and some of them looked at him, but with him crying softly and squinting at his phone in the corner, most people probably figured he was fighting with a friend or going through a breakup or something and seemed to feel it wasn’t any of their business, and they didn’t bother him. 

He was basically alone by the time he accepted his fate of dying here in the stairwell, curling up sadly in a little ball and weeping softly to himself. Now that there were so few kids lingering, and therefore much less competition, anyone who did want to head up or down the stairs would likely take the elevators instead. And Mikey thought belatedly to himself that he should have grabbed someone and told them that his brain was melting when he still had the chance.

But now he was alone, and he supposed that was that. 

And he didn’t know what else to do. Picking up his head hurt, and opening his eyes hurt, and everything hurt, so he just… sat there. His earlier sobbing had died down to just weak little sniffles and hiccups, tears dripping sadly down his face as he tiredly, miserably, manually sucked in each and every inhale and exhale-- just trying to somehow breathe through the pain.

He wasn’t really sure how long he was there. Looking back, he figured it couldn’t have actually been that long. But it felt like eons. Mikey had just about accepted this as his final resting place when the relative quiet of his hiding spot was split by the horrendous screech of the door opening, and Mikey winced--

And then he heard, “Oh, sweet Salomea Skłodowska–Curie, there you are! Mikey, where have you been!?”

And the noise hurt, but he recognized that voice. He picked up his head just enough to stare at Donnie in shock… and then absolutely sobbed in relief at the sight of him.

Donnie blinked in surprise, floundering for a moment before letting the door slide shut behind him, kneeling quickly down by Mikey’s side and examining him with worry.

“Mikey? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I-- I don’t know!” He hiccuped pitifully, his shoulders shaking as he sniffled. “It’s-- s-something is w-wrong, and, and I don’t know w-what but it hurts and I, I can’t see, and, and I don’t kn-know what’s happening, but everything hurts and I feel like I’m gonna die…!”

“You can’t see?” Donnie repeated, their voice pressing a bit with obvious concern. “You can’t see at all?”

“N-no, it’s, it’s just-- just a little over here,” Mikey sniffled, gesturing slightly to his left. “Like a. A spot, and. E-everything is just… f-fuzzy, and, and my, my head hurts…”

“Mikey, why didn’t you text one of us?”

“I can’t,” he sobbed. “It h-hurts too bad to look, Dee, it’s too bright!”

Donnie narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly.

“And you said your head hurts?”

Mikey nodded weakly, wiping at his eyes.

“Where? Show me.”

“Uhm…” Mikey wobbled for a minute, wincing before he finally kind of wiggled a hand to indicate. “J-just… over here, on this side, all the way u-up… It… It hurts so bad, I…! I d-don’t know what to do…!”

Donnie stayed quiet for a moment, seeming to consider this, before he sighed very softly, patting his brother’s knee decisively. 

“Right. Well. Congratulations, Hamato Michelangelo,” he hummed quietly, his voice all careful and whispered. “I diagnose you with a migraine.”

Mikey kept quiet for a second, processing this, before he sobbed.

“This is a migraine?!” He bit out, his voice absolutely trembling. 

“Yes, well, they are genetic--”

“I-is this what it’s like for you!? This-- this is h-horrible! You-- you have m-migraines every other week!” Mikey wept.

Donnie blinked in surprise, seemingly taken aback by his brother’s outburst before scoffing softly, waving off his concerns. “Experience is all relative,” he muttered. “The point is, you’re not dying, alright? You’ll be fine. It’ll just be… unpleasant for a little while,” he sighed, shrugging his bag off his shoulder and beginning to dig through it. “Did you take anything yet?”

“N-no…”

“Okay. Here,” he produced a small pill bottle from his backpack, cracking it open quickly and shaking out two little pills. “This is the good shit. We should be at approximately the same dose…” He paused to rapidly examine the label, humming softly to himself for just a second before he was seemingly satisfied, holding the drugs out to the other. “I don’t know if it’ll fix it, but it should at least help.”

Mikey sniffled, nodding a tiny bit and agreeably holding out a trembling palm to accept the medication. Donnie grabbed his water bottle from his bag, passing it over, and though Mikey took it, he hiccuped softly, hesitating for a second before he looked up at Donnie with wide eyes.

“Y-you don’t l-like it when, when people drink out of your water b-bottle…”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “As much as I appreciate the concern, Michael, I will disinfect it later. It’s fine. Just take the meds.”

Mikey hiccuped a bit, but he did as he was told anyway, tossing the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with a generous swig of water. Despite this, this sickly sweet taste kind of burned the back of his mouth for a minute, and he wrinkled up his face at it. Ew… 

“Yeah, I know,” Donnie hummed. “Okay. Uh. Look. Let’s get you to the nurse’s office so you can lay down and wait for these to kick in, and then we can go home.”

Laying down did sound pretty good, Mikey had to admit, and he nodded a tiny bit, his bottom lip still wobbling.

Donnie sort of hesitated for a second, his brows furrowed with concern as he looked Mikey up and down. “Do you think you can walk? Or do you want me to… carry you…?”

Mikey paused for a moment, and then he snorted.

“Carry me?”

“Look, I’m trying to be nice…!”

Mikey kind of laughed weakly, somewhere between a giggle and a sob, wiping at his face.

“Dee, you can’t carry me…! You’re too small!”

Donnie bristled in offense. “Pardon me!? I’m taller than you!”

“Yeah, but you’re smaller than me,” Mikey insisted, just barely managing a teeny little smile, his eyes still closed as his head drooped against the wall. “You’re… little… you weigh, like, five pounds…” 

“Oh, you are so lucky you have a migraine, or we would be having a discussion right now,” Donnie hissed in reply, an absolute scowl painting his face. “I could…”

He hesitated.

“I could call Raph. He could carry you.”

Mikey’s trembling grin widened a teeny, tiny bit. See? He was right. Donnie couldn’t carry him. At least not for that far.

“No. It’s. Uhm. It’s okay. I can walk,” he said, taking a few long breaths, very slowly rising up to his feet. Everything kind of wobbled and swam for a moment, but it backed off after a second as he found his balance again. “Okay. Hang on. Here,” Donnie mumbled, “This will help…”

Mikey watched in shock as his brother pulled his headphones down off his head, reaching over to instead carefully place them over Mikey’s. 

The muffled quiet that fell over the world was, admittedly, absolutely lovely, but he still gaped at the other.

“But-- you need these--” he tried to protest.

“Mikey, I assure you I can make it from here to the nurse’s office without a meltdown. You need them more right now. I will be fine,” Donnie promised, reaching over to adjust the settings on the headphones slightly, tilting Mikey’s head to the side with his hand as he did so, careful fingers nudging at his chin to get him to turn. White noise washed over Mikey like seafoam, lapping at the edges of him, cold and soothing and soft. 

Mikey nearly started sobbing again. Because everything still hurt so bad, but even just this, even just taking away the noise, which there was very little of to begin with, made it so much better. He didn’t think he had ever been in so much pain in his life, and that was still true, but already it was just so much less than it had been five minutes ago.

“Alright. Is that okay?”

Mikey hiccuped softly, nodding a little bit.

“Alright. Let me know if you need a break or anything. And keep your eyes shut. The hall lights are gonna hurt, so just keep close and I’ll make sure you don’t walk into anything. Got it?” Donnie instructed shortly, reaching out to offer his hand to the other. 

Mikey did sob a tiny bit this time, scrubbing at his wet face with his sleeve one last time before he took his big brother’s hand. 

“Th-thanks, Dee.”

“Don’t mention it,” Donnie muttered. “I know how much this sucks. You ready?”

Mikey breathed deep, taking a long inhale, and then letting out an exhale, passing his trust entirely over to his sibling as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Yeah. Ready.”

---

[ Donnie: Have any of you heard from Mikey?

Leo: not since likkeee lunch. he sent me. like. eight tiktoks.

Raph: hes not with you???

Leo: dont you guys have dance r/n?

Donnie: No, I waited at the usual place so we could head over, but he didn’t show up.

Raph: what????

Leo: chill, he prbly got distracted w one of his friends or smth and wasnt looking at the time. U know how he is.

April: ^^^

April: ill try calling too. I havent left yet so i dont mind lookin around rq to see if i can find him anywhere

Donnie: Thank you. I’ll do the same. Please text if you see him.

Raph: if you dont find him ill come back

Leo: i can duck out of rehearsals if you guys need. but hes probably around.

Donnie: He’s definitely still in the school, as per geotracking.

Leo: stop geotracking us

(read)

Donnie: I found him. He’s fine.

Leo: seeee? hes finneeee

April: where was he?

Donnie: The stairwell.

Donnie: And he has a migraine so no one bother him for the rest of the evening, understood? Don’t call him. Don’t text him. Don’t come poking around his room to see if he’s okay. Just leave him alone.

Donnie: Raph.

Donnie: I’m gonna try and see if I can get him to sleep once we get home so he can at least be unconscious for some of this. And if I am successful in this and then any of you dum-dums wake him up, I swear there will be severe consequences.

Donnie: Light and noise should be kept to an absolute minimum until he’s over this. Got it?

April: oof!!! that sucks :( poor mikey. got it!

Raph: 👍

Leo: lol yah ok ✨boss ✨

Leo: thank god raph is older than u coz ud be a fucking nightmare lmao

Donnie: Die. ]

---

[ Mikey: omg i missed my phone 🥺

Mikey: migraines SUCK

Mikey: also PSA if anyone ever makes a noise above a gd whisper when D has a migraine ever again i will do unspeakable things because i have seen the error of my ways i s2gggggg

Donnie: THANK YOU.

Leo: eugh boi ]

[imawkwardlysoc]

"only bought this dress so you could take it off"

Song: Dress by Taylor Swift

Pairing: bob floyd x reader (afab)

Warning(s): Allusions to smut (not written) & Aftercare

Word Count: 1,913

Summary: Y/N had just moved to Miramar and was invited to the Navy Ball in San Diego by her roommate. Soon when the both of them arrived, Y/N was met with a face she hasn't seen in a long time.

Backing away from the full length mirror, I admired the dress I picked out a few days ago. The muted gold beaded dress hugged my waist in all the right ways. With it being off the shoulder and a sweetheart neckline, it showed the right amount of chest without it being too scandalous.

“Wow, you look amazing.” I looked over to see my roommate, Natasha, entering my room.

“Are you sure? I mean is this appropriate for a naval ball?” I turned to face her.

“Yes, all heads will turn to you when you enter the ballroom,” she reassured me. “Who knows? Maybe a navy man will approach you and you end up going on a date with him, but if it’s Hangman, straight up reject him.”

I laughed at what she said. “Nat, I just moved here two weeks ago, I’m not looking for a relationship yet.”

Ever since I moved to San Diego two weeks ago, I’ve been more focused on my teaching job. I work at the local high school near a navy base as a science teacher. I was hired when the school year already started so I've been catching my students up since the substitute teacher they had barely got them learning.

“Well, the Lyft is almost here, you should finish getting ready,” she told me before leaving my room.

Slipping on a pair of gold heels, I grabbed my clutch and double checked the inside to see if I had all of the things I needed. Closing it, I walked out of my room and walked out of the house with Natasha after she locked the front door. Getting into the car, our driver started to drive us to the US Grant hotel.

“Hey, everything is going to be fine,” Natasha squeezed my hand. “All of the Dagger Squad is going to love you.”

We soon pulled up to the hotel and saw a bunch of naval higher ups in their uniforms with their plus ones. I’m pretty sure that I also saw some politicians entering the hotel. Natasha and I soon walked in and headed to the ballroom entrance where we showed our identifications along with invites.

When we walked in, I started to feel overwhelmed. Many members of the Navy and their plus ones filled the room while a live band played music.

“Oh, I see them!” Natasha started to drag me to where her friends were. “Guys, meet Y/N.”

I was soon met with two dark skinned men, one with a buzzcut, another one with a somewhat porno mustache, and one who looked like a real life Ken doll. She soon started to introduce me to them with their actual names and call signs. More of the members came and I was introduced to them along with her captain and his husband.

“Guess who finally showed up,” Jake announced. “How long does it take to get a soda?”

“Y/N, meet-” I looked over to see who came and I froze.

“Robbie?” His name fell out of my mouth.

“Y/N? Is that you?” He asked.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long.” I walked up and hugged him.

“It has.” He returned my hug.

“Wait, is this the Robbie you told me about?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded my head.

“Are we missing something here?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah, did you and Baby on Board used to have a thing or?” Jake asked.

“Baby on Board?” A confused look formed on my face when I heard the name he gave Robbie.

“No, we used to be childhood friends back in North Carolina,” Robbie explained.

“Yeah we’ve lived in the same neighborhood until I had to move to Arizona because my dad got a new job,” I nodded and pointed to Natasha. “That’s where I met Natasha.”

“And we’ve been inseparable until we had to leave for college.” Nat wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “It took me some convincing to get her to move down here.”

“Well, I had to finish both of my masters,” I told her.

“Two masters?” Admiral Kazansky raised his eyebrow.

“Yes, one in mechanical engineering and one in physics, but I also have a teaching credential for physics.” I smiled proudly.

“Do you mind if we continue this conversation while I get myself another drink?” The admiral asked me.

“I don’t mind at all Admiral,” I answered while linking arms with him.

While on our walk to the bar, he started asking me questions about my studies and why I double majored. I also talked about my time studying my undergrad at Cal Poly and getting my masters/teaching credential at the University of San Francisco. 

Throughout our conversation, I glanced at the other side of the room to see Robbie talking to some of his squadron members. We would send each other a smile if we made eye contact with each other.

Soon a familiar tune filled my ears and the room. Placing my drink down on the bar, I faced the admiral.

“Excuse me sir, but I have to do something,” I excused sir.

“It’s no problem, also call me Tom.” He smiled and I nodded my head.

Hurrying myself to the other side of the room, I made my way to where Robbie was. When I saw him leaning against the wall as he listened to his friends, a smile came onto our faces as lyrics started to echo through the room. Handing his drink to Ruben, I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the dance floor as Come On Eileen played. (A/N I just imagine the dance scene in Perks of Being a Wallflower) We started to do the dance routine that we created when we were kids whenever this song played through the stereo. We continued to dance to the song and sang out the lyrics.

“Wow, it’s been a while since we last did that,” I caught my breath after he dipped me and we moved to a slow dancing position.

“I’m surprised that we still remember it,” he chuckled.

“After the amount of times we perform this dance in front of our families, I would be surprised if we don't remember the moves,” I looked up at him.

He still had the same face from what I remembered as a little kid, but it was more defined. He was still the shy and reserved kid that I knew of as I grew up.

“Hey, wanna head out?” He whispered in my ear which sent chills down my spine.

“Sure,” I agreed.

He led me off the dance floor and went to his squad.

“It’s been great meeting you all. I hope we get to see each other again,” I told everyone.

They all said their goodbyes and Robbie and I left the hotel ballroom. As Robbie and I waited for the valet to bring his wrangler around, I felt him put his coat over my shoulders and wrapped his arm around them. Leaning against him, I looked up at him and gave a smile. Soon the wrangler was pulled up and he helped me into the car. Getting into the driver’s seat, he closed the door and untied the tie he was wearing.

During the drive to Natasha and I’s house, we were sharing stories and memories from our childhood. He also explained the reason why Jake called him Baby on Board sometimes. I laughed at the stories that he had with his crew. I guess he’s glad that he’s permanently stationed here with his crew.

Pulling up in front of the house, he got out of the driver’s seat and helped me out of the car. Walking me up to the door, we stood there for a moment, waiting to see what happens next.

“Thanks for taking me home,” I thanked him.

“No problem, it’s nice seeing you again,” he smiled. “You look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you,” I looked down at the ground and blushed.

I soon felt his fingers touch my chin and moved my head to face him. Don’t know the reason why but I started to feel my heart begin to race as my stomach fluttered. Leaning my head in as his did, our lips touched and moved. It continued for a few more seconds as it got more passionate until we detached, looking at each other with a blush on our faces.

“Did that just?” I asked.

“Yeah, it did,” he nodded his head.

“Well, I should head in now,” I told him and grabbed my house key from my clutch.

Unlocking it, I pushed open the door and walked into the house without closing the door. I tossed my clutch on the kitchen island and started my walk down the hallway to my room. Hearing the sound of Robbie’s footsteps entering the house, I looked over my shoulder a little and gave him a wink. Entering my room, I took off my heels and started to unzip the back of my dress.

“Need help with that?” I heard Robbie’s voice enter my room.

“Please,” I answered despite me not needing any help.

Chills were sent throughout my body as I felt his breath hit my neck as he slowly unzipped my dress. I bit the inside of my lip as he started to place kisses down my neck. With my dress off, leaving me in my undergarments, I turned and started to kiss him as he led me to my bed.

*Aftercare*

Tangled up in my bed sheets, Robbie laid flat on his back while I laid my head on his chest. One of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other drew circles on my thigh.

“Imagine if we told younger us that we’ll be in this situation,” I chuckled, looking up at him.

“I feel they would be grossed out,” he let out a laugh. “I miss this, I miss us hanging out with each other.”

“Me too,” I agreed. “It sucked that we weren’t able to keep in contact with each other.”

He nodded his head and hummed in agreement. “But hey, we got to see each other again even though it took over ten years.”

“True,” I laughed.

“I know I already said that you look beautiful but that dress on you is amazing,” he complimented me.

“Well, I should buy that dress in other colors if it makes you do this,” I smirked as I gestured to us in bed.

“Nah, anything you wear can make me feel like this,” he placed a kiss on my lips.

“This isn’t going to affect our friendship right?” I asked him.

“I already lost you once, not losing you again,” he said while pulling me closer to him.

I smiled and laid my head on his chest letting out a yawn. Closing my eyes, I drifted off to sleep.

*The Morning After*

Opening my eyes, I looked over to see Robbie still sleeping. Smiling to myself and last night’s events, I quietly got out of bed and threw on his dress shirt. Walking out of my room, I walked down the hall to the kitchen to see Natasha standing there with a cup of coffee and a smirk on her face.

“So, my backseater huh?” She asked.

“Shush,” I blushed a little while pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“Hey, just saying he’s a really good guy but you already know that,” she told me.

Soon we heard footsteps revealing Robbie in his boxers and hair disheveled.

“Yeah, he really is.”

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

this is the day your life will surely change (s.h. x reader)

masterlist prev: everybody's goin' off the deep end read on Ao3 synopsis: You wake up on Monday morning, and a sense of dread has made its home in the pit of your stomach. Something is off in Hawkins, and almost no one notices but you.

Monday, November 7, 1983

The sound of clanging in the kitchen woke you up well before your alarm, as it did every morning. Your dad was kind and gracious and incredibly smart, but he was not graceful, especially in the kitchen. For as long as you can remember, he has been insistent on making sure you had sufficient ‘brain food’ before school. You never had the heart to tell him that you weren’t truly an early riser, because he looked so proud every time he presented you with your eggs and toast with one slice of bacon he had finagled into looking like a smile. Hiding your grogginess in the morning was as much of a family tradition as your yearly trip to the planetarium a few towns over. 

The smell of breakfast drifted into your room, and while your stomach would usually rumble with hunger, you suddenly felt nauseous. The pit that had formed last night seemed to have stuck around. You groaned, rolling over in your bed and dreaming about a world where you could go back to sleep. You only lasted a few minutes before rolling out of bed and getting yourself ready for the day. You double checked you had everything in your bag, taking deep breaths in the hopes it would aid the sense of dread that had made itself at home in your chest. 

You plopped down at the kitchen table, taking cautious sips from the glass of orange juice your dad had put out for you. “What’s wrong Bumble Bea?” Your dad’s voice is soft enough you can feel a tear beginning to prickle in the corner of your eyes. When you work up the courage to meet his gaze, you find he hasn’t even turned around from the stove. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, because he somehow always knew. He claimed he had a dad sense, and you claimed he’d read one too many X-Men comics in his days. 

“My stomach hurts.” You grumble, taking another small sip of orange juice. You can feel his frown without having to see his face. 

Your dad scoots the eggs he had previously heaped onto your plate back into the pan, before adding an additional slice of toast. “Do you want to take the day off?” He asks, setting the plate in front of you and taking his own seat. 

“It’s not that bad, and we have a chem test tomorrow. I should go in.” Kaminsky’s tests were notoriously impossible, and you hadn’t exactly gotten the studying done yesterday that you were hoping for. 

“As long as you’re sure. I can put a call in to the school if you aren’t up to it.” 

You sigh, doing your best to stomach the toast. You’re saved from answering when the phone begins to ring. Your dad answers, and you largely tune out until you hear him say “She’s right here.” You stand up, making your way over to the phone on the other side of the kitchen. Your dad muffles the handset against his chest, whispering, “It’s Joyce Byers, she sounds upset.” 

Your eyebrows draw together as you bring the phone to your ear, trying not to let the confusion show in your voice. “Hi Joyce, what’s up?”

“Hi sweetheart, did you happen to give Will a ride home last night?” 

Your stomach lurched at her question. “Um, no, actually.” You can hear her breathing getting shaky through the speaker. “I offered, but he wanted to bike home with the boys.” You clarify. “Is everything okay?” 

“I’m sure everything’s fine, he probably just headed in to class early. You know how he hates to be late.” You wince, but agree all the same. You promise to let her know if you hear from him, before hanging up. 

You take a few deep breaths, doing your best to steady your heart rate. “She can’t find Will this morning.” 

Your dad tilts his head to the side, thinking. “How about this, let’s head in and poke around the school for Will. I’m sure he’s a-okay, champ.” 

You wrap your arms around his middle, letting your head lay against his chest. “Okay” you reply, your voice slightly muffled by his shirt. His hand rests on the top of your head, grounding you for a moment. 

“It’s a bit early to panic,” he does his best to reassure you, but something about this just isn’t sitting right with you. 

______________________________________________________________

You knew that your foot tapping was bothering Ms. Ryker, the school librarian. You had known her since you were small, on account of your dad bringing you to district wide teacher work days when you were young, and he was a newly single parent who came up short in the babysitter department all too often. The library was dead silent, save for the tapping of your foot, but you just couldn’t help it. Will hadn’t been camped out in your dad’s classroom, the middle school library or the AV Club room. You and your dad had checked his usual haunts first, and when you came up empty, you’d checked every room in Hawkins’ Middle. No sign of Will. You’d reassured your dad you felt fine, and made your way to the high school. You managed to make two and a half flash cards before your anxiety got the better to you and you made your way to the pay phone. No hospital within a ten mile radius had any boys brought in that matched Will’s description, and the number for child services you found in the phone book was equally unhelpful. 

You’d given up and done your best to convince yourself you were over reacting. You attempted to distract yourself by making flashcards for the few terms left on your study guide, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything. A tap on the window saved you from copying down the definition for protons. Steve stood on the other side of the window, grinning at you in a lopsided fashion and waving. You tilted your head to the side, not entirely sure why he was here so early. His smile only grows, and he motions for you to meet him in the hallway. You throw your supplies into your backpack and wish Ms. Ryker a good day before making your way through the library door that Steve is holding open for you. 

“You’re here early.” 

Steve checks his watch, seemingly surprised by your observation. “I guess I am, but so are you.” You shrug, he has a point. Steve leans in conspiratorially, “besides, I’m on a secret mission.” 

“Oh really?” You smile at his antics, despite yourself. 

“And I am in desperate need of your assistance.” The next thing you know, Steve is steering you down the hallway with a hand placed gently on your back. “I need to know where Nancy’s locker is.” 

“You know, I didn’t get here early so that I could be your wingwoman.” You snarked, letting Steve lead you in the entirely wrong direction from his goal. 

“No, but you looked miserable in there. Saved you from whatever you have been worrying about and saved me from trying to charm Phylis this early in the morning.” Your laugh was loud enough to bounce down the hall in front of you. 

“I believe in my heart of hearts that Phylis is un-charmable, unfortunately.” Steve gave you a look that clearly said ‘Well, you haven’t seen me try yet.’. “I’ve seen her four drinks deep at the PTA Christmas Party, unmoved by several small children caroling while dressed in little angel costumes. You don’t have a shot in hell.” 

“All the better I have you here, yeah?” He jokes, slipping his arm around you to squeeze gently at your waist. Your stomach flipped, and you did your best to studiously ignore it. 

“I guess so, because you are directionally inept,” you laugh, steering Steve in the right direction. You pointed out Nancy’s locker and watched him sneak a note in through the grates at the bottom. Your eyebrows snuck closer to your hairline, and his only response was an earnest grin. “Okay Romeo, have my wingwoman duties concluded?” 

“For the record I didn’t need a wingwoman. I needed…” his eyes searched the ceiling, looking for a substitution. “A tour guide.” 

You cackled, backing away from the scene of the crime. “What a downgrade!” you called back to Steve, who was leaning against the locker, shame free. You saw that the hallway was beginning to fill with other students trickling in for the day, so you spun on your heel to face front and dutifully made your way to your own locker. You put away the books you’d lugged home last night and made sure your homework was safely tucked inside your binder before making your way to the door that led to the parking lot to hopefully catch Nancy and Barb on their way in.

______________________________________________________________

“I need you to run this by me one more time.” You loved Barb with all of your heart, but if she made you walk her through one of the more embarrassing moments of your life for the third time before first period, you were going to drop kick her in the parking lot. 

“I really don’t see what else there is to say, Barb.” Nancy was handling this better than you. Not exactly well, but better. A light pink dusted her cheeks and she had tucked her hair behind her ear several times, the most clear tell that she was flustered. 

“So he called your house looking for Bea, and then a few minutes after we hang up, he calls back?” You couldn’t for the life of you imagine why this was so challenging for Barb to wrap her mind around. “But he did call!” Barb was nearly shouting, clutching her binder against her chest, giddily. 

“Keep your voice down!” Nancy shushed, glancing around the hallway in the hopes that no one had overheard.

“But he did!” Barb insisted.

“I told you, it’s not like that. Okay I mean, yes, he likes me, but not like that.” Nancy ushered the two of you towards her locker. “We just… made out a couple times.”

“We just… made out a couple times,” Barb mocked. Her tone was light, but the same nervous look was in her eye the last time the three of you had this talk. “Nance seriously, you are going to be so cool now, it’s ridiculous,” 

“No I will not!” Nancy laughed, unlocking her locker before pulling open the door. You glimpsed Steve’s note before either of your friends did.

“You better still hang out with me, that’s all I’m saying. If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol-” 

“Gross I’m telling you, it was a one time…two time thing” Nancy insists.

“I’ve been his tutor for months and you have never once deemed me in danger of jumping the ship. I think your worry is outweighing the gravity of the situation, Barb.” The two of you shared a smile, you made yours as supportive as you could, while Barb’s was a bit sheepish. It was a reminder that your dad often gave to you at the dinner table when you couldn’t nail a topic he had been helping you with. 

Nancy pulls out the note, and the three of you lean together to read it. “You were saying?” Barb snarked, watching Nancy’s gaze dart to the bathroom door. “Go!” She shoved Nancy in the direction of the bathroom, rolling her eyes. “Can’t keep Steve Harrington waiting for too long.” Barb’s tone was obviously taunting, but Nancy started walking away regardless. “I’ll-” she glanced in the direction of the bathroom before turning her attention back to the two of you. “I’ll see you guys later!” 

Barb snorted, gently knocking her shoulder against yours. “Watch her be late for first period.”

______________________________________________________________

“Sorry to interrupt, but we are going to borrow Ms. Clarke for a few moments.” You’d been zoned out, doodling a flower in the margin of your usually very detailed world history notes. You’d continued struggling to focus all day, the uneasy feeling calming down in your stomach but never fully settling. Your principal was standing in the doorway along with the Chief of Police and a deputy, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Something was wrong. 

The deputy gave you what you were sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile as you were escorted down the hallway when he noticed how white your knuckles were from your tight grip on your binder, but it only served to make your heart pound even worse in your chest. 

The principal gestured for you to take a seat on the couch in the guidance counselor’s office, while Chief Hopper and the deputy whose name you still didn’t know sat across from you. “When’s the last time you saw Will Byers?” Okay, straight to the point. 

“I offered him and a few of his friends a ride home from the Wheeler’s last night. It was probably around nine-thirty.” The deputy was making notes in a small notebook while the chief nodded thoughtfully. “I always do, if we are leaving around the same time,” you tried to take a deep breath and stop your foot from tapping incessantly on the floor, but you were largely unsuccessful. “They rarely take me up on it, if the weather is good. They like to race home on their bikes, usually.” 

“And that’s all?” Chief Hopper asked. 

“Um, his mom, Joyce called this morning. She was wondering if I’d seen him but, like I said, they biked home and I haven’t seen him since.” You bit the inside of your cheek, nervously. “Is everything okay?” 

“Joyce reported him missing this morning.” You closed your eyes, attempting to steady yourself. “Listen, if you hear anything,” Chief Hopper said, pulling a card out of the front pocket of his shirt, “Give us a call.” You accept the card willingly, despite having had to memorize the non-emergency number during your two day training at the local hospital several years ago for your babysitter certification class you’d taken with Barb. 

You look up from the card as Hopper hesitates in the doorway, the other officer’s boots echoing down the hallway. “I shouldn’t have to say this,” he said, running his hand down his face, clearly already exhausted. “But don’t go looking for the kid.” You tilted your head to the side, questioning. “Just leave it to us.” He sounded weary, and looked wearier. You couldn’t do anything else but nod, and snatch a peppermint off the principal’s desk on the way out, hoping it would aid your stomach that had continued to worsen for most of the day. 

You took a few moments to steady yourself before heading for your locker. You started packing your backpack to head home for the day. Barb stopped by to drop off the homework that was handed out at the end of world history, and the two of you made plans to exchange notes over the phone later. You thanked her, slipping the worksheet into your binder, still in a bit of a daze. Nancy joined the two of you after a few minutes of Barb telling you about her latest book and her study plans for the night. “I need you to cover for me.” 

“Hi Nance, it’s good to see you too! Yes, Nance, Mr. Hanford was just as boring as always, and Tess Brewer did fall asleep face first into her binder again. Bea got called out of class by the chief of police, nothing unusual. Anyways, what’s up with you?” Barb sounded hurt, but she was grinning good-naturedly. “Cover for you for what?” 

Nancy’s eyes snapped to yours. “What?” 

“He,” you paused, taking a deep breath. He had some questions about Will. His mom couldn’t find him this morning.”

“Well, that’s going to throw a wrench in my plans.” 

“Nance!” You were shocked. Nancy did occasionally have a one track mind, but you had never seen her like this before. 

“Steve is going to help me study tonight,” you fought the urge to roll your eyes with all of your remaining strength.  “I need to tell my mom I am going over to Barb’s as a cover.” She explained “You know she isn’t going to let me go otherwise.” 

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? Kaminsky’s tests are so hard and I know you didn’t get much done yesterday.” Barb voiced your thoughts exactly, while kindly omitting the fact that Steve couldn’t study his way out of a paper bag. 

“That’s why we’re going to study.” She said, eyebrows raised in emphasis. 

You had a hard time believing that she would leave that encounter with any knowledge besides the feel of the fabric of Steve’s backseat, but you held your tongue. “Well, I wish the both of you the best of luck,” you glanced at your watch, doing your best to feign surprise. “But I promised my dad that I would help him grade science projects tonight.” You gave the two of them a broad smile, backing away. “Upwards of thirty baking soda volcanoes are calling my name!” 

______________________________________________________________

You’d given each and every lopsided volcano an A+, and your dad hadn’t objected once. You had a hunch he was letting it slide in the name of brightening your spirits, and frankly, it was working wonders. After you’d finished recounting your talk with Chief Hopper and his deputy, and your dad had ensured that you were feeling alright, he handed over the sticker sheet without question. His classroom was consumed by still crackling volcanoes covering every surface. It was one of your favorite times of year. You were always allowed to give an extra gold star sticker to any of the kids who included a miniature dinosaur or two, another Clarke family tradition. You could breathe easier for the first time all day, hunched over air dry clay volcanoes with your dad brought you enough normalcy to soothe the uneasy feeling you’d had all day. 

That is, until another teacher popped her head in the door. “Scott, did you hear?” 

Your dad gave you a look, before making his way over to the door of his classroom. They talked in hushed whispers, which only served to make your ears perk up even further. You did your best to busy yourself with the task at hand, and failed miserably when you saw your dad’s shoulders slump. 

“What do you think about ordering a pizza tonight?” You quirked your head to the side, you always had breakfast for dinner on Monday nights. “They, uh.” He took a deep breath to steady himself, and you followed his lead. You could feel the dread creeping in. “They’re organizing a search party for Will tonight. We’re putting together a group of teachers to go.” 

“I can-” you start, but your dad is already ahead of you. 

“You can stay home, where I know you won’t twist an ankle in the dark or wander off in the woods.” His hand found yours, and you did your best to remain calm. “We will find him, kiddo, but I’ve gotta know you’re safe in the meantime.” You lost the battle with the tears that you had been fighting for most of the day, and your dad was quick to give you a tight squeeze while you cried yourself out. He was never the first to pull away from a hug, always wanting to make sure that you got what you needed from him. 

You brushed away your final few tears, and straightened your shoulders. “I’m going to have to insist on a full report when you get back.” 

Your dad gave you his biggest smile, and you could tell he was doing his best to make sure it reached his eyes. “If that’s what it takes, Bumble Bea.”

A/N: Hi! I hope that you liked the new chapter! Thank you for all of the support so far, it means a lot. I am really looking forward to getting into the more plot heavy stuff in the next few chapters! The title is from the song This is the Day by The The (1983). And here is a link to the playlist that has all the songs used for chapter titles!

[cashmakozume]

— seeing double

ᯓ m.list

␥ 01 similar passions [𖦹]

⭑.ᐟ warnings: swearing, hinata posted an edit of himself on a leash, kys was said many times, hoping someone chokes

tobio stepped out on stage as the cheers seem to amplify as the light lands on him. he looked at the crowd, waving as he strapped his guitar around himself. looking to the cordoned off vip area, he smiled as he saw his friends there except for yn. sugawara noticed his eyes fluttering around and pointed to the back of the hall discreetly. tobio looked up and let out a sigh of relief as he saw you standing there with the annoyed look on your face.

the both of you hated to admit it, but you depended on each other the most for support. once after another typical tuesday fight between you and tobio, miwa made the both of you sit down for a lecture.

“you need to learn how to get along. i can’t be the middle-man all the time.” miwa firmly said as the both of you looked at your own respective laps. “look, typically everyone starts a stage of their life alone. i went through middle school and high school by myself. i had to make friends. but you’re twins. it’s like you were born with a built-in bestfriend. that’s something special, don’t you think?” miwa ruffled both of your hairs, making tobio grunt as you shuffle further from him. "be there for each other, okay?"

but, miwa was right. since then, the two of you look for each other everywhere you go.

you rolled your eyes as tobio did his move on stage, pointing to someone random in the audience and mouthing ‘this one’s for you’. he would then play a love song and you would see tweets saying “he sang it to me!” or “kageyama tobio is my soulmate”. you always called him pretentious for doing that, and he would retort by saying it was all fun and games.

“not a fan?” the guy next to you voiced out, making you look his way.

his brown hair was covered with a black cap, only having the ends of it sticking out. he removed his sunglasses and turned to you to smirk.

“i guess you could say that.” you shrugged. “he has annoyed me more times than i can count.”

you studied his face, trying to figure out where you know him from.

“oh! you’re kuroo’s roommate right? oikawa?” you finally connecting the dots.

oikawa chuckled and nodded, taking off his cap.

“you’re a friend of his?” he tilted his head while maintaining eye-contact with you.

“y-yeah, pretty much.” you stuttered, oikawa’s intense glare flustering you. you shook the thoughts out of your head and introduced yourself. “you can call me yn.”

“nice to meet you yn. i think we’ll be very good friends.”

彡 oikawa thought yn looked really familiar but can't put his finger on it

彡 sugawara sat on hinata so that he wouldn't eat all the snacks bc "i did not spend all that money just to feed one person" (sugawara had to pay for tobio first, the school only allows claims after the events)

彡 ushijima got smacked in the back during tobio's first song and he remained seated for the rest of the concert

彡 iwaizumi, daichi and kuroo sang the songs to one another and yachi side-eyed them the whole time bc they were being so loud

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ taglist [open]

— @staygoldsquatchling02 @garfieldissocool @krak-jj @yuminako @punkhazardlaw @lacunaanonymoused @bbybibi @spikeandset @theviperess @whosmarjj @froyaoya @wyrcan @walllflowerrrsss @bectoshi @lees-chaotic-brain @deluluforcarlos55 @staileykout @gsyche @localgaytrainwreck @soulfullystarry @cherrypieyourface @iluvmang @greninjafan5000 @southernfrogprincesd @wave2mia @dinosaurblitz @quikhs @sereniteav @yanisbob @soupofmushrooms @brithedemonspawn

[please check if your mention and visibility settings are set to 'everyone'! i will try to help you by messaging you about it!]

[codename-mom]

Paternity test

Summary: Aaron has doubt about Jack being his now he is nine and still doesn't look like him. Dave tries to find a solution to reassure him, but it can be a double-edged sword.

Characters: BAU team (Callahan era) + Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW mention of Haley's cheating, alcohol, anxiety and I think that's all.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

                Jack finished his exercise and looked up at his father. He hadn't moved an inch since he himself had sat down at the living room table to begin his homework. The giant was concentrating on his computer screen, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, his right hand regularly twitching, as it always did when he was deep in thought. The little boy got down from his chair and walked towards the sofa, his heart pounding. He wasn't afraid of his sire, but he still impressed him a little.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jack,” he answered without looking at him.

“Can you check if it's okay?” he asked, placing his notebook on the armrest.

“I'm listening,” affirmed Aaron, his attention still fixed on the monitor.

“It's not math, it's grammar.”

The titan immediately ceased his activity and turned his attention back to his pocket roommate. Jack smiled at him, sketching a discreet chuckle. Then he picked up his notebook and read his lines in silence under the toddler's worried gaze. His father spoke much better than most of his teachers and other parents, and he had told him many times that knowing how to write properly would be an asset for his future life. In fact, the boy could feel the pressure on his shoulders as the director's brown irises leapt from one word to the next. It was hard to tell from his unexpressive face whether he was satisfied with his work or not.

“Reread the third sentence,” he said, finally giving him back his possession.

“What did I miss?” he interrogated him, disappointed that he hadn't got it right the first time.

“I don’t know, think.”

His ascendancy rarely made it easy for him to understand his mistakes. For many things, he let him analyze, study and dig for himself, before providing the explanation he needed, when necessary. For others, he readily agreed to teach him what he knew, just as he also took the time to listen to the results of his own discoveries. Jack loved these moments of exchange between them, and cherished them all the more as his father wasn't often at home. And when he was, he sometimes carried on with his duties as branch manager, forgetting about his offspring. Which he appreciated less and less.

“What are you doing?” he questionned as the colossus fell back into his trance.

“Research.”

“For work?”

Aaron didn't react on the spot, squinting his eyelids, before suddenly flinching as he met his gaze.

“… What? No, I... he stammered, his pupils shifting from him to the screen. I’m actually looking for a new place to live.”

“Why?”

He hadn't expected this.

“Because this one isn't very practical for either of us. Especially now that you're older.”

“Why?”

“You need a bigger bedroom, and I need an office where I can work without blocking your access to the living room.”

Instinctively, he looked towards the corridor at the end of which was his den. When he'd had to move in for good, he'd had a hard time adjusting to the old-fashioned decor, the noisy surroundings and the smallness of the place. Now he knew all its nooks and crannies by heart and felt at home here.

“Where are we going?” he worried instantly.

“Not that far, don’t be afraid. I'll make sure you stay at the same school so you can keep your friends, Aaron declared with a smile. And, in any case, we can't go too far away. I have to stay close to Quantico and I can't make your aunt travel miles for you.”

His father's large hand passed through his hair and lingered on his cheek. The FBI agent was smiling in a very exceptional way, but the whole physiognomy of his face, usually hard and cold, changed all at once. All the sweetness in his heart seemed to emerge from its hiding place and envelop him tenderly, soothing him instantly.

“Did you find something?”

“Not yet. But maybe you could help me, he asserted, looking at him. After all, you have a say in it, since you'll be living in it.”

Forgetting his English exercises altogether, he climbed onto the sofa beside him and pressed himself against his arm.

“What should I do?” he inquired, delighted to be able to support him.

“Look at the photos with me and tell me what you think. Would you?”

“Yeah.”

“So correct your third sentence and we'll take care of this.”

“Okay,” he yielded, picking up his notebook again.

Later, on a Monday, Dave invited himself into Hotch's office to let him know it was time for lunch. But as soon as he saw his drawn features and low expression, he knew something was wrong. He approached and shouted: 

“What’s going on? And watch what you say.”

His superior had a nasty habit of insisting that everything was fine, when it absolutely was not. A protective reflex that had already played many tricks on him. But the manager didn't fight. He sighed and settled back in his seat, pushing back the folder in his hand.

“…This weekend, Jack and I visited several homes. The other one's getting too small for the two of us, and I need a more suitable workspace than the living room,” he explained as Rossi sat down opposite him.

“Sounds like a good idea. But I have the impression that the hunt wasn't a good one.”

“In fact, one of them might do the trick, but... - he hesitated – that's not really the point. I didn't really expect to find the gem right away.”

Given the high demand and indecent real estate prices in the capital, it would indeed have been naive to think you'd hit the jackpot on your first try.

“So why the long face?”

“Because of the reaction of the real estate agents when they saw me arrive with Jack. You… you should have seen their faces.”

Surprisingly, Aaron wasn't looking at him, his irises turned to an invisible spot on his desk. He looked defeated.

“Well, what?” his mentor said impatiently, perplexed.

“None of them thought for a moment that that kid with me was my son, he revealed, staring at him at last. And even when Jack called me “Dad”, they still had their doubts.”

“Aren't you being a little dramatic?”

With his former disciple's tendency to see the glass as half-empty, the former retired doubted the accuracy of his statement.

“No. Many asked to see Jack's identity papers, even though they were of no use in completing the application files.”

He had to admit that this supported his hypothesis and he understood better why he wasn't particularly happy.  He dared to put things in perspective:

“At least they check.”

“Dave, these people were convinced I was a pedophile looking for a new hideout!” snapped his wounded interlocutor.

“Aaron…”

“And, at the same time, they have good reason to think so,” he continued, looking downcast.

“Why?”

The novelist had no idea why he would say such a thing. He was used to hearing him self-inflict a multitude of imaginary defects, but this one was beyond comprehension. Especially as there was nothing innocuous about it.

“Look at him, Hotch resumed, flipping the frame on his desk. Look at him and tell me where I am.”

A frozen Jack on glossy paper gave him a radiant smile, his straight, light hair waving in a passing breeze.

“He’s still a child, Aaron.”

“He's nine! the ex-prosecutor reminded him. It's high time he showed some of his father's physical traits. Except he doesn’t. Jack, it’s clearly Haley and... someone else.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So, tell me! Tell me what he took from me.”

 Uneasy, Rossi lowered his eyes to the toddler's portrait and carefully observed his eyes, nose, ears, chin... Apart from the color of his irises – which could also be his mother's – it was difficult to identify his sire's features. However, the elder felt that the kid was still too young to express all his genetic characteristics. Besides, he didn’t like what it implied.

“See. Even you can't answer that.”

“You realize you're implying that Haley went elsewhere.”

“But she went somewhere else, Dave, he asserted without preamble. One… one day when I was unusually at home, someone called. I picked up the phone and nobody answered. There was a silence and then they hang up. Right after that, someone called on Haley’s cell phone. I didn't make the connection with Jack this day, but now it's so obvious that he's not mine.”

The BAU co-founder realized that it had been eight years since his opposite had kept his wife's betrayal to himself, and he was touched that he hadn't been in the loop at the time. Why hadn't he told him about it? He'd been living with this memory for almost a decade, and it must have crushed his self-esteem when he realized that Haley hadn't had the respect for him that he'd had for her in the twenty-five years they'd been together. A memory that continued to undermine even now.

“Aaron, maybe it was someone who had the wrong number.”

“When you get the wrong number, do you just hang up?”

“… No,” he conceded, honest.

“You apologize and explain that you made a mistake. Haley didn't ask for a divorce because I was never around, but because I was too much and had discovered the truth.”

Dave easily perceived the anger rolling through his veins. Even after so much time, even after everything that had happened, he was still furious. The question was, against whom? The most likely answer was: his partner at the time. But Hotch was a complex person who had very little regard for himself, and his eldest wouldn't have been surprised if he resented him too.

“Wait, that doesn't mean that Jack isn't yours. It's playing with fire to have a child with someone other than your husband.”

“Except when the husband doesn't want children.”

Taken aback by this outburst, he widened his eyelids, questioning the giant with his eyes.

“She wanted that kid so badly; she could have done just that. And, once pregnant, she did what it took to convince me to take the plunge.”

He glimpsed a side of Aaron's private life he'd never known about before. The couple he had formed with Haley at that moment had seemed so harmonious that he hadn't questioned further why they had remained childless for so long.

“For… for years, she had put her desire for motherhood on the back burner, but suddenly it became urgent. She put me on the spot for it, he added, his eyes shining. And, as luck would have it, it worked the first time. Normally, it takes several attempts to make it work, even for couples who have frequent relations. But not us. I'm sure of it now, she was already pregnant and I find myself raising someone else's kid.”

“Hold on, Aaron. Breathe. All this is just speculation.”

He ignored all the statistics that ran through his brain about the number of tries one had to go through to get it right – even more so when the mother-to-be was in her forties – just as he refrained from bouncing on the fact that Haley had obviously taken advantage of her husband's unconditional love for her to finally accede to her request. Even if the evidence seemed to be mounting, he couldn't overlook the fact that he didn't hold all the cards and that, even if she had gone elsewhere, there was no proof that she had played him to such an extent.

“What are you going to do anyway? Abandon Jack?”

“No, he retorted immediately. I… I can’t do that. He… he’s not to blame. And… if I couldn't be his biological father, I could always be his... his legal guardian.”

                Dave was struck by the sadness that emanated from these last words. Even if he hadn't actually experienced it, becoming a father was an incredible opportunity, a stage of life like no other. All of a sudden, you found yourself propelled into a completely different dimension, where care freeness disappeared, replaced by a constant attention to detail. One was brutally invested with a long-term mission, which consisted in bringing an innocent and pure being to become strong and skilful enough to survive the ferocity of life; all without turning them into a bloodthirsty and cruel monster. Becoming a father meant making millions of sacrifices and compromises every day for the sake of a single individual; it meant facing up to fears and repulsions, ignoring fatigue, silencing anxieties, mastering annoyance, monitoring one's own behavior, weighing one's words and being able to give it all up when necessary. All this without even knowing if the child will return the favor one day.

                Being a legal guardian was a soulless legal term for the fact that you were just a name on an administrative document.

“But, you know there's a way to check if there's a genetic link between the two of you.”

“I won't do a test,” rebelled Aaron, adamant.

“Why not?”

“No. Imagine that... that he really wasn't mine. What should I do? Tell him nothing, at the risk that he might discover the truth later? Telling him the truth and destroying his mother's image and the pretend balance we've both managed to achieve? I… - he sighed. At least, at the moment, I'm still left with the doubt that he's mine.”

                Rossi left the office and joined the team gathered in the corridor, ready to go down for lunch. Their brows furrowed as soon as they noticed their superior's absence.

“Isn't he coming with us?” worried Penelope.

“No. He’s… he’s cogitating.”

“What? What's that supposed to mean?” grumbled Derek, unsettled.

“Cogitate comes from the Latin cogitare, which means... began Spencer, before all eyes turned to him. That wasn't what you meant, was it?”

Morgan shook his head jaded, but said nothing.

“Aaron thinks Jack isn't his.”

“Again?” exclaimed JJ.

Everyone stared at her, surprised.

“I'm sorry, but this idea has been on his mind for some time now, she justified herself, a little embarrassed. Everyone tells him that Jack looks like his mother and never like him. After a while, I can see why the idea would catch on.”

“When they're born, babies resemble their sire so that the latter can attach more easily to the newborn and thus provide it with all the protection it needs,” declared Reid, perhaps a little too cheerfully.

“Who did Jack look like when he was born?” bounced Kate, who didn't even know what the child looked like now.

The two blondes glanced at each other awkwardly and replied in unison:

“… Haley.”

“Wait, interjected Derek, suddenly enthusiastic, Jack has brown eyes and so does Hotch.”

“Around eighty percent of the world's population has brown eyes.”

“Reid, I'm trying to make a case for Hotch, he growled, letting his shoulders fall back. Don’t help me there.”

Dave refrained from hammering the point home by reminding the ex-policeman that the boy's mother also had brown eyes. 

“Sorry, but the only way to be sure Hotch and Jack are related is to have them take a DNA test,” the multi-graduate defended himself.

“He doesn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because without it, he still has the illusion of being his father.”

His reply cast a chill over the assembly. The few snatches of a smile that remained disappeared in a flash, and discomfort seized everyone.

“It's so sad,” commented Garcia, tears welling up in her eyes.

“At the same time, I've always thought Jack had a false air of Sean about him,” said the ex-officer liaison, in a very small voice.

“Seriously?” choked Rossi, blown away by this thought.

“It's true that it could explain the hair color,” supported the technician, who didn't dare meet his gaze.

“Who’s Sean?”

Attention turned to the newcomer to the team, whose embarrassment had given way to confusion.

“He's Hotch's younger brother, Spencer explained. They don’t look alike at all.”

Which was saying a lot. As tall as each other, the resemblance ended there. Aaron was as dark-haired as Sean was blond, and his dark irises were set against a much more attractive blue-gray. And then there were their differences in character: the former's straightforwardness didn't go at all well with the latter's carefree attitude. While both had criminal records, the elder had settled down before he came of age, while the younger was multiplying offences now that he was an adult.

“Hotch took from his mother and Sean from his father,” continued JJ, helping her colleague understand the situation.

“How likely is it that Hotch passed on his own father's physical characteristics to Jack?” suggested Kate, very seriously.

“That’s a good question. If we assume that his mother's alleles are all dominant...”

“We're going to do a DNA test,” proclaimed Rossi, cutting Reid off who was, in his opinion, putting a little too much effort into this sordid calculation given the context.

“What?” croaked the group, bewildered.

He'd expected this reaction, but the Las Vegas native was right: it was the only way to get to the bottom of the story.

“At least we'll know for sure.”

“How do you plan to do it? Derek questioned, eyebrows furrowed. Recovering Hotch's DNA shouldn't be a problem; all you have to do is steal his mug...”

“The DNA of all FBI agents is recorded in the national database so that it can be discarded when analyzing crime scenes.”

“Thank you, Reid.”

“You're welcome,” replied the latter, as cheerful as his colleague was weary.

Morgan sighed and resumed:

“How do you plan to get Jack's DNA?”

“JJ, I thought I'd put you to work.”

“Me? Gasped the interested party, unsettled. But… how?”

“You could organize a brunch with Will where you invite them both. Henry and Jack will be happy to play together, and Aaron won't suspect a thing.”

He'd come up with this plan in the very short time between their conversations, but it seemed feasible. And, by leaning on the young woman, he thought he wouldn't arouse the giant's natural distrust, which, after their conversation, might put distance between the two of them. If only to avoid being told to do the test over and over again.

“Are we talking about the results? Intervened Penelope. What are we going to do once we get them? We're not going to tell him that Jack isn't his, even if it were true.”

“Of course not. The whole plan relies on him not knowing about the test. In fact, if it's not in his favor, we won't tell him anything – and he'll keep hoping he's his real father – and if it is in his favor, we'll be able to prove to him that Jack is really his, he unrolled before adding. And he'll be too relieved to give us the hell for doing the test behind his back.”

The profilers and the analyst watched him as if they'd just suggested bungee jumping off the Empire State Building on a windy day. They, who were so quick to pounce on the slightest crumb concerning their superior's intimate life, retreated with great strides when he offered them a scoop on a silver platter.

“Not all at once.”

They exchanged questioning glances, then JJ spoke again:

“Okay. I’m in.”

“Thanks for your support.”

As agreed, JJ invited the Hotchners, father and son, to lunch at her home one weekend, and she met Dave in his office to entrust him with the few hairs she'd been able to remove from Jack's jacket. That same evening, the agency's eldest went to the analysis laboratory, where he knew one of the employees. The woman in question was a little younger than he, and they had seen each other on occasion outside of the professional context. Intelligent and endowed with a certain charm, she didn't shy away from propriety. In private, at least; at work, it was a different story, and he was going to have to convince her to help him despite the unofficial nature of his request.

“Hi, Dave, she said with a smile as she saw him enter her den. What brings you to this part of the world?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“I thought so too,” she ironized, resting the notepad in her hand on the bench behind her.

“I'll need to look for a DNA match.”

“Which file is it for?” she inquired, activating the nearby monitor.

She settled down on the stool, ready to launch a computer search so that she could attach the results to the ongoing investigation. Rossi couldn't lie on this point, but he was equally put off by the idea of unpacking Aaron's intimate life to this scientist who was a stranger to the titan.

“It’s… confidential.”

“Are you serious right now?” she retorted immediately, swiveling her seat in his direction. 

She knew perfectly well what this formulation meant. 

“I can’t tell you more.”

“Then, I won’t do anything. These machines are worth a fortune, and we don't run them for nothing.”

He then realized that there must have been some abuse lately, and that the laboratory workers were being watched. He didn't know how it all worked in practice but wasn't surprised to hear her put the financial argument of the procedure on the table. However, he didn't trust those online sites that offered DNA tests for a fee; just as he couldn't see himself contacting an analyst in whom he didn't have absolute confidence. The hostess stared at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Okay, okay, he yielded, raising his hands in front of him. I have a friend who's convinced his kid isn't his. I'd like to prove him wrong for once.”

She frowned.

“You know this kind of bet is a double-edged sword?”

“If he's right, he won't know.”

“But you’ll know.”

“I'll deal with it, he swept with his most casual air. How soon can you get me the results?”

He handed her the sample taken by the former liaison officer. She took it and sighed, before giving him a discreet smile.

“I’ll give you a call when it’s done.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait until you get the results before thanking me.”

A week passed, during which a certain tension gripped him from morning to night, and he was relieved to see a message from the coroner appear on his phone screen. He didn't yet know what she had to tell him, but the simple fact that his mission was progressing soothed him. He left Quantico earlier that day to see her. She was in the same place as last time and handed him an unmarked envelope.

“So?” he inquired, curious all the same.

“I'll let you find out. All I can tell you is that the father has a record.”

Which, in itself, did not exclude Aaron. Indeed, shortly after he and Gideon had decided to give the young prosecutor a chance to join the fledgling BAU, the HRD's vetting department had alerted them to the fact that he had a juvenile criminal record. He and his then accomplice had asked to take a look at it, only to discover that the obviously angry pre-adolescent had abruptly mellowed out three years before coming of age, never to leave the beaten track again. And apart from a few outrages against law enforcement officers, he had committed no crime that would prevent them from hiring him. But that didn't mean he was Jack's father, either; only that Haley had messed around with someone who hadn't been above the law at some point in her life.

“… Okay. Thanks.”

He started to walk away when the scientist called out to him:

“Hey, Dave! It’s not for free.”

“What do you want?” he replied, unsurprised by her remark.

“Look at the results first, then we'll discuss about it.”

Rossi's usual plan was to go home, open the envelope and pour himself a glass of twelve-year-old whisky to celebrate the fact that he'd been right, and could therefore reassure his superior and friend. But when he found himself sitting on his sofa, with that white rectangle in his hands, he couldn't go any further. What if it wasn't him? And what if Aaron's ex-wife really had slept with someone else to have the child she so dreamed of before she played her then-husband? Or, to put it more simply – and more commonly – had she had an ongoing extramarital relationship, forgotten to take her pill, or had unprotected sex and got pregnant afterwards? She would have backed her husband into a corner to cover her tracks. Unless she slept with both of them on the same day or within a very short period of time and didn't know which one was the father. There were so many plausible hypotheses that he didn't know which to believe.

He thought he could handle knowing the truth without blinking. But now that he was within a hair's breadth of knowing it all, he realized the implications and no longer felt as serene as he had at the start of his quest. Could he still look Hotch in the eye, smile at him, and joke with him and, above all, watch him interact with Jack knowing, in fact, that they were not related at all? How long could he keep this information secret? What would the agency director's reaction be when he heard that he was right and, what's more, that his mentor had hatched a whole plan behind his back and then kept quiet about it?

The next morning, he returned to the FBI training center with the envelope still sealed in his hands. The whole team was eagerly awaiting him, huddled together in the bullpen area while their boss held yet another management meeting.

“You've got them, haven't you?” Spencer hooked him up, impatient.

“It seems so.”

“So?” bounced JJ.

He didn't answer, staring at the mail as if it were about to start talking.

“You didn't dare open the envelope, did you?” teased Derek, with a smirk.

“I'd like to see you in my shoes, kid.”

“If that’s all it takes.”

Morgan took the document from his hands, gestured to open it, and then froze. Dave took the opportunity to say:

“Think about the fact that you'll have to work alongside him knowing the truth. And perhaps this truth will have the power to destroy what little self-esteem and self-confidence he still has.”

The ex-policeman rolled his eyes and sighed before handing over his property. The novelist could have savored this victory if it hadn't brought them back to square one.

“What do we do? Should we abandon the project?” suggested the Chicago native.

“I'd love to know the results, honestly, Reid admitted, but I don't want to hurt Hotch.”

“And, at the same time, continued JJ, if this test proves that he's Jack's father, it'll take a burden off his mind.”

“So, we come back to my question: what do we do?”

Everyone casted questioning glances at each other. They wanted to help their colleague feel better, but none of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news, let alone spend the rest of their lives with the weight of the truth on their shoulders.

“In any case, there's no way I'm opening this envelope,” said Penelope, moving away from the group.

“I'll do it, decreed Dave, cheerlessly. It's my idea, and it's up to me to accept the consequences to the end.”

“But if the results are negative, does that mean you'll be willing to take on the job of reassuring him again on the matter, when you'll actually know it's wrong?” pointed out Kate, dubiously. 

“Ouch!” commented Spencer, his irises leaping from his female coworker to his elder.

He hadn't thought of that possibility either, but threw out: 

“Somebody's got to open the damn envelope.”

“Is there a problem?”

The team gasped as they heard the cavernous voice behind them. They turned as one to see their leader standing beside them. They'd been so absorbed in their discussion that they'd stopped paying attention to their surroundings. Hotch looked at them blankly for a moment, then looked at the envelope in turn.

“What is it?”

“What? Ah! Stammered Rossi, unease. Uh… these are the results of a medical test I took.”

“A test? For what?” worried the giant, his eyebrows more furrowed than usual.

“No big deal. It's more of a routine check-up.”

He had tried to adopt his most detached attitude, but the expression on his interlocutor's face proved that he had not achieved his objective.

“Dave, would you tell me if something serious was happening to you?”

“Of course, Aaron. You’d be the first to know.”

The interested party seemed even more concerned, but the ringing of a distant telephone made him look up at his desk.

“I have to go. Don’t forget to keep me in touch.”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry.”

The BAU co-founder patted Hotch on the shoulder as he walked away from them, and they watched him climb the ramp to the walkway and disappear into his office. A general sigh passed through the federal agents' rib cages.

“Are your legs shaking too?” Garcia asked, leaning on the nearest piece of furniture. 

“If it was just the legs...” confirmed the other blonde on the team.

“Well done, Rossi,” congratulates sincerely Derek, who didn't seem to mind any more than his comrades.

“Fortunately, he always worries more about others than himself.”

It would have been a lie to say that he'd thought about it when he came up with this justification, but fact was that the giant's altruism and empathy had made things much easier for him.

“We might have to open that envelope now,” Callahan snapped, curious in spite of everything.

“Wish me good luck.”

Dave followed in Hotch's footsteps, but continued on his way to his own workspace, next to that of the colossus in the suit. He sat back in his chair and placed the envelope on his desk pad. He was afraid. Afraid to open the envelope and learn the truth. Afraid of condemning himself to silence for an indeterminate time. Afraid of having to lie for the rest of his life about the true nature of the bond between his friend and the boy he hoped would be his son. Afraid to face Aaron's scrutinizing gaze every time his insecurities resurfaced.

                He knew that the man behind the wall behind his back hadn't chased fatherhood – his difficult childhood hadn't encouraged him to extend the lineage – but that he adored Jack, nonetheless. More than that, the former pensioner was convinced that if the little boy hadn't existed, Aaron probably wouldn't have found the strength to overcome all the hardships he'd been forced to endure. Without the toddler, he'd never have recovered from the death of the only woman he'd ever loved. He hung in there because there was a four-year-old who needed him. Then, little by little, he had gained confidence in his new role as a single father and, year after year, he had even managed to overcome his grief to the point of getting back together as a couple.

                To reveal to him that Jack was not of his blood was to set him back almost a decade and annihilate all the efforts he'd made up to that point. It was tarnishing – ruining – the last nine years of his life, just as Haley had soiled their twenty-five years together by cheating on him and then filing for divorce. Dave hadn't been there for the birth of their child, but he'd been there for everything else, and he wasn't at all happy to destroy it. On the contrary, he really wanted to help his neighbor relieve his conscience of at least one of his anxieties. And for that, he had no choice but to throw himself into the lion's den.

He took a deep breath and picked up the envelope. So as not to back down again, he didn't wait to open it and extract the tri-fold sheet it contained. The paper was thick enough that nothing could be read from the outside. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he slowly unfolded the letter: first flap first, with the date, title, and laboratory logo; then the next two, clearly displaying the results. A long exhale escaped his lips.  

A few moments later, the profilers saw their colleague cross the few meters separating his door from that of the manager. He had a serious look on his face. He knocked to signal his presence to Hotch, still on the line, who beckoned him in anyway.

“Listen, I understand your concerns, but my team is used to this kind of situation and... Yes, even agent Callahan… he affirmed, rolling his eyes. I don't think this information will be of any use to you... Very well, we'll discuss it in person... Of course… And I'll get back to you as soon as possible... Have a good day too.”

He hung up immediately afterwards and turned his gaze on Rossi, who was standing in front of him.

“Something tells me you're not going to answer them right away,” Dave said with a smirk.

“I have no idea why you would think that.”

“Intuition.”

They smiled in unison, then his superior became serious again.

“What can I do for you?”

“Read this.”

He placed the envelope on his desk.

“These are your medical results, he remarked, confused. It’s private.”

“You wanted to know if I was okay. You'll find the answer in here.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Aaron, open this letter, please.”

Disconcerted by his insistence, the giant obeyed, not without some hesitation. His perplexity gave way to annoyance, however, when he read the document's subject.

“You did a DNA test?” he scolded, glaring at him.

“Keep reading.”

Hotch gulped. He was hesitating, logically. He hadn't asked to know because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to lose the person he loved most in the world. He didn't want to be reduced to a wallet on legs for Jack. Dave understood his reluctance, so he made sure to appear as relaxed as possible. Finally, the branch manager applied himself and unfolded the entire sheet. The features of his face suddenly distorted. Anger vanished and a daze overtook him. Then tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll leave you to it. You know where to find me.”

Rossi left the office, leaving his tenant in shock, and rejoined the group that had gathered at the bottom of the ramp. Penelope had emerged from her lair and was watching him walk towards them, her eyes shining.

“So?” she asked, in chorus with JJ.

“It’s a boy.”

Relief and joy took hold of the whole assembly, which found itself smiling and colorful once again.

“Are we sure?” wished to clarify Derek.

“Yes, the match is there.”

“I've got to go and give him a hug!” stomped Garcia, tears of happiness escaping from behind her glasses.

“Penelope, give him time. He's got a few years' worth of doubts to sweep under the rug right now.”

“I'm so happy for him,” declared JJ, moved.

“Me too,” toped up Spencer, grinning from ear to ear.

“I don't know him as well as you do, but I must admit I'm relieved,” revealed Kate, who shared her peers' elation.

“Here he is!”

At the analyst's exclamation, all eyes turned to the manager's office from which Hotch had actually emerged. Letter in hand, he walked slowly towards them, a neutral expression on his face. The general jubilation subsided into discreet smiles. Their superior froze in front of them, and the tension spread to Dave and his neighbors. By having this test done without his knowledge, he had trampled on his privacy, something the giant abhorred. Whenever his men had started poking around in this area, he had always reacted very badly. It was probably the only thing that made him bang his fist on the table about them. Except that this time was different from all the others. He spread his arms and embraced his mentor, saying:

“Thank you.”

“Mazel tov,” exclamed the latter, responding to his embrace with a few friendly pats on the back.

“I'll never know how to thank you.”

“Stop doubting yourself.”

The titan smiled and detached himself from him, but not without keeping a hand on his shoulder. Rossi was delighted to see him so happy. He had succeeded in his gamble. His colleagues approached in turn, and Morgan extended his hand in the direction of the man he'd had to replace at short notice years earlier.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” answered Aaron, squeezing his palm.

JJ was the next to congratulate him, but she allowed herself to give him a hug. Garcia then threw herself at him, her red cheeks bathed in tears. 

“I am so, so, so happy for you! You have no idea.”

“Thank you, Penelope.”

Spencer dared an awkward embrace, offset by the radiant, confident smile that lit up his youthful features. Callahan waited for Hotch to face her before speaking:

“If all your affairs are resolved like this, I'll sign on for the next ten years.”

“I'll make a note of it, replied the ex-prosecutor, amused, before he regained his seriousness by enveloping them with his gaze. I… I should be mad at you for going behind my back, but...”

The end of his sentence disappeared into limbo, his smile revealing the depth of his thought. Dave guessed that he was a little embarrassed to be the center of attention, but that he wanted to share this moment of joy with them.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” said Reid, proudly.  

They all burst out laughing, dispelling the pressure that had been building up.

“How did you get Jack’s DNA, by the way?... Oh, the brunch,” he realized all by himself.

“Sorry,” apologized the culprit.

“Well done.”

JJ immediately blushed, touched by the compliment.

“Well. Clearly, I owe someone a meal now,” he stated as the team filed out of the open plan to retrieve their respective places, and he and Aaron returned to their desks.

“To who?”

“To the coroner who performed the test.”

“If that's all there is to it, just make an expense claim. I'll validate it with my eyes closed,” assured the colossus, ecstatic.

“It’ll be fine, he answered, laughing. Thanks.”

He squeezed the shoulder of his friend and, by now, official family man, before resuming his day's work. Curiously, despite the harsh news they received by email that day, the same calm smile remained on the lips of the BAU agents.

___

I'm still alive! Actually, I put my other works on hiatus just to write this for Father's day (which was last sunday in France), and I'm now back working on three CM AU at the same time. Yes, three. I'm crazy. XD

Well, I hope you've enjoyed your journey. ^^

PS: Yes, I know "Mazel tov" doesn't mean "congratulations" and Aaron knows it too, but Dave is always so cheerful when he's using it that he never told him that he's wrong. ^^;