#then again I’m cursed so I don’t know why I assumed that the printer would set up easily without any issues

[holydramon]

why is it called hp smart when if I didn’t have to deal with all this wi-fi connection stuff and just had a wire, I’d already have everything I needed printed by now

[headkiss]

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

༄

People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

-

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

-

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

-

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

-

+1

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Eight

Chapter 8: The Things We Leave Behind

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader [now with a dash of Erwin x Reader]

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter 

Erwin,

           I don’t have much time, but it’s me—I’m alive. I’m safe. I don’t know why, but I am. They want something from me here, tried to pry into me for information about The Scouts, but not much else. I’ve given over as little as I can, but enough to keep me alive for now. But it’s strange here, even some of the warriors know something is going on below the surface of what we know. You can probably tell by the email that I’m using that I’ve found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. He’s the one who has given me the multitude of files I’ve attached this email. He claims most of this intel he gathered he never gave over to Marleyan officials. He also says he can be of help to Paradis, that Pieck and the others can too. I don’t know how much of that is true. To be fair, I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

           There are files here on Zeke Yeager, apparently put together by warrior members who have become wary of him. Dig into them, figure out what you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find a way home. And, for the love of god, please sleep. I know how you get.

           Don’t respond to this email. No one knows I have sent it.

           Always.

           Erwin read the words for what felt like the thousandth time, the black lettering practically bleeding into the screen by this point. His heart had dropped when he sat down in his office this morning to find something sitting in his personal email folder, something branded with the last name of a traitor. His mind had raced into the darkest depths, assuming it was pictures of torture, a letter filled with malacious laughter, an autopsy report. But it was you, you were alive, you’d found a way to reach him.

           He had to keep his hand over his mouth as he grinned. You were so capable, so resourceful and rather ingenious. He’d had his doubts, but on the forefront of his mind, and his tongue, he’d said and knew you were alive.

           He’d stayed in his office with the door locked for hours in the morning as he poured over the information, brows twisting in both delight and disgust as he began to make sense of the documents crafted by the wary warriors. They were impressive, to say the least, and quite frightening.

           Every single urge inside of him was screaming to respond, even as he printed out the rather massive amount of documents you’d attached. He made copy after copy, blue eyes dancing like they were overcome with madness as familiar and unknown faces and information landed into the tray of the printer.

           He carefully separated the files by paperclips, prepping for them to be dispersed.

           You were so good. So brilliant. He’d have you home soon enough.

           The cumbersome stack of papers was too much for him to carry just under one arm. The one he’d lost was burning, itching like it should be able to wrap around the bundle.

           Erwin marched out of his office and into the bustling workspace, clearing his throat to the room.

           “Scouts! Emergency meeting in the conference hall immediately. Drop everything and meet me there.”

           Every head in the room snapped toward him, all chatter silencing. They all stared at him like he had three heads; the last time they’d had every scout in the same room was when he’d pronounced you missing nearly two weeks ago. He knew they were worried that this next announcement was of a death, of war.

           “Now!”

           The bustle picked up again immediately, every soldier, assistant, and intelligence officer scurrying to make it down the hall.

           “Springer,” Erwin caught the young man by the shoulder as he tried to brisk by him, “there’s a stack of papers in my office. Grab it and bring it with you.”

           Erwin continued in his stride toward the small auditorium, taking his known place down in front at the white boards. He could hear indiscriminate whispers behind his back as he took his time setting up a display. There was a small cork board off to the side of the room, littered with headshots of the Marleyan warriors. He cursed the face of the girl who took his arm as he pulled it to the front.

           “Miche,” he called over his shoulder, knowing the towering blonde would be nearby, “Come help me.”

           “Sure thing boss.”

           It didn’t take much time to direct, and before long he had all the warriors lined up on the large board in front of the room. He took his own time to place the picture of your face in the center, fingers brushing over the heavy red letters of Missing that were etched over your features.

           Levi saddled up next to him, never one to fall into the crowds.

           “Erwin, what is all this?”

           “I got an email from her this morning.”

           Levi didn’t have to ask. If there was ever a “her” in Erwin’s vocabulary, he meant you. You were all over his mind, more so than ever before.

           “Care to share? Or was it a love letter?”

           It was an unspoken truth that he’d become involved with you within the last year, and given his rather...emotional response to your disappearance, he was sure everyone was now well aware of your entanglement.

           “A love letter full of promising information.”

           “Tch, sounds about right. Did she give you all that?” Levi tilted his head toward Connie, who was struggling to keep the giant bundle of printed documents from sliding off the podium.

           “She did. It’s time to get to work.”

           Erwin didn’t even wait for the room to settle. There was no time to waste. He turned toward the confused, anxious crowd, took note of how they were all staring at him like lost children. There weren’t that many left after the attack on Shinganshina all those years ago, his scouts had either been killed off or left the ranks entirely. Recruitment had become more of an issue than it ever had been before as well. There was only a gathering of about thirty before him—the size of a small classroom, all piled into the front seats and awaiting instruction.

           “I received word from our missing captain this morning.”

           A shocked gasp filled the space, one of the younger girls—last name Blouse or Braus, he never could remember—literally jumping from her seat.

           “She’s alive?!”

           He held up his hand to calm her, to direct her to sit back down.

           “As far as I know, yes. She found a way to email me this morning to let me know of her safety, and also supply us with a vast amount of Marleyan intel. Now, we need to unpack what we know.”

           Erwin motioned to Springer again, wrist flicking toward the still unsteady mountain of papers.

           “Hand those out, they should be sectioned by paper clips so everyone can have a copy.”

           “But, Sir, I—” I just spent all that time wrestling with those papers, is what he knew he wanted to say. Springer did what he was told anyways, scratching at his short hair as he hurriedly began to divvy out the printed intel.

           “We’ll start with what we do know.” Erwin took a few long strides back toward the large board, feeling his empty shirt sleeve rustle by his side as he used his remaining arm to point toward the faces that had been lined up for him.

          “Of course, we’re all aware that former Scout members Braun, Leonhart, and Hoover were infiltrators sent by Marley to uncover our anti-Marleyan operations. They are members of the Warrior Unit run by this man,” he placed his index finger over the person of interest, “Zeke Yeager. And there are other members of the unit as well, Galliard, Finger, and Grice. There are also candidates for this elite military squad, Udo, Zofia, and the younger Grice and Braun. It is important to note that one of their former members, Marcel Galliard, was killed by none other than our missing captain in question.”

          “Yeah, yeah, we know all this!” Kirstein chimed in, “We don’t need the history lesson.”

          Erwin couldn’t help but grin.

          “It seems a history lesson is exactly what you need. In those files that were sent to me, you’ll learn that all these warrior members and candidates are, historically, from Eldian bloodlines.”

          “Eldians? You mean...like us?” Historia tilted her head, thumbing through the pages in her lap.

          “Yes. Now if you did pay attention in history class,” he narrowed his eyes at Jean, “you would remember that about four hundred years ago, there was a mass immigration of Eldians into Marley in the face of a mass famine here. However, due to Marley’s very strict borders and even stricter control on their governmental processes, it was never truly known to us what became of the Eldians that marched across their border. We knew they had been separated into internment camps, but it also seems that they have been weaponized and trained into being nearly the entirety of their military ranks. And this unit, The Warriors, are the premiere and elite squadron of the Marleyan military. And their motives toward Paradis have been largely unknown. Until now.”

          Erwin took a pause, letting all this information sink in before starting again.

          “Now, we know that Zeke Yeager has been working with our elite right below our noses with the hopes of changing the status quo for Eldians in Marley.”

          “Isn’t that a good thing?”

          Eren sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared at all the faces on the board. It was no secret that Zeke Yeager was his long lost step-brother, sired by his father before he escaped the Marleyan border to find a better future in Paradis. As far as Erwin knew, the young man had no connections to his step-sibling, only saw him as an enemy force to be reckoned with.

          “Yes, and no. Because, according to the files you’ll find penned by one Pieck Finger, it seems his plan is quite unseemly.”

          “I don’t understand all this data and graph shit,” Miche admitted, eyebrows scrunched together as he licked his thumb to continue perusing the pages.

          Captain Hange stood then, making her way to the front without Erwin having to beckon her to.

          “These are...these are blood samples, DNA testing,” she mused, pencils stuck in her ponytail as she paced the floor before Erwin, “genome analysis, to be specific. Like they were looking for something specific in all these samples.”

          “And they were. Did you get my request this morning?”

          “Oh yes, of course, sir!” Hange scrambled back up to her seat, pulling out a manila envelope and then returning to hand it to him.

          Erwin motioned for Miche to tape these new documents on the board as well, one next to your photo, the other now next to a photo of Historia Reiss. Then Erwin picked up some pictures that would be unfamiliar to his scouts, placing them above your head.

          “These are the parents of our missing scout,” he called over his shoulder as he took an unfortunately slow time to place the photos, the lack of two hands starting to become quite bothersome. “They were Military Police members, killed in action about ten years ago. However, the information within the files on Yeager reveal that before Braun and the others infiltrated our ranks, there were other imposters sent on a reconnaissance mission within the MPs. It is cited that those infiltrators killed two people they were targeting, and I believe it to be them.”

          He could tell he was losing their focus, quite a few eyes glazed over as they tried to make sense of all the new pieces being added to the growing wall of puzzles. He felt like a madman stringing up red threads, but he was almost certain of his conclusions.

          “Why...why do they matter?” It was Armin who spoke this time, normally the quiet one during meetings who soaked up information like a little yellow sponge.

          “Historia,” Erwin called, “does the name Fritz mean anything to you?”

          The small girl sat to attention, blue eyes shining.

          “Of course, they’re another noble family, like mine. Err, or the were, before…”

          “Before they were killed about one hundred years ago. However, I’m inclined to believe that our missing scout’s mother was the last remaining of the Fritz line, having donned a new name for safety and falling into government positions to hopefully remain unnoticed.”

          He took in a deep breath, once again letting a pregnant pause settle into the heaviness of the room.

          “Which is why…” he waved his hand over the graphs next to your face and the photo of Historia on the board, “thismatters. It’s been a long standing belief that elites, that royalty and those that have been elected president in our country, are somehow different. Almost appointed by the gods themselves because of their special blood. You know, it’s the whole issue that many take up on the fact that they see our governmental system as more of a monarchy than a democracy. But the truth of the matter is, you nobles do have different blood and genes than the rest of us. These graphs show that here.”

          “Well that’s very elitist of you.” Levi cut in, standing with his arms crossed near the door.

          “Perhaps. But I had Hange do a genome map between Historia and…” he sucked on his tongue, still finding a bit of pain to say your name out loud, “...and her. My suspicions are correct. Based on the startlingly similar genetic patterns, our missing captain is of noble heritage, and I’m inclined to believe that Zeke Yeager knows this.”

          “And that’s important because it makes her more valuable,” Armin had his face in his hands, “does she...does she know this?”

          “As far as I know, no. No she does not.”

          “And you of all people would know.”

          Erwin wanted to snap back at the snide comment that came from Eren. If he wasn’t such a good soldier, Erwin would have him on fucking patrol duty after this.

          “Commander,” Armin looked sweaty, pale, “It says here that Yeager’s plan is to reinstate Eldian supremacy through uh… a means of genetic mutation. Do you know what that means?”

          “No, Arlert, I don’t. And I don’t know exactly what his plans are for our scout that’s being held hostage. Which is why you’re all here. From this point forward, every ounce of your time will be spent reviewing these documents and dissecting what it could all mean. As far as I can tell, Pieck Finger hasn’t quite connected all the dots yet either. So now it’s our job to do so.”

          All the heads in the room were nodding, everyone undoubtedly becoming antsy from all this news.

          Erwin knew there was more to say. He had debated printing out your email as well, but he wanted to keep the knowledge that Braun and some of the warriors were possibly willing to help stop whatever was happening to himself. He knew that if he even breathed the words that traitors were offering aid, too many would be against it, too many wouldn’t believe it. That would have to be something he pondered on his own.

          “Where do we begin, sir?”

          Mikasa sat up straight and on the edge of her seat, like she was ready to spring into action.

          “First, I think we need to dig deeper into just who was planning to meet with the Warrior Unit the day the captain was captured. We still don’t know who they were, or what was happening that warriors actually had to be present for it. Also…” he looked pointedly toward Levi, “we need to do more investigating on the day she was shot. We still don’t know who shot her, or why. It could have been an assassin looking to annihilate that Fritz bloodline.”

          Levi nodded, “On it.”

          “Everyone else, get to work. Get out the red tape and string if you need to, and all meeting rooms are now open to place questions and findings onto the boards. Nothing is useless; all knowledge about this situation is powerful and paramount. This could be the beginning of a nightmare, but perhaps we can stop it before it happens.”

          He watched everyone leave, all with hurried steps and papers shuffling within their hands. Hange stuck around behind him, rather bewitched by the DNA findings taped to the white board.

          A little voice cleared their throat next to him, making him look down. Historia stood before him, eyes downcast and her toes pointed together like she was nervous.

          “Commander… I…do you have a moment?”

          “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

          He watched her glance toward Hange, then toward the door, and back to him.

          “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and speak alone?”

          “Yes,” she quickly breathed, happy that he picked up on the fact that whatever she had to say, it must need to stay quiet.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          It seemed that Historia’s nerves were still getting the better of her as she sat in front of his desk. Erwin had always been told he was rather imposing, so he hoped she wasn’t apprehensive to just be speaking with him alone. Her hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, knee bouncing in her seat.

          He’d poured himself a cup as well in the break room, having already drank it before even reaching his office. Your worries had been correct: he wasn’t sleeping much, and after what you’d sent him today, he didn’t know how you ever expected him to sleep again without knowing the truth of what was happening.

          “Commander…” she took the deepest breath, eyes closing for a moment, “do you...you don’t believe in myths, do you?”

          It was an odd question, one that had him pressing his lips together as he looked for an answer.

          “I suppose not. Though, it would also depend on the myth; some of them hold truth to them, as they were stories attempting to cope with the unknown.”

          “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she scoffed, looking everywhere in the room but at him.

          “Why? Are you here to give me a mythology lesson?”

          “Have you heard the one about Ymir? And the nine titans?”

          “That old tale?” He chuckled, remembering pictures in books he’d read as a child of towering beasts, “The one about how there used to be giant people, titans that roamed the lands before humanity came along?”

          Historia twisted her lips, looking down at the floor.

          “Yeah. That one. Did you ever know her full name?”

          “Her? As in Ymir? No, she was just the goddess Ymir in all the books, gods don’t normally have last names.”

          “Well, she did. Because she was human. Her last name was Fritz.”

          Fritz. Like your possible ancestors. Historia had earned his attention now. He sat up behind his desk, fist unknowingly clenched in his lap.

          “Commander, I don’t know if this is true, but when I was a little girl, my older sister, Freida, she used to tell me all these stories about titans and how we, nobility, are descendants of gods and of...of titans.”

          Erwin was trying to read her face, but the young woman just seemed full of fear, trepidation.

          “Historia, I’ve heard all the propaganda about the noble families being descendants from gods. And if I offended you with my remarks in the meeting then I apolo—”

          “No, no,” she cut him off, “no, that’s not what I meant. I know that my family...that the other nobles and elites have twisted all these myths to give themselves power, but what I’m saying is that it’s true. At least, I think it is. We have all these books back home in my estate that explain this true history about how people used to live in a world of titans thousands of years ago, that there were mindless titans, but also titans controlled by humans… humans that were titans. And I’m just saying, if this was true…”

          He was starting to put the pieces together now. The genetic mutation. The bloodlines. No wonder her thoughts had led her to this conclusion.

          “You’re worried Zeke Yeager believes in these old stories, that his plan is to bring back titans?” He posed it as a question, wanting her to finish her thoughts instead of him imposing on her.

          “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but if there was some way to do it, our missing captain, if she’s actually of royal blood, like me, he might want to…” she set down her cup of coffee, finally looking up at him with eyes that shone with wisdom he’d never acknowledged before, “Zeke might want to experiment on her. Or maybe reveal her heritage and try to bargain her back to the elites. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to say this in front of everyone because they might think I’m…”

          “Crazy?”

          “Yeah,” she huffed, “thanks.”

          “Thank you, Historia. You’ve given me something to think about.”

          “But you think I’m crazy.”

          He dared not to insult her outloud, but it was the side he was erring on.

          “I appreciate you being willing to tell me this. It seems I have some mythology to study up on. Actually, if you ever get the chance to get your hands on one of those books you spoke about, I would like to see it.”

          She stood then, leaving her coffee abandoned on his desk.

          “Of course, Commander.”

          He could tell her spirits were defeated as she left his office. But, nonetheless, he took the coffee she left behind as his own, settling back in to continue reading into the files you’d sent to him.

          But his mind couldn’t even register the words anymore. He was so tired, and now, knowing that you were indeed alive, he was filled with nothing but thoughts on how to get you home. It would be a suicide mission to try to send a squad into Marley to rescue you. He also knew that asking the elites, even the President, to act on his behalf would probably be met with a negative outcome since they were in connection to Zeke Yeager himself. It all seemed hopeless, but he knew you were working to get back as well. Between the two of you attempting to reach the same goal, he knew, eventually, he’d have you back again.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          His home was quite lonely without you.

          He felt the emptiness of not having you at the Scout Headquarters, but more so he felt it when he finally drug his tired body to the apartment he lived in across the city.

          It felt like a small cataclysm erupted whenever he opened his front door, all the emotions he kept at bay suddenly budding to the surface of his composure. Your shoes were still by the door, so small next to the ones he took off.

          Signs of you, of your absence, were everywhere. Your coat on the back of a chair. Your favorite books still spread open and marked to forgotten pages in the cozy chair in the living room. Wine only you liked still remained chilled in the fridge, your body wash and shampoo still lined the edges of his shower. He hadn’t even washed his sheets since you left, hadn’t dared to touch the side of the bed you slept on, like the mattress was still full of your ghost when he reached out for you at night.

          Even though you had your own apartment, he couldn’t remember a night he’d spent without you in the last few months. You’d become inseparable, seeking refuge in each other’s bodies against the cruelty this world had dealt you. You accepted him for who he was, even when he felt like half a man.

          There were still words he wanted to say to you; there were still echoes of your voice all around the apartment, your laughter ringing in the support beams, the sounds of your moans still staining his headboard.

           There were so many things you left behind, him included.

           Erwin poured himself a drink before settling into the couch, not even bothering to undress from his work clothes. He needed medicine for his mind, needed to try to drink and find clarity in the too many thoughts thumping in his head.

           You were noble. Of all fucking things.

           He took a very long sip at that realization, almost reveling in the burn the whiskey left behind in his mouth. He could still taste you on his tongue sometimes, still feel the pressure of your lips against his if he closed his eyes. All those times he thought he was kissing something divine, perhaps he was, if Historia Reiss had any merit to her little bedtime stories.

           The thought made him laugh. Titans. Mythological creatures. If there was one thing he knew, his enemies weren’t trying to bring things that never existed back to life. Historia was right about one thing though: you could be a powerful bargaining chip for Zeke. If the elites were holding out on something, all he had to do was dangle a pretty, royal plaything in front of their noses as bait.

           He pulled your email back up on his phone, eyes scanning over all the words you sent.

You’d found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. Of all people. Erwin could still remember how much the two of you would fight when you were both soldiers, how you were adamant to take on the hulking man yourself when it came to battle.

           But he also remembered how startlingly well the two of you worked together. It had been the two of you who had stopped Marcel Galliard, it had been Reiner who was the first to appear at the hospital steps when news of your potentially fatal injury had been called over the radio. The man had been panting, Bertholdt too, both of them having run as fast possible from their patrol circuit to check in on your status.

           Erwin always assumed it was because Reiner was sweet on you. Boys had always been taught to tease the girls they liked when they were younger, perhaps he’d just carried that on into adulthood, practically throwing stones at you to get your attention.

           Not that he could blame him. Erwin had always wanted your attention, but had kept himself restrained for professional reasons. But after Shinganshina, after Zeke showed the true force of the Warrior Unit as a warning, Erwin had quickly pulled you from the front lines. He claimed it was because your cleverness would be better served in intelligence work. Truth of the matter was that he wanted you safe. He wanted you working with him, in his sight, every day.

           And now you had completely slipped through his fingers.

           He’d cursed out loud when the scouts returned and revealed that you’d been captured. He even unfairly chewed out Jean for being reckless enough to get his vertical movement gear tangled with yours, but he knew the fault rested in his hands. You’d offered to go, and he’d let you.

           He let you go, and now he was reeling in the ash and smoke of the damage left behind.

           With a finished drink, he let his mind wander to that place he tried to keep it from. He was wondering where you were, wondering exactly what you were doing. Until tonight, he imagined you were left under lock and key, but now he knew you’d gotten yourself into some situation in order to access Reiner’s email. Perhaps he truly was helping you.

           Some of your words ran through his brain again: I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

           Erwin honestly didn’t know what was true anymore either. In a matter of hours, he’d pieced together information the intelligence unit had been trying to uncover for years. He was steps closer to figuring out whatever truth there was Zeke Yeager’s madness. He was steps closer to keeping the whole country safe from a disaster its own elites had their fingers in.

           But he still felt so far away, so far away from you, from himself. He felt like he’d never actually fit the puzzle together, felt like he’d let you down.

          All he still knew was that he loved you, even if he never actually spoke the words to you. He loved you, and he had some kind of dying hope that you felt the same.

Next Chapter

[haokyeom]

new dream | chwe vernon hansol

ミ★ synopsis: your dream is to get into SNU and leave your town, get a fresh start. that is, until you meet vernon. the one who helps you experience the feeling of being free for the first time.

ミ★ genre: sin of sloth!vernon, highschool!au, angst, fluff, some crack

ミ★ warnings: a couple slaps kapOW

ミ★ word count: 6,352

ミ★ pairings: vernon x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys it’s lila, aka @viastro​ ! this was kinda rushed because i’ve been going through it, but i hope you guys still like it <3 vernon is the sin of sloth for the collab :o make sure to give vernon lots of love !!

ミ★ previous | masterlist | next

In life, you have to work hard. As someone who’s been on the Dean’s honor roll since you were in your freshman year, you would know. You’ve been working hard on your grades for as long as you can remember. You wanna get out of Daegu, you want to go to Seoul. 

The main reason for you wanting to leave the place you were raised? 

To get away from your aunt and cousin, who took you in when your parents passed. However, they’ve done nothing for you except let you under their roof. You practically raised yourself from the moment you could start doing addition and subtraction. 

It doesn’t help that your cousin, Yeona, is an absolute shithead. 

So here you are, walking back to your house from the after cram school to make sure you pass the exam to get into SNU, Seoul National University. It’s 8 PM and you’re wondering if you should go and get fast food before going to your shift at the convenience store your aunt owns. 

Your schedule is basically wake up, go to school, attend classes at the cram school after school ends, go to work at the kbbq restaurant for a few hours, then work at the convenience store. There’s no time for fun or meeting your friends, not that you have many. You dedicate most of your time into making sure that you have enough money to financially support yourself once you finally leave Daegu, and that’s all that matters to you. 

“Maybe I’ll get fries.” You mumble to yourself once you notice the grumble of your stomach. You walk down the street to head towards McDonald’s, only to freeze when you hear the sound of guys yelling. Raising an eyebrow, hand sneaking into your pocket to grab the pepper spray you keep, before continuing your route to the fast food place. 

“You’re not gonna do anything? You’re just gonna let us beat the shit out of you?” You frown at the sentence, wondering why the person won’t fight back. You twist off the cap when you look down the alleyway to your left and see a group of guys surrounding one man laying on his side. 

“What a bitch-”

“Hey!” You shout out without thinking, and all the guys turn to glance at you. You’re standing at the entrance of the alleyway, pepper spray in hand as you quietly think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, you should’ve closed your eyes and pretended nothing was happening. 

it sucks being a person with morals.

“What are you doing here, little girl? This business doesn’t involve you.” You glare at the man who assumed you were a child when you’re now an adult. You glance down at the guy on the ground, only to raise an eyebrow when you realize he has on your school’s male uniform. “What are you guys doing beating up a student? You’re all like… thirty.”

One of the guys growls and moves to go and get you, only to be held back by the first man who spoke to you. He shoots a glare at you, “Go. I won’t ask twice.” 

You let out a sigh, before walking up closer to the three men. It’s when you stand before them that the guy your age lets out a groan, sitting up from laying on the ground. He turns around to glance at you, and your eyes widen slightly when you immediately recognize him.

Chwe Vernon Hansol, the guy at your school who puts no effort into things. However, he’s second best to you. He’s one of the naturally gifted students. 

you despise him for that.

“Get the fuck down, bitch.” The guy tells Vernon, and the blonde lets out a tired sigh. You question whether you actually heard him mutter, “I told you, you’re literally beating up the wrong guy.” 

“The fuck did you just-” Without thinking, you reach out and pepper spray all three of the guys before they can make another move on Vernon. They begin screeching, and Vernon’s eyes widen, immediately standing up and grabbing your hand. The two of you make a run for it with Vernon pulling you as you hear the men roar out in pain from behind you.

The rush you feel is exhilarating. Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, your hair being blown past you by the breeze as you run. You feel free as you run with Vernon, his hand tightly holding yours until you both feel that you’re far enough. 

You double over, hands on your knees as you try and catch your breath. Vernon runs a hand through his hair, hand clutching his stomach as he feels a cramp coming on. After a moment of you two just heavily breathing, you stand up straight and look directly at the blonde. 

His uniform is dirty with footprints and some blood, his tie now hanging loosely around his neck. He runs a hand through his messy hair, before turning and glancing at you. A flicker of recognition flashes past his eyes, and he tilts his head at you, “You’re yn.” 

Your eyes widen slightly at the fact that he knows your name, and Vernon takes notice of this, letting out a chuckle. He stands up straight, stretching out his back, wincing slightly at the pain from what will most likely be bruises the next day. He turns to you once he’s done and says, “You’re at the top of the Dean’s honor roll, of course I know who you are.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, words not seeming to form proper sentences as you try to come up with a response. Vernon lets out a sigh after a moment, before turning and giving you a close-lipped smile. “Thanks for saving me back there.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “I couldn’t just let you get beaten up, but I’m curious.” Vernon tilts his head to the side, and you purse your lips at the memory of him just letting himself get kicked everywhere. “Why didn’t you try and stop them? You were just laying there.” 

Vernon smiles at you, and you find that he has a rather nice smile. You almost protest when it goes away once he shrugs his shoulders, “I was lazy.”

Your eyes widen in confusion, making you momentarily forget about his nice smile. Vernon laughs at your reaction, before turning and beginning to walk away. He only stops once he’s a few feet away, turning back and waving at you with a devilish grin on his face. 

“See you at school tomorrow!” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, wondering why the hell he let himself get beat up simply because he was lazy. Letting out a sigh, you realize there’s no reason for you to continue to think about Vernon. You have a shift to get to.

And with that, you walk towards the convenience store, stomach grumbling slightly at the fact that you were unable to get any McDonald’s. However, you still find yourself thinking of Vernon, that feeling you got when he was pulling you through the streets. 

It lingers hours later as you eat the stale kimbap while you stay behind the register. 

“Yn, can you go and get the printed papers from the staff room?” You glance up from your desk to see your teacher staring at you, and you give her a nod, standing up and walking out of the room. Once you’re closer to the staff room, you raise an eyebrow when you hear the familiar voice. 

“I’m doing well in the subjects, why did I get called in?”

“Vernon, you’re a naturally gifted student. However, you have to stop sleeping during my classes.” 

You chuckle quietly, knowing that the blonde enjoys sleeping during classes. You never had an idea as to why he takes naps while the teacher is in the middle of lecture, but after last night, you have a vague idea as to why he’s always tired. 

You try to quietly slide open the door, only to cringe when the loud squeak resonates through the room. Vernon glances up at the noise, and finds you cursing the door for ratting you out. The corner of his lips tilts up in a smile, before he turns back towards his teacher. 

“I’ll try my best.” Vernon says, and his teacher nods her head. She motions with her hand that he’s free to go, and Vernon makes sure to walk past you at the printers as he does so. You turn your head when you see Vernon walking up to you, and you catch a glimpse of his smile. 

“Hey, yn.” Vernon greets before walking out of the staff room. You stare at the printer with wide eyes, questioning why heat is rushing to your face simply from his smile. Quickly grabbing the papers needed for your class, you leave the staff room.

“You look nice toda-” You screech at the sudden voice beside you, almost dropping the papers, but clutching them close to your chest instead. You’d rather sacrifice yourself than pick up at least 50 papers off the floor. Vernon stands beside you, trying to hold back his laugh at your reaction, and the blush rises to your cheeks again. Except this time, it’s due to humiliation. 

“Please ignore that ever happening.” Vernon shakes his head with a smile, running a hand through his blonde hair as he chuckles. 

“It was really funny, so I don’t think I will.” He tells you, and you squint at him, before turning and continuing to walk down the hallway towards your classroom. You hear Vernon’s footsteps following behind you, causing you to frown. You stop walking, and turn back around to see Vernon standing there, hands in his pockets. “Why are you following me?” 

“Because I think you’d be interesting to hangout with.” Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets, and Vernon finds himself having to hold back another laugh. You point towards yourself in confusion, and the blonde nods with an amused grin on his face. “Why would I do that? No, let me rephrase. Why would you want that?” 

Vernon just shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the wall as he looks you up and down. You try to hold back the heat from rushing to your face again at the way his eyes rake your body, feeling slightly self conscious of the fact that your uniform is no longer as put together as it was this morning. You freeze once Vernon’s eyes lock with yours again, and he smiles. “Cause all you do is school shit, seems boring.” 

You immediately squint at the blonde, no longer interested in what more he has to say as you decide to walk past him and into your classroom without another word. Leaving Vernon alone in the hallway, somehow more intrigued by you than he was previously. 

“Just get me an iced americano before you get back!” Before you can respond, Yeona hangs up the phone, and you curse to yourself. Now annoyed and hungry, you step out of the cram school and begin walking towards the coffee shop. 

“What am I? Cinderella? I fucking hate it here. She has legs, she has money, why can’t she just get her own coffee? We literally live right on top of a convenience store. We have instant coffee at ho-” You’re cut off when you accidentally walk right into someone, and their hands grasp your arms to make sure you don’t fall backwards. You immediately begin to mutter out a bunch of apologies, looking up to only lock eyes with those familiar caramel colored eyes. 

shit. 

Vernon lets out a small smile, tilting his head to the side as he watches your eyes slowly turn into slits as you stare at him. “Well, I thought you didn’t wanna hangout with me?” 

Scoffing, you push him away, and you hear him chuckle at your reaction. You brush away any dust on your uniform before crossing your arms and glaring at the blonde. “I don’t.”

“Then maybe fate has other plans, considering the fact that this is the third time we’ve met coincidentally.” Vernon tells you cheekily, and you roll your eyes. “That or you’re stalking me.” 

Now it’s Vernon’s turn to scoff at you, and you bite back a smile. Letting out a sigh, you step past him so that you can go and get Yeona’s coffee, only to realize he’s now walking right beside you. You turn and glance at him, just to find him looking up at the stars in the sky. 

“You seemed pretty mad when you bumped into me. It was like a whole scene from those movies where the antagonist realizes they’re going to be evil. From the furrow to your brow, to the whole monologue you did. I’m glad I stopped that character arch.” Vernon says and you let out a laugh, shaking your head when you realize how what he said was true. The blonde smiles at the sound, feeling a sense of accomplishment. 

“My cousin, Yeona, she’s in your class. She was really pissed off and told me to buy her coffee right as I got out of my cram school classes. I didn’t get the chance to tell her no cause she hung up on me.” You explain, only to immediately regret it a second later because why did you open up to Vernon? Why did you just negatively talk about your cousin when you know she’s well liked in school. You open your mouth to say you were joking, only for the words to die in your throat when you see Vernon nodding his head in agreement. 

“That’s ass. She shouldn’t be acting like it’s your job to buy her coffee when she’s asking you to do something for her.” Vernon says, turning to glance at you. He notices the way your eyes shine brightly back at him, and he looks away when he realizes that you’re rather pretty. You bite your bottom lip, staring down at the pavement as the two of you walk side-by-side. 

No one’s ever agreed with you when it came to matters such as these, let alone take your side. You’ve lived most of your life under the impression that your cousin is, and always will be, superior to you. Yet Vernon didn’t care, he immediately tried to sympathize with you. 

maybe he’s not that bad, you find yourself thinking as the two of you walk in silence. It’s when you both stop in front of the café that you finally speak up, “I’m going to go and buy the americano, thanks for walking me.” 

Vernon nods his head, giving you a small smile. “Anytime.” 

The two of you stand in an awkward silence for a moment, and you question how the silence when you were both walking together was comfortable. You purse your lips and give Vernon a wave of your hand, before turning to walk inside the cafe. Your hand rests on the doorknob, and you bite your lip, before glancing back at the blonde, “Vernon?”

The blonde looks up at you, and he tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, yn?” 

“You’re not so bad.” You say, flashing him a smile before stepping into the cafe. Vernon grins after a moment and walks off, staring up at the night sky.

“Yeona! You look so pretty today. Did you dress up to get Vernon to notice you?” You hear Yeona’s friend ask beside you as you get your portions for lunch. You just continue on with getting your food, turning away to go and sit down without hearing the rest of their conversation. 

You move to sit down at one of the empty tables, only to pause when you hear Vernon call out your name. Cursing to yourself, you glance up and see him walking over to you with a happy smile on his face. You know for a fact that Yeona and her friends must have heard Vernon call you, so you’re internally shitting your pants at what she might say. 

“I thought I told you to act like you don’t know me at school.” You whine when Vernon now stands in front of you, and he just chuckles at your childish behavior. He reaches out and grasps your wrist, and you raise an eyebrow at the blonde. “I wanted to show you something.” 

“Since when were you the one wanting to do stuff? I always have to plan our hangouts.”

“Whatever.” Vernon responds with a grin, and you sigh.

“If it doesn’t make me shit myself, then you owe me tea.” You tell Vernon, and he smiles before pulling you out of the cafeteria. Completely ignoring the glances and whispers the two of you receive. 

It’s been about a month since you and Vernon had that moment in front of the coffee shop, and the two of you began hanging out after classes were over. Whether it be him just walking with you to the cram school, him walking you home after cram school, or him bothering you during your shift at the kbbq restaurant. The two of you are usually together.

Recently you’ve even been skipping cram school classes to go and hangout with Vernon, as you’ve come to realize you rather enjoy his presence. However, even though you guys are close outside of school. Within school grounds you two only spared glances at each other because you knew your cousin would go feral if she found out the two of you were on speaking terms. 

You already knew that you were dead when you turned around and saw your cousin staring at you and Vernon’s connected hands as you left the cafeteria.

“Your mind’s about to be blown.” Vernon tells you as he takes you up the stairs, and you squint at the male.

“If it doesn’t I swear to God I will call upon thousands of demons-” The threat dies off in your throat once the two of you push through the doors and you find yourself staring out at a beautiful view of the city. You walk over to the ledge, resting your hands on the railing as you take in a deep breath of the fresh air. 

Vernon grins, walking up beside you and letting out a happy sigh at the silence. He knows that you won’t be calling upon thousands of demons, or else he would’ve heard it as soon as he opened the doors and you weren’t impressed. However, you’re quiet right now, just staring out at the view. 

“So you won’t be making that curse?” Vernon asks, turning to glance at you with a cocky expression on his face. His jaw falls slack slightly when you turn to and face him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen on you. 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Vernon.” You tell the blonde, basking in the moment of peace settling the turmoil that runs within you. You turn back towards the view, letting out a happy sigh at the view.

All while Vernon just stares at you for a moment longer, wondering how his heart got the ability to beat so fast at the sight of your smile. 

“Mmm… I don’t know Vernon. The college entrance exams are in a few weeks. I’ve been skipping my classes too often recently.” You tell him as the two of you walk towards the cram school, and Vernon lets out a yawn. He shrugs his shoulders, holding up the bag of box dye that he bought and swinging it in your face. “You’re the one who told me I’d look nice with black hair. I got the hair dye, all I need is you to color my hair.”

You squint at him, “Why can’t you dye it yourself? You have two working arms.”

Vernon yawns, turning to glance up at the sky, “Too much work. Besides, this was your idea.”

You let out a sigh, seeing that the cram school is about a block away now. You look at Vernon, seeing him walking with a calm expression on his face as he awaits your response. The sound of the plastic bag rustling against his legs gaining your attention, as you glance down and see the box of black hair dye through the thin plastic.

You quietly wonder to yourself why Vernon decided to take your word for it and dye his hair black. You just said it randomly a couple weeks ago as he was following you around the kbbq restaurant while you cleaned up the tables. 

“Why did you even come with me to work? You already know I’m not going to give you any leftover meat.” You tell the blonde as you pick up any trash that was left behind on the countertops. Vernon rolls his eyes at the table beside you, taking a sip of water that your boss gave him. 

She strongly believed that the number of customers increases when Vernon accompanies you to work because of how handsome he is. You didn’t believe it at first, but as you take a quick look around, you soon come to realize that a lot of the customers who are eating are all just staring at Vernon.

“Pretty privilege sucks.” You mumble quietly as you place the dirty plates and chopsticks into the bucket. You turn your head to glance at Vernon, finding him quietly scrolling through his phone. His blonde hair is over his forehead today, hiding his strong eyebrows from view. You tilt your head to the side, and Vernon glances up at you when he feels your gaze. “What?” 

You shrug, turning back towards the tables to continue cleaning as you mutter, “I think you’d look good with black hair.” 

Vernon types up whether it’s better to dye his hair black at home or at a salon when you move to clean the next table.

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair this time. This is the last time I’m skipping my cram school classes though, I have to focus for the college entrance exams.” You tell Vernon with a serious tone, and the blonde nods his head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go back to my place.” 

The two of you turn and begin walking in the opposite direction, and the corner of your lips tilt upwards at the thought of teasing the blonde. So you turn your head and ask, “Do you live like a slob?”

“No.”

“I feel like that’s a lie.”

“Damn, it wasn’t a lie.” You mutter as you slide into the pair of slippers Vernon handed you. He scoffs, walking into the bathroom to prepare the towels without a response. You giggle, knowing that’s all the answer you’re going to get on that topic. 

“So you live alone? Already?” You ask as you walk into the bathroom. Vernon nods his head, handing you the gloves that come with the boxed hair dye. “Yeah, I like being alone.”

You frown, turning to glance at him as you put on the gloves. “You and I hangout almost everyday though.” 

Vernon doesn’t respond to that, instead handing you the already mixed hair dye. You raise an eyebrow, and he just grabs his phone to scroll through, causing you to squint at him. Before you open your mouth to scold him he turns and says, “You’re the one who said I’d look nice with black hair.” 

“You’re the one who bought the hair dye!” You exclaim as you dip the brush into the bowl. Vernon grins at the raise of your voice, knowing that he pushed your buttons. He places the towel over his shoulders when you begin to brush the hair dye onto his blonde locks. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll buy us chicken afterwards, so don’t worry.” 

You purse your lips at the mention of fried chicken, deciding to forgive Vernon as you continue to dye his hair. Vernon glances up at you in the mirror and smiles at your pursed lips. You feel his eyes on you, and let out a small grin. The two of you begin to converse, telling each other about each other’s day when suddenly a random question pops up into your head as you use the last of the black hair dye.

“Are we friends, Vernon?” You ask quietly, and Vernon pauses, looking up at you in the mirror. You stare at his hair as you brush the dye onto it, refusing to make eye contact as heat rushes up to your cheeks. 

Vernon doesn’t have many friends. Keeping up relationships takes time and effort, if there’s an imbalance, then it becomes hard. Vernon doesn’t have many friends because of this quality of being the Sin of Sloth, but he doesn’t mind being alone. 

However, he’s grown to enjoy your presence. You’re not demanding or needy, and the two of you only see each other after school. Vernon’s eyes flash red in the mirror when he sees the blush on your cheeks and how shy you’re acting, so he glances down at his phone, now having an answer to your question.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You bite back a smile at his response, nodding your head. 

“I don’t have many friends.” You mutter quietly, and Vernon looks up at you in the mirror as you walk over to the trash can and throw away the now empty bowl that once held the hair dye. He lets out a breath, 

“Well, now you have one.”

“And then we divide by…” You mutter the steps to the equation as you do extra practice problems at your desk in your room. The college entrance exam is in a week, and you’ve been trying not to slack off as much as you’ve been doing in the past month and a half. 

You set ground rules with Vernon, telling him that this week that you’re going to dedicate all your time into attending the classes and studying after school. The black haired beauty didn’t put up a fight with your decision, just nodding his head and drinking his coffee aimlessly afterwards.

You purse your lips when you mess up the equation, reaching over towards your pencil pouch to grab your eraser, only to jump in your seat when your bedroom door slams open. You turn your head to see Yeona standing there, staring at you with the fiercest death glare she can muster. You let out a breath, “What is it?”

“Have you and Vernon been hanging out after school?” She asks, and you shrug. 

“We just walk together.” 

Yeona squints, stepping forward when you open your mouth to explain that you’re not interested in Vernon, only to be cut off when you receive a harsh slap to the face. You stare at your paper, the sting on your cheek only registering when you slowly turn your head to look at your cousin. 

“What the fuck was that for?!” You shout, standing up from your seat to face her head on. She scoffs, running a hand through her hair and pointing directly at your chest. 

“You know exactly what I meant when I asked if the two of you have been hanging out. You know that I like Vernon!” 

“I’m not stealing him from yo-” Yeona raises her hand up to slap you in the face again but you grasp her wrist, effectively stopping her from dealing another blow to your cheek. She lets out a scream, and your eyes widen. 

“Why the fuck are you screaming! You’re the one who came into my room and fucking slapped me!” You shout as you let go of her wrist, taking a step back from her so that she won’t try and hit you again. 

“What is all this noise?” You and Yeona both glance towards your door, finding your aunt standing in the doorway glaring at you. You feel your heart sink into your stomach when Yeona begins to cry, showing her mom her wrist and claiming that you hurt her. 

“Auntie, that’s not what happened at all-”

“I take you into my home and let you go to school. I gave you the food and clothes on your back, and yet you give my daughter and I an attitude like this?” You stare for a moment, feeling tears rush to your eyes, knowing that it’s not true. All they’ve done is treat you as some house maid, the only thing they’ve done is let you go to school and stay at their home. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong Auntie, can’t you see from the obvious red mark on my cheek that Yeona sl-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence if you still want a place to stay.” Your aunt threatens, and your eyes trail over to Yeona’s, to find her smiling at you. 

Biting your lip, you turn away, grabbing your phone from the top of the desk and pushing past them as the tears fall past your eyes. Ignoring your aunt’s shouts, you slip on your sneakers and run out of the house, wiping your eyes as you do so. 

You run as far as you can, ignoring the burning within your chest at your lungs desperate attempts to tell you to take a break. You run, and you run, and you run as the tears fall past your eyes. It’s only when you slam into someone and fall backwards that you stop. 

Vernon’s ready to mutter a complaint towards the person who bumped into him, only to pause when he sees you with your head in your hands, shoulders shaking as you cry. He crawls over to you and rests a hand on your shoulder, “Yn, what’s wrong?” 

You glance up at the familiar voice, finding Vernon staring at you in concern. A sob escapes you, and you cover your mouth to try and silence it. Vernon immediately pulls your head into his chest, wrapping his arms around you as you cry. Those walking by glance at the two of you in concern, but the both of you pay no attention to it. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Vernon asks quietly, running a hand through your hair to try and calm you down. You close your eyes as your breathing slowly goes back to normal, shaking your head in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, silent tears continuing to fall. 

“Let’s just stay like this for a few more minutes, please.” You request in a small voice, and Vernon nods his head without a second thought. 

“Yeah, of course.” He mutters, feeling his heartbeat against his chest as he holds you.

Vernon wonders why his heart is hurting at your sadness, and when he came to care. 

You stare at the screen of your laptop, your heart going feral within your chest as you wonder whether or not you should check if you got into SNU. You took the college entrance exam a few months before, and the results of whether you got in or not all depends on you logging in. If you don’t check, then you’ll have a stroke. If you do check, you’ll have a stroke. 

You rest your head in your hands with a low groan, “I’m gonna have a stroke either way.” 

You recall Vernon’s words, telling you that you should’ve passed based on the fact that you didn’t have any friends before because of how much you studied. To which you called him a bitch and proceeded to put him in a chokehold. 

“I can do this.” You mumble, now more motivated as you type in your login. You press enter without a second thought, and stare at your screen as your results now look directly back at you. 

REJECTED. 

Your eyes trail over the word, and your whole world comes crashing down at that one word. You fall out of your chair, hand over your chest as your heart beats wildly against it. 

“No. No, no, no. I have to go, I have to have gotten in.” You mutter to yourself as you stare at the screen, your hopes of being able to leave this hell hole sooner now being pushed back. However, you don’t know if you can stay at this house any longer. 

Your phone vibrates beside you on the floor, and you glance down to see Vernon’s name on the screen as he calls you. You reach out and grab it, slowly raising it to your ear. “Yn, did you get in?” 

“Can we meet?” You ask quietly, and Vernon’s smile slowly drops from his face at the tone of your voice. He nods his head even though you’re unable to see, “Yeah, yeah of course.” 

“You didn’t get in?” Vernon asks, and you nod your head, staring down at your hands as he looks at you with concern in his eyes. You bite your lip in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing, and Vernon reaches out and rests his hand over yours. 

“It’s okay, yn. You can just take it again, and then-”

“But I have to leave now. I can’t take it there anymore, Vernon. It’s just been worse since I ran out of the house a few months ago.” You explain, looking up at your friend with tired eyes. 

Vernon’s used to seeing your eyes being bright, sometimes even sparkling when you laugh at something he said. So seeing the dark bags under your eyes and the dullness to them is a shock, making him wonder how tired you must be.

“It’s the only option right now, but you can do it. You just have to push through for a little bit longer.” Vernon tells you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, looking back down at the cement as the feeling of defeat continues to linger in your chest. You shake your head, “I shouldn’t have skipped those extra classes.” 

“Yn…”

“I shouldn’t have skipped them! If I continued with my plan then I would’ve gotten in, and then I would’ve been able to leave this fucking shit town!” You exclaim, tears now falling past your eyes as you turn your head to look at Vernon. He just stares down at his hands in silence as you continue to cry, and you wonder why you let yourself slack off on your studies because of him. 

“Why did I stop trying as hard for my dream because of you? Because of this feeling you gave me?” You ask quietly, letting out a sad smile. While Vernon comes to a standstill at your words. He turns his head to look at you, and you wipe away your tears before turning to stare directly into his eyes. 

“What?” 

“It’s because of you. Whenever I’m with you, I feel this… this sense of comfort. I feel the weight get lifted off my shoulders, like I don’t have any worries anymore. I would forget about my dreams of leaving this place when I was with you, because it felt like I was already home.” You confess, and Vernon stays silent. You bite the inside of your cheek, turning away after a moment, letting out a small chuckle at how ridiculous you’re being.

“Do you… have feelings for me?” Vernon asks, and you let out a breath, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Yeah, I think I do. Considering that I skipped cram classes at the cram school for you.” Vernon looks away, standing up from the bench, and you glance up at him. He stares at you with a blank expression on his face, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“I… I don’t do that stuff, yn.” Vernon tells you, and you feel your heart sink slightly in your chest. You cough into your shoulder, thinking of how to respond when Vernon continues. 

“I don’t even know why I became friends with you. I don’t do relationships at all, but you weren’t that hard to deal with.” You stare at Vernon with a painstricken expression on your face at his harsh words, but he just continues. “If I had known that you were going to fall for me, then I wouldn’t have even-”

You stand up and slap Vernon across the face, and the silence afterwards seems to engulf the both of you. He slowly turns his head and looks at you, seeing the tears falling from your eyes as you harshly bite the inside of your cheek. 

“How… how dare you?” Vernon just stares as you begin to cry harder, reaching up and slamming your fists against his chest. He stays still, not moving as your cries turn into sobs as you hit him. “Y-you ruined everything for me, and you tell me that I wasn’t that hard to deal with?”

After a moment you stop, covering your face with your hands to try and calm down. You’ve decided that today is quite possibly one of the worst days of your life, and you want nothing more than to turn and run from all your problems. So you look back up at Vernon after a moment, and you see his eyes void of any emotion as he stares back at you.

“Don’t ever speak to me again. Don’t you ever try to talk to me, got it?” You state as you poke his chest directly over his heart, and he still stares at you silently, making the pain in your heart grow.

“I can’t believe I thought you could be my new dream.” You mutter quietly. You bite the inside of your cheek, before turning around and walking away from Vernon without another word. 

He watches as you grow smaller and smaller as the distance grows between the two of you, until you’re out of sight. He’s used to being alone, he doesn’t do friendships or relationships because of the effort you have to put in. However, a single tear falls from Vernon’s left eye as he glances down at the pavement, only having one question in mind as he does so. 

why does it hurt to be alone now?

ミ★ previous | masterlist | next

[hecohansen31]

My last one for now 🙈 could you pretty please write ivar with number 53 from the prompt list 5?

WARNINGS: Unprofessiona Behavior, Mention of Insecurities and Mental Health (I do know that a relationship between a therapist and a patient isn’t professional, this is just for fictional uses).

“I just want to be swept off my feet���is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone”.

This happened each time Ivar was set up on a date with a woman by his brothers.

It had happened with Margrethe and it had happened with Freydis, and as his loyal therapist, you had listened to everything he had to say, not only because it was your job, but through various sessions with the handsome business man you had learnt that dealing with him was easier after he had finished his energy with his long rants.

It worked.

Every. Damn. Time.

To the point that you had many time made a mental note to tell the brothers to setting up  Ivar with a woman that had obviously no interest in him.

Although you had to admit that Freydis had been promising, because of her interested and nurturing nature, probably reminding Ivar of his mother’s behavior.

Which was creepy to think about.

But years of unresolved trauma certainly didn’t help him.

And because of the lines of your professions you weren’t certainly going to judge him for that.

As much as you loved your job as a psychotherapist, sometimes you just were worried of what everything around a patient might make him feel.

But what was worse with Ivar was the fact that you had started truly feeling things for him.

And it was truly unprofessional and you couldn’t be caught having feelings towards a client that went through the professional empathy, even more one that was like Ivar, distrusting in his best moments and paranoid in his worst times, mixing a crushing self-esteem with a god complex, that made him a unique case..

And yet you couldn’t deny that sometimes you wanted to have a different approach with him.

One that did involve kissing those soft plump lips of his, as you reassured him softly…

‘… are you listening to me, doc?’ the question made you come back from whatever vision you had had of him ‘… fuck I am probably annoying you, too’.

That annoyed pout of his put you back in your place, and you held lightly your head, sending him a comforting look.

“I was listening” you mumbled keeping your soft-spoken tone “… the date didn’t go well, and you are doubting Freydis’ interest in you, but what you haven’t told me yet is why would you think such a thing”.

You knew that Ivar was as good at complaining as he was at avoiding any discourse about his interior monologue that didn’t involve any kind of emotional opening.

The toxic masculinity of his family definitely still trapping him.

“… do I need to list a reason?” his tone was bitter, but it was held back in check, as if he was trying to find an excuse, hiding his true thoughts behind an impenetrable wall “… I have plenty that you can see”.

You lightly shifted your legs, trying to cross them onto the other side, cursing yourself for having worn a skirt.

It wasn’t like you weren’t always well-dressed with your clients, but since Ivar had mentioned a few of his favorite things regarding dresses and such, you had started strangely to find them in your wardrobe, choosing to wear them on the appointments you had with him.

You weren’t wearing them for him.

It was simply a coincidence.

Freud wouldn’t have called it that, for sure.

“I don’t see many reasons why you wouldn’t be ‘swept off your feet’?” you muttered calmly, knowing that Ivar hated when you acted like this.

He had at first thought that you were somehow ‘slow’, but for a man who thought too much like him, you had to ‘slow’ him down, making the point of each situation.

“Well… then…” he inhaled a big breath of air “… I am a cripple, I have a terrible personality, I am extremely insecure, I have family issues…”.

“One thing at the time” again that need to slow down was matched by the fact that your tried to avoid his beautiful eyes “… your personality might not be the best, but I do know that you are a smart man with many talents, Ivar, who knows how to act, you just need to keep calm”.

“Through the meditation exercises you told me to do?” his smirk was one of a pure not-believer.

But you had once caught him trying to do some exercises in the waiting room and many times, after he had called you the exercises had helped him greatly.

“Calmness is also something that can only be achieved through a constant exercise and through time, so you can’t gain it over a single night and yet I feel like your personality isn’t a problem… it your point of view, Ivar”.

“My insecurity, also” he added with that tone that he gained whenever he realized something that he didn’t like admitting, matched with his eyes slowly lowering themselves to the ground, to avoid your own.

“… and about your family issues, they are getting better” you commented curtly “… you haven’t thrown a printer at Sigurd in a long time”.

Ivar’s eyes were strangely shocked and then he lowered again his head.

“… I threw him a ruler, last week”.

“See, that’s improvement!” Ivar didn’t join your laughing tone and you just lightly shook your head “… but the fact is that all of those things aren’t problems, least of all your legs problematics, they don’t have power on you… but you let them”.

Again, that scowling but knowing look and you lightly smirked at him to brighten his mood, before your position finally broke itself from the original rigidity of it, making your back ache profoundly, as you assumed a less professional one.

One that would get you very unprofessionally close to the man that had been chasing your dreams.

“I think that you are the biggest obstacle to your goals, Ivar” you commented lightly “… and it isn’t your personality that destroys you, but it is what your mind think about yourself and as long as you don’t change that, you won’t obtain much, because you aren’t happy with yourself, first of all”.

It was a harsh dialogue you hoped to have with him, later on, not certainly in such an emotionally charged session but you knew that Ivar craved something more than silly lies.

He wanted the truth no matter how heavy it’d be.

“… I do think that our sessions should come to an end”.

The words surprised you and you couldn’t deny that the request made your heart cold and you’d be sad to lose Ivar, even more if it had been for your blunt truth.

You had thought you’d be able to understand it, but maybe you had overestimated him.

“… oh, it is within your rights, but…”.

“You are right, I am not happy” the words surprised you even more than his request of ending your meetings “… I didn’t want to be with Freydis during that date…”.

Something in you strangely cheered at that.

“…I wished the all time it had been you” it was a confession that definitely made you choke on all the air in your lungs “… I like you, but I also know that you are a professional, so if I want to ask you out on a date I have to end our session, I’ll find somebody…”.

“It’s still unprofessional” it was more for yourself than him, but you saw a shadow of rejection appear on your face “… I’ll analyze you all the time, believe me, it isn’t a nice experience…”.

“You have to listen to my shit daily, so I won’t complain” he had a strangely ironic light in his eyes “… I see this as an absolute win. Free therapist sessions and a date with a pretty girl”.

But his eyes shifted away from you and his cheeks became red, you knew this was costing him much.

And you honestly couldn’t deny him.

“… I’ll see if one of my colleagues can take on your case” you muttered, adjusting yourself again on the chair, in a way that was more flirty as you moved to grab a card, and a pen, to write quickly your private number “… and then maybe I can sweep you off your feet”.

---

Ivar Taglist: 

@guiltyfiend, @youbloodymadgenius, @flowers-in-your-hayr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @a-mess-of-fandoms, @flowers-in-your-hayr, @lonewolf471

[thecrenellations]

Return of the Thief Notes, Part Two: The Book of Pheris, Volume 2, Chapters 1-5

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part One | Part Three | TaT)

Contents: Me losing my mind in multiple ways each chapter, helpful links, nighttime garden cousins, an Irene pun, notes from my second read, “mwt is just like going for it,” and “this is so fucked up and heartwarming.”

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Volume 2

Illustration

Book 2 bro

Now we’re caught up and changed forever by lots of things

What printer’s apprentice made this?

Elephants!

Chapter 1

175. me too, Costis, me too. I am so tired. (it’s hard to sleep when your brain and heart and everything are fizzing because you’re reading Return of the Thief for the first time and a new Queen’s Thief book for the last time) 

176. Klimun + Gerosthenes vibes [moon doodle]

Holes in documents. That’s cute

Gen!!! <3

Wtf Ansel was hoodwinked!

177. The Queen waited

They’re ridiculous

Hi Pheris

Wtf he stole her earrings for Melheret?!?

178. Excuse me??? What is this book (sleeveless leather tunic)

He still roams!!!

Tattoos!

179. a sentence I never fucking expected to read ever “The absence of tattoos…”

180. that’s interesting

Stacked like kindling wow oh dear

181. She wants him to move in lol

Lol sorry Ion

Did she just want them to leave the room?

182. I can’t with this… I can’t. Why is sex symbol Relius canon. (the play that featured him! It’s great, it’s great, it was just a lot to take in!)

Silver crown?

183. Cleon! Rude!

Did they call Costis to deck him?

Queen scene!! <3

184. This is an epic. Abt Costis. Dirty stranger

185. he’s “the high king”

Lol

187. prophet (Pheris sure makes Costis sound like one)

Shut up Piloxides

188. resources for war! (book launch foreshadowing part two! She talked a lot about this kind of thing as well, and recommended the book Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army)

189. “we”

What were you gonna say (Gen almost says something to Costis part one)

193. RIP The Magus Archives … it was not to be. Yet.

194. Melenze’s doorstep. Why? Bc Melenze is Ferria’s dog. (idk dude that line from ACoK has just never left me)

195. This is … a big war

196. Oh gen

Nighttime garden cousins.

Chapter 2

197. wtf did Relius think of that play

Also … not a peep from the sacred mountain huh

198. wtf will happen with Cleon

with Erondites

with THE MOUNTAIN

a lot going on

everyone was in that room but Kamet! So close!

199. Cute Fordad + Gen friendship (I never said these notes would make me look smart)

Same 2 T + R! :) It’s not them is it? (I NEVER SAID THESE NOTES WOULD MAKE ME LOOK SMART)

Poor Teleus

200. gdi Gen

Excuse me? Is he worried for Pheris??? (taking his tablet)

They trust each other! C’mon!

Sure he has reasons

202. oh dear. :( that’s … the worst cover story

Also falling

203. wow almost like a story huh

Ula’s altar :(

Why haven’t we had a Gen and Costis scene IN THREE BOOKS

205. I just … I don’t know if he’s just miserable or if it’s all a plan. I feel like I should know it’s all a plan. But he really feels like he has far to go. He’s just a mess and the same and so different. (having a small Gen meltdown)

205. he did give him the gun

Odd that he missed Quedue

206. he’s gonna bite them (buckle up! it’s abdication time!)

207. Power. Power. Power. Power.

Thx 4 the editorializing Pheris

208. Gen is making choices. That’s a choice.

209. There’s KoA down the drain

Aaaand he’s Eugenides

“Eugenides stared into the future”

The page of like 3 different tumblr posts: Trophy husband, Library, No! yes!

210. make sure he doesn’t leave lol

211. Pheris :(

Also fucked up timing for Irene

I love them

212. again with the birthday book

He’s still the king in the narration

Go on the roof! So close!

213. EUGENIDES IS ALWAYS APPROPRIATE my motto

Viper! Bastard!

Oh shit. I love them.

214. “our treaty” “our queen”

AAAH! Wedding night!

Asked her to leave!

Smash Erondites and peace out, literally

215. a frank talk

HE SAID IT.

216. The Bructs?

Wait is this his grandfather (taking a moment to remember all about Susa)

Also that’s Costis territory

217. who is this lion

218. #3 to Gen.

219. hmmm ring

There’s been a lot to unpack wow.

Did this happen, Pheris? Pheris?! 

220. Atté atté!

(Dear reader: for some strange reason, I completely forgot about taking notes on the final pages of this chapter. These notes are from when I reread those pages a few minutes later.)

Erondites full cup to brimming

The Pherises…

We must think of others before ourselves … occasionally

I do not like Orutus

Don’t fence Costis in! Does this count as prison? No (I had a square on my bingo board for “someone ends up in prison” ... but it turned out to be for someone else)

221. damn Costis

Aaah

Costis …

Irene… your jokes (I mean, it’s a joke, but also it is very real for her.)

SHE SAID IT!

My heart

222. where is Relius going?

SPYING

What you see and what you think it means (I love these instructions/this quote so much)

So are Susa + Erondites 2gether or what (listen ... proximity generates meaning in these books)

Also, like

What can

I say

WHAT CAN I SAY (Hell yeah! Never more glad to be wrong about the magus)

[page long list of doubles and parallels - from Cleons and Pherises and Ions to god-character and character-character connections]

Also the fact that in KoA and TaT Relius was like … oh … no … I just live a gentle life being friends with my king and queen and being scholarly. But no. He’s SPYING and TRAVELING MYSTERIOUSLY and has MANY LOVERS and also has been WITH TELEUS ALL ALONG and there is a PLAY written about him and he has a ~messenger~ network and PLAYS THE FLUTE and DOESN’T MAKE HIS BED and DISLIKES MATH and oh and he’s VERY HANDSOME! (Yes I was losing it, I hope my note from after the poem helps show some of the feelings behind this rant.)

Fucking … Wine shop. Should have known.

Chapter 3

224. ominous

Hello magus!

Sophos … babe (his impatience!)

225. Magus … cool your socks that’s your bff (he’s just describing Helen’s dead body! Fun!!!!)

In the van

That was good I love them

Why is it Couples Hour?

226. finally we’re out of the capital of Attolia

Ok they’re so cute

She was NEVER Helen in ACoK narration! 

Also – Pheris. This is all Pheris. (Pheris plus information others told him!)

227. Bringing each other up to date – that’s their thing. Talking forever

All this talk of shooting Therespides

228. EX FUCKING SCUSE ME (time to learn a lot about the country of Eddis)

He was 15! (or almost 15)

He didn’t know! Or did he!

The MoW!

All thru Pheris

Fuck you magus

When did he know

229. EXCUSE ME

The emeralds?

Assumed the worst?

That classic quote about little to do with winter but with “seducing other people’s lovers”

230. yeah Sophos that’s a lost cause (“spare me my blushes”)

Also she didn’t answer you

What are they laughing about (the generally nameless men we’re learning many things about this chapter)

233. Gen I think it’s fair to say that was a mistake

234. wtf Gen

GEN! he just. Had those. (the jewels!)

Her crown

I cannot

235. Gen!

237. Crash

Her CHANGES

238. THESE TWO

239. called annux

Yeah it’s like … a family meeting (the war council)

Bring your father to work day

241. Oh no.

Stenides! Boagus!!!!!!!

EDDIS!

Wolves! Lol

mwt is just like going for it

243. aww

Eddis > Boagus > Gen

244. Yeah I’m with her on this. (“if that doesn’t frighten you, it should”)

Chapter 4

245. Gen and Magus scene yes!

Two people affected by his long hair (Gen and the magus? I think?)

Pheris are you there?

Gen … you used to wish yourself out of existence

Wow

Hair vanity

Yeah also battlefield

Ion is a darling tbh

248. Is he. Is he going to fight all of them

Also they are all his cousins huh

AULUS! I liked you!

Same, Hilarion

Taking a page out of Costis’s book?

You have definitely seen it before. (I mistook his lie for truth!)

Will Costis hear about this? (please)

249. #4 to Gen!

Pheris where are you

Why doesn’t the Continent want to conquer them (do I get partial credit for this)

A tattoo!

250. “Do not offend the gods”

Honestly … too bad Helen DIDN’T do this

251. he said he’d give all he had

I’m sure there are rules

253. Just men? :( (let everybody fight him!)

Ornon is back! I mean, of course he is

Also yea they practice

HELLO ORNON

A house being built … or one knocked down. Nice

Is Teleus in on this?

254. Pheris called him my king!

255. I wanna know which guards though

:( he’d been faking

Kicked him in the head (ouch)

256. “when he fell”

I … don’t like this

He never gives up. The thieves don’t have limits. They have flash points.

Stepped on his hand

“Enough Gen” – what Irene said?

257. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

The magus. I forgot he was there.

The magus said … nevermind …

The magus is probs very into this as a cultural thing. Also he was talking to the MoW

Pigeon. The sky. :( Like in TT (OH BOY, THE SKYYYY)

If there was a god, Pheris would see…

258. They’ve, they’ve been through a lot.

Oh god what’s next

259. I … no. not in his arms to the palace.

The palace where….

The stairs…

They are all 3 lookers. Basilisks and brass and lead

I hate this. But I love this.

I will someday see this differently.

Ah yes… the grunt. Approval.

260. Honestly, this is so fucked up and heartwarming. These books.

Lol don’t defend Hilarion, we know him

Eddis visits him.

Attolia watches him.

261.WTF Gen. I knew it. Why.

Crying or laughing? Crying? :(

How does this not undermine her now that he is her king?

But … what he wouldn’t do for her.

262. “he did fine”

This book is like… Reasons Gen Says Sorry

So, so… - Helen

GEN!

263. I am right. I am always right. It’s a curse.

Helen :( :( :(

The amount of times these people have seen him beaten.

He’s like … self destructive, but in a way that gives himself more power. Which he hates.

Gen, let them in. Let them in.

Chapter 5

264. honeycomb

OH NO. is it happening?

266. I’m just supposed to accept this?!! What does it mean?!

267. … a my king moment … important

But like … now can he fight?

Caryatid? [doodle after I looked it up]

268. Teleus!

C’mon Teleus. Everyone you love or respect loves him!

Honestly Pheris and Teleus … not a duo I expected

THESE TWO ARE SO DEDICATED TO TELLING HIM THAT! Ok I should chill. At least he said “may.” These are like … Pheris’s life lessons.

Honestly… I love that Teleus likes poetry, or at least likes it for Relius.

269. Lol Legarus. It’s been years! I mean, I guess that was a big deal for him… (almost being executed is a big deal for most people.)

Does he not love Gen because of Relius? Because Gen manipulated him? Because he keeps sending away his successor? Why on earth not! Hop on that train! (...)

It’s interesting that their relationship is the one that touches Pheris, not Gen and Irene. Hm.

Also … “Idiot.” The parallels.

“relatively gently” (it’s so good)

~Teleus here to talk about love~

This book is full of surprises.

270. That is NOT the bright side, Gen (“I could use my newfound authority to insist on going into battle”)

271. BUNNY! Wtf is a wineglass warrior

Very cute everyone, good job.

Still sad about Helen’s tears.

271. Gen. Don’t say these things. [volcano doodle]

272. SEE I was worried about this! The doubt!

I am not ok

This is TOO MANY Eddisian Revelations (Lader time)

Yeah. Wow.

273. Cleon x5

I … his grandfather

No.

Baby Helen begging

How did Pheris get this scene

Gen chose Cleon for his plan

275. IRENE WITH THE STATS!

276. lol Gen

My brother Sounis!

277. Missing Relius club.

Where is he though

Yes! Sophos Gen food fight!

Grapes!

“Wisdom”

He’s “the king” here and in KoA bc that’s the story but also that’s who he is to Pheris and Costis

278. So how did that Irene and MoW meeting go anyway?

How does Aulus know???

Thief short story! Probably terrible to reread, oh no

279. Are … are Aulus and Boagus together???! (“his slightly smaller partner”)

This feels … potentially traumatic … but fun? Idk

Fleece

280. This dang book. No rules!

The chandelier! So dramatic!

Mwt had … a lot to put into this one. A lot. A lot.

283. “not the Thief he was chasing”

284. The queens! The salute!

He can’t give this up.

Official Worries:

100,000 soldiers heading towards Kamet

Re: Lyopidus, Gen called Sophos his brother. Helen apparently might BE his sister. Temenus and Stenides are also going to a war where 9/10 will probably die.

Also

the MoW could have been a king if he’d stolen Helen’s throne. A lot there.

why does this book have the vibe of the library post, my comic from 2010, the king and queen interactions here, and the military tactics dream

[horrorkingdom]

The Haunted Game Boy Camera

“I’ll never ask for anything else again, I swear, Mom!”

As kids, we’ve all said it at one point. We find something that seems the most amazing item in the world and we just have to have it, no matter what. For me, it was the newest handheld, a Game Boy Color. It was the most beautiful thing to a six year old, especially when all my friends were getting theirs. Growing up with four brothers and sisters and not especially well off, my parents did their best, but we struggled to get by most of the time. They did their best to give us comforts and toys, but new electronics were out of the question. Hell, we were still working off an old television that still used rabbit ears. I was the youngest of the five of us, so that meant a lot of hand me downs as well. I was used to it, but still held some resentment to my siblings and of course, still begged for the Game Boy Color. They said they would do their best, bless their hearts.

Shortly after my birthday, my mom and dad presented me with a box. I was surprised, but they said they had found something they knew I wanted very badly and I had been good. My heart raced with excitement as I tore into the box, but sank into the pit of my stomach. It was not a Game Boy Color. This poor excuse for a handheld was a badly abused original Game Boy. It looked like it had been bitten and melted by something in the corners, as well as stained. Up on top, a strange camera stuck out of the cartridge inserted inside. When I picked it up, it read Game Boy Camera. They’d somehow managed to find it with the crappy little printer as well, complete with fading printer paper.

“You see? Daddy and I found it at a garage sale, it’s exactly the kind you wanted. It even has a cool little camera to take pictures!” They said, far more excited than I was.

I’m not sure if it was the fact that this was the first thing that had ever been given to me first and it still was someone’s used piece of junk, or that they had no actual idea what I had wanted, or maybe they had and just decided it was too much so a replacement would suffice and I’d never know the difference, but in my utter disappointment, I threw the worst tantrum I’d had since I was a toddler. I tossed the box on the ground and cried my eyes out, screaming how they were awful and I didn’t want this and I wanted my Game Boy Color. Well, you can imagine how that turned out. I got a good whooping from my father in front of all my siblings and a long lecture on gratefulness and how hard they work. In punishment for my selfishness, they gave my gift to my brother Ryan, only a couple years older than me. I was so angry, I didn’t care though and was happy to be rid of the thing. Ryan, being the jerk he was, teased me about it endlessly.

It was a few days after that that he figured out the camera and printing on it. He would tease me from his room, talk about how he got to play with the cool system and I was too little and bratty to ever touch it. I would either yell back at him or slam the door to my room and ignore it. Shortly after though, I heard him leave his room and call out to our mom, claiming the printer was acting weird. She was busy making lunch and told him it was probably due to being used, and to keep trying and see if it would fix itself. I heard him go back into his room, then go back out a little while later, saying it was probably busted and that he was going to go to his friend’s house.

Wondering what was wrong with it, I snuck into his room and found the papers lying on his bed. He’d taken photos of himself, making weird faces into the camera. The game system had been turned off, as expected. The first few pictures were normal, then they changed into those strange faces that everyone knew about. The way the printer paper was stained, they looked even weirder. As I looked down at the later pictures though, they looked…different.

Obviously, the camera in the game was not the greatest, so it was sometimes hard to see details of someone’s face or it would look blocky or blurry. The later pictures however…seemed to change. It wasn’t just scribbles or silly words written on his face. His features seemed to change, and there were dark spots around his eyes and mouth. His expression didn’t look goofy anymore; instead it looked scared. Each picture seemed to change it more and more. Eventually, the pictures changed to where it didn’t even look like he was holding the camera anymore, but that…someone was taking the picture of him. He got farther and farther away and what seemed to be a horrible story unfolded. It was showing Ryan running from the camera. The last picture was showing Ryan’s face half missing, dark pixels spilled out from the side of his head, and lying on the ground.

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t even know the little camera was capable of things like this. It frightened me immensely and I jumped from the bed and ran to my mom, telling her about the pictures. She didn’t believe me and got angry I was playing with it after my behavior. She scolded me and sent me back to my room. I was too nervous to be angry though. I wondered what was wrong with that Game Boy. Why did it print those pictures?

I was immensely relieved when Ryan came back home that night for dinner. He seemed fine and after that night, I convinced myself it must have been a problem with the system since it was so beaten up, some kind of error. At some point later in the week, Ryan tried again to take pictures. I heard him call it a piece of junk and then chuck it into a drawer. He threw all the pictures he had taken in the trash can.

I didn’t think much of the Game Boy and the camera until the week after. I had been coloring in my room when I heard a terrible scream from outside and the sound of brakes squealing to a stop. Immediately, we all jumped up and ran outside to find out what had happened, along with our neighbors. The sight that greeted us all still is burned into my memory.

Ryan had gone to walk across the street to his friend’s house, just as he would any other day. A man had come speeding down the street and hit him. He’d been pulled under the car and his head half crushed under the tires as the man hit the breaks. My older brother’s brain and skull were splattered under, a pool of blood soaking into the street. I still remember the cry of agony and horror my mother let out, and the rage and grief in my father’s eyes as he pulled the man from the car and shouted at him, asking him what in the hell he had been doing to hit a child. My sisters pulled me back inside, trying to comfort me and shield me from the sight, but the damage was done. I’d seen exactly what the picture had showed me and I knew that Game Boy had been the cause. In my naivete, I tried to tell them, hoping they would believe me. They didn’t believe me at all and it made one of my sisters fall apart.

The next few weeks were miserable. My parents were inconsolable and my mother could barely take care of the house and us. My eldest sister Andrea took over her role and struggled with it, angry with us and dealing with her own grief. She also took over cleaning out Ryan’s side of the room that he shared with my other brother. At some point, she found the Game Boy and the Game Boy Camera and asked if I wanted it. I told her it was cursed, that it had killed Ryan. She said that I was being cruel to our parents by turning their gift that was meant for me into a guilt trip and that I needed to stop being so selfish. The funeral for Ryan caused even more money stress on the family and slowly, even at the young age I was, I could see they were not able to handle any of it well. I did my best at that point to keep out of trouble and didn’t say anything more about the Game Boy Camera.

I don’t know when she took them, but at some point, I guess she’d needed a distraction from trying to hold up the house. I went into my sisters’ room to find a missing sock and thought maybe it had landed into their clothing. Her trashcan had the same printer paper in it. An ice cold sweat came over my body when I realized. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached in and looked at the pictures. They were the same. Andrea’s face was slowly transformed into looks of horror and fear before showing her in a grotesque and terrifying position that I could only assume was a clue to how she would die. In the ending pictures, her face was barely recognizable and her skin was black.

I was definitely sure now. This thing had to be destroyed. I thought to myself that maybe if I could destroy it, I could save my sister from the same fate. I tore her room apart searching for the Game Boy. Eventually, I found it and the printer. As I held it in my hand, something chilling happened.

It turned on.

The screen flashed the logo before it began to make noises and music. The sound was wrong, as though it were being played backwards. I had been looking straight at it and suddenly, my face appeared on the screen. It began to print. In my panicked state, I went to shut it off, but found the button was down already. It should not have been running. I then proceeded to rip the printer paper out and the game out of the system. The Game Boy began to spark and error while the printer spewed out ink all over my Andrea’s bed. I felt it heat up in my hands and dropped it, watching the screen begin to smoke and the sparks fly out from both the Game Boy and the printer. After a minute or two, it seemed to die.

Needless to say, I got in major trouble when my sister came home and found her bed sheets stained with ink and the system broken. My parents were furious and forbid me from going out with friends at all, as well as no tv. I was now considered very irresponsible and not allowed to touch any of my siblings’ things. It didn’t matter though. I had saved her from a horrible fate and the cursed system was gone.

Or so I thought.

I think back and realize that of everything I did, the thing that may have saved me was not letting the printer finish. Six months later, my sister was killed when she was driving home and slipped on something in the road, crashing her car and being trapped inside as it caught fire. When the police came to my parents, they had told them that she was burned beyond recognition and the only reason they knew it was her was because she was driving my dad’s car. I couldn’t save her. I didn’t dare tell my parents about the pictures. I don’t think they would have believed me anyway.

Years have passed and we’ve grown up. My parents never really recovered from Ryan and Andrea’s deaths and they have struggled immensely. The three of us take care of them now, though we still have the old rabbit ears television for comfort’s sake.

There’s still one thought that haunts me though and makes it hard to sleep at night.

I never found out what they did with the broken Game Boy, the camera and printer. I pray to God every night that the damned thing made its way into some kind of trash compactor or is tangled with the plastic floating in the ocean. I fear that they still wanted it to have use, and donated it, or sold it for parts. And someone, somewhere is repairing it and putting in new paper. And they will see what it was trying to print of me.

Credit: AMD

[collecting-stories]

Treacherous - Connor Murphy

A/N: More Connor Murphy. That’s it, that’s the author’s note. 

I can’t decide if it’s a choice, getting swept away. I hear the sound of my own voice, asking you to stay. - Treacherous, Taylor Swift

\\\

Connor sat at the computer in lab, leaning back against the chair and staring at the application page for the local community college. He was trying to turn things around but it was a slower process than he would’ve liked it to be. The hardest part was bringing up his grades. Evan had offered to tutor him but there was no way Connor could endure hours listening to Evan stutter through explanations of things he already didn’t care about. Besides, wherever Evan went Jared seemed to appear as well and he was definitely not spending any more time than humanly necessary with Jared.  

“Hey Wednesday Addams,” speak of the devil, Jared Kleinman leaned over the divider that separated Connor’s computer station. He was quick to click out of his browser, “trying to catch some porn on school time?”  

“Jared,” Evan piped up, his mouth twitching nervously as he stood behind his friend.  

“What do you want Kleinman?” Connor asked, fisting the hand in his lap, nails digging into his palm. Keep your cool, he silently reminded himself.  

Though none of them saw it, you turned away from your computer, just in front of Connor’s cubicle to see what the commotion was. You had heard the scrapping chair, the dropped bag and the soft curse when Connor couldn’t get into the computer right away. You had silently cursed yourself, suddenly nervous that the guy you’d been crushing on for forever was sitting behind you. Not that he even realized it, but still, the nerves were there.

“Nothing, nothing, just wanted to know if you were gonna be sacrificing any babies in the woods tonight, ya know, it’s your holiday.” Jared joked, though no one laughed aside from himself.  

“Shut the fuck up Jared,” Connor bit out.  

You hear the chair legs scrape against the linoleum floor and you see him stand up. His jaw is tense and he looks ready to punch something. You’d seen him punch plenty before, a locker, numerous people, a computer, hell you’d been there in elementary school when he threw that printer at the teacher. But you were still somehow attracted to this guy. Maybe because he’d always been nice to you.  

“Jared,” Evan tried again, tugging at his own shirt as he took a step back.  

Kleinman continued to ignore Evan’s warning. A few other students were looking on now. “Chill out man, I’m just joking.” Those three words must have been highlighted in Jared’s dictionary because every time he said something rude he followed it with ‘just joking’ or ‘just kidding’ as if that made it all better.  

“Yeah, you’re real fucking funny man. I’m howling.” Connor snapped.  

“Hey, guys come on, lets just...uh, lets just, go Jared, okay. Let’s just go.” Evan attempted again, the higher pitch in his voice hinting at his obvious nerves.  

“Why, what’s gonna happen?” Jared goded, “Murphy’s not gonna loose his cool is he?”  

You jumped when Connor’s fist slammed against the keyboard of the computer. He grabbed his messenger bag off the floor and shoved passed Jared, his long legs taking him out of the computer lab. You scraped your own chair back, shouldering your backpack and deciding in that moment that you were going to do the thing you’d always wanted to do before, see if Connor was alright.  

Evan shot you an apologetic look when you passed them and you just offered him a sympathetic smile. You knew that whatever dumbass thing Jared had said was in no way a reflection of Evan, he was a nice kid and you got along well enough. Evan wasn’t who you were thinking about right now though, the only person on your mind was Connor. By the time you got out of the computer lab you could the flap of Connor’s black denim shirt around the corner, in the direction of the art room. There was a set of double doors that led out to the bleachers and you figured that was probably where he would go.  

You cut through the girl’s locker room, hoping your theory on Connor’s whereabouts was right as you slipped out the back door and headed across the parking lot to the bleachers. Once you were down the hill you found him easily, the only person on the field this late in the school day, he was on the steps that led to the first level of the bleachers, smoking what you assumed was a joint. You’d heard all about Connor’s exploits as the school stoner, as if no one else in the whole school every smoked.  

“Hey,” you approached cautiously, like someone might a wild animal they were afraid would attack them. And you weren’t, of course, you were just nervous that he was still upset and that he wouldn’t want anything to do with you.  

Connor looked up at you briefly and then went right back to smoking, eyes downcast.  

“I’m sorry, about Jared, he’s a real dick sometimes.” You said, unsure what else to say.  

“You friends with him?”  

You shake your head, you definitely weren’t friends with Jared.  

“Then it doesn’t matter.” He replied.  

“I heard you were uh,” you scuffed your shoe further into the dirt, “I heard you were looking for a tutor. Evan, um, mentioned it.”  

“So?”  

“Well I just, figured, I could help.” You were doing pretty good in your classes. Good enough that you could offer your help reliably.  

“Why?” He looked back up at you again and you were struck with the same thought you always got. How undeniably lovely he was to look at. There was something about Connor that was just calming which might’ve been ironic considering how tormented he always seemed to be.

“Something to do in my free time?” You shrugged. You obviously couldn’t say it was because you wanted to spend more time with him and you definitely couldn’t tell him that you had been harboring a massive crush on him since third grade when he used to walk behind you in line and talk to you.  

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, I want to help.”  

“Why?”

You shrugged again, “I just want to help.” Because he always seemed like a nice person, beneath everything else. “I was having trouble freshman year, I know how hard it is to catch up.”  

“Yeah,” Connor nodded, “fine.”  

-

The first time you tutored Connor was at a Starbucks that was an equal distance between your houses. He showed up in the same black hoodie he always wore with fitted gray sweatpants and a white shirt, a brighter outfit than you’d ever seen him in before. His hair was pulled back and you couldn’t help thinking it was your lucky day because as good as Connor Murphy looked with his hair down he looked even better with his hair out of his face, if only because you could see it.  

“Hey,” he nodded and slid into the booth across from you. He eyed the coffee you had sitting amongst your books and he frowned, “none for me?”

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t sure what you would want so-”

“Yeah, yeah I see how it is,” he replied, grin on his face, “guess I’ll get my own.”  

You laughed as you watched him get up and mutter a ‘people these days’ just loud enough for you to hear. When you looked over at the counter, he was watching you, a smile on his face that made him seem a lot less scary than people made him out to be. He winked at you as the barista made his drink and you turned back to your books to hide your smile.  

Connor was impossible to study with. He was easily distracted and he got antsy sitting for any length of time. His comprehension was alright and he was smart, that you could tell immediately. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what he was learning it was just that he couldn’t stay still long enough to learn it.  

“We’ll be here all day if you don’t pay attention.” You pointed out, leaning forward and tapping the textbook that lay ignored in front of Connor. He was busy doodling pictures in the margins of his notebook, notes half written.  

“Sorry, it’s just,” he looked over the government textbook sitting there waiting for him, “a lot.”  

“Well-”

“Let’s go for a walk or something?” He asked.  

Tempting, you thought. You wouldn’t mind clearing up all these books and walking somewhere with Connor. Getting to talk to him about something other than English analysis or political theory would be nice. You wondered what you would talk about. Just more school or something more? Home life? Hobbies? Likes and dislikes? “Connor, we have to get through this. We’re almost done.” Ten more problems and he was free to go home.

He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. He was distracted but not as much as you thought he was. It wasn’t impossible for him to sit there and read he just didn’t want to. Besides, he knew the faster he finished the quicker you would leave and then this perfect afternoon at the Starbucks would be ruined. He couldn’t watch the way you pulled the neckline of your sweatshirt over your nose when it got too cold or how you sniffed your coffee each time before you took a sip, as if the smell was just as important as the taste. He couldn’t hear the sound you made when your americano was just a little too warm and burned your tongue or listen to the explanation you had on the perfect temperature for coffee. He’d sat there distracted by you all afternoon and now that there were only ten problems left all he could think about was this being over and him having to go home.  

“Just a short break, a change of scenery?” He offered.  

“What did you want to change the scenery to?” You asked.  

He smiled as you closed your notebook. He was winning. “The park? Or we could just take a drive? I drove my mom’s car here.”

“Okay. I’ll quiz you while we drive?” You offered, packing the rest of your books. You were 99% sure you would do whatever he asked you to.  

Connor was a much better driver than you thought he would be. He didn’t speed, he wasn’t careless, he liked to drive with the windows down and take backroads and he kept his eyes forward, trained on the road the whole time. In truth he was more nervous than he thought he would be. He figured driving was a good idea but then he was terrified he’d get distracted. He could see the headline play out ‘local boy drives girl off road after being distracted staring at her’. A little long maybe but appropriate.

“Okay, explain with rationale what political theory makes the most sense for global affairs today?” You asked, notebook open in your lap.  

“I thought this was a quiz?”

“It is!”  

“That’s like a full blown essay question.” Connor reached for your notebook and you grabbed it back, holding it away from him.  

“Eyes on the road mister.” You laughed, “and answer the question.”

Connor pouted, deep in thought as he rolled to a stop at the light. “I don’t know, realism?”

“I need an explanation not just...I don’t know, realism.”  

“Haven’t I done enough?” He asked, glancing over at you before the light changed. He wondered how aware you were of how attractive you were.  

“Go,” you nodded toward the road and he began driving once more.  

“Why’d you offer to help me?”

“I told you, cause I wanted to.” You shrugged.  

“How’d you know I needed a tutor?”

“We’re in the same classes and I get very nosey about everyone else’s grades. Besides you sit in front of me so I always see your tests and stuff over your shoulder. That and Evan mentioned it.” You shrugged.  

“And you just wanted to bring up the learning curve in our senior class?”

“Oh god no, you know how many people I’d have to tutor?” You laughed.  

“So why me?” He asked, frowning, “you just feel bad for the weird freak kid? Figured you could get in some community service?”

“Connor,” you said, your voice sounding...not sympathetic but soft, fond even, “I wanted to tutor you cause I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not. I like you a lot Connor.” You admitted.  

The car pulled off onto the side of the road and Connor put it in park, turning to you. He looked at you seriously, staring at you as he tried to decide if what you were saying was true. Were you actually not lying to him, did you like him? You were smiling like you meant it.  

“Yeah?” he chanced, “you aren’t fucking with me?”

“No.” You shook your head.  

Connor leaned forward toward you, his hand holding the shoulder of your seat. He crowded into your space and you watched as the sweetest of smiles spread across his face.  

-

More Connor. 

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter two

A/N I finished a little early, so I figured I might as well put it out there and get working on chapter three! 

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters will have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER TWO ↳Settling into your new job certainly takes time. Luckily, you’re getting on with the other workers. The only problem is your newest guest.

You had been working at the hotel for a little under two weeks now, 7 nights a week, and while you were getting used to the actual work, the upside-down sleep schedule was another thing.

You weren't usually one for coffee, but you found if you got it from the cafe down the road that had a million different flavoured syrups, you could disguise the bitter liquid as you inhaled it by the litre. Sleeping during the day was just plain weird, and it was probably naive of you to expect a smooth transition to a nocturnal timetable.

That being said, the warm, caring boss of yours was doing his best to ease the change, even once going so far as to let you take a nap in his office - while he was still working in there, no less - when you felt like you were about to fall asleep on your feet.

So far, the workload had been pretty straightforward, but as you would quickly come to learn, every night was different. Your regular tasks were mostly just checking up on everything and everyone, and passing along any messages between staff.

When Jin decided mid-dinner service to tweak the menu for the following night, he couldn't exactly leave and go find Namjoon to tell him. When Hoseok ran out of printer paper, he couldn't just walk away from the reception desk, as empty as the lobby may seem. That was the main reason why Namjoon had to hire a night manager. He found it impossible to be in a million places at once while trying to do his own work.

Your first couple of weeks so far had been you checking up on each of the six staff members (five, really, since you hadn't seen Yoongi since your first night) every two hours, and helping Namjoon out in the office with filing in between.

Currently, at 5am, two hours before you were free to go home and fall in a pile on your bed again, you were cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by haphazard piles of paper. Namjoon was at his desk, gazing intensely at his computer screen, fingers hovering over the keys. While his work was in dealing with current issues like payrolls, bookings, and maintenance, you had been tasked with the backlog of files. Namjoon, while a pretty organised guy in most aspects, had no respect for chronological and alphabetical ordering.

He had shown you a cupboard in the back of his office, with a stack of aging paper the height of a small child leaning dangerously to one side, and asked that you create a filing system.

Here you had been for the past three days, relishing the two-hourly break where you could work out the creaking in your knees and stare at something other than black ink on a white page. It wasn't difficult work, just menial and time-consuming. The paper-heap was a heavy mix of printouts of important emails, photocopies of Yoongi's financial reports, receipts, and, oddly enough, a smattering of Christmas cards every now and then to mark that you had trawled through another year of paperwork.

The pile in the cupboard was finally dwindling, but now your new task was to work out a way to put all the assorted categories away. As it was, every time one of you wanted to leave the office, you had to tiptoe your way through stacks of paper littering the carpet.

You groan and let out a stretch, wincing as you feel the vertebrae in your back and neck click. "Namjoon, I might need to pop down to the office stationery store to get some filing boxes. I think it'll take me the rest of the night to finish up the last of it and then put them away."

He blinks tiredly at you. "The office store closes at 5pm. You missed it by twelve hours."

You yawn. Yup, definitely not used to the nocturnal schedule.

He twitches his eyebrows. "Actually, you could pop down to the accounts firm. It's a two minute drive, and they've got a stationery cupboard. If I gave Yoongi a call, he could set some stuff aside for you."

"Oh, you don't have to wake him for that. I can go another time," you offer, shuffling out of your cross-legged stance to stretch out your legs, wiggling your feet back and forth.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a hum. "You don't know Yoongi very well. If you want to sleep, he's probably awake." He pauses. "And vice versa, actually." Namjoon sits up in his office chair and starts punching in a number on his desk phone. After a few moments of silence, his face lightens when someone speaks on the other end.

They share a brief conversation, you too sleepy to pay much attention, and you jump when something falls into your lap. A set of keys on a worn leather keyring. You look up at Namjoon in confusion.

"Take the company car," he explains, "looks more official than you showing up in your Corolla to sneak into the firm." He gives you a tired grin.

You nod affirmatively and pick your way out of the messy office.

The accounting firm is extremely large and well-off, which is probably due to the complete lack of competition in your small town. Surprisingly, there are at least six cars in the vast lot, and the building is totally lit up inside.

It's upon entering that you realise you have no idea where to actually go, so you awkwardly wander around the first floor until you find a young lady hunched over a computer in her tiny cubicle, and ask her where Yoongi worked.

Strangely, she guides you to the top floor of the building, even scanning her staff ID to be able to select the top floor on the elevator panel. Yoongi's office is massive, in the far corner of the floor, with his name engraved into the glass door.

You knock awkwardly, although it's not like he can't see you. He tilts his head to wave you in, then again at the chairs when you don't make a move to go further into the room.

Sitting on the plush armchair, you rub your eyes. "I'm just here to pick up some filing boxes for Namjoon?"

He gives you a small, bemused smile. "So you aren't just here for my company?"

"This is your company?" When he furrows his brow, you realise your mistake. "Oh man, I get what you mean now. I'm sorry, this new job has me tired all the time. I'm a little out of it, if you couldn't tell." Partly to emphasise your point, and partly to avoid his catlike stare, you lower your face and rub at your eyes.

He's silent for a moment, but then you hear his chair roll back and feel the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder. "I'll forgive you this time, sleepyhead. Here, I'll take you to our storage room."

The rest of your visit is filled with comfortable silence; you, too tired to make conversation, and him, probably wanting you to leave as soon as you could so he could get back to his own work. The rest of your shift goes quickly with that same silence, as you do one final round before leaving, drive home with your eyes as open as you can hold them, and collapse in your bed the moment you walk in your front door.

It's a little over six weeks before you see a single customer out and about between the hours of 11:30pm and 7am, and when it happens, you're completely bewildered. It's a young man curled up in the corner of one of the booths in the bar. He has a half-empty glass of some amber liquid, and a little bowl of nuts at the end of the table, and the space in front of him is covered by glossy photographs and a single, very expensive-looking camera.

You had almost forgotten what you were supposed to do when a customer was out of their rooms, and for a moment you hovered in the doorway, unsure whether you should ask him if he needed any help, or just not bother him at all.

In the end, it's Jungkook that makes the decision for you. "Oh, there you are! I have a message for you to pass on to Namjoon!"

The man looks up from the booth to see how Jungkook's speaking to, and you share a moment of eye-contact with him as you walk across the open space to the bar.

He's gorgeous. You selfishly hope that he's one of those customers that stays for a week or two, rather than overnight, in the hope that you get to see him again. His eyes stare deeply into yours, and it's you that looks away first. "What can I do for you, Jungkook?"

"Tell Namjoon Tae arrived."

You blink. "Is that a type of alcohol, or?"

Jungkook laughs. "What is it with you and assuming alcohol is on my mind 24/7? Just because I'm a bartender doesn't make me an alcoholic. No, Tae's that handsome gentlemen over there."

You can't help but sneak another look. The man in question, Tae, lifts his hand in a jaunty wave, but his face stays neutral, curious rather than overly friendly.

You nod at him and turn back to Jungkook. "Tae's here, got it. Anything else?"

Jungkook grins. "Tell him Tae is refusing to pay for his drinks."

"O- Oh. Do you need me to..." you trail off lamely, not sure what it is exactly you could possibly do about a customer refusing to pay.

"Force him to hand over his cold, hard cash? Feel free to try. I'd certainly love to see that."

You clear your throat in embarrassment, feeling the weight of Tae's gaze on you. "I'll go tell Namjoon," you muster, and hightail out of the bar.

Namjoon doesn't seem particularly shocked or concerned that there was a thief in the bar when you told him about your encounter. He just nods understandingly, and leans back deeper in his chair, swaying lazily back and forth.

"So, you know him then?"

His wry smile confirms it. "He's my little brother," he explains. "I give him free accommodation while he stays in school. He's doing a degree in fine arts, if you can believe it." He sighs. "Somehow he thinks it means everything in this hotel is free to boot. That punk."

"That's really sweet of you, Namjoon. I wish I had a brother like you, maybe I wouldn't have dropped out of uni."

He looks up at you in surprise. "I didn't know you went to uni."

"Well," you allow, "it's probably not a good look to put med school dropout on your resume."

"Med school, huh?" He gives you a soft smile. "I went to veterinary school, if you can believe it."

You think of his friendly disposition and caring nature. "I can, actually. It'll probably come in handy one day when Jin accidentally lets his fish of the day loose in the hotel."

He laughs for a few moments, but sobers up again. "Look, we have to put Tae in a different room from his usual because it's been booked already. Would you mind tracking him down and taking him to room 12? I'll set him up with a key tomorrow, well, today I guess, but for now he needs someone to unlock the door for him."

"Sure thing, boss." Your body is half out the door before he calls out to you.

"You don't have to call me boss, you know?"

You grin at him. "Sure thing, Joonie."

You leave before he gets the chance to take it back and stroll contentedly through the hallways, back the way you came. By the set-up Tae had before, you didn't imagine he had gone anywhere in the past few minutes.

You were right. He was still in his spot, Jungkook coming out from behind the bar with a bottle of something to top up the empty glass held in Tae's outstretched hand.

You intercept the bottle as its tipping, making sure the glass stays empty. Jungkook simply nods and pulls back, but Tae looks up when the pouring fails to commence and levels you with a heavy stare.

"Namjoon asked me to take you to your room. Room 12, this time."

He looks back at his elaborate set-up of pictures, then back at you slowly. "I'm busy, but thank you."

He nods meaningfully at Jungkook, who hesitantly holds up the bottle, but you hold your hand out to stop it again. "I know, and I'm sorry, but you need me to unlock the door for you for now, and I get off in twenty minutes."

"Then come back in twenty minutes."

"Uh... I would really prefer if you-"

"Relax, relax, I'm kidding." He shuffles up all the photos painstakingly slowly, disrupting their meticulously arranged display, and tucks them into a pocket of his camera bag. Once he's finished, he jerks his head at his empty glass with a cocky smirk on his face. "One for the road, if I may, ma'am?"

You shrug and shake your head. "Whatever, sure."

Jungkook pours two fingers into the glass, then disappears behind the bar. You stand, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, as Tae savours each mouthful, at long last draining the glass and standing up with his things.

You lead him to his room in silence, not in the mood to make your final few minutes of work go on any longer with his brand of nonsense. He doesn't notice, or chooses not to comment on, your brisk pace through the hallways.

When the pair of you arrive at the door, you unlock the door, and lean in to hold it open for him. Unlike most people who would try their best to shuffle in quickly without any necessary physical contact, he faces you as he slips his body past, breath hot on your face as he passes close enough for you to feel his camera bag push against your torso.

When he's in, you snatch your hand back and fail to say a proper goodbye before leaving.

The lobby is much closer than the service entrance, and so you take that way out in order to leave on time, forgetting to even let Namjoon know you were heading off.

You didn't know what it was specifically about Tae that made your blood boil, but you suspected it was the frustrating combination of an asshole that was devastatingly handsome. A man like that knew exactly what he was doing and how it would rile you up, but some part of you was still glad he was going to be hanging around for a whole semester. Maybe you were a sadist, maybe you were just sexually frustrated.

On your way out the lobby, Jimin is absent, but so is the luggage trolley, so you assume he must have hit the jackpot and got an actual customer for once. Unfortunately for him, it was also at the time he was meant to be heading off. An unfamiliar man in that familiar uniform and hat was hanging around the lobby couches waiting to take over.

Hoseok, however, was still at reception, although his legs were kicked up on the corner of the desk and he was stuffing his face with ramen from a takeout container. He lit up, cheeks full, and waved you over once he saw you.

Hoseok had a habit of making you hang around for ages whenever you did your rounds. Whenever he had anything that needed doing or messages that needed to be passed on, it always came with twenty minutes of backstory and digressions until he finally reached the original point. You couldn't ever get mad at him though, because he was just too lovely to you.

"Hey, muppet, you off?"

You gasp in mock surprise. "My goodness, Hoseok, what if a customer had heard you? They'd be outraged at your informality and they'd leave a one star review on Yelp!"

He narrows his eyes at you, shaking his chopstick like he's wagging a finger. "Don't be foolish. The customers don't come here for the hotel, they come here for my beautiful beside manner."

"You aren't a doctor, Hobi."

"In a way! Just instead of a surgeon of the body, I'm a surgeon of the...customer service."

You sigh at him. "If I understood what you were trying to say, perhaps I could've responded to it."

"Genius doesn't come to all of us, don't worry."

"Okay, Customer Service, MD., I'm going home to sleep off the memory of this conversation." You lean in and give him a side-hug, careful to avoid staining your dress shirt with his spicy breakfast.

"Bye bye, muppet. Maybe if Kyeong-eun arrives on time for once in her life, I can walk you out."

"You still owe me coffee for that one time I snuck out to get you a McFlurry. See you tonight, Hobi."

“See you.”

[ritualmichael]

Internship - Duncan Shepherd x Male Reader

based on this ask: “duncan hitting on a male intern? yes”

(yes,, thats all it took for me to write a whole fic on it kdkdj)

this is very canon divergent because i only watched duncan’s scenes in hoc so im changing things up a bit since i didn’t know what was happening half of the time. also sorry that this is hardly male focused,, i’ll do better next time oops. 

warnings: none really?

“That’s not his order,” the blonde lady stated as she read the cup, shaking her head. You didn’t actually know her name, never properly introducing herself on your first day but instead already giving you tasks when you walked in.

“You’re the new boy? Okay, this way. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. The last intern walked out without a word to anyone,” she said with an ironic laugh, leading you through the maze of cubicles and desks. You mentally noted to yourself to dress nicer the next day in order to blend in with everyone.

“What?” you asked, appalled that you had messed up something as easy as a coffee. On the way to the coffee shop, you had repeated the order over and over in your head and was sure you got it right.

“He’s never ordered this a day in his life,” she said, raising a well manicured brow at you. You could feel the ground trying to split open and swallow you whole. It had been a stressful day and now messing up Duncan Shepherd’s coffee order was just the icing on the terribly made cake.

“I’ll go get another one,” you said hurriedly, turning to head back to the elevator but she grabbed your arm gently, shaking her head.

“You’ve got better things to do. Don’t worry about it,” she said and you were unsure if it was her being generous or just tired of your mishaps.

“Why can’t he just use one of the twenty coffee makers in this huge building?” You asked, shrugging off your jacket as you both walked through the busy office.

“Because he has the money to drop and a lovely intern that happily gets it for him whenever he wants,” she said in a sarcastically sweet tone, making you groan.

“Just tell Mr. Shepherd I’m sorry,” you said, making your way to the small desk that was tucked into a cramped cubicle.

“You can call him Duncan,” she said, leaning against the partition wall, the dreadful coffee cup still in her hand.

“I don’t think we’re on first name basis quite yet, it’s only been two weeks,” you laughed nervously, scratching the back of your neck. Even the thought of him made you intimidated.

He wasn’t just your boss but he was everyone’s boss, even the blonde lady’s. You were just an unpaid intern, hoping he would sign off on all of the work you’d done at the end of your time there. Praying, really.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, walking off and leaving a trail of her expensive perfume behind.

You forced yourself to get over the embarrassing coffee situation and focus on the work you were assigned. It was a bunch of mindless filing and sorting, but it gave you something to do.

You often times found yourself pridefully walking out of the Shepherd Freedom Foundation building, knowing that any bystanders would assume you worked there - one of the most successful foundations in Washington. Little did they know, you were really making coffee runs and scans all day.

The day was nearly coming to an end, your brain swimming with names and numbers which you could hardly comprehend anymore. There was a knock on your cubicle, the blonde lady standing there and looking at you expectantly.

“Duncan has asked to see you,” she said cooly.

“Me? Are you sure?” You asked nervously, standing up and straightening out your shirt. You had only met Duncan twice, once on your first day and the other when you had caught the same elevator as him.

“You’re the new intern right?” He asked, making you do a double-take at the rest of the elevator, as if you were checking that he was actually talking to you.

“Yes, I started a few days ago,” you said, trying to stay composed and nonchalant. Duncan tried to guess your name, miserably failing which only caused you to laugh.

“Y/N, actually,” you said, smiling politely.

“Well, Y/N, congratulations on lasting this long,” he said, his voice smooth but humorous as he bid his farewell, stepping out of the elevator as it opened to his floor. A whole floor for his office. Your small cubicle suddenly felt the size of a airplane bathroom.

“Positive. Floor 26,” she said, directing you to his office before walking away again. You already knew the floor number, having memorized it after your interaction with Duncan on the elevator. It was mostly out of fear that you would press the wrong number one day and show up uninvited to his office.

Now, you actually were invited and pressing the “2” then the “6” made you cringe. You nervously ran your fingers through your hair, silently wishing you had spent more time styling it this morning.

The dreadful ding of the elevator filled the small space and the doors pulled open, revealing the spacious floor. Stepping out, you noticed the full wall of windows with an amazing view over the streets of D.C. The room had a sleek, dark mahogany table stretching out over the floorspace and nice luxuries scattered around. Everything looked expensive and you knew you were nowhere near the salary that was probably required to sit at the conference table. You actually had no salary, you bitterly reminded yourself.

“Impressive, right?” Duncan’s voice pulled you out of your daze, making you instantly straighten your posture. He stood in the doorway, a glass of dark liquor in his hand.

“Much better than the other floors,” you laughed, your eyes still skating around the room. You felt like you were a kid again, your parent’s voice in the back of your head reminding you to not touch anything, worried you would break something and they’d have to pay for it.

“There’s more,” he said, cocking his head in the direction of the other room and began to lead the way. You followed him, nearly stopping in your tracks when you saw his actual office.

Everything looked priceless, from the books lining the walls and the expansive desk down to the pens, “Shepherd Freedom Foundation” engraved into the steel. You suddenly felt very out of place.

“After my mother handed down the foundation to me, I did a little remodeling,” he said casually, taking a sip from his shallow glass and you couldn’t help your eyes from glancing at the way his stubbly jaw flexed as he swallowed.

“It’s amazing,” you said, cursing at yourself for your lack of sophisticated vocabulary. This was one of the richest men you had ever met, yet you still spoke as if you were with a casual friend.

Duncan caught you eyeing the leather chair, chuckling softly. “You can sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair that neatly sat behind his desk.

“Really?”

“Go ahead, see what it feels like,” Duncan said, sipping the remaining liquor in his glass.

You didn’t want to reject his offer, that would be rude. Also, you just really wanted to sit at the desk and feel as luxurious as Duncan did everyday. So you did. Carefully sitting down, you pulled yourself up to the desk, your hands running over the smooth varnished wood.

Duncan walked over to his desk, seating himself on the corner and giving you a smile. You caught a glance of his pants tightening around his thighs and you swore you saw him briefly bit his bottom lip out of the corner of your eye.

“You could have something like this one day,” Duncan said.

“I’ve got a long time until that happens,” you scoffed, shaking your head and relaxing back into the chair.

“You’re not that much younger than me, let me remind you,” he chuckled. You flushed, not meaning to suggest he was old or anything. You were actually impressed that he could handle such a big business at such a young age.

“I’m sorry,” you laughed nervously, rubbing your red face. “I just mean, I’m an unpaid intern amongst hundreds of employees who could probably buy six of my apartments while I struggle to pay for one.”

“A lot of them started out like you,” he said, moving to sit even closer to you on his desk. It was a strange contrast, seeing him casually lounging on the desk when you were nearly scared to touch it. “Interns who were messing up coffee orders and jamming the printers,” he continued, making you laugh at his blatant reference to your coffee mishap earlier.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” you said.

“It happens to the best of us,” he shrugged, giving you another warm smile.

You were really surprised at how relaxed he was. It was a little laughable now how stoic you expected him to be. Some serious, uptight guy who would hardly cast much of a glance your way. Instead, he was having a casual conversation with you, sitting atop his desk like a kid in the lunchroom. The first few buttons of his shirt were popped open, revealing his warm skin and his leather jacket was draped over one of the chairs facing his desk. It definitely lessened your nerves.

“Can I ask why you called me up here?” You asked, the question gnawing at you.

“I just wanted to see how you’re adjusting. I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said, a playful smile still gracing his lips. “I know the boss calling for you can be a bit intimidating.”

“It was surprising to say the least,” you lied. “The blonde isn’t the warmest person to receive that news from anyway.”

“The blonde who wears too much perfume and wears short skirts everyday?” Duncan said, receiving a nod from you. “Of course she didn’t introduce herself. That’s Caroline.”

“Are you two together?” You asked, instantly regretting the question. Who were you to pry into Duncan’s private life?

He let out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Absolutely not. Not my type,” he said.

“Ah,” you said simply. You didn’t know what to say, feeling too embarrassed from practically asking your boss who he sleeps with. Before, you were convinced they were because of all of the time she spent in his office.

“Let me make you a drink,” Duncan said, slipping off of his desk and walking leisurely to the small table across the room, bottles of expensive liquors and delicate glasses sitting on top. You watched as he poured two glasses and stood up to join him. He turned to you, handing you a glass with a slight smile just barely crossing his full lips.

“Is this a test? Drinking on the job…” you asked, taking the glasses from him, your eyes flicking down to his hand when his brushed against yours.

“Internship,” he corrected, taking a sip and giving you a shrug. “Don’t tell the boss… Oh wait,” he said, causing you to chuckle and take a sip from your own glass.

It tasted more expensive than anything else you had drank, even when you splurged on a $50 bottle of champagne when you turned 21. Duncan would probably laugh at your idea of expensive, you thought.

Duncan stepped over to the large window, his gaze fixed on the buildings beyond the thick panel of glass. You joined him at his side, your arm brushing against his accidentally but you didn’t do much to distance yourself from him. Glancing over at his hand that held his glass, you noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger.

“Everyone looks for that,” he mumbled, bring his glass to his lips. “They expect me to have some housewife with a kid at home, being passive and submissive like everyone else’s wives.”

“Why don’t you?” you asked. You figured you might as well indulge in hearing about the life of someone much successful than you while you had the opportunity.

“It’s boring,” he glanced at you, his eyes looking brighter in the natural light and up this close. “I’m already running this foundation on my own, I don’t need a trophy wife at my hip. My work should show my success, not an imprisoned woman like the other people here have.”

You nodded, letting your eyes linger on him a little longer than you probably should have. His nose was rounded perfectly at the end, his lips full and defined, wrapping around the brim of his glass with ease, his hair a mess of curls that somehow looked neat and sophisticated.

He turned to look at you, causing you to glance away from a moment and you could feel your face heating up. It was the alcohol, you told yourself. Definitely the alcohol and not your boss.

But then his eyes fell on your lips and you couldn’t stop yourself from dodging your tongue out to wet them. You knocked back the rest of the liquor in your glass, Duncan gently taking the empty glass from your hands and setting it down on the table.

“Think you can handle all of that?” He asked, laughing under his breath.

“I can handle a lot of things,” you lied, shrugging  as you turning back to the window to avoid his gaze. You were a lightweight and you could already feel your skin warming up and legs getting weak.

“Is that so?” Duncan said, his voice airy and playful. “Well, hopefully you can handle your time here. I don’t want a boy like you getting too overwhelmed on the job.”

“What kind of ‘boy’ am I?” You quirked a brow at him.

“Hopefully one who comes to me if he’s having problems,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

You turned away from the window, facing him instead and crossing your arms over your chest, a smile tugging on your lips. “Are you typically this generous with your interns?”

“That’s assuming any interns have made it this far. Plus, there’s something about you,” he said, tipping his glass in your direction before taking a sip. “You’re modest. You didn’t come in here trying to brag about everything you’ve accomplished and show off to me. It’s refreshing and admirable.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” you shrugged, willing yourself to not blush at his compliment.

“But I am now,” he said, stepping even closer to you, his chest brushing against your folded arms. He held out his glass to you and you took it from his grasp, sipping the rest from the same spot he had. It was extremely suggestive on both of your ends.

“What do you want to know?” You asked, all of the nerves completely dissolved from your body and replaced with a bit of confidence. Duncan was clearly coming on to you and you didn’t want it to stop, no matter how wrong it might be.

“What are your goals?” He asked, throwing you off with such a serious, blunt question.

“Um,” you stumbled over your words as you thought. “To be successful, maybe run my own business and-” you tried to finished but Duncan cut you off.

“None of that college essay bullshit,” he said, the curse word seeming strange coming from him but you kind of liked it. “What do you want? Be greedy for a second,” he said, shrugging.

“A nice office like this with the view of the Washington Monument,” you said, Duncan nodding as he entertained your ideas. “An apartment that has a concierge,” you laughed and Duncan planted one of his hands beside your head against the glass, a playful smirk on his face. “A vacation,” you said, it nearly coming out as a groan as you leaned your head against the glass. Duncan had leaned even closer, a smile on his lips.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked, it seeming like an offer more than a curious question. It made your heart race and you mindlessly reached up, fixing the collar of his shirt that didn’t actually need fixing, you just wanted an excuse to graze his neck with your fingertips.

“Somewhere with white sand and the ocean,” you said.

“I like a boy who is easy to please. There’s plenty of beaches to choose from,” he said, tilting his head at you.

“Maybe you could make the decision, I’m sure you’ve been to some great places.”

“We could go somewhere far, where it’s warm and there’s a resort that’ll give us endless drinks and the biggest suite they have,” he suggested, biting his lip as he smiled at you. He knew what he was doing and it was absolutely working. You legs were weak and your almost wanted to grab onto him for support.

“What would the tabloids have to say about you taking some boy across the world only to be seen getting couples massages?” You said, smirking as Duncan not-so-subtly leaned in closer to you.

“They’d be impressed that I scored such a catch,” he said, his voice dropped to a low mumble due to your close proximity and his eyes stayed trained on your lips.

“Yeah, right,” you blushed, Duncan reaching up and cupping your face before leaning and connecting your lips. You melted into his touch instantly, your hands going to his chest as he moved his lips against yours gently. His lips tasted of liquor and you knew that you own did too, only fueling you to kiss him even more eagerly. Your tongues met and you let out a content sigh when his teeth caught your bottom lip.

“You better start buying some summer clothes,” Duncan mumbled against your lips with a smirk, going back to kissing you even harder.

You were too lost in the man to think about how unprofessional or reckless this was, you fingers gripping the expensive material of his shirt and pulling yourself even closer to him. Duncan Shepherd might’ve been your boss but he was also an amazing kisser.

- 

tags:@dudesorriso @silkyhoneybaby @avesatanaslangdon @lucifer-owns-this-pussy @sodanova @romanoffkittens @heelsamizayn  @lovely-langdon @langdonpilots @cryptid-coalition @cherryberryann @omnipotentdemoness @marzipan-romanoff @featherpool-852 @langdonsdemon @slasherloversposts @lxngdonscoven @01-800-mary @mcenziehughes @kylolangdon @kinlovecody @sammythankyou @duncvn @fernshorrorstory @amytakesmanhattan @queencocoakimmie @yourkingcodyfern

[five-rivers]

Hello!  Today was productive, so here’s another chapter.  Prompts from @charcoalhawk and @thecommrade.  

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Collateral 

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Chapter 5

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He collapsed on the bed of his hotel room, exhausted.  Work hadn't gone well.  It hadn't gone well at all.  He'd had bad days before, sure, but this one had been especially miserable.  

He rubbed a hand down over his face, and groaned.  At least this hadn't been a freelance commission.  Then again, he never would have taken this as a freelance job.  Amity Park was too small.  Too insular. Too isolated.  Without company resources, he wouldn't ever have managed.

The phone rang.  The phone that he always kept on.  The company phone.

He answered.  “Tim, here,” he said.

“The client tells me you weren't able to fix the printer.”

“No, ma'am,” said Tim.  “There was a complication.”

“I understand that you broke one of the parts.”

Beads of sweat started to form on Tim's skin.  “Yes, ma'am.”

The woman on the other end of the line exhaled.  “You recall that we have a limited number or replacement parts for this printer.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“That it's a custom printer?” prompted the woman.

“Yes, ma'am, I know.”

“I don't need to remind you of our lifetime warranty?”

“No, ma'am,” croaked Tim.  

“Or our other guaranties?”

“No, ma'am.”  He inhaled and braced himself. “I will fix this, ma'am. I'll get the job done.  No need to send another repairman, I can do it on my own.”

“We're sure you can,” said the woman.  “That's why we sent you.” Another pause in which Tim's heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest.  “We're sure you'll complete the job.  Successfully.  And quickly.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Tim.  He wasn't at all sure of those things.  He'd had a rare window of opportunity today, and he'd screwed up.  

“Good,” said the woman, and hung up.  

Tim dropped the phone back on his bed, and curse under his breath.  He'd had such a good chance today.  His 'printer' was surprisingly difficult to 'fix,' for something without 'double-sided printing.' Then that kid-  How had that kid even seen him?  He had scoped out the area days in advance.  He wouldn't have been able to make himself out from the stage, and he had 20/10 vision!

He groaned.  He'd have to find his way around increased security, on top of everything else.

.

.

.

Youngblood knocked on the door to Ember's lair.  Even he knew better than to just burst in.  

The door swung slowly inward, creaking invitingly.  Youngblood floated forward, making a face at all the hot pink decorations.  He could dig the neon blue, but the pink reminded him a little too much of Walker's prison, and the one time the warden had managed to catch him, despite his natural invisibility towards adults.  Phantom had actually been the one to break him out that time.

Ember's lair was styled like a large auditorium, complete with sloping ceilings, box and balcony seats, and labyrinthine connecting hallways.  At least, Youngblood assumed that was complete.  He'd not had a lot of chances, either in life or afterlife, to go to auditoriums other than Ember's.

A few melancholy notes wafted towards Youngblood from behind the dark, velvet blue curtains drawn across the stage.  

“Ember?” called Youngblood.

The curtain's rings clattered, rattle-snake threatening, then fell utterly silent as the curtain parted, revealing Ember sitting cross-legged under a dust-filled spotlight.  

“Hey there, Cap'n Kid,” she called, her voice echoing like all ghosts' did.  She struck another chord on her guitar, before stilling the strings with the flat of her hand.  “What's up, you look kinda blue, and not in a good way, like me.”

“Phantom's in the hospital,” he blurted out.

Ember frowned.  “What?”

“He got shot.”

“Tell me more.”

.

.

.

Jazz walked into the room, and froze.  There, lying on the bed, hooked to machines that beeped and hummed, was her brother.  Standing next to him, staring down, was her brother.

She closed the door behind her quickly.  

“Are you dead?” she asked her brother's ghost.  

He didn't look away from himself.  “No more than usual,” he said.  He didn't move his lips to speak, and the words curled inside Jazz's brain, meanings layered and shifting.  Not really, echoed the words.  Yes, as always, they said.  Halfway there.  One foot in the grave.  

His form shifted, too.  Or...  Not shifted.  It wasn't like he was glitching, either.  He wasn't like a buffering video, he wasn't like TV static, or a bad video.  He was blurred around the edges.  Uncertain.  Too dark and too dim and too bright.  His shadows were holes and stars shone through, and he wasn't entirely there.  He was transparent, and he would, disappear if she looked too long, too closely.  He was hard to look at, and was clearest with averted vision.  

Jazz took a deep breath, and took a step forward.  “Danny, what's happening?”

“Trying,” he said.  Attempting.  Assaying.  Experiment.  Necessity.  He flickered.  “Not ready.”

He turned to face her.  His skin was a delicate blue, his eyes were solid green.  

Jazz put her hands on his shoulders, and didn't flinch when one met ice and the other fell through.  “Danny,” she said.  “You don't have to do this.”

“Yes,” said Danny.  Need to.  Protect.  Defend.  Danger.  Help.

“Danny, you've just been shot.  We're fine.  We're safe.  Let us take care of you.  Please.  At least for today.”

On the bed, Danny inhaled sharply.  The Danny standing in front of her looked down.  “I'm scared.”

“I know.  It's okay,” said Jazz.  

The image in front of her shuddered, and then leaned forward, into her collarbone, his hairs tickling her chin.  Something shuddering touched her mind, something afraid.  

“It's okay,” she repeated.  “It's going to be okay.  It's okay to rest.”

“You'll get hurt.”  That thought was weaker, harder to interpret, but confident.  Danny knew it to be true.  “He'll hurt you.  He'll hurt other people.”  Have to help.  Have to protect. Danger.  Threat.  

“You saw who shot you?”

“Yes,” said the ghost.  

Jazz sucked in her lips.  “Tell me what he looked like,” she said. “I'll see what I can-”  She broke off.  “I'll take care of it.”

“Be safe?”

“Yes,” said Jazz.  “I promise.”

.

.

.

Danny had taught Jazz how to get in touch with the ghosts of Amity Park, just in case.  Danny did a lot of things 'just in case.'  Jazz had labeled it as paranoia at first, but considering all the people out to get him...

She shook herself out of the thought, and focused on where she was walking.  Not productive right now.  Not here, in the dark, more than half of the streetlights taken out by ghost fights.  

She stopped in front of an abandoned house.  The last people to live here had left after the ghost attacks had started, and hadn't managed to sell it.  Its windows were boarded up, but, otherwise, it was in surprisingly good condition for a abandoned house.

Maybe that was because it wasn't abandoned.  It was haunted.  Twice over. The Webs had taken up residence in the house the first Halloween after the portal opened.  They were Obsessed with holidays and hospitality, and you couldn't do either of those things properly (in their opinion) without a house.  Danny hadn't seen any reason to kick them out.

Jazz walked up the steps (overgrown, but stylishly so) and knocked on the door.  “Mr Web?  Mrs Web?  It's Jasmine Fenton.  I have something to tell you.”

The door creaked open.

[generallyclumsy]

Self Hatred

Requested by @shoochi

Connor Murphy x trans!reader (FtM)

Warning: Dysphoria, self hatred, cursing, a trans guy written by a cis woman, not very well written or edited, idk prolly more. If you need me to tag anything else just let me know.

Word Count: 1.2 thousand words?

A/N: this came out a lot more angsty than I mean for it to be but I hope the fluff that’s there is enough. I also tried really hard to make this as accurate as I could although I feel like it comes off a bit vague. Also proofing this I realized that like, I talk about the reader being trans but the way I wrote it pronouns never come up I’m so sorry. God. I hope this is what you wanted and that I wrote it ok.

Requests open!

***

You had seen Connor around, although you’d never talked to him outside of short conversations in English where the two of you would discuss politics or the homework neither of you did. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who talked much to anyone, so you always assumed you were no exception. You didn’t take it personally when you sat down and he didn’t even look up from his sketchbook, or when you’d say hi and he’s just “mmhmm” under his breath. But you did notice him.

You noticed the way he moved, the way he dressed, the way he kept himself, and you found yourself somewhat envious of his confidence, regardless of whether or not it was a farce. He moved in a way that was so careless and free, weighted down, but light, and the jealousy deemed itself natural.

But one day, a low day for you and a high day for your dysphoria, he said hello to you when you sat down at the table across from him. He wasn’t sketching today, but writing clumsily in a worn journal, his handwriting illegible from a normal angle, and completely impossible to read from upside down.

“Hi?” you responded, the tiniest bit startled, and very unsure of the circumstance for his alertness. Oh boy, was that a voice drop if you had ever heard one. He huffed a bit of a sarcastic laugh, and then closed his book.

“The fuck was the homework?” he asked, flipping through the copy of Hamlet that remained on his desk from yesterday.

“You think I did it?” You responded quickly, before pulling your English notebook out of your backpack and placing it on your desk.

“Kinda,” he said, his voice monotonous and his face emotionless.

“I had a bit of a thing going on yesterday.” You didn’t really enjoy going into detail about your mental state, or how inadequate you felt, but something funny happened when you said that; Connor, just for a split second, looked concerned.

“God, what a fucking mood.” You didn’t pay a lot of attention to the way he spoke, or the words he said, and instead found yourself trying to look less feminine to the friend you were beginning to enjoy being around.

“You good, man?” You asked and he snorted a tired, ironic laugh.

“Are you?” he gestured towards you with a long, slender hand. His voice had dropped a bit as he said it, and you found yourself trying to match it, only to disappoint yourself when you couldn’t.

“Fair enough,” you replied. As insecure as you were around him, you actually liked talking to Connor. He didn’t have an amazing reputation, and it most certainly preceded him, but the Connor you were talking to seemed just as crazy as everyone else. “Hey, Connor,” you said, before you could think about it. He looked back up at you from his book and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” he didn’t seem annoyed, which you deemed a good sign.

“God, um, it’s kind of stupid but like…” he laughed a little under his breath and (uncharacteristically) smiled a soft, bemused smile.

“Yes?” he encouraged

“You wanna hang out later?” he looked almost startled as you said it, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually want anything to do with him.

‘Uh, I mean,” he was stumbling over his words now, his usual confidence seemingly gone with just five words.

“It doesn’t have to be like a date or anything, I’m not even sure why I said it, nevermind.” He cocked his head at me and smiled.

“Sure, we can drive somewhere after school. Date or otherwise.” You nodded as he looked away from you again, and for a second, you forgot about how feminine and awful you felt that day because as crazy as people thought he was, you liked him and that made you feel some sort of way.

The rest of the day dragged on as you found yourself full of anxiousness in regards to your “date or otherwise.” Part of the anxiousness stemmed from your unsureness; of him and of yourself. Your feelings were a poker game, it was pure chance. Some days you radiate confidence, moved like you knew where you were going, and some days it was slouching because your chest wasn’t flat enough, lowering your voice every time you spoke and never feeling completely validated in yourself or your identity. But did Connor see it? He he notice you like you had noticed him? It didn’t seem like he did, God forbid he even knew your name, and there you were driving somewhere with him after school, and Goddamn if you didn’t forget to text your mom.

When the final bell rang you wondered towards the parking lot, not moving entirely slow, but not moving quickly either. He’s told you which spot he was parked in, and offered to meet you at his car, you agreed.

You still weren’t entirely sure what had possessed you to ask him out, or why you had done it so impulsively. Regardless, Connor received it a lot better than you thought he would. He agreed and now you got to go on a “date” with Connor from English, who threw a printer in the third grade, but always used the right pronouns. Hell, who even corrected someone with a classy “he did the first three slides.”

You found Connor leaning up against an old, beat up Nissan, his face pretty neutral until he saw you and smiled. Something about it felt wrong almost, like Connor Murphy shouldn’t be happy to see you. Maybe it was paranoia, bad luck, superstition, you couldn’t figure it out.

“Hi,” he said as you rounded the other side of the car.

“Hey,” you replied. “Where are we headed?”

The two of you ended up at a park around fifteen minutes from the high school. You had stopped at a gas station for coffee, which you’d covered because it made you feel good and he let you do it.

“So what’s your deal?” Connor asked as the two of you sat down on the swings next to each other, his hair falling in his face as he subtly swung.

“My deal?” he crossed his legs at the ankle.

“Nobody wants anything to do with me, and yet here you are, on a date with me. What’s wrong with you?” You were taken aback, both by the use of the word date and the question as a whole.

“I could ask you the same thing,” You tossed back. He snorted.

“So you just have no self respect,” he nodded. You shrugged as you fell quiet. “You know, you should give yourself more credit,” he added.

“You should to.” You looked over to him as he looked away from you. “You’re more than what people say about you,” he smiled a toothy smile, his eyes crinkled.

“Y/N, you’re the only person around here who treats me like I’m human.” his hand dropped down from where it had been perched on the swing chain and brushed against yours.

“Do you ever feel like your self hatred is so deeply ingrained that you don’t deserve happiness?” His pinky linked with yours as you said it.

“All the fucking time,” he looked sad now, less happy and sarcastic than he had been.

“I guess we aren’t so different after all.”

“You know that you shouldn’t though, right?” I took his whole hand in mine. “You shouldn’t hate yourself.”

“Ditto.” Then his phone started going off in his pocket, and I quickly let go of his hand so he could answer it.

He talked a few minutes, his responses simple and concise before he hung up and stood up. I looked up at him. “What’s going on?”

“I gotta take you home, I forgot to get Zoe from Jazz Band and my parents are fucking fuming.” I stood up with a short nod, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Ok,” he smiled as we reached the park gate.

“But we’ll be going out again,” he said with a confident smirk. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

[peachyzens]

study buddy! joshua au

study buddy! joshua au

genre: fluff, college! au summary: studying got a little less stressful with some company from your local joshua! lol why this sound so cheesy (2,303 words) a/n: inspired by the fact that i have two essays due in like two days that i barely started! :) don’t be like me…masterlist can be found here!

so you were an business major wow yes very fun

and honestly you were doing a pretty good job of handling it as a freshman….UNTIL

E X A M S

everybody’s dreaded time of the year!

so you were panicking because you were always confident in your knowledge but then when you looked over some of your notes you had no idea what you wrote

a business plan??? what’s that???

so you decided to study to your heart’s content to teach yourself all the material so you aren’t completely lost

and with a week and a half left before exams, everybody was slowly starting to panic

so when you went to your uni’s library it was hard to find a secluded spot

but you found one right near the copy room/printers

it was secluded but there was some traffic going in and out with students printing out last minute essays

and the sound of papers printing was slowly driving you crazy so it’s time to relocate!

you moved over to the other side of the library, the section with manga LMAO

and it actually was pretty empty, except for one person guess who

he had such a kitty like face with chestnut colored hair and you were stunned because wow, a cute boy

BUT THEN YOU REMINDED YOURSELF THAT YOU HAD NO TIME TO DATE YOU HAD TO STUDY

So you took the table across from him, still facing him just because LOL

and he was really into whatever book he was reading as he was taking notes at the same time

you were amazed at his skill of being able to write without even looking so you found yourself staring a bit

BUT THEN

he sensed someone staring and glanced up to make awkward eye contact with you

he just raised his eyebrow as you had a surprised look on your face before looking away and pulling out you books like nothing happened

and he’d just go back to his reading with a little smirk on his face

but then you got into your zone with studying, you were actually able to get through quite a few chapters

you were there for a bit over three hours, and the mysterious pretty boy still sat there across from you

you would be lying if you said you didn’t check him out a few more times when you were studying,, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally glance up to look at you

anyways your brain was fried so you decided to pack it up!!

and you left without a word to the boy, even though you were DYING to say something

maybe a little encouragement like “you should take a break from all that studying before your hand breaks off or something”

but nope you just left as he kept studying

so to the NEXT DAY

you walked around the library, picking up a few more books at first before heading towards the same table, hoping to see him again

and behold, there he was

this time instead of reading and writing he was furiously typing on his laptop

you took the same spot because luckily it was empty again and did the same setup as last time

he saw movement at the corner of his eyes but didn’t bother to look up

but he knew it was you, because hardly anybody studies in the manga corner

actually he just saw your bright blue backpack from the corner of his eye LMAO

and when you sat down and looked at him, you noticed he was already staring at you

so with a tight and awkward smile you gave him a little nod, and he gave you that SMIRK

and you couldn’t handle it so you just went back to pulling out books, trying to bury the burning on your face

joshua smirked EVEN more after noticing your burning cheeks that you were trying so hard to conceal

but then you got back into your zone of studying

an hour and a half later, joshua was done with his essay and just killing time

so he was just staring at you with a his head on his palm, elbow resting on the table

he noticed how you had a slight crease in your forehead at you reread a paragraph you didn’t understand, before making a note and highlighting it to review later

he also picked up on your habit of you biting your lip when you were writing a lot, one he found cute

he was just staring at you so intensely that it was a surprise you didn’t notice but then a vibration of his phone on the table snapped him out of his daze

it also snapped you out of your daze, as you looked up to him with a raised eyebrow

he cursed seungcheol for sending him a text at this moment he was checking you out

after noticing your slightly irritated look he mouthed a sorry to you before shutting his phone off

he barely even glanced at the message because he was so bitter LOL

you just shrugged it off before going back to what you were doing

and realizing the time joshua freaked out and starting packing his things up in a rush

him and the boys were having a surprise party for chan that was set to start in like twenty minutes LMAO

and the text from seungcheol was one actually yelling at him to get over there right now before he ruins the surprise

and in the midst of his frenzy he rushes out of the library, not realizing he left one of his notebooks

and when you looked up after taking a break from writing, you noticed he was gone but there was a notebook left on the table

because you were curious, you cautiously looked around before making your way to the table

cute boy not in sight, coast is clear

you picked up the notebook and saw “joshua hong” written across the cover in very fancy calligraphy

and now you were glad to put a name to the cute boy in the library

you were very tempted to flip through the notebook but you decided not to because privacy

instead, you held onto it hoping to give it back to him tomorrow

SO THAT YOU CAN FINALLY START A CONVERSATION WITH HIM

now back to joshua

he ran across campus to the dorms and where the party was going to be held at, showing up at the door as a sweaty mess

and of course, chan was there, about to open the door

“joshua?? what are you doing here???” chan asked as joshua cursed himself for almost ruining the surprise

“i, uh, i came to borrow some sugar? i was going to bake a cake??” joshua let out the most ridiculous excuse, knowing that he didn’t bake let alone know HOW to bake

chan was sus but didn’t question it any further

but then he opens the door and SURPRISE

and joshua is finally able to breathe again after realizing nothing went THAT wrong

other then the fact that he got roasted so hard by the boys

“where were you and why weren’t you answering you phone”

“i was at the library”

“chilling in the manga section again??”

“HEY it has a very good view o k a y and you”

OKAY MOVING ON BECAUSE THAT WAS A BIG DETOUR

next day you decided to go to the library a little earlier, so you could give joshua his notebook back

you always noticed how he was there before you, so you showed up an hour earlier than your normal time

and along the way you were practicing your lines to him because you did not want to mess up your first conversation with the cute boy

so you head to the normal manga section and just you luck, he was settling down and unpacking his stuff

you made a mental note of the time he arrived too

taking a deep breath, you gathered up your courage and walked up to him who was frantically searching for something, which you assumed was the notebook in you hands

“e-excuse me?” you called out, mentally yelling at yourself for stuttering

he slightly jumped but turned around to find you standing there and he was more SHOOK seeing you right there up close

“i think you left this here last night” you continued, holding out the notebook

he let out a sigh of relief

“thank you, i was actually looking for this” he spoke

and your heart fluttered because WOW his voice was heavenly

“yeah, no problem! you might want to watch over your things better next time!” you said, cracking a small smile

he lightly chuckled at that

“yeah i left in kind of a rush yesterday….do you want to sit down here?” he asked, gesturing towards the seat in front of him

he noticed how you were awkwardly shifting your weight on each foot from standing there for awhile a true gentleman

so you shyly nodded before taking the seat

“by the way, i’m joshua”

“i know, i guessed from the notebook.. but i’m y/n!!” you mentally screamed at yourself for letting your sarcasm slip out but he laughed a little so you were okay

and then you guys ended up having a conversation about school, talking about your majors and stuff

“wow business? that sounds…cool?” he said, trying to sound excited but you rolled your eyes at him

“you can say it’s boring i won’t be offended, but yeah it’s not for everyone”

“alright then yeah that sounds boring but hey i’m majoring in english!!! that’s pretty boring too”

and you laughed and you guys bonded over your boring majors

you guys ended up clicking very well, and ended up spending most of the time talking instead of studying tsk tsk

and it actually got so late that the librarian was basically kicking you out at the end of the night

you guys managed to exchange numbers and walked together to the dorms because they were in the same direction, continuing your random conversations

you guys even talked through text throughout the whole night, both falling asleep at like two am when you guys just knocked out

so from then on when you would go to the library to study, you migrated from your lonely table to joshua’s table that occasionally had a cup of coffee for you

“i didn’t know what you liked so i got you a plain coffee and picked up a bunch of sugar and creamer packets?” he said, pulling out handfuls of packets from his hoodie pocket

and you actually snorted in laughter

“wow thanks joshua i appreciate it but i think starbucks is out of sugar now” you kept laughing as he rolled his eyes at you

“just take it and be quiet so i can study in peace now” now it was your turn to roll your eyes at him

but then when it was time to study, you both seriously studied

it was silent for a few hours between you two with the occasional side comment in between

which was good because now you were less stressed for exams! and he was more prepared then he already was!

with exams getting closer, you guys ended up talking a bit less over text, but you two still studied at the same table

you both were too busy studying to have more random conversations sadly, but you guys still shared the daily smalltalk and side comments

so fast forward to the last day before exams, the library was filled with freaking out students and every table was filled

even the manga area had a lot more students than normal

but joshua kept the seat across from him empty

he actually placed his stuff there and when people asked if they could sit there he said it was reserved :-) for you

and you came in right when someone was about to argue with and took the seat, slightly glaring at them

they just rolled their eyes and left

“you showed up at the perfect time, who would’ve thought that my first fist fight would be over a library seat” he chuckled

you chuckled back at him, unpacking your stuff

“well i’m glad to be your savior, as always”

joshua smiled sincerely at that, because he really felt like you were his savior

not only from that angry student, but from loneliness as well

he always wanted a study buddy but when he asked his friends to study with him, they would always complain and talk and distract him so he stopped asking them

but then you showed up!!!

you were always there to keep him company and prevent him from losing his motivation, so he appreciated your presence a lot

and every day, he would thank himself for leaving that notebook there otherwise he didn’t know how else to approach you

but little did he know, you thanked him for the same thing because you were just like him

afraid to approach, but glad that you managed to find a reason to

because now you also had some motivation to study more and someone to keep you company!!

he was like your lucky charm, because you passed all your exams with flying colors

he could say the same to you, because he too passed with high scores

and even though there wasn’t a reason to study as much, you guys still met up in the library, at the table that was basically yours now

whether you guys would be reading manga from nearby shelves, watching documentaries on his laptop, or actually studying

having each others company was all that mattered ❤️

BABKSDAKJ OKAY NOW ITS TIME FOR ME TO WRITE THOSE ESSAYS but also i couldn’t decide between joshua or wonwoo for this so maybe study buddy!wonwoo in the future?? ;-)

[you-never-liked-this-sweater]

Connor Murphy x Reader: Zoe’s Brother (Soulmate!AU)

Word Count: 3241

Summary: Soulmates are born with marks on their bodies that reveal what their soulmates first words will be to them. Reader is born was a mark that they’re embarrassed of and want to find their soulmate simply so the mark would go away. When they move to a new town and attend a new school they finally get their wish.

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: A bunch of you sweet people really liked my last soulmate!au story so I thought I would write another one. Once again it’s unedited so if you see any huge flaws, let me know and I’ll fix them.

——————————————————

‘Get out of my fucking way!’

The words that you were born with, tattooed along your wrist. The words that your parents adamantly covered up through your childhood, careful to not let any of the other kids see in case the word caught on. Those words made it difficult for you during the summer, wearing long sleeved shirts or hoodies, rarely going swimming. When you were finally old enough to know what it was you instantly held a grudge against your soulmate for cursing you with such a horrible thing to have written on your skin. You told yourself that when the day came and you heard that phrase that you would have something even worse to snap back at them. But if felt like that day would never come. The years dragged on, and your senior year of high school rolled around. Your family had decided to move at the beginning of the summer. A job opportunity opened up and just like that you were uprooted and placed in a new town. On one hand, you had left close friends behind that you promised to keep in touch with, and on the other hand you knew that a new town meant new people. And new people meant the possibility of finding the asshole who made you cover up your arm since birth. 

Your day started out normal enough, alarm blaring, throwing on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and your favourite sweater as you hurried into the kitchen to start the day, hastily made breakfast and rushed to get ready in time to catch the bus. After an entire summer of sleeping in, the weight of waking up so early for the first day of school was weighing heavily on your shoulders. You knew what it would be like, going to school in senior year with no friends. You sat near the back of the bus, watching kids excitedly chat to each other, sharing what they did over the summer and talking about how amazing it was to see each other again. It made your stomach churn as you realized you would have to make an entirely new friend group or suffer through senior year alone. The moment you pushed into the school with the rest of the students getting off their buses you felt the anxiety of being alone finally set in and you tried to keep your head down as you headed to the office just inside the doors.

You approached the front desk, aware of the girl in front of you chatting with the secretary. The was very pretty, you realized instantly as you stood a few feet behind her. Long dirty blond hair, the front pulled back out of her face by a few hair-clips, a textured dark pink sweater, a pair of light blue jeans with a few stars scribbled along the cuffs, and a pair of worn in grey sneakers on her feet. She was leaning over the counter slightly, a happy smile on her face, “Sorry, I just wasn’t sure where we were meeting since Mr. Englund retired last year.”

“It’s no problem, dear,” The secretary smiled back as she typed away at her computer before looking up at the girl, “Jazz band has been moved to room 208 this semester.”

“Thanks a bunch,” The girl says before turning and almost running straight into you.

“Shit, sorry,” You say quickly, stepping back as you cringed, “I shouldn’t have been standing right behind you. I wasn’t thinking-”

“It’s fine, really, uh…” The girl responded, trailing off before she quirked a smile, “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new or am I just really not as observant as I thought I was?”

“Yeah, I’m f/n l/n. I moved here over the summer,” You explained, pulling your bag a little closer.

“I’m Zoe,” She says simply, folding her hands together in front of her, “If you don’t know anyone else here yet, feel free to come and sit with me and my friends at our table during lunch. We’re very nice people, I promise.”

“I’ll think about it,” You smile slightly, “Thanks.”

“It was nice meeting you,” She says, giving a small wave as she walked around you, hurrying towards what you assumed was her first class.

“Nice meeting you too,” You called after her before turning to the secretary, approaching as you began rooting for papers in your bag, “Hi, I’m f/n l/n. I was just wondering if I could get my schedule?”

“I’m sorry dear, our printer is broken at the moment but I can send a pdf version to your email if you’d like?” She suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” Pulling out your phone before you looked up at her, “Do you need my email?”

“I believe your preferred email is already attached to your student account,” She says, typing something out on the computer before looking up at you, “If there’s any issues with it, please feel free to come and let me know.”

You nodded and turned, walking from the room, saying a “thanks” behind you as you went.

Trying to keep your head down as you moved through the hallways, you pulled up your schedule on your phone, making a mental note to print it out in the computer lab later. Classes were uneventful, some ice breakers were attempted by the teachers, most of the kids participated in them including yourself but no one went out of their way to talk to you as you expected. When lunch eventually rolled around you found yourself standing off to the side of the lunchroom, clutching your lunch tray in your hands nervously. You had scanned the room three times and you didn’t see Zoe and contemplated if maybe she had lied to you and didn’t want you to sit with them and that she and her friends were now hiding from you somewhere else. Slowly you began making your way to the emptiest table you could find. A boy sat on one end of it, long hair hanging around his face as he stared down at an open book. From across the room he visibly tensed as if he could sense you headed in his direction and he looked up at you, eyes shining curiously.

Before you get even get remotely close to his table an arm caught yours and you looked over to see Zoe, a smile on her face, “Hey, sorry I was late. I wanted to talk to my teachers about maybe switching classes.”

“It’s okay,” You said quickly before glancing back at the boy who had his eyes narrowed, glaring back down at his book, “Who’s that?”

“That’s my brother, Connor. Trust me, you do not want to go anywhere near him. He’s a psychopath,” She cringed as if mentioning her brother physically hurt her. Zoe nodded towards the side of the room at a table occupied by a few people, “This way.” You cast Connor one last glance before heading off with Zoe to her table. As you approached the people there turned to look at you, shifting over so you and Zoe could join them. Zoe spoke up first as you took your seats, “Guys, this is y/n. I invited them to join us for lunch cause they’re new. Y/n, this is Kevin, Rosa, and Alana.”

The group chorused hellos and you gave a small wave back, “Hi.”

“So, y/n. Where are you from?” Alana asked, leaning forward in her seat with a smile.

“I moved from (hometown) late this June,” You say as you adjusted your food tray so it was closer to you before picking up a jello cup and a spoon.

“Never been there,” Alana said as she stabbed some of her salad with her fork, “I’ve heard good things about it though.”

You shrugged, “You’re not missing much.”

Zoe perked up suddenly as if she remembered something, nudging you, “Oh, show us your schedule so we can see if we’re in any of your classes.”

Plucking your phone from your pocket, you toss it onto the table in front of Zoe before eating a scoop of jello, casting your gaze over your shoulder at Connor who was still alone and still reading his book. As you stared at him you began to feel bad for him, sitting all alone, which was exactly what you were dreading doing today. Part of you wanted to go and say ‘hi’ but you didn’t want to be rude to Zoe, a potential friend. Additionally, the things she said about Connor cast a shadow of doubt over you and kept you in your seat.

“You’re in Kev’s math class with Ms. Bondy,” Zoe says, looking up from your phone, “And Alana is in your English class.”

“At least I won’t be alone like all my other classes today,” You say with a small smile before looking at Zoe, “Thanks for this. I was honestly kind of terrified of trying to make it through senior year by myself.”

She smiled back at you, “It’s no problem. If you ever need anything feel free to ask any of us. Especially Alana. She is the smartest person I know.”

Alana waved a hand dismissively at Zoe before smiling wide, “I know I am.”

“So humble,” Rosa speaks up, returning the wide smile.

“I’m not going to lie to our new acquaintance,” Alana beams, turning her attention to you, “I’m taking almost entirely AP classes so if you need help in any subject just let me know and I’d be glad to help.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You chuckled, resting your head in your hand.

“Yikes,” Zoe muttered beside you, staring down at your phone.

Your smile wavered and you looked at her in worry, “What?”

“You’re taking art with Mr. Reid?” She says, looking at you, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s my elective. Why?” You asked, suddenly anxious, “Is he a horrible teacher or something?”

“No, it’s just that Connor is in his class this semester too,” Zoe responds, nibbling her lip before looking back at the phone, “My advice is to just try and steer clear of him. Sit on the opposite side of the room. Don’t make eye contact.”

“Is he really that bad?” You picked at your food, losing your appetite.

“Honestly, he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Zoe says and she sounded completely sincere. She sighed, and looked back at you, “He’s got this explosive temper and anything can set him off. And when he gets angry he throws things and lashes out at anyone in the way which is me most of the time.”

“That sounds awful…” You muttered, glancing back the him to find that he was already gone from his table, a few new people filing into the space.

“He is,” She says, shaking her head, “Sorry, he’s just…I don’t like him. At some point he just became this monster.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” You say quickly.

“It’s fine. Really,” Zoe says with a weak smile.

“As exciting as this conversation is, I’m going to head to English class a few minutes early to make sure I get a seat in the front row. Are you coming, y/n?” Alana asks as she rises to her feet, moving her empty salad bowl onto her tray and picking it up.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yes,” You get up and glance down at your almost full tray of food. All of which seemed unappetizing to you at the moment so you ended up dumping it into the garbage on your way out of the room with Alana. You turned back to Zoe and gave a small wave which she returned happily before you disappeared out the cafeteria doors with Alana.

Alana was talkative throughout the entire period, you sat in the front row with her and she constantly had her hand raised to ask the teacher about different topics you would be covering over the course. The next period flew by and was equally as uneventful as the rest of the day. When the bell signaled the end of the day, you made your way towards the computer lab so you could print off your schedule while the rest of the student body flooded out the doors to catch their buses. You hoped this wouldn’t take that long so that you would still be able to catch your bus but as you approached the door of the computer lab and heard people talking inside, you felt like it was going to take longer than expected.

“Is this yours? I found it on the printer, it’s-it’s uh…’Dear Evan Hansen’, that’s you name, right?”

You saw Connor talking to a smaller boy who had a cast on his arm and you assumed that this was the ‘Evan’ who wrote the letter.

“Yeah, n-no-no, it’s just a stupid- it’s just this paper I have to write and it’s this stupid assignment-” Evan began stuttering, panicking as he reached towards the paper clutched in Connor’s hands.

“Because there’s Zoe…?” Connor’s voice was small and your brow furrowed, wondering why this kid ‘Evan’ would have written about Zoe, “Uh…is this about my sister?”

“Uh-N-No!” Evan reached for it again, but Connor held it back out of his reach. You stiffened in the doorway, watching the events unfold as you tugged at the sleeve of your sweater nervously. The body language Evan was giving off and the way he held himself showed just how terrified he was as you tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

“You wrote this because you knew that I would find it?” Connor stated.

“What?” Evan honestly sounded confused, arms drooping.

“Yeah-you uh…you saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab so you wrote this and you-” Connor began spiraling and rambling as his eyes burned holes through Evan, “-printed this out so I would find it.”

Evan shook his head, brows furrowing, “Why…why would I do that-”

“So, I would read some creepy shit you wrote about my sister and freak out, right?” Connor snapped, cutting him off as tears well in his eyes, “And then you can tell everybody that I’m crazy!”

“What?” Evan’s voice was small, and he seemed horrified.

“Right?!” Connor yelled.

“No, I-” Evan tried to speak but Connor shoved past him.

“Fuck you!” He called over his shoulder, letter still clenched in his hand as he rushed towards the door. “Get out of my fucking way!” Connor snapped, shoving past you as he ran from the computer lab.

Without realizing what he had said you quickly turned and rushed after him, reaching out to him, “Fuck- Connor, are you okay?”

You saw his entire body tense at those words and he stopped moving, standing a few feet away from you. The hallway was empty and it seemed like everything around you had stopped. It was quiet and you were momentarily confused at to why those words made him react this way. Then it dawned on you and you looked down at your arm, slowly rolling up the sleeve to look at the words tattooed there. ‘Get out of my fucking way!’

When you looked back up at Connor he was facing you, staring down at your mark as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his undershirt and pulled the collar of his shirt back to reveal the words ‘Fuck- Connor, are you okay?’ written in bold text. After a moment both marks faded out of existence, and his arm dropped back to his side, the letter he had been holding fell to the floor silently.

“You were the person staring at me in the cafeteria,” He looked at you, watching as if trying to decide if you were deceiving him in some way and had somehow planned this whole thing.

You flushed and you took your eyes off his collarbone, meeting his eyes as you quickly thought of an excuse, “I wanted to know what you were reading.”

His raised an eyebrow in question, “And here I thought you were checking me out.”

Your cheeks burned and you looked away from him, unsure of what to say to him.

“Fahrenheit 451.”

“What?” You looked up at him in confusion.

“The book I was reading,” He says as he looks down at his bag, “It was ‘Fahrenheit 451’. One of my favorites.”

“A fan of the classics?” You ask curiously.

“Books are better than people,” He states simply before glancing back at you.

“I don’t know. I think some people can be pretty cool,” You say, smiling warmly, “I’m y/n.”

The smallest of smiles pulled up at the corners of his mouth, “I’m Connor. But, I guess you already knew that.”

“Yeah, your sister has a very strong opinion of you,” You said, thinking back to the things she said about him.

Connor let out a breath, cringing slightly, “You were talking to her about me?”

“Only cause I asked about you,” You say as if trying to dismiss it but when you saw his eyebrows raise in question, your face heated up, “I mean, Zoe said we were in the same art class and seemed super distressed about it so I asked her why. So, I wasn’t just asking about you because I thought you were cute or something- but- shit- I’m not saying you’re not cute. I actually think you’re super attractive- I just…” You let out a breath and shook your head as you tried to stop your rambling, “Sorry, I’m just making this super weird…uh…”

He scoffed and looked away from you as if something on the wall was suddenly incredibly interesting as his cheeks flushed with colour, “Fuck off…”

“Do you want to go for a coffee, maybe?” You asked quickly before you psyched yourself out.

He seemed surprised, looking back at you quickly, “What?”

“I mean…we are sort of destined to be together, so I’d like to maybe hang out with you? Get to know you better? Maybe we could talk about our favourite books?” You suggest, a nervous smile on your face, “We could suggest some books to each other too? It could be a regular thing. We could meet every few days and talk about what we thought of each other’s book suggestions? Like book club? But uh…more like dates?”

“Dates?” He questions again, brow furrowing.

Your smile fell, “Fuck, you hate the idea, right? I’m sorry, I just got a little excited about spending time with you. We can do anything you want. We don’t even have to go for coffee.”

“It’s not that. I just…” Connor trailed off, jaw setting as his eyes darkened, “I had something planned for today after school…” He swallowed thickly and looked back to you, noticing the concern on your face.

“We don’t need to go if you had plans,” You say quickly, not wanting to take him away from whatever it was he had planned.

“No…” He said firmly, before letting out a soft breath, “I’d rather spend the day with you.”

“Really? I’m not going to keep you from anything?” You ask, still worried you were keeping him from something important.

“If anything, you’re stopping me from doing something stupid,” His eyes eased as he stared at you.

“So…it’s a date?” A smile worked its way onto your face hopefully.

He cracked a smile and chuckled breathlessly, “Yeah. It’s a date.”

[neruran]

Jumping Through Hoops

Series: My Hero Academia

Rating: T

Genre: Gen, Humour

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kaminari Denki, brief appearances/mentions of Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina, Sero Hanta, Jirou Kyouka, Bakugou Mitsuki

Other tags: Bakugou Katsuki Swears a Lot, rated for Bakugou’s potty mouth, Future Fic, mildly OOC

Summary: Bakugou walked into work with a sprained wrist one day.

Read on  AO3|FF.net

Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine because I love that show, and that cold open is definitely one of the best. Wrote most of this two days ago at 4am and figured it was funny enough to post.

As the above tags state, this takes place in the future when the Bakusquad have their own hero office together. This is irrelevant to the story, but my headcanon is that the agency is named after Bakugou at his insistence, but they’re all his partners rather than his sidekicks. He throws a fit every time someone calls them his sidekicks because he doesn’t need underlings, they’re all people who stand on equal ground with him. They all point out that maybe if they changed the name to something more general people would stop assuming but nope, Bakugou’s too stubborn. Anyway, on with the fic.

It was an ordinary day in the Bakusquad Hero Office (that wasn’t the actual name, but all the heroes in said office except for Bakugou called it that anyway when the public wasn’t listening). At least, it had been until Bakugou walked in looking his usual Morning Disgruntled (as opposed to his Afternoon Annoyed or his Neutral Frowny Disinterest) and a brace around his left wrist. Immediately everyone became curious, because Bakugou hardly ever got any injuries that would require more than a bandaid and the few times he did usually meant extended hospital stays.

“Whoa, Bakugou, you okay?” Kirishima asked, standing from his desk. “What happened?”

“Fucking nothing, I’m fine,” Bakugou grunted as he passed them all, headed for his office. He was the only one of their group to have his own office room, having won the honour in an arm wrestling tournament when they first moved into the space, just barely beating out Kirishima. The rest of them had their desks gathered in the centre of the main room, something they found to be a blessing for socialization and a curse against focus.

“Yeah Kiri, leave him be,” Kaminari said, leaning in his desk as he watched Bakugou step into the office. “If he says he’s fine then he’s fine…”

The others exchanged looks with each other, not at all convinced by Kaminari’s attempt to not arouse Bakugou’s suspicion, but shrugged it off when Bakugou paid them no mind, kicking the door halfway shut. Once satisfied that Bakugou was going to be distracted, Kaminari turned back around, gesturing for everyone to move in closer.

“So I know our man Bakugou isn’t normally very forthcoming with this kind of stuff, but the fact he doesn’t look any more annoyed than usual and isn’t bragging or complaining about his latest arrest could only mean one thing,” he whispered once his friends and colleagues were huddled in.

“He’s...secretly doing some vigilante work?” Kirishima suggested, unsure.

“No, of course not, it means he probably hurt himself doing something stupid or embarrassing, but he’s trying to act like normal so we don’t get suspicious! Like, I dunno, maybe he hurt himself smiling like a normal person or something.”

“How the heck would he hurt his wrist of all things by smiling?” Ashido asked incredulously.

“I don’t know, Bakugou would find a way!”

“Maybe he just took up a new sport or something?” Jirou - who wasn’t part of their crew ordinarily, having her own hero office, but she was collaborating with Sero on a case that week - piped in.

“Like what? Last I heard, there hasn’t been anything called Murderball invented yet, and you really think he wouldn’t brag about a hard-won injury in something like that?” Sero countered.

Jirou shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”

“Oi, dipshits.” They all turned to see Bakugou standing just outside his office, glaring at them. Evidently they hadn’t heard the door creak open in their distraction. “I’m not fucking deaf, I can hear you just fine in my office.”

Kirishima was the only one who at all looked sheepish at being called out for gossipping; Sero, Jirou, Kaminari, and Ashido meanwhile all mimed varying degrees of innocence.

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou stepped closer, holding up his wrist. “Before you start getting some other dumbass ideas, an asshole plowed into me while I was walking home yesterday and I sprained my wrist when I fell over. Wasn’t an emergency and it’s been a stupidly slow week with work so I couldn’t get an appointment to have it healed until the day after tomorrow. Fucking simple as that,” he explained, storming over to the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup. “Didn’t think it was relevant to anything you idiots were supposed to be doing, so I wasn’t assed to explain.” Coffee poured, he turned back to the group, glaring. “Get your asses in gear. Since I can’t use my quirk with my left hand for the next 48 hours unless I want to make the sprain worse, you fuckers gotta pick up the slack, and anyone who’s sticking around to do paperwork will have me getting on their case to get it done.”

Disappointed with the lack of juicy details and properly cowed, the crowd dispersed, Kirishima and Ashido heading out on patrol while Jirou and Sero took to the break room to discuss their case in private. Kaminari pouted, turning in his chair to start work on some paperwork he was behind on.

“Hey Drooly.”

He looked up to see Bakugou standing beside his desk, expression carefully schooled to be unreadable. Idly Kaminari thought Bakugou’s “blank face” looked a lot like Todoroki’s default expression and had to wonder if that was on purpose. “Uh, yeah man?”

Bakugou did a quick glance from side to side, making sure the others were either gone or not listening before he leaned in closer. “Wanna how how I actually sprained my wrist?”

“Yes,” Kaminari answered immediately, eyes going wide in curious glee. Bakugou was confiding in him? Really? He knew they were good friends, but Bakugou generally chose Kirishima over him to tell secrets. This one must have been something big if he didn’t want to tell his best friend.

Bakugou paused a moment, then spoke quietly and seriously. “I was hula hooping.”

Well, of all the things Kaminari was expecting, that hadn’t been one of them, but boy howdy was it so much better than whatever his imagination could come up with. It couldn’t be real, Bakugou had to be pulling his leg. The disbelief must have showed on his face, because Bakugou pulled out his phone and tapped a couple times before showing it to Kaminari, revealing a picture slideshow of Bakugou indeed hula hooping. Kaminari couldn’t believe his eyes.

“My old hag convinced me to try a class out with her since Dad was busy, and it was actually surprisingly fun and relaxing,” Bakugou continued, swiping through the various pictures, likely taken by his mother. “I mastered all the tricks, because I don’t halfass anything. The pizza toss, the scorpion, you name it.”

This was too good to be true. Kaminari could feel himself practically vibrating in his seat at the sheer amazingness of this information. Oh, wait until the others heard this...Awestruck and so excited, he turned to Bakugou with wide eyes. “Why are you telling me this?” he whispered. Had he finally reached the same friendship level Kirishima was at? Was he beyond it?

Bakugou looked him dead in the eye. “Because no one will ever believe you.” And with those ominous words, he clicked delete on the photo album, destroying the evidence.

Kaminari’s face melted into absolute horror, a strangled sound coming out of his throat; Bakugou grinned deviously. “Nonono!” Kaminari wailed, reaching for the phone to try and reverse the deletion, but Bakugou cackled and moved out of the way. “Ugh! No matter, I can recover it, I’m sure it’s in a cloud somewhere!” Being the resident IT had to be good for something besides giving the shitty printer they’d gotten third-hand a little jolt to make it behave or performing percussive maintenance on the stubborn router.

“Nice try, but I already accounted for that. Those were the only copies that will ever see human eyes ever again,” Bakugou jeered. “Have fun!”

“You sadistic asshole!” Kaminari cried after him, dropping his head to his desk when Bakugou merely cackled harder and disappeared into his office, door properly closing this time. He wanted to sob.

Jirou and Sero poked their heads out of the break room curiously. “What just happened?” Jirou asked, voice confused and suspicious. Few good things happened when Bakugou cackled, she had a right to be wary.

Kaminari did sob, because Bakugou was right; he could explain all he wanted, but without evidence to back up his story, their friends would all think he was just making it up. Bakugou hula hooping, and enjoying it at that? You’d have be on some wacky substance to come up with that one. He regretted explaining to Bakugou how hackers and criminals cover their digital footprints and expunge incriminating information. His only other option was begging Mitsuki, and, well, Bakugou got his twisted sense of humour from somewhere. More than likely if he asked, she’d either withhold the evidence or deny it all together just to see him squirm more, especially if her son discussed his plans beforehand.

The next two days involved Bakugou casually dropping the word “hoop” in random conversations whenever Kaminari was in earshot (and twice managing to sneak “hula” in without raising any eyebrows) and relishing in his friend’s slow descent into madness. When Bakugou finally sauntered into work brace-less, Kaminari knew that he looked far too happy and excited than what was deemed normal, but he found he didn't care.

I'm pretty sure Bakugou is a sadistic troll when he's bored or properly motivated. Poor Kaminari. If you're wondering why he picked Kaminari, it was entirely because he was behind on his paperwork and was the least likely person to be able to convince his mother to send copies. Please leave a comment, kudos, or reblog this post if you enjoyed this!

[cajunroe]

bradray + college!au ↳ ray didn’t believe in love at first sight, but damn it if the world wasn’t testing him. in his four years at the university, he’s never seen anyone like the man that he saw walking across campus. tall, really fucking tall, blonde hair, built like a tank, and when they made eye contact he swore the man felt the same charge he did. and ray? ray was in love. in possible every sense of the word. the man looked at him again, but then he kept walking. ray wanted to chase after the guy, needed to chase after him, there was something that compelled him to go. this was the the nth time he’d seen this guy and everytime he’d just miss him. unfortunately, his class had run over and he was late for work at the local radio station. as he got comfortable in the booth, a thought came to him and he laughed into his intro. if he couldn’t find the, quite possible, love of his life, maybe the love of his life would find him. ray doesn’t think about it, has never really thought the consequences of his actions, but the results of his actions lead to something he never imagined.

ray looked at walt who was shaking his head, but signalling ray’s intro anyway.

he didn’t care if walt thought this was a bad idea, at least it was an idea. walt had offered nothing in return while ray went on and on about the guy he saw.

“ray, i get it. the guy is hot. doesn’t mean you’re in love.”

ray looked intensely at walt, eye narrowing, “he isn’t just hot walt. he’s more than that.”

walt saw how serious ray was, for once nothing but sincerity in his expression, “how do you know?”

ray shrugged and put on his atrocious black and gold sunglass, “i just know.” and went into the booth.

he laughed as the familiar sounds flowed into his ears through the headphones.

“hey everybody! how we doin’? good? alright you guys before we get you all rockin’ and rollin’ like pimps, i have to be honest, i need your help. i’ve seen this guy on campus for the past couple of months. looks like a damn viking, i swear. he’s tall, blonde hair, and blue eyes and he was wearing a black shirt today. not the most specific description, but bear with me, i swear this guy is the one. homes, if any of you saw him or know him, call in. no joke, you guys are the best and i really need your help. okay now with all my beautiful gay shit out of the way, let’s get started with some presley.”

ray queued “i’m all shook up” and smiled when he saw walt roll his eyes and throw his hands into the air.

nate listened to the radio in the car, waiting for brad to get out of class so they could start their project for military strategies.

“...looked like a damn viking...tall, blonde hair, and blue eyes and he was wearing a black shirt.”

nate thought it kind of sounded like brad, but there’s no way.

just then he saw brad walking down the stairs of the history building and choked. he was wearing a black shirt today.

“ray...no fucking way!” he shouted.

he started laughing and didn’t stop until they were on the road and brad asked him, “why the fucking are you laughing like that?” 

nate just shrugged and smiled.

“nothing, how were your classes today?”

“fine.” brad said, clipped. normally he’d be going on a rant about the institution that he was attending and how it’s systematically destroy capitalism or some other tangent.

“what’s on your mind?” nate asked casually, like he wasn’t fishing for information, even though brad knew he was.

“nothing.”

“brad.”

“i saw that guy on campus again today and i don’t know, something happened. it’s weird. everything about it is so fucking weird.”

nate nodded and the two drove as the radio played ‘complicated’ by avril lavigne.

when he heard brad singing along gently, he smiled.

nate wished he could rewind the radio, instead he took the longest way possible to their library, stopping for coffee, in hopes that someone would call and brad could hear it.

so far, they had no luck. six calls in twenty minutes and none of them panned out.

walt chimed in his ear, “ray i think this might be the real deal. line 3.”

ray answered and hit record just in case.

“this is ray ray wattup homes?”

“yeah i know exactly who you’re talking about.”

“okay, wanna be a little less vague man?” 

“look, he’ll be at the library until ten tonight.” 

“okay, you sound like a psycho, but thanks for trying man.”

“i’m not joking. his name is brad and he’ll be there, i promise you.”

the man hung up and ray laughed when walt put his fists in the air, more happy that ray would do his job rather than if he found the guy he hasn’t shut up about.

walt queued him in again after another song finished.

“thanks for all the help everyone! i think i found something legit. thank you caller number seven. now it’s 7:30 everyone, so for the next half hour, you know what that means!”

ray queued a shuffled selection of one direction and left the booth for his break.

walt met him in the hallway and laughed as ray shoved an entire candy bar in his mouth.

“you’re a real catch, person.”

ray smiled, chocolate covering his teeth and dripping out of his mouth.

“fanks falt” ray attempted to say.

he chugged a bottle of water and waited for walt to say whatever he was waiting to say.

“so what’re you gonna do ray?”

“i’m gonna do what i always do hassler, fuck everything up.”

walt smiled and nodded, “good. so long as we’re all on the same page.”

nate hung up the phone just as brad was getting back into the car.

“they didn’t have that gay mineral shit you drink so i grabbed regular water because you should have some sort of balls when it comes to your choice in beverage.”

nate laughed and pulled out of the gas station, “for someone who’s gay, you use that adjective a lot.”

brad smiled as he looked out the window, “yeah, because i know what gay is and mineral water is gay as shit, nate.”

nate just laughed more and turned up the radio.

brad groaned and tried to change it but nate slapped his hand away.

“i hate this guy, he talks too much.”

nate choked on the water he was trying to drink.

brad slapped him on the back a couple times.

“what’s with you today man?”

“n-nothing,” nate gasped. 

they pulled into the library just as ’what makes you beautiful’ started playing.

nate hoped he was right about this, if not he would just end up seeing his two best friends hurt.

ray’s shift ended around nine and it took him thirty minutes to get back to campus because of construction, ten to find a parking spot, and five to make it into the library.

“we close in fifteen minutes,” the uninterested receptionist said without looking up from her magazine.

“yeah i know, i’m not a fucking idiot.”

she looked up, appalled, but ray was already halfway down the hall.

so ray was here, and apparently this brad guy was too. the only problem was that there nine fucking floors and the library was huge. caller seven could’ve at least said where he was going to be.

“fuck!” 

some people at a table nearby shushed him and he held his middle finger up as he walked away.

he sighed, defeated and went outside to smoke and call walt.

“no luck, man. did you know the library was a fucking mansion?”

“did you look on the other floors?”

“no.”

“ray!”

“look walt disney, he probably wasn’t even here. the caller was probably just some fucking prick playing a joke.”

“ray person, you get your gay ass in there and find this guy. i’m not gonna listen to you for the next month whining.”

“but-”

“just go!”

walt hung up abruptly and ray cursed, stubbed out his cigarette and moved to go back inside.

he was checking his phone when he opened the door and didn’t see the someone was walking out.

he crashed into the other person and it felt like he hit a brick wall.

not looking up he yelled, “fuck! watch where you’re fucking walking man.”

“me? you’re too busy looking at your phone to notice someone was fucking walking out.”

ray looked up as the other man looked down and both of their hearts skipped a beat.

“you!” the both said simultaneously.

the stared at one another, both feeling something powerful, but neither knowing what to say. 

“i-” ray started but some opened the door on the other side of him and it knocked him into brad.

“you’re a clumsy piece of shit, aren’t you?” brad asked, not heat in his words, just an odd fondness.

ray looked up to see a bright smile on brad’s face.

“what can i say, bradley? i guess i’m falling for you.” 

in that moment, ray remembered that grandmother always used to say that his mouth moved faster than the speed of light. he assumed she meant that no one could ever catch up, but this time it included himself and he, for once in his light, cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke.

luckily or unluckily, nate chose that moment to interrupt.

“brad the printer in there is fubared, i’ll just print it at my apart-oh...ray....brad...am i interrupting something?”

ray assumed they paint quite the picture. brad was holding onto ray’s arms, tightly if ray was to say anything about it, and ray’s hands were on brad’s broad, warm chest. 

brad pushed ray away, harshly, and said, “no.” 

he turned and walked down the stairs like he hadn’t just broken ray’s heart.

nate waited until brad was far enough away before he turned to ray, “you okay?”

“you?! it was fucking you! and you knew? and let me come here like a fucking idiot?”

nate flinched at ray’s angered passion.

“ray, li-”

“no nate! i thought i could fucking trust you and then you pull this? christ i’ve been talking about this guy for so fucking long and you knew how i felt and you knew the whole fucking time? fuck you nate!” 

ray ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

“ray!” nate tried, but his friend was gone...possibly for good.

“fuck!” 

the group from the table had walked out and gasped at his outburst.

“fuck off,” he shouted at them and walked back to his car.

brad was miserable, he’d, quite literally, pushed away the guy that had been tormenting him for months. he fucked up and he didn’t know why he did what he did.

ray was miserable. he knew he’d fuck things up, like he always did. he just didn’t expect nate, of all people, to fuck him over. 

nate was miserable. mostly because his two best friends were miserable and because ray wouldn’t talk to him. he needed a plan, he needed...he needed walt!

“hey hass, it’s me. listen, what do you think about a party?”

“i think it’s a word. what are you talking about?”

“look i know ray is probably driving you mad with the moping, right?”

“like you would not believe. do you know how many times i’ve had to listen to my heart will go on?”

nate laughed.

“it’s not funny nate! it’s not even the real version! it’s an instrumental and ray sings the whole thing!”

nate laughed harder, “look things aren’t good on my end either. brad won’t talk to anyone and he just stares out the window like a lost puppy. he hasn’t said a single word to me since last week. i don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

walt sighed, “alright look i’ll talk to ray and you talk to brad and we’ll talk tonight and see what’s up. if all else fails, we throw a party and lock them in a room together because our lives are jokes.”

nate found brad where he’d been for the past week, in the chair by the front window, staring outside.

“brad, i know you don’t want to talk, but for it’s been a fucking week. tell me what’s going on.”

brad stared at nate for a long time before looking back out the window and asking nate something he’d never thought brad would ask.

“do you believe in love at first sight?”

nate smiled, “yeah i do.”

“don’t smile. it’s a fucking curse, nate.”

nate frowned, “so you’re in love?”

brad sighed, “i think so, but i fucked it up. it’s weird, ray’s not even my type. like he’s somehow the furthest thing from my type, but i’m drawn to him regardless.”

nate struggled for a response, he wasn’t used to brad being so open. hell, half the time he wasn’t sure brad was feeling anything beside annoyance and tolerance. for brad to talk to him like this, it had to be serious to him.

“so...what do you want to do about it?”

“something. fuck, nothing. i don’t fucking know.”

nate was curious, brad might shut down if he pushed too hard, but he had to try.

“brad, when you think about ray, how do you feel?”

brad was silent for a long time, so long that nate didn’t think he’d answer.

brad whispered, “happy.”

nate smiled, “good. now i have a plan.”

brad rolled his eyes, “your plans never fucking work nate. their snafued before they even start.”

“yeah well half the time it’s because none of you ever fucking listen to me.”

brad smiled and nate was relieved that they were finally getting somewhere.

the part at walt’s apartment was in full swing. music blasting, people dancing, and laughing was heard all around.

ray sat in a corner by the window and ignored all of it. 

walt had tried to talk to him about brad, but ray didn’t say one word, just told him to fuck off and would leave the room.

walt was keeping an eye on his friend when his phone buzzed.

nate: we’re almost there. is he there? 

walt: yeah he’s moping in the corner. you sure this’ll work?

nate: i hope. but it’ll probably be a disaster because brad colbert is acting like a nervous teenager and driving like a madman. we’ll mostly likely be dead by the end of the night.

walt: good thing there’s plenty of booze.

nate and brad walked up to the third floor and to walt’s door.

nate knocked when he heard brad swear.

“what is it?”

“i can’t do this.”

brad turned his back on nate, but didn’t walk away.

“brad.”

brad spoke without turning around.

“no this isn’t something i do, nate. i can’t look at him without feeling like a fucking schoolgirl, okay?”

“b-brad.”

“i’ve barely spoke three sentences to ray and some part of me knows him like the back of my hand and i can’t get him out of my head.”

“BRAD.”

“and it freaks me the fuck out because how do you tell someone, you’ve never really met, that you love them? and i fucking love him.”

“BRAD!”

brad turned around and his heart stopped.

walt heard a knock at the door but was “in the middle of something” and asked ray to get it.

ray sighed and went to open the door, surprised to see nate there, but even more surprised to hear someone yelling in the hall.

nate’s eyes widened and he tried to get brad’s attention.

“...i can’t look at him without feeling like a fucking schoolgirl, okay?”

he tried again.

“...i can’t get him out of my head.”

and again.

“...i fucking love him.”

and the last time worked.

brad stared at ray, whose jaw had nearly hit the floor.

ray stared at brad, who looked like he was about to run away and never come back.

nate looked at the two of them with fondness, “i’m just gonna...i gotta...beer.”

he pushed ray out of the way and slammed and locked the door.

neither man spoke, just awkwardly stared at one another.

ray spoke first, “hi.”

brad released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“hi.”

ray laughed, “well this is the most ridiculous gay shit i’ve been a part of and i’ve done some gay shit let me tell you.”

he was rambling, like usual, but it did the job. brad laughed and stepped a little closer to ray.

then he asked ray the most ridiculous question.

“do you drink mineral water?”

ray scoffed, “i said i’m gay man, not fucking weird.”

brad laughed and moved closer to ray, effective pinning him to the door.

for a long moment they just looked at one another, still feeling that same pull they’d first felt months ago, only this time is was much, much stronger.

“can i kiss you?” brad asked awkwardly, but he needed to know ray was on the same page.

“what the fuck else do you think i want you to do?”

brad smiled, smug and satisfied before he leaned in and kiss ray within an inch of his life.

walt groaned, it was the third day in a row, and ray would not stop playing love songs.

“well gang, that’s a wrap on tonight. i guess i can tell you that your old pal ray ray is officially off the market. in love and gay as hell. my mother would be moderately proud. bradley, this one is for you baby.”

ray queued ‘teenage dirtbag’ and smiled when brad came into the booth.

“that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

ray smiled, “really?”

“no. now get the fuck up, we both have two days off and i plan on spending the next 48 hours fucking you on every available surface.”

ray groaned, “god i love you.”

brad smiled, the one that told ray everything he needed to know.

“i love you too, shithead.”

...but sometimes he enjoyed hearing it too.

@thebenevolentberserker - thank you! send me a pairing and an au and i’ll make an aesthetic post + ficlet