#2022 Spring Training | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariacallous · 10 days ago

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On a blustery spring Thursday, just after midterms, I went out for noodles with Alex and Eugene, two undergraduates at New York University, to talk about how they use artificial intelligence in their schoolwork. When I first met Alex, last year, he was interested in a career in the arts, and he devoted a lot of his free time to photo shoots with his friends. But he had recently decided on a more practical path: he wanted to become a C.P.A. His Thursdays were busy, and he had forty-five minutes until a study session for an accounting class. He stowed his skateboard under a bench in the restaurant and shook his laptop out of his bag, connecting to the internet before we sat down.

Alex has wavy hair and speaks with the chill, singsong cadence of someone who has spent a lot of time in the Bay Area. He and Eugene scanned the menu, and Alex said that they should get clear broth, rather than spicy, ��so we can both lock in our skin care.” Weeks earlier, when I’d messaged Alex, he had said that everyone he knew used ChatGPT in some fashion, but that he used it only for organizing his notes. In person, he admitted that this wasn’t remotely accurate. “Any type of writing in life, I use A.I.,” he said. He relied on Claude for research, DeepSeek for reasoning and explanation, and Gemini for image generation. ChatGPT served more general needs. “I need A.I. to text girls,” he joked, imagining an A.I.-enhanced version of Hinge. I asked if he had used A.I. when setting up our meeting. He laughed, and then replied, “Honestly, yeah. I’m not tryin’ to type all that. Could you tell?”

OpenAI released ChatGPT on November 30, 2022. Six days later, Sam Altman, the C.E.O., announced that it had reached a million users. Large language models like ChatGPT don’t “think” in the human sense—when you ask ChatGPT a question, it draws from the data sets it has been trained on and builds an answer based on predictable word patterns. Companies had experimented with A.I.-driven chatbots for years, but most sputtered upon release; Microsoft’s 2016 experiment with a bot named Tay was shut down after sixteen hours because it began spouting racist rhetoric and denying the Holocaust. But ChatGPT seemed different. It could hold a conversation and break complex ideas down into easy-to-follow steps. Within a month, Google’s management, fearful that A.I. would have an impact on its search-engine business, declared a “code red.”

Among educators, an even greater panic arose. It was too deep into the school term to implement a coherent policy for what seemed like a homework killer: in seconds, ChatGPT could collect and summarize research and draft a full essay. Many large campuses tried to regulate ChatGPT and its eventual competitors, mostly in vain. I asked Alex to show me an example of an A.I.-produced paper. Eugene wanted to see it, too. He used a different A.I. app to help with computations for his business classes, but he had never gotten the hang of using it for writing. “I got you,” Alex told him. (All the students I spoke with are identified by pseudonyms.)

He opened Claude on his laptop. I noticed a chat that mentioned abolition. “We had to read Robert Wedderburn for a class,” he explained, referring to the nineteenth-century Jamaican abolitionist. “But, obviously, I wasn’t tryin’ to read that.” He had prompted Claude for a summary, but it was too long for him to read in the ten minutes he had before class started. He told me, “I said, ‘Turn it into concise bullet points.’ ” He then transcribed Claude’s points in his notebook, since his professor ran a screen-free classroom.

Alex searched until he found a paper for an art-history class, about a museum exhibition. He had gone to the show, taken photographs of the images and the accompanying wall text, and then uploaded them to Claude, asking it to generate a paper according to the professor’s instructions. “I’m trying to do the least work possible, because this is a class I’m not hella fucking with,” he said. After skimming the essay, he felt that the A.I. hadn’t sufficiently addressed the professor’s questions, so he refined the prompt and told it to try again. In the end, Alex’s submission received the equivalent of an A-minus. He said that he had a basic grasp of the paper’s argument, but that if the professor had asked him for specifics he’d have been “so fucked.” I read the paper over Alex’s shoulder; it was a solid imitation of how an undergraduate might describe a set of images. If this had been 2007, I wouldn’t have made much of its generic tone, or of the precise, box-ticking quality of its critical observations.

Eugene, serious and somewhat solemn, had been listening with bemusement. “I would not cut and paste like he did, because I’m a lot more paranoid,” he said. He’s a couple of years younger than Alex and was in high school when ChatGPT was released. At the time, he experimented with A.I. for essays but noticed that it made easily noticed errors. “This passed the A.I. detector?” he asked Alex.

When ChatGPT launched, instructors adopted various measures to insure that students’ work was their own. These included requiring them to share time-stamped version histories of their Google documents, and designing written assignments that had to be completed in person, over multiple sessions. But most detective work occurs after submission. Services like GPTZero, Copyleaks, and Originality.ai analyze the structure and syntax of a piece of writing and assess the likelihood that it was produced by a machine. Alex said that his art-history professor was “hella old,” and therefore probably didn’t know about such programs. We fed the paper into a few different A.I.-detection websites. One said there was a twenty-eight-per-cent chance that the paper was A.I.-generated; another put the odds at sixty-one per cent. “That’s better than I expected,” Eugene said.

I asked if he thought what his friend had done was cheating, and Alex interrupted: “Of course. Are you fucking kidding me?”

As we looked at Alex’s laptop, I noticed that he had recently asked ChatGPT whether it was O.K. to go running in Nike Dunks. He had concluded that ChatGPT made for the best confidant. He consulted it as one might a therapist, asking for tips on dating and on how to stay motivated during dark times. His ChatGPT sidebar was an index of the highs and lows of being a young person. He admitted to me and Eugene that he’d used ChatGPT to draft his application to N.Y.U.—our lunch might never have happened had it not been for A.I. “I guess it’s really dishonest, but, fuck it, I’m here,” he said.

“It’s cheating, but I don’t think it’s, like, cheating,” Eugene said. He saw Alex’s art-history essay as a victimless crime. He was just fulfilling requirements, not training to become a literary scholar.

Alex had to rush off to his study session. I told Eugene that our conversation had made me wonder about my function as a professor. He asked if I taught English, and I nodded.

“Mm, O.K.,” he said, and laughed. “So you’re, like, majorly affected.”

I teach at a small liberal-arts college, and I often joke that a student is more likely to hand in a big paper a year late (as recently happened) than to take a dishonorable shortcut. My classes are small and intimate, driven by processes and pedagogical modes, like letting awkward silences linger, that are difficult to scale. As a result, I have always had a vague sense that my students are learning something, even when it is hard to quantify. In the past, if I was worried that a paper had been plagiarized, I would enter a few phrases from it into a search engine and call it due diligence. But I recently began noticing that some students’ writing seemed out of synch with how they expressed themselves in the classroom. One essay felt stitched together from two minds—half of it was polished and rote, the other intimate and unfiltered. Having never articulated a policy for A.I., I took the easy way out. The student had had enough shame to write half of the essay, and I focussed my feedback on improving that part.

It’s easy to get hung up on stories of academic dishonesty. Late last year, in a survey of college and university leaders, fifty-nine per cent reported an increase in cheating, a figure that feels conservative when you talk to students. A.I. has returned us to the question of what the point of higher education is. Until we’re eighteen, we go to school because we have to, studying the Second World War and reducing fractions while undergoing a process of socialization. We’re essentially learning how to follow rules. College, however, is a choice, and it has always involved the tacit agreement that students will fulfill a set of tasks, sometimes pertaining to subjects they find pointless or impractical, and then receive some kind of credential. But even for the most mercenary of students, the pursuit of a grade or a diploma has come with an ancillary benefit. You’re being taught how to do something difficult, and maybe, along the way, you come to appreciate the process of learning. But the arrival of A.I. means that you can now bypass the process, and the difficulty, altogether.

There are no reliable figures for how many American students use A.I., just stories about how everyone is doing it. A 2024 Pew Research Center survey of students between the ages of thirteen and seventeen suggests that a quarter of teens currently use ChatGPT for schoolwork, double the figure from 2023. OpenAI recently released a report claiming that one in three college students uses its products. There’s good reason to believe that these are low estimates. If you grew up Googling everything or using Grammarly to give your prose a professional gloss, it isn’t far-fetched to regard A.I. as just another productivity tool. “I see it as no different from Google,” Eugene said. “I use it for the same kind of purpose.”

Being a student is about testing boundaries and staying one step ahead of the rules. While administrators and educators have been debating new definitions for cheating and discussing the mechanics of surveillance, students have been embracing the possibilities of A.I. A few months after the release of ChatGPT, a Harvard undergraduate got approval to conduct an experiment in which it wrote papers that had been assigned in seven courses. The A.I. skated by with a 3.57 G.P.A., a little below the school’s average. Upstart companies introduced products that specialized in “humanizing” A.I.-generated writing, and TikTok influencers began coaching their audiences on how to avoid detection.

Unable to keep pace, academic administrations largely stopped trying to control students’ use of artificial intelligence and adopted an attitude of hopeful resignation, encouraging teachers to explore the practical, pedagogical applications of A.I. In certain fields, this wasn’t a huge stretch. Studies show that A.I. is particularly effective in helping non-native speakers acclimate to college-level writing in English. In some STEM classes, using generative A.I. as a tool is acceptable. Alex and Eugene told me that their accounting professor encouraged them to take advantage of free offers on new A.I. products available only to undergraduates, as companies competed for student loyalty throughout the spring. In May, OpenAI announced ChatGPT Edu, a product specifically marketed for educational use, after schools including Oxford University, Arizona State University, and the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business experimented with incorporating A.I. into their curricula. This month, the company detailed plans to integrate ChatGPT into every dimension of campus life, with students receiving “personalized” A.I. accounts to accompany them throughout their years in college.

But for English departments, and for college writing in general, the arrival of A.I. has been more vexed. Why bother teaching writing now? The future of the midterm essay may be a quaint worry compared with larger questions about the ramifications of artificial intelligence, such as its effect on the environment, or the automation of jobs. And yet has there ever been a time in human history when writing was so important to the average person? E-mails, texts, social-media posts, angry missives in comments sections, customer-service chats—let alone one’s actual work. The way we write shapes our thinking. We process the world through the composition of text dozens of times a day, in what the literary scholar Deborah Brandt calls our era of “mass writing.” It’s possible that the ability to write original and interesting sentences will become only more important in a future where everyone has access to the same A.I. assistants.

Corey Robin, a writer and a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, read the early stories about ChatGPT with skepticism. Then his daughter, a sophomore in high school at the time, used it to produce an essay that was about as good as those his undergraduates wrote after a semester of work. He decided to stop assigning take-home essays. For the first time in his thirty years of teaching, he administered in-class exams.

Robin told me he finds many of the steps that universities have taken to combat A.I. essays to be “hand-holding that’s not leading people anywhere.” He has become a believer in the passage-identification blue-book exam, in which students name and contextualize excerpts of what they’ve read for class. “Know the text and write about it intelligently,” he said. “That was a way of honoring their autonomy without being a cop.”

His daughter, who is now a senior, complains that her teachers rarely assign full books. And Robin has noticed that college students are more comfortable with excerpts than with entire articles, and prefer short stories to novels. “I don’t get the sense they have the kind of literary or cultural mastery that used to be the assumption upon which we assigned papers,” he said. One study, published last year, found that fifty-eight per cent of students at two Midwestern universities had so much trouble interpreting the opening paragraphs of “Bleak House,” by Charles Dickens, that “they would not be able to read the novel on their own.” And these were English majors.

The return to pen and paper has been a common response to A.I. among professors, with sales of blue books rising significantly at certain universities in the past two years. Siva Vaidhyanathan, a professor of media studies at the University of Virginia, grew dispirited after some students submitted what he suspected was A.I.-generated work for an assignment on how the school’s honor code should view A.I.-generated work. He, too, has decided to return to blue books, and is pondering the logistics of oral exams. “Maybe we go all the way back to 450 B.C.,” he told me.

But other professors have renewed their emphasis on getting students to see the value of process. Dan Melzer, the director of the first-year composition program at the University of California, Davis, recalled that “everyone was in a panic” when ChatGPT first hit. Melzer’s job is to think about how writing functions across the curriculum so that all students, from prospective scientists to future lawyers, get a chance to hone their prose. Consequently, he has an accommodating view of how norms around communication have changed, especially in the internet age. He was sympathetic to kids who viewed some of their assignments as dull and mechanical and turned to ChatGPT to expedite the process. He called the five-paragraph essay—the classic “hamburger” structure, consisting of an introduction, three supporting body paragraphs, and a conclusion—“outdated,” having descended from élitist traditions.

Melzer believes that some students loathe writing because of how it’s been taught, particularly in the past twenty-five years. The No Child Left Behind Act, from 2002, instituted standards-based reforms across all public schools, resulting in generations of students being taught to write according to rigid testing rubrics. As one teacher wrote in the Washington Post in 2013, students excelled when they mastered a form of “bad writing.” Melzer has designed workshops that treat writing as a deliberative, iterative process involving drafting, feedback (from peers and also from ChatGPT), and revision.

“If you assign a generic essay topic and don’t engage in any process, and you just collect it a month later, it’s almost like you’re creating an environment tailored to crime,” he said. “You’re encouraging crime in your community!”

I found Melzer’s pedagogical approach inspiring; I instantly felt bad for routinely breaking my class into small groups so that they could “workshop” their essays, as though the meaning of this verb were intuitively clear. But, as a student, I’d have found Melzer’s focus on process tedious—it requires a measure of faith that all the work will pay off in the end. Writing is hard, regardless of whether it’s a five-paragraph essay or a haiku, and it’s natural, especially when you’re a college student, to want to avoid hard work—this is why classes like Melzer’s are compulsory. “You can imagine that students really want to be there,” he joked.

College is all about opportunity costs. One way of viewing A.I. is as an intervention in how people choose to spend their time. In the early nineteen-sixties, college students spent an estimated twenty-four hours a week on schoolwork. Today, that figure is about fifteen, a sign, to critics of contemporary higher education, that young people are beneficiaries of grade inflation—in a survey conducted by the Harvard Crimson, nearly eighty per cent of the class of 2024 reported a G.P.A. of 3.7 or higher—and lack the diligence of their forebears. I don’t know how many hours I spent on schoolwork in the late nineties, when I was in college, but I recall feeling that there was never enough time. I suspect that, even if today’s students spend less time studying, they don’t feel significantly less stressed. It’s the nature of campus life that everyone assimilates into a culture of busyness, and a lot of that anxiety has been shifted to extracurricular or pre-professional pursuits. A dean at Harvard remarked that students feel compelled to find distinction outside the classroom because they are largely indistinguishable within it.

Eddie, a sociology major at Long Beach State, is older than most of his classmates. He graduated high school in 2010, and worked full time while attending a community college. “I’ve gone through a lot to be at school,” he told me. “I want to learn as much as I can.” ChatGPT, which his therapist recommended to him, was ubiquitous at Long Beach even before the California State University system, which Long Beach is a part of, announced a partnership with OpenAI, giving its four hundred and sixty thousand students access to ChatGPT Edu. “I was a little suspicious of how convenient it was,” Eddie said. “It seemed to know a lot, in a way that seemed so human.”

He told me that he used A.I. “as a brainstorm” but never for writing itself. “I limit myself, for sure.” Eddie works for Los Angeles County, and he was talking to me during a break. He admitted that, when he was pressed for time, he would sometimes use ChatGPT for quizzes. “I don’t know if I’m telling myself a lie,” he said. “I’ve given myself opportunities to do things ethically, but if I’m rushing to work I don’t feel bad about that,” particularly for courses outside his major.

I recognized Eddie’s conflict. I’ve used ChatGPT a handful of times, and on one occasion it accomplished a scheduling task so quickly that I began to understand the intoxication of hyper-efficiency. I’ve felt the need to stop myself from indulging in idle queries. Almost all the students I interviewed in the past few months described the same trajectory: from using A.I. to assist with organizing their thoughts to off-loading their thinking altogether. For some, it became something akin to social media, constantly open in the corner of the screen, a portal for distraction. This wasn’t like paying someone to write a paper for you—there was no social friction, no aura of illicit activity. Nor did it feel like sharing notes, or like passing off what you’d read in CliffsNotes or SparkNotes as your own analysis. There was no real time to reflect on questions of originality or honesty—the student basically became a project manager. And for students who use it the way Eddie did, as a kind of sounding board, there’s no clear threshold where the work ceases to be an original piece of thinking. In April, Anthropic, the company behind Claude, released a report drawn from a million anonymized student conversations with its chatbots. It suggested that more than half of user interactions could be classified as “collaborative,” involving a dialogue between student and A.I. (Presumably, the rest of the interactions were more extractive.)

May, a sophomore at Georgetown, was initially resistant to using ChatGPT. “I don’t know if it was an ethics thing,” she said. “I just thought I could do the assignment better, and it wasn’t worth the time being saved.” But she began using it to proofread her essays, and then to generate cover letters, and now she uses it for “pretty much all” her classes. “I don’t think it’s made me a worse writer,” she said. “It’s perhaps made me a less patient writer. I used to spend hours writing essays, nitpicking over my wording, really thinking about how to phrase things.” College had made her reflect on her experience at an extremely competitive high school, where she had received top grades but retained very little knowledge. As a result, she was the rare student who found college somewhat relaxed. ChatGPT helped her breeze through busywork and deepen her engagement with the courses she felt passionate about. “I was trying to think, Where’s all this time going?” she said. I had never envied a college student until she told me the answer: “I sleep more now.”

Harry Stecopoulos oversees the University of Iowa’s English department, which has more than eight hundred majors. On the first day of his introductory course, he asks students to write by hand a two-hundred-word analysis of the opening paragraph of Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” There are always a few grumbles, and students have occasionally walked out. “I like the exercise as a tone-setter, because it stresses their writing,” he told me.

The return of blue-book exams might disadvantage students who were encouraged to master typing at a young age. Once you’ve grown accustomed to the smooth rhythms of typing, reverting to a pen and paper can feel stifling. But neuroscientists have found that the “embodied experience” of writing by hand taps into parts of the brain that typing does not. Being able to write one way—even if it’s more efficient—doesn’t make the other way obsolete. There’s something lofty about Stecopoulos’s opening-day exercise. But there’s another reason for it: the handwritten paragraph also begins a paper trail, attesting to voice and style, that a teaching assistant can consult if a suspicious paper is submitted.

Kevin, a third-year student at Syracuse University, recalled that, on the first day of a class, the professor had asked everyone to compose some thoughts by hand. “That brought a smile to my face,” Kevin said. “The other kids are scratching their necks and sweating, and I’m, like, This is kind of nice.”

Kevin had worked as a teaching assistant for a mandatory course that first-year students take to acclimate to campus life. Writing assignments involved basic questions about students’ backgrounds, he told me, but they often used A.I. anyway. “I was very disturbed,” he said. He occasionally uses A.I. to help with translations for his advanced Arabic course, but he’s come to look down on those who rely heavily on it. “They almost forget that they have the ability to think,” he said. Like many former holdouts, Kevin felt that his judicious use of A.I. was more defensible than his peers’ use of it.

As ChatGPT begins to sound more human, will we reconsider what it means to sound like ourselves? Kevin and some of his friends pride themselves on having an ear attuned to A.I.-generated text. The hallmarks, he said, include a preponderance of em dashes and a voice that feels blandly objective. An acquaintance had run an essay that she had written herself through a detector, because she worried that she was starting to phrase things like ChatGPT did. He read her essay: “I realized, like, It does kind of sound like ChatGPT. It was freaking me out a little bit.”

A particularly disarming aspect of ChatGPT is that, if you point out a mistake, it communicates in the backpedalling tone of a contrite student. (“Apologies for the earlier confusion. . . .”) Its mistakes are often referred to as hallucinations, a description that seems to anthropomorphize A.I., conjuring a vision of a sleep-deprived assistant. Some professors told me that they had students fact-check ChatGPT’s work, as a way of discussing the importance of original research and of showing the machine’s fallibility. Hallucination rates have grown worse for most A.I.s, with no single reason for the increase. As a researcher told the Times, “We still don’t know how these models work exactly.”

But many students claim to be unbothered by A.I.’s mistakes. They appear nonchalant about the question of achievement, and even dissociated from their work, since it is only notionally theirs. Joseph, a Division I athlete at a Big Ten school, told me that he saw no issue with using ChatGPT for his classes, but he did make one exception: he wanted to experience his African-literature course “authentically,” because it involved his heritage. Alex, the N.Y.U. student, said that if one of his A.I. papers received a subpar grade his disappointment would be focussed on the fact that he’d spent twenty dollars on his subscription. August, a sophomore at Columbia studying computer science, told me about a class where she was required to compose a short lecture on a topic of her choosing. “It was a class where everyone was guaranteed an A, so I just put it in and I maybe edited like two words and submitted it,” she said. Her professor identified her essay as exemplary work, and she was asked to read from it to a class of two hundred students. “I was a little nervous,” she said. But then she realized, “If they don’t like it, it wasn’t me who wrote it, you know?”

Kevin, by contrast, desired a more general kind of moral distinction. I asked if he would be bothered to receive a lower grade on an essay than a classmate who’d used ChatGPT. “Part of me is able to compartmentalize and not be pissed about it,” he said. “I developed myself as a human. I can have a superiority complex about it. I learned more.” He smiled. But then he continued, “Part of me can also be, like, This is so unfair. I would have loved to hang out with my friends more. What did I gain? I made my life harder for all that time.”

In my conversations, just as college students invariably thought of ChatGPT as merely another tool, people older than forty focussed on its effects, drawing a comparison to G.P.S. and the erosion of our relationship to space. The London cabdrivers rigorously trained in “the knowledge” famously developed abnormally large posterior hippocampi, the part of the brain crucial for long-term memory and spatial awareness. And yet, in the end, most people would probably rather have swifter travel than sharper memories. What is worth preserving, and what do we feel comfortable off-loading in the name of efficiency?

What if we take seriously the idea that A.I. assistance can accelerate learning—that students today are arriving at their destinations faster? In 2023, researchers at Harvard introduced a self-paced A.I. tutor in a popular physics course. Students who used the A.I. tutor reported higher levels of engagement and motivation and did better on a test than those who were learning from a professor. May, the Georgetown student, told me that she often has ChatGPT produce extra practice questions when she’s studying for a test. Could A.I. be here not to destroy education but to revolutionize it? Barry Lam teaches in the philosophy department at the University of California, Riverside, and hosts a popular podcast, Hi-Phi Nation, which applies philosophical modes of inquiry to everyday topics. He began wondering what it would mean for A.I. to actually be a productivity tool. He spoke to me from the podcast studio he built in his shed. “Now students are able to generate in thirty seconds what used to take me a week,” he said. He compared education to carpentry, one of his many hobbies. Could you skip to using power tools without learning how to saw by hand? If students were learning things faster, then it stood to reason that Lam could assign them “something very hard.” He wanted to test this theory, so for final exams he gave his undergraduates a Ph.D.-level question involving denotative language and the German logician Gottlob Frege which was, frankly, beyond me.

“They fucking failed it miserably,” he said. He adjusted his grading curve accordingly.

Lam doesn’t find the use of A.I. morally indefensible. “It’s not plagiarism in the cut-and-paste sense,” he argued, because there’s technically no original version. Rather, he finds it a potential waste of everyone’s time. At the start of the semester, he has told students, “If you’re gonna just turn in a paper that’s ChatGPT-generated, then I will grade all your work by ChatGPT and we can all go to the beach.”

Nobody gets into teaching because he loves grading papers. I talked to one professor who rhapsodized about how much more his students were learning now that he’d replaced essays with short exams. I asked if he missed marking up essays. He laughed and said, “No comment.” An undergraduate at Northeastern University recently accused a professor of using A.I. to create course materials; she filed a formal complaint with the school, requesting a refund for some of her tuition. The dustup laid bare the tension between why many people go to college and why professors teach. Students are raised to understand achievement as something discrete and measurable, but when they arrive at college there are people like me, imploring them to wrestle with difficulty and abstraction. Worse yet, they are told that grades don’t matter as much as they did when they were trying to get into college—only, by this point, students are wired to find the most efficient path possible to good marks.

As the craft of writing is degraded by A.I., original writing has become a valuable resource for training language models. Earlier this year, a company called Catalyst Research Alliance advertised “academic speech data and student papers” from two research studies run in the late nineties and mid-two-thousands at the University of Michigan. The school asked the company to halt its work—the data was available for free to academics anyway—and a university spokesperson said that student data “was not and has never been for sale.” But the situation did lead many people to wonder whether institutions would begin viewing original student work as a potential revenue stream.

According to a recent study from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, human intellect has declined since 2012. An assessment of tens of thousands of adults in nearly thirty countries showed an over-all decade-long drop in test scores for math and for reading comprehension. Andreas Schleicher, the director for education and skills at the O.E.C.D., hypothesized that the way we consume information today—often through short social-media posts—has something to do with the decline in literacy. (One of Europe’s top performers in the assessment was Estonia, which recently announced that it will bring A.I. to some high-school students in the next few years, sidelining written essays and rote homework exercises in favor of self-directed learning and oral exams.)

Lam, the philosophy professor, used to be a colleague of mine, and for a brief time we were also neighbors. I’d occasionally look out the window and see him building a fence, or gardening. He’s an avid amateur cook, guitarist, and carpenter, and he remains convinced that there is value to learning how to do things the annoying, old-fashioned, and—as he puts it—“artisanal” way. He told me that his wife, Shanna Andrawis, who has been a high-school teacher since 2008, frequently disagreed with his cavalier methods for dealing with large learning models. Andrawis argues that dishonesty has always been an issue. “We are trying to mass educate,” she said, meaning there’s less room to be precious about the pedagogical process. “I don’t have conversations with students about ‘artisanal’ writing. But I have conversations with them about our relationship. Respect me enough to give me your authentic voice, even if you don’t think it’s that great. It’s O.K. I want to meet you where you’re at.”

Ultimately, Andrawis was less fearful of ChatGPT than of the broader conditions of being young these days. Her students have grown increasingly introverted, staring at their phones with little desire to “practice getting over that awkwardness” that defines teen life, as she put it. A.I. might contribute to this deterioration, but it isn’t solely to blame. It’s “a little cherry on top of an already really bad ice-cream sundae,” she said.

When the school year began, my feelings about ChatGPT were somewhere between disappointment and disdain, focussed mainly on students. But, as the weeks went by, my sense of what should be done and who was at fault grew hazier. Eliminating core requirements, rethinking G.P.A., teaching A.I. skepticism—none of the potential fixes could turn back the preconditions of American youth. Professors can reconceive of the classroom, but there is only so much we control. I lacked faith that educational institutions would ever regard new technologies as anything but inevitable. Colleges and universities, many of which had tried to curb A.I. use just a few semesters ago, rushed to partner with companies like OpenAI and Anthropic, deeming a product that didn’t exist four years ago essential to the future of school.

Except for a year spent bumming around my home town, I’ve basically been on a campus for the past thirty years. Students these days view college as consumers, in ways that never would have occurred to me when I was their age. They’ve grown up at a time when society values high-speed takes, not the slow deliberation of critical thinking. Although I’ve empathized with my students’ various mini-dramas, I rarely project myself into their lives. I notice them noticing one another, and I let the mysteries of their lives go. Their pressures are so different from the ones I felt as a student. Although I envy their metabolisms, I would not wish for their sense of horizons.

Education, particularly in the humanities, rests on a belief that, alongside the practical things students might retain, some arcane idea mentioned in passing might take root in their mind, blossoming years in the future. A.I. allows any of us to feel like an expert, but it is risk, doubt, and failure that make us human. I often tell my students that this is the last time in their lives that someone will have to read something they write, so they might as well tell me what they actually think.

Despite all the current hysteria around students cheating, they aren’t the ones to blame. They did not lobby for the introduction of laptops when they were in elementary school, and it’s not their fault that they had to go to school on Zoom during the pandemic. They didn’t create the A.I. tools, nor were they at the forefront of hyping technological innovation. They were just early adopters, trying to outwit the system at a time when doing so has never been so easy. And they have no more control than the rest of us. Perhaps they sense this powerlessness even more acutely than I do. One moment, they are being told to learn to code; the next, it turns out employers are looking for the kind of “soft skills” one might learn as an English or a philosophy major. In February, a labor report from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York reported that computer-science majors had a higher unemployment rate than ethnic-studies majors did—the result, some believed, of A.I. automating entry-level coding jobs.

None of the students I spoke with seemed lazy or passive. Alex and Eugene, the N.Y.U. students, worked hard—but part of their effort went to editing out anything in their college experiences that felt extraneous. They were radically resourceful.

When classes were over and students were moving into their summer housing, I e-mailed with Alex, who was settling in in the East Village. He’d just finished his finals, and estimated that he’d spent between thirty minutes and an hour composing two papers for his humanities classes. Without the assistance of Claude, it might have taken him around eight or nine hours. “I didn’t retain anything,” he wrote. “I couldn’t tell you the thesis for either paper hahhahaha.” He received an A-minus and a B-plus.

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magics-neptunes-things · 11 months ago

Text

Trouble

Hi guys!

So this come from a request I had several weeks before, but I deleted it like the dumbass I am :) Sorry dear Anon, but they were asking for a long story like the one I did for Alessia and Caitlin.

So here it is :) I hope you'll like it, it's a long one. And I haven’t proofread it, sorry for the mistakes I’ll do it later 🙃

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Pregnancy, Angst, Injuries, mention of breakup, concussion and I think it's ok like this. Please tell me if I forgot anything.

Even if you are from Spain, you are a figure from your youngest age at Arsenal. You are here since your 20 birthdays, and you just finished your seventh year in the north London. You have seen a lot of people coming and leaving, the last one leaving being of course Vivianne Miedema. It was a sad day honestly; you are anyway happy to see Mariona coming with you and Laia to extend the Spanish population in Arsenal. You are three now. Laia, Mariona and you.

You get along pretty great with all the people, even the new signings like Kyra or Alessia. In reality there only is one person with who you don’t really get along.

Leah Williamson.

It wasn’t like that at first, to be honest. You were coming from Real Madrid, but it was to run away from the RFEF and everything’s coming around. You talked about it with your Arsenal teammates, even in 2017 you already had several troubles right there.

Like your Spanish teammates, you sign the letter against the RFEF and like a lot of them you decide not to keep playing under those conditions. But like Mariona, Ona and Aitana, they promised you some changes and you trusted them. So you get back. How wrong you were. But it was too late to change your mind, too many things were engaged. It was in 2022.

Maybe it was at this point that Leah really became hostile towards you. At least she wasn’t afraid to show it off.

You are playing in the defense, usually just next to the same Leah. Like you said you weren’t really closed, but you were doing a great job together. A lot of things happened during those seven years, you have several breaks up with one intervening in 2022 after your ex-girlfriend, Gio, left for Everton and then Spain.

Late spring 2022 too, you got hurt and stayed away from football for several months. You chose to do your rehab in Spain, much to your teammates’ misunderstanding. You still came back several times to meet your doctors at Arsenal, but that’s all. You still managed to come back on the pitches for the World Cup and won it with Spain.

This year you weren’t injured so you were able to play all the games Jonas wanted you to, and you won several other things with Spain.

Which takes us now, at the beginning of a new season.

It was a little hard to come back in Arsenal’s training without seeing Viv. You started at Arsenal at the same year than her, with Beth too. Talking about Beth, it’s probably way harder for her. But you can’t approach her, Leah being always around and looking at you like she’s going to kill you.

You pass all your time with Laia and now Mariona, even if the girl seems to enjoy being able to see her girlfriend as long as she wants now. Which you don’t blame her for a second. You don’t miss Leah’s glare when you enter the gym training, rolling your eyes while Mariona fly to Lia.

You chose a machine next to Steph, who greats you with a smile. You smile back before starting your training, your mind maybe a little somewhere else. You were still training when Jonas comes to you to mumble something in your ear, asking you to follow him.

He takes you to his office, where you find other members of the staff too. That make you frown, but they smile at you from the start, probably to ease your mind.

“Hi, Y/N. We just wanted to see how you are doing?”

“I’m fine, thanks” you answer, always a little suspicious.

Well, it was before you spot Win, Arsenal’s dog, who comes to boop your hand with his nose. You smile and start to stroke him, looking back to the other people on the room when they start talking.

“How are things at home?”

“Oh… It’s pretty great actually, thank you”

You give them a sincere smile, who seems to convince them. It was Jonas who talk next.

“We just wanted to remember you that we have a daycare reserved for Arsenal in the building. Are you still sure that you don’t want that? It could be way easier for you.”

“No” you answer, shaking your head.

Here is the real reason why you were absent during several months. You had a baby. A non-wanted baby after a simple fling with a boy who live somewhere else in the country. He visits sometimes and take your kid for a day or two, but he still lives in South Shields and told you in the early hours of your pregnancy that he won’t be able to move on in London.

You didn’t ask him to do it and you didn’t want to move from London too. So the things settled like this and you manage your career and your baby as good as you can. Your parents come from time to time to help you with, too. But your mother is sometimes a little too much, honestly.

“And what about the fact to talk about it with your teammates?”

You shake your head one more time. Here is the other thing, you haven’t talk to any of the girl about your pregnancy. You don’t really know why, you were scared to be judged, even if you know that they almost all are really understanding and sweet. You had to inform the staff and you find a compromise by saying to the world that you were injured. Which was wrong.

“Maybe it could be easier too if th- “

“I said no”

They all share a look, but you stand your ground. Leah flows in your mind, you are pretty sure that she would be piss off about the situation and the mystery around it. And the idea of your little perfection being talking badly makes you sick, to be honest.

“Ok well, you can go back to training.”

You mumble a thank you, stroke Win a last time before getting up. You are a little angry about this conversation, this isn’t the first time they tried to make you talk about it to the other players. Maybe it could explain a lot of things to them, why you are late sometimes or why you look very tired several times too. Why you skip almost all the team’s bonding too.

Well, you probably wouldn’t come if you could, Leah’s here and you stay away from her as much as possible.

You are still angry when you find your teammates and you have never been a good person when it comes to hide your feelings. Everyone in the team can see it but you ignore the whispers and the looks exchanged.

They were now in the room where Jonas talks about strategy and new of the team for the team’s meeting. You go sit next to Mariona, who gently pushes you with her shoulder. You smile softly at her, before putting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m fine” you mumble.

Mariona knows, like Laia, but only because they are your Spanish teammates, and you couldn’t hide it from them during the World Cup or the Olympics. Safe to say that they all became aunties, with Alexia Putellas of course being the favorite one. She’s really great with kids.

You intercept a furious glare from Leah and arch an unimpressive eyebrow at her.

“Can’t she give it a rest from time to time?” you groan silently when Jonas enters the room too.

“Basta” Mariona mumbles back and you groan back.

It’s only when Jonas starts to talk that Leah turn her eyes and you sight softly, sitting correctly on your chair. You hate team’s meeting, it always at those moments that the tiredness comes harder. While you are in movements, it’s ok, you can manage it. But when you are supposed to stay still, it’s harder than anything. Thanks god, Mariona keeps crushing your foot when she feels your attention getting low.

You totally avoid Jonas for the rest of the day, but you couldn’t escape Leah during the training. You are on the same team during the mini-games and we can’t say that the agreement is very courteous.

“For God’s sake Y/N!” almost shout Leah when Caitlin managed to score after passing you.

“If you were in your position, I wouldn’t have to defend the entire field alone, Leah” you spit back.

“I was trying to score! I can’t do everything”

“The keyword being trying here” you snort.

Leah is furious, but you are too. The frustration of the conversation from this morning is still here and you aren’t able to cool off like you usually do. The blonde is now facing you, but you don’t move. You both have literally the same height and you are not afraid of her.

“At least I’m trying things, not like you. Always doing the same boring tricks every single day of your life.”

“What the fuck is your problem, Williamson?”

Just when you wanted to push her away from you, Katie is here to take you away from Leah, while Alessia does the same with Leah.

“Hey breath Mate, it’s just training yeah?”

You nod and take the bottle of water Laia is giving to you, taking several longs sips. You shouldn’t have reacted that way, but Leah is getting on your nerves. You don’t know what Alessia is saying to Leah, but the blonde answer something quickly and animatedly to her.

At the end of the training, Jonas takes Leah and you on the side, scolding both of you like children. You put your best poker face; arms crossed on your chest. There is a hint of challenge in your eyes when you look at the man. You are still piss of about the conversation from this morning. You had a deal about your pregnancy, and they still try to turn it in their way.

“Y/N can I give you a word alone?” he asks after her speech.

“Not again Jonas, I’m sorry. I really have to go.”

He sights and makes a gesture with his hand, to tell you to go. You don’t hesitate to go to the locker room, taking a quick shower before leaving the facility. Your baby is waiting for you in the daycare and you have to go as soon as possible.

“Y/N?”

You turn when you hear Mario’s voice and stop in your run to your car.

“Yeah?”

“You know about the team night this weekend?”

“Yeah?” you say one more time.

“It’s at Lia’s. And she asked me to make sure that you will come too.

You sigh and roll your eyes. Mariona as a guilty smile and shrug. You can perfectly picture how the conversation went, and you can’t help but being amused by it.

“Will Leah be here?”

“Probably. It’s at Lia’s.”

There is a beam of silence.

“Y/N, come on please. I’ll missed you.”

“What did Lia promised you if you make me come?”

“Nothing” Mariona laughs. “She just looked at me with those green doe eyes and she knows I can’t deny her anything.”

You sigh once again while rolling your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be there. But I’m not passing the night.”

You haven’t exchanged a single word with Leah since your fight during the training. Unlike the other times, you don’t even look at her now, you just ignore her. Making like she doesn’t exist, even if there probably is another more mature way to deal with things. But you have to be mature every day, so if a teammate decides to shout at you without reason, you are just going to ignore her and that’s all.

Of course, Leah is here when you enter Lia’s house, looking stupidly attractive in her white top and jeans. But Laia immediately takes you by the arm to lead you in another part of the room. You don’t know if they planned something together, but you decide to ignore it.

“Where’s your little one?” Laia whispers softly.

“With his usual babysitter” you answer quietly. “He was asleep when I left, maybe he’ll sleep well tonight.”

There is a big hint in your voice telling Laia that you absolutely don’t believe it. Your son has the worst sleep in the world. Laia smiles and pat your back with affection, and you snuggle against her, never against hugs, kisses and a little of love.

“Can’t she keep her hands for herself?” Leah groans on the other part of the room.

Lia, who was sitting next to Mariona, laughs softly. She’s the first-person Leah goes when she wants to grumble about you, but the Swiss woman never took it seriously. Until your fight the other day, you never have a word against each other, to be honest.

“Just stop looking at her” Lia smiles.

“Hard to do when she’s so noisy”

“You’re acting in bad faith” Lia points, making Mariona smiles next to her.

Leah snorts and drag her attention somewhere else in the room. Katie and Caitlin are giggling on a sofa, thanks god there are people as single as her in this team too. Leah was thinking about getting up to find Alessia and Lotte when Mariona talks.

“When are you going to do something about your crush for her anyway?”

Leah is so stunned that she looks at Mariona blankly for almost one minute.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t look surprised. The sexual tension between you two is hard to miss. You fancy her and it’s ok, really. Just do something about it.”

“I don’t fancy her” Leah seems really outraged. “She’s so annoying and full of confidence, it gives me the ick. Plus, she can’t stop to touch everybody, even people she knows are with someone, just like you.”

Leah’s looking at Mariona, who arch her eyebrows. It’s Lia who answer something at that though.

“She’s Spanish, Love. They are just touchy” Lia shrugs.

“We are” Mariona confirms with a knowing smile towards Lia.

“You both are disgusting.”

“At least I’m being disgusting with someone else, I’m not just starring at a girl pretending hating her.”

“I’m not pretending” Leah growls before getting up.

From your point of view, you just see Leah getting up, complaining something that no one can really understand. You watch Lia and Mariona talking before Laia takes your attention again by asking you a question. You are now sitting with Stina and Frida, in addition to Laia and you were casually talking with a glass of alcohol in your hand.

The night went pretty great, you don’t drink a lot and you are having a lot of fun, catching up with your teammates. You talk to a lot of them, usually going away from Leah. You don’t realize that she’s looking at you from time to time, you are still ignoring her. It’s hard for you, you have to admit. Every time you spot some blonde hairs, your eyes always turn in her direction.

“Oh, I have to take this one” you frown, picking your phone from your pocket.

It’s the babysitter and it’s never good when you received a call from her. Usually, she’s able to manage your son’s cries or behavior.

“Hello?” you answer when you are on the other room.

“Hi Miss, I’m sorry to disturb you… But you probably need to come home.”

You feel your blood freeze in your veins, hearing this poor girl explaining to you that your son caught his feet in the carpet while wanting to join his babysitter in the living room after waking up.

You are livid when you end up your call before turning around, just to face Leah. You swear inside your head but for once she’s looking at you with something else than disdain. She seems concerned.

“Are you ok?” she asks.

“I… Can you get me Mariona or Laia? Please.”

She looks at you several seconds before nodding. You saw her form going in the living room while you are on your phone, asking for an Uber.

“Y/N? Que passa?”

Mariona’s voice startle you, but you are relieved to realize that Leah hasn’t follow her. Even if your friend is talking in Spanish and Leah probably don’t talk a single word, even if she likes to go to Ibiza on holidays.

You explain to Mariona what is happening in a quick Spanish, going to grab your coat when your Uber informs you that he’s coming in five minutes. The Balearian promises that she will say goodbye to Lia and the others for you and just with that, you left the house.

You took your son and his big bump on the hospital, where you pass the night. The doctors decided to keep him under observation in case of concussion. You kept Mariona and Laia informed and ring his dad too. You feel a little alone, sitting on that awful plastic chair while your son is peacefully sleeping on his bed.

You almost regret refusing Mario’s offer to come with you, but it was her girlfriend’s party. And you would have need to explain a lot of things to the others.

You skip the training two days later, wanting to stay with your son. He’s good to be honest, but you prefer not to take any risks with his health. He’s still little after all, he’s not even two years old. And seeing him in pain just break your heart.

Laia visited you and brought you some groceries and fun things for your little man. He likes when Laia or Mariona are visiting, he seems to love talking in Spanish more than English.

He was already sleeping when someone knock on your door that night and you hesitate before getting up to open the door. You aren’t waiting for anyone rand you aren’t in the mood for some canvassing.

But it isn’t someone wanting to sell you some assurance who you face when you finally open your door. It’s Leah.

You look at her blankly.

“What are you doing here?”

There is no harm in your question, almost no one came to your apartment since your delivery. You changed one of your guestrooms for a nursery, where your baby is sleeping right now.

“I don’t know. I just… You weren’t in training today” Leah shrug.

“You could have text me” you point.

“Would you have answer me?”

There’s a beam of silence.

“Probably not” you smirk before sighing when you realize that Leah isn’t moving. “So, why are you worried for me?”

“I’m not worried about you” she snorts. “I’m your captain, I need to check on my players.”

“You could have asked Jonas” you shrug.

“After our little commitment from the other day, I wasn’t sure that he would have answer something to me”

You exchange another look before you sigh one more time and let her come inside your apartment. She came here several years ago, so it’s not a surprise for her. Not a lot of things have changed, and you are a little neat freak, so there isn’t any toy on your living room.

“You can sit” you point your couch.

“Why are you whispering?” Leah whispers back.

“I’m not whispering” you whisper.

You are whispering. You really hope that your son is dead asleep and will not hear that you are having a late visitor.

Leah groan in frustration and briefly press her hands on her eyes while sitting on your couch. She then raises her head again and looks at you, sitting on the arm of the same couch.

“Look Y/N, I know things are a bit tensed between us for several months now…”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why. Just saying.”

Leah bites her lips and looks at the windows, probably trying to sort her thoughts in the right order. You are really intrigued, you never really understood why Leah’s behavior changed with you. You only have assumptions, but nothing to be sure of.

“Would you understand if I… - “

“Mamá?”

Holly shit. Leah turns so quick to the voice coming from the entry of the living room that you actually don’t see her making the move. You ignore the strange feeling in your throat and turn yourself to your son, putting the sweetest smile on your face.

“Que passa Cariño?”

He reaches out to you while you approach him, and you don’t hesitate to take him in your arms.

“Who dat?” he mumbles, switching automatically in English, his face half-hiding behind your shoulder.

“It’s Leah, you saw her on telly, do you remember?”

He nods and Leah waves at him still under the chock.

“Number 6”

“Sí Cariño.”

His big eyes are looking at her with intensity and curiosity, but it’s not the time for him to do that.

“I’ll take you back to bed” you inform him.

He nods again and wave back at Leah. You don’t have the courage to look at her and take all your time to put the toddler to sleep, even if he falls back asleep very quickly. You almost hope that Leah would have left when you come back in your living room. But of course, she’s still here.

“So… This was why you were whispering” Leah finally comments after several minutes of silence.

You roll your eyes and let you fall on the couch. Leah knowing your secret is the worst thing honestly, if you had to choose someone on the team you definitively wouldn’t have chosen Leah.

You must look desperate, because when Leah talks to you again, it’s with the most caring voice ever.

“Look, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

You just have to look at her eyes to know that you believe her. Your eyes follow her hand when she puts it on your knee, and you remember the first months of your arrival in Arsenal. Leah was sweet and caring with you too. You were getting along so great. This gesture makes you realize that you actually miss it.

“Thank you” you mumble.

“Who else know?” she asks softly.

“Mario and Laia, and I have to tell the staff obviously” you sigh softly. “And the players of my national team know too, it was impossible to hide during the World Cup. The fans assume that it was Mateo’s cousin.”

“That’s why you went to Spain during your recovery” Leah realizes aloud, before frowning. “Wait, you weren’t really injured, were you?”

“No” you sigh. “But my pregnancy wasn’t really wanted, and I panicked. I needed to go back to my parents, and they helped me with it. Then he was born and now he’s here. I sometimes want to tell you all but it’s harder everyday and I really wanted to protect him from the media and stuff. But the staff wanted me to talk to you all for several weeks now”

“Is that why Jonas calls you to his office sometimes?”

“Yeah” you breath, still annoyed. “We had an agreement with me not talking about my son but they try to make me change my mind.”

“Oh.”

You raise your eyes on Leah, to see that she seems a little uneasy and thoughtful at the same time. You don’t know why you are explaining all of this to Leah, even if she knows now, it’s still Leah.

“I was sure that you had something happening with him.”

“With Jonas?” you ask with disbelief and grimace when she nods. “Ew. No.”

Leah laughs slightly and you can feel her looking at you with attention. It’s maybe the first time she’s looking at you without animosity from a long time now. You feel yourself blush slightly, but she doesn’t point it.

“I have like a billion of questions” she admits.

“I’ll answer them, but I need a drink before. What do you want?”

“Same thing as you.”

You come back with two Spanish beer, and you smirk when you watch Leah looking at the name of the brand on the bottle before drinking.

“Who is the father?”

“You don’t know him. He was a random hookup after my breakup with Gio. I was trying to forget it; I didn’t expect to forget it that way though. He lives in South Shields.”

“So, you raise him alone?” Leah frowns.

“No, he comes from time to time. Sebastian loves him and he’s great with him, but he has his life in South Shields, and I couldn’t ask him to let everything down to come in London. And the closest place to South Shields would have been Manchester, there was no way that I leave Arsenal for United.”

Leah has a vague grimace, and you can’t help but smile. You heard her too many times talking about the fact that Alessia left the wrong team to come for the best. She then drinks her beer, seeming to register what she just learned.

“Does Gio know?”

You shake your head before answering.

“I haven’t talk to her since the breakup” you mumble.

“Would you have liked to if you hadn’t been pregnant?”

“I don’t know, Leah.”

She nods once again, looking lost in her thoughts one more time. You take advantage of it to look at her really for the first time for ages. You always loved her eyes and found the wrinkles around them very cute. But Leah is beautiful, it’s not something new. She isn’t fancied by dozens of fans for nothing.

“Sebastian is a pretty name”

She suddenly raises her head on you, catching you staring at her. Well, almost checking her, you have to admit.

“Oh, thanks”

You clear your throat nervously before talking again. You didn’t realize how hard you were staring at her and you hate her smirk and the cockiness with which she raises her eyebrows.

“I should go. I’m sorry I showed up like this without warning and kind of force you out with your secret.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it” you roll your eyes, thinking about Arsenal’s staff.

“I can tell a word to Jonas if you want me to. Asking him to leave you alone.”

“I can defend myself” you frown.

“I know.”

Her answer makes your annoyance subside as quickly as it had ridden. She just wants to help; she’s not judging you. You look at her eyes maybe a little longer that what you should before smiling at her softly.

“I’ll ask you if I need you, ok?”

“Deal.”

Leah stands up and you are a little sad to see her leave, but you should probably go to bed too. You follow her to the door, opening it for her. She passes the doorstep before turning in your direction.

“Will you be at training tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sebastian is going back to daycare.”

Leah smiles and before you can react, she kisses your cheek before going to her car. The way your cheek burn stupidly even minutes after annoys you prodigiously.

After that night, you realize that Leah is looking at the best way to recreate the friendship you had in the first place. She’s awkward sometimes but that make you laugh. The others have realized that something changed between both of you, and you informed Mario and Laia about what happened. It makes sense for them, but not for the others.

Leah comes from time to time at your house with a coffee for you and a hot chocolate for Sebastian for breakfast. You like those moments together and after several moment of shyness, Sebastian is now really at ease with the blonde.

“He looks so much like you” Leah points one morning while you are sitting to drink your coffee while Sebastian is playing on the ground with his little cars, his bump almost impossible to see now.

“Well, I hope so, after all the hours I worked for him to go out of me” you roll your eyes.

Leah imitates you before answering.

“Of course, he looks like you. But he has the same eyes color, the same mimic too. The only thing changing is that he doesn’t have your Spanish accent while talking English.”

“What?! I don’t have an accent anymore” your frown deeply.

“Of course you have” Leah laughs.

You keep frowning. You are living in London since almost seven years, you are pretty sure that you haven’t any accent anymore.

“Don’t make that face” Leah still laughs. “It’s kind of cute and hot honestly.”

You raise your eyebrow while looking at her. Does Leah just say you are hot? You can’t say anything else though, because Sebastian is coming to you with a frown and one of his cars in one hand, a wheel in another. You look at him wordlessly handing it to Leah, who puts it back without hesitation.

Others changes came in your relationship with Leah. Your favorites people to cuddle have been Lia and Beth, before Alessia and Kyra came to Arsenal. Leah seems surprised when you put your legs on hers for the first time during a team bonding while you were sitting on a couch, but you didn’t really think about it. You just did what you wanted without thinking.

Thanks god, Leah’s rigidity faded as quick as she came. Since that day she’s the one initiating hug from time to time.

And she takes the habits not to prevent you when she comes to your house for breakfast or in another moment of the day. She usually doesn’t come at evening because she knows that Sebastian might be sleeping.

It was another day like the other when Leah comes to your house with her bag of pastries and your hot drinks. She rings the bell like every time but she’s not facing you when the door is open. She’s facing a man around your age, looking at her with the same surprise as she is.

“Who are you?” he asks, and Leah arch her eyebrow.

“Who are you?” she snaps back.

She doesn’t like the way he’s standing on your apartment like he owns it. She read to many news items and watched to many dark television reports about men killing women.

But she doesn’t have the time to get scared a little longer, because there is suddenly a sweet, happy voice that she knows very well.

“Leah!”

Sebastian is running from the living room for Leah, jumping on her knees. Leah takes him in her arms and hug him, before looking again at the man.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Mamá is in the bathroom” Sebastian says happily, looking in the bakery bag with appetite. “Did you buy me Mince pies?”

“Sur, Buddy.”

With his pastry in her hand, Sebastian runs back inside the apartment to sit at the dining table. Leah follows him and was starting to get really annoyed by the other man in the room just when you arrive.

“Leah! Hi.”

She smiles at you and let you kiss her cheek with a side hug. You then put your attention on your son and his pastry, obvious of the tension in the room.

“So, you met Jeff?” you ask, cleaning Sebastian’s cheeks.

“Not really” Leah mumbles, sitting next to Sebastian.

You only raise now your gaze to realize that Leah and Jeff are actually looking at each other from the corner of their eyes with almost hostility.

“Jeff is Sebastian’s dad. He came for the weekend to pass time with Sebastian” you explain.

“’e ‘o ‘o o’ie” Sebastian says, mouth full of food.

“Try after chewing your food Cariño” you roll your eyes at him playfully.

“We’re going to watch a movie and then watch Mamá and you play” he pips up with happiness.

“That sounds good Bud’.”

Leah smiles but you can say that it’s not a real smile. Jeff finally sits next to you, and you manage to entertain a conversation between the four of you, very helped by Sebastian. Around ten, Jeff and Sebastian both left to the cinema, and you hug him tight and verify his bag before letting him leave with his dad.

“I’ll keep you update about our day” Jeff says, kissing your cheek goodbye. “See you, Leah.”

Leah grumbles something back and you don’t lose a second to have a real and long look at her once the door is closed.

“What?” Leah moody ask.

“You tell me. What’s happening to you?”

“Nothing” she shrugs.

You hum in answer, not trusting her for a single second. But you don’t want to push too much. You offer her another tea before cleaning the kitchen and making your bag for the game. Leah’s here so she will drive you to the stadium.

“Where is he staying? During the weekend?”

“In the guestroom, why?”

“He’s sleeping at your house?!”

“…Yeah?”

Leah doesn’t answer. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like the way he kissed your cheek like you’re still his, even if you never have really been. She doesn’t like him around you, sleeping in the same house as you are.

“Leah what’s happening?”

You are lost. Leah seems angry but you don’t understand why. She doesn’t answer once again, only looking at you when you put your hand on her arm. You can see torment in her eyes, but you still don’t understand why.

“You know he still fancy you, right?”

“What?” you laugh softly.

But you realize quickly that Leah isn’t joking. The way she looks at you make you feel something funny in your stomach. It’s intense.

“It’s nothing like that between us. We are friend for Sebastian, nothing more. Nothing happened since the night Sebastian was conceived” you say with a comforting voice.

Leah hums once again, her brows still frowning. You erase them with a tentative finger, trying to read her eyes.

“Why are you asking that, Le?”

“Nothing, he was just acting like you’re together or at least like he lives here too.”

“Well he’s not. You or Mario and Laia are here way more often than him.”

Leah still seems moody when you left to take her car to go to training, but at least she’s talking to you and not sulking.

“I was wondering” Leah starts after you chose a music to listen during the trip “What’s your type? I mean it’s obviously tattooed, blond and disgusting bodybuilder for the men, but what about women?”

“He’s not a bodybuilder Leah” you laugh while rolling your eyes. “And for women, you saw my ex-girlfriend, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but Gio has brown eyes and hair. And I totally saw you with a blond before.”

She’s right. You bite your lips softly while trying to find the best way to explain how you “choose” your crushes.

“It’s not a physical preference with women. It’s more… The charism, you know? It can be someone with blond hair and clear eyes, or a brunette. It doesn’t really matter.”

“I see” Leah answer thoughtfully, before smiling. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Dianna Agron” you answer without any hesitation.

How much you are sure about it makes Leah laugh, and you can’t help but smirk back. You were kind of obsessed with her in Glee, I mean have you seen that girl? It would probably be strange not to be, in your humble opinion. You don’t have time to ask Leah’s, because the blonde is parking the car in the stadium. You maybe will be able to ask her the question back after the game.

You don’t let your son coming a lot to the games, there is really less spectators than for the men’s games and you don’t want him to be exposed to someone from the staff or something. But you can’t always say no to him when he begs you to come. Today Jeff is here, so it can easily pass for a dad-son moment to anyone.

You discreetly great him with a wave during your training, internally rolling your eyes when you see him with a bucket of chicken nuggets and some chips, even if it’s like three in the evening. But after that you are focused on your training, you are on the starting eleven today and you have to be more ready than ever.

The game was hard, but it went pretty great. Leah and you managed to block almost all the shoots took by the other team and when they passed, your goalkeeper stopped the ball every time. Caitlin and Mariona scored today, with Alessia being rested. Jonas informed you that you will be sub off around the seventy minutes during the half-time and you just nod softly. You are sad not to play every minute of the game while your son is here, but he knows now that you are sub to be rested to be able to play better the other games.

You knew that at the next stop during the game you will be switch, so you decide to play as best as possible when you see that a ball is coming across the field, for a header from an opponent. You jump to try to take it first, but your head is soon hits by something very strong who made you groan in pain. You fall on the ground without being able to stop your fall, pain radiating in your head.

You are not aware of the opposite player lying somewhere close to you, in pain too. You hear the footstep of the other players around you and you open your eyes just to see Lotte’s short crouch next to you.

“Do you hear me?” Lotte says.

There are other hands on you, stabilizing you on your side. You groan in answer to Lotte, who let a breath of relief.

The pain is awful, but you know that somewhere in the crowd there is your son who is probably mad concerned. You don’t want him to see you like this. Mariona has been subbed for Chloe some minutes before so she’s not on the pitch anymore. There is just one person who can help you now.

“Leah” you whisper.

You can’t hear yourself, so you are really surprised when you hear her answer, from behind you.

“I need to get up” you mumble, rolling slowly on your back.

“It’s not a good idea” one of the medical team answers.

Opening your eyes is painful, thank God there isn’t any sun but only grey sky under you. Leah’s frame block a little of the light, which is good too. You look for her eyes before talking again.

“I need to get up. I can’t worry…”

You don’t finish your sentence, but you see that Leah understands quickly. Her eyes went just for a second where Sebastian is seated with her dad before nodding.

“I’ll help you” she says, frowning. “It’s ok, you have to take her inside, she was going to get sub off anyway”

With Leah and Lia’s help, you managed to get up and went straight to the infirmary. Laia and Mariona came with you, sitting quietly with you while you are being checked by the team.

“Do you want me to go take your things? You can maybe write to Jeff like this?” Laia proposed in Spanish.

“Yes please” you whisper back.

She pats your hand when she sees you wince because of the pain before getting up to close discreetly the door between her. Mariona holds your other hand during all the time and when Laia came back with your phone, you had to ask her to write to Jeff for you.

You both decide that you will meet at your flat after the game, you don’t know if you have a concussion for now, but it’s still better for your son. Jeff says to you that he wasn’t really happy with this thing, but that he will manage to busy his mind. You know he will.

Several minutes later, there are knocks on the door and you mumble a vague “Come in”. Leah comes inside almost hesitantly.

“How are you?” she asks, standing awkwardly next to the door.

“Tired. I have a concussion but other than that I’m ok” you answer to her.

She nods softly and you close your eyes again, looking to have a little of relief for your head. You don’t see Laia and Mariona exchanging a look before the Mallorcan talks to you again.

“We are going to get a shower. Do you need a lift to go home?”

“I can take her home” Leah interjects. “If you’re ok with that, of course.”

“Yeah” you answer only.

Mariona hums while Laia kisses your cheek.

“Call me if you need anything yes?”

“I will Mario, don’t worry”

You snap her hand when she pinches your cheek, making her laugh. You can’t help but smile back, sitting a little more when they are gone. This time Leah comes closer to you, and you can see in her eyes how worry she is.

“I’m fine” you assure her.

She groans in answer, and you almost roll your eyes again but stop the move before it’s too late. The medical staff comes right after, with a paper with the medication you will need for your recovery.

“You can’t be alone at home. Do you have someone to look after you?”

You frown softly, Sebastian can obviously not take this role. And you will need someone to take a look at him probably.

“My… A friend is at home for now. He’s supposed to stay until tomorrow late afternoon” you assure.

“No way” Leah snorts. “I will stay at your home to take care of you.”

There is now way in Leah’s mind that Jeff takes this opportunity to come closer of you in any way. You accept her offer (even if you don’t really have the choice) and with that you are walking to Leah’s car. Well, it’s more like Leah is carrying you and both of your bags.

Like you were imagining, Sebastian is still up when you come home, still wearing his Arsenal kit and looking by the windows to see you come in. He jumps in your legs when you arrive inside, and you take all your strength and concentration to take him in your arms.

“Hi buddy. Did you enjoy the game?” you ask while Leah ruffle his hair.

“Mama hurt” he mumbles, hiding his face in your neck.

“Yes, but I’m alright, ok? Have you eaten something?”

“Nothing since his fries at the stadium” Jeff intervenes. “I wanted to see if you want to eat with us before starting to cook something”

“I’m not really hungry” you shrug.

“The doctor said that you have to eat, Y/N” Leah remembers you.

You sigh softly and look at Sebastian for several seconds. He need a bath and you definitively need a shower too. Then you can all eat together before heading all in bed, that should be something possible to do, right?

“Leah, would you like to help Sebastien with his bath while I’m taking a shower? So Jeff you can cook us something, honestly just pasta with one pot of salsa I have in the cupboard would be great.”

You will see tomorrow for vegetables for your son. Sebastian seems happy to learn that Leah will give him his bath, but you see Jeff frown softly behind her.

“Is Leah staying for diner?”

“Mh in fact, Leah is staying for several day to have a look at me” you shrug.

Sebastian takes your hand to drag you to the bathrooms, so you miss the rejected look of Jeff and the happy smirk that Leah addresses him. You probably would have rolled your eyes, which is still a very bad idea.

Thirty minutes later, Sebastian is finishing his second plate while you struggle to eat more than five pastas. You can see Leah’s concerned gaze, but you start to get really tired, and you would kill to be able to go to sleep right now.

“You should go to sleep” Leah frown while looking at you.

“But Sebastian…”

“I can put him to bed” Jeff says. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Leah proposed to wash the dishes, so you just say goodnight to your son before going to your bedroom. You change for a pajama and go to a quick toilette before going back to your room and your bed.

You recognize Leah’s path in front of your room when you realize that you are the worst host ever.

“Leah” you whisper-shout.

You can’t help but smile when she passes her head through your door.

“I’m sorry I just realize that you don’t have anything to sleep in” you bite your lips. “You can take something from my stuff”

“Thanks” Leah just answer, turning to your furniture to take some short and t-shirt.

“Also, I hope you were not expecting to sleep on the couch, are you?”

Leah froze before turning in your direction, looking a little lost. Even with your brain being a new kind of jell-o, you can only notice how cute she looks.

“I did. Why?”

“Sebastian might wake up this night and maybe Jeff will take him there. If you don’t mind, you can sleep with me?”

“Oh.”

Oh? You arch an eyebrow at her reaction. It’s almost hurtful to be honest, but Leah seems quickly to find a way to recompose herself.

“Well like this I can have a real look at you”

“If you say so” you grumble, before turning your back at her and closing your eyes.

You don’t see Leah’s affectionate smile when she looks at you before she changes her clothes for yours and went to the bathroom. She wasn’t expecting you to ask her to sleep with you when your ex is around. She smirks when she thinks that she beats him there and he probably will get mad about it.

When she joins you in the room again, you weren’t far from sleeping but you still have a pout on your face. Leah lays down next to you and have to put an hand on your hips to kiss your cheek because you still have your back turning to her.

“Sleep well Princess Spain” she smiles.

How can you not smile at that? You do smile, softly.

“Night, Lee.”

“Wake me up if you need something yeah?”

She kisses your cheek again and you hum, moving a little for your back to be press against her. She lets you, even passing her arm around you. You fall asleep very quickly like this.

Like the doctor’s recommendation, Leah wakes you up every three hours just to be sure that you still have all your head working correctly. It’s only when you menace her to make her sleep in Sebastian cradle that she stops.

The next morning, when you wake up, Leah isn’t next to you anymore. You are a little lost, your head is pounding awfully, and you grab you look at your phone to know what time it is. It was before realizing that Leah hides it because you are not supposed to look at screens for now.

You were about to get up when the door of your room is open, just for Leah to be entering.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were up” she says.

“Not for long” you mumble. “Where’s Sebastian? What time is it?”

“Your ex took him to have breakfast somewhere and go to a playground, the weather is nice” Leah explains. “How’s your head?”

“Hurt”

She smiles with sympathy and give you some pills and a bottle of water. You probably haven’t saw her so careful with someone when she helps you to sit, unless with Sebastian maybe. She lets you take your medicine before pressing her hand on your forehead.

“You don’t have fever. Are you feeling dizzy?”

“A little” you admit.

“You should probably eat something. What do you want?”

“Just bring me some of cereals who are at Sebastian” you shrug.

But Leah frowns softly.

“You need a real breakfast”

“You don’t know how to cook” you point with a small smirk.

But you just challenged Leah who snorts and gets up from your bed, answering something like “Try me” before leaving the room. You don’t see her for twenty minutes, time you used to get fresh and change your clothes.

You look at the tray she brings you. Fresh press orange juice, some fruits and grilled toast with butter. You realize that some of toasts are plain and when Leah comes back in bed with you, you understand that she will eat with you.

“I’ve read that you guys are eating bread with tomato in the morning. Sorry but I don’t know how to do that” she says while putting the orange juice in your hands.

“Have you typed What Spanish people eat for breakfast? on Google?”

You just wanted to tease her, but when you realize that her cheeks are suddenly a little pink, you can’t help but laugh. Leah doesn’t seem to take it bad though.

“No. More like How to feed a beautiful Spanish girl in the morning”

“Flattery will get you everywhere”

She just smiles, probably wanting to let you enjoy your breakfast. You are not really hungry to be honest, but you know you need to eat something. Leah seems to enjoy the strawberries, so you lot them to her, eating slowly your toasts. From the outside you probably look like a couple, and you can’t explain why you like that idea so much. You raise your eyes on Leah who smiles at you, and you smile back, trying to ignore the strange feeling she cause in your belly.

It isn’t new, honestly. You don’t know when it started, but it’s not the first time. You already felt your heartbeat go faster when she hugs you or kiss your cheek. Trickle on your skin where she touched you. You are a casual cuddly and touchy person, and you might have taken advantage of it to be closer to Leah.

She doesn’t comment your lack of talking, probably putting it on your concussion. You are feeling pretty great for someone who has one, but probably because it’s a light one.

“Do you need anything else?” Leah asks when you’re finished.

“Cuddles?”

She smiles and get on her back, and you don’t waist a second to almost straddle her, your head on her shoulder, one of your legs between hers and your hand stroking her arm. To be honest, you are almost entirely lying on her.

“Thanks for taking care of me” you whisper, your eyes lost somewhere facing you.

“I wouldn’t have let anyone else take care of you.”

His fingers going up and down your spine would be enough not to make you realize what her words can mean. But your foggy brain seems to be able to do it anyway.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I care for you, Missy”

She boop your nose with her finger. She could have put teasing in her voice, but there isn’t. She seems a little breathless, which is very strange for someone just lying in a bed. It feels like it’s time for some confessions, so you decide to push your luck a little more.

“Lee?” you continue when she hums. “Why did you hate me?”

“I didn’t hate you”

Her answer seems genuine, but you know that it’s not true. You groan when you roll your eyes, remembering too late that it’s better for you not to do it.

“You did, Leah. We reached a point where we never even say hello to each other. And I felt like even me breathing was annoying you.”

Leah’s lips stretch to a small smile. It was true, but she never hated you anyway. She just needs a way to explain to you without looking like crazy. You were waiting patiently for her answer, you never really understood Leah’s behavior with you.

“I just… Felt like you were turning yourself to anyone but me. You never really talked to me about what you were living with the RFEF, but you did with Viv, Lia or Katie. You weren’t touchy with me like you were with Beth or almost everyone around. Sur we were laughing together but I felt like you never considered me for me. Then Gio came and you were always together, ignoring the rest of the world.”

You frown hearing her confessions. You need some seconds to process all of this information and it’s not because of your concussions this time.

“Gio and I were always together because we were together” you point.

“I know!”

You hear her sights of frustration and feel her moving under you when she passes her hand in her hair. Her stroking in your arm has stopped and you miss them already. You don’t add anything for now, feeling like there is something else to come.

“Then you got your injury and you decided to go to Spain, like if we weren’t enough here. And I have to learn all the shit you got through your damn federation like the public, with your petition and then you finally came back to the team. But I still didn’t know why.”

Even if you don’t know if there is a place more comfortable than Leah’s arms, you push yourself to sit anyway and have a better look at her. She’s still frowning, of course she is. You let your eyes take a look at her face, her eyes, before answering something. You don’t know what you could answer to all that, to be honest. Maybe it’ll better to start from the start.

“I never was touchy with you because I didn’t know how you will react. I know it’s different from Spain, Beth has always been extravagant so I knew she wouldn’t mind. I felt like touched depraved honestly, not in the sexual way but I missed hug and just display of affection” you shrug, playing with a piece of bedsheet.

You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, but you are lost in your thoughts and says, looking only at the bedsheet you are playing with.

“For Gio, we had a good time together but if I knew she will break up with me as soon as she wasn’t here anymore, I wouldn’t have lost time with her. She’s nice, but I was looking for something serious, not just a fling to pass time, you know?”

Leah nods softly.

“When I heard about your breakup I wanted to come to you, but I didn’t know how to approach you anymore. And then Jonas announced us that you hurt yourself during a private practice and that you went back to Spain for recovery.”

You nod softly too, biting your lips softly.

“I didn’t want to talk to you about my pregnancy because we had all of those injuries. I was pregnant because of a one nightstand which wasn’t really clever of me. I didn’t have the courage to be judged by someone. And in Spain I had my parents, even if I had the right of a lecture first.”

Leah puts softly her hand on yours, making you look at her for the first time since you started talking. Her eyes are way softer that what you were expecting.

“I understand. I can’t speak for anyone, but I probably won’t have judge you. I’m not gonna lie though, given our tensed relationship, I don’t think I’ll be helpful with you.”

You smile softly, before shrugging. You still have the part with the RFEF to talk about, which you don’t really like. You are not fond of your new coach to be honest, but at least it’s a little better.

“And for the national team, like other I tried to stand up against them while signing that paper with the other girls. They tried to make us comes back for World Cup, making promises and everything. I called Alexia about it and she explained to me that if we don’t come back, they will call younger players. And I couldn’t let younger girls having to deal with all this shit. Ale managed to convince Ona, Mariona, Aitana and myself to come back. We fight to win, hopping that after being World Champions people will hear us more”

You frown too, not far from Leah’s habits. You hate what happened after the World Cup, all this fuss with the former president and Vilda.

“But people keep calling us traitor and were laughing about what happened to Jenni. Then we made this petition attesting that we won’t come back until the RFEF change, like our coach. They changed the coach but then we got forced to come back, they threatened to take away our professional player licenses if we didn’t come back.”

You shrug, still looking at Leah. She’s silenced for now, but you can see all things getting together in her eyes.

“So, I came back because I didn’t have the choice. We talked a lot, sometimes until like three in the morning, and things aren’t great honestly, but it gets better”

“That’s a lot to process” Leah says slowly.

“Yeah. And I had a baby who couldn’t sleep at night during that time” you add with a smirk.

Leah smiles back, her face getting softer when you mention Sebastian. You can’t miss the bond existing between the two, Sebastian adores Leah, and you are pretty sure that Leah likes him a lot back.

“It was hard, but I never had a single regret about my pregnancy. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“He’s a sweet boy” Leah confirms.

You watch her scratch her forehead before putting a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She still seems thoughtful. You look at her while tilting your head, wondering what is still in her mind.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly.

“What would have been different if I was there for you instead of sulking stupidly.”

You shrug before biting your lips softly.

“Can I do one more confidence?”

“Of course.”

Leah sits in the bed too, her back against the bed.

“I had like the biggest crush on you on the first day at Arsenal.”

There is a blank before Leah laughs softly.

“You’re joking?”

“No”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She seems almost outraged by that information but arch an eyebrow before answering.

“You had a girlfriend, Leah. And I’m pretty sure that neither of you would have been interested in a threesome.”

You laugh at Leah’s awkwardness and the grimace she makes soon after. But now that everything was spilled out, you feel a little better to be honest. Lighter. There is no more secrets between you. Or almost, because you still have that crush for her anyway.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you during those times” Leah says, softly stroking your hand now.

“It’s ok. I wasn’t here for you neither when you had your ACL and your breakup.”

Leah shrugs one more time and at this rate she will have done her shoulder-training exercises for the day.

“Plus, you are here now.”

“I am.”

She smiles this time and it’s hard not to have a crush for her when she smiles like this. Leah is a beautiful woman; you must have sore eyes if you don’t realize it. You found her beautiful even when you were at loggerheads, but now that you find back the personality you loved before, it’s even better.

“Would you like to-“ “I was wondering if-“

You talked at the same time, just to shut up at the same time too. You smile at her and she’s smiling too, but this time you are the first to talk.

“Sorry, go on.”

“I was wondering” Leah starts slowly “If you would go out with me one night?"

“Like, for a date?”

“Yeah?”

You really hope that it’s really happening and that you are not dreaming or something. You bite your lips softly before answering.

“I would love to.”

“Are you sure you will be ok?” you ask Mariona in Spanish for the hundredth time.

The usually calm and composed Spaniard sights and throw one of Sebastian’s toys at your head, the poor duck falling on the ground with a “quack”.

“Y/N I swear to God that if you are not leaving now, I will kick you out of your own house. Go get ready.”

You grumble something under your breath, roll your eyes when Mario shouts, “I heard you” and leave for the bathroom. You are already dressed, but you need to do your hair. Tonight is the night where Leah takes you out and you are more stressed than ever.

Mariona accepted to play the babysitter for Sebastian, and she will be sleeping in the guestroom if you are coming home late. You are not the kind of mom who lets you kid to go out usually, when you are not with him it’s because you are at training or at a game. It’s during the week so you were a little reluctant to ask the teen who usually babysit Sebastian.

When you confessed to Mariona and Laia they proposed to come, Laia hasn’t been able to come, but Lia must come soon to help Mariona. Which you find very cute and teased Mariona about. It’s only when she starts to tease you back about Leah that you stopped.

You are just finished to prepare yourself when the doorbell rings and you hear Sebastian’s footsteps running to the door.

“Leah!” he shouts happily.

You frown when you hear him call Leah a second time, but when you go to the living room you understand that it was in fact Lia who he was calling.

“Pwetty” he points you when he spots you coming in the room.

“Gracias mi Amor” you say, kissing his cheek.

“He’s right” Lia says when you great her with a hug. “Maybe I’ll change my Spaniard”

You blush, Leah glares at Lia and Mariona snorts. You then turn to Sebastian to tell him the last recommendations, like eat all his vegetables and to behave with Lia and Mariona. You finally get out of your house before Mariona does, turning in Leah’s direction with a slight strange nervousness.

“So… Where are we going?” you ask, playing with your fingers.

“You’ll see when we will be there” Leah smiles.

She puts a hand in your back to drive you to her car, which she starts as soon as you are both sitting inside. You smile when you hear Taylor Swift singing in the background and hums the melody. You are glad to realize that the conversation between both of you is still easy when Leah asks you a random question and it starts a small talk very appreciated.

You can help but look at Leah from the corner of your eyes, appreciating the way she is dress. Everything is perfect for her, but she’s really beautiful tonight. In fact, you say it to her when you are seated in the table of the new Italian restaurant Leah reserved, suggested by Alessia.

“You’re beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks” she smiles casually. “I’ll say you are too, but Lia got ahead of me already.”

“She said I’m pretty” you smirk.

Leah laughs softly and you feel your stomach make a special squeeze. She seems so relaxed and when you remember how were things between you two months ago, it seems pretty unbelievable.

“You are beautiful” she says, looking at you right in your eyes.

Cursed be she and her incredible blue eyes. You are saved from fainting by the waitress who came with the menus. You chose to drink a little of wine, it’s not every day that you get out after all.

“It’s the first time I have a date since Sebastian is born” you confess like it was nothing, your eyes still fixed on the menu.

“Really?”

Leah seems genuinely surprised and you arch an eyebrow while looking at her.

“A pregnant woman or a woman with a baby then a toddler aren’t exactly what people are looking for” you shrug.

“Mh. Well, lucky me.”

She smirks and you smile back, trying to ignore the red creeping on your cheek. You like cocky Leah, you always had. You didn’t like when she was harsh and almost mean to you though, but it was time to forget about this moment. You are really happy to have another relationship with her now, even if it seems to be the start of something new.

The night went great, the food was delicious and the company amazing. You and Leah exchanged several longs looks when there is a blank in your conversation. But everything seems so fluid and you love it. You love the subtle flirt from Leah too. She makes you feel special, which you didn’t feel since a long time.

After sharing a dessert, it was time to going home. You don’t hesitate to accept when Leah proposes you a last drink at her house. Mariona informed you two hours ago that Sebastian is dead asleep after having his bath and eating her plate full of spaghetti.

Leah puts something on TV and you both sit on the couch just to ignore it. You are resisting to the urge to kiss her since you left the restaurant, but it’s becoming harder and harder every minute.

Leah was rambling about a random story about her mother’s dog when you finally crack. You just lean in without even taking the time to prevent her, your hand on her hips while you press your lips against Leah’s. She stays still and when you retreat yourself, she’s looking at you with wide eyes. Ok, maybe you read her behavior wrong.

You feel so ashamed that you would rather being struck by lightning right now.

“Madre mia Leah, I’m so sorry. I thought – “

But Leah doesn’t let you the time to add something else. She grabs your face with her both hands and drags you against her to kiss you. You are surprised, maybe less than Leah when you first kiss her, but you kiss her back and you definitely never feel something like that before.

Leah knows how to kiss, and you work on yourself not to jump on her. You follow the move when Leah lays down on the couch, your lips never detached from hers for a long time.

“I wanted you to make the first move” Leah admits later, when you are cuddling on her couch. “I didn’t want you to feel any pressure”

You just hum and given Leah never refuse you a kiss since the first, you raise yourself to put a peck on her lips.

“Do you want to have the big talk now? About how we see our relationship, or do you want to wait?” the blonde asks you after that.

You frown softly, a little bit surprise by that question. You might have some random hookups at one point, but after your reciprocal confessions and tonight, for you it was more than obvious that you want something serious with her. So you may as well get it clear now.

“I am looking for something serious, I’m not going to lie. I have a toddler and I’m not interested in wasting my time, especially with you because I like you a lot.”

“Work for me baby” Leah smirks, before becoming more serious. “Another thing.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t share” she frowns.

“Okay?”

You don’t understand what she wants to say with it. I mean of course you understand what she means, but not in this situation. You are not really interested to have an open relationship.

“I’m not going to ask you to stop your arrangement with Jeff because it seems working for the three of you now, but it’s not because he’s sleeping at your house that he can say a word in your life or our relationship. And since now he better has his eyes in his pocket.”

You roll your eyes with a little smile. In your eyes, Leah is making a little too much with this story. You are sure that your ex doesn’t have a single interest in you, so you are not lying when you answer to Leah.

“There is nothing between Jeff and me, Lee.”

“For you maybe. We’ll see how he’ll react when you’ll tell him about you and I. But stop about him” she decides soon after.

You were going to ask her if there is another topic that she wanted to talk about, but it was before she shows you what she has in mind by kissing you once again. You don’t complain though, you could probably spend hours kissing her without being tired of it. Everything in Leah is intoxicating, in the right way.

“Is it time for me to get you home?”

It is, but you don’t want to. You agree nevertheless, unable to hold a pout at the thought of separating yourself from Leah, even for some hours. But it’s better this way, even if Lia and Mariona are sleeping in the guestroom, you’d rather to be there when Sebastian gets up.

Leah grabs your hand to takes you to her car and takes it again when you are going to your door.

“I had a perfect night. Thanks” you say when you turn in her direction, passing your arms around her shoulders.

“I have a perfect night too. I can’t wait for the next one”

Her lips stroke yours while she talks, and you can’t help but smile softly.

“Who says it will be another one? Maybe you’ll have to bribe me?”

“Can’t wait” she smirks cockily.

You laugh softly and exchanged another kiss before you have to let her go. She kisses your cheek softly and you enjoy a last time her smell before looking at her going back to her car.

“Text me when you are home?”

“I will. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night.”

There is only the light in the living room who is still on when you enter the house. Everything is perfectly tidy, way more than when you clean yourself after Sebastian falls asleep. You smile when you see the drawing Sebastian made for you, in evidence on the table in the kitchen.

You pass in your Son’s bedroom to kiss him before going in your bathroom to change for your pajama and prepare you to go to bed. When you are ready, you happily find your bed, looking at your phone just to see that Leah messaged you several minutes ago.

Leah 🌹 I’m home, Lovely. Can’t wait to see you again 😊❤️

You Have a good night too 😊 see you tomorrow?

Leah 🌹 Sure, I wouldn’t want to deprive Sebastian of his morning pastry 🙃

You Seeing you makes him happy too you know, with or without pastry He probably gets it from his Mama 😉

Leah 🌹 Stop and go to sleep, you little flirt 😂

You 😇 Sleep tight ❤️

Leah 🌹 Sleep tight. See you tomorrow ❤️

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #leah williamson #leah williamson x you #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader

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meropeeonmee · 4 days ago

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PROLOGUE: THE LEAK

Description: A leaked demo reignites the internet’s obsession with a pop star’s rumored romance with an NFL quarterback—and exposes the heartbreak they both tried to bury.

AUTHORS NOTE: Sooo this is just a prompt, I’m just trying something out and want to see if my work could go somewhere. Let me know if you’d like to read more.

THE LEAK CHAPTER 1 - Next chapter !

MASTERLIST

🚨 BREAKING: “SPRING INTO SUMMER” DEMO LEAKS ONLINE — FANS CONVINCED POP STAR IS SINGING ABOUT NFL STAR JOE BURROW

At 2:17 a.m., a Reddit post with no caption and no context quietly dropped a link. No one expected the storm that would follow.

It was a SoundCloud upload titled “Spring Into Summer (Demo).” A stripped-down, three-minute acoustic voice memo—fragile, emotional, and clearly never meant to be public. Her voice cracks. Her timing stumbles. It doesn’t sound like a single. It sounds like a secret.

By morning, it was everywhere.

She hasn’t released anything in almost two years—not since 2022, when her name was tangled with NFL golden boy Joe Burrow. The two were never confirmed. No red carpets. No PDA. Just rumors, fan whispers, and one now-iconic photo:

April 29. Blurry, chaotic, and grainy—but unmistakable.

They were walking together, allegedly leaving a dinner in Manhattan. Heads close. No security. No handlers. Just them. Fans have argued for months whether it was really them, but now? The leaked file name—Apr29demo.mp3—has turned that blurry photo into undeniable lore.

And then there’s the song.

“Spring into summer, and the winter’s gone / I try to hold on to it, but the current’s too strong…”

“Somebody finds me in the shallow end / Love you like I mean it when I know I can’t…”

“We have too many years between us / If I could jump into the past, I’d only change one thing— / I’d never hurt you first. I’d never let you leave.”

“I’m always, forever, runnin’ back to you…”

There was no press release. No announcement. No warning. Just a time stamp. A heartbreak. And the sound of someone finally saying what they couldn’t say back then.

On Twitter/X, the meltdown is immediate:

@imjustaburner: “This wasn’t a leak. It was an open wound. And she let it bleed.”

@qbdramaqueen: “Joe Burrow hasn’t said her name once. Not once. She just sang it without even using it.”

@itsyourgirlmika_: “‘I’d never hurt you first’ is insane. That’s not a lyric. That’s what you say when you still check if they blocked you.”

@whodey: “We SAID that photo was them. She just confirmed it in stereo.”

Over on TikTok, one fan edit is already at 6.4 million views. It opens with that same blurry April 29 photo—cropped, filtered, enhanced—overlayed with:

“She kept quiet. He stayed distant. Now the song’s louder than both of them.”

The video cuts to Joe walking off the field postgame, eyes on the ground, followed by a clip of her at an awards show, unsmiling in a storm of cameras.

The chorus plays: “I’m always, forever, runnin’ back to you…”

Top comments:

“This isn’t a demo. This is a goodbye she never got to give.”

“She disappeared for two years. And this is the first thing we hear? She meant every word.”

“He left her in silence. She left him in a song.”

“April 29 is a national heartbreak now. She made it immortal.”

She hasn’t posted. She hasn’t followed him. She hasn’t even acknowledged the leak.

But the silence feels strategic now. Like the song said it all.

And Joe?

One sports insider claims he was late to Bengals training the morning after. Hood up. Headphones in. No eye contact. When asked by a reporter about “the noise online,” he just shrugged. But someone close to the team allegedly said, “He looked like someone who finally heard what he wasn’t ready to admit.”

There’s still no official confirmation of what happened between them. There never was.

But now, there’s a blurry photo.

A timestamp.

And a demo that never needed to name him—because it already did.

She gave the world what he never gave her:

Closure.

And she did it without ever saying his name.

And the man it’s about?

He’s finally listening.

Too late. Too quiet. But loud enough to echo.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x oc #cincinnati bengals #nfl football #nfl #fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #Spotify

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avatar-anna · 2 years ago

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2022

Y/n stepped into the studio in search of her boyfriend, who had been eluding her for a couple hours now. He woke up before she did, then went off on a morning run, then to rehearsals, and now that everyone was back, she still couldn't find him. Another person might've assumed he was avoiding her, or everyone, but she knew Harry better than most people. He was as clingy as they got, often crawling on top of her when she was at her desk to get her attention and his constant insistence on being the little spoon whenever the two of them watched TV at home. But Y/n knew he liked his space from time to time.

With a little more searching through the unfamiliar Palm Springs house, she found Harry laying in the middle of the studio, one arm draped across his eyes. From her vantage point, Y/n could see her boyfriend's chest rise and fall slowly, as if he'd fallen asleep on the carpeted floor.

"Come lay with me."

Y/n was a little startled to hear his voice, she could've sworn his eyes were closed at the very least, but he must've seen her come in. Still, she didn't question him, didn't say much at all until she was next to him, cheek nestled against his black hoodie. Y/n closed her eyes too, her hand sneaking beneath Harry's layers of clothes to feel his warm skin beneath his palm. Harry hummed, leaning into her touch a little as her breath kept time with his.

"H?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice low and croaky.

"Why are we on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed for us to sleep in upstairs?"

"I'm not sleeping," he mumbled.

Y/n picked her head up off his chest, and she smiled a little at the slight pout that turned the corners of his mouth downward. "Then what are we doing?"

"Meditating."

But it was clear Harry was content to lay on the floor in complete silence, so Y/n obliged, once again resting her head against his chest and focusing on his breathing. Minutes passed until she wasn't sure how long they'd been laying prone like that, but she didn't say anything. Even when she started to feel the hard floor beneath the rug and grew uncomfortable, she stayed put. There was something on Harry's mind, Y/n could tell. He was just finding the words.

He said it with finality, as if that was an obvious reason to be laying on the floor of the house's studio. But Harry was like that sometimes, believing him and Y/n were so in synch that she could read his thoughts. Most of the time she could follow his train of thought without him having to say anything, though even she had to admit this was unusual behavior for her boyfriend.

"You're supposed to be meditating," Harry mumbled.

Harry might've been meditating, but Y/n had never been all that good at it personally. She could hardly get through basic yoga poses without getting distracted or falling into a fit of giggles. Now her eyes were getting heavy, the smell of Harry's cologne and the soft material of his sweatshirt putting her to sleep.

Blinking slowly, Y/n inched her way up until she was face to face with her boyfriend. His eyes were closed, and if he hadn't just spoken, she would've guessed he was asleep. Tapping his nose gently, she said, "You're taking too long to talk to me."

"Oh. Well, excuse me," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked smile.

"You know what I mean," Y/n said. She kissed his jaw, her thumb grazing the other side of his face. "We're laying on the floor in the middle of a studio. That's pretty strange, even for an eccentric celebrity such as yourself."

"You're just full of jokes after your nap."

"I wasn't napping!" Y/n insisted, pinching his stomach. Harry giggled and pinched her back until they were both rolling around the studio and play-wrestling until both breathing heavily with laughter. The tussle ended with Harry on top of Y/n his knit sunflower hat tickling her forehead.

"Talk to me. What's bothering you?" she asked him gently. She took his hat off and ran her hand through his hair, twirling a strand around her finger.

"It's all just...happening so fast," Harry finally admitted. He rolled back onto the floor, his head turning so he could still face Y/n. "I feel like just yesterday we were quarantining back home, and now we're here, and I...Am I crazy if I kind of miss it?"

Y/n's gaze softened. "You were chomping at the bit to go on tour when lockdown started," she said, smiling at the memory of those first few weeks. "And now the world is opening up and you get to perform again. This is a good thing, bub."

She and Harry hadn't been dating for very long when lockdown started, but they stayed in a bubble with Sarah and Mitch, which helped to make it feel like she and Harry weren't diving into moving in together so quickly. Y/n worried she would grow to despise him or discover a habit of his she didn't like and vice versa after spending so much quality one-on-one time together, but she didn't, and neither did he. Eventually the two of them quarantined without their friends, and Harry was right, it was honestly the best time. Y/n had never felt so close to someone before. All the movie nights and making dinners and late night wine and card games and cuddling for hours while sharing secrets and staying up and helping him with his music were so precious to her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything. But this was important too.

"I know what you mean," Y/n said. "I've missed my all-access pass to Harry Styles whenever I want."

Harry grinned. "You still have that, dork."

"And you still have me," she said earnestly. "But you're also going on tour again, H, and that's amazing. This album is so good, and you've worked so hard. If you need to take a step back from it all and have to decompress with little old me, you can. You know you can. But this is good too, okay? This is great. I mean, look at where we are? Coachella? Come on."

"I'm so nervous," Harry admitted.

"That's okay," Y/n told him. "I know you're gonna be great. And after that? We'll come back here and unwind. We can still do what we did during lockdown, bubbie. We'll just take it on tour. If I'm invited, that is."

Harry gave her a funny look. "Of course you're coming."

"Okay. Then that's that. Nothing to worry about."

Y/n grinned at him, but Harry just kind of stared at her. Normally she was pretty good at reading her boyfriend, but this was a look she'd never seen before. She was about to ask him what he was thinking now when he blurted,

"I'm gonna marry you someday," he said quietly, turning on his shoulder so he could face Y/n better.

Her eyes widened. They'd never talked about the future like that before. Y/n had been hoping and praying that Harry was the one for a while now and that he felt the same, but it had never been put in such plain terms before. Or out loud.

"Promise?" was all she could think to say.

Harry nodded. "Promise."

Y/n's grin was wider than anything she thought was capable. "Now can you please take me upstairs so we can lay on something other than a rug over hardwood floors?"

Rolling his eyes playfully, Harry stood up and helped Y/n to her feet, promptly picking her up until his legs were around his waist. "My fiance is so demanding," he said, leaning in for a kiss, but she stopped him by placing a finger on his mouth.

"Absolutely not. I am not your fiance until you ask me properly on one knee with a ring in your hand. And you can't call me anything else but your girlfriend until you do."

Harry looked amused but didn't argue, just raised his brows and glanced down at where Y/n's finger was still pressed against his lips. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping the ends of his curls excitedly as he walked them out of the studio.

#harry styles #boyfriendrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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valentineshearts · 6 months ago

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Misunderstandings

A/N: Hi everybody! I just posted this on my AO3, and, as I was starting to before I suddenly lost all inspiration and stopped writing fics, I decided to cross post here! My AO3 is in my bio incase anyone likes what they read here and wants to see more from me that isn’t posted here on tumblr. I hope you all enjoy!!! Happy New Year everybody!!!!

Description: Crack fic I wrote in January of 2022. Jayce x Viktor x Reader except Jayce doesn’t realize he’s in a poly relationship and his partners have to break it to him that they’re all dating.

Ships: Jayce x Viktor x Reader. Mentioned Mel x everyone else included in this fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were hiding something from him, he knew it.

Jayce may not have always been the MOST observant when it came to his partners, but they weren’t exactly being subtle. And if it were any other couple he would get it! People who are dating tend to like to huddle away together in corners after all, but not this couple. Even though Viktor and (Y/N) were dating, they always made the effort to include him in their activities, spend one on one time with him; they made sure that they didn’t shut him out, that their friendship, both as a group and individually, never fizzled out. But there they were now, tucked away, off to the side of the room, whispering to each other heatedly. (Y/N) was cradling a box in her arms. She shifted as he watched to rest the box on her hip, freeing her other arm to gesture as she spoke. Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face. Their voices had risen slightly now; instead of just seeing their mouths move, he could hear the vaguest murmurings of their voices, though they became louder by the minute. Jayce sighed and got up from his desk, walking over to them. As he got closer, (Y/N) noticed him coming their way and clammed up, gently grabbing Viktor’s shoulder and whispering something in his ear. Viktor snapped his mouth shut, looking over at Jayce in a way that was obviously supposed to be subtle, panic evident in his eyes.

And it hurt, if he was being honest. It really fucking hurt to see his two best friends in the whole world, the two people he loved more than anything else just….obviously avoiding him.

He came to stand in front of them, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, what are you guys hiding from me?”

(Y/N) shot Viktor a sharp, albeit mildly triumphant, look.

“I told you he’d notice.”

Viktor sighed, eyebrows furrowing.

“How was I to know he would notice?? The last time you cut your hair he didn’t notice for three months!! Why should I think this would be any different??”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by the sound of Jayce clearing his throat.

“So. What have you been hiding from me.”

Viktor and (Y/N) looked at one another, questions in their eyes. They each seemed to find the answers in each other’s face though and nodded, agreeing on something Jayce couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Alright, come sit over here Jayce.”

(Y/N) walked forward, grabbing his arm and escorting him back to his desk, sitting him in the chair. She smoothed back his hair and smiled, and some of his anger melted away. She moved to the other side of his desk, Viktor coming behind her to wrap a hand around her waist.

“We meant this to be a surprise for tonight-“

She said, placing the box on his desk in front of him, Viktor continuing her train of thought,

“-Since you’re so eager to see what’s inside though, ehhh, I suppose we can show you now.”

(Y/N) stepped forward, a look of obvious excitement on both her and Viktor’s faces as she lifted up the top of the box.

“Happy Anniversary!!!”

Jayce looked up at them, bright expressions, arms wrapped around one another, a cake on the table, and got the distinct feeling that he was missing something.

“But…we founded Hextech in the spring….? It’s winter….?”

Viktor snorted, shaking his head, but (Y/N) had the same look on her face that she did whenever she figured out how to fix a bug in a new project.

“Viktor, I don’t think he knows what we’re talking about.”

Viktor really laughed at that, shoulders bouncing up and down as he looked at her, fond, but just a little condescending.

“What? Of course he does!”

Jayce desperately searched his mind, trying to think of something, ANYTHING that could warrant a Happy Anniversary and a CAKE, but he came up blank. He snapped out of it to see Viktor looking at him expectantly and he felt his face flush against his will.

“….Let me check my calendars.”

Jayce opened all of his drawers at once, grabbing stacks of binders, papers, and journals, plopping them on his desk, spilling onto the floor, praying that something in there would give him a hint.

(Y/N) walked over to Viktor, running the back of her hand down his arm until their fingers were interlaced, hoping to wipe the deeply hurt look off of his face.

“Viktor, I really think he has absolutely no idea what we’re talking about.”

Viktor turned to look at her, drinking in the comfort he gained from the familiarity of the face of one of the people he adored most in the world. She pressed a kiss to the mark just above his lips, and then another to his cheek, before gesturing for Viktor to look back at Jayce at his desk. When he did so, he saw Jayce, frantically rummaging through approximately three years worth of documents to try and find a hint. The hurt that had filled his chest was replaced with euphoric, mind numbing relief, that almost immediately gave way to immense disbelief.

“Oh my God, our boyfriend’s an idiot.” He said, smacking his hand to his face and running a hand through his hair.

Jayce froze, grip tightening on the papers he was holding, staring but no longer seeing.

“What.”

“Oh my God.”

(Y/N) was looking at Jayce with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. Viktor groaned and sat in the chair beside Jayce’s desk, holding his head in his hands.

“Wait, hold on, your — OUR — what????”

(Y/N) covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide as her chest heaved with breathless laughter. Viktor groaned louder.

“Jayce.” Viktor mumbled, head still in his hands, “It's our anniversary. We’ve been dating for a year.”

Jayce’s mouth hung open, and he moved his gaze to (Y/N), waiting for her to tell him that THIS was the surprise. That this was just a big joke reason for him to have the cake and they weren’t actually dating. He was surprised to find his stomach dropping at the thought, but he shoved that feeling to the side, looking up at her desperately. She removed her hands from her mouth, looking at him questioningly.

“Jayce….remember that party last year. The one where you got REALLY drunk and had to sleep on our couch?”

Jayce nodded, eyes locked on her, absolutely NO idea where this story was going. Because he HAD woken up on their couch, so where his mind had immediately jumped to couldn’t be it.

(Y/N) searched his face for recognition and, when she found none, continued her story, moving to place a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, rubbing comforting circles with her thumb.

“And before you passed out you told us that you had gotten so drunk that you had realized that you had a crush on both of us? Remember that Jayce?”

Jayce shook his head so hard he thought he might give himself whiplash. (Y/N)’s mouth opened, forming an “o” as she nodded.

“Ah. That would explain it.”

“Why did you lie to us?”

Jayce turned to see Viktor, leaned over, head buried in his hands, voice muffled as the air brushed against his skin. He pressed down the urge to reach over and comfort him, giving his brain the space to come up with exactly one word:

“….What?”

Viktor sighed deeply, shoulders rising and falling in a way that just made him look even more defeated.

“We talked about it the next morning. We asked if you’d remembered. You told us you did. You lied, apparently.”

Viktor lifted up his head, eyes falling on Jayce, scrutinizing him.

“Why tell us that you remembered?”

Jayce squirmed, shrinking in on himself a little. He searched his mind back, remembering that morning, and immediately became even more uncomfortable.

“I was embarrassed,”

He mumbled, trying to avoid Viktor’s gaze.

“You both were acting like it was something important, really important; I didn’t want to disappoint either of you.”

Viktor smiled at him, soft, a little sadness underneath it.

“Jayce, you wouldn’t have disappointed us. We just would have told you what you had said, instead of apparently assuming that we were all in a relationship for the past year.”

“Which begs the question…”

Viktor and Jayce both turned to see (Y/N), an expression of pure, teasing mirth on her face.

“….How did you NOT know that we were in a relationship? I mean we’re not exactly reserved in our affection.”

Viktor’s eyes widened, the smirk on (Y/N)’s face apparently catching as his face morphed into a matching, “cat that got the cream” look.

“She’s right!”

Viktor straightened, pointing a finger at Jayce accusingly.

“Last week, to convince me to take a break, you took me to one of your favorite restaurants and I -ever the romantic- fed you food from my plate! What on earth about that didn’t clue you in that we were on a date?”

Jayce leaned forward abruptly, almost falling out of his chair.

“That was a date?! I thought we were just…really good friends. Who were secure enough in their friendship to hold hands, and kiss each other on the cheek, and feed each other food…..oh my god”

Viktor returned to burying himself in his hands as (Y/N) cackled.

“My turn now. I have literally licked chocolate off of your cheek. I have kissed you under the mistletoe. We’ve all slept in the same bed on more than one occasion. Genuinely what gives?”

Jayce, eyes vacant as he stared off into space and questioned every decision in his life up to this point, shook his head as if to wipe away this newfound revelation that was causing the puzzle pieces of his life begin to fall into place.

“Yeah but friends also do that!! It’s called sleepovers, and goofing off. Besides, in your examples, Mel was also there most of the time. Wait. What about Mel?!”

Jayce’s breathing became thin, far too quick and shallow to be healthy. Viktor lifted himself from his stupor to hand Jayce a paper bag, and (Y/N) placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing low circles as she counted breaths with him.

“Easy Jayce, easy. What about Mel?”

Jayce’s eyes darted between the two people before him, people he loved more than anything. It was beyond his wildest dreams to be lucky enough to be in a relationship with them both. And he felt like the worst person in the world.

“Mel! We have something going on between us…..I think. Have I been cheating on her with you guys?! HAVE I BEEN CHEATING ON YOU GUYS WITH HER?!”

As if summoned Mel walked into the room, her usual elegance and composure breaking slightly when she saw the cake, shooting (Y/N) and Viktor a sharp look, filled with anger and just a little hurt.

“You gave him the cake without me? We agreed that this would be a joint celebration for all of us.”

“Sorry sweetheart, he was so insistent, it was starting to hurt his feelings, but you’ll never guess-“

“-HE DIDN’T KNOW WE’RE ALL DATING-“

“MEL?! WE’RE ALL WHAT-“

#arcane #arcane 2022 #arcane season two #arcane season 2 #viktor #jayce talis #mel medarda #viktor x reader arcane #jayce x viktor #jayce x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #arcane fanfic #x reader fanfiction

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otaku-girl-ao3-fics · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1 | Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight

Kraven the Hunter x Bullet Train | 50 chapters | 180k+ | Sergei x Reader x Tangerine | Explicit

ATJ character masterlist | Baby, I’m Preyin’ masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl

Summary

Your quiet life in the woods was never as perfect as it seemed. When Sergei leaves on a hunt, promising to return with a surprise, someone from your past arrives instead — and nothing feels safe anymore. Tangerine has changed. Or maybe you have. Everything is unravelling. It’s time to ask: Was your life with Sergei ever truly idyllic?

Pairings: Sergei Kravenoff x Reader x Tangerine Fandoms: Kraven the Hunter (2024), Bullet Train (2022) Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: For the full list of warnings, please check out the fic on AO3. Explicit smut, dark, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships, no use of y/n, long fic (180k+) Fic status: Updated on Fridays and Mondays

Master list: Baby, I’m Preyin’ On You Tonight

Chapter one

It’s easy enough to spot the traps once you know what you are looking for. You don’t like to set them yourself, but you know that it is a good habit, one that you must maintain if you do not wish to forget the hard-earned skill. There’s nothing in the first dozen you check as you slowly circle the perimeter. The river is higher than it should be, but nowhere near the flooding you had seen during spring. You plan to make your way back later with the jumpers if nothing else. You can’t quite bring yourself to change the sheets, even though Sergei’s scent has long since faded from them.

As you check on the last of the traps, you come across one that has been sprung, a bright splash of crimson across the carpet of leaves warning you before you see the metal teeth clenched tightly together. Whatever was caught is long since gone. Unease stirs in your chest, and you find yourself hesitating. Perhaps it would be best to shorten your route. You are still well within the bounds of where Sergei told you it is safe, where no predators should dare tread. You wonder if his continued absence is making them bolder.

Sergei will be back soon enough and then everything will be fine.

If you return to the dome on quicker feet than when you left, there is no one but you around to see or comment. The laundry can wait another day or two. It might be best to wait, you tell yourself, given how high the river looks. It wouldn’t do to get everything neatly washed and hung up to dry, only to be unable to leave it all outside in the elements.

You snag your basket from beside the front door, gathering your morning’s humble little harvest to take back in with you. There is always something to do out here; even with nothing but birdsong for company, time feels too precious to waste.

Vegetables neatly washed, you flit about the kitchen as you prepare both lunch and dinner. A simple enough stew in a slow cooker that should be more than enough to last you for several days, should company not arrive unannounced. You spend just long enough to wipe the kitchen table clean before you return to eat your lunch standing over the kitchen counters, a book propped open, a warm patch of early afternoon sunlight streaming in just the right place to make you feel like a contented house cat.

You clean as you go, tidying behind yourself as has become second nature. Why leave messes behind to gather in your wake? It feels too much like borrowing trouble — or like asking for things to go wrong.

Time slips through your fingers. Once everything is neat and tidy, you allow yourself to curl up to enjoy a few hours with your latest book. You should shower, or look at preparing one of the unused flower beds ready for more winter crops. There’s always something to do, yet you find yourself feeling lethargic as the sun begins to lower in the sky. The faint sound of birdsong begins to set your teeth on edge; a constant, mocking reminder of Sergei’s absence. You wish that you could tune it out.

You wish he was home.

Flicking lazily through a recipe book — you still haven’t gotten around to trying even a fraction of the recipes yet, though you have dozens upon dozens of dog-eared pages just waiting for you to attempt — the first, resounding notes of a phone going off sound harsh and grating to your ears. It’s not a sound that you hear often out here. It’s enough to set off warning signs in the back of your head.

Sergei rarely uses the satellite phone. What if something happened?

You approach Sergei’s desk with a level of care and caution. It’s one of the few parts of the dome you do not regularly clean and tidy. A thin layer of dust coats every surface. There isn’t a trace of paper on the otherwise immaculate dark wood. Sergei had been careful to clean and tidy everything away before he left on his latest hunt.

The draw isn’t locked. None of them are. You slide the third drawer down open, plucking the satellite phone from within its depths. You are careful to keep it charged despite keeping it neatly out of sight. You never know when Sergei might need to get hold of you.

Slipping back outside, you click to answer the call, knowing it can be only one of two people.

“Finally! I thought you weren’t going to answer.”

“Dmitri?”

A smile transforms your face, worry melting away as the familiar, melodic voice washes over you. You step further into the clearing, moving seamlessly between planting boxes as you go. You’re careful not to get too close to the line of trees surrounding, knowing that reception can be patchy at best. “How have you been?”

Deft fingers tug at the neck of your borrowed jumper, pulling it up to cover your mouth as you listen to the familiar, rambling voice on the other end of the phone. When was the last time you spoke to him — a week ago, maybe two? It hasn’t been that long, not really, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Hearing another voice is more jarring than you expected. It’s easier to allow your side of the conversation to fall into questioning hums and little noises of agreement as Dmitri tells you all about what has been happening at The Den since last you spoke.

Inevitably, the conversation turns back towards Sergei. You bite your lip, fingers twisting in the soft fabric as you try to ground yourself. “No, no. He isn’t… here right now.”

Knowing that Dmitri doesn’t know where Sergei is sends a fresh twinge of worry through you. It’s a good sign, you remind yourself. If he knew Sergei wasn’t here and he still called, this would be a very different kind of call. No news is good news.

“Do you know if—oh… of course, of course.” You slowly turn in a circle, hand coming up to run through your hair. You tug on a stray strand, the dull throb of pain grounding you before you can begin to spiral. You should be better at this by now.

“Your birthday? I’m really not sure…” Neat white teeth bite on your lower lip, worrying the flesh until it is tender. It’s sweet that Dmitri is inviting you, even if it is still months away. You glance towards the treeline, and a frown flickers across your brow, furrow settling between your eyes. Something feels off, though you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It’s impossible to tune Dmitri out as he promises a night to remember. It’s worth the risk of the connection dropping, you decide, as you make your way back towards the dome. You don’t stop scanning the treeline, trying to figure out what it is that is setting your nerves on edge. There is no unexpected movement. Nothing seems out of place. There’s no sound of breaking branches or crunching leaves; just the usual rustling trees and low whoosh of wind.

You close the door behind you, careful not to make a sound. There is no lock to reassure you, no key to turn. Anything — anyone — out here that could possibly find you wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as a lock and key.

“Ask Sergei about it when he next drops in. You know he wouldn’t miss it for your world.” You move towards the kitchen, gaze darting around glass walls, searching for any tiny clue that you can find. Your frown deepens. Maybe you are mistaken? It wouldn’t be the first time that your mind started playing tricks on you. Being alone out here is usually a calming experience, but even Sergei has his moments when the silence gets to be too much and he needs to hear another voice.

You rest a hand on one of the tall bar stools that line the counter, running your finger along the smooth, padded leather. Forcing your gaze away from the windows, you catch sight of a dark-framed photo of Sergei and Dmitri. It must have been taken at Dmitri’s last birthday. You recognise The Den in the background, the shy smile on Dmitir’s lips and the wide, proud smile on Sergei’s as he wraps his arm around his baby brother and holds him close. The two really look nothing alike at first glance. They have similar eyes, though, not in colour — Sergei’s are the brightest, most unsettling shade of blue that you have ever seen, while Dmitri’s are a gemstone green — but in kindness. There is a softness behind their eyes that they so rarely show anyone but each other; it would be easy to miss if you didn’t know to look for it.

“Are you still there? You haven’t been sleeping again, have you. You always have trouble when he’s away,” Dmitri’s voice snaps you back from your musings.

“Hm? No, no, I’m sleeping fine. I haven’t even needed to dip into those sleep gummies you sent back with Sergei — thank you again for those. It’s reassuring to know I’ve got them if I need them.”

Soft fingertips meet the cold glass picture frame as you trace the line of Sergei’s jaw. You miss him. The low ache of loneliness seems almost sharper, more persistent, now that you can hear Dmitri speaking. Now that you have been reminded of what you are missing out on. It’s been months since you last saw him in person, since you were last at The Den. You never would have guessed just how much you would miss some things more than others.

“I’m fine. Really, Dmit— Dima,” you correct yourself, rolling your eyes fondly as he corrects you. “If that changes, I will call. I promise.”

Your eyes linger on the treeline outside, scanning for any sign of something amiss. Nothing. Biting your lip, you add, “And I’ll remind Sergei to call you when he’s back.”

Late afternoon gives way to early evening. Leisurely reading gives way to evening routines. Firewood is stacked neatly in a shed not far from the dome; it’s a simple enough task to fetch enough to last overnight. You don’t need the fire technically, the solar panels in the day heating your little home efficiently along with the bright rays of sun themselves and underfloor heating keeps the room feeling cosy.

Leftovers are packed neatly away in sealed containers, half going into the freezer once they have cooled, the other half slipping neatly into the fridge. It never hurts to have extra on hand, just in case.

You stand in the kitchen as you pick at your stew, gaze drifting back to the framed photograph over, and over, and over again. Missing Sergei is like a physical ache. It’s as if a part of you is missing, one that you aren’t even aware of until you are reminded in startling clarity of its absence. It’s impossible not to think of him in every little thing that you do, and yet, somehow, your call with Dmitri is enough to make your thoughts linger.

Cleaning up behind yourself doesn’t take long. Everything is washed, dried and put away neatly in place. You linger by the back door, eyes falling to the impressive tub in the centre of the decking. It’s big enough to hold you and Sergei both with a little room to spare; he likes to spend his evenings relaxing in there, the water too hot for you to touch, much less bathe in.

You enjoy watching him relax, muscles unwinding, unblinking gaze fixed on his domain below. You live for that little grateful twitch at the corners of his lips when you do well and bring what he needs before he thinks to ask. Something to drink, a snack, and the latest stack of reports he has been reading through. Some nights, he will send you back inside, the weather too cold for you to linger, or his work too pressing. But some nights he will invite you to climb in with him, to rest with your back to his chest and feel the deep rumble of his voice as he explains the star-strewn sky to you.

It seems a waste to use it without him. To fill the tub just for yourself. Your gaze lingers on the starry sky; there is no moon tonight, only the tiniest sliver that can barely be seen in the sky. It’s enough to make you hurry through the last of your responsibilities so that you can make the most of your night.

Fire flickering away merrily, kitchen cleaned, food packed and stored away, you reluctantly remove Sergei’s jumper and linger by the full hamper. Hands clenching around the soft fabric, you pull it to your face, inhaling deeply. You can almost imagine you can smell him still lingering on the fabric, the sharp, fresh scent of pine, the deep coppery twang that always seems to cling to his skin, and beneath it all, the undeniable musk that is Sergei. You add your dress to the hamper, keeping the jumper clutched against your chest.

One more night can’t hurt.

You can’t face getting into bed. Just a little longer, you think, snagging your discarded book from where you had neatly tidied it away to your shelf. Little trinkets from Sergei’s travels cover the dark wood expanse: books and pens, a delicate hairpin he brought you back from Japan, a smooth piece of Lapis Lazuli from Chile, a hand-carved little lion Sergei made for you himself while he was visiting Kenya. You snag the tiny dark leather notebook from the edge of your shelf, flicking past pages and pages of neat little lines until you reach your most recent one. You trace across the row of little dark marks, counting off the lines one after the other. You add another. Fifteen. Fifteen days since you last saw Sergei.

He will be back. Soon. He promised.

You don’t allow yourself to linger. Moving across the heated floor feels good on your bare feet, no trace of chill to be found. You settle yourself on the floor in front of the flickering fireplace, a thick, dark green rug the colour of fresh leaves beneath you, the soft, sturdy presence of the leather sofa behind your back. You tug mounds of furs and scatter cushions down from the sofa to pile around you, creating your own little warm nest between the furniture and the fireplace, with nothing by the night sky able to see you. You still aren’t used to the glass walls of the dome, knowing that anyone could see inside. Not that there is anyone to see inside, not for hundreds of miles, or so Sergei has assured you. You daren’t venture past the safety of the perimeter of your home. Not without Sergei by your side.

The furs feel soft against your bare skin. Lying back amongst them, you press the balled up fabric of Sergei’s jumper to your face, rubbing it against your cheeks slowly. You can almost convince yourself that it is his knuckles trailing gently across your skin, his warmth seeping into you, deep and calming, as the fire crackles and burns. You can almost convince yourself you can hear the low rumble of his voice as he points out the brightest stars in the night sky, naming each and every one for you as you curl up in his arms and allow yourself to drift.

Your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You turn your head towards his jumper, allowing the fabric to pillow beneath your cheek. You keep your gaze locked on the stars, tracing the constellations. You feel yourself beginning to drift. The last thing that you see between heavy blinks is the distinct outline of Leo lighting up the night sky as sleep finally takes you.

Today was just another day without Sergei. Perhaps tomorrow he will return. All you can do is wait.

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Baby, I’m Preyin’ On You Tonight (4082 words) by Otaku_girl

ATJ character masterlist | Otaku_girl_AO3 masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl

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