#I mean it was a class 98 but that doesn’t help much

[network-rail]

I was heading into Euston (on a train) and I saw a heritage train pulling in at the same time. Inside there were a bunch of colored lights along with some children celebrating, which was quite mysterious until I saw the locomotive had a “Polar Express” plate on the front (and British Railways logo on the tender).

I also discovered that the ticket machines at Euston do not offer platform tickets, so I was only able to get a photo from the adjacent platform entrance (and a kind of blurry one from onboard my train).

[drabblesandimagines]

Swipe Right

Leon Kennedy x female reader, commissioned piece Lots of dumb fluff ahead! Thanks so much to the lovely @porcelainseashore for commissioning me with the brief of Leon using a dating app! I've said it before and I'll say it again - please do go check out Porcelain's fics! x

“So,” Leon places his elbows on the counter behind, leans back and flashes a winning smile, “how about dinner later?”

The auburn-haired woman waits for her coffee to finish dispensing before she shakes her head, lips pursed. “No, thank you, Agent Kennedy.”

“Oh.” He was sure they’d had some sort of connection. Their eyes had met across the office on more than one occasion, flirtatiously so – had he read it wrong? “You have plans already tonight?”

“Mm, something like that.” She smiles, politely, picking up her DSO-branded mug and heading out of the break room without so much as a glance back.

Leon shrugs it off – he’s good at that – and places his own mug under the spout, about to make his coffee selection when a familiar voice chirps over his shoulder.

“Have you ever thought of internet dating?”

He spins round, surprised. “Claire?”

“Hi.” She waves with a smile. “So, internet dating?”

Leon’s brow furrowed, about to ask why she was here, but from the visitor lanyard around her neck it was clear it was down to some sort of TerraSafe business, but why is she going on about internet dating?

Oh.

“Wait, did you hear…?”

“The dinner invite? Oh, yes.” She nods, crossing her arms. “Does that ever work?”

“Yes.”

Claire quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, not recently.” He retorts, turning back around and pressing the button for his black coffee to start dispensing.

“Uh-huh…” She steps forward, turns to lean against the counter to look at him. “I’m telling you, Leon - internet dating. I finally convinced Chris to give it a go about six months back, and he seems pretty happy. Been seeing a nice girl for three months now – a florist.”

Leon shakes his head, watching the coffee dispense with feigned interest. “Surprised Redfield went for it. How the hell do you introduce anyone to what we’ve seen?” At least with women from work, he didn’t have to skirt around what the hell he does all day.

“Heard of keeping work and homelife separate?”

“And Chris manages that?”

“I mean, she knows what he’s shared with her, but he took it slow. It’s not like the government can keep everything secret these days – not with everyone having a smart phone.” Claire grimaces, remembering the videos of the Alcatraz attack popping up on social media on a live stream. It was taken down pretty quick, but still popped up occasionally. They can’t hide it forever.

“Anyway, enough about Chris’ love life, I’m trying to help yours. Have you tried it? There’s websites and apps…”

Leon recalls a week of medical leave – battered, bruised and laid out on the couch on high doses of meds, flipping through the cable channels and losing hours to a show about people falling in love over the internet, only for the person to be using a fake photo of an entirely different identity and being crushed when they met in person.

“Isn’t that where the catfish are?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “We won’t set your radius that large.”

He looks down, a little confused. “My… radius?”

Leon’s not present on social media, but that’s hardly a surprise with his work. Maybe, if things had been different, he would’ve trawled through it at some point – joined a group for graduates from the Police Academy of ’98, checked in, gone to some sort of graduating class reunion where they would’ve swapped stories from precincts over a lukewarm beer or two in a hall dressed up with balloons and streamers.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t really remember the names of anyone in his graduating class, though he’s not sure if that’s down to a certain amount of knocks to the head throughout his career getting to him. He could look them up – they’ll be in some sort of database somewhere that Hunnigan could help him locate, but what would he say?

“Me? Well, I had one day on the job – hell of a first day, actually – and then I was ‘recruited’ into military training, so technically not a cop anymore either.”

“Phone, please.” Claire has moved to sit down at one of the small tables in the kitchen, now holding out her hand expectantly. He finds himself joining her, mug of coffee in one hand and the other pulling out his cell from his suit jacket pocket. He hands it over because it’s Claire and he’s known her long enough now to know she’s not going to drop the subject so easily.

“Have you got any selfies on here?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“To put on your profile. Anything I shouldn’t see in your gallery?”

He shakes his head.

“Seriously, Leon?” She must’ve opened the app by the way she’s scrolling down on the screen. “These are all sunsets and photos of your motorcycle.”

“What should I be picking pictures of?”

“Oh, wait… Here’s one.” She turns the phone around. It’s him, grinning, next to a corpse of a zombiefied lion. “I repeat – seriously, Leon?”

“Ha, yeah.” He smiles in acknowledgement. “I was trying to get Hunnigan interested in fieldwork with the spectacular sights.” Claire turns the phone back around and the sound of a camera shutter clicks out of the speaker.

“Ooh, that’s a good candid – and no-one needs to know what you were looking at.”

“Look, it’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t know about all this…” He rubs the back of his head.

“It’s 30 days free. Just try it and if you still don’t like it by the end of the trial, you can delete it off your phone and I won’t bring it up again.”

He stalls, taking a long sip of his coffee as he thinks. Claire means well, after all and if Chris has had luck with it, considering what Leon knows he’s seen and lived through, what does he have to lose, really?

“Fine. 30 days.”

“Great! Now, let’s set up your profile…”

--

Claire had given him a tutorial – swipe left if you’re not interested on a profile, right if you are. If the person swipes right in return, it’ll set you up as a match and you can start a conversation – signaled by a small speech bubble icon appearing on the bottom right.

It wasn’t until that evening that Leon tried it out properly, sat on his couch, killing time before bed and begins to swipe through. It feels a little odd – he usually likes to get to know a person somewhat before offering out his dinner invite, but this is mostly on looks alone, with a tiny snippet of profile information – age, location, what they’re looking for.

He swipes right on a blonde, her profile full of photos from beach vacations or something, says she’s not too far away from him and is ‘looking to connect with someone deeply.’ A chat box pops up immediately and after a moment or two, three dots show Beauty – he’s not sure that’s her real name - is typing.

Hey, big boy. What’s bigger – your forearms or… An eggplant emoji?

Oh.

He hesitates over writing back a response. He can flirt with the best of them, but how is anyone meant to make a genuine connection over this app? Maybe he’s too old for this shit.

He puts his cell down by his side and switches on the television instead.

--

“So…” Claire drawls over his shoulder over three weeks later, tracked him down to his desk.

“So…” He mocks back with a tease, swinging around in his office chair.

“Any good dates recently?”

He laughs. “How do you even get that far?”

“You’ve not gone on one?”

“Not for lack of trying.” It’s true. After Beauty, he had struck up conversation with a few more genuine girls that seemed to be going well until he’d broached the idea of a date and they’d drop off the radar. “A couple seemed interested but then stopped replying. I got one date – she didn’t show up.”

“Oh, come on.” Claire leans against his desk. “That can’t be everyone. Let me see.” There’s the expectant hand again. He sighs, picks up his phone and opens the app before handing it over to her.

She sets to scrolling through new arrivals for him, before she pauses. “Well, this one looks sweet.”

“Claire, I appreciate your concern but I just don’t think this app is for me. I gave it a go, I swear.”

“I know, but you’ve got a few days left on the free trial at least - you won’t lose anything. Just take a look?”

He takes the phone back and looks at the screen – a cropped picture of you, it looks like, your friends’ arms around your shoulders, a big, genuine smile on your face. Not a pout or a smolder in a night club mirror.

“Aw, you’re smiling.”

“Fine.” He swipes, but the message bubble doesn’t pop up. That’s the one thing he doesn’t like about this app – you never know if the other one will swipe back.

“No match.”

“Give her a moment,” Claire elbows him, playfully. “Not everyone is scrolling for dates at work.”

“Hey-”

“Speaking of, I’ve got a meeting. See you!”

--

You throw yourself down on the bed, a little bit tipsy after an evening of drinking with your friends, and hold your phone dangerously above your face – you’ve been so close to giving yourself a black eye from the drop so many times but never learn – and open up that stupid app. Your friend had encouraged you to sign up to it after declaring you’d been in a pity party for long enough now after your last break-up and it was time to get back out there.

You scroll through the latest arrivals, swiping left as you go. Everyone internet dates now, you don’t know why you only seem to attract utter creeps on it. You’d been on a few dates, but they’d all been entirely awkward outside the safety of the chat box.

You pause on one new arrival, Leon, 41, the first photo in the set clearly a candid. He’s dressed in a suit – no tie. Businessman, you wonder? Amazingly hot and maybe the most shiniest hair you’ve ever seen.

You roll over onto your stomach and swipe right, smiling when a chat bubble appears.

--

Leon had just settled into bed for the night when his phone vibrated angrily on the bedside table. He threw a hand out, blindly, and looked at the screen, half expecting it to be an email from work or a message from Hunnigan.

It’s neither – a notification from the app.

Hi, Leon. Thanks for swiping. Can I ask something?

He frowns – a unique opener, but it could still go the way of the others, he reckons. He’s not a prude, per say, but he’s seen a lot more than he was intending to these past few weeks. He backs up and has a quick scroll through your profile, vaguely recognizing your face from when he’d swiped right earlier that day – the girl Claire had deemed sweet.

Hi – ask away.

A bubble appears with three dots within.

How do you get your hair that shiny?

Leon barks out a laugh - definitely refreshing.

I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re at that stage of our relationship yet where I’m comfortable sharing my beauty secrets.

Please? Mine is so dull.

He clicks on your profile again and onto the photos but can’t see why you’re worried about your hair. Truthfully, all he registers when he looks at the picture is that sweet, genuine smile.

Looks pretty good from what I can see.

The camera adds all the shine. Are you using a filter?

Trust me when I say I wouldn’t know how.

Don’t know about filters but using a dating app? That doesn’t gel.

My friend suggested I give this online dating thing a go, so here I am.

Well, you’ll have to thank your friend for me.

Leon hesitates a moment, before shrugging it off.

I’ll be sure to, especially as it’s got me talking to you.

Your scalp tingles, but it seems nothing to do with the alcohol consumed earlier.

Too cheesy? I told you I’m new to this, right?

Nah, you’re gouda.

Leon grins.

--

The conversation continues to flow over the next few days. You talk about work – he keeps it vague, works in the government, can be called away on business trips last minute – and you are equally elusive in your response of office work. Internet safety, he reckons, smart girl that you are. Hearing his phone ping with a notification has quickly become his favourite sound.

Nice day? Definitely. Picked up my motorcycle – it’s been in the shop a while. Dare I ask what happened? He hesitates. Chasing a bioterrorist down a highway is perhaps a little too much…

Hit by a truck. I wasn’t on it - obviously.

Jeez. Insurance not just buy you a new one? I can’t think how that’s salvageable.

It’s my favourite, I couldn’t give up on her. You ever been on a motorcycle?

Uh-uh. Too scared.

What of?

Falling off, mainly.

No danger of that if you ride tandem - just need to be sure to hold on real tight.

You bite your lip, mulling over a response, but Leon fills the gap.

And I’d look after you, of course. Make a nice first date, don’t you think?

First date? That’s more, like, third or even fourth date material.

There’s your chance, Kennedy – don’t mess it up.

Well, then we better get the first date out of the way.

You bite your lip as you type back a response. Is that your way of asking?

If it is?

If it is, then I’m free Friday...

Perfect.

--

Friday morning arrives and Leon’s at his desk, typing up a report when his phone chimes. Checking over his shoulder, he pulls it out of his pocket and smiles when he sees it’s a text from you. You’d exchanged numbers the other night, deciding it time to take communication off app ahead of meeting up.

Morning. Question?

Morning. Still after my shampoo secrets?

Yes… But not that. How am I meant to recognize you?

I thought that’d be easy – by how shiny my hair is, apparently.

It’ll be dark out, though.

Is this you trying to be subtle about asking for another photo?

No comment.

Leon locks his computer, the screensaver switching to today’s date and time on a black background. He swings his desk chair around, looks around again to make sure no-one’s on their way past, and opens the camera app. He flips the viewfinder around and tries out a couple of smiles before snapping a selfie – if Claire could see him now…

He sends it through.

Included the time and date and all. Happy?

No comment.

Well, how will I recognize you?

Easy. I’ll be the one coming up to you and saying, “Hi, Leon.” See you tonight x

Until then x

--

The two of you had decided to meet at a bistro – varied menu for all tastes, not too intimate, excellent wine, spirits and craft beer menu.

Leon is nervous as he stands to the side of the entrance – an emotion he hasn’t truly entertained since 1998. There had been no time for it when bioweapons and death were staring him down the face. But, tonight… Well, he’s out of his element on this one. Leon had only ever approached women through work and, yes, it was to varying degrees of success but they’d already seen him properly in person, heard his voice, aware of what he does. There was a horrible niggle at the back of his mind that the date who had stood him up a few weeks ago had caught sight of him and turned heel on the spot.

He looks down at this watch to see it’s bang on 7.30. He’d arrived ten minutes too early, but didn’t want to chance being late and showing up in a fluster. When he looks up, slipping a hand back into his pocket, a figure with a familiar face is walking towards him, greets him with an anxious smile and an awkward half-wave.

God, you’re adorable.

“Hi, Leon.” 

“Hi,” He smiles, one hand still in his pocket, the other hanging down by his side. He wonders if he should’ve gone in for the kiss on the cheek, but he’s missed his chance.

“Erm…” You wring your hands together. “You okay?”

“Great. You?”

Why does he feel as giddy as he did when he picked up his girlfriend for prom back at high school?

“I’m good. It’s nice to put a… voice to a face?” You laugh – light and airy - and Leon’s already desperate to hear it again.

“It really is. Er, shall we?” He gestures forward with his arm.

You nod. “Let’s.”

The conversation is stagnant at first, a sentence here or there as you peruse the drinks menu and move on to ordering starters and entrees. With a little liquid courage, though, the two of you soon slip into easy conversation.

It’s just after the appetizers are cleared when Leon realizes he’s completely and utterly smitten.

You don’t even know where the time has gone, but all of the sudden the two of you are the only diners left and it’s clear the wait staff are looking for you to leave so they can begin their nightly clean down.

He follows you out and onto the sidewalk, a few metres away from the bistro entrance, standing awkwardly opposite each other – mirroring the beginning of the evening.

“So, fancy a ride?”

You tilt your head at him curiously before you burst out into laughter and he grins, rubbing the back of his head, awkwardly, as he realizes the context.

“I mean, I brought my bike here. I can give you a ride home - on my bike.”

You smile. “Not on the first date, remember?”

“Of course.” He nods. “Sticking to your principles – I respect that. Well, can I call you a cab?”

“Oh, actually, I’m gonna walk. I live just in that building over there…” You point up to an apartment building about halfway up the next block.

“I could walk you across the street?” He cringes as he realizes maybe he’s coming on too heavy-handed. “I’m sorry, I promise I can take a hint-”

“No.” You cut across abruptly. “I mean, walking me home would be nice.”

You cross the road in silence, both wrapped up in your own thoughts. You wish you lived slightly further away so you’d have longer to work out what to say, how to end the night.

“So…” Leon begins the other side of the road, the entrance to your apartment block just ahead. He’s trying to keep calm and collected, but there’s just something about you that has made his heart race, his palms sweaty. Don’t fuck this up, Kennedy. “I had a really lovely evening.”

“Me too.” You smile back – and you mean it – but you can’t help but brace yourself. Is this the part where he says, yeah, he had a nice time, but he’d rather not do it again? It seems all too good to be true. He’s the same as he was on the phone, messages and photos.

“Great…” You take a deep breath at his pause, unconsciously clenching your fists, “..cos I was wondering how you felt about a second date?”

“You’re really desperate to get me on that motorcycle, huh?” You tease, instantly relaxing. “But, seriously, I’d like that, to see you again.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“That depends what you have in mind.” You stop, suddenly – the apartment foyer to your left. “This is me.”

“Well, we’ve done dinner, shall we work backwards and have lunch next?”

You take a step closer. “And then breakfast?”

“Fourth could be a midnight feast?” He steps forward too, misjudging the distance and something hard brushes against your stomach. Leon’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, wait, I…” He dips his hand into his trouser pocket and pulls out a travel-sized bottle of shampoo with a sheepish smile. “I meant to give you this at the end of dinner – my beauty secret.”

You yank him forward by his jacket collar and kiss him before you can even think properly about what you’re doing. You step up onto your tip toes to deepen the kiss, a hand bracing yourself against his chest for a moment before you mean to step back, maybe even apologise for pouncing on the man, but Leon’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place, kissing you back incessantly before you both have to retreat for breath.

“Well, if I knew the shampoo would get that reaction I would’ve started the night off with it.” He murmurs, pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “I gotta ask though - you’ll kiss on the first date, but not ride a motorcycle?”

You shrug, half-heartedly. “One’s more dangerous than the other.”

He kisses you once more, softly, ending with a teasing nibble on your lip.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.” -- Masterlist . 1,000 followers event

[gunilslaugh]

Hi hellooooo~ how do you think xh would react when their crush kissed their lips/cheek out of nowhere? ❤️❤️

Helloooo, here's your request. I hope that you enjoy :)

All Members *˜^_^˜*

Summary: Xdinary Heroes reaction to you, their crush, randomly kissing their cheek.

WC:~1.9k

Warning:grammar

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

Gunil and you were hanging out together. The two of you sat on your living room floor playing a card game. Your phone lit up with a notification, it was a notification about your grade being posted. The grade was for a major project that you had to do for a certain class and it was worth a large portion of your overall grade. 

“They posted the grade,” you told Gunil. 

“What did you get?” He asks very interested. 

“I don’t know. I haven't checked yet, I’m scared,” you replied with a small laugh. Covering up the nerves you felt bubbling up in your stomach.

“I’m sure that you did well. Check it,” he urged and reassured you. You went to check your grade with shaky hands. Even going as far as closing your eyes before looking at the screen, which causes Gunil to laugh. Once you opened your eyes you saw your grade. “A 98%”, the score showed right next to the assignment. 

“I got an A!” you shouted excitedly, pulling Gunil in for a celebratory hug. Before you knew what you were doing you pressed a quick to his cheek in excitement. Gunil’s cheeks blush immediately upon your lips making contact with his cheek. He puts his arms around you in a hug trying to compose himself, hoping his cheeks won’t be red by the time you pull away from the hug. He feels all too giddy about it. Meanwhile you’re too lost in your excitement to even register what you did. The two of you finally separate. 

“I told you you’d do well,” he smiles at you. Then you both returned to your card game. Gunil’s mind keeps replaying the moment of your lips meeting his cheek for the rest of the day, which means he keeps smiling like an idiot. He plays it off as just being happy for you though.

Jungsu

Jungsu had gotten a small cut on his cheek. You were currently cleaning with some disinfectant. Jungsu hissed a bit, jerking away from the q-tip you were dabbing against the cut.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized. You blews gently at the cut to help with the stinging. 

“It’s ok,” Jungsu reassured you. Jungsu was already feeling a bit flustered by your close proximity. His heart rate was running rapidly. His eyes avoided looking at you, knowing that if he did it would only affect him more. After you finished disinfecting it you got a bandaid and carefully put on it cheek, covering the cut. You don’t know what came over you when you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss over the bandage. 

“I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that,” you flushed with embarrassment. However you weren’t the only one flushing. Jungsu too had become a bright shade of red at your action. 

“You mean you weren’t kissing my injury better?” Jungsu played, despite his heart still fluttering. 

“I guess I was,” you answered bashfully, looking at your feet. 

“I think it could use another one, just for good measure,” Jungsu doesn’t know where this new found confidence came from. “Unless you don’t want to,” he adds, not wanting to pressure you.

“I’m ok with it,” you stated with a smile. Your cheeks are still slightly pink. They grow a little pinker as you lean in again. Resting one hand on his shoulder, once again you carefully brought your lips over the covered cut, placing a peck on it. 

“Better?” You asked once you pulled away. 

“Much, thank you,” he tells you. Throughout the rest of the day Jungsu thinks about the kiss(es) you left on his cheek whenever he touches or sees the bandaid adoring his cheek. This moment will help fuel his courage to confess.

Gaon/Jiseok

The moon, the stars, and other lights of the city illuminated the night as you and Jiseok stroll aimlessly through the streets. There weren't many other people around due to it being the late hours of the night, when most people are sleeping. You however could not sleep, so you sent a text to Jiseok. You weren’t really expecting a reply, but much to your surprise he responded right away. That’s how you found yourself where you are now, walking alongside Jiseok.

“Maybe it’s the night’s fault for being too pretty,” you randomly say, looking up at the starlit sky.

“What?” Jiseok looks at you confused. 

“Oh, I meant maybe I can’t sleep because the night is too pretty,” you clarified, turning your attention to Jiseok. “Like if I was sleeping then I would miss out on it,” you further explained, putting your attention back to the twinkling night. 

“I can’t sleep because you’re too pretty,” Jiseok mumbled under his breath, while staring at you. 

“Did you say something?” You questioned him. 

“Just that you’re right it is pretty. I’d be a shame to miss out on looking at such a pretty sight,” Jiseok spoke with a double meaning behind his words. The two of you walk around for a while longer before heading back. 

“Thank you for keeping me company tonight,” you thanked Jiseok upon you two arriving at your doorstep. 

“You too, it was nice,” Jiseok said. “You should go in now, try and get some sleep,” he nodded towards your door. 

“I will,” you replied. Right before heading inside you turned towards Jiseok and placed a quick kiss onto his cheek. “An apology for my prettiness keeping you awake,” you told him. Then you rushed inside, not giving Jiseok time to say anything. Jiseok stands there processing what just happened. He walks back home with a dopey smile on his face.

O.de/Seungmin

“Y’know when you said you needed my help with something I didn’t think I would come to find you surrounded by piles of socks,” Seungmin announced, standing in your doorway. You were currently going through your sock drawer. It was long overdue. You texted Seungmin asking for help, so that the process could go a bit faster. 

“Be quiet and come help me sort please,” you patted for him to sit the empty spot next to you on the floor. Seungmin shook his head, yet still came over sitting beside you, knees brushing yours. “This is what needs to be sorted. That pile is for matching pairs. This one is for socks with holes aka throw away pile and this one is for single socks,” you explained, pointing at the different piles.

“Shouldn’t the single socks pile and throw away pile be one pile?” Seungmin raised a brow at you.

“No, why would I get rid of perfectly good socks?” You stated like it was obvious. “Now get to sorting,” you ordered him. Seungmin lets out a mix of a scoff and a laugh, reaching towards the pile socks.

“Finally done,” you sighed, closing your sock drawer.  “Thanks for helping me,” you tell Seungmin. 

“Do I get something as a reward? For literally organizing your socks,” Seungmin says.

“This is peak friendship. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply,” you said. Seungmin’s heart pulls a bit at the word friendship.

“Peak friendship is weird then,” Seungmin uttered. Just then an idea pops into your head. You stepped towards Seungmin. 

“What are you doing?” He asks you.

“Giving you a reward,” you answered. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his cheek. “How about it being peak domesticity then?” You piped. Seungmin blushes briefly.

“That’s better,” he answered, even being bold enough to peck your cheek back. Now you’re the one blushing.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun and you were currently in a music store. It was a pit stop you made coming back from hanging out together. Hyeongjun needed to buy some strings for his guitar. 

“Jiseok told me to grab him more guitar picks while I’m here,” Hyeongjun informed you. You bursted out a short laugh, but you weren’t surprised to hear it.

“If I had a nickel for every guitar pick he lost?” you began. 

“You’d be rich,” Hyeongjun finished. The both of you snicker. Hyeongjun bought his guitar strings and grabbed Jiseok his guitar picks. The two of you then left the music store and started to head in the direction of your home. The walk back was quiet, beside the sound of your footsteps hitting the pavement. 

“Y/n, long time no see,” the tranquil silence was broken by an obnoxious voice. A voice you thought and never wanted to hear again. It belonged to a douche that you used to share a class with. Sensing your mood shift and the annoyed look in your eye, Hyeongjun stepped up.

“Babe, who’s this?” He questioned you. A sense of relief washed over you.

“Just an old classmate,” you told him.

“Babe? This dude is your boyfriend?” Your old classmate asks, pulling a disgusted look.

“Yes, this handsome cutie is my boyfriend,” you leaned up kissing Hyeongjun on the cheek. Hyeongjun broke out into a smile immediately. He stared at you adoringly, which only sold the deal more.“Now we’re on a date, so if you excuse us,” you brushed past your old classmate. “I’m sorry if kissing your cheek was too much. I just really wanted to get away from him,” you apologized once you were out of earshot. 

“It’s ok, I was your boyfriend anyway,” Hyeongjun tells you. He wishes that he could be your boyfriend for real. Maybe one day.

Jooyeon

Controllers occupied yours and Jooyeon’s hands as the game you were both playing occupied the t.v screen. You and Jooyeon were having a little game night with just the both of you. Both of you were clad in your pajamas. Snacks littered the floor around you. 

“Yes!” Jooyeon cheered after beating you once again for the, you don’t know anymore, time.

“You only keep winning because you’re playing dirty!” You complained. 

“I’m not playing dirty! I’m playing to win,” he defended. You sighed, falling back onto the floor. “Come on, don't be a sore loser. The next round is starting, sit up,” he taps your shoulder. Fine I’ll just beat you at your own game you thought, reluctantly pulling yourself up. You waited patiently as you played the round. Waiting for the perfect moment to activate your plan. Jooyeon was leading, but you were gonna change that soon. Finally you found the opportunity that you were waiting for. Quickly you shot yourself over towards Jooyeon’s side, pressing your lips against his cheek. Your action causes Jooyeon’s brain to short circuit and he drops his controller, allowing you to take the win. 

“Yes!” you cheered, bringing Jooyeon back to reality.

“Aye- that’s not! You just- That was playing dirty!” He accused you.

“No, that was playing to win,” you retorted against him using his own words. 

“But I never-”Jooyeon started to refute.

“Come on, don’t be a sore loser. The next round is starting,” you patted his knee. Jooyeon couldn’t focus though. All he could think about was the feeling on your lips on his cheek.  The way it made his heart skip a beat and clouded his mind. You ended up winning this round too. 

“Did you finally learn to stop playing dir-” your sentence cut off as Jooyeon lurched forward and kissed your cheek, leaving you stunned.

[savvy4618]

Validation Brian Johnson x female reader Breakfast club

So, I love eighties men and I figured it couldn’t hurt to write something yk?

Warnings: John Bender, swearing, sexual references

When you walked into the library you sat across from where Brian originally was before Bender made him move.

“There is no way I am writing a fucking essay,” you sighed letting your head fall to the table.

“But you are a great writer, you get a one hundred on everything in English,” Andy said turning to look at you.

“Still, I don’t want to do it,” you responded lifting your head and resting it on you had that was on the table.

“How did a pretty girl with A’s in every class get herself a Saturday detention?” John asked standing up and making his way behind you.

As he set his hands on your shoulders you turned your head.

“Get your hands off of me,” you said as you shook your shoulder.

“I’ve seen you around you know? You don’t have very many friends and certainly no attention from guys, I would say you don’t really want me to stop touching you,” he said leaning down so his lips were close to your ear and you could feel his breath on your neck.

“Leave her alone,” Brian said looking away from him.

“What? Is he your boyfriend?” He asked.

“No,” you said standing up. “Now get your hands off of me, just because you can sleep with a bunch of the girls in this stupid school doesn’t mean you can do the same to me!” You shove him back by his chest and he steps back till the back of his legs hit the table where Allison is sitting.

“Feisty,” he grinned.

You sat back down and pulled a book out of your bag, deciding not to pay much attention to him.

After around 20 minutes Brian asked, “what are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” you replied.

“You like old books?”

“Yeah I guess I do,” you replied smiling at him.

“Hey Y/N, what did you get on that project we did for science?” Claire asked turning in her chair to face you.

“98, what about you?” You asked.

“76, would you mind helping me with the homework for science tomorrow?” She asked.

“Not at all,” you smile.

~

You had quite the afternoon, now sat next to Brian on the couch as you all smoked.

“You got a boyfriend Y/N?” Andy asked.

“No,” you replied flinging your head backwards.

“You know, you are really pretty, so why don’t you have a boyfriend. I mean I’m sure loads of guys ask you out,” he questioned.

“Boy’s done really matter, all the guys who ask me out or hit on me aren’t looking for something serious it’s always a joke or them wanting to sleep with me and a relationship like that just seems like a waste of time,” you responded.

Nobody responded. Brian turned his head and pulled the sunglasses that were over his eyes off of his face in a very dramatic way.

“Would you date me?” He asked.

“Hmm,” you giggled.

“Oh come on,” he said turning his body so he was sitting facing you.

Not in his right mind he leaned forward and placed a small kiss on your neck that was angled towards the ceiling.

“Brian!” You exclaimed sitting upright and looking at him.

He didn’t say anything, he just let out a little laugh.

“Alright you too, that’s enough,” Andy laughed.

~

“Why do you study so much?” John asked as he sat on the floor across from you somewhere in the library.

“Because,”

“Because why?”

“Because how am I supposed to be successful in the future if I’m stupid?” You replied.

He twisted his torso to look towards where Brian was sitting.

“She seems like your type of girl,” he commented.

You just scoffed as you continued to write in the little notebook that sat in your lap as Brian stared at you with such deep affection John thought he might actually be sick.

~

As everyone left the building Brian walked next to you.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asked

“Not that I am aware of, why?”

“You want to go to lunch with me?” He asked.

“Sure,” you giggle leaving a small kiss on his cheek and walking the rest of the way to your car.

I LOVE the breakfast club, anyway these are my interpretations of the characters, if you’d like feel free to leave a request, it doesn’t have to be this show specifically.

[revenantghost]

#it says a lot about him i think #a priest is usually someone that does good around him. he helps people he care. wolfwood does not do that yet here #in trimax and 98 he's introduced with the portable confessionnal he helps two girls have something to eat he's a person that helps around #here the kid he helps is not a kid. he doesn't help zazie because he wants to he helps them because it's his contract#he's not a priest in the way he doesn't see himself as someone that should be treated that way #he's an undertaker for now. he's The Punisher. that's what ep7 showed us. he sees himself as that but in the end he's more. he's Wolfwood. #i have no doubt he'll be considered a Priest later in the story because that would make sense with his arc

Oh, I love this, I hope you don’t mind me sharing with the class, @thal-ent! I think, if he accepts the title of priest in the future, it adds even more weight to it because he’s out from the thumb of Eye of Micheal, he’s ordained (I guess???), but he doesn’t have to accept that role. And if he does because he wants to actually help people??? That would mean so much

Inchresting that Orange has confirmed that Wolfwood is, in fact, a priest in this version of events, but he actively denies it even if he could charge more money for his services then lmao

[exy-shmexy]

high school au rivals to lovers kevaaron

kevin getting his science test back with a 98 so he smugly turns around to shove it in aaron’s face. aaron raises an eyebrow, lifts up his paper to show to bright 99 with a shit-eating grin (andrew got 100 but will never show it to anyone).

their next class is a history presentation, afterwards the teacher discusses grades (my high school did that idk if yours did too but it was the WORST anyway) kevin gets a full score.

english class arrives and it is set to be a debate, cue the two having an argument-contest of symbolism and meaning of a certain poem they had to study.

one day kevin shows up to the library to find all the seats taken except the one next to aaron. he grumpily considers his options but when aaron looks up from his textbook he turns on his heels and tells himself it’s not too cold to study outside yet.

then they are assigned a presentation for their spanish class. neither of them speaks it very well (they would have preferred being with the weird kid andrew always hangs out with) but they have no choice so kevin tells aaron to come at his place during the weekend to work on it.

it’s a bit of a disaster because they keep bickering but then eventually manage to get an outline for it after way too much time wasted deciding who should work on what. aaron brought his old laptop so they both start working on their part in silence, neither happy to be in the other’s presence but at least working is familiar and comfortable, so much so that they don’t see time pass. kevin’s step-mom comes home and she tells aaron he should stay for dinner with them. he refuses but she insists because “listen i got too much food, what’s one more mouth to feed”.

(little does she know aaron hasn’t eaten anything since the previous evening. his mom is going to be mad if he doesn’t come home but kevin’s step-mom, abby, is very sweet and besides kevin looks constipated at the prospect of him staying so he ends up accepting)

aaron helps get the table ready while kevin chops veggies with way too much force, abby makes small talks but it’s alright, at least aaron doesn’t have to think about the screaming that will be waiting for him at home.

just as dinner is ready, the high school coach, who is also kevin’s father, arrives and stomps in all grumpily because some kids tripped each other on the tracks so he had to take them to the hospital for a sprained wrist and a sprained ankle. coach wymack looks at aaron then at kevin and then huffs. “‘bout time you brought a friend here” “he’s not my friend” “whatever you say kevin”. dinner is pleasant and aaron doesn’t remember the last time his stomach felt so full, kevin’s parents keep asking him questions and he finds it surprisingly easy to talk to them, especially because kevin is silently fuming opposite him.

aaron goes home with a tupperware full of food but as soon as tilda sees him she slaps him in the face because “where the fuck were you”. aaron drops the tupperware in surprise and apologizes profusely, when tilda is done with him he runs to his bedroom and doesn’t get out until the next day. kevin is the first person he sees in class, if he notices the still red mark on his cheek or the stiff way aaron holds himself, he doesn’t comment on it. aaron sits next to him to review their notes and kevin says “you’ll have to bring the tupperware back”

aaron “i’ll bring it tomorrow”

kevin “abby gave me these for you” kevin gives him a small bag of wrapped cookies.

aaron “why?”

kevin “because she has the audacity to like you”

they get an a for their presentation and aaron is invited for dinner again the following friday, kevin starts warming up to aaron even tho aaron keeps his distance until one day it’s just the two of them left in the locker room and oh fuck kevin is shirtless and oh fuck abs.

aaron realizes something about himself in that moment while kevin seems completely unbothered, but then a smirk stretches the corner of his mouth and oh fuck aaron is standing too close. kevin tilts his chin up with one finger and kisses him right there

[sangyeonsofthours]

the boyz as hogwarts students; 98' line

☾ this is purely based on my own knowledge about harry potter, the hogwarts universe and what thoughts and impressions i may have about the boyz members. It is also and slightly based on kevin’s answers to a fan and a friend’s impression on the boyz that also knows a lot about harry potter;

☾ maybe there’s things that are not really canon on the hogwarts universe, but i think i could have some artistic license for my own au, right?

☾ you can read hyung line here and maknae line here!

☾ thank you all for reading my stuff, i hope you’ll like it! please, do not forget to give me some feedback ♡

JUYEON

house: ravenclawpatronus: shark blood status: half blood pet: white and orange kneazle best subjects: history of magic and defense against the dark arts worst subject: potions

Quiet and shy boy that seems to live in slow motion, because he’s too chill;

Until he steps into the quidditch pitch, then he’s loud and competitive!

Best chaser that Ravenclaw has ever seen;

He really wants to turn into an animagus (probably a cat);

Kindest student at Hogwarts.

His father works at the ministry, so there’s a bit of pressure on his shoulders about his future and this kind of stuff…

He’s okay though, he’s clever even if it doesn’t seem so (poor Juyeon);

Friends with the kitchen elves just like Younghoon;

Loves hanging around beasts and magical creatures better than with humans;

The type to have a lot of dating rumors just because he likes to ask people to go to Hogsmead with him. It doesn’t mean it’s a date, he just like the company :///

KEVIN

house: slytherin patronus: platypus blood status: pure blood pet: ball yellow python named morty best subjects: care of magical creatures and herbology worst subject: xylomancy

Effortlessly smart - the type that doesn’t really need to study much to pass his tests;

Just got a bit of difficult on xylomancy, but just because he wasn’t really interested;

He’s good at everything, but he chose being closer to care of magical creatures and herbology because he's an animal and plants lover;

Poor boy can’t see an animal that he’s already befriending it;

Oh, has special talents for music too! Developed interest in muggle music when he took classes of Muggle Studies;

Sweetest commentator for quidditch games - i mean, sweet voice doing really funny and sweet comments;

It’s impossible not to love him or not to befriend him. Has anyone in any house wrapped around his finger;

Head Boy of Slytherin because he totally loves helping others, mainly the younger ones.

CHANHEE / NEW

house: ravenclaw patronus: white tiger blood status: pure blood pet: tawny owl best subject: arithmancy and potions worst subject: care of magical creatures

He’s too pretty and he looks soft, but could hex the ass out of you;

Well, not just that, but sometimes he’ll destroy you without even using a wand. His sassy words overpowers any magic;

Almost got sorted into Slytherin for that;

Doesn’t care about making tons of friends or seeking validation;

He knows he’s one of the smartest kids in Hogwarts, won’t hesitate in showing that;

Loves the quietness of the library, so he reads a lot, that’s why he’s a smartass;

He’s too cool for his own good, he makes the school uniform look fashionable;

Charms his hair to turn any color he wants;

He’s sweet and caring to those he loves!

CHANGMIN / Q

house: gryffindor patronus: squirrel blood status: muggle born pet: tarantula best subjects: muggle studies and transfiguration worst subject: study of ancient runes

Always says/does muggle things that make people throw him weird looks. He doesn’t care though;

Lives for scaring people around the castle with his Chucky and Annabelle doll (as so does his pet tarantula named Arnold sometimes);

He’s a bit of a crackhead, but everyone loves it;

Probably one of the few people who put up with Younghoon’s interest in the muggle world;

Works hard to be a good wizard - and the hard work really pays off - his muggle family is proud of him;

Brave at heart and has the courage to overcome the most difficult of obstacles;

He’s so so so good at flying! He’s one of the best seekers that Gryffindor has had since Harry Potter!

The Great Hall is probably one of his favorites places at Hogwarts because there’s food magically appearing on the table. Freaking. Awesome. Man!

n/a: thanks for reading until here! i promise the last part will be up soon! please, feel free to hit my askbox if you have any thought on the boyz as hogwarts students. thanks ♡

[comicaurora]

Waaaaiiit you grew up an undiagnosed neurodivergent? I feel like I should have a tom of questions because I've recently begun to wonder if I'm neurodivergent too, but I can't articulate my questions at all. So I guess what I'm asking is, what was that like? How were you diagnosed? What's the story behind that? Are you comfortable sharing your experiences with growing up "undiagnosed neurodivergent?"

Big, big caveat that I have not been diagnosed with anything. Smaller caveat that it's looking about 98% likely that I'm very ADHD, which would certainly help explain

"she's very bright, if she would just focus more in class and be less disruptive she'd be perfect" on every single report card I ever got

I'm listening, I promise, I'm just not looking at you, and if you make me look at you I won't be able to keep listening

if I cannot doodle in class I will Die

did I miss the day where they passed out a handbook of social rules

nah coffee doesn't wake me up or disrupt my sleep schedule at all, if anything it makes it easier for me to focus, guess I'm just weird that way

I've finally finished the thing I was working on and I just realized I've been sitting cross-legged for six hours without moving, I'm hungry, everything hurts and I really need to pee

why do I feel so weird and bad AH yes I have forgotten to eat

didn't I make tea sometime in the last four hours

hey wanna hear me talk about the media that's been consuming my every waking thought yea you do here goes

there's a car a block and a half away whose brakes are squeaking so I didn't hear anything you just said

I tried doing the assignment you asked for but it was so boring I wanted to melt so I did this cooler thing instead can I still get a good grade

I already know how to play this music, this is boring, I'm going to play it twice as fast so I'll be done quicker and wait for the rest of the band to catch up, because that is how music works

"oh yea that person hated you for years for some reason, they talked about it all the time, you really didn't know?" no but thanks for letting me know I guess

what do you mean I have to put both my feet on the floor when I sit in a chair, do you want me to die

hey wanna hear some cool space facts yea you do here goes

I'm ten years old in a class of less than twenty people and I don't understand why a solid dozen of those people won't stop making fun of everything I do and say but I've at least figured out I have no way to make them stop so I'm going to try leaning into being proud of being weird even though I'm not really proud I just feel dumb and confused and alone but I can at least pretend I have some control over this situation because I'm receiving zero support because the school administration doesn't know how to address bullying that doesn't involve physical violence and I can't work up the nerve to even be angry at most of these guys even though anger would make things so much easier to emotionally handle because when they're not making fun of me they're friendly and fun to be around and that's really all I want from them and I don't want to push them away when they're being friendly to me because then they might start just being terrible and I'll be even more isolated and I don't even realize I'm scraping along emotional rock bottom for years until

I'm fourteen years old in a new school where I don't know anybody but nobody thinks of me as the designated bullying magnet and people actually act like they like me and think I'm new and interesting and fun to talk to and invite me into friend groups and social gatherings and the things that made me weird and hurt before are what's making me interesting and fun here and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never does so

I'm seventeen years old at a high school class retreat and I'm clumsily trying to explain to the rest of my grade how much they've done for me just by being kind and I had a plan for what I wanted to say but the minute I got up on the podium it all turned into a blur and I still have no idea what I actually said to them but I hope they got the message

I'm eighteen years old with a close-knit friend group I still can't quite believe is real and I don't think I'll ever be able to explain to them how much they've done for me and I'm really worried we're going to splinter when we split up for college but we don't because sometimes people really do care about each other

I construct a youtube channel specifically designed to let me infodump all my directionless media enthusiasm into carefully-crafted serotonin machines so I can stop boring my friends to tears with them and start inflicting the infodumps on willing audiences that actually seek them out

I very gradually start processing that the fact that my life kinda sucked for several years had nothing to do with my worth as a human being and everything to do with the fact that I was stuck in a bad situation with a lot of other unhappy people, and that things being good now isn't some temporary fluke doomed to fail

I'm twenty years old and I see someone online mention "rejection sensitive dysphoria" for the first time and a whole lot of things about me start making more sense

Everything gets better and I'm happy, well-rested, and not alone

[flashflashhundredyarddash]

batkids and their relationships with their siblings headcanons. under read more because this got fucking LONGGG

dick

dick is the eldest so he doesnt want to bog down his younger siblings with his problems, but if he DOES, he tends to talk to jason about it

dick and cass start to really begin to bond when Cass shows up to dicks gymnastics class for 3rd-6th graders and then cass shows up all the sixth graders and they get frozen yogurt after lmao

dick and tim are Very much thick as thieves. tim is very much like bruce on the Emotional Suppression scale, so dick just really wants to make sure his little brother is safe and happy ALL the time

Duke and Damian are the only two really permanently at the manor anymore, so when dick drops by he tries to do something with both of them. duke frantically zoom calls dick every other week to help him with his his trig homework. dick shows up to dukes high school graduation with literally the BIGGEST SIGN

everyone insists damian is dicks favorite but he does actually genuinely love all his siblings equally, his relationship with damian is just Very different from the others because of the age gap and being dami's primary caretaker for a year. dick babies dami every chance he gets

jason

would sell Dick to satan for One corn chip

him and cass don't have the greatest start to their relationship because cass is very much Against Killing so it takes a while for jason to warm up to her and earn her trust. now, though, jason is competing with steph by showing cass all the classic American Teenager things she missed out on. steph is currently winning but jason is like 98% positive a crunch wrap from taco bell is going to push him over the edge

tim and jason are currently competing over who can solve the most cases in a month. tim is winning. that won't last long.

jason Loves to Big Brother duke its so embarrassing. duke will get out of school and go to his car and jason is SITTING IN THE FRONT SEAT FRANTICALLY WAVING TO GET DUKES ATTENTION. JASON THAT IS MY CAR. signal has one (1) mission with arsenal and arsenal goes hey did you ask that girl to homecoming yet and duke is like I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU.

Damian is proof that Actually, Little Brothers are Pests. Jason fully believes that he was brought back from the dead PURELY to torment damian and he will fulfill this mission at any cost

cassandra

it actually really upset her when Dick didn't accept her at first. she knows her other siblings really adore dick so his lack of trust was really disheartening. it takes dick a while but once he Actually Accepts that cass is going to be a permanent part of their life and oh, wow, dick you really hurt her feelings he really hyperfocuses on bonding with cass for a couple of months which definitely improves their relationship

she really likes jason!! their relationship doesn't start well but because he's close with steph and tim who are cass's top two favorite people to exist ever, cass is like well i GUESS ill hang out with him more. jason is fun to talk to because he always tries his best to explain jokes and give context to what people are talking about (also tim took her to taco bell already but she didn't tell jason she just wanted to hang out)

cass LOVES tim. they just click okay. tim always seems to know when to give her space and when to push and come closer. Tim's "guest room" is just her room lets be real. tim and cass occasionally get mistaken for twins and Cass Loves it.

duke makes cass listen to metal once and cass loses. her. damn. mind. they bond over music a lot because they both Love Music to a degree the others in their family don't.

damian!! damian is her little brother!!! dami isn't As Hostile to cass at first because he is 100% aware cass has the edge in fighting and respects her. cass likes all of his instagram posts and they have a snapchat streak going

tim

tim Loves dick, dick was his first sibling!! he had Very strong hero worship when he first met dick but it mellowed out when tim got older because wow 17 is really not that cool and mature lol. tim has an open invitation to dick's apartment which he does occasionally take advantage of. tim has more than once scared the shit out of wally when wally comes over and wally is convinced they're being robbed (HA) for half a second. i mean. he's not wrong.

listen. tim understands that forgiving the guy who tried to kill you would be a Struggle for some people and it was! definitely! but also at least he can trust jason to, uh, be open about if he doesn't like tim. which is not an assurance he has with other people. so if the guy who tried to kill him tells him tim is cool now then like. maybe tim isn't that bad or annoying a person? also jason arrested a whole gang and won the cases competition but then it created a power vacuum that the whole batfam had to clean up the rest of the month. thanks, jason.

tim LOVES cass. you know how most of the time theres this empty feeling inside you and you just kind of ignore it because you don't know what will fix it or if you do, you know you can't fix it? cass makes that empty feeling feel a little less empty. they just click. tim always tries to travel with cass whenever she leaves gotham.

tim and duke. Tim is actually the sibling who duke goes to whenever he has questions he doesn't want to ask bruce or alfred about, like, life or vigilante-ing or school or college or whatever and Tim is always like yes!! i love Giving Advice and Solving Problems!! tim and duke and jason fill out their college applications together.

tim and damian. LMAO. ROUGH START THAT'S ALL ILL SAY. at some point alfred goes like fuck it. family therapy. and tim and dami are PISSED. tim and damian get along best when they have a common enemy to work against. their relationship gets much better when damian is older and they actually talk about their feelings like emotionally stunted bats. despite how bad their relationship was, tim will ALWAYS protect damian

duke

very much intimidated by dick at first. dick is so much older and has his own job and friends and life and is very much AN ADULT. dick likes to take duke out to do lots of cool stuff (paintball, lasertag, tech exhibitions, concerts, etc). also, dick PERSONALLY introduced duke to superman and is dating THE FLASH. 10/10 awesome big brother.

was intimidated by jason for 0.5 seconds before jason actually opened his mouth and started speaking. jason is literally. So Embarrassing. which is weird because nobody else really seems to feel that way about jason but duke knows he's 100% in the right here. like yeah jason is also An Adult and does Adult Stuff but he's also at the manor like every other weekend???? and he always complains about bruce but always seems to be in the same room bruce is in????? like okay jason. they bond over literature!! jason and duke and alfred will spend literal hours talking about books and duke loves it. duke is the only one who doesn't think jason is funny and jason gets so upset about it lmao.

cass has this one week where she gets really into photography and by virtue of being nearby (and also not nocturnal), duke becomes her victim subject. duke prints out all the pictures and hangs them up in his room (his favorite is one he took when he stole the camera and took a really bad selfie of them together).

tim is closest in age to duke so duke tends to hang around with him a lot. tim introduced duke to his young justice friends and duke is like yes!!! meta-friends!!!! tim really helps duke out with his powers because tim is always like wow i wonder if your powers would work if we did This? can you see farther than other people? is your visible spectrum of light different than other humans? Bruce does the same thing but bruce is boring about it lol.

damian and duke live in the same house and will be in the same room and just send each other social media posts back and forth. they follow each other on instagram and will, OCCASIONALLY, make tik toks together because they're tik tok fiends. each of his siblings have visited his parents once or twice but damian routinely comes with him.

damian

damian gets a special bullet point to say that it took him. forever to come around to the idea of having siblings. he very much believed that he was Bruce's Blood Son and everyone else were just tagalongs or allies. it took him ages to acknowledge that dick, jason, tim, and cass were his siblings, so when duke came and like a week later damian was like Ah, Yes, this is my brother Thomas everyone else was like dude wtf

listen. LISTEN. Obviously. Richard is very highly skilled. and also Father values him highly. and also Richard will listen to Damian complain about his schoolmates. and also Richard is much more patient with Damian than other members of his family. listen....,,, (all this to say damian kind of fucking adores dick lmaooooo this kid).

Todd is kind of unbearable but damian has been informed this is both a normal feeling when it comes to Todd and also big brothers. damian was an only child for ten years so yes, Father, if Todd attempts to tickle me I WILL break his fucking nose. yes i WILL put money in the swear jar but I want you to know i don't regret it. they always try to sneak up on each other but mostly fail.

DRAKE!!! but no lol once damian grows up and is like I Apologize for attempting to murder you it was wrong and you are just as much a son to Father as I am tim is like UGH i guess its cool since ur being so emotionally mature and all. also im 2 for 5 on siblings trying to murder me so im definitely going to win trauma bingo and damian is like i take it back you are insufferable. When Will My Older Siblings Stop Joking About Their Trauma.

CASS!!! listen. cass is cool. Cass Gets It. They have a special Bond. also damian really likes it whenever cass is home because 1) he gets to hang out and do something cool with cass and 2) he feels significantly safer with cass in the house because Nobody will be able to hurt any of their family if Cass is there. ALSO he tries to call her cain but everyone is like DONT DO THAT and he doesn't want to call her wayne bcus theyre ALL wayne (dick adds it on as a middle name but also Richard John Wayne West-Grayson is just. the lamest name ever so dick needs to reconsider it before his upcoming nuptials)((dick will not reconsider it except maybe whether grayson-west would work better)) and so he tries cassandra but cass is like :) call me cass and damian is like cassandra is more formal and respectful and cass is like :) and finally damian just has to give in.

Duke! him and duke actually live together so they get the Most Bonding Time and have a bunch of inside jokes as a result. (is it bad i wanted to laugh because inside jokes... joker... i'll see myself out). they're eating breakfast together (and also alfred sits with them IM NOT A MONSTER ALFIE'S LIKE 70 NOW OKAY) and duke laughs and bruce is like what are you laughing at, son? and duke is like oh damian just showed me this funny meme and then he shows the phone to bruce and bruce grabs it (both the boys groan) and after WAY TOO LONG is like "i don't get it" and so now duke and damian have to try and explain the comedic intricacy of bob's burgers

[birb-tangleblog]

TRoFR and why taking money from rich people is bad

So I ment'd how Eugene and Lance's character handling seemed a little funky to me in TRoFR; I've been thinking on why, and I think it comes down to- this could have been a Robin Hood-esque origin story for Eugene as he grows into the mantle of Flynn Rider, with (still PG-rated) moral conflict and questions about wealth, class, and society... but instead, it gives us character arcs and a resolution that feel much more sanitized and clearer-cut.

There's the presence of the folk hero Lance Archer, who takes tax money from the king to give to the poor, a corrupt, cold-hearted tax collector who threatens to shut down the kind old woman running Lance and Eugene's orphanage, and we see the Coronan guard charging the circus taxes to camp and perform on unused, unoccupied land, because it's 'owned' by the king. So the elements are THERE- there’s just no follow through.

(This is to say nothing of the end of the novel and Eugene and Lance's experiences here setting them up to be v different people than the Flynn Rider of the movie and the Lance Strongbow of the series- that is an issue, but one more concerned with continuity, and that's not totally my focus.)

The children at Miss Clare's Home for Boys eat cast off burnt bread, have threadbare blankets and thin mattresses, and I find it hard to believe that Eugene and a budding 'Flynn Rider' wouldn't harbor some (PG) resentment at the monarchy/class system, given his experience living on the bottom rung of society.

(He acknowledges that one golden trinket from the otherwise unused pile of treasure being offered by the king and queen as a reward for finding the lost princess would set the orphanage up for a year- and to his credit he takes it. But re. stealing the reward, he and Lance are firmly of the belief that it wouldn't be the right thing to do, and it should be used to help reunite the royal family. Nevermind all those other disadvantaged children who have nothing I guess.)

The parts where Eugene does start to rationalize and justify his actions and question the system were by far the most intriguing. He's always shaky, but initially buys into the Baron's reassurances that what they take won't be missed; he doesn't disapprove of the crew cutting the Captain of the Guard's purse, and paying him back with money he's already collected so the circus loses nothing-

'Was that wrong? Maybe. But when it came to taxes, Flynn couldn't help but think of the grief poor Miss Clare and the Home faced with Kurtis. It didn't seem entirely fair for the circus to pay to entertain the citizens on land that wasn't even being used. (pg 98)'

Later on, when tasked with stealing something valuable to present to the Baron, he instead trades three circus tickets to a rich young girl in exchange for her jade bracelet- an exorbitant price, he's still ripping her off, but he's validated when the girl says she'd found the bracelet in her sister's old things, and she won't even notice it's gone (pg 122). It means nothing to her and a lot to him.  

Re. the Baron and the circus- he isn't a great or genuine guy obviously, and the members of his crew feel very Lampwick-esque in how they lead the boys astray- but I also kinda feel the novel's treatment of him has shades of 'the anti-establishment villain has a good point, but also supports [eating babies], so it's fine to just disregard everything else they have to say.'

E.g., the Baron tells Eugene about a similar formative incident from his youth, where he second-guessed stealing a bracelet from a wealthy woman in order to buy food, and consequently almost starved; that one bracelet would've fed him, and she had a dozen more just like it on her arm. He might not be a reliable narrator here given he’s trying to persuade Eugene but I'm like... yeah? You absolutely should have taken that bracelet, bro. He follows this story up with, 'Once you get a hold of treasure, you just want more,' to reframe the lesson and remind us that he's greedy- disregarding the part where he fell through the cracks of their society and nearly died for a lack of money.

The novel suggests these ideas but doesn’t lean into them, or take them to any sort of conclusion.

We know the Baron is a cruel, evil man, and they would have split from him inevitably. But early on, given this context and their backgrounds, I also think Eugene and Lance would be more likely to break away from him over stealing from and exploiting the common folk and circus attendees rather than the royals- and I think that's probably the sort of plot and conflict I'd have wanted here.

It'd better fit where Flynn's at in the movie- trying to style himself as a dashing, debonair gentleman thief by stealing from the rich (and maybe giving to the poor). In the series, we saw Lance that definitely subscribes to a moral code where taking from those who deserve it and redistributing the wealth for a good cause is justified.

The novel even presents an acceptable target for going down that route- the tax collector Kurtis Frost, who again, threatens to force Miss Clare into retirement and close the Home if she can't pay up. How about pulling a heist on that guy?

The main lesson or theme of the story is still about family, and Eugene learning to appreciate the one he already has in Lance, nothing will ever come between them, etc.- it’s not explicitly a morality tale about how stealing is wrong, but idk- intentional or not I think the undertones end up sending a message.

I just kinda feel like the author (or Didney execs) got halfway through proofreading and realized they didn't want to tell kids that capitalism is bad and stealing from rich people is cool, because Robin Hood isn't a very friendly aesop for megacorporations to be teaching kids in the 21st century.

(Also, during the boys’ audience with the king and queen, after Arianna pardons them and encourages them not to solve any more problems by stealing, she says, "I'm not sure every kingdom is as forgiving" of Corona and I--? 

It’s implied that Fred goes easy on them b/c the boys are orphans and understand how badly he wants his daughter back, and that’s fair, but ARIANNA- your husband's crackdown on crime will literally send Lady Caine's father to a prison barge for stealing bread a few years later and sentence Eugene to hang for stealing a tiara down the road?? Young Eugene even recognizes he might get hanged for his crimes? HELLO?)

[dynyamight]

meet cute number 47 is interesting!

send me a writting ask

47. Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shinsou’s warning falls deaf to his rushed mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

University was eating him alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(21:38) < You working?

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

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

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

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

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > Who’s this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(21:38) < Wait, you’re not???

Another text pops up, shortly after.

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

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

(22:03) < I’m so so so so sorry!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully, he has typed the correct series of digits.

(22:07) < Hey, Hitoshi! It’s Izuku

unknown (22:08) > ...

unknown (22:08) > What the actual fuck

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

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

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

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

How is he supposed to contact Shinsou now?

His phone dings again.

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

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

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

unknown (22:13) > Double check next time

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

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

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

(22:14) < Well, that wasn’t nice

unknown (22:15) > Wasn’t trying to be

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

unknown (22:16) > Pretty much

(22:16) < That’s sad

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

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

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

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

unknown (22:22) > Yeah whatever

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

unknown (22:25) > I was

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

(22:27) > Who?

(22:33) > Oh.

(22:33) > It’s me, huh?

unknown (22:34) > No shit

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

(22:35) > I’m going to just stop now

unknown (22:36) > Thanks

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

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

Midoriya desperately needs to call it a night.

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

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

unknown (23:01) > FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

(23:02) > …

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

unknown (23:04) > I CAN’T SLEEP

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

unknown (23:05) > AND IT’S YOUR FAULT

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

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

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

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

(23:09) > Wait

(23:09) > No, please

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(23:18) > It wasn’t supposed

(23:19) > Nevermind.

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

unknown (23:21) > Surprisingly yeah

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

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

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

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

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

unknown (23:26) > SHUT IT

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

unknown (23:27) > You. Don’t.

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

(23:29) > I’m sorry :(

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

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

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

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

unknown (23:33) > Fuck no

(23:35) > Right, of course

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

unknown (23:37) > Unfortunately

(23:38) > What about you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unknown (23:51) > That’s plenty

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

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

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

unknown (23:56) > ..Are you

(23:57) > I asked you first

unknown (23:58) > I asked you second

(23:59) > That

(23:59) > Look, it’s almost midnight

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

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

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

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

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

(00:04) > PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

unknown (00:10) > FUCK

unknown (00:10) > FINE

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

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

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

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

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

Click. The phone call ends.

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

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

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

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.” 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[percqbeths]

heard y'all wanted more jock!percy x cheerleader! annabeth

“Wait, you’re the one who got the A?” The words leave him before he can filter himself, and he finally looks up to see whoever it was that he bumped into. He sees blonde, curly hair and when she looks up, he locks eyes with her gray ones.

“Yeah, I am.” She plucks the paper from his hand and stands up, shoving the binder into her bag in the process. “Thanks for the help.”

She makes her way out of the lecture hall, and it takes Percy a moment to snap out of his daze and follow her out of the room, “Wait!”

She pauses, turning to face him, “Did I forget something, or?”

“No, uh–I wanted to know if you’d tutor me.”

“Why would I do that?”

She studies him with a tilted head and half furrowed brows, and for some reason, he feels the tips of his ears burn, “Cause you got a 98 and I need a good grade.”

“And that should concern me?” She replies, and he exhales a breath, “Listen, I need the grade, okay? I’m cap--”

She cuts him off, “I know who you are.”

“Huh?”

“Percy Jackson. Football captain. Let me guess, your grades are slipping and you absolutely need the good grade to keep your position.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and he nods, “Yeah, see you get it.”

“No.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“I don’t want your money. I don’t tutor–the TA’s are right there. And have you tried the review sessions?”

“Yeah, I have.” He feels his temper rising in his chest, but swallows it back, “Look, you’d be doing me a huge solid, okay? I’d owe you, and I just–”

“What’s my name?” She cuts him off a second time, one eyebrow raised, and Percy stares at her, “What?”

“We’ve been in this same class since the start of the semester. It’s only 35 people–you should at least know a few people. Come on, guess my name.” There’s a glint in her eyes, one that has Percy encaptured. If he wasn’t begging her to tutor him, he may have asked her out.

He can’t answer her question, and that’s enough to make her nod once. “Figured as much. The big, popular jock doesn’t spare time for anyone else.”

She leans forward, her eyes locking on his. She’s shorter than him, he notices, and she has to tilt her head to meet his gaze, “Good luck with the midterm.”

She turns away, making it a few steps away before turning to face him, “Oh, and Percy?”

He hums in response, his brain still reeling, and she gives him a small smile, “The football player really should make a better effort to know the cheerleaders, especially the captain. I mean, they cheer for them, don’t they?”

laughs nervously coming soon i guess

[sturchling]

Adrien Agreste: Ace Attorney

I saw this idea from @lenoreofraven and I loved it. I had to try and write it out!

The class doesn’t just stand by during the Ladybug incident. Instead, they get a trial set up to prove Marinette’s innocence. Adrien becomes Marinette’s defense. What will happen at the trial?

Hope you like it!

Everything was going wrong for Marinette in this moment. Lila had accused her of stealing the answers to yesterday’s test, pushing her down the stairs, and stealing her necklace. Thankfully her classmates didn’t look convinced. And of course, Adrien knew the truth. He hadn’t realized how far Lila would go. He tried to say something to Mr. Damocles, but he was cut off, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you are here by expelled from this school.” Everyone gasped. Lila started smirking, but no one seemed to notice except for Adrien and Alya. Before Marinette was made to leave the building, Adrien interjected, “Wait Mr. Damocles. You can’t just throw her out! This is to fast, and you didn’t ask for Marinette’s side.” This is the moment Lila sealed her fate. She never thought people would agree to this suggestion. She mockingly asked, “What do you want Mr. Damocles to do? Hold a trial?” Alya, jumped on board with the suggestion. Anything to save her best friend. “That is a great idea. We would be able to make sure we punish the right person.” When Mr. Damocles still didn’t look convinced, Nino chimed in, “Also, it would be a great learning experience.” Max jumped in at this point, “This method of teaching the justice system is 98% more effective than a lecture style. It would be very instructive” That was about all Mr. Damocles needed to hear to be convinced.

 -----------------

Lila couldn’t believe this was happening. She had been joking when she suggested the trial. She didn’t think the class would push for it so much, or that Mr. Damocles would agree. Now she was stuck. She couldn’t object to the trial without making it obvious that there wasn’t much proof. At first, she was just irritated, but wasn’t worried. She had tricked her class before. She would be able to trick whichever of her classmates ended up on the jury. Then Mr. Damocles announced the plan. Of course, Lila was the witness to all of this, so her role was clear from the start. Mr. Damocles was going to be the prosecutor for the trial. Mrs. Bustier would be the stenographer, to make sure there was a record of the trial. Lila was ok with the setup for the trial so far. Then Mr. Damocles continued, and that is when Lila realized she was in trouble.

  -----------------

Mr. Damocles announced, “Ms. Dupain-Cheng may choose one student from her class to act as her defense. Ms. Cesaire will be the court investigator and is in charge of gathering evidence. We won’t be having a jury trial; we will just have a judge decide. Since Mrs. Mendeleiev was not involved in the incident directly, she is the most impartial. Therefore, she will be the judge.” Lila paled hearing this. The science teacher would be a lot harder to convince than a group of students would have been. Marinette wasted no time, asking Adrien to be her defense. This infuriated Lila, and she only got angrier when Adrien agreed. Mr. Damocles said that they trial would be held tomorrow, so everyone had time to prepare. With that, the day was over and everyone went home. Lila went straight home and started rehearsing for her performance tomorrow. It would have to be the most convincing performance she had ever given.

  -----------------

The next day, the class gathered in the class room and got ready for the trial. Alya had spent all night gathering evidence. She had wanted to get security footage, but apparently the cameras had been nonfunctional for a while. She gave all the evidence she had gathered to both Mr. Damocles and Adrien so they could read it over before the trial began.  Once Mrs. Mendeleiev arrived, the trial began quickly. Lila walked to the front and gave her testimony, “Well, I saw Marinette steal the answers to the test that we took the other day. I didn’t want to get her in trouble, but I eventually decided it wasn’t fair to the rest of the class who worked so hard for their grades, so I sent an anonymous tip to Mrs. Bustier. Then when we were sent Mr. Damocles’ office, Marinette got really mad at me, she yelled at me and was saying stuff like how I shouldn’t have said anything and she would make me pay for this. When we got near the stairs, I felt a pair of hands on my back push me and then I fell down the stairs. I yelled as I fell, and then everyone came out to help. When we got in the office, I finally felt safe enough to tell Mr. Damocles’ that Marinette had stolen a pendent that was passed down to me by my grandmother. When we went down to the locker room, Marinette opened her locker and my necklace fell out.” After Lila was done, she hid her smirk. She had done a brilliant performance. She was sure that she had swayed Mrs. Mendeleiev to believe her. Then Lila heard Mrs. Mendeleiev say, “Thank you for your story Lila. Mr. Agreste, you may cross examine the witness now.” Lila braced herself as Adrien stood up. She just had to keep her story straight and everything would work out.

  -----------------

Adrien was prepared for this. He knew that Marinette was innocent. Now he just had to prove it. He walked towards Lila and asked, “First, you said you saw Marinette take the answers. When was this?” Lila answered smoothly, “Why, the day before the test. She stayed in the room after class and when Mrs. Bustier wasn’t looking, she took the answers.” “That is interesting. Because, myself and several other students saw Marinette leave as soon as class was dismissed. I would like to submit this evidence. Sworn statements from seven other students who all say they saw Marinette leave as soon as the school day was done.” Lila looked flustered for a second but quickly composed herself, “Yeah, but she came back to the school and that is when she took the test answers.” Adrien quickly faced Lila again, “Really, because you just said she never left. And we have a written record of that version of your testimony. Another interesting bit of evidence is Mrs. Bustier was sure that she saw the answer key when she left. She locked the door when she left, so Marinette couldn’t have gotten in and taken the answers after that point!” The rest of class started murmuring at this and Lila started to panic. She didn’t think Adrien would be paying attention to every detail, or that Alya would have found all of this evidence in one night.

  -----------------

Once order was restored in the classroom, Adrien continued, “Now that we have covered the cheating accusation, lets move on to you accusing Marinette of pushing you down the stairs. First thing to point out, is you just said that you only felt hands on your back, and you didn’t actually see Marinette push you, is that right?” Lila got a bit more confident at this point. Her and Marinette were the only ones in the hall at this time, so it would be hard to disprove. “Yes, that is right. I may not have seen her, but it had to be her. There was no one else there.” “And yet, when you originally spoke to Mr. Damocles you specifically said that Marinette pushed you down the stairs, which suggests you saw her.” Mr. Damocles yells, “Objection, she never said she saw Marinette push her, just that she was pushed. And Marinette was the only likely suspect, as she was the only one present.” Adrien got frustrated hearing that, but moved on, “Ok, but there is still another problem with your story. You claim to have been pushed down the stairs. That makes a lot of noise. But even though this supposedly happened right outside Mr. Damocles door, and Mr. Haprele in the courtyard, no one heard anything until you started yelling.” Lila started to stammer, trying to come up with an excuse, but Adrien didn’t give her a chance, “Another thing that is important to note, falling down the stairs would cause a lot of injury. Bruises and scrapes and other very obvious injuries. The only injury you claimed was a hurt knee. However, within a few minutes of the incident, despite you claiming that your knee was hurting severely, you were able to walk normally.” The classroom erupted, as people discussed this new revelation. Adrien was right. By the time that everyone came to search Marinette’s locker, everyone saw Lila walking normally. Lila was becoming increasingly nervous as this trial went on. She was watching her whole story fall apart. She noticed that everyone was looking at her doubtfully now. Lila knew that everything rested with the last claim now, she had to be careful.

  -----------------

Adrien continued his cross examination, feeling more confident by the minute that he would win, “Regarding the last accusation, you accused Marinette of stealing your necklace? The one that has been passed down through your family?” Lila replied, making her voice choke up like she is about to cry, “Yes, that necklace means the world to me. It was given to me by my grandmother and we all saw it come out of Marinette’s locker. I wish I had been wrong; I don’t want to think she could be so cruel.” Adrien smirked, “Interesting. You claim it is from your grandmother, but when we look at the necklace, we can see the Gabriel logo. This necklace is from his new jewelry line. It couldn’t have been passed down through the family like you claimed!” Lila got frazzled at this point and burst out, “What does it matter if it isn’t an heirloom. The point is that Marinette stole it. It was in her locker, it had to be her that stole it!” Adrien yelled, “Hold it! These are the same lockers that have been broken into time and time again. Chloe got into Marinette’s locker to get the present that Marinette made Mrs. Bustier. Alya got into Chloe’s locker when she thought Chloe was Ladybug. There aren’t even any locks on them. It is completely possible that someone else put it in the locker to frame Marinette.” Everybody realized Adrien was right. Those lockers have never been locked; anyone could have put the necklace in there.

  -----------------

Mr. Damocles stood up and asked, “Ms. Rossi, is there any reason that you are sure Marinette did all this. Any reason that Marinette might have to hurt you?” Lila saw her opportunity; this could be how she gets out of this. “Yes. Marinette is jealous of me since I’m closer to Adrien. She feels threatened because she and Adrien are just friends but Adrien and I are-” Adrien jumps up, “Objection!” Mrs. Mendeleiev turns to him and asks, “Yes, Mr. Agreste?” Adrien states, “Marinette isn’t just a friend,” Everyone in Mrs. Bustier’s class holds their breath. Could this be the moment that Adrien admits his feelings? Adrien continues, “Marinette is a very good friend.” Everyone in the class groans. False alarm. So, Adrien is going to be dense for another day, Adrienette won’t be happening today. Even Mrs. Mendeleiev seems put out by how oblivious this boy is. “Mr. Agreste, while I appreciate that Marinette is a good friend, lets try to stick to the matter at hand.”

  -----------------

After all of this, the trial ended quickly. Mrs. Mendeleiev ruled in Marinette’s favor. She said that not only did Adrien make a good argument, but Lila kept contradicting herself. Mrs. Mendeleiev also suggested that Lila’s mother be contacted, since she had been lying about this it was possible that she had been lying about some of her other ailments. Lila was horrified, how could everything have gone so wrong. Lila was led away to the office to wait for her mother. Marinette was busy celebrating have proven her innocence when Mr. Damocles walked over to her group, “Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I wanted to apologize for blindly believing the accusations.” After he told Marinette that she could of course return to school, he went to go deal with Lila and her mother.

  -----------------

It was quickly after that meeting that it was revealed that Lila had been lying ever since she arrived in Paris. Lila was expelled because of her truancy and Marinette wasn’t sure what happened to Lila after that. She never saw Lila around Paris again though. Marinette was so grateful to her class for believing her and for getting that trial to prove her innocence. Adrien enjoyed being Marinette’s defense, and now wondered if he should become a lawyer. His friends started jokingly calling him Adrien the attorney after the trial. Adrien was just glad that he could protect his friend. Adrien had warned Lila. Don’t mess with his friends or you will have to face Adrien Agreste, Ace Attorney.

[blush-and-books]

13, 15, and 19 queen

The way that the ones I write for you are always longer :)

13, 15 and 19: Forehead kisses, big warm hugs, and peppering kisses all over someone’s face.

High school AU because I like. Was written while listening to TSwifts new album. Look out for my Juke x Willow analysis tomorrow. 

It’s a stressful morning. A big morning. A meaningful morning. 

Julie’s calculus final. 

Her semester grade may or may not have been riding on this single exam, and her ability to play in the band may or may not have been riding on her semester grade.

The deal she had struck with her father and Victoria was that she would get above a C+ in the class, nothing equivalent or less. While Julie was smart, her gifted kid burnout really smoldered in calculus, and her C+ laughed at her every time she checked her grades. She had a B a couple of weeks ago, but a C- on a quiz and a B- on the last test before the final set her up to fail.

If she can ace this test -- which all the guys had been helping her study for all week -- then her grade could go up, because the final is worth double a regular test grade. And all she needs is a little B- or B to keep doing what she loves to do. 

Even though he shows up three minutes before final bell every day, Luke makes the effort to show up with five minutes to spare this morning so that he can bring Julie the coffee he bought her. 

(He actually had a good reason to almost be late this morning.)

He finds her wringing her hands together next to his locker, which is luckily in the same hall as her math class. She’s so caught in her world of stress that it takes him standing right in front of her for her to see him. 

“Jules?”

The sound of his voice startles her. 

“Luke! Sorry, I was just-”

“Reviewing in your head? I expect nothing less from you.” His right hand extends out to her, holding the gift of a large coffee cup, still warm. “Lavender black tea latte with vanilla syrup. For the girl who is going to kill her test today.”

She looks at the cup like it’s about to ruin her day, but takes it anyways.

“A bit of a premature celebration, isn’t it? I feel jinxed now.”

Luke’s face falls. But, being the tough guy he is, he makes a considerable attempt to shield his disappointment. 

“I’m not jinxing you. It’s a good luck coffee. You’ll get another one when you-” She glares daggers at him, not wanting him to superstitiously ruin her grade. “Sorry! When you… Forget everything and bomb the test.”

When her face wrinkles up with concern, Luke is internally punching himself in the face. He’s been Julie’s best friend for three years and somehow still fucks up every time he wants to comfort her. 

(Probably because he has a massive crush on her and is worried that when he supports her, he’ll expose himself and make things awkward and-)

He throws his arms around her instead. One around her waist and the other tugging her shoulders close to him; and he kisses her forehead once, twice, three times. 

(Exposed crush be damned.)

“I’m sorry I’m so shitty at this,” he whispers. He feels her right hand, the one without the coffee in it, curl into his shirt. Her sigh blows lightly against his ear.

“You’re okay. I’m just freaking out.”

“You are,” he begins, right in her ear, “so smart, so talented, and the biggest badass this school has ever seen. In one minute, you’re going to make this test your bitch. Does that sound good?”

She pulls away, which normally he would complain about, but this time he won’t. Her smile keeps him as warm as her arms do. 

“Probably the best pep talk you’ve ever given me, Patterson. You’re getting better.”

His brain short-circuits while contemplating if that was any attempt at flirting, but then the school bell rings, and she’s yelling a thank-you at him from down the hall as she makes her way to calculus. 

His heart swells as he watches her bounce into the classroom, and hopes that if anyone in the universe is listening to his thoughts, that they also have the power to help her pass the test.

--

That weekend, Julie is too focused on reloading the online gradebook on her laptop than writing with Luke. He knows she’s anxious to see the results, but he was more hoping that songwriting with him could distract her from her anxieties. 

“Anything yet?” 

(He can’t nag her about it, because that’s just rude. All he can do is support her.)

He watches in anticipation as she hits reload, again, but a familiar red dot lingers next to the listing of her calc class: The red dot meaning that something has been added to the gradebook. 

“It’s there!” She essentially screams, temporarily leaping up from the piano bench before sitting back down, and automatically setting her fingernails up in her mouth to bite them. “Oh my God, what if I failed? What if I still have a C+, or a C-, or a D, oh my God-”

“Jules, you passed.”

“But what if I didn’t?”

“I know you. You passed.”

Julie doesn’t say anything -- only stares at the computer in contempt. Luke, boldly, slides the computer over to himself and angles it away from her. 

“I’m going to check, okay?”

She doesn’t say no. He opens the link where all of her graded assignments in her calculus class are, and there it is:

98/100

“Oh my God,” he mutters, clearly in awe. 

Well, maybe not so clearly, because panic flashes in Julie’s eyes. 

“Oh my God?! Is that bad?”

“Jules… You got a 98. Out of 100. You got an A. An A+. Your grade is a B.”

The way that her jaw drops and her hands dart up to pull the computer back in her direction is priceless. Luke is only grinning at her, because he knew she could do it -- if anyone could, it’s her. 

“I did it,” she whispers to herself. “Holy shit, I did it!”

There she goes again, bouncing off of the piano bench, and jumping around on the cold floor of her garage in fuzzy socks and making Luke wonder how much love and sunshine and energy can go in one little body. He doesn’t hesitate to join her, standing up himself. 

“Yes you did! I knew you could do it, Julie. I never doubted-”

He’s cut off by the impact of her body throwing itself against him in a tight, energized hug. Pride swells in his heart. 

He lets himself lift his arms around her waist, indulging in the feeling of holding her so close. She’s this beautiful, magnetic force of nature that he had surrendered to long ago. 

“You’re amazing, Jules.”

The feeling of her lips against his cheek sends him practically spiraling. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she grins at him. “You studied with me day and night even though you aren’t in calculus and didn’t know a thing, but you quizzed me and worked with me and-”

He kisses her. Like, on the lips. 

(Yeah. He’s surprised too.)

It was just watching her glow, like the star she is, and she gets so animated when she talks and even though she single-handedly saved the future of their band she’s praising him for holding flashcards in front of her face and he loves her. She’s too much and at the same time she wasn’t enough; so he kissed her. 

And she doesn’t pull away. 

It’s… Charged. That’s his way to describe it. There’s so much excitement in their embrace that the kiss is strong and determined and God it’s been a long time coming. 

When they pull away, she isn’t yelling at him for violating her or coming onto her, so he keeps himself close by letting his lips brush along her jaw, and then her cheek; followed by her nose, eyelids, forehead, and really anywhere. It was like there was all of this love was pouring out of him but it was only meant to be put on her.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers into her skin, thrilled by the goosebumps he sees as a result. 

“I love you,” she sighs, and he desperately wants to know if she means that in the best friend way she’s always used it or if she’s finally joining him on the flip side, where he’s been waiting for her. But he doesn’t want to pry. 

So he settles with repeating her words back to her, and she’s able to feel his lips form every word against her neck, and he lets her pull him back in for another kiss. 

They can figure out anything else later.

[peoniarose]

Worry

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Sam x Platonic!Reader

Word count: 1429

Rating/Warning: Angst, slight fluff (hopefully it came off that way, if not sorry)

Summary: As a last-ditch effort, the reader tries to voice her worries about Bucky seeing Zemo again, but her words don’t seem to make it out of her mouth. However, that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make its way to Bucky.

Author’s Note: This entered my mind not too long ago upon watching the latest episode of TFATWS. I plan to expand upon this scene but wanted to get a feel about how you all feel about this. Also, the reader’s codename is Sparrow. (ALSO, if you read this before you will notice that there have been some changes. Nothing big just the usage of you, your, and Y/N. I haven’t written with these in use, so let me know if this is okay and if you jive with it. I wanted to try this out. I am thinking of making an OC for this seeing as my plans for this does include some last names. Let me know what you think.)

                        _________________________________

Before he could walk any further to the man who caused him so much pain, you reached for him. His gloved clad hand was being held firm within your grasp. You didn’t mean to, but your hand seemed to instinctively reach out to him.

Bucky turned to stare at you. He had to do this. He had to talk to Zemo in order to get the information they needed and your vice like grip on his hand wasn’t helping him achieve his goal. He tried tugging his hand back, but your grip only got tighter. His jaw tightened and his eyes hardened as he once again tried to pull away from you. He saw your eyes twitch as your grip didn’t let up.

You didn’t dare to let go. You couldn’t, wouldn’t. You saw the disaster of what happened last time. The hurt and pain that Zemo had caused Bucky. Zemo framed and manipulated Bucky to meet his end goal in destroying the Avengers. The thought of him doing anything to hurt Buck in any way again made your heart squeeze. You didn’t want him to go through that again. Your mouth opened ever so slightly as you tried to voice your worries and concerns. You knew Sam tried to last night, but maybe you could somehow miraculously pull them away from this dreaded place. They were on the tip of your tongue, wanting to sneak pass your lips, but when you caught another glimpse at his hard-set eyes you faltered.

“Let me go.” Bucky bit out, harder than what he intended. You flinched ever so slightly at those three words as well as his tone, hoping that no one noticed your subtle movement, but Bucky saw it and more importantly Sam saw it. Your hand slowly peeled away from his and found its new home on your opposing arm’s elbow. Your eyes found a peeling line segment on the ground and focused on that. You didn’t want to meet his harsh glare.

Sam’s jaw set as his gaze on Bucky made imaginary holes into his head. It was bad enough that they had to go to one of the worst villains they had gone up against, but making you upset because you were worried made Sam even more displeased. And he hoped Bucky could feel it.

Bucky knew he was in the shithouse when he felt a set of eyes boring holes into his skull. He didn’t mean to be harsh; he just didn’t know how else to tell you that he will be fine. That he can handle this, hopefully. He didn’t need you to hold his hand. His fist tightened for just a moment. Upon hearing the leather glove squeeze, he let out a sigh and let his shoulders drop.

Ultimately, he was fortunate with your kindness, your graciousness, your overall being. But how does he even voice that? How does he show it? He didn’t know how to fully process it. In the past he only had Steve worrying and caring for him, but then he lost him, and everything was up in the air. Having others show even remotely the same kindness and emotions as Steve did left Bucky off kilter. Who would want to do that for him? This is what made him unable to properly respond. This is what made him not answer about 98 percent of your messages that you had sent him.

Bucky struggled with wanting to try to do something to attempt to soothe you and wanting to continue his trek to Zemo’s cell. Looking over at you once again he decided that the latter was best. Turing around he made it not even two steps when he stopped. A vision of you smiling and gently squeezing his hand in reassurance in Wakanda suddenly entered his mind, and he wanted to kick himself. You had shown him nothing but your absolute best and he was acting like a world class jerk. Bucky let out another sigh and turned around. He could see the worry on your face even though it was trained to the floor. Why were you sticking with him? He knew it was nothing out of pity. You were a genuinely nice person who did things out of the goodness of your heart, and yet he still often times found himself questioning you.

At this point he wanted to pull his hair out. He needed to make up his mind at the moment and stick with it. They needed to get things done and he didn’t need his confused emotions getting in the way. Before he could turn away again, he allowed his eyes to soften ever so slightly and untightened the imaginary screws in his jaw.

You still had your eyes glued to the floor as you felt a set of eyes on you. You wanted to kick yourself. You often prided yourself in showing your emotions to your friends. It’s what made you feel settled and relaxed. You relished in this because you couldn’t do this around your parents when you were growing up. The thought of making Bucky uncomfortable enters your mind and your grip on your elbow gets tighter. You didn’t think your actions made Bucky feel uncomfortable, but it probably does, and you should have thought of that before.

“I’ll be fine, Sparrow,” Bucky said in a softer tone. Your name slipping his lips in a gentle manner. You snap your head up to him, unfamiliar with his tone. Bucky somehow managed to pull off having a stiff, tough exterior with eyes that have considerably softened only for you. A small intake of breath and slightly reddened cheeks later, you cut a glance towards Sam to see if you were hearing things. The Falcon had found a letter and number combo that was slightly peeling on the wall to suddenly be the most interesting thing in the world, which told you that you didn’t imagine Bucky’s words or his gentle tone. Your eyes met Bucky’s once again as the right side of your lips quirked up. To you the smile felt pathetic and too small, but to Bucky it filled his heart with a warmth that he hadn’t felt since Steve.

He wanted to reach out and grab your hand, but he felt that it would be too much. Besides the small smirk on Sam’s face let him know that he would most definitely get an earful later when you weren’t in their presence. He settled on a tiny smile that he hoped got his point across. Bucky turned around and this time stayed on his path to Zemo.

His point indeed did get across. His smile dampened some of the worry that wormed its way into your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel it getting tighter and tighter with each step that Bucky made, getting closer to Zemo. Your hands clenched in a fists near your hips as you thought about him talking to that man.

Sam picked up on your anxiousness and worry. It oozed from you in a way that he hadn’t seen since they went up against Stark at the airport. He sometimes still can’t believe how you manage to remain stoic and calm in front of an enemy or in the face of battle, but within the confines of your friends you let your walls come crumbling down and openly display your emotions. He remembers, from their time on the run, you mention that your parents, father in particular, were cold and closed off. It made you feel alone and in despair. Your parents’ attitude made you not want to make others feel what your parents made you feel. You wouldn’t even wish it upon your worst enemy. You genuinely believe that if villains had a great enough support system, then they wouldn’t turn into villains. Your heart bleeds for everyone which is why Sam has been so protective over you ever since you met. Sam would gladly bandage and guard your heart no matter what came your way.

You feel a gentle squeeze over your fist, breaking you from your thoughts. Looking down you sees Sam’s hand coaxing your hand from its balled-up fist form. His hand holds yours, giving it another gentle, reassuring squeeze.

You meet his soothing brown eyes and a sense of calm washes over you. A breath you didn’t know you were holding in releases and your shoulders ease ever so slightly. A small smile works its way over your lips, and you squeeze back, silently thanking him for his reassurance.