#would like to have a schedule i can just post new chapters without having to rush myself to a deadline

[pikachu-deluxe]

The humans loved us so much they gave us names just so they could interact with us better. They named us after things they knew, after things that were familiar, after things that were loved.

They watched after us just as we did for them. As we still do.

Yet, as times change, some have turned away and forgotten what we did for each other.

I only hope we don't stray too far from each other, so we can continue to love and be loved in return.

Note: This is about something I'm writing.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 3

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 2: Tutorial Mission START Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

For a fake world, the chemistry lecture here was as dull as the real one’s. 

After Mark disappeared to who knows where, you resumed life as a college student and went to class. Biochemistry, a fascinating subject, but the teacher had a voice that could put dragons to sleep. Compared to your philosophy professor, the man detailing the steps to the citric acid cycle spoke without a change in his inflection and was less “discussing” and “more reading from his powerpoint.” 

It was a good thing you–this version of you–took up philosophy. The so-called “hard sciences” are fun, but being human means having limited time, and when buttloads of information is crammed into you without time for processing and then quizzed, the fun tends to diminish. 

The bell rang.

“I will upload the modules for the next session by tonight, and don’t forget to answer the formative quiz for today’s lecture. Have a good day, everyone.” 

You opened your planner. This was the last class for today, and there didn’t seem to be anything else written here, only this semester’s schedule. 

Huh.

[Accurate to the real thing, I’d say.]

“If that is a jab at me then you’re wasting your breath, or whatever energy you use to talk.” You didn’t like social engagements. It would seem this version of you was the same. Good. At least you didn’t have to worry about making small talk with strangers. You had this body’s memories, but they were limited, imperfect. 

“What should we do now?” You asked, walking out of the auditorium. 

[That is up to the Host. ]

[Your will is my will.]

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not gonna help me?”

[ ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ]

You rolled your eyes and opened your phone. The list of contacts you had were straightforward; parents, several family members, some old classmates and friends. Vague figures in the back of this brain’s memory. The system told you not to bother contacting any of them. [It would be pointless] was its reply when you inquired why. 

You checked the apps. Facebook was a thing here but Twitter was replaced by “Z” and Youtube was “WeTV.” A lot of the creators “you” followed were news outlets.

You clicked a WeTV link to a livestream report of a monster attack in Australia, then another in Brazil, and one in the Philippines.

“Geez.” You were never going to complain about being bored again. “Those poor people.”

[Look on the bright side, Host, here the destruction of nations can be blamed on an external threat rather than the political leaders. In your reality, you humans have no one else to blame but yourselves.]

Spoken in a robotic voice with a cheery lilt. It seemed genuine in its attempt to comfort you, so you bit your tongue and continued scrolling.

Monsters, villains, more monsters, more villains. Hundreds of people injured, dozens dead.

Just then, a light bulb went off in your head. “I think I know what I’m supposed to do now.”

The dorm was too far so you went to the campus library. You found a vacant computer near the wall, far from prying eyes. 

[Resorting to cyberstalking, I see.]

“Before I can make him snap, I need to figure out what makes him tick.” 

Judging from his socials, Mark’s popular, not just as Invincible, but as Mark Grayson. He was on the debate team back in high school, played bass at a band called Indigo Muse, and, if the many, many, many posts about him were anything to go by, he was well-loved by the ladies.

When you couldn’t find any family pictures, you decided to study his superhero identity. 

This world’s Invincible wore a black suit with blue accents. Most pictures of him were blurred, which was either on purpose or incredibly fortunate, because he didn’t wear a mask or cowl. 

UNKNOWN SUPER SAVES BUS OF TEENS

NEW SUPERHERO RISES THE RANKS

INVINCIBLE HELPS OLD LADY DOWN THE STREET

Going by the news articles, he’s been a hero for a mere four months. “No wonder the corruption meter is mostly empty.” You’ve seen this play out before, not in Invincible , but in various coming of age stories. This Mark was a fledgling. His morals were still intact, but judging from that 3%, he’s starting to see that the world of superheroes isn’t squeaky clean.

You pushed down the pity in your chest and continued with your research.

From what you can tell, the professional supes were employed by the Global Defense Agency aka the GDA. The veteran heroes were known as the Guardians of the Globe, and there was the Teen Team, composed of younger heroes. Invincible wasn’t part of either. He assisted both groups in the past, usually to evacuate civilians. 

No interviews, no press conferences. 

He was surprisingly mysterious. With how much of a flirt he was, you thought for sure he would be the showboating type, but judging from the poorly recorded videos of him zooming around, he did his job quickly and left before news reporters could hound him. 

There were only so many news articles and blog posts about him before you realized there was nothing else to study. 

You opened your notebook and made a summary of everything you knew so far:

Womanizer

Doesn’t remember me from childhood

English major *shares same philosophy class

Bass player 

Debuted as a hero four months ago

Not part of a team

Popular as civilian and hero 

Home life?

You circled the last item on your list several times. Try as you might, Mark’s parents were mysteries to you. Omni-Man disappeared ten years ago and you had nothing on Debbie Grayson. Her son didn’t have her as a friend on Facebook and he had zero pictures of him and parents.

“Not even a hint?” You asked the system.

System: (づ_ど)

Giving up, you decide to switch topics and begin digitizing your lecture notes.

[You’re actually studying?]

“Not like I have anything better to do. I can’t exactly hack into the Pentagon’s database and my head hurts from all that research, and since someone refuses to be useful, I’m stuck on what to do now.”

[...]

The system fell quiet and let you be.

The minutes flew by as you typed.

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice whispered and your knee jerked against the table.

You gasped in pain, earning a few looks from the neighboring students. 

“Sorry,” the snooper said.

[Ding. The character known as Amber Bennett has made contact.]

No kidding! Couldn’t you have warned me that she was here!?

[Host looked so deeply invested in studying that this system did not wish to disturb you.]

[Fufufu.]

Rubbing your knee, you met Amber’s apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean to spook you, but uh, your typing’s… a little loud.”

Ah. That would explain the hard glares from some of the people here. “Sorry, I got too excited I guess. I’ll keep it down.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at your desk. “By the way, I can’t help but notice, you're in Professor Gonzales’ class, right?”

When she saw your brows crease in confusion, she added, “Biochemistry?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“We share the same class then, I’m Amber Bennett.”

“I know.”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

You quickly added, “You’re one of the scholarship students. I saw the university page congratulating you.”

“Yeah, um, about that…” She turned to your monitor. “Your notes are easy to follow. Especially compared to the professor’s powerpoint.”

“I try.”

She grabbed her shoulder. “This is gonna sound weird but are you available for tutoring?”

“Tutoring?”

There was a collective “shhh” from all directions and Amber ducked her head.

“See, I’ve been struggling with chemistry since the first day and I’ve never failed before, but–”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

She beamed. “That’s great! I think we’re already in the same group chat for the freshmen course but just in case–” She pulled out a pen and you pushed a blank page towards her. She scribbled her number.

“I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Sure, we can talk about details some other time.”

“I really appreciate this–”

You gave her your name and her smile brightened. “You’re a lifesaver! I should go now before the rest of the library decides to crucify us both.”

You raised your hand in goodbye and then picked up your notebook.

No, Amber, you’re the lifesaver here.

***

That evening, Amber asked to meet with you at the campus coffee shop. 

The Coffee Mug, more colloquially known as The Mug, was three storeys high and looked far more interesting than any Starbucks you’ve been to. Cubist and art deco paintings lined the bare brick walls, contrasting the wood and iron furniture. Bossa nova jazz played from the ceiling speakers.

“I gotta hand it to the author, or whoever, whatever made this place, they know how to design a good-looking cafe.”

You almost didn’t mind that the person who asked for your help was already eight minutes late. 

You were getting impatient, mostly because it was seven o’clock and you still haven’t had dinner. You had a black coffee to stave off the hunger pangs, but the scent of toasted savory pastries and the sight of cake called out to you like a siren. 

[Just order, Host, don’t tell me you’re waiting for Amber so she could pay.]

“What do you take me for?” You harrumphed. “I’d love to, but it would be rude to start eating without her.”

[!!]

[Really? How so?]

You shrugged.

“But drinking is okay?”

“Yes.”

[You humans sure do like making things harder for yourselves.]

“Tell me about it.”

God, where the Hell is she? 

As you started debating whether manners were truly necessary, your phone pinged. It was Amber. 

Hey, are u at the cafe?

Im so sorry, my group meeting decided to have overtime.

I wired u some money, dinner’s on me. sorry again! 

Well, damn. Guess God does listen. 

Spirits lifted, you got up and practically skipped towards the menu. This place might’ve been called a coffee shop, it had a big menu not unlike a diner’s, and the food selection was listed with colorful chalk on giant blackboards hanging behind the counter. 

You’ve been thinking about what to eat even while you were at the table. But even now you weren’t sure what to get. A sandwich and salad combo? The lasagna? Maybe something from their all-day breakfast? 

[Ding.]

“I recommend their three-cheese omelette.”

You barely had to turn your head to find Mark’s chin hovering over your shoulder. Soft dark bangs tickled your cheek.

“Mark.”

“Gorgeous.” He winked and then approached the counter.

The girl handling the cashier noticed him and her surprise turned to coyness as she pushed back a pink strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Hey, Mark.” If this were a cartoon you’d imagine her eyes would be in the shape of hearts right now. 

You couldn’t blame her. Looking around the floor, a mix of subtle and unsubtle staring were aimed at Mark. You understood. Six feet, jet black hair, strong biceps, a pretty waist that led to the most callipygous butt you’ve ever seen. 

That being said, you’d rather not get into the habit of ogling at rear ends without permission, so you walked closer and stood beside him.

Mark leaned onto the counter, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Hey, Kelsey. Can I get my usual, for dine-in, and an om–”

“I’ll get the large grilled chicken salad with honey mustard and one medium choco mint frappe.”

Mark snorted, but didn’t say anything else as he handed her a few dollars.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be like that, consider this my olive branch.”

“For what?”

“For cutting our date short and not walking you home.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a date, because if it was, then your standards need quality control. Secondly, it wasn’t like I needed to come home. I still had classes.” 

Not wanting to third-wheel, Kelsey put Mark’s change on the small metal plate beside the register and hurried off to prepare the orders.

Without skipping a beat, Mark put the change in the tip box. “Then what is your ideal date?”

You tilted your head.

“You said my standards need to improve, but how do I know yours is any good?”

“I guess you don’t.” You crossed your arms. 

His grin turned mischievous. “Let me guess, you want a fancy dinner? No, you don’t seem like the type who dresses up frequently. I know, is it this cafe? Are coffee shops your thing? Bookish girls like these kinds of places.”

You turned on your heels. “I’m ignoring you now.”

Folding his hands behind him, he trailed after you, remaining two steps behind, pretending like he couldn’t outpace you with those long legs of his.

“Wait, is that why you’re here? You’re waiting for a date?” He watched you take a seat. “That can’t be it though, who orders before their date?”

Refusing to look at him, you opened your phone as you expressed your gratitude, “Thank you for paying, now would you kindly get lost?”

[Host, what are you doing? This is the perfect time to seduce him.]

Yeah, not happening. I need to be five kinds of drunk before I even consider– “What are you doing?” 

He slid into the seat across from yours. “Hey, I’m hungry too.”

“There are other tables, y’know.”

He cocked his eyebrow and you briefly scanned the room. Right. This was a university cafe. Dammit. He did pay for your food, and he wasn’t totally obnoxious to warrant a kick out. 

With a sigh, you opted to just ignore him and kept refreshing your phone.

“So, are you going to study here?”

“...”

“The music’s pretty nice, if a little basic.” 

“...”

“I can’t really stand music when I’m studying, or the sound of people talking. When I’m reading, I’m reading. When I’m listening to music, that’s all I’m going to do. I guess I’m not a multitasker, I like to think of myself as–”

You slammed twenty-five dollars on the table. “Please take this and leave.”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Nah.”

Ugh.

“What do you want from me?”

He flexed his arm and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “Tell me why else you’re here.”

“To eat dinner.”

“And?”

“To study.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you?”

“...I have an appointment.”

“Is the appointment romantic in nature?”

“Not even a little bit. It’s purely academic, and I’d like to keep it confidential, so could you–”

Kelsey arrived holding two trays. “One large grilled chicken salad with one medium choco mint frappe, and one freshly toasted cheese and sausage eggdesal[1] with a cup of black coffee.”

“Thanks, Kels, but you didn’t have to bring it here, I would’ve gotten it.” Mark said. 

She giggled, “Nah, it’s the least I could do. It’s not everyday you stay here to eat.”

“Well, I still feel bad since the place is packed.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’re not super busy right now since most of the students here just buy one drink for their whole stay.”

“You’re a doll.”

“Enjoy your meal.” She smiled at both of you and returned to her station.

He took a sip of the coffee. “Sweet girl, that one. You know, she’s a physics major–”

“How do you do that?”

His lashes flickered over the rim of the cup.

“How can you… charm people so effortlessly?”

Foamy coffee squirted through his mouth and nose and onto his sandwich. Luckily for you, you reflexively pulled your plate back just in time.

You pulled out the pack of tissue you kept in your backpack and slid it towards him. 

He patted his chest and coughed into the tissues. 

You folded your hands over the table and waited patiently for him to regain his bearings. Once his coughing calmed down, you asked, “Well?”

“Wow. You…wow.”

“It’s a genuine question, I think I deserve a genuine answer.” If it weren’t for your unique circumstance, you would have folded like a cheap hooker if Mark Grayson approached you the way he did after the philosophy lecture. The rest of your brain would’ve had no chances in overriding your hypothalamus. Or your loins. 

“I don’t know where to begin, I–”

“Mark?” 

Amber was here.

“Wow,” he breathed, attention switching from Amber to you. “You really did have a meeting.”

She looked baffled but there was no trace of anger or anything. “Why’re you here, Mark? You hate eating here.” 

“I was just about to leave.” He picked up his sandwich. “See ya, girls.” And with that, he departed, leaving you alone with Amber, who was–according to past posts–his ex-girlfriend. 

Amber laid her bag on the now empty chair. “Sorry for being late, I didn’t expect us to take two hours deciding on how to divide a simple report on childhood obesity.”

“It’s okay, ‘cause of you I just found my second favorite place.” The first will always be your bedroom. 

Amber twiddled with her fingers as you poured the honey mustard over the salad.

“Mark didn’t, I mean, he–”

“I didn’t tell him about the tutoring,” you reassured her. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know, I just told him it was for school.”

“Really? Thank you! But that’s not what I was going to say.” She cleared her throat. “How do you know Mark?”

“We attend the same philosophy class.”

She looked everywhere except your gaze. “This probably isn’t any of my business, but you seem like a nice person so you should know that Mark doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.”

You used your fork to toss your salad. “I see.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t evil or anything. He’s a sweet guy, it’s just that, he isn’t boyfriend material.”

You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good, good. Listen, if you do want to hook up with him, that’s totally your call, I just thought I should tell you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be too busy for a boyfriend, anyway. Thanks, I really do appreciate it.”

Mark Grayson? Please. Not even in a hundred lifetimes. 

[ Ding. ]

You dropped your fork.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, my hand slipped,” you muttered, trying not to gawk at the system’s holographic screen.

[Affection: 12%. Darkening: 3%.]

Glossary: [1] eggdesal: an egg sandwich that uses pandesal, a sweet and salty bread roll. It can be served plain with just the egg (either with scrambled or over easy), or with other fillings like bacon, sausages, and/or cheese.

@weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

CHAPTER 4: Just Cut Their Red Thread of Fate Series Masterlist

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Farewell (for the moment)

HEY SEATTLE! I'm appearing at the Cascade PBS Ideas Festival TOMORROW (May 31) with the folks from NPR's On The Media!

I'm about to take a two-ish week sabbatical so I can (once again!) rewrite the Trump chapter of my Enshittification book (October 2025), and so that I can get my (thankfully very treatable) cancer irradiated:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/05/carcinoma-angels/#squeaky-nail

While I'm away, here are some things I'd like to call your attention to. First, some good news: the Washington Post Tech Guild just won a historic union vote with a giant majority, despite the vicious union-hating owner of the Post, a Mr Jeffrey Preston Bezos:

https://newsguild.org/washington-post-tech-guild-overwhelmingly-votes-to-certify-union-in-historic-election/

Even more good news: the GOP have ratfucked themselves, doing the work that our Democratic Party leaders can't or won't do. In overruling the parliamentarian in a bid to arrogate to themselves the power to kill California emission standards, Republican Senators have opened the door for Democrats to seize 10 hours of debate time for every single change Trump makes to federal regulations. These debates take precedence over all Senate business. They can even go back in time and demand 10 hours of floor debate on every agency action for the past 60 days. Basically, that means that Senate Dems can tie up the Senate until the 2026 mid-terms and beyond:

https://prospect.org/politics/2025-05-28-senate-democrats-stop-big-beautiful-bill/

Will they? I mean, it's the kind of tactic Mitch McConnell would have leapt at without even bothering to fully raise the lid of his sarcophagus. Chuck Schmuer? I dunno. Maybe if we gave him a ping-pong paddle with some stylish sans serif text invoking each debate?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KADW3ZRZLVI

That's some good news I'm going to take with me into my coming break. I've really cleared my calendar for this time off, finishing up my CBC podcast "Understood: Who Broke the Internet?" just in the nick of time:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/26/babyish-radical-extremists/#cancon

The series prompted Harrison Mooney to do a long, fantastic interview with me for The Tyee, which sets out the series' thesis and call to action very well:

https://thetyee.ca/Culture/2025/05/27/Musk-Zuck-Use-Our-Love-Hostage/

If you're as pissed off about enshittification as I am and you happen to live in NYC, there's a support group for you! This week, I heard from a reader who's organized a monthly open mic "Evening on Enshittification," where attendees present and learn about different kinds of enshittification, from AI to dating and beyond:

https://partiful.com/e/Li1DGg7x5ohmCOf2hAkj

And if you're on the other coast, you can catch me TOMORROW in Seattle at the Cascade PBS Ideas Festival, where I'll be onstage with the folks from NPR's On The Media:

https://www.cascadepbs.org/festival/speaker/cory-doctorow

If a couple weeks without me is too much, please consider dialing into my virtual keynote for Fediforum on June 5:

https://fediforum.org/2025-06/

And of course, when I get back, I'm going to be finishing off my tour for Picks and Shovels with gigs in Portland, London, and Manchester:

http://martinhench.com

I've got a packed schedule in Portland: first, I'm doing a keynote at the Teardown conference on Friday, June 20:

https://www.crowdsupply.com/teardown/portland-2025

Followed by a bookstore event with bunnie Huang at the Lloyd Center Barnes and Noble:

https://stores.barnesandnoble.com/event/9780062183697-0

And a library gig on June 20 in Tualatin:

https://www.tualatinoregon.gov/library/author-talk-cory-doctorow

Londoners, you can catch me at the How To Academy on July 1, where I'll be doing a Canada Day book event with the amazing Riley Quinn, showrunner for Trashfuture:

https://howtoacademy.com/events/cory-doctorow-the-fight-against-the-big-tech-oligarchy/

And then I'm doing a bookstore event in Manchester at Blackwells on July 2:

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/an-evening-with-cory-doctorow-tickets-1308451968059

Followed by a July 4 keynote for the Co-operatives UK Congress in Manchester:

https://www.uk.coop/events-and-training/events-calendar/co-op-congress-2025-book-your-place

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/30/gone-fission/#seattle-portland-london-manchester

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | An Unexpected Invitation | Chapter Two

Summary: Riley Carter never expected much from a simple text asking if she liked food, but Joe Burrow's direct approach catches her off guard in the best way. Between late nights at Electric Lady Studios finishing her band's new album and her growing anticipation for their first real date, Riley finds herself drawn to the NFL quarterback's refreshing authenticity. After a messy public breakup left her wary of relationships, especially with someone in the spotlight, she's surprised by her willingness to break her own rules for Joe. As their text exchanges and late-night calls deepen their connection, Riley faces a decision: maintain the careful distance she's built around her heart, or take a chance on someone new.

Pairings: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 3.2k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, flirty banter, mentions of past toxic relationships, public scrutiny, and undeniable chemistry.

This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me! 💕

Requests: Open

Author’s Note: Here we go! Sorry its late. This chapter is all about setting the foundation for Joe and Riley’s dynamic—playful, unexpected, and just a little bit risky. I love writing those early moments where two people click without fully realizing what they’re getting into. Their chemistry is building, and things are definitely about to get interesting. Let me know what you think! 😊💛

Riley stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen as she read Joe's message again.

Joe QB🏈: Do you like food?

A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Was this his idea of a smooth opener? It was so direct, so oddly simple, that she couldn't help but find it endearing. She'd had guys slide into her DMs with carefully crafted messages, obviously rehearsed lines, and pretentious attempts at intellectual conversation. But "Do you like food?" That was new.

She tapped out a response, deliberately matching his directness with a hint of playfulness.

Riley 🎤: Yes, QB. I like food. Love it, actually. I'm always down for a nice meal.

She hit send and set her phone down on the kitchen counter of her rented NYC apartment, turning her attention back to the coffee brewing in front of her. The rich aroma filled the small space, mingling with the distant wail of sirens and the perpetual hum of the city that filtered through her half-open window. She was only in the city for another week—just long enough to finish the studio sessions for her band's new album before heading back to LA for meetings with their label. She wasn't expecting a quick response—the guy probably had a rigorous schedule with his sponsor events and appearances while he was in town. But barely thirty seconds later, her phone buzzed.

Joe QB🏈: Alright then, wanna come over Friday night? I'll cook you dinner.

Riley nearly choked on her coffee. Well, that was unexpected. Not the invitation itself—she'd had plenty of those—but the casual confidence behind it. No "maybe we could" or "if you're free sometime." Just a straightforward invitation to his place, with the added detail that he'd be cooking. It struck her as both presumptuous and refreshing.

She hesitated, finger hovering over the keyboard. The sensible response would be to suggest a restaurant instead—something public, neutral, safe. That's what her publicist would advise. Hell, that's what she would advise any of her friends. Never go to a guy's place for a first date.

But then again, this wasn't exactly a normal situation. They'd already met on national television. He'd already admitted to having a crush on her in front of millions of viewers. And something about his straightforward approach intrigued her.

Riley 🎤: You're telling me Joe Burrow can cook?

His reply came almost instantly.

Joe QB🏈: Don't sound so surprised. I can follow a recipe.

She grinned, shaking her head at his confidence.

Riley 🎤: Guess we'll see if they're as good as your QB skills.

Setting down her phone, Riley leaned against the kitchen counter and took another sip of her coffee, a strange flutter of anticipation settling in her stomach. She'd just agreed to a date—was it a date?—with Joe Burrow. The same Joe Burrow who'd turned bright red on The Tonight Show when she'd walked out. The same Joe Burrow who'd kissed her cheek and asked for her number with that endearing mix of confidence and nervousness.

It had only been a few days since The Tonight Show, but Riley's life already felt a little... different. Not dramatically so—she was still working with her bandmates on their new album, still navigating the busy recording schedule, still trying to make the most of their limited time in NYC. But there was something new weaving its way through the familiar rhythms of her life: the constant presence of Joe Burrow in her text messages.

She wasn't sure what had possessed her to say yes to his casual "I'll cook you dinner" text, but here she was, letting him monopolize her phone in the best way possible. What started as a simple exchange about food turned into hours of texting—playful, funny, and way too easy.

Each notification from him sent a little jolt of anticipation through her system—a feeling she hadn't experienced in years. Maybe it was the novelty of it all. Or maybe it was just him.

She liked his sense of humor. It wasn't forced or over the top; it was subtle, the kind of humor that made her laugh without even realizing she was smiling. And he paid attention. He actually asked her questions, remembered things she'd told him, and sent follow-up texts that felt genuine rather than perfunctory.

Like yesterday, when she'd mentioned in passing that she was trying to cut back on caffeine, and twelve hours later, he'd texted to ask how the caffeine withdrawal was going. It was such a small thing, but so few people actually listened to the details.

Joe Burrow was nothing like she'd expected.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Most athletes she'd encountered at industry events or award shows had come across as cocky—all swagger and practiced charm, their public personas polished to a shine. But Joe seemed different. He texted like a normal person—sometimes with perfect grammar, sometimes with abbreviations, occasionally with a meme that made no sense out of context but somehow made her laugh anyway.

There was something steady about him that settled her, a calm confidence that never veered into arrogance. In an industry where she was constantly surrounded by big personalities and bigger egos, his groundedness felt like stepping into a quiet room after hours in a crowded club.

And maybe that was why she didn't slam on the brakes like she normally would have. Why she was willing to consider having dinner at his place rather than insisting on a public restaurant with an escape route.

With a sigh, Riley set her empty coffee mug in the sink and headed to the studio. She had work to do, and she couldn't spend the entire morning analyzing text messages like a teenager. But as she settled in front of her keyboard, her phone buzzed again.

Joe QB🏈: What are you up to tonight?

She smiled, typing back quickly.

Riley 🎤: At Electric Lady. Long night ahead.

The response was immediate.

Joe QB🏈: What's Electric Lady?

Riley stared at the screen, momentarily taken aback. Was he serious? Electric Lady was legendary—practically hallowed ground for musicians. But then again, not everyone lived in her world, did they?

Riley 🎤: You're kidding.

Joe QB🏈: I'm not.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. There was something endearing about his willingness to admit he didn't know something.

Riley 🎤: It's only one of the most iconic recording studios in NYC. Hendrix built it. Bowie recorded there. Springsteen, Patti Smith, The Clash... Do I need to keep going?

Joe QB🏈: Alright, alright. I get it. Sounds cool.

Riley snorted. "Sounds cool." As if she'd mentioned a trendy new coffee shop rather than one of the most significant musical landmarks in the city.

Riley 🎤: Cool doesn't even begin to cover it. It's my happy place when I'm in the city. Something about the history in those walls... it's like you can feel it when you're creating there.

There was a pause before his next message—longer than his previous replies had been.

Joe QB🏈: You sound like you're working late a lot this week.

The observation surprised her. Most people—especially people she'd just met—didn't notice or comment on her schedule unless she explicitly mentioned being tired or busy.

Riley 🎤: Yes, we are on a roll. We're finishing the bridge on this new track that's giving us hell. It's either going to be the best thing on the album or drive us all insane before we get it right.

She set her phone down, turning her attention to the keyboard in front of her. Her fingers drifted across the keys, finding the melody that had been haunting her for days—an insistent, driving sequence that contrasted with the vulnerability of the lyrics she'd been working on. It was the kind of song that would have their fans holding up lighters at shows, a perfect arena anthem with just enough raw emotion to make it personal.

But her mind kept drifting back to their conversation. To the way he actually seemed to care about what she was doing, not just when she'd be free to see him.

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. When she wasn't at Electric Lady, she was either catching up on sleep or texting Joe. It was quickly becoming her favorite way to wind down after her long nights in the studio.

In the back of a sleek black Escalade, Manhattan's lights refracting through rain-streaked windows, her phone lit up with his name. Not a text this time—a call. She hesitated for only a second before answering.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Burrow?" she teased, leaning back against the leather seat.

A low chuckle filled her ear. "Probably. But I figured you'd still be up."

"Good guess," she replied, watching the city lights blur past her window. "Just heading back to my place from the studio."

"How's the mysterious project going?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

This was what continued to surprise her about Joe. He was curious about her work, and unlike other people who would ask about her career out of politeness, Joe actually seemed interested in the details. It threw her off at first. She wasn't used to someone wanting to know her, not just the version of her that showed up on red carpets and album covers.

"It's going well," she said, more openly than she might have with someone else. "Today was mostly vocal tracking—the less glamorous part where I sing the same line fifty times until it's perfect."

"Sounds exhausting," Joe commented.

"It can be. But there's something satisfying about getting it exactly right. The guys are patient, though. Andy, our drummer, is practically a saint when it comes to vocal sessions. Nick keeps us laughing even when we're ready to kill each other over a single note."

"I get that," he said, and she could hear the understanding in his voice. "It's like when we run the same play over and over in practice. Looks boring from the outside, but there's something about the repetition, the precision..."

"Exactly," Riley said, surprised by how well he seemed to understand. "Different fields, same principle. The pursuit of that perfect execution where everything just clicks."

There was a comfortable pause before Joe spoke again. "So, we still on for tomorrow? Or are you going to be too wiped from your late nights?"

She smiled into the darkness of the car. "I'll be there. Seven o'clock, right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I've already started prepping some things."

"Wow, taking this seriously, huh?" she teased.

"Can't have America's dream girl thinking I can't cook, can I?"

Riley groaned at the reference to the media nickname that had stuck after their Tonight Show appearance. "Please don't call me that."

Joe laughed, the sound warm and rich through the phone. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"Uh-huh. I'm hanging up now," she said, though there was no bite to her words.

"Goodnight, Riley," he said, his voice softening.

"Goodnight, Joe," she replied, ending the call with a smile lingering on her lips.

The car pulled up to her building, rain now falling in earnest. As she dashed inside, nodding to the night doorman, she realized she was actually looking forward to tomorrow night in a way she hadn't anticipated. There was something about Joe's direct approach, his genuine interest, his unexpected moments of vulnerability that made her want to know more.

Their calls had quickly developed a rhythm of their own. Late at night, her phone would light up just as she was finishing at the studio.

Their conversations rarely lasted more than ten minutes, but she found herself looking forward to them—this small, consistent connection across the miles between their separate worlds.

But as much as she was enjoying their easy back-and-forth, a part of her couldn't help but hesitate. A part of her kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the easy conversations to turn complicated, for the red flags to appear, for the inevitable letdown.

Her last relationship had left scars she hadn't realized were still there. Her ex—another musician, a guitarist whose talent was matched only by his volatility—had been part of her life for far too long. They'd spent years in an on-again, off-again cycle that was as exhausting as it was destructive. The kind of relationship that burned so hot it left everything around it in ashes, including the early days of her band when they were just starting to gain traction.

The breakup had been messy, the kind that made headlines and left her name plastered all over the tabloids. Paparazzi outside her house, speculative articles about who had cheated on whom, invasive questions in interviews that were supposed to be about her band's music. Her personal life dissected on social media by people who knew nothing about the actual relationship.

She still remembered the sting of the public fallout. The embarrassment. The frustration of people weighing in on something they knew nothing about. The way strangers felt entitled to judge her decisions, her emotions, her life.

After finally walking away for good, she'd sworn off relationships entirely. Not just publicly, but privately as well. She'd made a promise to herself: no more losing herself in someone else's orbit, no more putting her needs second, no more drama that derailed her creative focus.

She'd thrown herself into her career, traveled the world alone, and learned how to be happy without needing someone else to fill the gaps. And for the most part, it had worked. She'd become someone she was proud of, someone she didn't think she could've been if she hadn't taken time for herself.

The band's latest album—the one that had catapulted them from indie darlings to mainstream recognition—had emerged from that period of self-discovery. Their sound had evolved into something more powerfully honest, with electric guitar-driven anthems balanced by moments of intimate vulnerability. Critics had praised their ability to blend raw emotional lyrics with radio-ready hooks, and fans had responded to that authenticity in droves.

She still remembered the moment they realized things had changed for good—a sold-out show in London where the entire crowd sang their lyrics back to them so loudly that she'd had to step away from the mic, overwhelmed by the wall of sound. The guys had looked at her with the same stunned expression, all of them realizing simultaneously that they'd crossed some invisible threshold.

After a year of being single, Riley had found a comfortable rhythm in her independence. She'd learned what she actually wanted: someone who would respect her work while still making her feel cherished. Someone who understood her world without trying to dominate it. Despite the walls she'd built during her recovery from that toxic relationship, she was ready to open herself up again—just cautiously, and on her own terms.

So when Joe Burrow appeared with his straightforward texts and genuine interest, she found herself intrigued in a way she hadn't expected. There was something refreshing about his approach, something that made her curious enough to say yes to dinner at his place despite all her usual rules.

The truth was, she wasn't sure she was ready for anything serious, especially given their careers and geographical distance. But for the first time in a long while, she was willing to at least explore the possibility.

Friday morning arrived with unexpected anxiety. Riley found herself second-guessing her decision to go to Joe's place, wondering if she should text to suggest a restaurant instead. But before she could overthink it further, her phone rang.

Riley was still in bed when her phone buzzed, Joe's name lighting up the screen. She groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head before answering.

"Hello?" Her voice was still husky with sleep.

"Morning, Riley," Joe said, his voice light and teasing. "Just checking to make sure we're still on for tonight."

She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling as she smirked. "Why are you calling me so early, Burrow? Don't you know I like to sleep late?"

"Early?" Joe laughed, and she could practically hear the grin in his voice. "It's eleven."

"Exactly. Early," she quipped, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I told you I like to sleep late, especially after a long night at the studio."

Joe chuckled on the other end of the line, the sound warm and relaxed. "Guess I'll have to keep that in mind. But I needed to make sure you weren't backing out on me."

There was something in his tone—a hint of vulnerability beneath the confident teasing—that made her heart soften a little. As if despite all his self-assurance, he genuinely wasn't sure she'd show up. It was those glimpses of real person behind the quarterback that kept drawing her in.

She rolled onto her side, smiling to herself. "Not a chance. I'm looking forward to tonight."

Joe's voice was playful when he responded. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she admitted easily, surprising herself with her own honesty. "You say you're cooking a meal for me. That's really sweet. I can't wait to see what you come up with."

"Just a heads-up to manage your expectations," Joe said, a touch of self-deprecation in his voice that she found oddly charming. "We're not talking culinary genius here."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. What time do you want me there?" Riley asked, sitting up and pushing the blankets aside. Sunlight streamed through the gap in her curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air.

"Seven," he said without hesitation, as if he'd had the time planned all along.

"Perfect," she said, already mentally planning what she was going to wear. Something casual but flattering. Something that said "I made an effort" without screaming "I spent three hours getting ready for you."

She had a busy day ahead—a final vocal session, then a meeting with their manager about the upcoming tour schedule. The album wouldn't be out for months, but they needed to lock in venues for the fall tour now. Eleven cities in fourteen days, starting on the East Coast and working their way west. The thought of the grueling schedule would normally make her anxious, but today it seemed manageable. A problem for future Riley.

There was a brief pause before he added, his voice warm with amusement, "Do I need to send you a calendar invite so you don't forget?"

Riley laughed, the sound more carefree than she'd felt in a while. "I'll be there, Burrow. Don't worry—I wouldn't miss this."

Joe chuckled. "Good. I'll see you tonight then."

"See you tonight," she echoed, ending the call and dropping her phone onto the mattress beside her.

She exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment, a strange mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in her stomach. This wasn't just some guy she'd matched with on a dating app. This was Joe Burrow. NFL quarterback. Someone who lived as much in the public eye as she did, whose career came with its own unique pressures and scrutiny. Someone who seemed like he might actually understand her world in a way few others could.

But more than that, this was someone who made her laugh, who paid attention, who showed genuine interest in her life beyond the glamorous surface. Someone who didn't seem intimidated by her success or intent on competing with it.

A slow smile tugged at her lips as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had a date to prepare for.

Yeah. She was definitely looking forward to this.

[whimsyfinny]

He's a Winchester

Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, mention of toxic parenting/custody battle, angst, alcohol,

Chapter Word Count: 3471

MDNI 18+

A/N: here it is! I’m not gonna lie, this is going to be very slow burn at first, but don’t worry, you know me and you know how much juicy content I write so it’s definitely coming hahaha. I’m also trying to figure out a schedule for posting this, so hopefully I can upload two chapters a week.

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out. 

Photos from Pinterest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I reached for the bottle of wine for the third time in the last hour and a half. I was sitting with Kat, pyjamas adorned, in the living room of mine and Levi's modest two bedroom house. For financial (and personal) reasons, our little house didn't follow current trends and looked more like something out of a popular 90s sitcom. The couch was comfy, the blankets were fuzzy, and a fresh pot of coffee was always brewing. Pictures embellished the walls of every milestone Levi had achieved; every birthday party, every new dirt bike, every new hairstyle. There were a few of Kat and I from over the years, going way back to when we first met back in ‘99 and both decided to rock platform heels on at the turn of the millennium - having tiny babies at the time didn't seem to stop us. Every single moment on these walls was a happy memory - something that I would treasure forever, yet there was something missing. There were no photos - or perhaps a scarce few - of my own parents, or of them with Levi, or of any extended family for that matter. The price I paid when I decided to have my son out of wedlock, at barely twenty years old, with a man who my family saw as a total stranger, is a price I'd pay every time in a heartbeat. Kat and Toby were our family now, and that was more than I could ever ask for. That was why the sheer possibility of Levi getting to meet his dad for the first time in, well, ever… it had my mind spinning. It was a scenario I'd dreamt of, late at night when I couldn't sleep and the burdens of life weighed me down. I conjured false memories in my minds eye of the pair of them fixing his bike on the drive or driving to school in the impala. I pictured us having breakfast together as a family and taking trips to the movies. Being together. Because no matter how many dates I went on, or how many frogs I’d kissed over the years, none of them were Levi's father.

None of them were Dean Winchester.

“Girl you have to reach out to him,” Kat walked in from the adjacent kitchen before slumping on the couch next to me, wine glass elevated to reduce spillage.

“Kat I could barely look at him today without feeling like I was going to have a heart attack - how the fuck am I supposed to talk to him?” I glanced at her with wide eyes, every nerve in my body on edge despite the wine and scented candles. Kat sighed. 

“You might never get this opportunity again, and we both know that if you don’t give Levi the opportunity to meet his father then you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” I held my breath, urging the raging storm in my mind to quiet down before letting the air gush from my lungs.

“Yeah I know. I just…I just never thought that this would actually happen, you know? I never thought that Dean would show up here. I figured Levi would eventually track him down when he was old enough to make that decision on his own. I have no idea how to even approach this.”

“Sure you do!” Kat beamed, a wicked glint in her eye, “you sit him down and say, ‘Hey Dean! Remember when we had sex in the back of that amazing car of yours nine years ago? Well, actions have consequences, and yours in eight years old and sitting in his science class right now.’”

I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face and I cackled when the bit of popcorn I threw landed in her wine glass.

“Bitch.”

I blew her a kiss in response to her insult. It didn’t take long though for the distraction to run its course and for my mind to return to its state of panic.

“But seriously, what am I going to say to him? What if I tell him, and he rejects us too, like my family did?”

Her smile softened.

“From everything that you’ve told me about that man, I highly doubt he’s going to reject you. Sure, he might not stick around permanently, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would stay in touch,” her softened smile turned to a stern stare, “but he’s only going to do that if he knows. He deserves to know he has a son.”

I took a long gulp of my wine. 

“Yeah, I’m going to tell him…” I paused, gnawing my bottom lip as I drew my knees to my chest, “it’s Saturday tomorrow so I’m not at work and Levi has two hours at the track. I can try to do it tomorrow, but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to track Dean down in that time - I have no idea where he could be.”

“Hey, I’ll pick up Levi from Motocross - it’s been a few days since him and Toby have spent any proper time together anyway, just them two. Tobes’ has been dying to show him those brand new boots of his.”

We shared a smile. That’s the thing about Kat; she always had my back, no matter the situation.

“Thanks babes, I owe you one.”

She shook her head.

“No way - this is me returning the favour from when Toby’s dad decided to show an interest in his own child. I’m pretty sure my kid thought you were adopting him at one point from how much he stayed here,” I laughed, remembering the camp bed I bought especially for Toby, along with all the extra duvet sets and boxes of cereal I’d had to purchase for the best part of half a year.

“He’s a good kid, and honestly he and Levi entertained themselves for most of it.”

There was another pause in the conversation as I recounted how difficult it had been for Kat when David had shown up, insisting on being a part of Tobys life despite zero contact since his son was born. They’d argued over custody, over which school he went to, the clubs he attended. Even his hobbies were on the line, with David wanting him to play football despite Toby already being involved down at the track with the bikes. The stress caused Kat to lose weight and sleep, and she nearly lost her job over it all when she kept falling asleep at her desk. I’d lost count of how many times she’d cried in my arms. Cried over a man who thought that practically owning his son was his God given right despite being an absent father, and I think that is what scared me the most. That I would feel the same wretched things that she felt, and the waves of disappointment that crashed over her time and time again when false promises were made. It took her months to settle on an agreement due to David's behaviour, and Toby finally sees his father, albeit only for one weekend a month. It's better than nothing, but certainly not worth the fight that was fought with blood, sweat and tears. 

I hope from the bottom of my heart that Dean takes the news well, and doesn't leave us in the dust like he does in my worst nightmares.

It had taken me around thirty minutes to track down Dean. Well, to at least find the impala. It's common knowledge that if you find that car, Dean isn't far away. I’d parked my truck two spaces down, and luckily we were within walking distance of my favourite café, Jolenes’. It was my safe space. The place that I would finally tell him about Levi.

I pulled the sleeves of my soft cardigan down over my hands to stop myself from chewing nervously on my nails. Leaving the safety of my truck, I paced over to the black Chevy and stood by it, determined to speak to Dean as soon as possible. I knew that if I had stayed sitting behind my own wheel, there was a huge chance that I'd chicken out and just drive away. As I waited I checked over the car in front of me, admiring how he still kept it spotless after all these years. Unable to stop myself, I let my gaze drift over to the backseat, the events that unfurled on the soft leather racing to mind. I pulled my lip between my teeth, unable to resist the replay of memories.

“You have good taste in cars.”

I practically launched out my skin as the voice came from behind me. I could hear the amusement in his voice from a few feet away. I spun on my heel and our eyes locked, the charming grin slipping slightly from Deans’ lips when he realised it was me. The playfulness in his features quickly softened, a true, genuine smile now gracing his lips.

“Dean…” I suddenly felt breathless, but despite my nerves I returned his smile in kind.

“It's good to see you (Y/n),” he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in his entirety. I closed my eyes as I hugged him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and taking a deep breath, my brain tingling at his familiar scent.

“You too, Dean. It's been too long.”

After a moment we released each other and Dean stood up straight, smiling at me again with a soft twinkle in his eye. We both flinched slightly when someone cleared their throat and he took a step back. 

“Oh, uh, (Y/n), this is Sam, my younger brother,” he patted the shoulder of the young man standing beside him, and I instantly recognised him from the dessert parlour. He was tall, taller than Dean even, which was one hell of an accomplishment, and his face held a similar boyish charm to Deans. Yet he looked softer around the edges, like he hadn't been hardened by life too much yet.

“It's a pleasure, I'm (Y/n). I've known you're brother for a while,” I smiled as I shook his hand, taking note of the rough calluses beginning to form on his palms. “He used to talk about you all the time, apparently you're the smart one of the family,” with a grin and a quick glance at Dean, I tested the waters with humour. If he laughed or took the blow like a champ, now was a good time to talk to him. Sam chuckled, squeezing my hand slightly in his before letting it go. 

“Ouch… (Y/n), sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be on my side here? Y’know, with our history and all…?” he feigned hurt with a hand on his chest before his lips twitched up and he shot me a wink.

“I mean… she's not wrong,” Sam laughed, dropping his hands lazily into his pockets.

“Hey, I'm just going on what you told me, Dean. Don't hold that against me,” I grinned at them both, unsure of what to do with my hands so I crossed them across my chest.

A small breath of silence passed between us, Deans’ gaze holding mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't. Sam cleared his throat again, clapping his hand to Deans’ shoulder before taking a step back.

“I'll, uh, give you guys a few minutes,” and with an appreciative nod from Dean, Sam gave us some space. With his younger brother gone, my heart began to flutter in my chest. The time to break the news was getting closer, and my nerves were on edge. On fire.

“So,” he started, taking a step closer with a deep breath, “how's it going? How long has it been?”

“Nine years,” I was almost too hot on the mark, my words coming out faster than I'd intended and Dean blinked slightly. I sighed, looking down. “There's been a lot going on, and honestly, I've really needed you at times. You're a hard man to find Dean Winchester.” 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” his brows pinched apologetically and he reached for my hand, tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I took a deep breath and met his gaze again.

“Do you… do you have some time? I need to talk to you. It's important, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll get another chance.” 

He nodded slowly, giving my hand a squeeze, releasing it hesitantly with a slight wince to his features.

“Uh oh,” he said, “am I in trouble?”

I laughed, the sound light off my chest.

“Oh Dean,” I reached up to touch his face, and his instinctive reaction was to lean into my palm, “you don't know the half of it.” 

The walk to the café had been pleasant. We chatted about what we'd been up to since we last met - Dean revealing he was still in the same line of work and had travelled around a lot, never really settling down. There was something about that nugget of information that made my stomach twist in knots. He learnt I was still a receptionist, this time at the local garage  instead of the large dealership I had scored before. He asked why I'd changed, to go to something smaller, lesser, and my silence urged him to wait until we were at our destination. He knew I was anxious, and he did his best to keep conversation light and breezy until the time was right. To an untrained eye he was unphased, yet I could tell from the lip nibbling and flitting gaze that he was nervous too.

Do you think he's already guessed it?

The bell jingled as we walked in, the two baristas looking up and instantly greeting me with a wave and a smile.

“Hey (Y/n)! Your couch is free,” the first barista, a young man around my age with soft blond curls waved to me across the counter, his brilliant grin making me smile with a comforting familiarity. “Your usual?”

“Yes please! Thanks, Jake,” I returned the friendliness, stepping around the tables until we arrived at my favourite spot.

“And for your… date?” He gestured to Dean, who was now shrugging off his leather jacket, “what can I get for you pal?” 

Dean hesitated, before just holding his hands up.

“Uhhh, I don't know, I guess I'll have what she's having.”

With our hot beverages on their way, I sat down in my usual nook in the corner whilst Dean sat down opposite, in that same plush armchair that Kat had sat in yesterday. Where Kat had been swallowed by the chair and its all-consuming cushions, Dean had the opposite effect. He made the chair look small under his broad form, like it was made for a child. There were a few moments of silence, neither of us really knowing where to start. So I bit the bullet.

“Dean… before I tell you anything, just know that I've been trying to get hold of you on and off for years. Your number always seemed to go to voicemail and I never got a call back. So please just… know I tried.” 

I looked up and he was totally engaged, already hanging off every word I said as he leant forward, his elbows on his knees. Our attention pulled away from each other briefly as our coffees arrived, hand delivered by the second barista - a woman a few years older than myself with a jet black pixie cut.

“Thanks Emily, you're an angel,” I grasped the mug before she even had a chance to put it on the table and clutched it in my lap, letting the warmth seep through my palms to help soothe my nerves. 

“No worries babes, you two have fun,” she looked between Dean and me with a playful smirk, throwing me a wink before she turned around. 

Great, the gossip starts now.

I turned back to Dean who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. I took a deep breath.

Do it now.

“Dean, I have a son.”

I watched his face twitch slightly, almost like it dropped in disappointment, however it was so fleeting across his features that it was hard to tell. He pulled a strained smile onto his lips.

“(Y/n) that's great, I'm happy for you,” he looked down at his boots briefly, choosing his next words, “I guess this is you telling me to stay away, huh? Now that you have a family and all. It's ok, I get it.”

I shook my head, placing my cup on the table so I could pull myself to sit on the edge of the couch, almost mirroring Dean.

“No, no Dean, that's not- look, what I'm saying is…” another deep breath, “you, have a son.”

I watched his eyes go wide, unsure if he heard me correctly.

“What?” His voice was breathy.

I looked down into my mug for a second, choosing my words. 

“I have a little boy; he's eight, his name is Levi…and he's yours, Dean. He's your son.”

I dared to look up at him, watching his eyes go wider and his mind empty of thoughts. Either that, or his mind is racing so fast that it's left his body on standby. I gave him a few minutes to process the news. Or at least process it the best he could as it would likely be days or weeks before this fully sunk in. Nervousness prickled at my own skin, my worst fears of rejection bubbling to the surface again at his silence. I sighed.

“It’s ok, Dean, I’m not expecting you to-”

He stood abruptly, stepped over the coffee table and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me in a crushing grip. His arms were so tight that it almost winded me, yet I returned his embrace. The feeling of his lips on the top of my head surprised me as he kissed my hair, the sensation warm and comforting. He placed one, two more kisses before he cupped my face in his large hands, his rough palms gentle against my cheeks as I locked eyes with him. The sight was beautiful. The annoyance and exasperation that I expected to be met with was nowhere to be seen, and I saw no shadow of negativity within those evergreen eyes. All I saw was love. Pride. Joy. Excitement. The relief washing over me felt the same as climbing into your nice, warm comfy bed when on the brink of exhaustion. 

“I’m a dad?” his voice cracked slightly whilst his eyes shimmered.

I nodded as a grin erupted across his face, followed by an airy, almost unbelieving chuckle.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n)-”

“You’re not mad?” my voice was quiet.

“What?” Dean looked at me as though I’d grown a second head, “of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s been nine years since we last saw each other, and suddenly this woman who you’ve not spoken to in nearly a decade drops the biggest truth bomb on you. A truth bomb  that I know you definitely weren’t expecting,” I try to step back but he pulls me in for another hug, squeezing the air out of me a second time.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in a long, long time.”

I smiled into his chest, freeing my arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him down into a hug of my own. We stood for a moment in our embrace as the coffee shop busied around us. I knew this shop and I knew this town and people would soon start to talk, start to try and figure out Dean: like who is he? How does he know (Y/n)? Why are they acting so familiar? Is he trouble? But that was all unimportant rubbish that I would deal with later. Right now, Levis father was here, and he knew. For the first time in my adult life I felt like I wasn’t keeping some devastating secret from an incredible man, and it was like I could breathe again. 

Pulling away from Deans’ bear hug, I tucked the wisps of hair away that had come loose from my claw grip and grinned up at him, reaching for his hand. I held it in mine as I swayed slightly on the spot, like an excited schoolgirl who’d just been asked on her first date. Dean smiled down at me, the sort of smile that shone on top of the world.

“So…” I started, biting my lip slightly.

“Do you want to meet your son?”

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Taglist: @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx @rox2008 @jeysbae @ladykitana90 @proudbisexual @ladysparkles78 @elenasalvatore1 @bxtchboy69 @saemiau @lilithlunastark @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @riah1606 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 02

I'm posting this one fast, because the first chapter has zero Pedro interaction, Just so we meet and get to know the MC, and I wanted to give you guys some Pedrito CW: Not much, but reader is afraid of drowning.

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02 - Boat Trip

For more times than I can count, I thanked the heavens for having a chance to spend the summer in a province where the temperatures and humidity weren't as high as they usually were in Ontario. I love my province, don't get me wrong, but the heat that I experienced during those two or three months every year was something I didn't like at all.

For almost a week, Kate and I spent our days organizing our schedules for the next month, making lists of essential photos for each episode, and each department, planning our days off (they were rare, but they did exist), and getting to know each other.

Kate was a breath of fresh air in the midst of a bunch of crazy emotions. Her presence was soft, the jokes became more frequent, and the intimacy that fueled our work began to flow naturally. We talked almost all day long about everything and nothing at the same time.

Friday afternoon (the last day of our mandatory quarantine), she was cooking something for our dinner, “The Lumineers” was playing on the speaker of her small radio, a beer in her hand, and another for me on top of our two-seater micro-dining table. I was reviewing some documents on my macbook, and updating part of my portfolio with a mini-photoshoot we did the day before on our bathtub.

“Got the news that some restrictions are being lifted next week,” Kate said randomly, bringing me back to the reality of our kitchen.

She was looking at her phone with a small smile tugging her lips.

“I think the more people get vaccinated, the faster they'll lift these restrictions” I replied without taking my eyes off my computer “But that doesn't erase the fact that we'll have to work with these masks on set.”

“Don't even begin, just thinking about it makes me short of breath” She complained.

My lips quirked into a small smile at her comment. If there was one person who hated this whole mask thing more than I did, it was Kate.

I glanced at the bottom of my screen at the sound of a notification, and realized I had just received an email from Mike, the guy responsible for making the “photographers-TV production” connection.

I opened it immediately and let my eyes wander over the text.

“Afternoon on the Boat” Good afternoon Still, how is the adaptation going in the city? I am writing to make a request to you or Kate. I was informed that a small group of the cast and a person from the production will be taking a boat trip tomorrow afternoon around Banff, which is an hour outside the city. I would like to see which of you two can tag along with them to capture this moment. We can even get some of those pictures to use on set design. I await your response, and also apologize for asking so late. Best regards, Mike.

“Hey Kate.”

“Yeah?” She looked away from the pots and sipped some of the liquid from her bottle.

“Just got an email from Mike, asking if one of us could go on a trip with a group of the cast tomorrow afternoon.” I turned the screen to her and waited for her to read the information. “Wanna take this one?” I asked, trying to be formal.

“I would love to, but I made an appointment at that salon on the corner to get my hair done, since it's the first day we'll be able to leave this apartment.”

“Your first day, I've been clean for two days now.” I joked, bringing the computer back to me.

“But you’re the best companion, who doesn't like to socialize, so you chose to stay here with me.” She blew me a playful kiss, making me laugh out loud. “You can take this one, and I'll cover for you next time.”

“I hate everything that involves the chance of me drowning…” I said after a while of silence.

“You can swim, right?” Kate raised an eyebrow, still joking.

“Camera equipment and water don't mix, so neither do I”

“On the bright side... you'll get an early start with this all-star cast” She considered.

Filming wouldn't start until the end of next week, but it would be nice to start "slowly" and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. A Saturday outside the walls of this apartment would be a welcome change.

“You'll owe me a big one” I joked with her, and she laughed back.

“You’re the best”

“Yeah, I fucking know.”

I replied to the email confirming my presence and closed the computer to enjoy the vibe of our dinner filled with music and lots of laughter. Ever since Kate arrived, every moment was a different CD, an alternative or folk band to get to know, and this was one of the traits of her personality that I started to really like. We were never bored, there was always something interesting to talk about, to joke about, or to meditate on.

Somehow I managed to wake up early the next day, because I had to do a test in time to go on the trip with the cast. Sam showed up again to pick up the kit and take it to the studio. He was the person who ran around making sure everything was just right, and it looked like we were going to see each other a lot.

The morning was a perfect summer temperature, a wind that made you feel like the day could be the best day in this city. The blue sky with not a single cloud was classic for this time of year. So I took the opportunity to organize everything I was going to take on the little trip. Memory cards, extra batteries, my favorite lenses, filters, and the two camera bodies I had, but in the end I knew I would only use the newest camera.

I dressed in comfortable clothes, a Foo Fighters tank top, denim shorts, and a pair of boots that always helped me on those kinds of hikes when I needed them. My backpack with my gear hung on my right shoulder, a mask in my pocket for indoor use, and my sunglasses for a sunny day.

I planned to take a few photos around the city before I had to go to the meeting point they set up. And to have the energy to do all that, I needed at least one espresso running through my body, so I decided to try the coffee shop on the corner of my building.

The city was busier than I was used to in London, but it wasn't quite as busy as Toronto or Montreal. It was kinda comforting, the sounds of cars passing by all the time, people talking as they passed me, the trams rubbing against the tracks in the middle of the street. It was undoubtedly a big city, but it wasn't chaotic.

The coffee shop would be a very busy place if it weren't for the restrictions due to the pandemic. And it will be the perfect place to save me on mornings when I don’t have time to prepare something.

Even with the coffee in one hand, I managed to stop near the tracks to take a photo of a man walking in a hurry. The movement of the city behind him, his mask covering most of his face and his eyes focused ahead gave that photo a feeling of hustle and bustle.

The other photo I tried was to give it some contrast, and seeing the city's postcard tower, I captured the reflection in a building. It wasn't possible to see if there were people working or not, just the calm of the colors in a blue sky.

My mind was racing at a million seconds per hour, framing, exposure, aperture... A certain adrenaline every time my index finger came into contact with the shutter button. A passion for mundane details, details that went unnoticed by the inattentive eye.

I sipped my coffee, a double espresso, and smiled at the LCD screen of my Canon. Little by little, life was starting to have a better meaning than surviving one day after the other.

“You're Kesnia Sereda” It was more of a statement than a question. She immediately smiled “Sorry, I'm acting like a fangirl, but I've been following your work for a while now. The cinematography of Chernobyl really opened my mind.”

Kesnia was a typical Russian, blonde, strong but not that tall. She was almost my age, a few years younger, and her vision for films and series was out of this world.

“It's rare for someone to be a fan of the ‘behind the camera’ people” She joked with a laugh, her accent very marked in her English.

“I'm biased when it comes to talking about those behind the camera” I lifted my Canon, which until then was only hanging from the strap around my neck.

“Oh, so you're going to be in charge of the photos on the sets?”

“Me and another photographer.”

“Good, good” She said pleasantly “All of my advertising with the brands will be your responsibility then.”

“No pressure, right?” I shook my head playfully, and she laughed hard.

“Just a little” She patted my shoulder in a friendly way.

“Do you know who's going with us this afternoon?” I asked, really curious about it.

“The Miller family” Kesnia pointed to a car that had just turned the corner. Perfect timing for the scheduled time.

I knew a little about the game. I'm not used to spending my time with video games, so I hadn't played anything like it. But I had researched the story and had access to the first scripts to map out the set of photos I would need. 

A good part of the cast was well known actors, their faces were very familiar and I knew almost all of them as I'm always up to date with the world of film and TV productions. The Miller family in question was made up of three people: Gabriel, Nico and Pedro (Tommy, Sarah and Joel).

The afternoon should serve as an icebreaker for the cast. The idea was to form a connection, and I was there to help the department that was setting up the sets. The photos I needed were of the “family” together to use in the scenes for the first episode, where it would be possible to see the memories of what was supposed to be a life.

The atmosphere inside the car was of excitement; the three of them were already very relaxed. Fleetwood Mac played through the speakers at a pleasant pace, breaking the silence of the empty street. The car's tires stopped as Pedro slowed down to stop right in front of us. Gabriel was in the front passenger seat and Nico was smiling in the back.

“Let me guess,” Pedro said, lowering his glasses to the tip of his nose. He pointed to the Russian girl next to me and smiled. “Kesnia, and Still...” Finally, he pointed to me, the smile still playing on his lips. “Nice to meet you guys, my name is Pedro.”

He introduced himself as if we didn’t know who he was, as if he wasn’t this huge Hollywood star. It was clear that I knew him. I’ve watched so many of his projects because I’m passionate about cinema and television. Being face to face with someone like him wasn’t my thing. I usually camouflaged myself on film sets, and many people didn’t even notice my presence.

“He’s not that smart,” Gabriel said loudly so that we could both hear. “Your camera around your neck gave you away.”

“Ready for an afternoon with these two old men?” Nico opened the door for us and I laughed at her comment.

“Watch how you talk to your father” Pedro joked, pretending he was mad at her.

“Let's go, before I regret having agreed to this madness” Kesnia indicated for me to go in first and I took my place in the middle between her and Nico, placing my bag on my lap so I could sit down.

“It's a pleasure to meet you” Gabriel had kind eyes, he turned to us with a smile on his face that pulled a little at the wrinkles in the outer corners of his eyes.

“Nice meeting you too” I said, returning his smile.

“I hope I don't scare you on our first adventure” Pedro didn't turn around because he was driving, but he gave a look in his rearview mirror that made my cheeks burn right away.

“I haven't had much contact with people who aren't part of my family for over a year, it's very likely I'll be the one scaring you” I allowed myself to joke and received a smile from him.

“Are you guys from here?” Nico asked, curious and trying not to let the conversation fade away.

“I usually live in Moscow when I'm not working on a project,” Kesnia answered.

“And I'm in London-Ontario.”

“A real Canadian then?” Gabriel asked.

“Canadian father and American mother” I revealed, earning a surprised sound from him. His Texan accent was hard to pass by.

“Which state?”

“Ohio, nothing too fancy.”

“You talk as if my Texas is something from another world” The dark-haired man rolled his eyes, still with a smile on his face.

The one hour trip went by so fast that I began to doubt whether Pedro had taken us to the right place or not. Slowly, I felt my nervousness fading away, and I became more and more at ease with them.

Banff was a magnificent city, the mountains were breathtaking, and you could see all the charm that Alberta had to offer. A nature that was unmatched to any place in the world. Nature that did not escape my lenses. The moment we got out of the car, I aimed at the landscape that was in front of us, adjusted the lighting settings, and clicked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the four of them watching me and quickly pulled the camera back to my body, embarrassed.

"Sorry, it's my first time in Alberta." I nervously fidgeted with my fingers without realizing it.

"You'll have to share today's photos with me," Pedro said sweetly, amused. "It's my first time here too."

"Noted," I nodded.

“Let's go before I get back in the car” Nico, the teenager from our little group, said, continuing to tease him, since it was Pedro's idea to do all this.

He rolled his eyes, muttered "teenagers these days" and pushed her playfully.

I could see how palpable their chemistry was already.

It was only a twenty-minute walk until we reached the place where we could rent the orange boats that floated down the river in the direction of the current. Pedro went ahead to rent one and I moved away a little, already thinking about not falling into that trap and photographing them from afar.

I sat on a wooden bench and went through today's photos to check if they were all good enough to be edited.

“Hey” Gabriel called me, coming closer “Ready to go?”

“Oh, no, I don't get along well with boats” I tried to smile nicely, but the thought that I could easily drown in that place got in the way of my smile.

“We’re all going, what you talkin’ bout?”

“I can take pictures of you from here, it's okay.”

“Pedro, she said she's not going” He told on me as if I were a bratty child, and my heart started racing.

“If I have to go, you also do” Kesnia pointed to the boat.

“Seriously, I'll be better off here” I insisted, hoping they would just give in.

Pedro shook his head and came towards me with one of the life jackets. He seemed focused on making his idea of ​​the trip work for everyone, he wanted to see everyone having fun.

“I don't need to…” I started to say, but he cut me off by putting the life jacket on my lap and holding out his hand for me to hand him my camera.

“Don't make me throw you into this boat.”

“Pedro…”

“No way” He opened and closed his hand, showing he was standing on business “Come on.”

“I can't go into the water with my equipment” I looked for a more plausible excuse, panicking now “No equipment, no job.”

“No problem” He had a mischievous smile on his lips “I'll ask the owner of the boat rental place to keep your backpack.”

“Pedr…”

“Hey, do I have to count to three?”

The rest of the group was amused by the scene. I was holding on to my equipment like my life depended on it, and he had one hand on his waist and the other in my direction, like a father lecturing a child.

I huffed loudly in dissatisfaction, put my camera away and held out my backpack towards him with a grunt.

“Good girl” He said under his breath, his fingers brushing the back of my hands as he picked up my equipment, releasing an electric current that started from that point and went all the way to my toe.

I cursed for not being strong enough to hold on to my idea of ​​not getting on that boat.

With Nico's help I put on the orange vest, uncomfortable because it was so bulky. The two men in our small group were amused by my suffering.

The instructions for rowing were given to them because they were better prepared, and as I approached I held on tightly to the ropes that were on top of the edge, my sweaty hands slipping a little with each movement that the water around us caused.

“Do you guys want to go down with some adrenaline?” Gabriel broke the silence of the boat, his playful tone in stark contrast to what I was feeling inside.

“Just get the fuck down the river before I have a heart attack and you won't get any pictures for a year” I grumbled, feeling the rocking of the small waves crashing against the plastic.

“Relax a little” Pedro was in the seat in front of me, his smile revealing a small dimple in his right cheek.

Somehow he reached the top of my head, pulled my sunglasses towards him, took out his phone and stood up to take a picture.

“Smile, it's for my older sister” He said as he positioned himself for a selfie, in true uncle style.

This time my smile was more natural, he took the picture and turned to me, striking a pose that highlighted the sunglasses on his face. I let out a breath through my nose in a low laugh and shook my head negatively. The Latino was like a warm ray of sunshine since he first opened his mouth, making everything lighter and more fun.

I managed to sit down without holding on to the rope as my support. The conversation flowed naturally with them, taking my focus away from the fact that we were floating in a part where the depth was no joke.

Nico kept teasing Pedro, like a good daughter would tease a father, joking about his age and the fact that he wasn't very good with technology. Kesnia discussed cinematography with Gabriel a little and every now and then I got involved in their conversation. It was a peaceful ride until almost the end when things got more interesting.

When he realized that he was almost losing the stopping point because of the current, Pedro quickly stretched out his oar to stop the boat at the point he needed to. 

It all happened too fast.

A jolt made everyone’s body get thrown a little roughly to the right. And for my luck, I was the only one leaning against the right edge, so my fate was to be thrown directly into the water.

I fell with my head submerged and right there a considerable amount of water entered my mouth. The water was freezing, as it was a river made of ice that melted from the surrounding mountains. My hands automatically went to the edge of the vest to make sure it was still there, and a second later I was floating with my head facing upwards. The small waves still crashed against my body and splashed my face, and I was desperate not knowing where the current was taking me.

A little far from where I was, I heard the sound of someone else entering the water, but this time on purpose. My ears alternated between being above and below the water level.

I tried to straighten my body, throwing my legs down and was surprised when Pedro’s body was so damn close. His arms stretched out to hold me. One of his hands reached for my arm and the other pulled my waist.

“Hey, hey, hey” He said, trying to reassure me. My brain was still very aware that if it weren't for the vest, I would be at the bottom of that river “It's okay, I got you, you're safe.”

My arms automatically went around his neck, in a false sense of security. Little by little he kicked the water, directing us to the edge of the river.

“We're almost there” He tried to comfort me, his strong arm holding me against his body as tight as the vest would let us. “I'll need you to let go of me when we get to the edge, I'll push you. Think you can do it?”

I had no idea where my voice went, so I just nodded.

“Great, you're doing so good. Just a little closer…” He gave me a gentle squeeze and then loosened his grip in preparation “Ready?”

“Wait” I said when I felt a wave crash against my nose, making me lose a little of my breath, thinking that I wouldn't make it. 

“‘It’s okay, take your time” He said patiently, with his sweet voice close to my ear.

I took a deep breath, in preparation and after I gave him a nod, he pushed my body and I grabbed the edge, holding onto a tree root. Pedro came behind and managed to push me up. And as soon as I was safe, I turned to him to extend my hand which he gladly took. I pulled him up and together and we fell sitting backwards.

“See, nothing to worry about” He said, trying to catch some of the breath lost in the effort he made.

“I’ll never get on a boat with you ever again” I grunted as I lay down on the grass, listening to his hoarse laugh.

“So dramatic” I heard him say softly and out of the corner of my eye I saw him get rid of his vest.

A gentle wind blew against the leaves of the trees that surrounded the river, and it gave me an immediate chill. My clothes were stuck to my body, cold as if a layer of ice was on me. My teeth began to discreetly chatter against each other. I imitated Pedro's gesture and also took off the vest that had literally saved my life minutes ago and sat down next to him again.

His eyes lingered my body for a second, and both of our faces went hot red.

"Let's go back, your lips are starting to turn a different color," he said, pointing to my face.

He stood up with a few grumbles and stretched out both his hands to me. I accepted his touch and in a single movement I was standing up too.

"Not going to kill you, because we have an entire production depending on you." I lightly tapped his arm, my heart still racing.

"How about this: I owe you something for getting you into this mess?" he suggested, seeing the rest of our group approaching.

"I'll take you on that"

"Whenever you know what you want, just give me a call." He gave me a wink and a smile on the corner of his lips.

I made a mental note recording that moment while I forced my brain to remember how I managed to fill my lungs, to breathe without feeling this heavy weight on my chest. I picked up the vest that was lying on the floor so I would have something to occupy my mind while Pedro welcomed the other three.

“We almost lost the best photographer in Canada,” Gabriel said, coming to give me a hug, relieved that I was okay.

“Chile boy over there almost managed to kill me.”

Pedro rolled his eyes and muttered “Yeah, yeah, cállate,” which honestly didn’t need much translation.

The summer sun managed to warm me up and dry my clothes. We went back to where we had rented the boat and I grabbed my gear, relieved that I no longer had to do something I didn’t want to.

It was the most fun I had had since the world had shut down in 2020. The actors were always extravagant story-tellers and they made me laugh like a child. I hadn't felt any resentment about what happened on the boat, but Pedro seemed to want to make up to me at every moment, probably feeling guilty for having some of the responsibility.

He was undoubtedly responsible for at least seventy percent of my laughter.

My body felt tired from the walks, and my face ached from the smile that rarely left my face. When the moon finally showed signs of appearing, the glow of the early summer evening slowly turning the sky darker, we were already driving through the streets of Calgary, back to reality.

Pedro dropped Kesnia off at the apartment complex where the main production of the series was staying. He dropped Nico and Gabriel off at their respective Airbnbs, and asked me to type my address into his cell phone connected to the car to take me there.

“Did I turn into an Uber so you could go back there by yourself?” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“Maybe that's what I want from you, Pedro Pascal as my Uber” I challenged him, reminding him that he owed me a favor for knocking me off the boat.

“Is that all?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, that would be too easy” I left my equipment in the backseat and went to sit in the front seat “The apartment I'm sharing with Kate is only 5 minutes away” I pointed to the screen while the directions were being computed.

“Did you rent an apartment for two people?”

“I like to save money. They don’t pay me the same as the most famous star in Hollywood” Halfway through my sentence I saw him roll his eyes, because I noticed he hated being treated differently for who he was “But seriously, we'll be here for a month, and I'll only use the apartment to sleep.”

“Is it a lot of work being a photographer on a production like this?” This time he asked casually, he seemed interested in my line of work.

“This is the first time I've done something this big. An HBO production for a year seems crazy enough.”

“Don't even begin to tell me. It's without a doubt one of the craziest things in my career.” He alternated between looking at me and focusing on the road.

“Does that include the craziness of filming three seasons of Narcos?”

“Someone’s been researching?” His voice dropped at least two tones with amusement.

“Pedro, you star in one of the best series on Netflix and you expect no one to know?” I smiled when I saw that he blushed slightly at the compliment.

“Did you know that I almost didn't get that role?” He revealed, trying to concentrate on parking in front of my building.

The streets weren't that busy, the traffic was moving quickly, which made the trip seem much faster than it should have been.

“So they almost fucked it up? We almost didn’t get the best Javier?” I asked with my horrible Spanish, literally killing the pronunciation of the name.

He laughed, making me feel even more embarrassed.

“Ja-vier” He corrected me and I showed him my middle finger “I thought they had Spanish classes in Canadian schools” He had a very sarcastic tone.

“You're confusing it with the United States” I shrugged, returning his sarcasm “I had French classes, mon amour.”

“Wow” He shook his head, impressed.

A few seconds of silence were all it took for my hand to find the car door handle.

“Well, I think I'd better let you go get some rest.”

“You're right, it's tiring being the hero who saved your life this afternoon” Pedro stretched, always with a hint of humor.

“Ha” I let out a breath in disbelief “Says the person responsible for what happened.”

“You won't forget it any time soon, will you?”

“Pedro Pascal owes me a favor, and we'll have a year to pay it back…” I explained slowly, pretending to be talking to myself “See you on set, Chile boy.”

This time I really opened the car door, went to the back door to get my backpack, and stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window of the car.

“See you on set, Still” His smile revealed that damn dimple, and at the end he winked at me as he said goodbye.

I sighed audibly, heavily watching the black SUV drive away down the street.

That fucking guy will be the death of me.

[mercurygray]

Advice for a Long Fic

Someone asked me recently for advice about writing a long fic, and I started making a list before realizing this was probably a post rather than a message.

I know I've said most of this before, and none of it is new advice. As with any advice, take what you think will serve you and leave what you think will not. Everyone's process is different.

-*-

Start a new folder in the place where you save your things. This is your new big project folder. You are going to save all the things here.

Decide whether you are going to write the whole thing and then post it, or post it as you go. There are benefits to both of these approaches. I am a post it as you go person, and I have friends who think this is the dumbest approach imaginable. It is whatever works for you and causes less anxiety.

I have a spreadsheet for all of my characters. While I didn't reference it too often while I was writing, the act of making the document helped solidify people in my mind a little. It was also nice to have in case you felt like doing an askbox game on a slow day.

Come up with a naming convention for the things in the big project folder. When your chapter is 'done' it should be switched to the naming convention. Mine was Darkening Sky - Working Chapter Title (for things that were still in progress) and Darkening Sky - 35 - Chapter Title for things that I'd finished. This helped me find things later after I'd been working for three years and would not have remembered what was in a document.

I personally like the model of doing a separate document for each chapter. This allows me to move these episodes around at will without the danger of possibly deleting a large chunk of text. This does not work for everyone! If you like one big document, use one big document.

The other reason I liked lots of little documents is that it gave me the opportunity to slot in other things that I didn't think were originally going to be chapters. When I first started working on TDS, I had a lot of flashes of ideas for different things throughout the whole story, and I wanted to get them down all at once. Some of those made it into the final story. Some did not. Some of them were written for one part of the story but got recycled into a different part. But they are all in the big document folder in case I needed them.

I also did something for TDS that I've never done for a story before - I wrote down all the different story beats and show beats on notecards and I laid them out on my floor underneath cards that had the show episodes on them. (You may have seen pictures of this.) By putting the plot points on notecards, rather than a list, I had maximum flexibility to move them throughout the story and could visualize over a larger space where the story was going. This also allowed the story and the characters to go places I did not think they would go.

Give yourself grace and time. It will not all happen overnight. It does not need to all happen overnight. The people who are expecting it to all happen overnight are not the people you need in your life.

Having said that, a schedule can be a wonderful and valuable thing. I was trying to post a chapter every two weeks during the pandemic, and then when work picked up again I scaled that back to once a month. The schedule was not for the readers. The schedule was for me. Having something to keep myself accountable was helpful to me to prevent burnout (a chapter a day, no thank you) but keep myself moving forward.

I am going to say something provocative here: There is Writing the Fic, and there is Doing Fandom On The Fic. Doing Fandom On The Fic is the "New chapter coming soon!!!" sorts of things. I would be very cautious about feeling like you need to do the second thing. Work on it first. When it is done, it will promote itself. (If you have already created the Doing Fandom thing as a part of your creative process - great! share that! But don't go out of your way to Make Something Just To Have Something.) There is a time and place for the second thing, and it fills a specific need, but there is a different and I would argue more effective way to do that, which is -

Find a Pit Crew. This is an endurance race, not a sprint, which means at some point you are going to look at what you have on the page and you're going to want someone to tell you that you are doing a good job. You're going to need someone to change your tires and change your oil and talk to you at ten o'clock at night when you want to rip everything up. This is not a big public server - this is one or two trusted friends who will listen to your bonkers AUs and what your characters ate for breakfast. Create a server for you and those two people and go have fun. If no one else shows up to this party, you and those two people are still having a great time, and that is what counts.

[wings-of-ink]

Checking in - Author Updates - Quick Poll

Hello all! I hope you are all doing well!

I wanted to check-in. I don't have a ton to say on development, just wanted to keep you in the loop on where I am at personally since it tends to affect production speed. I also have a question for you at the bottom.

As I've posted about before, this year has brought about some challenges for me. There aren't a ton of good developments on that front, and my job is being...difficult. The (technical) good news is that I am still employed, but some days I wish I weren't. (I'd much rather be writing IFs, lol.) There is still uncertainty about the future of my job because it is at the mercy of the whims of my government. But what is more pressing currently is that my employer has opted to treat its employees worse (let me tell you, this is a feat because they've never really treated us well), by making our lives and jobs harder. I've made some "worst-case scenario" plans to prepare, so I'm just getting by one day at a time. Oh...and I also have needed to work overtime again, so that's another time suck there. Ugh. In May, I'm taking a couple days of off for me to rest.

In more recent news, I am doing physical therapy...yippy! In recent months I have struggled with my right shoulder. I assumed it was one of those "you're in your late 30s" pains, and I just dealt with it. Don't do that, by the way. I have a very bad habit of just doing with little regard for pain and discomfort. But, it got difficult to hug without pain, and nothing messes with my huggin'. We really don't know what is wrong with my shoulder/arm, but I'm doing virtual (oooh shiny) PT (not the Silent Hill variety) to hopefully correct the issue. If I don't see results, I will need expensive tests and scans. No worries currently, though, I don't think this will slow me down much at all. I can still write and I don't experience any discomfort when I do.

I'm also still working on a coding class, which is self-paced, but I'm sticking to a lesson schedule to make sure I get it done. I would really love to be able to make improvements of my own to GC or even make my own Twine Template someday.

So, in more fun development news, Chapter 6 is growing steadily. And so is Chapter 5, technically. If you missed it, check out this Tumblr ask where I talk a bit about that. The ask and answer contain some slight spoilers for Ch 5 & 6, but nothing too specific.

Chapter 5 is up by a bit over 1500 words, if you're curious, and Chapter 6 is up to over 69k words. I am wrapping up a big moment for Zahn, which might be a bit heavy. After that, there's a more fun moment, which will present a few coding challenges for me, but I'm looking forward to it. *rubs hands together like housefly*

Finally, I have a question for subscribers or those who may want to sub in the future. I find myself wondering what else to post about at times. Especially when I have inordinately busy weeks, I just can't think of things that you may want to see other than peeks at the chapter. I sincerely wish I had more time to add more projects. I have so many ideas kicking around in my head...

So, I was wondering if you were interested in seeing things other than God-Cursed that I have worked on. These would be things that may or may not become much of anything later, so I wasn't sure if there would be much pull to see them (or if it would just be a cruel tease, lol). I have an incomplete IF that I did to help me learn Twine a couple of years ago. I used it to just get acquainted because I am very much a hands-on learner. It's a humorous and simple story (loosely) based on an actual time in my personal life. I have debated about finishing it. I have a couple of others as well where I was playing with a story idea to see how it felt. I also have a complete romance novel which I am slowly editing for publication.

Patreon, Ko-fi links if you want them.

So that's all for me. If anything big happens, I will let you know! ^_^

Take care, everyone!

~Lunan

[ollyissleepy]

𝟎𝟏. 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐲

summary: Rafayel is convinced by Thomas to read one of your previously released books to have him agree to illustrate the new one cw: none? a/n: make sure to check out this months posting schedule to know when more chapters will come out! taglist is open!

m.list | next →

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't do commissions?" Rafayel tries his hardest not to raise his voice at Thomas, his manager, knowing he just wants to make sure his works are known with a bigger audience. "I don't care if it's the god itself; you can't pay me to draw for you."

"I know, I know. I just want to give one of their books a shot." Thomas raised the book he was currently holding, hoping that acting nonchalant would somehow convince Rafayel. "I think your styles match pretty well, that's all." He shrugs his shoulders, coming closer to where Rafayel was working.

Rafayel watches his manager closely, analysing what the man is plotting now. Thomas doesn't comment on Rafayel's suspicious gaze and slowly places one of your books on a small table next to an easel with an unfinished painting. He pats the cover lightly, as if he's quietly trying to encourage Rafayel to read it. Thomas then leaves, saying his goodbyes on his way out.

Rafayel stares at your book for a bit, unsure if he should just leave it there. He realises he doesn't care if the book is destroyed with paint or not. It wouldn't be his fault anyways; Thomas was the one who put it there, not him. Rafayel picks up his brush and puts some already mixed paint on it, returning back to his work, before it was rudely interrupted by his manager. Rafayel tried his hardest to focus on his painting, the brush strokes on the canvas barely looking like anything. He kept going back to Thomas's words. What did he mean by your style matching his well? Rafayel's sight kept going back and forth between his canvas and your book. He keeps telling himself that he's not an artist you can buy and that he doesn't care for that little book of yours.

Rafayel sighs, noticing that he spent more time staring at your book than working on his painting. He gives in to the temptation, hoping that after reading one page he'll grow bored of it and will be able to return to his work. Rafayel throws the brush into the cup filled with paint water and picks up your book. He decides against moving from his stool, thinking he would just take a small peek. He flips to the first page and starts reading.

After the first page, Rafayel, without thinking, turned to the second page. The story captivated him, from the way you described your characters to the way you wrote about emotions. Rafayel kept reading more pages from your book, only stopping once to move from the stool next to his easel to the couch. He didn't notice the time passing, the sun no longer shining brightly and now much lower in the sky.

Finishing the book left Rafayel with his heart aching for more. He grabbed his phone in a daze, ready to search more books that you seemingly poured your soul into. Only then did he remember why he had your book in the first place. Rafayel decided that he has to make you an exception to his rule. Instead of looking up the titles of your other book, he looks up your social media accounts. Once he finds one that you seem to be the most active on, he opens up your direct messages to send you a text.

@sashisuslover @withering-dream

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter 1

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 1700 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Overall rating will be Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap but I imagine a lil' baby one of about 5 to 8 years. This chapter is a wee lil mellow one and sets the scene, but future ones will include soft, yet sexy and intense Dave; several twists - basically, it will have it all: action, angst, deception, fluff, humor, a puppy(!), and SMUT! No use of y/n. Dave will give reader a nickname based on his perception of her.

AN: I got too excited and decided to post the first chapter. Posting schedule will be somewhere are weekly, give or take a few days. Hope you enjoy and let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter 1:

“Sure, honey. You can come stay for a while,” your mom assured you. She sounded excited even though it wasn’t a call you wanted to make, not at this point in your life, but what other options did you have? “You can see the house and meet your new stepdad!”

Dead air.

The soft glow of you bedside lamp cast long shadows on the room, making the clutter of half-packed boxes look like ominous towers. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the phone tighter, trying to process her words.

“My new WHAT?” your voice rose toward the end in utter confusion. You didn’t even know your mom was dating anyone, let alone someone serious enough to fucking marry!

“Oh, honey, his name is Dave and you’re just gonna love him,” she replied with a lovesick simper.

You’d never heard her voice do that. She must be really into the guy.

Enough to marry him without even inviting you to the god damn wedding?

She’s still chatting away, explaining how they met – at work – and how it was such a whirlwind romance that they got carried away on a work trip to Vegas and decided to just tie the knot without telling anyone.

Okay. That, actually, didn’t surprise you. Your mom was super smart but could be a total a flake sometimes, leaving you to wonder who the adult was on more than one occasion while growing up. She had you really young and never quite matured.

“That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him,” you finally replied after twenty minutes of listening to her gush over this Dave guy. “But I’m not calling him Dad.”

She laughed. “Of course not, honey. He’s too young to really be your dad anyway.”

That piqued your interest.

“Oh, oh, oh, you robbin’ the cradle, mama?” you teased. “You’re really living your cougar era, huh?”

“Stop it, you,” she giggled in return. “So, when do you think you’ll get here?”

Conversation went back and forth a little longer as your mom gave you the new address – for fuck’s sake, they moved clear across the state from where you grew up, to a very swanky area at the shore, you noted – and you made a rough itinerary. In reality, you would have loved to just drop everything and get the fuck out of dodge right that minute, but logistics and all that.

“Ok, honey. Be careful and I’ll see you next week. Call if you need anything.” Before she ended the call, your mom added, “I’ll text you Dave’s number as well, so you have it in case of emergencies.

“Sounds good, mama. Love you.”

“Love you more, honey.”

You went back to packing up the remnants of your life, readying yourself for the cross-country journey ahead.

You did not have ‘moving back home at almost 30’ on your bingo card this year, but there you were, pulling into the half-moon driveway of a large colonial home in an upscale neighborhood, one much nicer than where your mom used to live. The house loomed under the late morning sun, its pristine white siding and black shutters stark against the cloudless blue sky. Perfectly trimmed hedges flanked the curved driveway, and somewhere nearby, the faint crash of waves carried on the salty breeze. This Dave guy had a lot of money, it appeared. Parking your little sedan to the far side in front of the 3-car garage, you turned the car off and lingered in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

Normally, you didn’t mind change, but… man, the past month threw some whammies at you. You lost a boyfriend, job, and your loyal goldfish in quick succession. Each loss hit worse than the last. And now, your safe space, the place you needed to return to so you could lick your wounds… also changed. Big time.

The soft tap of a manicured nail on the window startled you, head snapping to the side to see your mom standing in the driveway beaming at you. She bounced on her feet, anxiously waiting for you to get out of the car.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you!” You barely had time to fully stand up before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That was another thing about your mom – she was strong. She had lithe muscles packed into her small figure from being a total gym addict.

Too bad that addiction wasn’t hereditary. You hated the gym.

“Hi mama! Marriage looks good on you!” you praised her once you stepped back and took in her glowing, sun-kissed skin, vibrant blonde locks, and the large rock on her hand.

“You look good, too, honey. You losing weight?”

And of course, she honed right in on that. You weren’t even in front of her for five minutes, and she brought up your weight. Story of your life. Your body shape the exact opposite of your, mother’s, she hadn’t let up on nagging you about your weight since you were twelve years old. You were always a bit… thick in places.

“Uh, maybe, I dunno. Come on, show me your new digs.” You quickly changed the subject.

Your mom gives you the grand tour, proudly showing off all the lovely features of the house, focusing heavily on the ones the home you grew up in didn’t have like the huge kitchen, fireplace, pool, and enormous master suite, though she led you away before you could fully explore all that the suite offered. The two other bedrooms were already decorated for little girls, and you quirked a curious eyebrow at your mom.

“Didn’t I mention that Dave has two young daughters?”

No. No, she definitely did not mention that. You rolled your eyes, understanding now why your mom was so eager for you to come home. She wanted a built-in caretaker. You mentally counted down, knowing exactly what she was about to say in three, two, one…

“Actually, now that you’ll be living here, it would be great if you could look after the girls when we have to travel for work or want to go out, help with the school runs during the week.”

It wasn’t a question, you noted. Not that you expected her to ask first or even mention that being a nanny would be part of the deal. Nothing with your mom ever came without a cost. You learned that lesson long ago.

You loved your mom, you really did. Sometimes, she just didn’t make it easy to do so.

“Right. About that… where am I supposed to be staying if all the bedrooms are taken?”

She led you down the stairs to a door off the family room, where another stairway awaited you. “You’re locking me away in the basement?” you joked. “Please tell me it’s at least finished.”

“Just wait until you see it, honey,” your mom promised, and you reluctantly followed her down the steps.

When the lights flicked on, the sight took your breath away. It was like an entire apartment down there. It even had its own private entrance leading to the garage allowing you to come and go as you pleased. “Wow,” you breathed.

“Told ya.” She flashed you a twitchy wink. “You’ll have this whole space to yourself… well, except for that room over there.” She pointed to a closed door equipped with a sturdy lock.

“What’s in there?” you questioned, already curious about the reasoning for such a lock on the door.

“That’s Dave’s office. It’s off limits to everyone but him, so don’t go snooping. Got it?” She pointed a finger at you like you were an errant child, and you raised your hands in surrender.

“Heard you loud and clear, mama. I have no interest in whatever creepy ass skeletons Dave is keeping in his locked office.” Total lie, of course, but your mom didn’t need to know that.

“Good. Get settled in and help yourself to whatever you need. I must head to the office for a bit. Dave should be home at some point, he just had a meeting in town. I’ll pick up the girls from school on my way home if you want to take care of dinner.”

And there it was. You knew there’d be a bigger price to pay for this arrangement, more than occasionally taking care of your new stepsisters. Without a job or any other responsibilities, your mom was going to treat you like free labor. You saw that coming.

You followed your mom upstairs and through the front door as she headed to her car in the garage, and you went for yours. Might as well get unpacked, not like you brought much anyway. It was early still, and you could make a trip to the store for anything you needed before having to worry about dinner.

A few hours later, you stepped back to admire your new living space with a sense of pride. You did everything you could to make it your own, within reason.

With the basement suite basically being a blank slate, you chose a variety of decorative pillows, wall hangings, and chotchkes to give it your own stylistic flair. The furnishings unused and rather plain, you wanted to spice them up with splashes of color. You did everything short of paint the damn walls – and you would have done that too if given the option.

Grateful for a firm mattress with a plush pillowtop, you sprang for the softest satiny sheets you could find in a pale green hue and paired it with a patterned comforter with clean lines. A couple of coastal-themed lamps on the nightstands rounded out the small bedroom.

The bathroom was already decorated with a shower curtain and accessories in soft gray hues, and you wondered if that was Dave’s touch or your mother’s. Probably Dave. Your mom never veered toward subtle furnishings, much preferring patterns and styles that you found garish.

Glancing around at the neat space one last time, you headed upstairs to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. You wanted to make something special for the first time meeting your stepdad and his daughters.

tbc

Chapter Two

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69

[mikaylacriiistina]

Nurse? Fix me.

James "Bucky" Barnes x y/n reader (she/her)

Hi! So, this is my first fic, ever. I'm so nervous posting this. THIS CHAPTER IS JUST THE INTRODUCTION to a (hopefully) long story. I have had this imagined in my head since I watched Thunderbolts* earlier this month. This story takes place after the latest Captain America but before Thunderbolts*. Later chapters will transition to what happens during Thunderbolts*, the end credit scene, etc. Please be gentle, I still have no idea what I’m doing lol. If it's trash, act like you've never seen it and I will not continue hahaha.

Also, side note, there's a lot of extra characters I made up in this fic. They will appear throughout the whole entire story. Okay byeeeee thanks for reading!

WARNINGS & FEATURES: currently no warnings?, I plan on smut later on but I'll put a warning when that comes around, y/n reader, proof read but once again, I have no idea what i'm doing, verrrrrry slow burn.

___________________________________________________________

Introduction

AUGUST

Well, you thought it was going to be a normal Tuesday night at work. You were wrong. You got the text in the morning that you have a special patient waiting on you when you arrive at work tonight. You were a night shift nurse at a main campus level 1 hospital in Washington DC. This specific hospital is one of two hospitals where the Avengers go when they end up getting hurt, the other location being New York city of course. It just so happens that you are a part of the trained team to deal with said heroes when they need a hospital stay. It's rewarding yet, this is now messing up your whole week…. And possibly the month. With this special training you have, as long as someone is a patient, your schedule you had for the week is thrown away and you will now be working until they are no longer a patient. Now instead of sleeping today, you got to enjoy preparing for what could be a two day stay or multiple weeks. The new Captain America, Sam Wilson, just happens to be taking a few days stay at the hospital after a brutal fight. 

You get out of your car anticipating what kind of disaster is waiting inside for you. You’ve seen it all at this point, you're just not thrilled to be relieving the other trained nurse for the daylight shift, Shelli. She’s so bright, bubbly…. Blonde. It's suffocating. You're a night shift nurse for a reason, you enjoy getting to do your job well without any repercussions from management, the staff is more enjoyable, and the extra night shift pay is always a bonus. You're not bubbly like Shelli, you're more laid back with a hardened exterior to always protect yourself from the multiple personalities you deal with 3 nights a week. You can only imagine how Captain America is going to adjust from what he dealt with for the first 12 hours of this day compared to what you're about to bring. You've become so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't even realize you made it to the elevator and a man in a well tailored suit was holding it open for you. He looked familiar but you didn't think much of it, you thanked him and hit the button to your floor. As the elevator is about to close, you watch fingers slip through the cracks to open it back up, just to find your least favorite fellow making his appearance for the evening. Lawson was his name. Well, it was his last name, you typically acknowledged the residents, fellows and docs by their last names without the title because honestly at night, who cares? You're all working as a team. Lawson is so irritating and frustrating, you would think for a married man with 2 kids that he would leave the flirting and small touches he gives you at home for his wife but he’s been like this since he was just a first year resident here. Don't worry, you call him out constantly about it and even make small threats to call his wife at home but he just doesn't get the memo. 

“Well, look who it is,” says Lawson with a big smile and wink.

You just roll your eyes and grunt hoping this elevator ride goes quick so you can just put your stuff in your locker and get shift report from the bubbly blonde. Luckily, the kind stranger who held the elevator door for you initially is also in the elevator with the both of you. It's not that you didn't think Lawson would try and pull a full on move on you when he finally got you alone but it's a crazy world and men are the worst. The elevator doors open and you run off, not that you're excited for your shift but it's too early to deal with Lawson.

_

With being a special trained staff nurse, this comes with a special room for the heroes that is connected to the unit but provides privacy so everyone isn't snooping on what's going on with whoever is in there. You don't bring much with you to work, just your purse, a bag of extra items you may need, miscellaneous snacks and your work jacket. Jacket is on, badge is on, phone in your pocket and you're ready to go. In this separate room, there's an inner separate work area for the nurse and resident assigned to the patient to do their work while not tending to the patient. Of course you are greeted by a bright eyed Shelli the second you show your face.

 “Oh my gosh, hi! You’re here and you're on time! Can you believe we get to take care of the new Captain America?! He’s doing so well, just minor injuries, he shouldn't be here long. He’s been so nice all day. Oh! Also, he has a visitor right now, just showed up! The Winter Soldier is here! Or should I say now, Congressman Barnes?!” 

Ah, there it is, that's where you've seen the man in the elevator. You peer into the window and see both men talking while Shelli gives you a full report on everything she's done today and everything that needs to be done on the next round of care. You look over both of them, Sam looks good for being a patient in the hospital and for Bucky, you look over at the suit he’s wearing, nice watch on his wrist and he has his hair slicked back. Pretty sharp for someone who used to be a brainwashed and manipulated assassin. Your attention is brought back to Shelli while she's giving you her report papers and in walks your resident friend for the evening, Wiggins. You love him, he's your favorite. He’s sweet, small and shy but he cares deeply for every patient and always wants to make sure he’s giving his best care. Since you met him, you've always had a soft spot for him. He has no remote family nearby, no girlfriend or wife, and with being a resident, he doesn't have a lot of money either. Every night you get the pleasure of being teamed up with him so with that, you always try and treat him well with either a home cooked meal or take out. He’s thankful every time and always lets you know that one day he will make it up to you but that's the least of your worries. You make good money and come from a good family, you don't need him to make it up to you ever in life. 

“Alright, are you ready to head in and meet Mr.Wilson?” 

_

You, Wiggins and Shelli all head in to introduce yourselves to Mr.Wilson and Mr. Barnes. While Shelli is talking useless nonsense, you fill out all your names on the board. Your team of the night consists of Y/N as his nurse, Wiggins as the resident, unfortunately Lawson as your fellow, Albott as the attending physician and Oliver as your trusty nurse's aide. Sam and Bucky give you a smile and nod while listening to the rest of Shelli’s never ending speech before her departure. Finally, she stops talking and expresses her goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows. You sigh and finally give a good smile to both men in the room.

 “Okay Mr. Wilson, I am sorry for the probable overstimulating day you have had here today but I promise tonight, we will do what we need to do to get you comfortable and get you everything you need for the night and we will get out of your space until you need us.”

 “Hey, no worries, Shelli was sweet, I am excited to get to know both of you ladies throughout my stay here.”

Sam gave a reassuring smile while Bucky sits in the chair off to the side aimlessly staring while you and Sam converse. 

“Now, before I pull out your 7pm meds, are you feeling any sort of pain currently and can I get you anything else like a drink, another blanket, shut the blinds?”

“No, I should be okay with all the above. Thank you.” 

“No worries, Wiggins and I will be back with meds and anything else written in the orders. If you think of anything else before I come back, just hit your call light and we can get it figured out, okay?” 

Sam reassures he's good and before you leave the room, you happen to look over and catch Bucky staring at you with those icy blue eyes of his. He looks away quickly like he was just caught in the act of something and grabs his phone and looks at it like he wasn't just staring at you. Before you fully exit the room, you gave him a quick look over while he wasn't looking your way anymore and finally caught a glance of his vibranium hand resting on the chair peeking out from his suit. What you didn't know was happening is that Sam was watching both interactions between the both of you. Did he just watch the both of you check each other out? He gives a small smirk to himself and knows he has to make the most out of this short stay with the both of you.

______________________________________________________________

Tags: @baby-banana

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

 Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate. 

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans. 

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

[honeyhotteoks]

this night together - chapter ten (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter ten: the truth

chapter summary: seonghwa needs a friend and you say goodbye to your friends and goodbye to them as tour begins.

warnings: nothing too explicit except there is a frank discussion about alpha/omega/beta dynamics and pack dynamics that somewhat mirror real life lgbtqia+ issues like family not being accepting, societal pressures, etc.

notes: thank you all for waiting for me, i can't thank you enough honestly. it took a while to push through and get through the middle of this fic, but we're there. today (12.3) is a special update day, i'm posting three chapters - ten, eleven, and twelve. make sure you're reading in order starting here!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 5k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

Surprisingly the next few weeks pass with relative ease. It’s not painful like before, the crushing weight of their cold isolation. This time you all know exactly where you stand, and with you asking them for space it feels like you’re a little more in control of when and how the next conversation with them occurs. 

You spend the weeks working, keeping things cordial in the studio, and seeing your friends. Keeping things busy gives you less time to step back into that studio room and wonder what you should have done differently, so you fill your schedule up to the brim. In looking forward to the tour and the impending lack of your social circle, you start to reach out little by little to other members of the BB Tripping group too. 

There’s a gap in your life without them, but for now that has to be okay. For now, you grow your life in every other way you can. 

You’re able to focus on everything else until Seonghwa calls. 

Little cafe meetups aren’t out of the ordinary for you both, but meeting at a new spot halfway across Seoul is. You’re normally so attached to the neighborhoods around the studio, so the idea that you’d actually have to take the subway and follow directions on your phone sends little warning signals up your back. He sounded mostly fine on the phone, but something a little whispered in his tone left you agreeing to meet immediately. 

He said he just wants to see you one more time before the tour, but you feel the strange bubble of pretense around the whole set up. When you finally get there, after thirty minutes and much confusion, he meets you at the door with a clear expression of relief. He buys you a coffee and a fancy tiered pastry, and then shuffles you towards the empty, far end of the cafe. 

“The trip wasn’t too bad?” He checks as he pulls out your chair, “I wanted to try this place,” 

A smooth lie, but you’ll let it go, “It was fine,” you assure him, “this street is cute,” 

“Mm,” He nods. 

You have so, so many questions, but you start small, “Three months,” you sigh, settling into the seat, “it feels kind of weird,” 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa pushes your chair in and takes his own seat, “it’s hard to pack for a tour,” 

“I can’t even imagine,” You grimace. 

“You get really sick of miniature toiletries after about a week,” He says, “and you’d think that all the travel would be great, but you end up sitting in hotel rooms most of the time.” 

“Well,” You shrug, “you can always call me for an update on the studio,” 

“Oh, I will,” He laughs, “the time difference is pretty tough though,” 

“Still,” You insist, “we’ll make it work.” 

Silence lulls between you, he nods at your words but doesn’t say much else, and you watch as he fingers fiddle with the handle of his cup, restless and seemingly on edge. He needs something, you just don’t know what. 

“Seonghwa,” You murmur, “is everything okay?” 

“Yes,” He drops his hand into his lap, “completely fine,” 

You chew the inside of your lip, wondering whether to press him, “Are you sure?” 

He looks down for a moment and then nods, “Everything is fine, but I wanted to talk to you about something,” 

“Okay,” 

“Me and San,” He says in a rush of exhaled breath. 

“Oh,” Your eyes widen, completely blindsided by his words. You thought if he chose to share this with you it would be months, years even. He was so closed off after your heat that you assumed you’d let it lie, just like Wooyoung, but here you are. 

“You said I could talk to you about this,” He continues when he sees your expression, “but if,” 

“Of course you can,” You shake off your expression as fast as you can, “I just didn’t know that’s what you were going to say.” 

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” He says, “especially considering everything you’ve been dealing with,” 

You nod, but keep quiet. 

“I don’t know, I thought it would be good to get it out there,” He confesses. 

“Then I’m here, I’m listening,” You lean forwards, nodding again in encouragement. 

He takes a moment to get his words together, and it suddenly makes sense why he wanted to try a cafe in a neighborhood neither of you lived or worked near. He reached out to you to talk about this, to finally share with someone, and he wanted to be one hundred percent sure no one from your lives would overhear. 

“Our thing,” Seonghwa nods and you know he means his relationship with San and Wooyoung, “it started off a lot like yours.” He doesn’t need to say their names, you know who he means.  

You smile, “Accidental and stressful?” 

“Definitely accidental,” He nods, “we had been friends for years, and Wooyoung always dealt with his heats outside of work and without us really knowing much about it,” 

“Really?” You find that hard to believe with how much he overshares. 

“Mhm,” Seonghwa turns the cup on his saucer one way and then back the other as he figures out how to start. “Usually anyways, but about two years ago he was out for his heat leave like normal, and he called San in a panic. The alpha he arranged to meet flaked out on him and he was too far gone at some heat hotel in Incheon. He didn’t have anything he needed, the alpha was supposed to bring it all,” 

“God,” You grimace at the thought. 

“Exactly,” Seonghwa nods, “he was in a lot of pain and he was really scared,” 

“Of course,” 

“San called me,” Seonghwa explains, “he was nervous about spending Wooyoung’s heat with him, even though he agreed.” 

You nod, but stay quiet to give him the space to continue. 

His eyes dart down, a little unfocused as he sinks into the memory of it, “He was so concerned about hurting Wooyoung or doing the wrong thing, and he was begging me to give him advice. Advice just turned into me offering to drive him to Incheon and helping him shop for supplies, and before you knew it I was up in the room with them both.” 

“Wooyoung was okay with that?” You ask. 

He nods, “Wooyoung was fine, more interested in making sure neither one of us was uncomfortable between his heat spikes,” 

You nod again. 

Seonghwa looks back up to you then and sighs, “Before Youngie’s heat, I had a bit of a crush on San. It was really nothing, just a bit of a flirtation in my mind. Someone to think about alone at night, you know,” 

“Yeah,” You think of Yunho for a brief, flashing second and the way you used to watch him around the studio. 

“But that heat changed everything,” He smiles, a little sadly, “I think you know what I mean.” 

You fight the urge to reach across the table and take his hand, fearful that you might break his willingness to open up. 

“The funny part,” He says, a fresh crease between his brows, “is that San felt the same way. We both knew alpha pairings were a little unorthodox, but for a while we didn’t care. We carried on for a few months, but we kept it quiet so it didn’t interfere with work or any of our friendships.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Wooyoung still doesn’t know about that part,” He says quietly, “so I’d appreciate it if you kept that between us,” 

“Of course, Hwa,” 

“Things started to go further though. We were going on dates without calling them dates, sleeping at each other’s places, leaving things behind. We were texting all the time, sneaking kisses in the locker room,” He explains, “we just couldn’t leave each other alone.” 

He goes quiet again, and this time you do reach across the table, resting your hand over his twitching fingers, “What happened?” 

He swallows tightly and he looks away again, but his hand turns under yours to press your palms together, “One morning San asked if I wanted to spend the weekend in Namhae, he missed his family and thought it would be nice if we all spent some time together.” 

“Oh,” You breathe, the pieces of their story falling together in front of you so easily. 

“I couldn’t do it,” He confesses, “and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I told him that I loved him, but that our friendship was what mattered to me, and that we were kidding ourselves by not trying to find omegas of our own.” 

Your cringe, “Seonghwa,” 

“I know,” He breathes, his head dropping, “it was cruel.” 

“Your relationship,” You squeeze his hand, “what you had with San wasn’t wrong, you know that right? It’s perfectly,” 

His head snaps up, “I know it’s not wrong.” 

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room at the expression in his eyes, fierce determination as he snaps to defend himself. You stay silent. 

“I’m sorry,” He shakes his head, pulling his hand back, “I do know that, that’s not why I broke it off.” 

“Then,” 

“My family is very traditional,” Seonghwa says, “they believe that alphas and omegas are made as a perfect match. They believe that every alpha has a destined omega and that a bond, a claim, should be between one alpha and one omega only.” 

“That’s so,” You trail off, unable to really form the words. Traditional is a kind, sanitized word for what it is. You would have said bigoted, downright prejudicial, and your chest aches at the idea that he grew up cocooned in that kind of indoctrination. 

“Hypocritical,” His cheek twitches, “considering my parents loathe each other.” 

You smile at that, “I’m sorry,” 

He shrugs, his cool exterior slotting back into place, “It’s a shame that we’re not a scent match, honestly. My parents would be so proud of me if I brought you home,” 

You take his hand again, brushing smoothly past his comment, “Are they so traditional they don’t believe in packs either?” 

“That’s worse,” He crinkles his nose, “to them.” 

Packs have always been a little controversial, especially with the rise in beta designations and the decreasing likelihood that omegas will find a true honest-to-god scent match, but it’s not unheard of. Polyamory and packs have started to crop back up in popular media, and it’s becoming more and more common to see an omega paired with two or more alphas despite the traditionalist view that it’s a return to baser, more primal instincts. You were raised knowing packs were an option, but as you listen to Seonghwa and understand his past, you know everything for him was the opposite. 

“I really am sorry,” You murmur, “it must have been difficult to grow up surrounded by that mindset.” 

He nods, and then takes a long sip of his untouched coffee. 

The threads are coming together more clearly, but there’s still a question lingering in your mind and the words leave you without any real consideration, “If you don’t believe that, then why break it off with San?” 

He grimaces, “My parents are fairly wealthy,” 

Your stomach turns icy. 

“And you know the money in dance isn’t exactly overwhelming,” He explains, “they’ve always offered their financial support to me, but it’s incredibly conditional.” 

“Hwa,” You breathe. 

“San thought I chose the money over him,” Seonghwa leans back in his chair, separating your hands again and resting his wrists on the edge of the table, “I tried to explain the situation to him, I tried to apologize for what I said and ask him for more time… time to figure everything out and to be able to be financially independent from them, but all he heard was that I wasn’t willing to lose the money.” 

You shake your head, but he keeps going. 

“You know how he is, he’s more headstrong than anyone I’ve ever met. Once he has an idea, there’s no telling him differently.” Seonghwa explains. 

“But it’s not true,” You’re suddenly so frustrated with Choi San you could wring his neck. 

“It is what it is, y/n,” 

“But,” You trail off, deflated, “aren’t you still seeing each other?” 

“No,” He says firmly, “only for Wooyoung’s heats.” 

“And that’s what? Working out fine?” Your eyebrows dart up. 

“For now,” He sighs, “and I’m under no big illusion that he’s going to forgive me and we’re going to go riding off into the sunset. He told me he wanted to be friends and he wanted us to continue being there for Wooyoung and we just let it go back to the way it was, and honestly,” his voice softens, “I’ll take some of him, even if I can never have all of him.” 

“Oh, Hwa,” 

His eyes are a little watery, but it clears quickly and he clears his throat, “Anyways, that’s it. That’s the tragic little story.” 

“That’s just not fair,” You shake your head, “you should be together,” 

He shakes his head, “Maybe, but I’m not willing to risk losing what I do have.” 

“If San understood,” You start. 

“Listen,” He cuts you off, “I know it seems like there should be this big movie scene, where we both admit we hurt each other and put it all behind us, and build a little pack together and have lots and lots of babies, but I just don’t think that’s going to happen. I’ve made peace with that.” 

You can see plainly that he hasn’t, but in the same way he doesn’t push you on your relationship with Yunho and Mingi, you take a calculated step back from pressing down on this particular nerve. 

“Okay,” You say, “well then thank you for telling me, and I’m here if you ever need to talk about it.” 

“Thank you,” The air leaves him in a relieved rush. 

“And Woo doesn’t know?” You’re hard pressed to believe that. 

He shrugs lightly, “He knows something, we’ve spent enough heats together for him to see what’s there, but it’s not something we discuss.” 

“Got it,” You murmur. 

“And you?” He turns the conversation back with ease, “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” 

You nod, “I’m just going to leave it for a while. I’ll apologize when they come back and the air is cleared a little,” 

“Apologize?”

“They’re not the only ones who’ve messed things up,” You tell him honestly, “and if I could take back what I said, I would.”

“Me too,” Seonghwa smiles softly. 

“Besides,” You lean back in your chair, “you’ll all be gone tomorrow, and I’m sure I’ll talk to you and Woo and San, but you’ll be busy and in a completely different timezone. It’ll be for the best,” 

“Maybe a change of scenery will be good for them,” Seonghwa adds. 

“I hope so,” You murmur. 

“I’m honestly surprised they haven’t said anything to me,” He points out, “but it’s been the same as always,” 

“Really?” 

He nods, smiling a little,  “I thought for a second Mingi was being a little cold, but he just had earbuds in and couldn’t hear me,” 

You laugh sharply, “Well,” you shrug, “I really gave it to them. Maybe they realized being jealous isn’t a good look, especially if we’re ever going to get the chance to be friends or try this again with a clean slate.” 

Seonghwa chews at the inside of his lip for a moment and then sighs, “y/n, do you want to know what I really think?” 

You dip your head, gesturing for him to continue. 

“I think they’re idiots, and I think they acted like assholes and you deserve an apology for it,” You can sense that there’s something more and he continues, “but I’ve made those mistakes. I’ve pushed away someone I care about, I’ve said the wrong things, and I’ve had a hell of a time trying to patch it back together.” 

Your stomach twists. 

“I’m not telling you what to do,” He says, “but I’ve known Yunho and Mingi for a long time. I see the way they look at you, the way they talk about you. There’s more than just an attraction there, there’s something real for all of you.” 

“That’s the part that’s terrifying,” 

“Yeah,” He nods, “and you know, maybe don’t take advice from me, the guy whose love life is beyond a mess, but I also don’t want you to regret anything here.” 

You reach for his hand again and take it without hesitation. 

“I just need to think it through,” You say softly, “and then be brave,” 

Seonghwa nods. You think that maybe if you can be brave, he can too, but you both let that thought lie in the space between you untouched. You don’t need to press him, not after everything he just shared with you and how much more you’re sure is there under the surface, but the thought is still understood by you both just the same. 

“I know you’ll do what’s best for you,” Seonghwa adds after a moment, “but until then,” 

“Until then let’s not think about it anymore,” You finish his words for him. 

He takes another deep breath, and you can see the way telling his secret has lifted something away from his shoulders. He takes another long sip of his coffee and then finally he says, “Do you have anything else you’re doing today?” 

You shake your head. 

“Want to wander around and help me buy unnecessary travel accessories?” He grins. 

“Seonghwa,” You squeeze his hand, “I would love nothing more,” 

“Great,” He runs a hand through his hair, “then let’s go back to Hongdae, I don’t know any of the stores over here.”

“You owe me a train ticket,” You nudge him as you start to gather up your things. 

“I bought you a coffee,” He points out, standing with you. 

“You always buy my coffee,” 

“Fine,” He rolls his eyes but you can see that it’s playful, “I’ll buy you a little thank you present for coming all the way out here,” 

“That’s more like it,” You tease, pressing yourself up on your tiptoes and giving him a quick peck on the cheek, “now let’s go home,” 

Despite your long goodbye afternoon with Seonghwa, it’s harder to really say goodbye to them all on the day than you thought it would be. 

When the last practice before their flight is over, everyone dressed in their coats and hats and ready to go for the night, all of the BB Trippin crew lingers in the front entrance hall. Well wishes, talks of food to try, jet lag tips, the weather. You try to ignore the full suitcases by the door. 

It isn’t until the very last moment that the real feeling of it starts to sink in. 

Wooyoung’s arms are banded tightly around you when the realization of just how long three months is barrels over you in full force. You take a hitched little breath hiding in his shoulder and get your emotions in check, but it’s starting to become readily apparent now. You’re going to miss them, not just your friends, but them too. 

There’s a part of you that fantasizes about throwing up your hands and confessing all your conflicting feelings, chasing them down in the airport like an old movie and laying it all on the line, but you’re not going to actually do that. It’s not fair to anyone if you do something like that. You laid out boundaries for the past few weeks, they more than respected them, and you have no doubt they’ll stay silent over the next few months just like you requested. 

“I’m not going to war,” Wooyoung laughs, squeezing you back once as he tries to extricate himself from your arms, “it’s just tour,” 

“No, I know, I know,” You clear your throat softly, “I’m going to miss you though,” 

“Me too,” He smiles, running a hand through his hair as he steps back.

When you step back from him, Mingi and Yunho are closer than they were a few moments ago and they’re keeping their eyes elsewhere but you can’t let them go without a single word. You can’t. If anything happens to them you’d regret it so deeply, and your hand shoots out to brush along Mingi’s arm. 

His eyes flash with recognition for a second, but he remains cool and calm when he turns to you and you watch Yunho follow suit.

“Have safe flight,” You manage, your chest tight at the idea that this is really it. 

“You too,” Mingi says and then he sighs as he realizes his mistake, “not flight, obviously,” 

“Right,” You smile, his awkwardness breaking the tension between you so easily. 

“Be safe here,” Yunho offers, correcting the sentiment, “and good luck with all the debut preparation, I know it’ll go smoothly with you and Dahan handling things,” 

Your chest warms, “Thank you, Yunho,” 

He nods and then takes a step back, and suddenly there’s nothing more to say. 

“Well, we should go,” Yunho clears his throat, “goodbye, y/n,” 

“Bye,” You manage. 

“Bye, y/n,” Mingi nods, turning to take the handle of his suitcase from Yunho. 

They start towards the door, and you offer a final goodbye, and then a hand in the middle of your back draws your eyes to the side at Seonghwa. 

“Safe flight,” Seonghwa murmurs the tease low into your ear as he gives you a fast hug. 

“Shut up,” You shove him as subtly as you can. 

He smiles, a little mischievously, “I’ll text you when we land.” 

“Good,” You nod, “get some sleep on the plane,” 

He salutes as he steps back and drops an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, “Yes, ma’am,” 

You roll your eyes more obviously this time, but before they continue their teasing, Wooyoung tugs his friends closer to the door, “Alright, alright, I’m exhausted and our cab’s outside,” 

“Bye, y/n,” Seonghwa calls over his shoulder as Wooyoung shoves him out the door, and you can hear San laughing from just outside, Yunho’s voice echoing beside it. 

Movement from the door draws your eye, and Mingi hitches his duffle bag up over his shoulder. His lips quirk up in the smallest smile, and he waves, just a little. 

You wave back with a nod, and then he’s gone. 

The studio moves forward just the same. Quieter, but the same. 

You and Dahan spend your time focused on the debut, and despite how much you think of them for just a flicker before you drop off into sleep every night, your body is so tired from work that your mind never dwells for too long. 

Weeks pass around you in a busy blur

Three months doesn’t seem so long as it whips by around you, not unless you really let yourself slow down and think about it. You still get updates from your friends as they hop from city to city, photos online of New World where you can see your best friends in the back, and then their Instagram updates of every new strange dish they try. 

Yunho and Mingi stay quiet, just like you needed, until one night they don’t. 

The email sitting unread at the top of your inbox was sent three days ago. You rarely check your inbox, and there’s a real chance you would have missed this message entirely, but you just happened to be looking for an authentication code at the exact right time and there’s no mistaking what this email is when you stumble across it. There’s no subject, but there is a little preview pane of the first line and your breath catches in your throat when you see it. 

y/n - You said don’t text and don’t call, but you never said don’t email. 

Your heart tightens in your chest and you double check the email address. You don’t have it saved, but just know it’s Mingi. You need a drink for this. You step away from your desk and run your hands through your hair, heart beating fast, and you try to decide what to do as you leave your room for a breath and a glass of anything. 

You pour some wine with shaky hands, the quiet of your apartment feeling so loud around you. If you open it, you won’t be able to live in an ignorant little bubble anymore. You could delete it, really put your foot down about no contact and keep moving on. You could do that. 

You’re back at your desk seconds later with your cursor hovering over the email. 

He’s not wrong. You never said don’t email. 

With a gulp of wine for courage, you press down and brace yourself. 

y/n -

You said don’t text and don’t call, but you never said don’t email. I’m not sending this so you’ll reply, I’d prefer if you didn’t, but honestly I’m not always the best at saying something in the moment. Please forgive this. 

I’ve thought a lot about us the past few weeks and I wanted you to know that I understand why you’re confused. It was hard to see it before. Something made me insane when you said you slept with Seonghwa, and I can see how all that alpha shit would make sense, but that wasn’t it. Not all of it anyways. I’ve spent so much time thinking it through and what really upset me wasn’t that you were with somebody else or even that it was him. I was so fucking mad at myself for letting us go back to being friends. Especially now that I know you wanted us too and we wrecked it. I feel like a fucking coward, and I swear to god I’ve never been a coward before. You make me feel things and do things that make no sense. It’s hard to make sense of anything when we’re together except that I like being with you.  

These things are so much easier to say when you’re not here. Yunho’s better at this kind of thing, and you’re so good at it sometimes I can’t keep up. 

I want to say that I’m sorry for all of it. I really didn’t do any of it right. You didn’t choose us that night but you did trust us, you trusted me and I’ve done nothing but hurt you since that weekend ended. I thought you wanted to go back to being friends, but when I saw you at the studio the day after I couldn’t do it. I thought if I talked to you I would just cross too many lines, I didn’t realize how much more I wanted from you until you left. But I thought about how much it would hurt you if I pushed it too far at work, and then I thought about how much it would hurt Yunho if you wanted me and not him. Or how much it would hurt me if it were the other way around. Or what would happen if you didn’t want us at all? 

I think I should tell you that Yunho and I didn’t talk for a few weeks either, not really. I think we were all just waiting for the other person to say something, but the whole time we were hurting you. I’m so sorry for that. 

I feel bad about the kiss too. I just panicked, I didn’t know what to do to make you stay. I know it wasn’t the right time, so I’m sorry for that too. 

Yunho is sorry too by the way. Someday if we ever talk about this, he’ll tell you himself, but he’s my best friend and I just have to tell you that he hates himself for how he treated you. He’d be so pissed if he knew I was sending this to you, but you have to know it.

I feel like there’s so much more I could say… things that I want the chance to explain to you, things about how I felt before we ever got together, but you said we missed our chance and I have to learn how to respect that. That’s why I don’t want you to respond to this letter. I wanted to send this because I don’t think I can do this face to face right now, I tried to be honest in the studio that night and all I did was make it worse. I hope you at least read this and can understand that, and I promise I won’t write to you again. 

I want you to know that Yunho and I talked, and we agreed on what to do. We won’t reach out, we won’t push you. When we come home, we’d like the chance to be friends again like we were. We want you to feel comfortable with us again and to trust us again. I know we missed our chance, but being friends with you is always going to be better than nothing. 

We care a lot about you. I hope through all the noise you can still feel that. 

While we’re away please be safe and be happy. 

Please don’t respond. Mingi

You read it again, and again for good measure. After the fourth time you close your laptop tight and leave it far away from you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry too, that they’re not alone in making mistakes after your heat and that you all fucked it up together. A perfect mix of insecurity and biology and doubt and fear boiling over to make sure none of you opened up to each other and just said what you wanted. But you don’t say any of that. 

You’ll tell them when they’re home. 

For once you think the right thing to do is to listen. 

You don’t respond.

a/n: reminder, i am no longer doing taglists as they became too unruly to properly maintain. please turn on post notifs, check my blog regularly, or subscribe on ao3 to get immediate updates.

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

[ctrlsht]

Fragment of the Past 01

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: As you get to know your patient, Jeon Jungkook, you begin to notice that something is wrong with him, until the day he confesses to you what really happened during the night of the incident.

chapter warnings: mention of PTSD and depression, mention of hatred towards the family, mention of murder. This chapter is the only chapter that isn’t too heavy. word count: 8K

note: This fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

"Dr. Y/N, your next patient is already waiting outside. Shall I invite him in?" Soyeon asked while holding the doorknob, your office door slightly ajar. You leaned back in your swivel chair, glancing at the clock hanging beside the door. Soyeon stood patiently, awaiting your response.

“It’s still 2:30 and my next session is 3 o’clock. He arrived early?” 

“Yes, he did. In fact, he already arrived at 2. Although he mentioned not informing you since it’s still early.” 

You looked at the clock once again and contemplated your decision. You still have 30 minutes before the new session starts but you’re not going to do anything, anyway. Just like your next patient, you’re just waiting for the clock to strike at 3. 

“Let him in. We’ll just start early.”

After a few moments, the door opened once again and a tall muscular man entered the room. His movements are slow like he has all the time in the world and when he faced you, his eyes sparkled, and he offered a subdued smile without revealing his teeth. He removed his black ball cap and extended his hand, presenting you with a box of cake.

“Good afternoon, doc. I’m sorry I’m too early from the original schedule but I got you a strawberry cake. Heard that you love them.” He said.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Thank you and it’s nice to see that you’re in a good mood, Jungkook.” You smiled and reached the box of cake that he gave you. He smiled even wider as he removed his leather jacket and you immediately saw his full sleeve tattoo on his right arm. They were beautiful. It perfectly suits him. 

“Thanks, doc. I’m happy that I didn’t dream about ‘that’ nightmare and I believe it’s because of the medicine that you prescribe me. You help me a lot.” He responds, sitting on the white sofa facing your desk.

When he is settled down on the couch in front of your office table, you press the ‘record’ button of your phone. You record your session with your patient for your advantage. It helps you review and recall  the discussion that you had with them, and it’s useful whenever you’re writing a book. Having the recordings allows you to convey your words more precisely.

Of course, you always ask for their consent to record the conversation. However, there are patients who do not agree with it, and in such cases, you still record them. They wouldn't know, would they?

“Well, that’s good to know.” You said and got the folder placed on the side of your table and opened it. It’s the record of him for you to easily navigate his diagnoses. “Are you still visiting the gym like I’ve recommended to you?” 

“Yes I do and it helps me to distract my mind to what happened. Going back to the gym helps me a lot, honestly. It’s hard to push myself to go back at first but as I was in there, it became easier.” His smile is like a pill that can light anyone’s mood. It is so bright and contagious. No one will guess that he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. He witnessed how his mother died in front of him exactly six months ago and he suffers a lot. He’s unable to talk for weeks after the incident happened and was advised to attend psychotherapy. 

Right now, he has made significant progress, and you're glad about it. Throughout your sessions with him, you've observed how he copes with his trauma and understands what's going on in his mind. It's a major trauma for him to witness what happened to his mother. According to studies, women are more likely to develop PTSD than men, and you've handled multiple cases with women experiencing PTSD. However, in your years in this career, he is the only man you've treated with this specific diagnosis. It's a new experience for you, especially since it's your first encounter with a male patient with this condition. You've conducted extensive research, but there are still things your patient does that contradict what you've read.

“During the weekends, I spend all night reading your book, Dr. Y/N and it helps me so much. Plus, it’s good and I love it. I can’t wait for you to release the book that you’re writing right now. When did you plan on releasing them?” He crosses his legs as he looks at you with so much adoration. 

“I haven’t finished writing it so I haven’t planned the date of release.” you replied, turning your attention back to the folder in your hand. “I’m glad that my books help you. Do you think that you’ve already overcome your trauma with the event that happened?” You looked at him and the smile that he had seconds ago was gone. His lips were formed into a straight line and he stared at you. It only happens for seconds and he immediately brings his bright expression once again.

“I’m not quite sure about that, Dr. Y/N. I may be happy right now, but later on, I’ll remember the tragic event once again.” He responded. 

“It’s okay. It really happens. Healing from your trauma doesn’t happen in a short period of time. But eventually, you’ll be okay. It may not be right now nor tomorrow but one day,” you assured him.

“Will you leave me after I completely heal, Doc?” he leaned forward, his gaze intense.  You didn’t respond right away and waited if he’s about to add more with his statement but turns out, he’s also waiting for your response.

“Well, that’s quite the opposite, Jungkook. You’ll be the one to leave me after our final session comes to an end.” You tried to smile. “And as your doctor, I genuinely want you to heal and move on to continue living with your life.” 

“Then I’m not quite sure if I’ll be happy for our final session to come to an end.”

You achieved success as a psychiatrist and book author within just four years of your career. Your excellence in your work is a result of the praises you've received from people. You've built a strong reputation and you're determined to maintain it. While you may be at the top now, you know there's still a long road ahead. You're committed to continuing to excel in what you do and to break numerous records.. 

The day has finally ended and you are still inside your office room as you continue on writing your ongoing book. The paradox of choice. You’ve released three books and this is going to be your fourth one. You’ve been pouring your blood, sweat and tears in every book that you’ve released resulting in its success and you’re confident that this ongoing book will be the same. 

You have nothing else to do except to work 24/7. You’ve been doing this for the past four years already and you have no problem with it. In fact, you love everything you do. But there are people who’s against your life cycle. 

As you type on your laptop, your phone chimes, seeing a notification from your friend, Taehyung. He's been your friend since you were in diapers.

Taehyung: You’re not at home. Where are you?

You: Clinic. Why?

Taehyung: what the. At this hour?

You didn’t respond because you figured out that he doesn’t have anything to do but to disturb you and honestly, you don’t have the time for that. 

Taehyung: Join me for dinner. It’s on me.

You: Can’t you eat by yourself and you have to treat me just for you to have dinner?

Taehyung: You talked as if we’re not friends. Come on, Y/N. I know you love your job but don’t wait until you are the one who becomes a patient.

Taehyung doesn’t understand you. You’re doing what you love and you don’t have a problem with it yet he thought that you were drowning yourself with work. You can choose what you want and you choose to burn yourself from work. You don’t have any problems with it. 

You decide to fix your things and get ready for Taehyung to pick you up. As much as you love your career, you also cherish your friendship with him. He's your only friend, and you don't want to lose him. You've come to consider him as family.

“My father is asking me again if I can now run the business in New York." Taehyung said as he got the pork belly from the grill and placed it in his bowl of rice before he put it together in his mouth. 

“Tell him you haven't decided." You respond subconsciously while wrapping the pork in the lettuce and eat it. 

“What amazing advice coming from a therapist herself.” Taehyung smirked.

"What is your decision then?"

"I don't really know, Y/N." He released a deep breath and continued. "I do want to manage it but I can't. I love what I'm doing right now."

Since his teenage years, Taehyung has been destined to inherit his father's assets, including the family company. However, Taehyung chose a different path and became a successful musician and artist. He's content with his career until his father reminds him of his obligation to take over the family's oil company in New York. He has been wrestling with this difficult situation for years and has yet to find a solution.

“Try to do both.” You suggest while having a mouthful of pork belly. 

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me or what but damn, Y/N. If you’re my therapist, I’ll immediately leave your clinic and find another one.” Taehyung rolled his eyes and you tried not to laugh. "I can't choose both and you know that!" 

You do want to help your friend to get out of this situation but the only thing you can do is give emotional and moral support because you don't have control over his family. You do feel sorry for him but you can't do much. 

"The conflict between personal desires and altruistic choices has been common in dealing with ethical dilemmas. Choosing a decision between what you want and what your father wants that will be beneficial for the majority is quite a difficult situation and you need to weigh them according to how you see it. Your father has been there for you and in return, he wants you to handle his business not only for the benefit of him but also for you." You pause and take a bite of kimchi before you continue. "But you wanted to keep pursuing the career you have right now. It's a personal gain. It's up to you if you become selfish or selfless." 

Many researchers have presented real-life ethical dilemmas and case studies to understand how people navigate decisions that involve personal desires and the welfare of others. These studies often highlight the complexity and context-dependency of such choices which is what Taehyung is experiencing right now. 

If you were to decide with his situation, you'd choose to continue with his career that he has right now. Life is too short to become selfless. What society makes people believe can result in each and everyone's failure. 

If he chooses to do what his father wants, it won't guarantee success, as he has no clue about running their business. And even if he manages to muster the passion to understand how it works, he might not only fail himself but also disappoint his father.

You ended the night with Taehyung bringing you back to the clinic to get your car. It was nice catching up with him once in a while and hopefully, it won't happen often. Taehyung has known you since forever and he knows that even if you love him, you will still choose your work over him. 

You were about to open the door of the driver seat of your car when you felt something. Or more of someone. 

You don't hear any noise coming from afar or nearby and you're certain that you're the only one who is at the parking lot in front of the clinic but you feel like there is a pair of eyes that's watching you. You're facing the two-story building of the clinic and catch sight of anyone but the only thing you see is a light coming from the entrance and nothing else. 

You slowly turn around to see the surroundings and the only thing you see is a quiet night street illustrated by a few streetlights. There is no one, yet you can still feel that pair of eyes looking at you. 

You weren't sure if it's because of overworking or the alcohol you've consumed tonight but you're certain that one of it is the reason why you are having this kind of imagination. 

—

“Good morning, Yunjin. You look pale today. What’s wrong?” You looked at your patient that’s seated across the sofa in front of you. Her lips were paper thin and she continuously blinked her eyes. Yunjin is a 25-year old diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder and she's been your patient for a year already. Being diagnosed with depression can cause a lot of factors including imbalances in brain chemicals like serotonin and norepinephrine. These imbalances can occur in anyone, regardless of their external circumstances. In Yunjin’s situation, it’s caused by her genes and hormones and most likely, she inherited from her family.

Yunjin came from a well known family and her life is what every person dreams to have. She already has everything yet she still suffers with depression. 

Not because a person has a wealthy and happy life doesn’t mean they do not encounter problems. 

“It’s happening again. I’ve lost track of my motivation to continue painting.” She speaks hoarsely. “Last week, I’m pouring all my hardwork and energy into what I’m working on but now, I’ve messed up. And I don’t even know why I am doing this because my work is mediocre in the first place.”

“You know that’s not true, Yunjin. Your paintings are amazing. I love them so much, especially the one you gave me.” You said carefully.

“No, you don’t understand. My works are trash compared to others.” Her voice is already trembling—on the verge of crying.

“Everyone has a unique and creative way to express their works. Not because you think that the works of others are more creative means yours are not. Your paintings are a masterpiece, Yunjin and I won’t get tired of reminding you about that.”

Yunjin is one of your patients who is incredibly transparent. She is consistently honest and open about her feelings, and you have played a significant role in nurturing this honesty.  Over your years of being a psychotherapist, you’ve encountered thousands of patients with different problems and diagnosis. You’ve known the ins and outs of them and you’ve mastered the meaning of every action they’ve made and words they’ve said. You also know if they’re telling the truth or not and you can spot it within a single session. 

That’s what you’re known—for being an excellent psychiatrist. 

However, you’re not yet perfect and still working with your skills. You know that you’re already great but there is still room for improvement. 

Not because you’re confident with how you read your patients means that it’s the truth. Sometimes, they deceive you and that’s a case that you have to improve with yourself.

It’s almost five and a few moments from now, you’ll have your last patient for the day. The truth is, you’re already exhausted with all the work you did today and given that it’s friday. Tomorrow, it’s a rest day, therefore, things should be done until today if you want to enjoy the weekend. But in your case, you’ll most probably work with the book you’re currently writing. 

Jeon Jungkook is your last patient for the day and hopefully, after the session, both of you will feel relief. 

“Hello, Dr. Y/N. You look so tired. Are you okay?” Jungkook asked you as he removed his bomber jacket revealing his full sleeve tattoo. He has a taste in fashion and it suits him so well. With his tall and muscular body, he can wear anything and still look stunning. Beside his body build, Jungkook is handsome. With his beautiful doe eyes and perfect smile, he can captivate anyone. And it’s something that you should be cautious about. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. You don’t have to worry about me.” You slightly smile and insist him to sit on the sofa. “Please take a seat. How are you?” You try to energize your voice to hide your exhaustion. 

"Today was supposed to be great until one of my employees messed around at work. His name is Bryan, and ever since he got hired, he's been getting on my nerves. If it weren't for the fact that he's my uncle's son, I would have fired him right from the beginning," he began, settling into his seat.

“What happened?”

“He lost the memory card of the camera I used from the photoshoot yesterday and now, we had to redo the shoot.” His eyebrows scrunch as he tightens his lips. 

“Your feelings are valid, Jungkook. It’s okay to feel that way. What you can do to control your emotions when you’re in that situation is to leave and take a break where you can breathe.”

“You’re right. But now, I feel okay. Relief even. I just fired him from being incompetent. Someone like him doesn’t belong in my studio, anyway.”

You take a pause to look at him. He looks at you with a blank stare and when he does that, he’s unbothered or doesn’t care. You admit that he’s not easy to read but you’ve learned to master his gesture and there is something about him that feels off. 

“Can you tell me why his action results in you firing him?”

“Because he’s useless and I don’t need useless people in my team.” He responds like the answer is already obvious.

“Don’t you think that he can improve?” His gaze intensifies and after a moment, he smirks.

“My studio is not a training ground, Dr. Y/N. It’s a place where you should already master what you’re doing.” His fingers move in his lips to play with it, eyes still bore at you.

“I’ve established my business from the scratch and I’ve poured my blood sweat and tears just for my business to be in where it is now. Perhaps, I have the right to do anything that's better for my studio. I know what my worth is. Don’t you think, Dr. Y/N?” 

He’s full of himself. But you didn’t say that.

“Well, you have a point, Jungkook. But you’re the one who said it. Your studio is made from scratch and perhaps, you know what being in your lowest point feels like.” You try to smile genuinely. “It’s okay to know your worth and at the same time, look back where you came from.” You looked at his medical records and proceeded. “How’s your condition? Are you still experiencing anxiety?”

“30 minutes ago. When I was traveling to get here.” 

“Why? What’s running in your mind?” He wiggled his ankle and continued to play with his lips, thinking of the answer.

“I was nervous during the ride. I don’t know but sometimes, you make me feel nervous.” He let out a playful chuckle. 

“Why?”

“The fact that you knew everything about me makes me feel something. You’ve known everything about me yet I don’t know a single thing about you.” You don’t understand what's his point so you try to laugh to ease the heavy feeling you feel right now.

“Of course, you knew me, Jungkook. You’ve mentioned that you knew me even before the session started.” You give him a smile and you put down the folder that you are holding right now.

"Yeah, I know you, Doc. Everyone knows you. I'm aware of everything that's public about you. What I want to know is who Dr. Y/N is without her MD and PhD. What do you do during your days off, and what are your hobbies besides helping people with their problems?" He glanced at the wall beside you, where a painting of you hangs. It's a picture of you that people can see in your books, a gift from Yunjin. 

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook with his traumas and all however, you don’t know what he’s up to right now. He entered your clinic being a fragile person with his traumas and right now, it felt like you’re talking to another person. Maybe because this is him without his diagnosis. 

And you don’t know how to feel about it. 

—

It’s a photoshoot day for a magazine featuring you as a doctor and an author as well. It’s a media organization focusing on psychology and human behavior and you’re delighted to be featured for the upcoming magazine. You’ve already featured in some magazine but this time, it’s different because it’s ‘Psychology Today.’ 

You’re now on your way going to the studio with your team along with your agent, Kim. You seem to look calm and relax but deep down, nervousness is wrapping your insides. It is by far the biggest media organization where you will be featured and it’s another achievement of yours. 

As you get out of your car, you weren’t surprised that the location where the photoshoot is going to be held is this enormous. It’s a four-story building located at the center of the city. You’re not sure if the media organization also owns this but as you looked at the name of the building, it looks like it isn’t.

GCF Studio

As you enter the building, you are greeted by enthusiastic guards and staff, which motivates you even more for this shoot with them. The interior is minimalist, with the entire first floor being plain white. When you walk through the glass door, the first thing you see is the reception desk. To the right, there are couches and a coffee table where people can wait, and to the left, there's a cafeteria. You walk straight ahead toward the elevator, and one of your assistants presses the button for the third floor.

As the elevator door opened, you were greeted by a hallway with various doors, clearly indicating it's a working area where the shoot takes place. You walk a few steps before entering through double doors, where you find a bustling room filled with people busy at work. It resembles a dressing room but on a larger scale, with various outfits hanging, and several vanity mirrors where people can prepare for their shoot. It's fantastic.

“Good morning Dr. Y/N. Before we proceed with the shoot, I’d like to discuss with you what look you’ll be having for today. You also have full control of what you would like to look at and we’re here to assist you.” You are greeted by a young male with full of feminine energy. He’s tall and petite wearing a white blouse and a sweater that is hanging on his shoulder. He leads the way and you smile before you follow him. 

You’ve thought that this photoshoot will only take an hour of your time but you’re wrong because an hour just passed and they were still dressing you up. You didn’t feel uncomfortable because everyone is approachable and enthusiastic. They made you feel that you’re indeed their client. 

After an hour and a half of preparation, you finally entered the photoshoot studio, and once again, you found many people inside. You're not entirely sure about each person's specific role here, but everyone is clearly occupied. 

But the atmosphere immediately changed when the door swung open. It was chaotic seconds ago and right now, everyone is silent looking at the person who just entered. 

You saw a familiar figure. His tall and muscular figure is very familiar to you. He’s wearing a black slacks and a casual long sleeve polo that’s folded up until his elbow where you can clearly see half of his tattoo while his hair is pulled back. 

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably handsome and he knows it. 

“What’s this chaos? I told you that once I’ve entered the studio, everything should be ready.” His voice was threatening as he spoke with authority. A side of him that you’re not surprised to see. 

What surprised you is the fact that he’s inside of the studio. 

What is he doing here?

Everyone works silently as if they were being oppressed in their workplace. They were enthusiastic and approachable seconds ago and it all changed when he entered inside. 

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. It wasn’t obvious how you look surprised to see me here, aren’t you?” Jungkook gave you a boastful smile like he doesn’t look threatening a few moments ago. 

A sign of bipolar disorder.

“Welcome to GCF Studio where there is no room for failure.”

You will be working with one of your patients and you’re not even aware of that.

Ethically, there is nothing wrong with working with your patients outside the session but you aren’t fond of that. The idea of working with your patient outside the session doesn’t suit you and particularly with the patient that is in front of you right now. 

You haven’t thought of the reason why but you just don’t. 

Everything is already set up, and you are now behind the backdrop while Jungkook is holding the camera, ready to capture everything. You're confident in the outcome of this shoot, but at this moment, it feels like everything is crashing down at your feet. Everyone is looking at you with high hopes for the result of this photoshoot, and you wouldn't want to ruin it.

“Smile for me, Y/N.”

—

You don’t know how you manage to end the photoshoot smoothly knowing that Jungkook is making you uncomfortable. You were mad at yourself because you don’t know why you felt that way. He isn’t doing anything but to do his job in taking a photo of you. 

Now that you're home, you don't have anything to be distressed about when thinking about what happened during the shoot.

You have to admit that there is something wrong with his words and actions. There are signs that he’s becoming manipulative and a sudden change of mood. He's self-absorbed and lacks remorse for others. You’ve been thinking that there are other diagnoses with his actions and behaviors however, you cannot suddenly show up and tell what other illness he has. You still have to observe your sessions with him. 

You have now freshen up and are ready to rest but you decide to visit your office to check your schedule for tomorrow and the following days. You only have one patient for tomorrow and most of your schedules are meetings. Before you log out, you glance at the folder of Jungkook in your patient list and you click it subconsciously. 

Jeon Jungkook, 31-year old male who suffers from PTSD, after surviving an extremely traumatic incident.

He witnessed his mother die in front of him and aside from that, he was also shot in his left thighs twice. And it happens in the comfort of their home. 

The suspect? A loan shark who’s coming for his mother. 

There are a lot of questionable things that happened during the incident and one of them is how come that he always claimed to have a successful business while his mother is buried in debt? He also claimed that he doesn’t know about the debt of his mother. There are several inconsistencies in his story but the bottom line is, the loan shark surrendered and is now in maximum security prison for murdering his mother.

You transfer the recordings you made over the following days to your computer and listen to one of them, specifically the conversations you had with Jungkook.

You have 12 sessions in total with him and you have 5 more sessions left before it finally comes to an end. You don’t count the remaining number of sessions with your patient until now.

—

You love to read books during your free time, However, it most likely does not happen due to your busy schedule. But right now, you take a break from everything and decide to go on a date with yourself. You don’t normally take a break but you’re becoming busier than usual and you don’t want to risk your health because you know that there are a lot of people that need you. 

You’re not a fan of going out and you prefer to stay at home and rest but getting out of your comfort zone won’t hurt you. You decided to visit your favorite cafe and do your thing there. You dislike rowdy places, that’s why you went early in the morning where people are still in the comfort of their bed.

You underestimate the morning and how you’re used to people getting up mostly before lunch yet there are people who also like you—waking up at 6 in the morning to get a morning coffee in their favorite cafe. 

“Dr. Y/N! You’re here!” You lift your head to see Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you with his bright smile while holding a cup of coffee. 

Among all the people you could meet here, you don't understand why it had to be him.

“Jungkook. I didn’t know you’re here.” You try to return the smile and you almost fail when he sits in front of you. 

He’s wearing a casual polo shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Unlike the last time you saw him, every strand of his hair is falling into a harmonious arrangement. It looks so soft and suits him well. He looked effortlessly handsome as usual. 

“Just grab a coffee and then, I saw you.” He smiles sweetly before he gazes down at the book you’re reading. “I don’t know why I am surprised that you like reading books even for the fact that you’re an author.” 

"I read when I have time," you respond. "How are you?" you add, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.

“I’m doing amazing. I’m continuing to write in my journal like what you suggest. It does help me a lot, Dr. Y/N.” He takes a sip from his coffee as he gets comfortable in his seat. He’s not leaving any moment now.

“That’s good. Journaling really works.” You just said whatever is in your mind because you’re thinking of an excuse to leave. 

“That’s right. But we’re not in the session right now, Doc. We don’t always have to talk about me.” He leans backward as he glances at your book once again. “The four agreements. I’ve read that book before. It’s good. You’re really into self-help books, aren’t you? You like to write and read about them.”

“Yes. It does help me to improve my writing. How about you? I didn’t know that you also read nonfiction books.”

“I started to read because of your books, Doc.” He looks at your eyes filled with tenderness, traced the curves of your face as if he's memorizing it.

He’s been looking at you like that lately as if he wants you to drown with the way he stares. The way he looks at you carries an underlying tone, and truthfully, that's one of the reasons why you've become uncomfortable around him.

“I’m glad that I’ve encouraged you to read books.” You answer while looking at your wrist watch hoping that he understands that you wanted to leave already. 

“Your photos from the last time were amazing. Our team has already sent you the soft copy. Did you receive it?” You do but you didn’t tell him.

“I haven’t seen it but I’ll check it out later.” You looked at your wrist watch once again.

“Yeah, you should. They were amazing. You’re stunning as always.” His eyes twinkled but you didn’t notice that.

“I want to thank you and your team for working hard on this shoot. I do appreciate it so much.” you smile and look at your wrist watch for the last time. “I’m afraid that I have to leave you right now. I already have to go home.”

“That fast? We haven’t talked a lot, Doc.” He fixed you with a steadfast gaze and you were caught off-guard. You’re thinking of what to respond but you were out of words. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “I was just kidding, Doc. I know how busy you are and I understand that.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I apologize, Jungkook. There are a lot of things that I have to do. But I’ll see you on tuesday.” 

“You don’t have to apologize because I understand. Yes, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Y/N.”

—

Tuesday came and you just woke up yet you already wanted to end this day. It’s strange that you haven’t properly started your day but you already feel heavy to move forward. Yesterday was exhausting for all the work you’ve done and you didn’t get home until 10pm, however, it doesn’t justify your heavy feeling right now. You’ve experienced worse so you don’t understand why you feel this way.

As you make your way to the clinic, you receive numerous work-related calls, and you're already feeling tired from answering them. However, you have no choice but to attend to them.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. Your first patient has already arrived. Do you want me to let him wait inside your office or here in the lobby?” The receptionist spoke on the other line. 

“You can let him in. I’m almost there.” When the traffic light turns green, you already move. “Is it Mr. Park?” You asked.

“No. It’s Mr. Jeon, Doc.” 

Damn. That’s why the morning feels heavy.

As you arrive inside your office, you spot Jungkook in the corner looking at the frames that are standing in the chest drawers. The air conditioner is already on–Soyeon the receptionist must have turned it on. He immediately turned his head towards you when you opened the door and greeted you with his charming smile. 

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. I thought you'd take longer to arrive because the receptionist already let me in.” He greeted and walked his way towards the sofa–where your patient normally sits. 

“I was stuck in the traffic. You know, morning rush hour.” You responded as you placed your things on your office table. 

Jungkook is a punctual person. He may arrive early or on time but he is never late. If you count the things that you like about him, you’re counting nothing because that’s the only thing you like about him.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you asked him when you get comfortable with your seat. You press the record button on your phone that's hidden from him.

“Bad. I met my father last night and I wish I didn’t.” He brushed his hair back and slouched on his seat. 

It's the first time he mentioned his father at the beginning of a conversation because he never does unless you ask about it. From his descriptions, his father seems like a terrible person. He never fulfilled his role as a father, often creating conflicts with his mother. His family life seems chaotic, and you believe it might be one of the reasons he's become the person he is today.

“Why did you meet him?” 

“He just showed up to my house without permission to talk about bullshit. My life is already at peace and he’s ruining it.” His jaw tightened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your eyes locked into him as you try reading his mind. You know that every patient that walks into your office has different problems in life and they are sometimes hard to predict but this man in front of you is something else. There is something in him that you couldn’t understand. 

“No. He’s a waste of time. He’s really… Okay, I’ll talk about him briefly. He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

You find his explanation vague but you didn’t think much about it and you let him continue.

“Do you have other instances where you see the different side of your father? Something that makes him a person to you?” You asked.

“None. Even during childhood. Especially now that he only wants money from me. He and mother are very similar to each other. Maybe that’s why they end up together. They both pissed me off and even though my mother is not here anymore, I can remember her because of my shitty father.”

You were taken aback with what he just said. He never badmouthed his mother until now. When he discussed his mother, there is nothing else he said rather than how he misses her and how she’s a great mother to him. 

But you didn’t say anything about it and let him elaborate what he just said. 

“Do you think that your parents do the same thing?” You asked–hoping that he doesn’t suspect your question.

“Yeah. They may be doing it in different ways of being a shitty person but they are the same for being useless parents.” He puts his index finger on his lips and slowly rubs it while resting his elbow on the arm rest, looking at you with intensity. 

You’re finding a word to say but you found nothing. You wanted to look away but it would indicate that he caught you off-guard. 

You saw a glimpse of his demonic character for a second. His eyes that had once been warm and inviting, now bore into you with an unnerving intensity as if trying to peer into your soul.

He spoke once again and his voice took on a low, whispery, and the words that slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine.

"Maybe that's why she died. Now, I wonder when my father will be next."

—

You're standing on the side of the street embracing the subtle chill in the air as the city lights painted the night with different colors. People are walking by and snippets of hushed conversations drifted on the breeze while the flow of traffic added to the scene with vehicles weaving through the crowd.

You don’t know why Taehyung is taking so long to arrive. You’ve been waiting for him on the sidewalk for 10 minutes already when in fact, he should have been here 30 minutes ago. You’re going to come with him on his event show because he’s been annoying you for the whole week to come with him and for him to stop, you just agreed.

What pisses you off more is that he's running late, and your stomach is growling. You haven't had dinner because Taehyung assured you that he'd swing by the drive-thru to grab something for you to eat.

You're waiting for Taehyung, but someone else showed up in front of you.

“Dr. Y/N, hi!” You met Jeon Jungkook’s eyes with his bright and warm smile. He’s wearing a gray hoodie and skinny jeans that fit him perfectly. You looked in the surroundings of him if he's with someone and it seems that there’s none. 

“Hello, Jungkook. You’re heading somewhere?” You gave him a warm smile that hopefully, doesn’t look like it’s forced.

“Yeah. I’m going out for dinner. I was actually in that building,” He pointed out the building behind you and it looked like a law firm office. “I already saw you when I entered there but I didn’t have the chance to greet you because I’m in a hurry and now, you’re still here.” He glances at the road and returns his eyes to you. “You’re waiting for someone?” 

“Uhm, yeah. I am.” You looked at your phone to see if Taehyung had a message but there’s none.

“You’ve been here for a couple of minutes already. Are you sure that they are still going to make it here?” 

“Yeah. Maybe they—

You were taken aback when your stomach started to growl and heck, it’s so loud that you want the grounds to eat you alive. You were sure that your face was burning red and you couldn’t bear to make eye-contact with him as your gaze fixed elsewhere.

 You glance at him as a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I already hate the person that keeps you waiting in hunger. You know what, I’d love to treat you for dinner with me and drive you to your destination afterwards. Or we can just go to a drive-thru.” If he’s someone else, maybe you will consider his offer. 

“No, it’s okay Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.” You glance at your phone to pretend that someone messages you. “My friend is already on his way. You can go.” 

“Your friend of yours is really something else. What kind of man is he for making you wait for so long on the street with your stomach empty?” His voice took on a sharp edge as his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’m really fine. You don’t have to think about me.” You force a smile as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“I insist, Dr. Y/N. I really want to treat you for being there for me during my worst days. You help me a lot and I want to get you something to show my appreciation. It’s nothing big and I will be guilty if I just leave you here.” 

“I really appreciate your gesture, Jungkook, but I have other plans. Maybe next time?” You smile hoping that he understands that you don’t really want to go with him.

“With the same guy that made you wait in the cold air? Oh come on, Doc. You know better.” He spoke in a pompous tone, as if he proved that Taehyung is a horrible guy.

“You can make up to me some other time. I’m really–

You haven’t finished your sentence when Taehyung’s audi arrives beside you and he instantly gets out to meet your gaze.

“Y/N! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. The traffic is so heavy.” He didn’t notice Jungkook until he opened the passenger’s seat and slowly glanced beside you. Jungkook released a sarcastic laugh and glared at Taehyung.

“What a surprise that Kim Taehyung–a famous musician and artist let a lady wait in the cold breeze with an empty stomach. I didn’t know that you’re such a gentleman, Taehyung.” He spoke in a mocking tone as Taehyung looked at him in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

“You wouldn’t want to know.” He arched a brow before he returned his gaze to you. “If you really insist on being with this guy, then I’ll leave you already. I just hope that he won’t completely ruin your precious night.” He said before he finally turned around and walked away–placing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. When he’s already out of sight, you turn your head to Taehyung and glare at him.

“What?” You suddenly smack his chest before you hopped in the car.

“Damn you.”

—

It didn't take long before Jungkook was back, sitting on the couch in front of you. You’ve realized that your day always feels heavy every Tuesday of the week and that is whenever you’re going to have a session with him. 

You've tried to shake off the discomfort you feel when he's in front of you because you regret thinking of him differently from your other patients, but every time you try, he makes it worse.

“Are you taking your medicines I’ve prescribed you?” You scan his record file that you’re holding. 

“Yeah. I consistently take them, Doc.” He responded as he smugly looked at you and before you think of negative thoughts of him, you already returned your gaze back to the folder.

“Are you still having nightmares during your sleep?” He didn’t instantly respond like he’s thinking about the question carefully.

“I do. I still do, Dr. Y/N. But it wasn’t worse, unlike what I have for the last months.” 

“Then it’s a good sign. You’re now improving. Are you still thinking about the incident?” You give him a genuine smile while he slowly crosses his legs and places both of his arms on the arm rest.

“Yes, but not as frequently as before. I love my mother so much but I’ve learned to let her go and accept the fate she has. Afterall, it was her fault.” He was looking at the painting that Yunjin had given you as he answered. He doesn’t have much of a reaction but his last sentence caught your attention.

“Why do you think that it’s her fault?” You ask in your soft voice.

“You see, my mother isn’t the perfect mother and she has her mistakes and sometimes, she doesn’t learn from them. She keeps doing the same thing until she has to pay for it and that costs her life.” He responded.

“Do you want to talk about the mistakes that your mother made?” He smiled and played with his lips once again. You’ve noticed that he’s doing that if he finds something funny or there are things that he knows and you don’t.

“But we will take forever if we discuss it right now, Dr. Y/N. But if you’re really interested, we can talk about it over dinner. You promised me last time that you’ll come with me for dinner.” You mentally rolled your eyes with his statement. Here he goes again.

“Not right now. I still have a lot of things to do but we can talk about other things like how great your mother is.” You said and he laughed—as if your statement is absurd. You try to not raise your brows with his action and behavior. 

“Let's not talk about that, either.”

You were doing your best to understand his actions and statements but there is something in him that you haven’t seen. Something that will answer everything

“But I will tell you how I see my mother during the incident.” He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers “When my mother is kneeling and begging for her life, I was thinking that ‘damn. It’s really happening, isn't it?’. And when the trigger was pulled, the world stopped. And after a few moments, I felt a sense of relief and before I knew it, I was shot as well.” His voice was soft and light as if he’s confessing something that he should have confessed before. 

You felt a shiver down your spine as the creeping horror crawled along your arms, raising goosebumps. You held unflinching eye contact, determined to keep your composure and hide the discomfort and fear you felt.

“Where were you when your mom was being shot?” You asked as you held your breath.

This question is already asked during the investigation. ‘I’m in the living room, 10 feet away from her. When I saw her  position and situation, I immediately ran towards her but it was too late because before I even reached her, she was already shot in the chest. It didn’t take 10 seconds of my life before I was shot as well’.

But you still ask him once again. Away from the detectives.

“I was there, I told you.” 

“Yes, but in what position?” Your hands are already trembling. 

“I was standing,” He took a deep breath before he continued. His next sentence didn’t surprise you because it was something you already expect but trying to deny it to yourself, and it terrifies you, so much that you thought that this may be your last day.

“After I was shot, I collapsed, along with the gun I was holding.” 

a/n: I'm almost done with the whole series so I've decided to post the first part. I hope you'll like this new fic because I enjoy writing it! I am open for comments to further improve my works. Have a nice day everyone!

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00

[globalrebrand]

The Marriage of Music and Alchemy: Chapter Three

Warnings: None!

A/N: Posting from AO3.

~Cater helps out his underclassmen, and you receive an unlikely visitor.

3.8K words

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

Cater never had reason to visit Octavinelle, and he quite liked it that way. Honestly, any sophomore ambitious enough to take the house warden position after their first year was generally a nightmare to deal with, Riddle included, so Cater just opted to mind his business and stick to his leisurely hobbies of skateboarding, music, and gossip. He loved it even more when gossip evolved into (harmless) meddling. 

In the short few weeks of the semester, it seemed his underclassmen had come to know him quite well. A harebrained scheme to get two professors together was exactly the distraction he wanted to over-invest copious amounts of time into.  

While he was kind of upset, it was you…the absolutely smoking new music teacher, he could be the bigger person just this once and let Crewel have you. Admittedly, Cater had many fantasies about being seduced by and or seducing you during one of his cello music lessons, but even after so many of his smooth attempts at flirting, it seemed you weren't taking the hint or maybe just insisting on a professional boundary. Lame.  It's a total bummer but also a sign to move on. 

And besides, if you and Crewel did hit it off and he knocked you up, seeing you as a milf would be more than enough of a reward for his efforts. Cater keeps all of this in mind as he heads to the Monstro lounge after class to make a pact with Azul. Ugh, boo…

The lounge doesn't open for dinner service until 5:00, so hopefully, Octavinelle isn't bustling with students, and the tweels are preoccupied with prepping for the evening rush. 

But as Cater strolls into the purple watery depths of Azul's office, he finds no such luck. It's obvious he and Floyd are engaged in some futile argument. Yet, ever the businessman, Azul's formerly irritated expression morphs into something much more disingenuous but, at the very least, more pleasant. 

"Cater! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Azul opens his arms in welcome, standing from his seat at his oversized leather desk chair. 

Cater offers a bright smile and casual wave, preparing for the performance of a lifetime and momentarily questioning again why he agreed to help out his underclassmen. Maybe he was too much of a shameless gossip if it led him to Azul's desk, and perhaps it was time to seek help. But Cater supposes in for a penny in for a pound. 

"I have a bit of a tough ask." Cater demurrs. 

"I assure my dear senior nothing is too challenging…with the right price." Azul can't help but add the last point. 

"You're too shameless," Floyd rolls his eyes. 

"I need you to figure out Crewel's weekly schedule."

Azul scoffs with an incredulous raised brow as if to say, 'Is that it?'

"Easy. Consider it done~" Azul says without hesitation before being promptly interrupted by Cater's groan.

"Not finished….I need Crewel's schedule about his goings-on on Sage's Isle when he's not on campus." Cater winces at how insane of an ask that is, but Azul is nothing if not boundariless for the right exchange. 

Azul pauses, unsure if he heard correctly. Cater can see the gears in his head turning as he processes before eloquently barking:

" What ?!" 

"Why are you trying to figure out Professor Beakfish's schedule? Kinda weird." Floyd interjects. 

" Classified . Can you do it or not?" Cater could see Azul running over the feasibility of this request while staring off into a distant corner and running the numbers. Seconds later, after a 'tsk' and shrug of his shoulders, Azul presents the deal. 

"Fine. Sign away your signature spell for two months." 

"Two months?!!? Two weeks!" Cater rebuts. "I don't care about it that much-"

"You're essentially asking to stalk our Professor, which I have no problems with, of course." Azul raises his hands in a placating gesture before adding,  "Your business is my business, and you know I keep things confidential. However, let's be clear: this is a crime."

Cater rolls his eyes. "I would say light surveillance and certainly not malicious."

"We're taking on a serious risk by doing this for you. There needs to be meaningful collateral." Azul insists. 

"Oh man, could you imagine Prof. Beakfish's face if he found out what we're doing? He'd probably be lividdddd."  Cater sighs. He knows this tag teaming is a part of Azul's brand of dealmaking and is largely just an act. He can walk away…but he came all this way. He might as well finish what he started. 

"One month." Cater relents.

"Deal ." Azul smiles sinisterly. 

"Whatever, you need to get the full schedule by this time next week. 

"Of course! It will be done."

Cater reluctantly shakes on the agreement, and with a flourish, Azul presents his notorious golden contract. 

"The froshes owe me big time." He mutters under his breath. Cater will probably just get Acedeuce to do whatever work he has to do around the dorm for a month. And the Prefect has it hard enough managing Grim. He'll let them be.

Cater promptly leaves the office and will share the good news with the freshman at their weekly check-in tonight. He just hopes Azul will come through. 

As he watches Cater retreat from his office, Azul is only slightly worried he's bitten off more than he can chew. He begins formulating a cadre of plans while drumming his fingers anxiously on the desk. The tweels are certainly expert sneaks, but Professor Crewel is incredibly keen. Deceiving him might actually be a nigh impossible task. Floyd was right. If they were to get caught, it would be a severe offense. 

"I'm kind of excited. What if we find out some horrible secret about Prof. Beakfish?"

"Ugh…well? No. Crewel seems like a poor choice of target for blackmail." Azul says mindlessly.

"Wow, no one said anything about blackmailing Azul. You're one twisted guy, you know?" Floyd flashes a toothy grin and is obviously teasing, but the task ahead of them has him a bit more unsettled than he'd like to admit. Azul waves a dismissive hand.

"Just go get Jade." Azul barks before adding, "We don't have a second to spare."

Floyd leisurely saunters out of the room. "Whatever you say~"

*            *           *

You must have been doing something right as a Professor because (not to toot your own horn too much, but…) your students seemed to be obsessed with you if it wasn't the ramshackle Prefect coming in nearly every morning to sit next to you at the Piano bench, asking about your daily habits and weekend plans. It was Deuce Spade helping you put away the music stands after class ended and before club activities started. Sometimes, the Prefect and Deuce would come together after class, energizing the music room, much like today. Between those two and how your homeroom students absolutely dote on you, you didn't have to guess that you'd already become a fan favorite. 

As you sat at your desk, reviewing music theory quizzes, you and your students chatted casually about all manner of subjects, but their topics always turned rather personal. Not that you minded and not that their lines of inquiry were ever inappropriate. You found their interest in you rather sweet, if at times odd.   

"Professor, how long have you been living in Foothill Town?" The Prefect poses the question nonchalantly, continuing to sort books on the carpet near your desk.

"Since July," You answer casually, "us teachers have to return to school early to prepare for your arrival. I moved in over the summer."

So you haven't been here much longer than us Professor." Deuce observes. 

"I certainly haven't," You concede.

"Vil would call you a spudling, too." Deuce adds, and you let out a laugh.

"I'd like to see him try." You scoff, but the sound is light and airy.

"Foothill town is really beautiful, but it's so small. Have you had a hard time making friends on the island?" The Prefect changes the topic. 

You consider the question thoughtfully. It has been a change since moving from Fairest City, which was home to millions of people. The place you had largely grown up since you started your music education after moving from the Land of Dawning when you were eight. You left all of your friends behind to get a new start; of course, they were a phone call away and, most conveniently, a weekend mirror trip, but that didn't mean that you shouldn't start building community on this little island. There were a few hundred thousand people living on Sages Isle, and while it was certainly still early days, you had a few potential connections you could see crystalizing into friendship.

"Not really, I'm friends with a few women in my yoga and pilates classes, and the other faculty members are quite kind to me." 

"Oooh? Which faculty members do you get along with?" The Prefect inquiries coyly/

"Or not get along with?" Deuce amends.

"Oh, I won't answer any leading questions; I like all my co-workers just fine." You demur. 

Deuce and the Prefect pouted at your answer as if it wasn't quite the one they wanted to hear. 

"Which area do you live in? I haven't gotten off campus much, but it's a really beautiful island." 

"Oh, it certainly is. I have a little house by the coast with a little yard. I've recently renovated it; when I first purchased it, it was nothing short of a hovel." 

"You like to garden?" Deuce chimes in, crossing the room with two collapsed stands in each hand.

"Oh, I have no natural talent for it, but I would love to start one. I am an avid cook, so homegrown produce would be amazing. Though my dogs might try to eat the vegetables before I can get to them?"

"You should ask Professor Crewel for help! He manages the gardens here on campus and he always help me with planting and cultivating." Deuce offers. 

"Yes!" the Prefect seconds enthusiastically. "And he loves dogs. I think he has some."

"Oh, he definitely does. Two, Apollo and Achilles." You correct without hesitation.

"Those are exactly the types of names Professor Crewel would pick for his dogs." Deuce crinkles his nose in distaste.

"Aren't they? I've only known him a short time, but he's horribly predictable sometimes." You chuckle to yourself, and despite the sharpness of the words, there is not a hint of malice in your tone, if anything, perhaps a bit of appreciation.  

"Do you two get along? You seem like you would have a lot in common." You pause at Deuce's question. Your smile doesn't leave your face, but your eyes narrow skeptically.

"What makes you say that?" You question, curious about such a supposition.

"Nothing, you two just have the same type of humor when you teach." The Prefect is quick to clarify, not without throwing a disapproving glare in Deuce's direction. 

"Really?" you ask, raising a thoughtful finger to your chin, adding, "I suppose Crewel is quite humorous-" but your words are interrupted by a man who stumbles noisily into your classroom, pushing the door so hard that the knob clangs raucously against the wooden paneling. 

A lush bouquet of flowers obscures his face and most of his torso, only leaving a pair of unsteady legs with crisply pressed slacks visible.  You don't know who this man is or what he could want, but his outburst has clearly startled your students. The Prefect stops tidying the choral books on the carpet in front of your desk and leaps to their feet defensively, holding a book, while Deuce holds a music stand with both hands, raising it over his shoulder much akin to a batting stance.  You had no idea where the children learned such attuned fighting reactions, but you move to stand between them and the approaching stranger. 

"A little help," he calls. The man doesn't look to be much of a threat, so you immediately rush to pick up his flowers, and your eyes meet warm hazel ones, widened and struck they look at you with soft admiration.

"Uh, excuse my manners, these are for you." He hoists the flowers into your hands, now leaving you engulfed in foliage. You sense the Prefect come to your side as they guide you by the elbow to your desk. 

"Oh, whatever for?" You call behind the blooms, you're not sure you have any admirers at present who would gift you such a lush bouquet for no particular reason. 

"I should introduce myself. My name is Clifford. I'm the musicology Professor at RSA."

"Nice to meet you," You throw your name over your shoulder as you place the flowers on your desk. "That still doesn't quite explain the florals." The Prefect stands close to your side and casts a nasty glance towards Mr. Rogerson. You get a better look at him, too, but you can't quite understand the seeming contempt your students have developed for him. 

He seems like a normal man, quite tall and rather gangly. His tan trousers don't quite meet his ankles, and expose garishly bright socks.

"Ah well, I was on notoriously bad terms with the former musicology instructor here, and admittedly, I am a bit of a fan of your work." Oh? That was a bit of a surprise. Of course, you were a well-known musician in the classical music world, but outside of major metropoles, it wasn't common for you to be recognized. People didn't tend to be very fanatical about classical musicians. 

"When I heard you were hired, I knew I needed to do whatever it took to get in your good graces," Rogerson says earnestly, gesturing to the flowers.  

"Well then, you're off to a perfect start." You smile, stroking soft petals. "I love dahlias. I perfect the black ones, though." You thumb the cloying pink petals with appreciation, but the Prefect is convinced there's an almost imperceptible disgust in your eyes at the saccharine color. 

"Noted for next time." The young man grins at your seeming appreciation for his gift. 

You point to Deuce and the Prefect, introducing them.

"These are my students. They were just helping me tidy my room after class. As you can see, I'm already quite a popular instructor." You tease, walking back over to Rogerson and clasping your hands in front of you. 

"I completely understand. If you were my teacher, I'd never even want to graduate, erm so sorry, that was a bit much." Rogerson has managed to fluster himself and you truly take in his appearance, his has dark blond hair and pale complexion, his accent is like Crewels, meaning he is more than likely from the Queendom of Roses. 

You chuckle coyly, more than used to these types of confessions but seldom from people who weren't old enough to be your parents. You spare a glance at your students, both of whom are glowering at the new face in the room, Deuce in particular, trying to look as intimidating as possible. 

"Darlings, why don't you run along to your club activities so Mr. Rogerson and I can have a chat?" At that, Deuce and the Prefect exchange concerned glances and very, very slowly begin to back up their belongings. You scoff at their petulance but carry on with your conversation. 

This is bad. The Prefect thinks, is this just how you are, or are you actually flirting? Well, whatever it is, it has Rogerson all in a tizzy. 

"I'm truly honored that you would make time for me, but afraid I can't stay and chat. I only came to deliver these flowers, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow evening. I know this cafe in town stays open late, so could I meet you after classes?" Rogerson proposes, a slight bit of apprehension in his tone. Fear of rejection, it seems. You are inclined to accept his invitation, but as you go to nod an acceptance, the Prefect is quick to interject. 

"Professor, isn't there a meeting tomorrow for cultural fair planning that you'll have to attend after classes? "

"Ah, you're right! I'm sorry. I'll have to decline the invitation. Perhaps another-"

"Well, not to be too insistent," Rogerson interrupts, "but if you're not opposed to an even later meeting, we could go for a drink. You're new in town, right? I'd be happy to show you the best spots.”

"How indecent!" The Prefect remarks, aghast, and hand on their chest. They were nearly out the door, but Rogerson's invitation has caused them and Deuce to dart back through the door. 

"Are you propositioning our Professor!" They accuse, feigning indignity.

"Excuse me? I would never, I just think-" The RSA professor is already stumbling over his words in embarrassment, but Deuce and the Prefect don't let up. 

"Yeah!" Deuce adds. "That's totally out of line! You came all this way to ask our teacher on a date?"

Rogerson starts to stammer when your students so confidently accuse him of indecency, but you quickly come to his rescue. 

"I will see you two tomorrow. Rest well, darlings." You dismiss your students for the second time as warmly as possible and wait for them to filter out of the room at the most leisurely pace you'd only thought Leona capable of. "Thank you for your help today." You call once they've finally departed.

"Sorry about them." You gently place a hand on Rogerson's forearm in consolation, but another presence enters the room.

"I didn't take you for this much of cad. Rogerson, it doesn't suit you." As if on cue, Crewel steps onto the scene. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Prefect's shoulders droop with a sigh as they depart the room. 

But more importantly, you swear you feel the temperature in the room drop, the tension between the two men recalling a decade of animosity.

"Ah, quite. That was always your game if I recall from our school days." Rogerson replies without skipping a beat. His focus is now entirely on Crewel and his apparent former classmate, if context clues are anything to go by. Your fellow colleague steps further into the room and takes up a place at your side.

"I don't," Crewel replies coolly. "I take it you were just about to head out? The door is that way." Divus is always so shameless, but there is no excuse for blatant discourtesy…even if there's a history you're not quite privy to, Rogerson has been nothing but kind, and as a frequent recipient of extravagant bouquets, this one certainly had to cost 30,000 thurmarks at least. 

"Professor Crewel, that is hardly a way to treat guests." You chastise lightly, with a disapproving frown.

"I'll walk you out, Mr. Rogerson." You insist, linking your arm with Rogerson's as you attempt to guide him to the door. You spare your colleague a glance, and while the reaction is ever so minimal, you swear that Crewel deflates a bit at your gesture.' That won't do,' you think to yourself.

"You don't have to." Rogerson weakly protests, eyes flicking between your arm in his and your warm, pretty smile in apparent disbelief, but it's apparent that he's delighted by the prospect of taking a long private walk to the school's distant entrance.

"It's the least I could do after the flowers." You reply as you head out of the music room, but not before turning to address Crewel who came and awfully long way to visit you from the alchemy room. 

"Professor Crewel, I'll meet you in your room once I'm finished."

Crewel instantly perks up, his brow slightly raised. You only reply with a playfully nonchalant look. As you two share a cheeky glance—an unspoken understanding passes between you. 

"Of course, Professor." Crewel smiles before departing, passing his old peer and only offering a much less warm acknowledgment, "Rogerson."

You turn back to the man who most certainly got more than he bargained for when he came all the way to hand-deliver these flowers if you can tell anything from flushed cheeks. 

*            *           *   

Crewel has only three ancient rivals. One, of course, is Professor Trein he and that stuffy old man have never gotten along, the other is…going to be a bit complicated if he wants a future with you, but the third is most certainly that stuck-up prick Clifford Rogerson.

Rogerson was a student at RSA, perhaps a year older than Divus, although Crewel would have to say he's aged quite poorly in comparison. 

And while the optics of their contempt for each other might not cast Crewel in the best light, he was almost certainly the instigator of past conflicts, Divus thought that they had come to an tacit agreement to stay in their respective territories on Sage's Isle, but for whatever reason, namely you, Rogerson has decided to break this treaty. 

But perhaps Rogerson's greatest offense is the mere thought that a woman as urbane, beautiful, and talented as you would ever have anything to do with a pallid husk like him. Certainly, you recognized Rogerson's attentions to what they were. Just the obsequious obsession of a musician, not with not even a tenth of your talent. Perhaps the way mortals bow to gods might be an apt metaphor for the leagues that Rogerson is beneath you. Crewel sits with his feet on his desk, eyes scanning passively over the courtyard as he drums his twirls his pen in contemplation.

You knock at the door before entering. 

"Professor Crewel?" You call softly.

"Professor Bellamy, as expected, you are a woman of your word." Crewel, takes his feet off his desk, leaning forward to greet you with a small grin. 

"Of course. My apologies for not coming sooner; I was occupied with you, dear old classmate." Your tone is dripping with sarcasm as you lean against the doorway. 

"Ah, yes, he didn't speak of me, did he?"

"No, not really." You assure Crewel.

"Coward." He hisses.

The vigor of your laugh takes you by surprise.

"Never mind him." You encourage walking closer to Crewel's desk. "I thought, well hoped, maybe you came because you wanted to give me another ride home." 

Crewel scans your smile and finds the corners of his lips rising to match.

"There isn't any rain, dear Professor."

"I know, but it is awfully chilly." 

"A bit presumptuous, but I can be accommodating. We'll have to hurry before that meddling Professor Trein catches us."

"I can keep a secret." You wink at him, and for the first time in quite a while, Crewel feels himself blush.

"In truth, I came because I was looking for Spade. He needed to make up a failed exam."

"Oops. I'm sorry to have kept him." You apologize sheepishly.

"He'll just have to do it tomorrow." Crewel isn't too bothered about it, Spade will simply have to make it up later.

"Can I trust you won't hold him hostage, tidying away music stands?"

"Hostage! I'll have you know the students come to me."

"Ah yes, you're already quite the favorite, aren't you?"

"Your words, not mine..." You shrug. "Now, are you going to give me a ride home or not?" You quip sassily.

"You know," Crewel begins, "not many people who talk to me like that have lived to tell the tale."

"Well, I'm not 'many people' am I?" You smile, now at the door, with your jacket in hand.

No, he supposes you're not.

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