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defectivevillain · 1 year ago

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this broken design, ch8

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read the story from the beginning here. [this won’t make sense otherwise.]

[ao3 version]

apologies, the ao3 folks saw this first and i forgot to post it here 😔

Franklyn’s death is really weighing on you, even as the days continue to pass. Jack all but forces you out of the building, demanding that you take a few days off before returning. Normally, you’d jump at the chance for some free time. However, the last thing you need right now is more time to think. After an unnecessarily heated argument with Jack, he agrees to let you hold guest lectures. Unfortunately, that’s the extent of your current responsibilities. Instead of studying up on murder cases and investigating in the field, you’re confined to the classroom. It’s hard to hide your frustration and you find yourself struggling not to snap at inquiring students.

The newest class of FBI recruits is talented—that’s a given. However, they’re also far too confident in their abilities, which ends up being a hindrance. Confidence and self-assuredness can only take a person so far. When you go over the Garret Jacob Hobbs case with your class, you’re unsurprised to find that no one can produce an answer for how you narrowed in on him as a suspect. You end up having to dismiss the class early—both because of your increasing irritation and the pounding headache you’re beginning to develop. Unfortunately, your annoyed mood doesn’t deter everyone. Somehow, even after you’ve dismissed class and returned to your desk, a few students remain behind and ask you questions. You manage to get through those painfully awkward conversations and, after several minutes, you’re finally alone.

You put a hand on your temple and take a deep breath. The fluorescent lighting in the classroom is always bright, but now, it feels as if it’s burning into your eyes. You close your eyes for a blissful moment, allowing yourself to be submerged in the peaceful darkness. The clock in the far corner of the room is ticking rhythmically, the only sound to accompany the comfortable silence.

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You flinch awake and squint up at your newfound company, only to see Hannibal staring down at you with an indiscernible expression. Pain shoots through your ribs and you realize that the desk is jabbing into your skin. You slowly separate yourself from the desk, despite the compelling urge to close your eyes again.

“Good morning,” Hannibal remarks. You’ve grown to recognize that slight quirk of his lips as his attempt at concealing amusement. “It appears you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“What gave it away?” You answer wryly, your voice a bit raspy from your brief, unplanned nap. The lights above are burning into your vision again and it takes several moments for your eyes to adjust to the atmosphere. You take a deep breath and push your slightly-crumpled papers to the side. You can feel Hannibal scrutinizing the materials on your desk. It takes you a few moments to look up at him and realize that he isn’t paying any attention to the rather cluttered nature of your desk—it seems you were just imagining his judgment. You’re still grappling with the strange juxtaposition of growing closer to Hannibal, yet feeling as if you don’t understand him any better than before.

“Nightmares?” He asks.

You nod. “Only the usual blood and gore… murder and mayhem.” You don’t have the courage to expand on your nightmares or admit that you wake up every hour drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. You don’t mention how you have to mechanically walk to the sink and wash your hands, convinced that there’s blood spattered across your skin and staining your hands. You wipe a hand over your face and try to regain some semblance of composure. “Anyways, what are you doing here?” Hannibal rarely visits you at work—and right in your classroom, no less.

“Jack wants to speak with you,” Hannibal answers. “I was told to accompany you.” You idly wonder how well Hannibal took to being told what to do. Pushing the thought aside, you get to your feet and fall in step next to Hannibal as the two of you walk out of the classroom and towards Jack’s office.

“I spotted your name in a TattleCrime article.” Out of all the statements he could’ve used to break the silence between you, that one was an… interesting choice. You turn your head to the side and blink at him. Unsurprisingly, you can’t quite picture Hannibal Lecter sitting down and fervently reading an amateurish gossip tabloid. Perhaps you misjudged him.

“You read TattleCrime?” You ask, trying your best to keep the surprise from your voice. You shove your hands in your pockets and stare straight ahead, knowing you don’t have the energy to perform the socially-mandated eye contact. “You don’t seem the type.”

“It was an… intriguing read,” Hannibal admits. His shoes make slight pattering sounds as they click against the grey resin flooring. A few of your colleagues and coworkers stare as the two of you walk by. It seems that Hannibal is bound to draw attention wherever he goes. You almost feel like a shadow at his side, perpetually cursed to slip under the radar. Well, to others, that would be a curse; to you, it feels like a strange sort of blessing. No one pays you any attention as you walk down the halls of the bureau.

“The piece was rather timid for Freddie Lounds,” you acquiesce casually. The man at your side seems mystified by your comment and, for a few moments, the air falls to silence. You suppose the differences between Hannibal and you are rather pronounced in that regard. You can’t imagine Hannibal standing idly by amidst defamation.

“She’s written about you before?” Hannibal eventually inquires.

“Many times,” you say with a grin. Hannibal doesn’t smile back. You suddenly feel the need to elaborate. “I don’t care. It’s not like I have the best reputation to begin with.” The rest of your walk to Jack’s office is filled with a tense silence. You’re not quite sure why Hannibal is taking issue with what you said, so you instead give in and let your thoughts wander to other matters.

A minute later, the two of you are standing across from Jack in his office. Jack starts going on a tangent about the Chesapeake Ripper—which you only partially listen to—before turning to ask Hannibal a few questions. You’re a bit embarrassed to admit that you zone out through the majority of their conversation, and it isn’t until the two of them are staring at you that you realize your misstep.

“Yes?” You ask, turning to look at Jack expectantly. The man’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks mildly irritated at the thought of your distraction. He must realize that you had no intention of genuinely zoning out, because the exasperation quickly fades from his expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You frown at him with furrowed brows. That is a rather unusual question for Jack to ask. In your working history with the man, you’ve never once heard him inquire about someone else’s well being in such a straightforward and brusque manner.

“You’ve been quiet,” Jack frowns, looking at you expectantly. “Any thoughts on the investigation? I’d like to hear what you have to say before sending you to Baltimore.” Jack and Hannibal are both looking at you now. You pinch the bridge of your nose and stare down at the floor. Your conflicting feelings must show in your expression, because Jack continues. “Your honest thoughts.” There is significant emphasis placed on the modifier in that sentence. The clock on the wall behind Jack ticks mockingly. Time seems to drag on in this frozen moment. You take a minute to review what you’ve heard so far.

“I don’t think Abel Gideon is the Ripper,” You finally answer, knowing damn well that the Chesapeake Ripper you’re looking for is standing right across from you. “But it certainly doesn’t hurt to investigate all potential options.”

“Agreed,” Hannibal voices. You’re briefly struck with an intense, inexplicable irritation. Jack glances between the two of you and somehow seems to notice your growing anger. He raises his eyebrows at you. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. When you’re overstimulated, it’s easy to get angry at other people for simply, well, existing. It’s hard not to get frustrated when you don't have as much control over the situation as you’d like. The reminder of another person’s mere presence—in this case, Hannibal’s—is enough to send you over the edge.

“I’d like to go alone,” you blurt out, quickly glancing at Hannibal before looking at Jack once more. Your boss seems to understand what you’re trying to say and he takes a deep breath.

“Hannibal,” Jack says diplomatically. “Do you mind if we have a private conversation?” Jack asks, his gaze still locked on you even as he speaks to Hannibal. The psychiatrist nods politely and leaves the room. The moment he leaves, you feel all the tension slowly seep from your shoulders. The occurrence doesn’t go unnoticed by Jack, whose brows furrow for a second.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Agent?” Jack then asks scrupulously. You appreciate that he’s asking, but the hesitant manner in which he does so makes you feel as if you’re a fragile tea cup. Contrary to other people’s beliefs, you’re more than capable of handling yourself. You had done so for years without Hannibal’s assistance and you can continue to do so in his absence.

“I’ll be fine,” you answer quickly and determinedly. You clench your fists at your sides.

“Is there any reason why you requested to go alone?”

“I’m just burned out,” you respond honestly. As much as you enjoy Hannibal’s presence, you feel that you need time alone. You constantly have to monitor everything you do or say in front of the psychiatrist. That necessitated self-awareness, coupled with any preexisting environmental stimuli, can make you feel overwhelmed rather quickly. You don’t utter any of these thoughts aloud, but Jack seems to comprehend the underlying sentiment.

“Ah,” your boss says with an understanding nod. He folds his hands on his desk and levels you with an inquisitive gaze. Admittedly, it took you years to get used to Jack’s demanding stares. The power dynamics in your professional relationship made you feel as if you had to make eye contact with him in order to show proper respect. Thankfully, you eventually learned that the very notion was false. “Very well. You can go on the mission alone.”

“Thanks, Jack,” you smile slightly, feeling appreciative of your boss and his understanding. Jack Crawford can be rather stringent and assertive at times, but it’s during moments like these when you remember that he cares about your comfort in the workplace.

“And, Agent?” Jack asks. You raise a brow. “Be careful out there.” He continues. You appreciate the warning, but it sounds a bit ominous. Does Jack expect something to happen? You shake off the thought.

“Yes, sir,” You say before turning around, hitherto missing the way Jack’s eyebrows furrow at the honorific. You settle for leaving his office. Hannibal is waiting outside, but you walk past him and make your way back to your office alone.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself standing before the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. As you look up at the building, the only thing you can feel is a profound sensation of dread. The hospital looms over you ominously, its dreary beige exterior making you feel rather uncomfortable. With each step you take, your resolve weakens. Maybe you should’ve had someone accompany you after all. You shake your head and grip the unnecessarily tall door, before stepping inside. The entrance hall is rather luxurious, despite your knowledge that the building is a government-funded prison. It takes you a moment to locate a sign and find Frederick Chilton’s office. Minutes later, you’re standing in front of an ornate wooden door that rests ajar, allowing you to see into the office. The man sitting at the desk looks up and gestures for you to come in.

“Hello, Dr. Chilton,” You decide to say, before moving to take a seat at the armchair across from his desk. The man’s attention is evidently pulled away from his papers, as he levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You’re about to introduce yourself before understanding passes over his face and he seems to recognize you.

“The killer in the flesh,” Chilton remarks in amusement, leaning back in his chair and crossing his leg over his knee. You’re briefly struck with a resemblance to Hannibal, before you quickly do away with the thought. Chilton possesses none of the effortless grace that Hannibal does. In fact, Frederick Chilton’s movements and posture just make him seem like he’s peacocking.

“You’ve been reading too much TattleCrime, Dr. Chilton,” you remember to say, making sure to plaster a smile on your face to lighten the blow. Thankfully, the doctor doesn’t immediately recoil or usher you out of the office.

Instead, Chilton laughs. You curse internally. It seems that your prickly responses have only increased his interest. “Maybe so,” he acquiesces, leveling you with a hungry gaze. You instinctively lean back in your chair. “Care for an hour-long consultation? Entirely free of charge, of course.”

“No thanks.” You respond quickly.

“Most people would jump at the chance to speak with me for an hour,” Chilton remarks casually. At least, you suspect that he wants to sound casual. Instead, you fear he just sounds pompous and arrogant. You have to grip at the fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from saying something you may regret.

“I’m not most people, as I’m sure you’ve realized,” you snap with a little too much venom, before taking a deep breath. Lashing out at him won’t get you any closer to a conversation with Gideon. “Anyway. I’m here to speak to Abel Gideon.” You look at Chilton expectantly. There’s an awkward silence that descends across the space, before the man sighs. He looks you up and down—in a manner that makes you profoundly uncomfortable—before shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, you lack the proper paperwork,” Dr. Chilton smiles sadly. You aren’t fooled—it’s clear that he doesn’t truly care about the inconvenience this will cause you. “I’ll cut you a deal, though. You can speak with him after our consultation appointment.” Is the idea of a consultation with you really so fascinating to him? Despite his desperation, you don’t intend to entertain the thought for even a moment. You’ve met many of Chilton’s type—mental health “professionals” that treat their clients as test subjects. You have no interest in becoming a case study.

“Thank you for the generous offer, Dr. Chilton,” you say stiffly. “But I’ll have to decline; I’ll be back with that paperwork.” You don’t give him the chance to respond, instead rising from your seat and walking out of the office. You can feel the man’s gaze burning into your skin as you leave. It’s a different feeling than the one you get when Hannibal’s looking; that heated gaze of Chilton’s holds nothing but malice for you and hunger for your destruction. You can’t get out of the building fast enough.

After that catastrophe, you return to the institute and report your findings to Jack, who immediately grows irritated at the thought of you being turned away at the door. You can’t help but agree with him—you had really hoped to get everything finished with one visit. Honestly, the last thing you want to do is go to the hospital again. Unfortunately, it seems you don’t have a choice in the matter. Jack mentions that the paperwork should be ready within a few days and you’re effectively dismissed.

“Dr. Chilton has taken a rather unprofessional interest in me,” you recount, crossing one leg over the other in your designated chair. You’re back at Hannibal’s office for your weekly appointment. You’re still waiting on that paperwork from Jack, but you know it’ll be ready soon. In the meantime, you’re content to puzzle out just why Frederick Chilton seemed so interested in you. With that thought in mind, you look up at Hannibal.

The psychiatrist is completely frozen. It would be humorous, if not for the aghast expression on his face. Well, Hannibal’s expression is far from aghast—in fact, it’s almost entirely blank— but you like to think that you’ve learned to discern his true emotions.

“Are you alright?” You can’t help but ask.

“Of course,” Hannibal says with a slight smile. You avert your eyes and instead focus on the fire crackling in the fireplace. When you look at Hannibal's desk, you're surprised to find that the sketchbook from before is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he meant to hide it last time. Hannibal’s voice draws you away from your pseudo-inspection of his office. “I was simply taken aback by your choice of words.”

“What?” You frown. “Oh, unprofessional interest? I was referring to Chilton’s insistence on having an hour-long consultation appointment with me. I think he even offered to do it for free.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You seem to be rather popular amongst psychiatrists and mental health professionals,” Hannibal remarks moments later, after he’s evidently recovered from his prior inexplicable shock.

“Can’t possibly imagine why,” you remark sardonically, finally understanding why Chilton was so interested in you. “I��m living, breathing proof of the failure of social conventions. Who wouldn’t be interested in all this insanity?” You laugh wryly.

“You’re not insane,” Hannibal maintains with furrowed brows.

“I appreciate that, Dr. Lecter,” you answer with a sincere nod. “But if that were the case, then I fear I’d put you out of business.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen, before a slightly amused smile falls onto his face. He clasps his hands and leans forward. You sense the conversation is about to take a turn. “May I accompany you on your next visit to Baltimore?” Hannibal asks politely.

“Sure,” you acquiesce. Secretly, you feel a little guilty for going alone the first time. However, you weren’t hired to be Hannibal’s partner for investigations. For a while there, you felt as if Jack was sending Hannibal with you to supervise you. It seems that isn’t the case, though—at least, that’s what you concluded after your conversation with Jack earlier in the week. “I can’t imagine it will be much fun for you, though.” You admit. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane isn’t the most entertaining place on the planet. You can’t quite imagine Hannibal—well-dressed, scholarly Hannibal—standing in those run-down halls. “I disagree.” Hannibal responds, wielding a wicked smirk. You feel a grin growing on your own face in response to his amenability. Hannibal will almost be acting as your security guard, in a twisted way. The thought amuses you far more than it should—so much so that Hannibal levels you with an inquiring gaze. You simply shake your head in response.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, effectively distracting you from the conversation at hand. You frown and ignore the notification, but your phone buzzes again a few moments later and you’re forced to pull it out. Your phone is currently both your work phone and personal phone, although you scarcely use it for personal matters. You get the feeling these sudden notifications are from Jack. Sure enough, when you open the encrypted messaging platform that the BAU uses, you have a few messages from Jack.

Jack Crawford: Just spoke with Alana concerning Gideon.

Jack Crawford: She was his psychiatrist for a while, and maintains that she has information you may need for your meeting with him.

Jack Crawford: I arranged a meeting for the two of you tomorrow morning.

You inhale sharply, before typing out a mediocre response and sending it. You place your phone back in your pocket and take a deep breath, feeling the need to keep yourself calm. You’ve been avoiding Alana ever since the incident… You’d rather not see her again. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t appear like you have much of a choice. Your growing despair must show on your face, because Hannibal asks you about the nature of the messages.

“I have a meeting with Alana tomorrow morning,” you say, rubbing your hands over your face for a moment. You resist the compelling urge to altogether bury your head in your hands. What should you do? You have to attend the meeting, obviously—Jack asked you to attend and you could use more information on Gideon. However, you’re pretty uncomfortable with the idea of going alone. Suddenly, you think of a solution. “I’m normally not the one to ask, but…” You break off, feeling a bit embarrassed as you stare at Hannibal. However, the thought of Alana making any more romantic advances significantly trumps any of your current apprehension. “Will you go with me?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers without hesitation. You feel the tension slowly leave your body. Suddenly, the world around you doesn’t look nearly as grim and gloomy. You focus on taking a few deep breaths.

“Thank you so much,” you murmur in relief. “...I’m hoping nothing will happen.” Hannibal frowns for a moment, before understanding passes over his face and his expression turns grave. He looks at you expectantly. His gaze is rather demanding—something you haven’t seen him display just yet—and you decide to meet his eyes. There is nothing but honesty in the lines of his face, the pull to his shoulders.

“Rest assured, I will not let anything of that nature occur,” Hannibal states with absolute certainty. Something about the determination in his voice and the knowing look on his face makes you feel safe. Moments like these make it even harder for you to connect him to the Chesapeake Ripper. There is no grotesque brutality in the gentlemanly way in which he escorts you out of his office after the appointment; there is no hint of ferocious violence in the softly spoken farewell he leaves you with. When you walk out to the car, the night is blanketed with twinkling stars and a full moon. There is beauty in the veiled darkness. You can’t help but think of Hannibal in the same way.

next chapter

#defectivevillain #apologies if the formatting is a lil screwy #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc

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eternally-writing · 4 years ago

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chain reaction 02 | jjk

genre: fluff and angst

rating: PG

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: college!au , enemies to lovers, series

word count: 4.6k

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: A semester with your mortal enemy, Jeon Jungkook, as your lab partner was bound to be an experience to remember.

banner by me!

read part 1 here!

If you want to be tagged in future parts, send me an ask!

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

When you had imagined what Jeon Jungkook’s apartment would look like, you had definitely thought it would look something like an evil lair (except messy, because Jungkook definitely struck you as the messy type).

However, upon stepping into his surprisingly well-finished apartment, you found the exact opposite case. Before this, you had planned to make a ton of jokes based on whatever you would find in Jungkook’s apartment. And the truth was, you still could.

Jeon Jungkook was an absolute neat freak. You watched the way he subtly shuddered as a fleck of dirt from your shoes travelled off of his doormat and you took note of how his kitchen counter was so clean you could probably eat directly off of it (which was especially rare from someone in college). If he had a roommate, there was no trace of him right now, as the apartment pretty much looked like a showhome.

“I didn’t know you were such a clean freak, Jeon,” you said with a smirk.

For the first time, you saw Jeon Jungkook look the slightest bit timid.

“I like to keep things tidy, I guess,” he said while rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand.

He gestured for you to enter his quaint but somehow spacious living room as he sped to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water (he may not like you, but he’d be damned by his mother if she found out he let a guest into his place without giving them a beverage).

You had a very clear game plan when it came to entering Jeon Jungkook’s apartment: Enter. Talk about the project (and nothing else). Grab the chemistry notes from the class you missed on Monday. Leave.

It definitely seemed like an easy peasy 4 step plan - except that all seemed to flow out the window once you saw the photo Jungkook kept on his coffee table. From what you could decipher, it looked like a high school aged Jungkook in a music studio, right in front of the mic, with some of his friends around him. You had never seen Jungkook smile as big as he was in that picture, and it even managed to pull at your heartstrings.

Before you could open your mouth to ask about it, Jungkook had already come over to you and slammed the picture to be face down on the table, leaving smiley high school Jungkook out of sight.

“An invitation into my apartment isn’t an invitation into my private life, Y/N. Don’t get it twisted.” he said coldly, dropping the glass of water hashly onto a coaster by the picture frame.

To be fair, you kind of deserved that (and looking into Jungkook’s personal life definitely wasn’t part of your 4 step plan to seeing him today), but he didn’t have to be that mean. As a peace offering you moved as far away from the photo frame as you could.

“Let’s just get this over with, Jeon. I have a pilates class in an hour on the other side of campus.”

Now Jungkook couldn't pass up that opportunity to make a joke.

“Pilates, mmm.” He let out an overexaggerated moan to make his point.

“ Think you can slip my number to the hot girls there Y/N,” said Jungkook with a smirk.

“In your dreams Jeon. You’re lucky if any girls will still want your number if you fail organic chemistry, which is what you’re going to do if we don’t work on this project.”

“I think you’re forgetting Y/N.” he said as he bent down, bringing his lips to your ear - “if I go down I’m taking you with me sunshine”.

Ignoring how his close proximity to you was making your heart race (it was probably due to anger, right??), you jumped away from him and pulled out your macbook.

“Our group contract is due tomorrow so let’s just finish that up and then I’ll be out of your hair okay?” you said with an air of desperation and potentially sexual frustration.

For the most part, you and Jungkook worked in silence besides the occasional sound of you typing or clearing your throat. Looking at the live google doc in front of you and the progress you both were making, you were starting to think that working with Jungkook might not be the worst thing in the world.

Jeon Jungkook and Y/N L/N : CHEM 251 LAB PRESENTATION CONTRACT

Topic - Green Chemistry

1. Answer all communication from your partner (emails, messages) within 24 hours

2. Complete all portions of assignments at least 1 day before it is due.

3. Any changes to your availability should be communicated to your partner.

4. Y/N will handle the background literature and introduction of the presentation.

5. Jungkook will look for future applications of Green Chemistry and direct applications of course material in the field of Green Chemistry.

6. Don’t fall in love with your partner.

As soon as you saw Jungkook type the last point on the document, you glared at him beside you on the couch.

“Seriously Jeon? I forgot you have the mindset of a 13 year old boy,” you muttered as he looked at you cockily.

You took a deep breath as your internal monologue started to run:

Okay, Y/N. you’re not here to let Jeon Jungkook mess with you. 3 strikes and you’re out of here - there’s no reason to need to keep up with his bullshit (especially since at least the first part of your project was over).

Jungkook had then had to add more rules to your group contract.

7. Y/N will give out Jungkook’s number to any hot girl at her pilates class.

You groaned and hastily deleted off the document.

That was strike 1 for Jungkook. 3 strikes and he’s out.

Jungkook was still relentless in his attacks.

“Seriously though Y/N, do you really not think I’m attractive at all? You really don’t want a piece of this?,” he said as he wiggled his eyebrows and gestured to his body all too suggestively.

“Cut it out Jeon, I’m not dealing with your shit today,” you hissed, your eyes shooting metaphorical lasers into Jungkook.

Strike 2: He’s getting close.

“C’mon Y/N, what’s the chance that you’ll ever be able to bag someone as hot as me. I mean, look at me and look at you!”

Strike 3: you were DONE with Jeon Jungkook today.

Not even stopping to put on your shoes fully, you took one last glance back at him before you walked out the door.

“Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The glass of water he got you sat untouched on his coffee table, drops of water spilling onto the photo frame beside it due to his apartment shaking from you slamming his door.

Mirroring the new droplets on his coffee table, you found tears starting to drop across your face as well.

--♡--

Even though you loved your chemistry lecture, you’re not sure why chemistry labs had such a bad vibe to you. The most obvious explanation for this would be having Jeon Jungkook as a lab partner (especially after your last meeting, the situation speaks for itself). But what could be is probably at least part of the reason is because of what happened in your first year 8AM chem lab. After getting through a grueling 3 hour titration (that you messed up and got no results for in the end), you walked back to your dorm to find your (now ex) boyfriend Jimin in bed with your roommate, Soomi.

Needless to stay you left that day with one less friend, no boyfriend (and you had also gotten 16/30 on that lab… yikes), so chemistry labs did leave a little bit of a bad taste in your mouth.

It had been months since that incident, but even after getting a new lease and cutting any ties you remotely had to Jimin, you still carried the insecurity that Jimin instilled in you by cheating on you with someone who you thought of as a sister.

You had yet to run into Jimin against post-breakup, and had managed to successfully avoid him, until now.

“Y/N?”

You knew that voice all too well. Turning around, you were met with the sight of your ex, Jimin. As if that wasn’t bad enough, as you looked him over you noticed your old roommate, Soomi, hanging off of his arm. You had no clue that they were still together (you had lost all contact with anyone remotely related to Jimin), and somehow seeing them together hurt you even more.

Jimin looked even prettier than you had last remembered him; his prince-like hair shone in the afternoon sun, his charming smile seemed even brighter. Knowing Jimin was still with Soomi made you feel that he didn’t even feel a pang of regret for cheating on you, like he didn’t need to take some time by himself to reflect (like you definitely did) or stop to grieve your relationship. From your point of view, it seemed like you never even mattered to Jimin.

You suddenly felt self conscious of everything under the judgmental gazes of Jimin and Soomi. Those baby hairs that you didn’t bother to pin down with a bobby pin this morning now felt like they were sticking straight out of your head and the pimple that was poking through your concealer on your forehead suddenly felt like a volcano. In your mind, compared to Soomi, you looked like a hot mess.

Your brain was on autopilot for all the small-talk you made with the two of them, and you didn’t snap out of your trance until you heard these words from Jimin.

“I only wish the best for you Y/N”

You internally scoffed at this statement. Who the fuck was Park Jimin to say that he “wishes the best for you”. You took months to get over him and the hurtful words he said to you. Every mean comment and snarky comparisons he made to you felt like it was tattooed onto your skin and stuck with you forever. But now he was standing in front of you like nothing was wrong?

In a different world, you probably would’ve slapped Jimin across the face. But instead you rose above like your mom taught you to.

“You as well Jimin.” you said courtly with a nod, trying to stop the tears that were pricking at your eyes from escaping your tear ducts.

After receiving a small nod from Jimin as a response, you turned around as if you had somewhere to be (in reality, you didn’t have class for another 2 hours).

Getting as far away from Jimin was all you could think about at the moment, and you moved as far as your legs could take you in whatever direction you thought would take you out of your college’s quad, even as the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision.

You didn’t know how to feel. You had imagined what seeing Jimin for the first time after the break up would look like; maybe he would grovel at his knees and beg to have you back (it’s not that you wanted to date him again or that you had feelings for him, but it would feel nice to feel wanted), maybe you would just throw a drink in his face and walk away like a bad bitch, maybe you could’ve flashed a new boyfriend in front of his face.

All of a sudden your phone started to ring. Your first fear (and somewhat hope) was that it would be Jimin calling you, but little did you know that it was something so much worse.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

“as if this day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought to yourself as you pressed decline. You had yet to talk to Jungkook since that day at his apartment (you didn’t even call to congratulate him on his

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

You groaned and hit the decline but at the speed of lightning again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

Seriously, could this guy not take a hint? You were tempted to turn your phone off all together, but settled for hitting the decline button again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

You realized that for whatever reason, Jungkook was not giving up, so you either had to answer him or listen to your ringtone of “Love Killa” by Monday X play every 10 seconds. Praying that your voice wouldn’t betray you, you took a deep (albeit shaky) breath and tried your best to wipe your tears before clicking “answer”.

“Look Jeon, I’m - uh - sorry but I really can’t do this right now okay? I’ll call you later.” you choked out, your voice obviously wavering as you tried to be as professional as possible.

Before you could press the “end call button” you heard Jungkook’s concerned voice through the speakers.

“Y/N, wait, you don’t sound too good. Are you okay?”

Ah yes, “are you okay” - probably the most loaded question a person could ever ask.

You probably could’ve kept it together if he had asked any other question, but his “are you ok” truly pulled at your heartstrings.

You felt your chest tightening but you tried your best to help the feeling subside. You had yet to show weakness about how Jimin had affected you to anyone, and you sure as hell weren’t going to start with Jeon Jungkook. Clutching at your chest and taking a few deep breaths in an effort to calm your racing heart, you continued on.

“Is that genuine concern I’m hearing from you Jeon? Be careful, you’re losing your bad boy persona,” you said as you tried to make a joke to distract him.

“Y/N, no. I’m serious. are. you. okay.”

You couldn’t handle it anymore. Sobs broke free from your chest and you heaved into the phone, your whimpers and whines striking Jungkook on the other side of the phone.

“I, I can’t- I just-“

The words barely broke through your sobs. Your chest was tightening and you could barely hear Jungkook through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N where are you, I’m coming’” said Jungkook. You could hear the jingling of his car keys and the rustling of him putting on shoes.

As if mother nature felt your pain, the rain started pouring down on you at the same time.

You barely got out any more words to Jungkook, but he didn’t hang up on you. He just kept whispering comforting phrases, trying to calm you down from afar as you could hear his car engine roaring in the background (in another world, you definitely would’ve yelled at him for using his phone while driving). You barely even registered that Jungkook was there at all. Every memory of you and Jimin seemed to reopen like a fresh wound, and you couldn’t feel anything except the pain. All you could do was sit on a random curb by the edge of campus, your wails probably reaching the sorority houses nearby.

You felt broken. The sound of the thunder overhead mixed with your cries as the rain pelted you, soaking your thin sweatshirt. You don’t know how much time passed there. In your head, it felt like time was frozen, while for Jungkook it felt like he was wasting hours zooming through campus (he truly was zooming - a month later he found out that he had accumulated 3 speeding tickets trying to find you, but he would never tell you that).

“Oh, sunshine,” he murmured, voice laced with pity and concern as he pulled over his car on the curb in front of you.

You and Jungkook hadn’t even said a word to each other since the feud at his apartment, and you had absolutely zero clue how he even managed to figure out where you were through your jumbled phone call. But all you knew is that right now you needed him. You needed someone to give you a bit of comfort, and Jungkook was somehow here to do that for you. Despite everything between you twom you couldn’t hide the feeling of relief that ran through your body as you looked up and saw Jungkook in front of you.

Coming to your side, Jungkook crouched beside you.

“Jungkook”, you wept as he pulled you into his chest. It was probably one of the first times you had actually addressed him by his first name, which came as a surprise to him.

Holding you closer, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel protective over you. He couldn’t help but hurt with you as he saw your fragile figure shaking in his arms.

“You’re gonna be okay now Y/N, okay? I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, on a dirty curbside off campus, you weren’t Jeon boy and little miss sunshine, mortal enemies and chemistry lab partners. Instead, you were just Jeon Jungkook and Y/N., and nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

--♡--

To your surprise (and the surprise of anyone else who knows you), you and Jungkook had not been stepping on each other’s toes as much. What had started out as extreme, extreme dislike had turned into a mild dislike (maybe even a very slight enjoyment of his presence, although you weren't about to admit that anytime soon). And of course, you both refuse to acknowledge the “Jimin incident” that had occurred a week ago and you both refuse to believe that it may have had something to do with you and Jungkook not hating each other. Your emails stopped being signed off with “do your part Jeon, or else” and instead now usually started with “Hey Jeon!” and “Thanks, Y/N”

That brought you here, in your apartment on a Friday night, eating old pizza in an old sweatshirt, no bra, and some comfy shorts that had definitely been through the wash one too many times. Researching for your chemistry project, you chuckled at how much of a londer you would look to an outsider. Sending off the articles you found on Green Chemistry to Jungkook, you closed out the email with some casual pleasantries and then turned to continue rewatching episodes of your favourite kdrama. You definitely weren’t expecting a response from Jungkook until Monday. You were sure that someone like him was at a frat party (was he even in a frat? You had no idea). Either way, Jungkook probably was lounging around in some party house with like 6 girls on his arms, while you were doing quite the opposite.

Surprisingly, Jungkook was actually doing quite a similar thing to you. Instead of watching kdramas, he was watching Iron Man (for what was probably the 50th time), and was huddled under a makeship blanket fort like a child and scrolling through reddit. Don’t be mistaken though, Jeon Jungkook was definitely a partier, but he also knew when he needed to give his head (and liver) a break.

He saw his phone chime with a gmail notification. He took a brief scroll through the articles you had sent over to him (those were definitely work for another day since there was no way he could digest academic jargon without at least 3 cups of coffee in him), but he was pleasantly surprised with what you had come up with.

At the same time, the Facebook tab he had open on his Macbook also lit up.

It’s Y/N L/N’s birthday today! Leave a message on her wall to celebrate!

Jungkook’s jaw dropped.

It was your birthday and you were sending him chemistry research papers?? Jungkook chuckled because he could already think of 1000 bad jokes to make fun of you, but he also felt some other feeling that he couldn’t quite place.

Jungkook’s mother had always taught him that it was important to celebrate birthdays, and that is was bad luck that it was He wasn’t sure if it was just a farce that his mother had come up with to make sure that he still attended those family-wide facetime birthday celebrations once he went to college, but either way, he still believed it to some extent.

He had no clue why he was doing this, or how he even got here, but somehow Jungkook found himself in sweatpants and a hoodie in front of your apartment door at 10pm on a Friday night, cake in tow in one hand, his other hand out ready to knock on your door.

On the other side of the door, you were equally astonished. It almost felt like you were seeing a hallucination, as if your email to Jungkook had somehow summoned him to your door. You couldn’t help but rub your eyes in disbelief, just to make sure he was actually there.

“Jungkook?”

Bashful Jungkook seemed to make an appearance again as he tapped his feet in anxiety. And before he could stop himself, words were already tumbling from his mouth”

“Happy birthday?” he said as a question , posing it as if he didn’t know whether facebook was just playing a prank on him (which he honestly didn’t know). “Can I come in?”

You didn’t even really know how to process this situation, but all you could mutter was a “uh, thank you?” in a similar inquirable tone and gesture for him to step into your apartment. If Jeon Jungkook showed up at your door at 10pm on a Friday night, he probably deserved to be heard out.

“You can make yourself comfortable on the couch. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company otherwise I would have cleaned up a bit.” You were sure that Jungkook’s neat freak brain was probably frying itself into overdrive based on the empty now-empty pizza box sitting on your coffee table and stray utensils and crumbs on your kitchen counter. You felt a little embarrassed that he had to see this.

Mirroring Jungkook’s hospitality last time you were at his place, you brought him a glass of water and hoped that this evening would go a LOT better than the last time you and Jungkook were alone together in an apartment.

Jungkook’s cake was still held in his hands. It was a little cake from the 24/7 cafe on campus; he could only find one that said “happy” with little sunflowers and smiles, so hopefully the “birthday” part of it was implied.

“I, um, I brought cake - for you. I mean your birthday.”

You sat down across from him.

“Oh you didn’t have to Jungkook, uh that’s really nice but you didn’t have to do that,” you said as you leaned further away from the cake, as if it was an item that scared you. “I’m not big on birthdays anyways, just usually me chilling in my apartment!”

However, Jungkook was not planning on taking no as an answer. He tried his best to plead with you, but was still getting nowhere.

“you… you have to do it for my mom!” he said as he thrust the cake even closer to your face.

You tilted your head in confusion at his statement.

“I mean uh-, my mom says that it’s bad luck if you don’t blow out candles on cake on your birthday and that if you don’t do it then you won’t live to your next birthday. And um- i know we’re not friends Y/N but I’d rather see you alive next year”.

Jungkook tried to look as nonchalant and cool as possible, and when he realized his statement was a little too thoughtful he followed it up with a “i mean you could do whatever you want i don’t care it doesn’t matter to me”.

You were beginning to like this side of Jungkook, the one that was more thoughtful than he was a selfish, inconsiderate dude.

Taking the cake softly from his hands, you muttered a soft “thank you”. At this point Jungkook didn’t know whether you took it from his hands to throw it on the ground or actually use it for its intended purpose. As you leaned over to grab the lighter by your candles on your coffee table, Jungkook let out a breath of relief.

Throwing open the cake box, you lit the candle in the cake and stared patiently in front of it.

“Well Jungkook, I believe if I am going to be blowing out candles there should be singing too, no?” You joked with a silly smile on your face.

Knowing he had no way out of this (and to be honest, he secretly wanted to anyways), he began to sing.

You had never heard a more beautiful rendition of happy birthday in your life. Jungkook turned the most mundane song, one that you didn’t have many happy memories with, into a tune that made your heart start to swell with joy. You wished the song was longer, because as he stopped to sing you wanted nothing more than for him to keep going.

“Make a wish, Y/N” , he whispered.

You didn’t know what to wish for. There were a lot of things that needed to be fixed in the world, and lots of things that you needed too (like a new toothbrush, or the experience of true love). It seemed fitting that since you were only blowing out these candles because of Jungkook, you should at least dedicate the wish to him. So all you wished for was for you and Jungkook to get along just like you were in this moment.

You looked up at Jungkook from the cake, and from there all you could say was a sincere “thank you”.

The moment was all too sincere, and you and Jungkook could feel the atmosphere shift to one that was all too intimate and friendly for your relationship. As moving away from a hot flame, you both picked up your phones and mumbled excuses to move away from the situation.

Jungkook was the first to break the ice again.

“I don’t know how good this cake is going to be, the expiry date was at least a week and a half ago”

“Well Jeon Jungkook, if you brought an expired cake into my apartment, it feels like a right of passage that you have to try this cake with me.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from picking up a piece of cake on a fork and shoving it into his mouth. Immediately, his face scrounged up in disgust, and you could pretty much see him gag.

“That cream is… very creamy to stay the least,” he said as he thickly swallowed it down, grimacing the whole time.

His expression made you chuckle. There was something about the way his naturally fluffy hair seemed to move as he swayed like a piece of seaweed on your couch (a mannerism that you had picked up on quite quickly), that made you feel warm inside.

“Considering me sacrificing myself to this cake as a birthday present to you, Y/N”

The laugh that bubbled out of your chest almost made that gross cake worth it to Jungkook. And some words of sincerity slipped out before you could hold them in.

“Best birthday present ever, Jungkook, thank you.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Taglist: @apollukee , @mrcleanheichou , @monvieesdaebak

If you want to be tagged, please send me an ask!

If you liked what you read, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this.

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation.

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror.

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot.

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!”

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see.

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.”

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!”

Gasps, all around.

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!”

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.”

Nino snorted.

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!”

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.”

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies.

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?”

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least.

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.”

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.”

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to—what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...”

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged.

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body.

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way.

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur.

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?”

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.”

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out.

Only to find out he was already let go.

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife.

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought.

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague.

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm?

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests.

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was.

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!”

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?”

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.”

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...”

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class.

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught.

Poetry in motion.

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.”

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!”

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.”

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!”

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it.

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead.

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar.

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused.

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.”

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?”

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.”

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.”

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?”

“Oh heck yes!”

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet.

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock.

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious.

Finally, she reached her apartment.

“Home mom!” She called.

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air.

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked.

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.”

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!”

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!”

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?”

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning.

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?”

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!”

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.”

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!”

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...”

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again.

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg.

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.”

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.”

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.”

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?”

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.”

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door.

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang.

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had.

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague.

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.”

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose.

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.”

“Who’s side are you taking?”

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.”

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now.

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.”

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson.

Then Plagg raised his hand.

“Yes Adrien?”

“Before we start class, I want to say something.”

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.”

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?”

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists.

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.”

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms.

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!”

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up.

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort.

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back.

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.”

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now.

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now).

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…”

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien and plagg #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #identity reveal #chat noir #ladybug #fanfiction #I'll Handle This

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Serpent of Eden (Reid Series - Part 3)

~ Reader’s one-night-stand with Spencer turns into a year long semester ~

Summary: After a month of smooth sailing, Reader and Spencer finally cross paths on campus and spoiler alert - it’s not pretty. Couple: Fem!Reader x Professor Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, (eventual) Smut, Series Word Count: 1.7 (ik i promised no small chapters but this ones slightly more spicy and its in preparation for better, longer chapters) Content Warning: Age-gap, teacher student relationship A/N: POV switches from Reader to Spencer indicated by “_ _ _”

PART 2 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was easy to maintain a romantic relationship and to believe that everything was alright when we never had to see each other at school.

What’s harder was being in a professional setting and forcing ourselves to confront the reality that what we were doing was wrong.

Just plain wrong.

We must’ve lucked out in the first few weeks of our relationship because it was smooth sailing for the entire first month. We’d even gotten into a routine - found our groove, if you will.

Most often, we would meet at a place far from Hollis, where we knew we wouldn’t run into anyone who would recognize us. There we could just be (y/n) and Spencer; and there I would get lost in the good times and the bliss of the moment to the point of forgetting that we weren’t just (y/n) and Spencer - we were student and teacher, too. Other times, I’d come over to his apartment, but given my living situation, he had never come over to mine.

It was somewhere around our one-month anniversary when our luck ran out.

Holly had come into the room while I was finishing (or at least attempting to finish) reading a court case.

“Are you going to the Promotional FBI Seminar?” She slid a large pamphlet on my desk, never minding the fact that she’d just haphazardly thrown the pamphlet in the spot where my book lied, causing me to lose my place on the page. Though I didn’t outwardly display my frustration, my agitation did grow beneath the surface.

“What’s that?” I asked her, not out of sincere curiosity, but more so because I wasn’t even really listening to what she’d said before, and I’d pushed the pamphlet out of the way before I even read it.

“A couple guys from the FBI are coming to talk to us about the job, like all the requirements to be hired, how much it pays - stuff like that.”

Holly’s voice didn’t make for great background noise, especially when she started rambling while I tried to continue reading.

“Are you going?” I asked. Again, this wasn’t a sincere question, just a way to make it seem like I was listening.

“Yeah, and I really want you to come with me. I think you’d like it. You’re really into crime stuff, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah…” I said in a daze, obviously distracted by my other priorities.

“So you’ll come?”

I should note that I faintly recognized the name and premise of the seminar, but I couldn’t quite place where I remembered it from, and I was far too preoccupied to pay any further attention to the topic, so it slipped out of my mind almost as fast as it entered it.

It was this moment here where Spencer’s eidetic memory would’ve come in handy.

You see, the reason I weakly recalled the seminar was because just three days ago, Spencer had told me he was going to be a guest speaker for it. But again - I didn’t remember that, and so without any recollection of this information, I told Holly I’d go just so she’d stop bothering me about it.

Unbeknownst to me, I’d just agreed to attending my own personal hell.

I woke the next morning to Holly violently shaking me.

“(Y/n), we gotta go! We’re so fucking late!”

Still half-asleep, I mumbled, “Huh?”

“The seminar started at 9:42 and it’s 10:36 right now.”

This was enough to jolt me awake and get me out of bed.

There was just something about the pressure of being late that forced me into a mode where I could get ready in an ungodly short amount of time. I could never get ready that fast unless I was late for something, which makes no sense.

Holly and I ran from our dorm, through the courtyard, and into the classroom, somehow managing not to trip once on the way there. I was actually quite proud of that.

I couldn’t tell you if it was our breathlessness, our late departure, our struggle to find open seats, or a combination of the three, but we’d commanded the attention of the entire room - and the attention of someone I had yet to notice, too.

“There’s a free seat over there. I can sit in the one over here.” Holly told me, suggesting that if we wanted to sit anywhere, we’d have to be separated. I followed her finger to the empty seat, shuffling awkwardly and apologizing profusely to the people I disturbed by approaching. I was so caught up in the hysteria and chaos to even bother looking up at the stage, hindering my ability to meet my impending doom any sooner.

On the way to my seat, I noticed the copious amounts of notes being taken by virtually every student in the room, so rather than taking any time to look up, I was searching my bag down below me for note taking materials.

But as they say - third time's a charm.

After I’d settled into my seat, I finally looked up from the floor and it was then that I was transported back to a month ago - an eerie parallel to this exact moment.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, earning sneers from the people sitting next to me who I’d clearly disrupted with my profanity.

“Sorry,” I whispered to them, for I was truly sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. When I saw him, my stomach dropped. I had a feeling he’d already seen me, but I was too disorderly before to notice.

I did, however, notice how he eyed me from the stage, even doing a double take when we locked eyes.

“Most of us have done extensive work in areas such as …” His voice faded while my mind swirled.

We have got to stop meeting like this, Spencer.

Our eye contact was too much for me to handle, so I was the first to break away. Through the entire question-period, I kept my head down to avoid any eye contact I could.

“Well, that’s all that we have for you today. Before you go, please hand in your applications if you filled them out.” The other lecturer advised.

I was well on my way out of the room even before he dismissed us, but I was drawn back by the sound of the sentence, “Excuse me, Miss? Could you stay back for a moment?”

I briefly walked backwards before turning on my heels and meeting those eyes that I desperately didn’t want to.

“I noticed you came in late and I thought you might want to know the information you missed -” Spencer paused to look over his shoulder, noticing his colleague was attending to someone else and therefore, too engaged in that conversation to interfere with ours.

“(Y/n), what are you doing here?” He asked me in a hushed tone, a stark contrast from his sweet tone from before.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I completely forgot that you were a speaker for this seminar. I didn’t even know I was coming until last night when my roommate asked me to come with her. I would’ve warned you if I knew. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in this position.”

My apology was sincere seeing as I promised Spencer we would never run into each other. In fact, it was the sole reason we agreed to stay in this relationship - the mutual guarantee that we wouldn’t be put in these situations, but here we were.

In this fucking situation.

“No, it’s fine. I was just surprised to see you, that’s all.”

Spencer could tell I was flustered and truly apologetic for my ignorance, and he was almost about to reach out and rub my upper arm comfortingly when his actions were cut short by the looming presence of his fellow guest speaker.

“Hi there. David Rossi.” He introduced himself by extending his hand into the space between us. “And you are?”

“(Y/n) (y/l/n).”

_ _ _

“(Y/n) (y/l/n).”

It was like watching my worst nightmare come alive.

If I ever imagined introducing (y/n) to my work family, this certainly wasn’t the plan. I just hoped to God that if Rossi and (y/n) ever met again in the future, he wouldn’t suddenly obtain my eidetic memory and recall her familiar face from this exact moment.

“Got any questions for us?” Rossi coyly asked her. Once more I prayed to God that his profiling skills hadn’t just improved drastically and that he could sense the tension between the two of us. It almost seemed like he asked that question just to tease her because he knew what was really happening. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia speaking.

She looked mortified when he asked this, even glancing back at me briefly as if to ask for a reprieve. “Um, no not really. I-I was just telling Dr. Reid that I’ve applied to audit his class before, but was always rejected.”

“That’s a shame. Well, maybe I can look into that. You know, put in a good word for you.” Rossi chuckled, nudging (y/n)’s shoulder to suggest he’d help her. She only shyly laughed and took a step closer to the door.

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that for me.”

“Nonsense. I’d be happy to do it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rossi.” With a thankful smile, (y/n) pranced out the door, closing the lecture hall door sharply behind her without one look back.

“Nice girl,” Rossi acknowledged. “But it would be nicer if she could be on time.”

I laughed, despite not finding (y/n) to be at the butt of the joke to be funny at all.

“Um, are you actually gonna put in a good word for her?” I followed Rossi with my eyes, searching his face with a desperate hope that my question didn’t reveal too much.

“Yeah, why not? I figured you would’ve liked to have another student audit your class.”

“Yeah yeah…” I murmured in false agreement.

Herein lies the trouble.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 4 COMING SOON!

comment to be added to the taglist!

taglist:

@andiebeaword @rexorangecouny @rip2myyouthjpg

#serpent of eden #spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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deancas-fanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

A Daydream Away

Chapter 2/?

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

available on ao3 Read Ch. 1 here

Dean began to slowly stir from sleep. For the first time in years, he awoke feeling well-rested. No pounding headache from the aftershock of a hangover, no repressed memories rattling in his head from a recurring nightmare, and there was no dry feeling in his eyes from sleeping only a few hours. Instead, he felt warm and relaxed as he began to regain consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep as he took in his surroundings. Morning sun hazily streamed in through the gaps in the curtains and it was perfectly still and quiet. Dean sighed in content and went to roll over to fall back asleep. Except a weight on his chest prevented him from moving.

Dean tensed, realizing Cas was lying across him. His head was resting in the crook of his neck and his arm was flung over his chest in an almost possessive like manner. His right leg was intertwined with Dean's, sufficiently entangling the two so Dean couldn't easily tear himself away. Cas' breath softly fanned against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. As if all of that wasn't bad enough, Dean quickly remembered they were both nearly naked, wearing nothing but their boxer briefs. This meant their bare skin was pressed together and that there was only a very thin material of fabric protecting Dean from a very embarrassing situation. He closed his eyes at that thought and focused on his breathing to calm himself down.

It was at that moment that Cas began to stir. Dean silently cursed whatever entity was at fault for this awkward situation he was about to be in. Cas flexed his fingers and he tightened his grip on Dean rather than pulling away in alarm, as he had expected.

"Uh Cas?"

"Hmmph."

"Buddy, I gotta go to the bathroom. Would you let up?" Dean tried peeling Cas' arm off him with that request but was unsuccessful.

"No."

Okay, so Cas was a totally unabashed cuddler. Dean added it to the mental list of social norms that Cas hasn't exactly picked up on yet. He internally groaned as Cas remained plastered to him. As Cas' breathing once again evened out and he fell back asleep, Dean's mind began to race.

He's always been the kind of guy that either completely ignored or repressed the hell out of complicated manners in his life. First, it was his sexuality. It was years of him ignoring his attraction to men and assuring himself it was completely normal for a guy to have a crush on other guys until he finally admitted to himself that yeah, okay maybe he's not all that straight. While it was freeing to finally admit it, he was bitter for denying himself that ability to explore that aspect of his life for so long. Then there were another few years of admitting his sexuality but refusing to actually admit it out loud to anyone. When he finally told Sam just a few years ago and was met with a "yeah, I know Dean," he realized that he did it again. He deprived himself of the happiness of being his true self. He delayed his own happiness due to his own insecurities and hang-ups.

Since they literally defeated God, Dean promised himself that he was done with delaying his own happiness. It was kind of a (for lack of a better term) come-to-Jesus type of moment. He literally died multiple times in the last fifteen years alone and it wasn't until that moment that he truly realized life is short and that he should make the best of it. Of course, it's now a lot easier to do that when there's no world-ending apocalypse or imminent battle with Heaven looming overhead.

While this new outlook on life was pretty great, it has certainly complicated things. Another thing Dean repressed the hell out of was his relationship with Cas. While Cas refers to it as a 'profound bond,' or whatever, Dean has a harder time labeling it. It's obvious they have a different relationship than Cas and Sam do, but it's just so damn confusing when he allows himself to think about it.

He just wishes that Cas was a little more transparent regarding what was going on inside his mind. With time, Dean has improved at reading his minimal facial expressions. The slight upward tick of his lips showed his amusement. His signature head tilt™ meant confusion or curiosity. The furrow of his brows indicated frustration and if accompanied with the head tilt it meant he was about to smite someone. The last time Dean saw that look, it was directed at him and Sam when they may have gotten Jack just a little bit drunk. But really, they couldn't be blamed. It was the night before they took on Chuck, and they were all under the impression it was their last night on Earth. Anyone else would have done the same thing. Well, except Eileen who signed "told you he'd be mad," with a smug look on her face. But that's not the point.

Regardless, Dean had gotten quite good at reading Cas. However, there was still a lot he didn't know. Sometimes Cas would look at him with an expression that was so foreign to Dean that he had no idea how to catalogue it. And it confused the hell out of him. Sometimes the expression would be so soft that Dean would entertain the idea that maybe Cas felt the same way as Dean does. But that look would be gone as quickly as it appeared, and Dean would convince himself he was projecting.

Dean sighed as his thoughts continued to spiral, unable to stop them. Instead, a loud pounding at the front door startled him, bringing him back to the present. Cas jolted awake as the pounding continued. He had a light flush on his cheeks as he removed himself from Dean.

His hair was sticking out in every direction, reminding Dean of that night in the barn when they officially met for the first time. He wondered what sex hair would look like on Cas, if that's just what his regular hair looks like in the morning. Dean shook his head, effectively stopping that train of thought before it could spiral out of control. The pounding continued, more incessantly this time.

"Who the hell..." Dean grumbled, forcing himself out of bed. He threw on his discarded shirt from the floor and made his way through the living room to the front door. He swung the door open and was met with Sam's annoyed expression. "What are you --"

"Jesus, Dean. Do you plan on actually working the case or are you just going to sleep all day?" Sam brushed past Dean and brushed snow off his jacket.

"What are you talking about? What time is it even?"

"Nearly nine, Dean." He said, pulling his best bitch face. "They stop serving breakfast at 10. I thought you were going to interview guests this morning."

"Well, yeah. We were just getting ready to leave, so chill." Sam looked unimpressed and walked past Dean to the bedroom. Cas was still sitting in bed, blinking away sleep with the blankets pulled around him, effectively proving Dean wrong. "Oh, you were just getting ready to leave? Then why does Cas look like he just woke up?"

"I -- don't you have an interview to prepare for?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I already had it. I start later today."

"That soon?" Cas asked, his voice gravelly and rough from sleep and oh. That sound went straight to Dean's groin.

"Yeah. They're really short staffed. From what I gathered, quite a few employees quit after the last couple went missing a few days ago. It seems like they were pretty freaked out. So now they're really short staffed and pretty desperate."

"Oh, so that's why they hired you," Dean jokes. "They're desperate."

Sam just looked unimpressed. "For the love of God, would you two just get ready and go to breakfast? We have no leads and I need you to talk to the guests. When I'm at the desk this afternoon, I'll sign you up for some activities so you can talk to more guests."

Dean opened his mouth to argue that hey, he's perfectly capable of signing up for his own activities but Sam shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks. "I'll make sure you're signed up for the bourbon tasting, if that's what you're worried about."

"I knew I could count on you, Sammy," Dean grinned. With that, Sam shook his head and headed out of the cabin.

It took equal parts pleading and the promise of coffee to coax Cas out of the warmth of the bed and out into the cold so they could make it to breakfast in time. The morning brought with it a light snowfall, so Dean had to quickly brush the Impala off before driving the short distance to the main lodge where breakfast was served.

Dean and Cas waved to Brenda as they passed the front desk and waited in line to check in at the host stand. Breakfast was served in the form of a buffet with a wide variety of items offered. Dean gave the hostess their cabin number and headed straight to the eggs and bacon. He loaded up his plate while Cas grabbed waffles and coated them with syrup and whipped cream.

"You should be grateful you married me instead of Sam," Dean declared, taking a large bite of bacon as he scanned the room for an open table. "He would have lectured you for all of the sugar you're loading up on."

Cas tilted his head, seemingly thinking that over. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I don't think Sam and I would be very compatible on a lot of fronts."

Dean, meanwhile, flushed at the possible implication that he and Cas are compatible. Cas didn't seem to notice and directed his attention towards a table where a young couple were sitting, enjoying their breakfast. "Should we sit with them? Maybe they could tell us something about the couple that went missing."

"Yeah, okay. It will also get Sam off our back for a few hours." Dean followed Cas as he approached the table.

"Mind if we join you?" Cas asked, good natured. "My husband, here, overslept this morning and it seems we arrived for breakfast at the busiest time."

Dean glared at Cas for throwing him under the bus when it was actually the other way around, but there was no heat to it. In reality, his stomach did that weird swooping thing when Cas referred to him as "his husband."

"Of course!" The young woman smiled at them over her glass of orange juice. "I'm Amy, and this is my fiancé Jake."

"Nice to meet you," Dean turned on his most charming smile. "I'm Dean, this is Cas. We just arrived last night and had no idea breakfast would be so busy."

Amy laughed and shook her head. "We experienced the same thing. We found that arriving at 8:30 is the sweet spot. It's right between the early and late risers."

"Another tip: if you arrive early enough, they have cinnamon rolls. They always run out by 8:00." Jake added.

"We'll definitely remember that. Cas has a sweet tooth, as you can tell by his side of waffles he got with his syrup." Dean joked. Cas just rolled his eyes and happily ate his sugar infused breakfast. "How long have you two been here?"

"Five days," Amy chirped. "We're getting married this summer, so we wanted to have a relaxing vacation just the two of us before things get too crazy with last minute wedding planning."

"We know how that goes. We ended up having a small wedding because the planning got to be too much work for us." Cas paused and chewed thoughtfully. "Wait - so you've been here for a few days. Does that mean you were here when that couple went missing?" Truthfully, Dean was impressed by Cas' nonchalance. While his social skills have significantly improved since becoming human, there were still times that Cas had some social awkwardness. It was endearing as hell but could make working a case a little difficult. But Cas seemed to be holding his own rather well.

Jake and Amy exchanged a look. "Yeah, we actually did a cooking class with Kevin and Raymond. They were so nice and were here on their honeymoon. No one seems to have any idea what happened."

"Did you notice anything weird?"

"No," Jake answered, furrowing his brows. "Like Amy said, they were really nice and gave us a lot of great wedding advice."

"Yeah, they weren't planning on leaving for another few days, so when they were suddenly gone it didn't make sense."

"We thought they had a family emergency and had to leave early or something, but then we heard they were actually missing. It's so sad."

"Did you do any other activities with them?"

Amy smiled wistfully. "Other than the cooking class, we only did the bourbon tasting with them. I have quite the bourbon collection at home, as did Kevin so we talked a lot about that. The tasting was the last we saw of them."

Dean nodded, and steered the conversation towards bourbon and scotch, not wanting to raise any suspicion by asking too many questions.

After finishing their breakfast, Cas grabbed a to-go cup of coffee and they meandered back outside. With the fresh snowfall, the grounds looked serene and absolutely beautiful. A blanket of untouched snow coated the ground, sparkling in the sun.

"Want to explore the grounds a little?" Dean asked. "It may be a good idea to get a good feel of the layout."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Cas smiled in return and pulled his hat over his ears. The wind wasn't biting like it was the night before, but it was still December in Minnesota meaning it was fucking cold. Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and followed the path around the lodge. This led to a large staircase down to the lakeside. Christmas lights were strung along the railing and there was a bonfire roaring near the lakeside, which was tended to by a few guests. Dean and Cas slowly made their way down the staircase, breathing in the crisp fresh air and enjoying the scenery.

Cas quickly finished his coffee and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Then he shoved his hands in his jacket, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a shiver. Dean fondly rolled his eyes at him and held out his hand.

"Give me your hand." He ordered. Cas looked at him questioningly but complied, nonetheless. Dean took his hand and shoved it in his pocket with his own. "Jesus, your hand is freezing."

Now it was Cas' turn to roll his eyes. "I had to finish my coffee," he reasoned.

"We need to buy you gloves."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"No, your hand feels like ice. Sometimes you forget you're human and actually need to worry about things like that."

"That's not true."

"Sure, it is," Dean snorted. "Within your first few days of being human you were dehydrated because you forgot to drink water regularly."

"You forget to drink water regularly, Dean."

Dean paused. "Okay, you have me there. But you also wore your suit and trench coat in 90-degree heat on that case in Arizona. We were in the desert and you were wearing like 4 layers."

Cas lips turned up at the corner. "Okay, you have me there." He echoed. "To be fair, I am getting better. I now dress 'weather appropriate' as Sam puts it."

"Yes, you do. I'm just sure being human takes some getting used to. But in the meantime, you need to let Sam and I help you out." Dean squeezed Cas' hand for emphasis, which was now at a much warmer temperature.

In response Cas smiled his full, blinding smile which made Dean feel warm despite the cold. "Thanks for letting me stay with you both at the bunker."

At that, Dean felt a pang of guilt. He completely mishandled the situation last time Cas was human and that was something he would never forgive himself for. "Cas, I'm sorry for --"

"No, don't apologize. I understand why you did that. You were saving Sam's life. I didn't mean to dredge that up. I just wanted to express my gratitude for allowing me to stay with you."

"You're family, Cas. We stick together." And just like that his blinding smile was back, with a certain softness in his eyes that Dean had trouble interpreting.

They now reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped at the fire to quickly warm themselves. Dean and Cas asked the few guests milling around the fire about Raymond and Kevin, but none of them had any information about the missing couple. Half of them weren't even staying at the resort when the disappearance occurred. After making a few minutes of small talk, they said their good-byes and headed back to the Impala. The cold officially seeped through their winter layers and Dean could feel his feet turning numb.

The walk back to the car was very quick and at last Dean was starting Baby and blasting the heat. He sighed in relief as warmth fanned over his red face.

"We should probably call Sam before he arrives back for work and tell him we haven't had any luck yet."

"Yeah, good thinking," Dean agreed as he pulled out of the parking spot. Cas dug out his phone and dialed Sam's number, putting it on speaker so they could both hear.

"Hey, Cas." Sam answered cheerfully. "What's up?"

Cas dutifully explained their lack of progress on the case and the dead end with the guests. "I know we haven't spoken to more than a handful of them, but I fear it will be the same with all of the guests. What are your thoughts?"

Sam hummed in thought. "I called the local law enforcement this morning while you were at breakfast, posing as a journalist and they said the same thing -- none of the guests had any helpful information. Maybe we need to switch tactics."

"What are you thinking? Cas and I pose as agents?" Dean questioned as he turned onto the gravel road leading to their cabin.

"No, law enforcement already spoke to the resort staff and they didn't get anywhere. I doubt it would be any different with federal agents." He paused as he thought for a moment. "Maybe you two should just really lean heavily into the whole married couple thing and focus on luring whatever it is that took the other couples."

"We're already doing that," Dean responded.

"No, I know. But I mean lean into it. Act so sickeningly in love so you become the obvious target. I'll see if I can get any other information from the staff, but I think that's our best angle at this point. Like I said, I'll sign you up for some couple activities over the next few days and you just need to act like you're madly in love with each other."

"Will you sign us up for the cooking class?" Cas asked. "Jake and Amy mentioned they took that class with Raymond and Kevin before they disappeared."

"Yes, I can do that. Stop by the desk after lunch and I can give you your itinerary. But I gotta go - I have to be at the resort in less than an hour."

"Are you sure that'll be enough time to style your hair?"

"Fuck off Dean," Sam retorted humorously. "I'll see you guys later."

Cas said goodbye and slid his phone back in his pocket.

Dean chanced a glance over at Cas as they pulled up to their cabin. His brow was furrowed and he was staring out the windshield with a faraway look on his face.

"What's on your mind, buddy?"

Cas' eyes flashed in frustration. "If we're going to make people believe this is real," He said, gesturing between them. "You should probably stop referring to me as 'buddy.' Married couples don't refer to each other as such."

"Right. Sorry." Dean chewed on his lip. Cas was right. If this plan was going to work, they would have to adjust a few aspects of their friendship, this being one of them. "That's a good point. I think we were just fine this morning, but like Sam said, we need to really lean into it. So we'll have to step up our game."

"What do you suggest, we become more physical?"

Dean flushed at the implications. "Uh -- yeah, I suppose. We could hold hands more," He suggested.

Cas nodded. "Or I could put my arm around your shoulder."

"Exactly. Just do what you see other couples doing. Really, we should be fine. Once Sam signs us up for all of the couple’s activities it will be even easier to act the part."

"What about kissing?"

"What about it?" Dean's face was flaming at this point. He shifted in the seat to get a good look at Cas.

"Should we do it? Other couples do it, and it may be odd if we don't." Cas tilted his head, studying Dean's expression. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable?"

"What? N-no, not at all." Quite the opposite, actually. "I mean -- that's fine, Cas. If it feels necessary for the case, then we can, um, kiss." Dean could not believe he was actually having this conversation. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to get his shit together. "Just do what feels natural, alright?"

"Alright." Cas agreed.

"So, we have a few hours until we have to be back at the lodge to meet with Sam. Want to see if there’s anything good on tv?”

A big smile took over Cas' face at the suggestion and he nodded in agreement. They got out of the car and made their way inside the cabin. The fresh snow crunched under each footstep but otherwise it was silent. Once they were back inside the warmth of the cabin, Cas took off towards the bedroom and muttered something about getting a blanket while Dean collapsed onto the couch.

He turned on the television and began searching through the channels, waiting for something to catch his eye. Within seconds he heard Cas’ light footsteps in the hall. He looked up just as he came into sight. Cas had their large comforter in his hands, but Dean was distracted by what he was wearing.

"Are those my sweatpants?"

Cas looked down, almost sheepishly. "Oh. Yes. You always tell me that jeans are not proper attire for movie nights. I assume the rule applies even if it's daytime, so I changed. I didn't bring any loungewear, so I borrowed yours. Is that alright?"

He eyed the pants which hung low on Cas' hips. It left a small sliver of tan skin exposed and Dean could see the sharp line of his hip bones. He inhaled sharply and forced his eyes back to Cas' face. "Yes, Cas. That's alright."

Cas' lips turned up at the corners and he flopped onto the couch next to Dean. He pulled the large blanket over the two of them and sat just close enough that Dean could feel the heat coming off of him, but they weren’t quite touching.

Since becoming human, Cas has taken to borrowing Dean’s clothes. After Dean convinced him to try on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Cas realized just how uncomfortable the suit and tie ensemble was. With that in mind, he began sneaking into Dean’s room and would snag a band shirt and sometimes a flannel, dressing like he’s a Winchester himself.

The first time he saw him in his clothes Dean nearly had an aneurysm. He had grown so accustomed to Cas in his suit and shapeless coat that seeing him in jeans that hugged his ass with the sleeves of his flannel rolled up his forearms was an immediate turn on. Maybe it was also the fact that they were Dean’s clothes on him that caused such a problem. Regardless, Dean abandoned his breakfast to immediately take a cold shower.

And now, seeing him in his own sweatpants that perfectly hug his ass and hang low on his hips was painfully unfair. Dean readjusted himself, ignoring the heat pooling in his gut. Now was not the time for inappropriate boners. He internally groaned and tried to focus on the nature documentary Cas put on but was unsuccessful because at that moment Cas rested his head against Dean’s shoulder and let out a little sigh of content.

This is going to be a long and tortuous week for Dean because it's just pretend.

#destiel fanfiction #deancas #destiel #destiel fluff #destiel fanfic #fake dating #dean and cas #fanfiction #supernatural #spn

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a fluffy little fic with Klaus? And like he’s always super supportive even if he doesn’t quite understand what you’re doing, he’s kinda always like “fuck yeah look at you go!” I could really use the love lol

A/N: Hey Nonny. I didn’t know what sort of things you meant, so I defaulted to what’s familiar for me: the struggles of higher education. I hope you enjoy it, and that whatever you’re doing, you know it’s amazing because you’re doing it 😊 Word Count: 1944 Content Warning: mild language, brief references to drugs

You groaned, your head hitting the table as you stared down at your circled answer, the wrong answer again. You were determined to keep taking this practice test until you got it right, until all of the answers felt like second nature. Except you kept making the same mistakes over and over again instead.

Your pen sailed through the air, causing your best friend, and eternal headache, to duck with a chuckle as it clattered against the wall.

“I see studying's going well,” he teased, walking further into the room.

“Klaus Hargreeves, unless one of the assortment of pills I just know are in your pocket right now is a magic one that will help me remember this shit, I say this in the most heartfelt and loving way possible: piss off.”

He pressed his hand to his chest dramatically.

“Exqueeze me?” he trilled, “I come to make sure you’re alive, as you’ve not been seen in days, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m serious Klaus,” you sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair. “I need to study.”

He looked you over, taking in the bags under your eyes, your rumpled clothing, the sag of your shoulders. You were overworking yourself, as self-destructive in your own way as he was in his, and it pained him to see.

“You need a break,” he said, crossing over to you and sweeping you up in his arms, toppling your chair in the process and surprising you with the strength hidden in his arms.

“Klaus,” you whined, struggling ineffectively from your position pinned to his chest in a bridal carry. “No, I don’t have time for a break right now. Especially not the kind you mean.”

He sat down on your bed, keeping you in his lap and began carefully finger-combing through the knots in your hair.

“I have no ulterior motive, mademoiselle,” he hummed. “Only your wellbeing in mind. Relax with me for one hour,” the worst of your knots gone, he laid down, tugging at your arm to try and get you to join him. “And I will leave you alone for the rest of the night, or even help you to study, if you want.”

“I don’t want...chemical aids.”

He scoffed. “Who do you take me for? I know you better than that.”

“Then how could you help me? You don’t know anything about the material. Or testing.”

“I’ll...hold up your charming little flash cards, or read you the questions. I don’t know. Sit next to you and cheer enthusiastically whenever you get a question right and burn the whole book if it claims you’re wrong?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out, and were glad of it when he flashed you that dazzling grin. The longer you sat, awkwardly leaning and half in his arms, the harder it became to resist his temptation.

“Fine, one hour,” you said, attempting to be stern as you relented, curling up against his chest.

“No more, no less. And then we shall study until our eyeballs fall out,” he promised, fingers crossed behind your back as he held you.

Your hands shook nervously and you thought for sure you were going to sweat through your blazer as you paced the hallway outside the small lecture hall. You checked the notes you had tucked in your pocket and licked your lips to try and wet them, not that your equally dry mouth and tongue made much difference.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the board, distinguished faculty, and guests,” you muttered for what felt like the seven-hundredth time today. “No, that sounds stupid. Why am I calling the faculty distinguished but not the board or the guests? Maybe I should just do ‘good evening ladies and gentlemen of the board, faculty, and guests,’ but that sounds weird too.”

You flopped against the wall, groaning in frustration. This presentation was the moment, your time to shine, or to crash and burn, dictating potentially the entire rest of your career. And public speaking was not your strong suit.

“Y/N?” your advisor said, poking her head out into the hall and giving you what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile. “They’re ready for you now.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay, thanks, Linda. I’ll be right in.”

This was your thesis you were about to defend. You had spent more than a year researching and writing it. So why did you suddenly feel like you knew less than the day you walked into your first “101” class?

“Time to face the executioner,” you muttered to yourself, squaring your shoulders and walking in behind Linda, feet carrying you slowly down the aisle to the podium.

You paused, taking a moment to arrange your notes and scan the crowd, looking for someone who looked friendly and unassuming, maybe a kindly librarian type, to focus on while you spoke.

Instead you locked eyes with a familiar, wholly unexpected pair of green eyes. You frowned, about to call out and ask what the hell Klaus thought he was doing here, when you remembered exactly where here was. You cleared your throat and tried to school your face to be placidly blank.

“Good evening,” you started, gaze still fixed on his face. “I would like to thank everyone for their time and attendance, um here, um today.”

‘You’ve got this,’ he mouthed silently.

You smiled, launching into your presentation proper with gusto.

Every time you felt yourself hesitating or fumbling, you sought him again, and his awed little smile bolstered you, reminding you of all the late nights he had spent up with you, watching you from your bed as you paced the room or sat hunched at a desk, thinking out loud or talking to him about it all, offering little suggestions (never that helpful) or affirmations (always very helpful) occasionally, just to remind you that he was there, for you.

Before you knew it, your time was up and you exited the room to a smattering of applause. Out in the hall, a pair of warm arms wrapped around you from behind and lips were planted on your cheek.

“That was brilliant! You were brilliant!” Klaus said enthusiastically before dropping his voice to purr in your ear. “And the whole ‘genius’ thing is very sexy.”

You felt your cheeks blush heatedly. “I’m not a genius, Klaus.”

“Well I had no idea what you were saying, other than super smart stuff, so I disagree.”

You slid out of his arms, although he did manage to keep one circling your waist, and started walking, planning to stop at the 24 hour cafe on campus for a quick pick-me-up and then head home. Klaus followed, holding you as close as you’d let him, planning to go anywhere and everywhere you wanted and nowhere else.

“How do you know it was super smart then, if you didn’t know what it was?”

“Because I know you, and you’re the smartest person in the world.”

“I am not,” you countered, giving him a gentle shove, blushing even harder now.

“And because all those stuffy old academic types in there were impressed.”

“You think so?” you asked hopefully.

You felt like you couldn’t get a read on the room the whole time you were presenting, and their questions had been extremely critical.

His eyes twinkled as he stared down at you. “I know so.”

Before you knew it, graduation had crept up on you. You sat in the hard plastic chair in the stuffy canvas pavilion, surrounded by all of your classmates, and waited. It had been hours, and would be hours more, and you just wanted it to be over. No one was there for you, no one cared if you even got this diploma. You could probably slip out the back and be gone before anyone realized, the only sign of your absence the awkward pause when your name was read.

It had always been this way, all through your schooling. Your parents didn’t really understand your career choice, or didn’t have time to come for campus events. You didn’t have a lot of friends due to the demands of your program, and your own innate awkwardness. Instead of being a celebration of your achievements, graduation felt like another reminder of how alone you were, how most people would never remember you unless you did something embarrassing like trip and fall off the stage.

Making excuses and muttering apologies, you slipped out past the rest of your row of fellow graduates and out into the fresh air and bright light of the campus lawn. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, taking off your mortarboard hat and unzipping the robe-like graduation gown about half way.

“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound of Klaus’s voice, not expecting him to be here of all places, and especially not coming out of the tent you had just exited moments ago.

“Klaus!” you gasped, hugging him. “What...what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, obviously,” he said, booping the end of your nose. “So when I saw you looking like you might be making a break for it, I followed.”

“Oh.” You were flattered that he would attend or managed to spot and recognize you in the sea of identically dressed co-eds, confused how he’d found out the date and time, and a little annoyed that you’d been caught.

“Were you running away?”

“They can mail me my diploma,” you said with a shrug. It wasn’t quite an answer, but it said everything it needed to.

“Y/N,” he sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know I don’t understand all this college, academic, brilliance stuff. But I know it’s supposed to be special and important and one of those things you’ll always remember.”

“Because it’s supposed to be a celebration. Only I don’t feel like celebrating alone.”

“Well, you’re not, are you?”

“My classmates don’t count. I barely know them.”

“I meant me.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not alone, because I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You smiled softly, staring into his green eyes, so tender and full of love, as you remembered all of the times he had been there already: how he’d gone to the post office and held your hand when you mailed out applications, how he’d listened to you practice for your admissions interviews for days on end, every late night study session and “study” session, every distraction from anxiously awaiting a grade, pulling you up when you sank into a slump or felt like a failure and cheering you on for your highs and successes. Klaus had never been through formal schooling, had no desire to for all that he was clever. But even though he never knew what the hell was going on, he was there for you through it.

“I should have known that,” you murmured. “After all, you always have been before.”

“Even geniuses can’t know everything,” he countered with a shrug and a smirk, before leaning down to press your lips together softly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, stretching up on your toes to bring you closer to him as his hands slid down from your shoulders to rest on your waist, an embrace as much as a kiss. You became dimly aware of the sound of applause from inside, signalling the end (finally) of the current speaker. Reluctantly, you pulled away.

“I guess I should probably get back in there,” you sighed.

“Only if you want to,” he said, thumbs tracing circles on your sides. “I’ll support you either way.”

#if this was nowhere near what you meant please feel free to send in a new request with clarification #is it romantic? is it platonic til the last moment? you decide #like a choose your own adventure of fluff styling #Klaus Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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rocksandrobots · 5 years ago

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 5 - The Interview

It was Monday morning and Varian stood outside on the university grounds waiting. Hiro had told him that he was to meet with the school’s headmaster today. He needed to speak to this Professor Granville about obtaining supplies to build a new portal machine to send him home.

Varian had never met a dean of a university before. He wanted to look his best to impress such an important person. He wore the white linen shirt he had bought on Saturday and a pair of the khaki dress pants, both pressed and ironed the night before, along with his Sapporian boots, polished and shined to match the black belt he wore. On his head, he still wore his customary goggles but he made sure to polish them as well.

Wasabi had tried to comb and fix his hair this morning, but it was already back to its usual unkempt state. It hadn’t even stayed in place for twenty minutes before his swept back bangs started falling and the cowlick on top of his head started to spring back up despite the use of styling gel, much to Wasabi’s frustration. However, there was no time to fool with it any more as Wasabi had to leave early to take Ruddiger to the vet.

Varian deeply appreciated the older teen’s assistance. For the duration of his stay, Wasabi had gone out of his way to help Varian and make him feel at home. Not asking for anything in return, nor walking back on any promises (no matter how much the existence of Ruddiger annoyed him), and going above and beyond anything a regular person from Varian’s world would do. He was far different from any other fair-weather ‘friend’ Varian previously had.

They had spent the previous day hanging out together at the dormitory; with Wasabi teaching Varian various things about this new world and helping him and Ruddiger get situated.

They set up the cage for Ruddiger to sleep in. There wasn't much room in the apartment for such a large kennel so they had to tuck it up under the kitchen table. Placing the pet bed and bowls of food and water inside. Ruddiger hated it. He much preferred the fake log that Varian wedged into the corner above the sofa; curling up there whenever possible.

As for said sofa, Wasabi took the new sheets and blankets he’d bought and fixed them up into a proper bed. With the cushions tucked tightly into a fitted sheet and the new pillow fluffed up and placed at one end.

Next to the couch they put up the small chest of drawers and organized Varian's new things. Helping him to set up his own little space inside the small apartment.

He also helped Varian set up his new phone. Teaching him how to make calls, text, and the myriad of secondary functions the device could perform. But the most impressive thing about the new phone was something called the internet. It was a worldwide information and communication exchange system. All of human kind’s accumulated knowledge, history, and personal banalities was a mere click away.

Varian started off reading about the history of quantum physics on an online encyclopedia, which somehow led to him arguing with a person in someplace called Indiana over the exact meaning of the pentagram symbol on something called a public forum, and finally ending up watching a bunch of moving pictures, called video, of seals playing in the Antarctic. All in less than an hour.

One could get lost in the sea of words, images, and sounds that this new invention had to offer. Varian could only marvel at just how smart and well educated the people of this world must be with such wells of information so easily accessible to the public at large. In his world, all they had were books and you could only get those that happened to be shipped to whatever area you lived in. Corona itself only had one bookstore, located on the island capital, if Varian wanted new reading material he either had to make a trip into town or hope that some of the traveling merchants had any on hand they were willing to part with.

Thus the day had passed until Wasabi had to leave to go to work. In his absence, Varian did a bunch of chores. He took Ruddiger for a walk, cleaned up the washroom, and tried to cook dinner.

He had wanted to surprise Wasabi with a good meal as a way of thank you. Unfortunately the little makeshift kitchen wasn't well stocked. Varian had very little to work with and some of the stuff on hand was unfamiliar to him.

Worse, the only thing to cook with was the microwave and toaster. Wasabi had shown him how such appliances worked but he hadn't had much practice with them.

Ultimately he had decided on fixing some oatmeal. That was easy enough and Wasabi had everything to cook it with. He poured the milk and oatmeal into a pot and placed it in the microwave and set the timer for thirty minutes. He then cut up some new tropical yellow fruit called bananas to go in it. Ruddiger loved the rare treat and Varian had to cut him his own banana slices so as to keep the animal from stealing their supper.

Varian also tried out the toaster. The pieces of bread turned out a little darker than he had expected but all in all he was happy with his first attempt. He buttered them up and started on a second batch.

He was just hunting down a sweetener to use in the oatmeal when Wasabi came home.

The tall man nearly cried with joy when he spotted the newly cleaned bathroom.

"You … you cleaned? Like, you scrubbed down the shower and the sink and everything! And I didn't even have to ask you!?"

"Well yeah. If I'm going to be staying here awhile I might as well do my part in maintaining the place" Varian said matter-of-factly, not understanding what the big deal was.

"You don't get it. I've never had a roommate who would help out with chores. Trying to get those guys to even just fold laundry every once in a while was like pulling teeth. And I've gone through a lot of roommates in the past two years." Wasabi said with a weary tone at the end, as if recalling some of those failed partnerships. He then switched back to the present. "Thank you, man." He said with an appreciative smile.

Varian was about to tell him that he was welcome, but then the microwave exploded.

Sparks were flying from the sides and oatmeal came gushing out from the front. The interior light was flickering on and off and smoke poured out the back.

Wasabi gave a little scream and ran past Varian to unplug the device before it caught on fire.

Apparently one wasn't supposed to put metal into a microwave. Which Varian personally considered as a design flaw, but he kept this opinion to himself and instead profusely apologized. He promised to replace the machine but Wasabi only sighed and told him not to worry about it.

All was not lost though as Wasabi ordered Chinese take out for dinner instead. Varian had to admit that the bowls of rice, vegetables, and meats covered in various sauces were far more substantial than the oatmeal he had had originally planned. In particular he enjoyed the pork dumplings. They reminded him of the pierogi he would make back home but with a thinner pasta shell instead of the thicker breading he used.

Varian recalled yesterday's events and had only just resolved to make it up to Wasabi somehow, when he spotted Hiro walking towards him.

He was talking to an older woman with short dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. She was smartly dressed in a grey business suit and carried with her a folder and pen.

Trailing behind the two of them, Baymax wobbled along. Not being able to keep up with his stubby legs.

"He's really smart; He just doesn't understand our world fully. But, he can learn things real quick." Varian overheard Hiro say. He figured they were talking about him, and that the lady must be Professor Granville, but the older woman said nothing in response nor gave any indication that she was impressed by what Hiro was saying.

"Oh there he is." Hiro pointed out to her. He waved at Varian and excitedly broke into a jog to meet him first.

"Hey! Varian, this is Professor Granville. Professor Granville, this is Varian." Hiro introduced them as the woman came up to meet them.

Professor Granville did not hurry, she remained calm and composed as she walked over to join the two boys. She appeared almost regal like, to Varian; tall, aloof, and fully in charge. However, despite this cold demeanor, her face did break into a warm smile when she met Varian's gaze.

"Ah, the boy who built the portal. Hiro has told me all about you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Her voice, while not unkind, did hold an air of authority to it. A tone that very much conveyed that this was her domain and that Varian was merely a guest in it. Like a queen meeting one of her newest subjects.

Varian didn't know whether to wave hello, shake hands, or give a bow to the woman. Not that she gave him much choice.

No sooner did he squeak out a faint 'hi' did she sail past him and opened one of the large double doors.

"If you'll kindly follow me, we'll go ahead and begin your interview." She said while holding the door open for him.

"Interview?" Varian echo.

"Yes. All prospective students must complete a college interview if they are to attend SFIT." She said matter-of-factly.

Varian looked at Hiro in confusion. He thought he was here to talk about gaining supplies for his experiments, not to become a student. Hiro however only gave him a shrug in reply. So Varian moved to follow the woman.

"I'll meet you out here when you're done." Hiro said to him as he walked into the darkened hallway and Professor Granville closed the door behind her.

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

"Right this way." Professor Granville led her newest charge into an empty classroom. It was a spacious lecture hall with a desk at one end and upon the blackboard were mathematical equations written up. All of the staff had returned a week early from spring break to prepare for the coming summer semester and Granville had planned on continuing setting up for her next class after she was done admitting the new student.

Hiro had explained the whole situation to her, about the portals and the kid from another world who had built them, and for her part she figured it best to go ahead and enroll him. That way he could have access to any materials he needed to continue with his experiments, a place to stay during that time, and more importantly she could help forge for him any legal documents that he would undoubtedly need to get by. Not to mention that if the boy could indeed deliver on his portals then it would be a great boon for the school and its reputation.

"Have a seat please." She indicated for him to sit down in a chair that she had pulled up to the desk. He did so, and she sat on the other side and opened her folder.

“Now first I’ll need your full name.” She instructed as she clicked her pen and made ready to fill out the application form for him.

“Varian.” The boy replied,“ uh, V-A-R-I-A-N”

She wrote the name he had spelled out down and waited for him to continue, only no other names were forthcoming. She looked up and asked,“And your last name?”

“I haven’t got one.”

“They don’t have last names where you come from?” She asked. The boy was from another world so who knew what other customs they had.

“Oh no, there are people with last names.” He clarified. “It’s just I’m the only Varian in my village so there was never any need for one. If anyone ever referred to me by anything else it was usually either, you know, ‘Here’s Varian the alchemist’ or ‘There goes Quirin’s son.’” He paused briefly before explaining further, “Uh, Quirin’s my dad’s name.”

“And how do you spell that?”

“Q-U-I-R-I-N” He replied while the professor went back to writing. When done she looked back up and continued her line of questioning.

“Very well Mr. Quirinson, now I’ll need a former residency to put on your application. Mr. Hamada has already mentioned that your country of origin does not exist in our world, but I’ll need an equivalency to put on your official documents.” She took a globe that was sitting upon her desk and handed it to Varian. “Why don’t you see if you can find anything familiar and maybe we can glean a substitute from that.”

Varian scanned the globe, gazing over the continent of Europe; his finger following its northern coastline on the map. Everything was jumbled up. Countries were missing, new ones he had never heard of before in their places, what kingdoms he did recognize had different borders to what he had previously known. Even the geography was different, with rivers, lakes, and mountain ranges appearing in different places. Everything was slightly off. As if someone had taken a map from his world and then proceeded to move everything slightly to the left.

Finally, in his confusion, he found something. A small peninsula jutting out into the Baltic Sea, and next to it were the words The Curonian Spit. It didn't look exactly like his Corona and it was spelled differently, but it was a peninsula, it was on the northern sea, and it was in the general vicinity, northeast of France.

"Uh, here." He said while pointing to his find. Professor Granville peered over the desk to see the tiny country his index finger nearly covered.

"Kaliningrad Oblast." She read, curiously, before sitting back down and turning to her computer. She looked up the country in question. "Says here Kaliningrad was a former part of Germany and is now a territory of Russia. I don't suppose you speak either Russian or German do you?"

"I speak both actually." Normally Varian would brag about just how many languages he did know, but for right now he was just confused. He still didn't fully understand why this barrage of questions was important.

"Excellent!" The professor exclaimed. "We'll get a passport and a student visa for you in no time. Now I'll just need your date of birth."

"March the 24th."

"And the year."

"1639."

Professor Granville paused, and slowly looked up from the form she was filling out.

"1639? As in 1639, A.D.?" She asked in disbelief.

Varian nodded his head.

"You are aware that it is currently the year 2015 in this world, right?" She continued.

Varian could only stare blankly back at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe our worlds have different calendars?" He offered up helpfully.

"Must be." Granville agreed quietly. There was no way a child from the mid 1600s could possibly have invented an interdimensional portal, she thought. Out loud though she only asked. "How old are you, Mr. Quirinson?"

"Sixteen."

She wrote 03/24/1999 onto the form. "Now I'll need the name of the last school you attended and we'll be done with the formalities."

"I..I've never been to school before." He stuttered, suddenly self-conscious. This was where he'd be rejected he knew. Poor farm boys didn't get fancy educations. She undoubtedly would decline to admit him and he'll be left scrambling for another means of rebuilding a machine to get home with.

"You've never been to school?" She asked, horrified.

Varian squirmed in his seat. "Well you see," he explained, desperately trying to think of some way to salvage the situation, "there is a small school in the capital, but that's a good day's trip and Dad needed me to help around the far- uh, estate. Besides, I already knew how to read and write by the time I was old enough to go." He gave a half smile at the end, hoping his advanced reading skills would be enough to impress her.

"And how did you manage to learn advanced physics and engineering?" She asked in disbelief.

"Well, I read books, and studied the masters, like Copernicus, and did a lot of experimentation on my own. A lot of trial and error." He said this last bit dryly, personally recalling some of his past failures.

"Sooo you're completely self-taught then?" She asked, still trying to make sense of this strange boy.

Varian nodded his head.

"Well, why don't we just put home-schooled on the application." She suddenly suggested with a wide smile and Varian internally sighed with relief with the knowledge that his past wasn't going to be held against him.

"Now for some personal questions. Here at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, we pride ourselves on admitting the most dedicated and accomplished of students." Professor Granville proudly proclaimed. "Tell me what are some of your biggest accomplishments in the field of science?"

"Uh…." Varian's brain froze. He had no real accomplishments. Everything he built either blew up, broke down, or worked in a way he hadn't originally intended.

"Come, come, no need to be shy." Granville encouraged.

"Ummm…"

The professor looked at him expectedly and Varian heard his heart pounding in his ears as his mind raced.

"I invented a bath bomb!" He blurted out in haste.

Professor Granville blinked back at him in surprise. "Well that wasn't what I was expecting," she said slowly,"but tell me about this 'bath bomb'."

Varian wanted to sink into the ground. How stupid could he be? This world had everyday technology that was so far more advanced compared to Conora's that of course she wasn't going to be impressed by his makeshift cleaning supplies. But he had already said it out loud, might as well commit.

"It's a small alchemical ball full of soap and hydrogen. So that when you throw it into a tub and ignite a flame underneath, it combines with the surrounding air to create condensation and voilà, instant bath."

"Interesting," the woman said, and she did genuinely appear to be so as she adjusted her stance and leaned in a little with her arms upon the desk and hands clasped together. "And tell me what was the inspiration for this 'immediate bath'."

"Well, umm, there isn't any running water in Corona and sometimes carrying water from the well or the river is a pain." Varian explained, then reflexively, under his breath and through gritted teeth, he added, "Or sometimes you might find yourself in a position where you can't bathe for over a year."

He hadn't meant for this last part to be heard but Granville commented on it anyways.

"You've been without running water for over a year?" She asked, concerned.

"Oh, no. We've never had running water. It doesn't exist in our world." Varian corrected, hoping to distract from his previous comment. This however was not the correct thing to say as Professor Granville only furrowed her brow even further.

For Granville's part, she was just simply bewildered and more than a little worried. When Hiro had first told her of the boy from another world, she had assumed he came from one similar to their own, or perhaps one that was even more advanced. She'd have never in a million years expected that the inventor of a portal device was from a world stuck before the pre-industrial era. Yet it all added up to appear that way; 17th century birthday, no running water, his biggest academic influence was Copernicus for crying out loud. How ever was the boy supposed to keep up with modern college level studies? And yet where else was he to go?

So she pressed forward. Ignoring the growing doubt building in the back of her mind.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?" She asked.

She was met with only a blank stare from the young man sitting across from her.

"For example, do you have any career aspirations or personal goals you would like to achieve?" She clarified.

"Well, I'd like to go home and free my dad." The young boy said slowly. "I haven't given much thought to anything else?"

"Free?" Granville asked, confused.

"I mean, see again, obviously." Varian hastily rectified. But Granville was growing ever more concerned, the boy was hiding something.

"Well I can understand why that would be a pressing matter to you, but surely you've given some thought to the future; some idea of where you might wind up." She encouraged him.

"Jail?" The boy questioningly threw out. He looked wide eyed now, confused and lost as to what she meant and looking for an answer that clearly alluded him.

"And why would you say that, Mr. Quirinson?" She pressed.

"Cause that's where I've been for the past year." The boy admitted. He was growing agitated and impatient. He didn't understand the point behind any of this and was slowly getting fed up with the woman's prying questions. Not the least of which because they made him feel self-conscious.

"I see," the professor said as she began to piece together the clues. Granville had spent several years working in both academics and social services. She knew the signs of a 'problem' child when she saw it. Typically, young kids with unchallenged intellect, accompanied by perhaps a broken home life, would sometimes lash out or make trouble for themselves in an effort to receive attention. The boy's father was missing in some way and he grew up in an unstimulating environment that didn't encourage his creative genius.

"And because of a mistake or two you don't see yourself rising up to doing anything else." she cajoled; sometimes a push could help inspire the aforementioned child to challenge himself.

"No. Because they typically don't let you back out after you've committed high treason." He answered back bitterly. Headmaster or no, who did this woman think she was to make such sweeping judgements? He was properly angry now and no longer cared about making a good impression nor about keeping his past hidden.

He quickly stood up and leaned over the desk to glower at her. "Look, I came here to get help not to be grilled about my past. If you're not interested in giving me the supplies I need then I'll find some other way to get them. But I am not giving up on my father." He angrily pounded his fist on to the desk to emphasize his point.

Then almost immediately his demeanor changed when he looked back up to see the blackboard behind the professor. "Also the answer to that equation should be 2.6 not 4.6. Sorry that's been bugging me for the past ten minutes." He apologetically stammered in exasperation.

Professor Granville turned and looked back at the offending equation in question. Glad for a momentary distraction from the growing tension in the room.

The boy's mood swings were bewilderingly quick and the 'treason' comment had not been something she had been expecting. If he really was from the 17th century then 'treason' could mean anything, to being locked away for scientific study or for simply knowing the wrong people. Given his comments about his father needing 'freeing' she suspected the latter.

The aforementioned equation was a long physics question with an answer provided, in order to serve as an example to the class. It was far too long to solve in one's head so she had to pull out a calculator and resubmit the numbers into the machine to check the boy's calculations. And to her surprise he was right. She had accidentally written the wrong number up on the board.

"That...is correct." She replied, double checking the calculator she held in her hand. "You figured out this whole equation in your head in less than ten minutes?" She asked in disbelief. Granville had worked with many gifted students throughout her career, but scarcely any could perform such advanced mathematical problem solving in such record time without the aid of any tools; not even basic pen and paper. And this was made all the more impressive by the fact the child lacked a high school education or even the passing knowledge of more modern mathematical advancements, like those of Einstein.

"How else would you do it?" Varian replied, not knowing any other way himself.

"A calculator," She responded, holding the device into the air.

"Wait. You have a machine that does math!?" The boy exclaimed in equal parts disbelief and excitement.

She nodded and handed the calculator to him. Which he eagerly snatched up, looked at it longingly, and then cradled the device to his cheek while proclaiming, "It's so beautiful," in the exaggerated manner kids often do. He then began to fiddle with the machine, testing out its various functions like a child that had just received a new video game for Christmas.

"Where has this been all my life?" He excitedly laughed. This device would make checking his calculations ten times easier.

Granville watched on, bewildered. Who was this child? How did someone from such a primitive world manage to invent such a scientific miracle? In all her 40 years she had never come across such a contradiction before. Just imagine what such a child could have achieved had he been born in a time and place that nurtured his natural talents.

Then she shuddered as realization hit her. A short range teleportation device was his original intent, Hiro had told her, and Varian himself had mentioned prison and not being let out. And not just any prison, they weren't talking about juvie here, but a 1650s style dungeon no doubt. History wasn't her expertise, but Granville knew enough about that time period to know that he wouldn't have been fairly treated while within there. No telling what horrors the boy had faced in the past year or more.

Her heart went out to him then and she could have just cried at the thought of this little teenaged boy huddled up in some dark dank stone room. She pushed the image out of her head and regained control of herself. Crying wouldn't help. But giving him the opportunities that had been denied to him thus far would.

"Let's return to the interview shall we?" She said instead, slipping back into the role of professional administrator and taking her seat again.

Varian looked up from the calculator he was playing with in confusion. He had assumed his previous outburst would disqualify him but Professor Granville gave him no time to question.

"Now Hiro has informed me that you are currently staying on campus with Mr. Gari, how is that working out?"

"Mr. Gari?" He echoed blankly.

"I believe you and the rest of his friends refer to him as 'Wasabi'." she clarified.

"Oh, yeah, he's great. Things are going fine." He replied, still confused.

"Wonderful," the professor smiled back. "In that case we'll keep that arrangement for the upcoming semester."

"Whatd'ya mean?"

"I mean, Mr. Quirinson, welcome to SFIT." She said with a warm smile as she handed him a pre-typed acceptance letter that she had tucked inside the folder.

Varian read the letter in bewilderment. He was being accepted into a university? Him? And not just any university, but one specifically for the study of science. He couldn't help but give a breathless laugh. He'd honestly never thought that he'd ever be given such a chance, especially after such a disastrous interview. But no, the woman at the desk seemed genuine in her approval.

"Now if you'll just sign these forms you'll be granted a full four year scholarship, or until you finish, whichever comes first." She said as she slid the folder over to him and handed him her pen.

He signed his name upon the dotted line as his stomach filled with giddy butterflies. It all hardly seemed real. His dad would never believe it. Oh how he wished he could run home, wrap him in a hug, and tell him right now. Surely something like this would make him so proud.

He blinked back tears at that wishful thought and finished signing the other papers the professor handed to him. When done he looked back up at her and she said, "Good. Now because of your... unique, situation; there will be a few extra steps you'll have to complete before classes start next week. Which I'll talk to you about as I give you a tour of the facility."

With that she stood up and walked to the door and held it open, once again indicating for Varian to follow her.

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

Varian stood outside next to the physics building where he had first started the day, waiting for Hiro to join him. He leaned against the wall while sucking on a small lollipop the school’s nurse had given him. Professor Granville had given him a quick tour of the school, a folder full of important papers, and instructions for how to proceed with his education. The final stop was the medical office where she had left him with the nurse in order to attend to other business.

Said nurse had given him the ‘vaccines’ that Wasabi had told him about; the near magical medicine that was supposed to prevent certain illnesses. The shots had stung a bit, but it was all over very quickly and the kind woman who administered the procedure gave him some colorful sticky bandages and let him pick his favorite flavor out of the bowl full of suckers sitting on her desk.

He was just finishing off the last of the butterscotch flavored treat when Hiro finally found him.

“Hey! There you are! How did it go?” He asked.

“Well, she admitted me into the school but she said I had to do some stuff first before she could fully enroll me.” Varian replied.

“Yeah, what kind of stuff?”

“I have to take something called a ‘General Educational Development’ test and a ‘Scholastic Aptitude Test’. She gave me a study guide and was going to give me both tests on Friday.”

“Ah.. yeah, you wouldn’t have an eligible high school diploma here. But it’s fine. I took similar tests in order to graduate early. They’re not that hard, the only thing that should trip you up is the history stuff, but we can all help you study for them.’ The young boy offered.

Varian smiled back at him appreciatively. It was nice to know that he now had people in his life that he could depend upon for help.

“So what else?” Hiro asked.

“She also gave me an extended reading list. I don’t have to read every book on there in a week, thank goodness, but I’m to keep up with it for the rest of the school term so I can catch up on things that the rest of the students will already know. I also need to give her a ‘photograph’ of myself that she can put onto a passport and something called a ‘visa’.” Varian scratched the back of his head in confusion as he said this last bit. Apparently one needed lots of documents and forms in order to maneuver within this country's society. Granville had asked him all of those questions at the beginning of his interview precisely because she was going to help procure those official papers for him, or forge similar facsimiles that could do in a pinch.

Hiro nodded along. “That makes sense. See it’s a good thing you met with her. Granville has connections that can help with things like that. Also she’s the only one who even thought of it to begin with.” He laughed. “Man, that would’ve been bad if someone like Chief Cruz found out you were here illegally. Anyways, you can take the ‘photograph’ using your new phone. I’ll help and show you how to email it to her. Wasabi set you up with an e-mail right?”

Varian nodded yes. That was one of the functions of the internet that Wasabi showed him yesterday.

“Great! I’ll also email you the stuff I found on Project Silent Sparrow. It’s the portal project that Krei Tech was working on.”

So Hiro spent the rest of the day with him, with Baymax also tagging along, and together they helped Varian take his picture and send it to Professor Granville, gather up some of the books on the reading list from the library, and briefly went over the project files behind the portal that sent him here.

After Hiro and Baymax had decided to go home, Varian made his way back to the dormitory. He couldn’t wait to tell Wasabi all that had happened. However, as soon as he opened the door he was met with the sight of Wasabi chasing Ruddiger around the apartment with a broom. Food, slimy shampoo, and various other items were strewn about the place and Wasabi was covered in soap bubbles while Ruddiger himself was sopping wet. Varian sighed and closed the door behind him. Looks like telling about his day would have to wait.

#varian #Hiro Hamada #Wasabi #professor granville #BH6 the series #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #bh6 #tangled #ruddiger #tts #rta #bh6ts

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ningyotsu · 4 years ago

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TEACH ME, TOUKO-SENSEI PROFESSOR AOZAKI! touko vc: okay~!

Since the revocation of her Sealing Designation, Touko single-handedly revolutionized modern runecraft by digging deeper into the Futhark Runes. Returning to her roots, she assisted the Clock Tower in giving advice where needed, but she primarily stays on as a guest lecturer of sorts while taking up semi-permanent residence in her room at the Tower of the Moon.

She gives lectures where she initially started out at: the faculty of Astaire, the 11th department (Archaeology & Universal Research). A rather solitary faculty, Touko’s department retains its reputation as the department that has the least amount of problems (if not at all) as well as the most amount of silence, but within lecture halls, students who found every lecture boring while regretting their life choices were pleasantly surprised with Touko’s increasingly creative ways of teaching. She employs e-learning methods and suggested that the department have at least a stable Internet connection to spare newer students from consuming half their data plans in a short period of time.

Though Touko has been well sought after at the 9th department (Creation) due to her skill in puppet-making as well as being a former student of Lord Valueleta, she rarely takes up delivering a lecture at that department. It could be either because she prefers to keep her trade secrets to herself, or simply because she never sees eye-to-eye with the concept of their brand of creation. When she does give a guest lecture there, she teaches students what they already know, leaving them mostly frustrated over being taught recycled material or as for a certain few others, they somehow think that she’s hiding secret knowledge between otherwise dull lines.

Touko's popularity attributes to three factors: her name (her title of Grand as well as her otherwise legendary status), her personality (extremely easy-going and refreshingly relatable) and her methods of teaching. Once again, she’s a spotlight-stealer who knows close to no shame or moderation.

Her office is a lot roomier than her office in Mifune City (Garan no Dou), and typical to the aesthetic of the Clock Tower, teak bookshelves filled with books, a fancy desk and tasteful interior decorating make up just a few of the furniture in there. Right by the wall at the left upon entering is an old upright piano that hasn’t been used for a long while until Touko occupied the office. The room is a representation of the contrast between the traditional and the modern, with modern appliances such as her laptop, her power-bank and her tablet littering about the place.

Ever since she took upon Kokutou Azaka as her apprentice, she never took on another apprentice again. Those who vied for Touko’s attention in having her take them under her wing never succeeded.

#THERE ARE JUST THESE LITTLE THINGS (hc)#REVOCATION RELIVED ! ( lord elmelloi ii verse )#( h hhhh.....professor touko....!!! )

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marianna-liosi · 2 years ago

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PRESS RELEASE

The Transformation of Silence

exhibition with Héla Ammar and Souad Mani

curated by Marianna Liosi

With a focus on persisting injustices in post-2011 Tunisia, The Transformation of Silence is an exhibition curated by Marianna Liosi that explores different forms of truth seeking, as well as the emotions linked to persisting social injustices that affect the country and its communities. Stemming from personal and societal feelings of rage, frustration, and disillusion, a variety of artworks by Tunisian artists Héla Ammar and Souad Mani seek to express dissent and political action. They provide an overview of the challenges that the Tunisian civil society has to face, from legacies of injustice, massive migration to severe pollution. Simultaneously, the works play as “glitches” in the current social and political system that can open the space for political change.

The show brings together performative videos, video installations, sculptures, photographs, as well as new productions and archive materials that trace trajectories through spaces, confronting historical moments and desires across times.

The title of the exhibition is inspired by a speech held by Afro-American writer, feminist, professor and civil rights activist Audre Lorde, which is an invocation to take action and speak out.

The Transformation of Silence is one of the outcomes of Liosi’s 2021 fellowship on Memory & Justice, at Merian Center for Advanced Studies in the Maghreb (MECAM), Tunis. The event is the result of, and has been made possible by the cooperation between MECAM and La Boîte (Tunis), with the kind support of Fatma Kilani.

Details:

Location: at Chapel of Saint-Monique, Rue Victor Hugo 2016, Carthage-Présidence, Tunis.

Duration of the event : From Friday 23 September, to Friday 14 October 2022.

Marianna Liosi is art curator, researcher, lecturer and cultural producer. She lives and works in Berlin. Marianna was MECAM Fellow 2021, within the Memory & Justice thematic cluster. She served as guest lecturer at the MA program Spatial Strategies at Weißensee Fine Arts Academy, Berlin (2021-2022) and as lecturer at LABA- The Free Fine Arts Academy in Rimini (Italy) (2019-2022). In 2020, she completed her PhD in Humanities, at the University of Ferrara, Italy. Her research interests focus on the question of engaged spectatorship, social networks as digital archives, affect and emotions, and digital memory as a tool of resistance. In the last years, Marianna has been focusing on education as curatorial practice. She has curated film screenings, workshops, exhibitions and she has lectured in art and academic institutions, such as HAU4, online, and MECAM’s Winter Talks #3, online (2022); European Month of Photography, Coculture, Berlin (2020); Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin (2019); 00 Bienal de la Habana, Havana, Superior Institute of Fine Arts (ISBA) Sousse, Fondation Maison des sciences de l’homme, Paris, D21 Kunstraum in Leipzig (2018); Between Bridges, Berlin (2016). Marianna has published essays in artists’ books and academic edited volumes.

Souad Mani is a transmedia artist. She lives and works in Sousse, Tunisia. Her work is transdisciplinary, and it unfolds through techno-poetic experiments. In a geo-pictorial and geo-relational approach, she addresses questions about the status of the artwork, the artist and the viewer in the era of collective intelligence and interconnected objects. From photography and video to Land Art and data visualizations, Souad Mani’s works examine the possible transformations of a medium or a landscape.Her work has been exhibited at the Casa Árabe, Madrid (2021), the Biennial of Photographers of the Contemporary Arab World at the Arab World Institute, Paris (2017), and at the MuCem, Marseille (2015). She took part in various festivals in Tunisia, Spain, Italy, France, Germany, Czech and has participated in several group exhibitions in Tunisia.

Héla Ammar is a visual artist. She lives and works in Tunis, Tunisia. Besides her training in visual art, she holds a Phd in Law. Her photographs and installations address the stakes of memory. Identity and marginal communities are recurrent issues in her work. A selection of her photographs and installations is part of the permanent collection of the British Museum, London, the Arab World Institute, Paris, and the A. Slaoui Foundation’s Museum, Casablanca. Her work has been showcased in various international biennals and exhibitions such as Reflections at The British Museum, London (2021), The refugee week, featured by Shubbak Festival at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (2019), Beyond borders at the Boghossian Foundation, Brussels (2019), Kerkennah#01, Kerkennah (2018), The Biennal of the Contemporary Arab world photographers, Arab World Institute, Paris (2017), Bamako Encounters, Mali (2017, 2015), Dak’art Biennal, Dakar (2016, 2014), Dream City, Tunis (2017, 2012, 2010).

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blessed-but-distressed · 7 years ago

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#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging: @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @biancaros3, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld, @chocolatecrackle.

This chapter was a mess for so long, so big thanks to @wholockgal for helping me try to whip her into shape, and @lenfaz for always listening to my writing-related whining.

Emma

The next person who emails me asking for an extension on an assignment they’ve had ALL SEMESTER to do, I’m straight up murdering. ES

I think that’s what they call premeditation, Swan. KJ

There are 33 emails in my inbox right now asking for last minute extensions. 33! Justifiable homicide. ES

33? You’re quite right. Not a jury in the land would convict you. KJ

… This is the part where you chime in with your own work horror story, so I can see I’m being irrational. ES

Is it? As you wish. I just thought seriously about poisoning our illiterate sub-editor with expired milk I found in the darkest recesses of the break room fridge. All because she used a Daily Mail-worthy pun as a headline for one of my articles. And I might’ve done, if the work experience kid hadn’t just used up the last of it for his Ovaltine. KJ

Oh god. Is he okay? ES

For the moment. Looking a bit green around the gills though. I’ve a bet going with the Pictures Editor he won’t make it til lunchtime. KJ

Okay, so not exactly what I was going for, and yet, I feel strangely less like a monster. You, on the other hand, might want to get that kid to a doctor. And/or book yourself in for a refresher for that workplace sensitivity training seminar. ES

According to Liam, there isn’t an opening for six months. Believe me, he checked. KJ

Of course he did. So... 6 hours til happy hour at the Jingles. You in? ES

Oh? Are you buying? KJ

The first round, sure. But only if you promise me it’ll be an early night. I have 203 final assessments to grade. I DO NOT have time to be hungover. ES

Your proposal is acceptable. KJ

Emma saw the poster on the last official teaching day before Reading Week, tacked to the pinboard outside her office. Poorly formatted, and clearly the work of someone with little to no design ability, it nevertheless managed to stop her in her tracks.

End of Academic Year Staff Party

LASER TAG

School of Classics, Archaeology & History VS School of Social & Political Science

Has it ever rankled to be told we produce “Mickey Mouse” degrees? Have you ever been made to feel that your knowledge of Classic Greek literature was “too highbrow” to be relevant in today’s job market? Ever run afoul of Tracy from Social Anthro in the Library Cafe?

Here’s your chance to get your own back! Sign ups below.

Emma could feel something building in her gut. Something unpleasant and inevitable. Something like picturing herself strapped into a cheap plastic breastplate sometime in the near future.

Killian was going to have a field day.

Or, she thought he might, if she could just dig herself out from under the pile of term papers she needed to grade long enough to set up a meet with him.

It figured that all of the empty space in Emma’s schedule would evaporate just as soon as the weather turned. Living under so many layers for so long, Emma had almost forgotten the sun was supposed to have any real warming ability at all. But suddenly, just as the semester was drawing to a close, it re-appeared with a vengeance, and the city was utterly transformed.

Gone were the puffer jackets and tights, the Gore-Tex and the ugly sweaters Emma had long considered to be the unofficial national uniform. Instead the sidewalks became filled with pasty-limbed people displaying their newly liberated flesh with the kind of exhibitionist zeal Emma hadn’t seen since her first Spring Break trip to Florida.

She nearly tripped over a few as they lay sunning themselves out on the Meadows, oblivious to her sweaty, breathless approach. Not to mention the ten or so pubs she had to avoid on her walk home from work, the pavements outside bursting with mismatched outdoor furniture someone had scrounged up in a hurry. All of them packed with sun-worshippers in the most reptilian tradition, and none of them alone.

Who were these people? Emma wondered. Drinking Magners mid-afternoon and stripped down to the barest essentials, always an audience for their bawdy jokes. Where had they all materialized from? Didn’t they have jobs to go to?

In contrast, Emma’s apartment remained completely ignorant of the change in seasons, still cold as a morgue. Her south-facing windows not only had a great view of the brick wall opposite, but they also brought in precisely zero natural light.

It really was a shitty apartment.

And if she had to spend any more time cooped up in it, alone, wrapped in three sweaters while she read circuitous papers in defence of Andrew Jackson, she was going to go crazy.

She had to get out.

She discovered it by accident, really, one day last November when she’d been caught in a surprise hailstorm, and looking for somewhere warm and dry to scarf down the rest of her Greggs donut. Her office-mate had office hours, and the University library stacks were always too crowded with clueless undergrads or amorous couples looking for privacy.

But the City Library? There were whole floors where the only ones around were harmless old biddies working on their genealogies, and their peripheral vision wasn’t the greatest. It was the perfect place to devour a forbidden pastry, or wait out a hailstorm or two. Or run into the very Englishman you’d been meaning to text back.

Emma liked the Reference Library best. It looked kind the kind of thing a fairy tale Beast might gift to a reluctant new house guest to win her over: floor-to-ceiling shelves lining every wall, supported by cast iron balustrades reachable by spiral staircases, an imposing geometric dome that looked like it came right out of Versailles. For the nerds, original card indicies. And for the displaced American history lecturer: plentiful desk space, wi-fi and always somewhere to charge your phone.

Emma had always considered the place to be kind of her little secret. No matter the time of year or weather, it was never too crowded. But there was no mistaking the leather-clad figure sat alone in the second row, feet up on the desk, nose buried in a thin paperback.

He didn’t register her proximity as Emma made her approach, even as she bent down to get a better look at what had him so engrossed.

‘‘Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing’?” Emma read aloud, perversely gratified to see him lurch forward in his seat, caught unawares. She clicked her tongue as she took the seat next door. “If you’re considering taking up a career as a spy, you might want to make yourself slightly harder to sneak up on. Just a tip.”

He set the book down on the desk, shooting her a somewhat annoyed glance. “Well this is a turn up for the books. It’s been so long between texts I thought maybe you’d done in one of your students, and were lost to the ravages of the criminal justice system forever.”

Emma made a face.

“No? Well, small mercies I suppose. And fancy seeing you here. I didn’t really pick you for a fan of French Renaissance architecture, Swan. Or was there some other marvel you’d come to admire?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in the kind of over-the-top way that would put a silent film ingénue to shame.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry to deflate that massive ego of yours, but I’m not stalking you. I’m just here for the free wi-fi. How was I supposed to know you’d be here… studying spycraft?”

“So just a happy coincidence then?” He held her gaze for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Well then, as to the book, believe me, Swan, I have zero aspirations towards the Security Services. Callum, however…”

At that, a young woman a few rows down glanced up from her MacBook to give them the evil eye, and Killian ducked his head, slipping a piece of paper from out between the pages of the book, marked with an indecipherable jumble of numbers written in a childish blue scrawl.

“He’s off penguins for the minute,” he continued, his voice now little more than a hushed whisper. “Now it’s codes. Ciphers. Secret communiqués. Which wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if the lad hadn’t refused to communicate in any other way...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration plain.

By the sound of it, things might have been a little tense at the breakfast table lately.

Emma whistled through her teeth, though she fought to match his soft tones. “Wow. I think when I was eight years old, all I cared about was ponies.”

He glanced up at her then, the unspoken ‘Is that so?’ making her cheeks color. Even when he said nothing at all, Killian still found ways to make her regret every casual remark, every tiny breadcrumb she unwittingly left behind of the childhood she’d tried so hard to forget.

“Let me see that,” Emma said hotly, snatching the coded message from where it lay before him, leaning forward to examine it.

Then without thinking too much about it, she plucked the red pen from her hair that she’d been using to keep her bun in place, and set about making a series of tiny scribbles.

Killian, his book apparently forgotten, leaned over to study her work. “Know a thing or two about ciphers, do we, lass?”

Emma shrugged. “A bit. It came free with my John Jay obsession. But Callum’s what? Eight, right? So it’s probably not anything too difficult…”

The numbers could mean he was using a book as the key. Each number corresponding to a page and paragraph in the book where the desired word lay. Jay had been a fan of that particular method. He’d favored a dictionary as his key, usually. But the numbers Callum had written…

Emma drew up the matrix, smiling to herself as the childish meaning behind the code slowly became clear. She twisted the paper back in Killian’s direction with a victorious flourish.

“Lachie... is... a…” she translated. “Well, you can see for yourself.”

Killian’s eyes widened looking from the paper, back to Emma, his mouth agape. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before. By anyone. Certainly not by someone who’d never been on the receiving end of one of her blow jobs. It was a single stray thought that stuck uncomfortably in her thoughts, and had her barreling on in a hurry to fill the awkward pause.

“It’s a six-sided Polybius square,” Emma explained, keeping her eyes trained to the piece of paper. “I’m pretty sure I read somewhere POWs in Vietnam used a variant of it to communicate between their cells. But Callum’s numbers only go up to 6, so I… what?”

He was staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a cough, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“You okay?”

He shook his head. “Of course. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Emma asked warily.

Looking kind of like he’d rather the ground rose up and swallowed him instead, Killian sighed and met Emma’s eye, shooting her a look that was so direct she was tempted to scoot her chair back to give them some space. “I was just thinking that Dr Swan is quite a good look on you.”

Emma opened her mouth, to what? Scoff? Say thank you? Luckily, she never had to find out, the silence punctuated by a series of conspicuous buzzing noises.

Emma heard MacBook Girl’s muttered curse. As if she wasn’t just dicking around on Facebook, like everyone else.

“Forgive me,” Killian murmured, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket and fishing out the device. Whatever he read on that screen, his face immediately pulled into a tight frown and he rose out of his chair all at once.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, growing concerned.

“Hmmm.”

It was not the most convincing sound Emma had ever heard.

As if somehow sensing Emma’s frustration, he raised his gaze from the phone to look at her, his expression softening a fraction around the eyes. “Apologies, Swan,” he said with a pained smile. “It appears I’m needed elsewhere.”

He hovered a moment, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I need to head back to the office first. Would you like to walk with me? Or is the lure of free wi-fi too good an inducement to pass up?”

Emma glanced down at her watch, which showed the time to be little past noon. She’d been planning on enjoying the silence of solitude of the library a little more. Make a dent in her grading somewhere with decent heating and what passed for natural light.

But given the look on his face right now, and the way he was clenching his jaw, the fact that he’d even asked meant he probably really, really needed the distraction. And Emma might be pretty selfish on her best days, but she wasn’t cruel. And it just so happened, she had a particular distraction in mind.

“Sure,” she said, letting some of her weight fall onto his proffered prosthetic, as she rose from her chair.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

Yeah, he was a fan of the laser tag idea.

His mood wasn’t buoyant exactly, as they wended their way along Castle Terrace, dodging Chinese tour groups who were arriving by the busload, selfie sticks at the ready. But the idea of Emma making a humiliating spectacle of herself certainly seemed to hold some kind of appeal for him.

He was no longer actively brooding.

“I can just picture it now; Emma Swan: Jungle Warrior.”

Emma snorted. Then she opened her mouth to refute this, and then closed it again, considering her track record.

Killian considered her shrewdly. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of competitive. The last time I did something like this, it got kind of… ugly.”

“Define ugly.”

“We went paintballing for David’s birthday one year and August ended up in the ER with a dislocated knee.”

Killian winced.

“He says he can still feel it when it rains. Of course, he’s a novelist, so he’s kind of known for being needlessly dramatic so...”

Encouraged by the prospect of mayhem, the usual mischievous sparkle was returning to Killian’s eyes. “I think this competitive side is something I’ve got to see for myself.”

“Too bad you’re not invited, then, huh?”

“I could be…?” Oh no. No way. Was he really pulling puppy dog eyes right now?

“No way. Not happening. You can put those eyes away. It’s a work event. The administration are already on my case about this whole thing enough as it is.”

“And if I talk them ‘round?”

“You’re not going to get the administration to change their minds about me with a winsome smile and pretty boy charm.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Emma just rolled her eyes, and nudged him into the path of an oncoming tour group.

When I got back to the library I realized you left your book, btw. I returned it. Figured you didn’t need it anymore? ES

Indeed I don’t. In cracking his code, I believe you’ve exhausted Callum’s sudden passion for cryptography. At least, for now. Elsa would like to express her eternal gratitude. KJ

Wow. Look at me, extinguishing a young boy’s thirst for learning. Clearly I’ve got this whole teacher thing on lockdown. ES

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I saw him googling nebulas on the iPad earlier. I dare say another obsession is in the offing. One that might drive his mother a little less insane. KJ

Well, that’s something. ES

Okay, so clearly the administration was into winsome smiles and pretty boy charm, because the next thing Emma knew, she was seated on a university-chartered bus headed out into the hinterland, her columnist stretched out of the seat beside her.

Because that was a super normal thing to bring along to a work event.

Emma found it easiest to ignore the curious looks of her bus-mates by picturing how she was going to wipe the floor with each and every one of them when they got to where they were going.

For the most part, the reluctant recruits they’d manage to scrape together from the School of Social & Political Science did not inspire awe. Emma was pretty sure she could take them. Between Tracy from Social Anthro with her scoliosis, and Glen from British Politics with his spare tire, they seemed a pretty ragtag bunch, not suited to roughing it in the great outdoors.

There was only one among them who looked like a contender, the bearded guy in the army surplus jacket dozing at the back of the bus.

His possible narcolepsy aside, he at least seemed to be in decent shape, if the cut of jaw was any indication. As if he could feel her gaze on him, his eyes blinked open, and Emma turned back to Killian, who’d suddenly trailed off mid-sentence.

“And you didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Emma cringed inwardly. “Sorry. I was just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh?” He enquired, his tone lightening. “And how do they measure up, in your estimation?”

Emma shrugged. “I think it’s in the bag. Our combined youth-”

“Your fighting spirit-” Killian interrupted.

“And the fact the history department won against the Divinity School last year... ,” Emma continued, ignoring him.

“What about Rambo over there?” Killian asked, raising his chin to indicate the same guy Emma had been caught checking out before. “He looks like he might present a challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, refusing to follow his gaze. “We’ll see.”

If Emma thought she might be able to somehow avoid this handsome stranger, maybe she should have remembered that she was cursed. Because when they nominated team captains, somehow it was him that Emma found herself facing off against.

The two of them stood awkwardly, forced to wait while some teenaged employee scrounged around in the pockets of his cargo pants for a coin to flip to determine territory.

And he was handsome, there was no getting around it. Nice hair, just on the manageable side of curly. Admittedly impressive biceps peeking out from underneath an ill-fitting plastic breastplate. Not to mention the warm, friendly smile as he held out a hand.

“Best of luck,” he said.

Oh, and an accent. A very nice accent.

“And to you,” Emma said graciously, accepting the handshake. She might have been naturally competitive, but there was no need to be rude.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before,” he mentioned casually, even as his hand still clasped over hers. “I’m Graham Humbert, International Relations.”

The way he said it, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip, she wondered if he was flirting with her. She wondered if she wanted him to be.

“Emma Swan,” she replied, letting her hand fall back down to her side, palm tingling. “American History.”

Killian

Killian Jones was no stranger to using his masculine wiles to his advantage. Though he’d been something of an awkward youth, his university years had been their own sort of education, quite aside from his unfinished philosophy degree.

Now, as a mediocre journalist with few moral scruples, he employed charm and flattery as tools of the trade. What better way to put an interview subject at ease? Or finesse that long-guarded secret from someone’s lips?

True, Saorsa was hardly The Guardian. He wasn’t uncovering government corruption at it’s highest levels or netting himself any Pulitzers. Though he did manage to stir up a hornet’s nest in Parliament that one time, after he got a MSP to admit to an extra-marital affair. Necessary to the public interest it was not, but it never did the circulation numbers any harm.

It was these skills he thought might help secure him a spot on the team bus to Lugton Bogs, the aptly named quagmire that was home to Edinburgh’s premier, and only, outdoor laser tag centre. Or at the very least, might improve Emma’s standing with the university after a rocky start.

Killian’s first port of call? The Press and Public Relations department, tucked away in cobbled alley near Sandy Bell’s. And from the rising stink of it, mostly treated as an open latrine by some of the male patrons of said watering hole after one too many libations at the weekend.

The inside was decidedly more pleasant, sheltered from the stench by double glazed windows and a heavy steel door. The office itself was attractive enough, a hive of industry playing to the soundtrack of ringing telephones. He stopped to ask the way to the right office, and was directed up to the first floor, where cubicles gave way to actual offices.

It was a promising start, he thought. That is, until he seated himself in a rather uncomfortable chair outside his target office, and had gotten a good look at the nameplate velcroed to the door.

That Killian’s quarry turned out to be a male was regrettable, and a waste of Killian’s talents. That Killian’s quarry turned out to be none other than Robert Gold, native Glaswegian and former husband of one Belle French, Killian thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to do the honourable thing and fall on his sword.

He’d never been stupid enough to name Belle directly, but realistically, how many Australian librarians in Edinburgh could there be? And here was the very man Killian had publicly outed just a few short months ago, as a man who’d chosen his pill addiction over his marriage.

This was the man he had sought?

Killian was already halfway to his feet, ready to skive off their meeting with great urgency, when the door opened and out stepped a slight, silver-haired man, leaning heavily on a cane.

Tink hadn’t been lying when she’d said he’d been older.

“Killian Jones, is it?” he asked, looking bored.

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Killian’s first temptation was still to flee, but seeing as he was half-standing in plain sight, it seemed that ship had long sailed.

Instead he straightened, and held out a hand, trying to keep his voice quiver-free. “Aye, Killian Jones. I believe you’re the man to see about getting oneself included on an employee outing?”

For all his vices, Robert Gold did have one thing to his credit; he did not seem to be a Saorsa subscriber. Indeed, Killian’s name did not seem to bring about any flash of recognition. Nor, to Killian’s immense relief, a sudden zeal to sue for libel.

Though now Killian knew what to look for, he very much doubted the man would have much legal grounds. From the sweat soaking through his dress shirt, to the sallow complexion, to the pupils round as saucers, there was no way Robert Gold wasn’t in the throes of some chemical cocktail. The single life clearly wasn’t working for him.

He did, however, seem for the moment to be all-business.

“Laser tag?” he enquired.

Not sure if he was asking for an explanation, or merely a confirmation, Killian hesitated. “Something of an annual tradition from what I understand. Pitting department against department, all in the name of friendly competition.”

Gold nodded, absently.

“And this…” He peered down to examine the form in front of him. “... Emma Swan. You’re writing a column about her personal life?”

“It’s more an exploration on the nature of adult friendships. How difficult it is to make meaningful connections when you find yourself separated from your familiar networks. Emma is merely a vehicle I’m using to…” Killian fumbled for a suitable word. “...illustrate the point.”

“Hmmm.”

With any luck, that “Hmmm” meant that Gold found the idea tedious, and never wanted to hear about it again. Still, Killian wondered how long it would take him to convince their IT guy to “accidentally” corrupt the link to February’s column online.

“And you feel it would be helpful to you if you ‘tagged along’ on this outing?”

Truthfully, now he’d gotten Ruby to confirm Emma’s ER story, he mostly just wanted to watch her in action. But something told him Gold wouldn’t be particularly sympathetic to his plight.

“I think it would lend my words a certain credibility, if I was actually present for the events, certainly.”

Gold looked thoughtful, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. Or perhaps he was just meaning to add his next date with his dealer to his personal calendar. At any rate, he didn’t make Killian wait too long.

“There’s a number of forms to fill out,” the Glaswegian declared airily, pulling a stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “And some insurance concerns. I imagine your employer can email through proof of that?”

Could they? Killian certainly hoped so.

“Aye, of course.”

“Of course, we don’t ask for copy approval ahead of time, we’re not totalitarian savages. But you should be aware that we are always looking for ways to promote the university as a diverse, innovative and enjoyable workplace. Sometimes this means entering partnerships with members of the fourth estate, and sometimes that means breaking off such arrangements, if we feel our aims are not in concert. If you understand my meaning?”

Don’t burn any bridges. Duly noted.

At Killian’s nod of acquiescence, Gold clapped his hands together. “Well then, dearie, it looks like we have ourselves a deal. Blue pen, or black?”

And you thought it couldn’t be done. KJ

You didn’t. ES

I did. KJ

Please tell me you’re joking? ES

Alas, the cramp I’m nursing after signing near a dozen documents in triplicate says otherwise. I am UoE approved, and ready to watch Emma Swan go full berserker. KJ

I hate you. ES

I know. KJ

“Players must keep two hands on the phaser at all time to activate it. This is a safety feature which prevents the phaser being held at an arm’s length,” Killian read the tiny warning sticker on the side of his gun aloud.

Well, wasn’t that just fantastic.

Killian looked around for some teenaged, zero-hour contract flunky he could flag down, but after the initial hubbub of the coin toss, they’d all but vanished. The stand of trees stood all but empty now, except for the handful of middle-aged academics in green vests, wheezing as they made their way over the rise.

Sod it.

His gun might be fucking useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he came here to do: Watch Emma Swan kick arse and take names.

She really was in fine form. She might have been surprised by her appointment to team captain, but Killian wasn’t. She was the only one among them who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, and objectively speaking, she looked good doing it.

And as the reluctantly appointed leader, she was the one leading the charge to the enemy compound, organising her little band using military tactics she’d probably lifted straight from Che Guevara. This was exactly why people shouldn’t cross history professors.

Expending the last of his lung capacity, Killian caught up with Emma’s splinter group, just in time to hear the electronic sound effect that signalled a direct hit to the man to his left.

“Six o’ clock,” Killian bellowed, diving for the cover of the nearest tree stump. Emma was already there, pinned down by two more red-vests advancing from the other side.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his useless arm.

To his delight, she actually seemed to be enjoying this, her face aflush with activity, her grin wide. She turned his way, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear. “Give us the the tools, and we will finish the job.”

Churchill. She was quoting fucking Churchill.

But as she heard her compatriots fall to enemy fire, he could see the enthusiasm in her eyes visibly dim with each electronic squeal. If they stayed here too long, Rambo and the lasses from Gender Studies were going to pick them off, one by one.

Someone had to do something, and quickly.

And that someone might as well be the eejit with the gun that didn’t bloody work.

Nudging Emma’s shoulder, he pointed to a pile of boulders a little way off. “You make for those, and I’ll cover you.”

Emma looked from the pile, back to Killian. “Are you crazy? That’s like twenty yards. There’s no way we’ll both make it.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” Killian said, rising from his hiding place, and giving her no choice but to follow his lead.

“Aargh,” she cried, scrambling to her feet, rifle at the ready. “You know I hate you, right?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said, swinging to face his aggressors head-on. “I know.”

It wasn’t a drawn-out death.

To Killian’s satisfaction, a few of them had turned and fled when they saw him stand up. But Rambo, the bearded leader of the opposition seemed clue-ier than his friends. He saw the diversion for what it was. And as Emma darted out from behind the stump, he set his sights accordingly. Might have gotten her too, if Killian hadn’t stepped into the line of fire.

“You do know the purpose of the game is not to get hit, right?” Rambo called after him.

But instead of replying, Killian merely slung his rifle up onto his shoulder and headed back to the holding area, humming a song under his breath.

In the end, Emma decimated them, as he knew she would. All but Rambo, that cocksure son of a bitch. He had military training, of that Killian was certain. Or at least a stint in the cadets. He was a little too at ease, in Killian’s view.

Still, Emma managed to hold her own, waiting the bastard out until the clock ran down.

A draw.

He thought he might shout Emma a drink for this. Something tall and refreshing. But as she emerged from the stand of trees, still aglow with near-victory, he saw she wasn’t alone. Rambo strode along beside her, the two of them getting on suspiciously well for people who’d just been trying to “kill” one another.

Killian shrank back, letting himself fall back into a crowd of archaeology professors, comparing aches and pains. They certainly weren’t of the Indiana Jones mould.

He wouldn’t say he watched them. He merely observed them, like any other dispassionate member of the fourth estate. And how could he not notice his subject’s pleasure at this man’s company? The way her gaze dropped downward as they shook hands, a rare show of shyness.

Emma liked him. Rambo. Whatever his name was. Even a blind man could see it.

As far as the project was concerned, this was good news. Emma Swan, single and ready to mingle? Hell, it was a boon. Not to say one’s social life never suffered from embarking on a new relationship, but it was a damned sight better than Emma staying home every night with her marking and her Netflix.

So why did the sight of Emma typing her number into the man’s phone suddenly make Killian feel queasy? This was a good thing.

He should be happy for her.

Getting home took a little longer than anticipated. Not least because he stopped by the Jingles on the way and emptied out their stores of Captain Morgan.

“Maybe you should call it a night, eh?” the bar man suggested, just around the time Killian’s vision started going blurry.

Recalling Liam’s last lecture about “unnecessary expenses” he walked the rest of the way home, taking a somewhat circuitous route through a few back gardens.

He struggled with the lock, frustrated to find his keys kept slipping from his hand. He almost had it when the door suddenly fell in, and Killian with it.

“What the-”

Who else but Liam stood over him, arms crossed in that same look of quiet disappointment he’d been wearing for years.

“Good night was it?” his brother asked coolly, reaching forward to help him up.

“Geroff me, you judgy git,” Killian scowled, rising to his feet perfectly well on his own, with nary a wobble. “Would ‘ave been fine, you hadn’t opened the door like that.”

Liam stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “If you insist.” And then after a moment, “Why do you look like you’ve been at the Somme?”

Killian looked down at himself, to the best approximation of combat clothes his wardrobe had to offer, now caked in mud to the knee, and streaked with dirt elsewhere.

“Laser tag,” Killian replied. “S’for work.”

“Hmm,” Liam hummed. “Let me guess, you weren’t on the winning side?”

If you wanted to get technical about it, it had been a draw. But deep down, Killian couldn’t kid himself on that front.

Whichever side he’d been on had definitely been the losing one.

And how were drinks with Rambo? KJ

Graham. His name is Graham. ES

So it is. Does that sharp rebuke mean that in addition to guerrilla warfare, the man also excels at scintillating conversation over cocktails? KJ

Has anyone ever told you you’re a shameless gossip? ES

Once or twice. Though I much prefer the term “indomitable busybody.” That’s my favourite. KJ

Gee, I wonder why. And for your information, it wasn’t terrible. ES

Coming from you, Swan, that’s almost a ringing endorsement. KJ

23 25-32-33-45 51-33-43 42-33-33-25 42-22-11-42 12-26-11-41-42 16-33-36 31-15. ES

23’31 41-43-36-15 23 22-11-44-15 32-33 23-14-15-11 45-22-11-42 5-33-43 31-15-11-32. KJ

Whatever you say, buddy. Good night, Killian. ES

Good night, Emma. KJ

#cs ff #cs au ff #FindEmmaSwanAFriend #cs au #here she is #the chapter without end #after two months in the writer's block wilderness #enjoy

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coleymari-blog · 7 years ago

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Cyber Space is Always Sweeter : Chapter 15

SUMMARY: LUCY IS A DOWN TO EARTH, STUDIOUS, RESPONSIBLE RUNAWAY ATTENDING MAGNOLIA COLLEGE. NATSU IS A RAMBUNCTIOUS, INTELLIGENT, PYROPHILIC FRATERNITY BOY GOING TO THE SAME SCHOOL.

THEY DON’T EXACTLY RUN IN THE SAME CIRCLES AND THEY HAVE ONE HELL OF A HISTORY. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE NAMES AND FACADES DISAPPEAR AND ALL THAT’S LEFT ARE WORDS BLINKING ON A SCREEN? MODERN DAY, COLLEGE/PEN PALS AU. I’M SORRY I SUCK AT INTROS. RATED M FOR LANGUAGE, ADULT SITUATIONS, AND FUTURE SEXUAL SITUATIONS. CHAPTERS 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Did Precht Hall have to be so busy?

Lucy’s eyes were fixed on her watch as she waited for the elevator. Due to her multiple outfit changes, she was running late for her tutoring session with Natsu and the other students and it seemed like everyone was stuck in first gear. The backdrop around her moved at the speed of molasses with teachers coming but never going, students dawdling in hallways as they waited for classes to begin or let out, even the University’s maintenance crews were clogging the walkways.

Why was she so frantic? It was just Natsu, her TA, the guy who didn’t know she existed. To him, she was just some girl. Hell, when she’d met him for the first time she’d been wrapped in nothing but lace and he barely gave her the time of day. What difference would her favorite skirt make? The elevator chiming dragged her from her thoughts and she packed herself in with the rest of the waiting passengers, settling in a spot in the front corner. The students beside her were obviously a couple, hands in each other’s back pockets, leaning into each other closely as they giggled to themselves oblivious to the world. The sight made her both happy and sad at the same time, only serving as a painful reminder.

When the cart arrived at her floor, Lucy made a break for it and quickly exited, auto-piloting herself to the study room. By the time she arrived at the door, her heart was racing. She calmed herself by running her clammy hands over her skirt and reminding herself that it was a group session. The freshman also knew that Natsu would be too focused on the group as a whole to pay her much singular attention, even though she secretly hoped for otherwise. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the doorknob and walked into the room, shocked by what she found.

Natsu was alone at the table. The only other bag in the room was his and no other chairs had been pulled out. Lucy blushed at the intense stare she received upon entry, her skin burning as his eyes traced over her curves. She had never felt more vulnerable or exposed but surprisingly, it didn’t bother her the way it normally did when guys checked her out. The way he looked at her reminded the co-ed of a child seeing shooting stars for the first time and it only made her flush further.

Dropping her gaze, Lucy walked over to the table and sat in the chair on the other side of the corner from Natsu. Normally she sat across from him but that was because by the time she usually got there, the only seats left were further away. Not to mention she wasn’t nearly brave enough to sit right next to him. At least there was one upside to being the only student who bothered to show up.

“And here I was thinking I’d been completely stood up,” Natsu said playfully, leaning on the back two legs of his chair. Lucy allowed herself to drink in the sight of his outstretched body, soft ridges of defined muscle pressing against his taut red t-shirt, and quickly forced herself back to Earthland before she began drooling.

“Hard to forget when it’s a weekly thing,” Lucy teased, leaning to the side to place her bookbag on the floor. Before she could reach back to grab it, she could feel her tank top riding up her hip, and in turn, Natsu’s eyes on her again. Maybe there was more going on in that salmon-haired head of his than she thought. “Guess everyone is too busy partying before the game tomorrow.” The following day was the school’s Homecoming game, a huge event on campus. Levy was going to be spending the day tailgating with Gajeel and the rest of Fairy Tail, but she had no idea what she was going to do or if she was even going.

Natsu frowned, tugging at Lucy’s heartstrings. “With everything going on, the game completely skipped my mind,” he murmured. She found his reaction slightly concerning. When he went back to his laptop to start their session, the blonde took a mental inventory of her tutor. He did look a little tired, small dark circles forming beneath his dark green eyes. She was in no position to lecture anyone on their sleeping habits. It’s not like he was the one sitting up in bed talking to someone he’d never met until the wee hours of the morning. Chalking it up to the intensity of his graduate studies, she refocused on his velvet voice and lost herself in the lesson.

An hour had passed, Lucy started to feel much more confident in her knowledge of the material. The worksheet Natsu had sent her really helped! After all their hard work, she felt as if they deserved a reward and excused herself from the room. Snaking down a couple hallways, she found herself at the vending machines. Using the touchless payment option from her phone, she purchased a bottle of her favorite soda and turned to head back. That’s when the idea stuck her. Natsu had been more than kind to her in the past few weeks given their history, the least she could do was bring him something as well.

Looking over the options, Lucy attempted to figure out which drink to chose for Natsu. He didn’t seem like a sweet tea sort of guy, or someone that enjoyed those new age ‘health’ drinks. A familiar can stood out to her in the top right corner of the machine, the red flames unmistakable. Every time a break came during Chemistry, he’d excused himself and always come back with that same energy drink, making her choice clear. The freshman punched a couple of numbers into the keypad and the can was soon traveling down the chute, falling into a slot near her feet.

It surprised Lucy that she knew those quirky things about Natsu but not about her cyber-friend. She and DragonSlayer had practically discussed everything there was to talk about but she still didn’t know the tiniest things that only physical space can teach. What mannerisms did he have when he was frustrated? Did he pull at his hair and lean his head in his hands like Natsu? Did the corners of his lips practically reach his ears whenever he smiled? Would his gaze have the same effect on her that Natsu’s did? Shaking the confusion loose from her head, Lucy sighed and headed back to the study room.

When she entered the room a second time, Natsu seemed entranced with something on his computer screen. He practically jumped when Lucy set his can down in front of him. “Got you your favorite energy drink,” she said kindly, taking her seat again. He snapped out of his zombie-like state and thanked her before taking a sip. The silence led her to pay attention to her work, wondering if she had crossed some imaginary line by trying to do something nice.

They worked for a few minutes individually before Natsu’s shifting in his seat caught Lucy’s attention. She glanced at him discretely by peeking up through her eyelashes, but unfortunately he was still staring dead-on at his computer screen. She knew it was stupid to wish for stolen glances but she couldn’t help it. Ever since the fire escape, she’d done nothing but dreams about those emerald eyes…

The pinket’s question brought her back to the moment at hand. “Levy and her boyfriend are going tailgating with Fairy Tail,” she replied casually, never looking up from her worksheet. The further she got, the more complex the questions became and it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus. “Figured I would just sit in the Student Section and watch.” Not like she was a football junkie or anything.

Natsu looked at Lucy as if she had personally insulted him. “Your first college Homecoming and you’re not gonna tailgate?” Was it really that big a deal? Being homeschooled for a majority of her life, she hadn’t exactly been exposed to those kinds of societal norms. If it weren't for popular movies and stories she read, the blonde wasn't sure she'd even know what Homecoming was. There were no homecomings to go to when your parents were your Principals. “Why don’t you come too? Fairy Tail always has plenty of booze to share and more than enough tent space.”

Was he really inviting her to spend the day with him? Well, not just Natsu but his entire fraternity, not to mention any guests the other brothers were bringing. The idea definitely seemed more appealing than sitting around her dorm while everyone else was enjoying themselves. Plus, it gave her an excuse to see Natsu outside of class. His impatience quickly helped her snap back to reality. “That sounds fun,” she answered, her cheeks flushing uncontrollably. “Thank you for inviting me.”

The rest of the session went as expected, Lucy struggling and Natsu trying to find a million ways to explain the same thing. Her brain was trying to wrap itself around a particular chemical equation when something subtly brushed against her knee, making her cheeks glow crimson. Did he do that purposefully? Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she could tell that he was still working on his laptop, appearing completely unphased.

An opportunity had presented itself. Lucy could either pretend like she hadn’t felt anything or she could make a move of her own. But the consequences could come back to bite her. What if he hadn’t been trying to touch her? Would she make him uncomfortable? The night the met started replaying in her head before she finally made a decision to shut herself up. Coughing softly, Lucy brought her leg over and crossed them at the knees, grazing Natsu’s thigh on her way down.

Leaving her knee gently resting against his, Lucy decided to change the course in order to feel out the situation. Swallowing the rising bile in her throat, she remained focused on her work as she spoke. “So how’s that Lisanna girl?” Her heart raced as she angrily scratched out a wrong answer, taking out her stress on the worksheet.

“Wouldn’t really know, she’s with one of my brothers now.” That was good, right? Even after everything that had happened that night at the party, he still hadn’t gotten back with his ex. Clicking away, he continued. “Don’t hang out much with Lily Heart girls anyway.” What a coincidence, her either.

Giggling to herself, Lucy confessed to Natsu her apprehension about the upcoming week. “I hope I don’t run into them much during Rush next week.” She couldn’t lie, the thought of being in the same room as those girls made her sick, but the reminder that she wouldn’t have to spend any time with them consoled her slightly. That and Natsu’s rather confident response to her issue.

“Well, if they give you any trouble, you come to me and I’ll handle it. Sound good?” Just the fact that he was willing to help her meant the world to the doe-eyed freshman. She didn’t get to stare at her Knight in Shining Armor long before he realized the time and ended their session, efficiently dragging her from her reverie. Lucy didn’t even get the chance to really thank him before he was gathering his things and rushing for the door.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby of your dorm tomorrow at Noon,” the Grad Student said briskly as he left her alone at the table. While part of her wondered if she had done something wrong, the majority of her was excitedly flailing in her seat. What kind of outfit did one wear tailgating…?

#nalu fanfic #nalu fic #cyber space is always sweeter #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #;here comes the queue #;csias

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corpasa · 5 years ago

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How to Deal with the 5 Biggest Challenges of Online Learning

The following is a guest post by Sadi Khan, a content creator. If you would like to submit a guest post, please contact us.

E-learning is a little more than a decade old but it has grown immensely in this short period. The international online learning market is expected to be worth $325 billion by the year 2025.

The reason for this rising popularity is the convenience and minimal cost associated with online learning. It allows students or professionals to take courses that easily fit with their schedules. It is flexible and easily accessible. Plus, you can access the lectures or training material anytime to refresh your memory.

What are the biggest challenges of online learning?

With many benefits, online learning comes with a few challenges. Luckily, these challenges are not insurmountable. Let’s see how you can deal with the 5 biggest challenges.

Challenge # 1: Digital Literacy

While attending an online lecture or listening to informative audio is a simple task, one still needs a certain degree of technical proficiency. Watching a video is quite simple, but dealing with an online learning management system requires some understanding of technology.

One has to log in to his or her account, participate in classes (submitting an assignment or partaking in discussion boards), and communicate with the teachers. If the person does not have basic digital literacy, he or she will find it difficult to make the most of that course.

Solution:

The instructors or institutes usually provide detailed introductions and instructions regarding the lectures and learning material used in the course. Listening and adhering to these instructions is very important.

Opt for a course that provides technical support. Most online courses come with a full range of support services, including technical support by email, live chat, and phone. One can reach out to the faculty when he or she is facing a problem. Also, a person can avoid many issues by paying careful attention to how the instructor has advised them to navigate the course.

Challenge # 2: Poor time management and procrastination:

A survey of 1500 online students revealed that flexibility and convenience are the two biggest reasons behind student’s choice of an online course. However, this positive aspect can quickly become a drawback.

Knowing that you can go through the lectures at any time, can lead to procrastination. You might start wasting your learning time in useless click-jumping and internet browsing.

Solution:

Learn to manage your workload with your eLearning schedule. Make a timetable or class schedule and stick to it. If you have assigned two hours to online learning, make sure you are spending them on going through the course content or assignments. If social media or internet keep distracting you, either go offline while you are studying or use tools to block these sites. Several tools are available to block certain websites during a set period.

Avoid multitasking. Online learning needs to have a dedicated time. You cannot fit it in with other tasks like meals or spending time with your family. It will result in nothing but frustration. Focus on one task and then proceed to the next one. It will not only give you a sense of fulfillment but also helps with productivity.

Challenge # 3: Monotony

Online learning can be boring. You don’t have classmates or teacher to interact. All you have are lengthy texts and video lectures that you need to go through. Even if the online format entails interesting content like infographics, and videos, things can still get monotonous. Students might eventually lose interest and drop out.

Solution:

Find a course that is dynamic, interactive, and fun. Teachers and institutes are getting better at creating more interactive courses and training methods. These courses have the right amount of challenges, videos, storytelling, and simulators to keep you going.

All these things can make it easy to continue with the training. Also, choose courses that offer a certificate or an acknowledgment, so you will have a motivating reason to complete the course.

Challenge # 4: Going Sedentary

The Internet has made it possible to study, work, or shop from home but it also comes with a lot of sitting and prolonged sitting can be as dangerous as smoking. A sedentary lifestyle is associated with serious health problems like obesity, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and even some types of cancer.

Online learning is convenient but it also means that a person does not have to physically go to college or training institute. This increases a person’s screen time and adds to their sedentary lifestyle, which is detrimental to both physical and mental health.

Solution:

Do not spend hours and hours in front of screens. A simple exercise or activity like running can help you offset the risks of sitting for long hours. Take regular breaks and move away from the screen every 30 minutes or so. It is also important to have a proper desk and chair and a study area. Do not sit in your bed or couch with your laptop.

Challenge # 5: Technical Problems & Glitches

Depending on where you are located, you can face issues like internet connectivity, hardware or software requirements, browser compatibility, and so on. These situations can be extremely frustrating and time-consuming. This is the reason online learning hasn’t been used to its fullest in developing or third world countries (where it can be the most beneficial).

Solution:

Make sure that you have gone through the FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) or ask the training provider about system requirements. Some courses require downloading specific apps or printing out the document. You need to make sure that you will not need a specific program or hardware that you cannot arrange. Don’t be shy of asking for technical assistance when you are facing a problem.

E-learning has a lot of advantages but there are some limitations as well. However, the benefits can easily outweigh the drawbacks. All you need is a good internet connection and you can start a course or degree program that will help with career advancement.

Isn’t that what you want?

Author’s Bio: Sadi Khan got his Banking and Finance degree through a distance learning program. He currently writes on health and fitness-related topics on RunRepeat, an athletic shoes review platform.

Reference herein to any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, does not constitute or imply an endorsement, recommendation, or favoring by Touro College.

The post How to Deal with the 5 Biggest Challenges of Online Learning appeared first on Online Education Blog of Touro College.

How to Deal with the 5 Biggest Challenges of Online Learning published first on https://medium.com/@DLBusinessNow

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motherpsyduck · 7 years ago

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House Guest

author’s notes: HEEEEEy SO I've been gone for a while, I know. I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I lost my passion for writing this fic a while ago and I haven't been a great place mentally so that's why I left it so long to post this. I was in the middle of this chapter but I had to finish it because I felt so guilty! So here it is! Hope you enjoy it! Just a heads-up; I might not post this as frequently as I used to anymore. It all depends if I feel like picking up this story again. I'm not saying I'll never post another chapter, it just might be a while until I do, but thank you so much for your continued support and enthusiasm for this story! It means so much to me, so much. I can't thank you enough.

Chapter 11: Producer Perks

Michael made sure you saw the best parts of the movie set. He walked with you and passing employees greeted him with polite smiles. Michael made an effort to acknowledge his co-workers the times he didn’t have a mouth full of his lunch. It was interesting to see what happens behind the camera but there was only so much Michael was allowed to show you. Michael’s pride and energy whilst showing off his work place to you rubbed off on you, and you’d grin and listen intently as you watched him get excited showing you the equipment they used in some old movie he was able to recite quotes from.

Seeing actors out of character but still wearing their costumes and having a coffee or a cigarette break was surreal. Michael probably let you see more than you were supposed to anyway because of your close connections to the producer of this particular movie set, and experiencing so much of the behind the scenes made you feel like a VIP.

“And over there is apparently where some guy just fucking walked on set and stole a Dewbauchee JB 700. That car was supposedly worth 475 fucking G!” Michael’s voice dips in volume with his arm hovering around your back. He walks you as close as he can to a set where cast members are shooting a scene. He points to what looks like an old fountain in the middle of an Italian styled town.

“So someone just walked up and stole a fucking car in front of everyone on set?” You whispered back still watching the scene taking place.

“Yep, drove the thing right off set.” Michael pointed back behind the two of you.

“Do they know who did it?” You’re intrigued and turn to face Michael. His blue eyes caught the Los Santos sunlight beautifully.

“Nope, people say it was some rogue fucking stunt man or something.” Michael shrugs not fully believing the rumour himself. He watches as you’re genuinely interested and studying the place where the car supposedly disappeared. Michael comes a bit closer to your ear. “... probably pissed he wasn’t getting enough credit in the movie or something. Stuntmen are highly underappreciated in this business.” You nod and watch in awe from the sidelines of a movie being made. Some small scenes are rehearsed and you watch quietly. Michael leans in close to you again. “D’you wanna ride?”

“-What?!” Your head snaps back to Michael and you’re beginning to blush. He can’t possibly mean what I’m thinking. Some of the crew members in the distance turn their heads toward the noise. You were a little too loud in your reply but they didn’t reprimand you as they could see you were stood with Michael. They just gave you dirty looks instead and turned pages of the script loudly.

“... Back home? Do you want a ride back to the house?” You’re unaware as you’ve broken eye contact with Michael from your embarrassment, but his sparkling eyes oggle you up and down with a smirk. You clear your throat to reply.

“No, honestly it’s fine. I can walk, it’s not far.” You feel guilty having Michael chauffer you around.

“Do you even know the way?” Michael replies. You think hard for a little while but end up shaking your head signalling a no towards Michael. He sighs at the floor then looks up at you making your heart flutter. “My keys are in my office.” Michael points over his shoulder with his thumb and you follow as he makes his way back to the building.

The brass doorknob to Michael’s office is turned and you disappear inside with him. The door clicks shut behind you and decide to give his office a more detailed inspection as Michael rifles through the drawers of his desk for his misplaced car keys. In his frustration he throws his suit jacket on the back of his desk chair in a huff. Then as a last resort, he closes and lifts his Fruit laptop to see if his keys were hiding underneath but they obviously weren’t. He sighs again and slides his work laptop into a wide drawer he pulled out to further minimise the clutter on his desk.

You pass the time studying framed posters and old photos that hung on his walls along with trinkets and souvenirs from past movies Michael had lying around his office. You were handling a rather expensive and rare prop from a movie making Michael quickly move toward you.

“Can you put that down Y/N please? What you’re holding cost a lot of money.” Michael held his palms out anxiously at you. It was strange seeing him like this.

“Oh. Sorry.” You handed the coin to Michael and he placed it back in its velvet lined case on a slim table in front of you and pressed the lid closed. He looked at you briefly without saying anything and you assumed he was going to lecture you again. Michael was in fact admiring the way the sun outlined the freckles sprinkled on your face and lighting up your eyes. The sun shone through the gaps of his open blinds on the large window of his office.

“So are you and Trevor...er.... y’know”

“What?” You smile seeing Michael become uncomfortable.

“.... Was it just a onetime thing? Or... or should I start calling you Mrs. Philips?” Michael joked and regained social control.

“What? I... I hardly know him Michael! It just... happened that’s all.” You look at the floor briefly remembering back to that night and how good Trevor made you feel. Your hand found its way to your neck and your fingertips traced the fading purple marks on the skin.

“In the desert?”

“What?” You’re snapped out of your reminiscent memories and look up to Michael to respond. “...Yeah, but not literally in the fucking dirt or anything-”

“-and not in that corrugated metal death shack though right?” Michael whined, hoping you would at least have some class or sense after already knowing Trevor lacks any of the sorts. Michael took your lack of a reply as a reply and shook his head. “Fucking Christ.... you know he’s almost like fifty.”

“That... doesn’t make a difference.” You say confidently with a smug grin. Michael is surprised with your retort and raises his eyebrows.

“Old fucks are your type then huh?”

“Not really. I don’t have a type per say. If I like someone I like someone.” You answered honestly with a shrug.

“And you like Trevor?” Michael wanted to hear you confirm it before he even considered to believe it.

“I did.” You say coldly as you remember the way he treated you back in Grapeseed.

“You did? Oh, yeah that’s right, he sounded pissed, well, more pissed than usual, when I called you. What happened out there?” Michael looked concerned and braced himself for something worse.

“He got mad that I turned down a job offer to work for him and his business. A job offer that would almost, definitely have me expelled and deported.... Trevor took it... personally.” You rolled your eyes.

“Trevor always takes things personally so don’t sweat it. Smart move though kid. Trust me; working with Trevor, it ain’t an easy task, by far.” Michael rolled his neck to stretch and calm himself.

“I bet.” You laugh. Michael just watched you again with his bluer than blue eyes as you turn away to inspect more of his office. You notice trinkets on his desk. There’s a mischievous, glint in his eye as you pass and he admires you from behind.

“Y/N.... what did you think I meant out there just now?”

“About what?” Your attention is on Michael’s executive toy on his desk. You lean on your elbows on the desk and pull one of the metal balls on one side to start the contraption.

“About wanting to... ride.” When the word 'ride' left Michael’s lips your heartbeat instantly rose with the sexual energy you could almost feel evaporating off of Michael standing behind you.

You freeze as you hear him slowly approach you. Your torso is bent forward over the front of Michael’s large wooden desk. Your black, bodycon mini skirt that clung to your thighs lifted up slightly when you leant forward. You felt Michael’s presence by your bottom and you gasped as he yanked the skirt up to expose your plump, round butt cheeks.

Your heart pumped blood quicker feeling Michael’s strong hand grasp at the material now bunched up above your backside. You turn your head to face Michael as he ran his thick fingers under your g string of your underwear, teasing you but also waiting for permission. Your dark eyes darted back and forth from his hand and his face.

“Is this what you meant baby?”

“I knew you fucking loved it when your boss thought I was your other woman.” Your breathing quickens.

“Do you wanna be, gorgeous?” Michael pulled the elastic of your panties up that sat in the crack of your buttocks making the material at the front of your area strain and apply pleasurable pressure to your clit. You exhale a high breathy moan.

“Yes Mr De Santa!” You squeal. You saw the look on Michael’s face and he released a chuckle then a moan.

“Mmmh, that fucking ass. I could look at that all day.” Michael spreads his warm palm across your cheek then smacks it hard leaving your skin to sting. You cry out at the impact then a wide smile spreads across your face. The idea of Michael fucking you from behind and in his office, got you all hot and bothered really fast.

Michael yanks down your knickers exposing your area. Your breathing quickens at the anticipation and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Michael grabs hard at the flesh of your bottom and your upper thigh. He’s teasing you, and seems to be touching you everywhere but the place you want him to. Did he lock the door to his office? Just as you’re thinking to ask, his stubby fingers slide into you causing your back to arch upward and your arms to straighten underneath you on the desk. You can’t control your stuttered breathing as Michael starts fingering you slowly. His other hand is squeezing and slapping your bottom every now and then.

“Angel, you’re already so fucking wet. I bet Trevor could never get you this wet.”

“Make me wetter Mr. De Santa.” You mumble a moan. Michael chuckles and his thrusts quicken making your face heat up. Your moans become shorter but double in quantity with the amount of breathing you have to do to keep yourself from passing out.

“Not so loud baby! People might hear...” Michael strains as he fingers you deeper and rougher. You could almost feel Michael’s triumphant smile burn into you, as you stared in an ecstasy haze at the posters hung up on the wall behind his desk.

“Shit! I don’t think I locked the door.” Michael slides his fingers out of you and you turn yourself around to watch him walk away. You’re panting and disheartened as he leaves you to check the door to his office. You lean your bare backside on the front of his desk and watch him fumble the doorknob. You hear a click.

“You-didn’t... lock it?!” You say with a frown catching your breath, with your face still burning.

“Ah relax babycakes. It’s locked now.” Michael saunters back toward you with his heavy shoulder walk. You prop yourself up on the desk not knowing what to expect and Michael pinches your jaw line to kiss you hard on your lips. He tastes like old cigarettes and bourbon. You melt into the embrace as Michael’s dry hand made its way into your hair. The sensation drove you crazy as his fingers play with your hair.

You felt the sides of his mouth curl up to smile as you let out a moan into his mouth. The warmth from his crotch pushes into your leg and Michael pulls away from kissing you. Michael studies your youthful face and sighs. He rests his stubby index and middle fingers that were inside you not too long ago on your hot, plump lips.

“Shhh baby. Remember not too loud.” Michael says softly. You nod and his thumb strokes your cheek. "Ain’t I the luckiest guy alive? Not to get sentimental and shit but your college could’ve picked anywhere else.”

“Too bad I ended up in this shit hole.” You joke. It makes Michael chuckle and shake his head.

Michael’s eyes burned with desire as he watched your next move. You grabbed his hand near your mouth and inserted his fingers soaked with your juices into your mouth. Your full lips ran down the length of his fingers and you sucked any residue off. You popped Michael’s stubby fingers out of your mouth and did circles with your tongue on his finger tips. Michael watched in awe and mouthed the work “fuck” and you heard him whisper it ever so lightly. He raised his eyebrows and hung his jaw as you let his hand fall beside him and pushed him away from you slowly. When you had enough room you began to kneel in front of him.

“Now it’s your turn to try and be quiet Michael.” You purr as you unbuckle his belt. You glance up to him and notice his jaw is still ajar slightly. You watch from under his slightly hanging stomach as he exhales and inhales quickly.

Michael’s pupils dilate within his beautiful blue eyes as you take your time pulling the zip down of his suit trousers. You hear him exhale sharply as you forcefully undo the button and smirk back up to him. He must be very sensitive.

Your vision is now on the bulge straining within the material of his boxers. You reach your hand into his underwear and release his rock hard penis. It now hung in front of you demanding entrance to your mouth. You study it before making eye contact with Michael again whilst kneeling on the floor. Michael’s slightly smaller than Trevor but his size is still impressive.

Without breaking eye contact with Michael, you wrap your cushiony lips around the tip of his cock and it slips into your warm mouth. Michael exhales a strained moan as you pull more and more of Michael’s length into your mouth and bob your head back slowly to release him.

It doesn’t take long for you to speed up your sucking and licking. Michael isn’t sure what to do with his hands so he places one around the back of your skull to try and control your rhythm. The hand from the back of your head keeps you in place as Michael forces more of himself in and out of your throat. It’s taking all of Michael’s might not to release and orgasm loudly in your mouth.

You grasp his shaft and pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath. Your hand is pumping away and your tongue licks at his dripping, reddened tip. You glance up and Michael’s back is arched forward with his head tilted back ready for his sweet release. Just then, the two of you are startled by a light knocking on the door to the office.

“Mr. De Santa... Mr. De Santa? You still here?” The voice on the other side of the door jiggles the doorknob. You freeze and let Michael’s penis slide out of your mouth when he spins around in the direction of the sudden interruption. He snaps back to look at you in a panic.

“Y/N get the fuck under my desk in case they wanna come in!” Michael whispers harshly at you as he shoves his genitals back in his boxers and pulls up his trousers and belt. You pull your underwear back up and crawl quickly around the large wooden desk and hunch yourself in the space underneath. Michael wipes his mouth and lastly pulls up his fly to his trousers and unlocks the door. He opens the door slightly so only his head had enough room to fit through the space.

“Yes what is it? I have some work to do.” Michael barked to the young man outside his office.

“Oh, my apologies Mr De Santa,” The young intern started peeling through the papers on his clipboard finding where to start the topic of conversation. “I thought you’d wanna review the takes we did today. We did some great work-”

Michael watched him in horror as the intern didn’t go away. Michael opened the door more and lifted his hand to stop the young man talking. The intern looked up from his notes and made eye contact with Michael.

“-Look I believe you kid, I just can’t right now. I’ll look over them tomorrow.” Michael was short but appreciative of the work that was done today.

“I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The young intern slipped the clipboard under his arm and saluted Michael with a smile. He was about to leave before Michael spoke again.

“See ya...erm...” Michael snapped his fingers rudely to try and jog his memory for the name of his co-worker.

“... Todd.” The young camera man finally spoke in a disappointed tone.

“Todd! Yes, I’ll get back to you tomorrow. I appreciate it, thanks kid.” Michael waved then slowly closed the door.

“No problem M-” Michael shut the door in the twenty-something year old’s face and locked it again.

You waited under the desk and your heart raced as you heard his footsteps nearing then jumped slightly when you saw Michael duck his head down and grinned wickedly at you.

“Good girl.” Michael’s hand reached in and grabbed your arm to pull your out of the space under his desk. You crawl out and stand up in between him and his desk. Your skirt is still pushed up and sits around your waist. He’s pushing his hips into your groin and you can feel his hard-on through his pants and through your panties. You glance down at it and then back to his face.

“That was exciting.” You admit as Michael sits you up on his desk. Another moan leaves your lips as Michael’s mouth finds your neck. He leaves light kisses on your skin.

“He’s about your age” You feel his voice vibrate on your neck. “Want me to set you two up?” Michael was kidding. His large hand reached up under your shirt to fondle your chest whilst the other rested on the side of your face. You felt the metal from his wedding ring brush against your ear.

“Yeah why not?” You exhale hoping it would annoy Michael. It did. He pulled away from your neck to stare at you straight in the eye. Michael’s serious look was intense but you couldn’t keep your straight face for very long. You pull your shirt up off over your head and stare naughtily at him. Michael’s face softens too as you wrap your legs around his waist to pull his crotch into yours. His breath hitches as it makes contact and he grinds his teeth.

“Baby. You just might be the death of me.” Michael’s hands interlock behind you. His palms rest on your lower back. Your hips roll on Michael’s clothed shaft as you slip each strap of your bra down and Michael unhooks the strap that sat on your back. You’re impressed how speedy he was at unhinging your bra.

Michael takes a second to decide which nipple he wanted to start with. Your eyes close and your mouth hums from Michael’s gentle nibbles and sucking as he switches between your sensitive nipples. His lips are soft but his teeth are sharp. Michael makes a loud sucking noise in between harsh breaths when he pulls on your nipple with his strikingly whiter than white, Los Santos teeth. You bring your head back down and meet his lustful gaze.

“Fuck, are you always this fucking corny?” You moan a laugh whilst playing with Michael’s hair. Michael pulls away and instead his finger tips take over and circle your nipples. He looks at you with a half smile.

“Yes. Are you always this much of a fucking potty mouth?” Michael arches a brow and then before you can answer he leaves kisses and streaks of saliva in your cleavage.

“Look who’s talking!” You breathe a moan. Michael stands up straight and chuckles with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. His stare is dark again and you feel your heart beat banging against your ribcage. You wet your dry throat with a swallow and wait for Michael to speak.

“Show me how much of a dirty mouth you’ve got baby.” Michael voice is deep and gravelly as it travels up his throat. His piercing blue eyes glance at your lips then back to your own eyes. Michael waits for your response. You make him wait a bit longer and without blinking and breaking eye contact, you answer him slowly and begin to unbutton his shirt starting from his collar bone.

“I want you to fuck me hard from behind Mr De Santa! Right here. On your work desk.” You stare into Michael’s hypnotic blue eyes. His jaw hangs again, pleasantly surprised at you. He swallows to moisten his throat then replies.

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice!” Your legs release Michael and he steps backward to give you room to hop off his desk. You lean over his desk again, but this time on the opposite side and facing the opposite side of the room.

You hear Michael whip off his shirt and undo his trousers from behind you and he grunts as he pulls his cock out. He pumps it slowly to get it fully erect again. The pit of your stomach tenses as you feel his touch on your backside. Michael's careful hands peel your panties to one side and rubs the tip of his penis up and down your opening. Your thighs wobble and your whole body shivers.

“Ready angel?” Michael asks breathlessly.

“Yes Michael! Fuck me already!” You growl impatiently.

“Alright babe.” Michael purrs as he slides into you. You stutter a small moan as he stretches your walls. Your nails drag the top of the desk and you moan when Michael is completely inside you. You feel his dad stomach under his shirt rest on top of your butt cheeks. You exhale loudly when he pulls out of you quickly.

Michael shushes you again. You try to quiet down but can’t stop the pleasurable noises escaping your lips. You feel Michael’s torso lean over your behind and his hand appeared in front of your face to cover your mouth. He pushes himself deep inside you again and you scream into his palm. He’s thrusting quickly smacking against your lips. You hear him straining moans and the slapping of his groin against your backside.

You take in as many deep breaths as you can through your nose but it’s still not enough, you begin to feel light headed and whine every time Michael gets rougher with his penetrating. The knick knacks on Michael’s desk shake violently and some fall over from Michael’s quickening speed. Michael removes his hand from your mouth and uses it to grip your waist. Your vision blurs as your eyes roll back into your skull. You’re near your climax and moan out his name.

“YES! Yes Michael! Fuck me harder!” You moan and wait for the sexual bliss to take hold of your body. The familiar feeling in the bottom of your stomach creeps up and your moans get shorter and shorter then become silent as you’re closer to your orgasm.

Michael grabs hold of your hands bringing them together on your lower back. He pulls on your arms to thrust deep and hard up into you as you release onto his cock. Your walls pulsate around his shaft and your legs twitch uncontrollably. You exhale your orgasm loudly but Michael doesn’t care now. He just wants to replay the sweet noise you make while he’s inside you.

Michael leaves go of your arms and you lazily flop them down to rest in front of you. He slips out of your soaked hole and has his eyes set on another.

“Open that drawer.” Michael commanded with beads of sweat running down his forehead. His chest rises and falls with his harsh breathing as he points to a small drawer in his work desk. You do so with confusion and pull the handle of one of the small drawers. It’s cluttered with pencils, pens and crumpled notes. You’re not sure what Michael wanted you to find.

“What are you looking for?” You ask as you root around in the hanging drawer. Michael backs away from you and leans his hand into the drawer. He pulls out a girthy tube of what looks to you like a tube of toothpaste. It doesn’t have a label on it though... Michael unscrews the cap and applies some of the clear substance to himself but before you can ask what he’s doing, you feel him apply some to your asshole. Oh... that’s what it’s for.

You’re starting to regain a normal breathing pattern before feeling Michael’s tip poking your asshole. Your head snaps back to him and your eyes widen with horror and a small bit of exhilaration. You didn’t peg Michael as an anal type of guy. After Michael lubes you up, he eases himself into your asshole and you cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Fuck-Y/N-you’re so fucking-tight!” Michael strains as he pushes more of himself into your ass. You bite down on your fist enjoying the gratification and trying to ignore the pain. You whine as Michael pushes more of himself inside.

“Where’s that smart mouth of yours gone huh?” Michael says with a massive grin. His large hands grope your buttocks to spread them as he forces himself inside. He pulls out slightly then back in again.

All you can muster out is a whimper at the pleasure and it sends Michael crazy. You massage your clit roughly before he grabs the back of your head and pulls on your hair. He’s getting faster and faster fucking your asshole. Michael’s skin crashes into yours again and again. He moans profanities as he gets closer to his climax.

“FUCK YEAH- I-STILL GOT-IT!” Michael orgasms and releases himself. You feel the warmth of Michael’s cum fill up your ass.

After Michael finishes his jerks and is fully satisfied, you feel him slide out of you. You turn yourself to face him and he kisses you hard with his hand snaking up from your waist along your ribcage, to your neck. It made you shiver. You pull away from Michael and blink slowly before being mesmerized by his blue eyes.

“That was... unexpected.” You say with a sigh as you stroke his bicep.

“You weren’t too bad yourself angel.” Michael said with a half smile. He pulls his suit trousers up from the floor and fastens it at his crotch along with his belt. He moves away from you to find the clothes scattered around the room from the moment of passion. He picks up his suit shirt and tosses you your bra and t-shirt. You catch them and watch Michael dress himself.

“... We can’t do this again obviously.” You finally speak after fixing your bra and pulling your t-shirt over your head. Michael looks up making your heart flutter again. He sees the playful look on your flushed face and moistens his lips as he nods.

“Obviously.” Michael scoffs with a grin. You can’t look away from his beautiful, baby blue eyes as they glisten and catch the light.

- [<-CH10] [<-CH1]

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