#“An interviewer who's a little too extra with the pens” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

its-avalon-08 · 8 months ago

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Could you write a story where the reader is an F1 reporter who gets along well with everyone? She’s a close friend, and everyone considers her like a “sister” (or maybe even more for some… I don’t know, let me be delulu here!) and when she gets pregnant, they all become super protective and take extra care of her. For example, if she’s struggling with the heat, they make sure she’s comfortable. Thank you!

golden child of the paddock (all drivers)

✦ pairing - all drivers x female!reader (platonic), carlos sainz x female!driver (non platonic)

✦ genre - protective drivers, romance

The first time Y/N stepped into the F1 paddock as a young, starry-eyed reporter, she felt a blend of excitement and nerves. She was new to the sport, young, and a little out of her depth, but she knew her passion for racing and her natural curiosity would be enough to keep her going. Still, when she looked around at the towering motorhomes, the thrumming of engines, and the throng of seasoned journalists, it was hard not to feel like she was in over her head.

"First day on the job?" a voice came from her side. She turned to see none other than Daniel Ricciardo, grinning with that trademark mischievous smile. He’d noticed her as she was nervously adjusting her press badge.

"Uh, yeah," she admitted, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Guess it's pretty obvious."

Daniel laughed and gave her a friendly nudge. "You’ll be fine. Just stick around us drivers; we’re way more fun than those old journos anyway."

Just then, a few other drivers came over, drawn by the new face in the crowd. Lando Norris was quick to introduce himself, already full of playful questions.

"So, Y/N, are you here to keep an eye on me?" he teased, giving her a wink. "Because, let’s be honest, I’m the only interesting one on the grid."

"Right," Y/N said, unable to help the laugh that escaped. "I’ll try to keep my focus on you, Lando."

Max Verstappen raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Good luck with that. But hey, if you ever want the real story, you know who to ask."

Y/N quickly felt herself relaxing as the drivers bantered with her, making her feel more at home. Soon, the entire paddock was buzzing with news of the young, friendly reporter. And the drivers? Well, they seemed determined to keep her close.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself almost part of the F1 family. She’d interview the drivers in the press pen, and somehow, every single one of them found a way to add a bit of personal advice or a subtle check-in.

"Did you eat today?" Lewis Hamilton asked her once, holding out an extra protein bar during a post-practice interview.

"Oh, I… yeah, I grabbed something earlier," she stammered, a little caught off guard.

He nodded, handing her the bar anyway. "You’re going to need the energy. Trust me. This job doesn’t slow down."

Even Sebastian Vettel would occasionally pause to check in on her. Once, he found her frowning at her notes during a practice session. "Don’t worry too much about getting every detail perfect, Y/N," he said kindly. "You’re doing great. Just be yourself—that’s what people connect with."

"Thanks, Seb," she said, feeling a bit of relief wash over her. "I guess I’m just… I don’t want to mess up."

Seb gave her a reassuring smile. "You won’t. Just remember, we’re all here to help if you need it."

Then, there was Carlos Sainz. Unlike the others, his way of protecting her was a bit more… personal. The first time she interviewed him, he was warm and polite, but as the weeks passed, his demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He’d always look at her with this glint in his eye, his smile lingering a second longer than necessary.

"Amor," he greeted her one morning, his Spanish accent adding a warmth to the word that made her cheeks heat up. "You’re looking stressed. Are they working you too hard?"

She blinked, feeling a little flustered. "Carlos, I’m fine, really. Just part of the job."

Carlos tilted his head, giving her a small, teasing smile. "Maybe. But if you need a break, you let me know, sí? Can’t have you running around too much."

The way he looked at her, the gentle tone of his voice, and the pet names—amor, cariño—all of it made her feel a little thrill each time they spoke.

As the season continued, it became clear to everyone in the paddock that Y/N was something special. Not just another reporter but someone who cared about them, respected them, and brought a certain brightness with her wherever she went. And as they got closer, the drivers each took on their own version of ‘big brother’ with her.

One afternoon, she was struggling with some heavy equipment when Pierre Gasly spotted her and practically sprinted over.

"Whoa, whoa, no way, Y/N. We’re not doing this," he said, taking the bag off her shoulder. "You’re not carrying anything if we’re around, okay?"

"Pierre, I can handle it, seriously," she tried to argue, but Pierre just shook his head.

"Not happening. You’re stuck with all of us now, so get used to it."

She had barely gotten over Pierre’s chivalrous intervention when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Turning around, she found Charles Leclerc standing with a concerned frown.

"Y/N, I saw you trip on the stairs earlier. You didn’t hurt yourself, right?"

She laughed, brushing it off. "I’m fine, Charles. Just a little stumble."

He crossed his arms, clearly not convinced. "Alright, well, just… watch your step, okay?"

Everywhere she went, there seemed to be a driver looking out for her. They’d bring her water bottles when it was hot, extra snacks when she looked tired, and Carlos, of course, was always there to check on her, calling her mi vida and making sure she never felt alone.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Carlos found her sitting on a low wall by the track, staring out over the circuit, lost in thought.

"Mind if I join you, cariño?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Not at all," she smiled as he sat beside her.

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Carlos spoke. "You know, everyone here thinks of you as a sister."

Y/N laughed. "Yeah, I’ve noticed. I can’t even carry my own things anymore!"

Carlos chuckled, his fingers brushing her arm. "It’s because we care about you. And some of us…" He paused, his gaze turning serious. "Some of us more than others."

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at him. "Carlos…"

He gave her a shy smile, something rare for the usually confident driver. "I just want you to know, Y/N. You’re not alone here."

She nodded, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I know. Thanks, Carlos."

Just then, Max passed by, smirking. "Hey, Carlos, not hogging Y/N, are we?"

Carlos shot him a look. "Can’t a man have a moment, Max?"

Max grinned, winking at Y/N. "Don’t worry, Y/N. If he’s bothering you, just let us know."

As Max walked off, Carlos rolled his eyes, but his hand found hers, squeezing gently. "They’ll never leave you alone now, mi amor. Better get used to us all."

Y/N smiled, looking out over the track, feeling for the first time that she truly belonged. Surrounded by a family of drivers, each one ready to support, protect, and care for her, she knew this would be the beginning of something wonderful.

It was the last night of the race weekend, and the paddock was almost deserted. Only a few lights remained on, casting a soft glow over the empty garages and tents. Y/N lingered by the trackside, her heart racing in her chest. She had made up her mind—she couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t feel anything for Carlos. But she didn’t think she’d be standing here, ready to confess her feelings in such a big way.

"You got this, Y/N," Lando said, giving her a little nudge of encouragement. The rest of the drivers had banded together, helping her plot the perfect confession for the man who had her heart.

"But what if he… I don’t know, laughs?" Y/N wrung her hands nervously, feeling her cheeks flush. "What if he doesn’t feel the same way?"

"Then he’s an idiot," Pierre chimed in with a grin, his arm around her shoulder. "But trust me, he’s not that dumb. I mean, he calls you cariño every day. I’m pretty sure he’s already halfway in love with you."

Sebastian, who had come along to witness the moment, chuckled. "You’ve grown up so fast, Y/N. Look at you—confessing your feelings like a true professional."

"Just… be yourself," Charles added, giving her an encouraging smile. "Carlos would be lucky to have you."

"Really?" she whispered, looking at her friends with wide eyes. They all nodded emphatically, giving her the strength she needed to take the leap.

As she waited, Y/N glanced back at her team of ‘brothers,’ who were hiding in the shadows with poorly concealed excitement. George and Alex were practically bouncing on their toes, and even Max was grinning.

Finally, she saw Carlos walking towards her, his hair still a little messy from the day, his eyes bright despite the late hour. "Y/N?" he asked, his brows raised in surprise. "What’s going on?"

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to lose her nerve. "Carlos, there’s something I need to tell you. And, um… please just listen, okay? Don’t say anything until I’m finished."

Carlos’s smile softened as he nodded. "Of course, mi vida."

"Right, okay…" She took another breath, staring at the ground, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. "So, ever since I started here, you’ve… you’ve been one of the best parts of my job. The way you tease me, how you’re always looking out for me, calling me all those sweet names…" She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "At first, I thought it was just you being nice. But then… I realized it’s more than that for me. I… I really like you, Carlos. A lot."

There was a soft gasp from somewhere behind her, probably Lando, but Y/N kept her eyes on Carlos, who looked utterly stunned.

"I just couldn’t go on pretending I didn’t feel this way," she continued, her voice trembling. "And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just… I needed you to know."

Carlos took a step closer, his gaze intense, and she could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes that made her heart swell. "Y/N," he murmured, reaching for her hands. "You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that. I was so sure… so sure you only saw me as a friend."

Her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Carlos, I’ve had the biggest crush on you for months. You call me cariño, amor—it’s impossible not to fall for you."

He laughed softly, pulling her closer. "Well, in that case, let me say it properly." His voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. "Te quiero, Y/N. I want you, too."

A mix of squeals and cheers erupted from the shadows as the other drivers stepped out, clapping and wiping away mock tears.

"Finally!" Daniel shouted, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Our little Y/N is all grown up!"

George pretended to dab at his eyes. "I’m not crying… it’s just… allergies."

Pierre gave her an affectionate grin, giving Carlos a nod of approval. "You better take care of her, Sainz."

Carlos laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into his side. "Don’t worry. I’ll treat her like the queen she deserves to be."

Max crossed his arms, his smile warm. "Good answer, mate. We’ve been waiting for this moment forever."

Y/N looked around at her friends, her cheeks sore from smiling. "Thank you, all of you. I couldn’t have done it without you."

Sebastian raised a pretend glass, grinning. "To Y/N and Carlos. And to all the big brothers who made this night possible."

Lando cleared his throat, looking almost sentimental as he pulled her into a quick hug. "We’re really happy for you, Y/N. But remember, if Carlos gives you any trouble, we’ll be right here."

Carlos chuckled, looking down at her with a playful smirk. "I think I have more to worry about than you do, cariño. With all these guys watching out for you, I’ll have to be on my best behavior."

"And that," Y/N said, squeezing his hand, "is exactly how I want it."

Surrounded by her friends—her family—she felt an overwhelming wave of happiness wash over her. As she looked up at Carlos, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the knowledge that she was exactly where she belonged.

A few years down the road, Y/N had cemented her place as the paddock’s heart and soul. Fans adored her interviews, and the teams always lit up when she was around. Being married to Carlos only added to the love everyone felt for her, and for Carlos, it made him proud—and fiercely protective.

The first few months of her pregnancy, however, had been kept tightly under wraps. Only she and Carlos knew, and they were still basking in the news in secret. But now, as she tried to hide her growing morning sickness and Carlos’s over-attentive concern, things were getting harder to keep quiet.

One morning in the paddock, Max Verstappen happened to pass by and saw Y/N doubled over, looking pale as she sat on a crate outside the Red Bull garage.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Max asked, concerned, immediately handing her his water bottle. "You don’t look too great."

Y/N tried to wave him off with a weak smile. "Oh, it’s nothing, Max, I just… I think it was something I ate."

"Something you ate?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "You’ve been saying that a lot lately."

"Just bad luck, I guess," she said, but the nausea hit her again, and she had to lean over to steady herself.

Max’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as he pieced it together. "No way. No way. Y/N—are you…"

Y/N’s face flushed, but she couldn’t deny it, her weak smile giving her away.

"Oh my god." Max’s mouth fell open as he processed it. "Carlos got you pregnant?!"

“Shh!” Y/N whispered, glancing around in a panic. "Max, keep it down! We’re not telling people yet!"

Max clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh my god. Y/N, you’re pregnant." He blinked rapidly, his lips quivering as he tried to hold it together. "You’re gonna have a little Sainz?"

She bit her lip and nodded, smiling softly. “Yes. But you can’t tell anyone yet.”

Max was silent for a moment, his eyes shimmering. Then he let out a choked laugh and pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering, “I’m so happy for you. You’re gonna be the best mom, Y/N. I can already see it.”

Y/N laughed as he let her go, but not before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Stop crying, Max,” she teased. “You’re making me want to cry, too!”

“I can’t help it,” he sniffled, looking sheepish. “This is huge! And now I have to protect you and the baby?”

“You don’t have to,” she laughed, but Max was already shaking his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not letting you lift a finger,” he said, his face suddenly serious. “And I’m making sure Carlos does the same. You’ll have every single driver looking out for you.”

Just then, Carlos approached, his brow furrowing as he saw Max wiping at his eyes. “Max, what’s going on?”

Max pointed a stern finger at Carlos. “You, Sainz, have one job. You better take care of her and the little one. Or else…”

Carlos raised his hands, amused but wary. “I am taking care of her, Verstappen. Trust me.”

“No, not enough!” Max argued, his voice almost panicked. “She was just sitting here, pale as a ghost, and you weren’t even around!”

Y/N stifled a laugh, but Carlos just smirked, nodding in understanding. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep an even closer eye on her. Promise.”

Max softened a bit, but he wasn’t letting up. “Good. Because if anything happens to Y/N or the baby, anything, you’re answering to me. And Lando, and Pierre, and basically every guy in this paddock who cares about her.”

“Max, I think Carlos knows what he’s doing,” Y/N said, a smile playing on her lips.

Max looked between them, then grinned, his face softening. “Fine, but I’m still watching you both.” He took a deep breath, then pulled her into another hug. “I’m so, so happy for you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Max,” she whispered, hugging him back. “I think we’ll need you and the others looking out for us.”

Carlos wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving Max a nod of gratitude. “Gracias, amigo. She’ll have all the protection she needs.”

“Good.” Max wiped his eyes one last time, giving them both a fierce nod. “Because we’re all family. And now… we’re growing.”

The Singapore Grand Prix was notorious for its blistering heat, and this year was no exception. The sweltering air clung to everyone, and for Y/N, who was visibly and heavily pregnant, it was nearly unbearable. But duty called, and the FIA insisted that she continue her scheduled interviews.

As she was setting up for another interview, the heat making her dizzy, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Lewis Hamilton approached her with a look of disbelief, glancing at her with concern. “You should be sitting in an air-conditioned room right now, not out here in this heat.”

“Lewis, it’s fine,” she said with a weak smile, though she was struggling. “It’s just a few interviews.”

Before he could respond, Max and Oscar joined them, both looking equally shocked.

“Are they out of their minds?” Max muttered, his face turning red with anger. “You shouldn’t be out here like this!”

“Seriously, Y/N,” Oscar added, frowning. “This isn’t safe. You’re not a machine.”

Y/N tried to brush them off, but she felt another wave of dizziness hit her. She steadied herself, but Charles had already noticed, his eyes narrowing. “That’s it,” he said firmly. “This is ridiculous. They can’t make you do this.”

“It’s okay, really—” she began, but the drivers were not having it.

Lewis crossed his arms, looking around with a sharp glare. “Who do we need to talk to? This isn’t happening, not today.”

As if on cue, a member of the FIA walked over, clipboard in hand. “Y/N, are we ready for the next interview?”

Max stepped in front of her before she could answer, his voice low and menacing. “She’s not doing any more interviews. Send someone else.”

The official frowned, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me? This is her job—”

“Yeah, and her job shouldn’t put her or her baby in danger,” Charles interjected angrily. “She’s done for the day.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Get someone else. This isn’t up for discussion.”

The FIA official looked bewildered, glancing at Y/N, but Lewis shot him a glare that would have stopped anyone in their tracks. “You have plenty of other reporters. Don’t make us get security involved.”

Seeing no way around it, the official nodded reluctantly. “Fine. She can go. But this will be reported.”

The drivers didn’t care; they were already surrounding Y/N protectively, guiding her towards the paddock lounge.

“Thank you, guys,” she murmured, touched by their concern. “But I can handle this, really—”

“No way,” Max cut her off, shaking his head. “Carlos would kill us if we let you stay out there in this heat.”

As they led her to the lounge, Carlos appeared, having just gotten word of what happened. His expression was a mix of relief and anger as he approached the group. “Qué demonios? Y/N, why didn’t you call me?”

Y/N shrugged, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want to bother you…”

Carlos looked ready to explode, turning to the FIA official who had followed them, probably to try and salvage the situation. “You made her work out there, in this heat, while she’s pregnant? Are you insane?”

The official held up his hands defensively. “We were just following standard protocol—”

“To hell with your protocol!” Carlos shouted, his face flushed with anger. “She’s carrying our child, and you’re risking her health for some interviews?”

“Mr. Sainz, please calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Carlos snapped, switching to rapid Spanish that the official clearly didn’t understand, though the tone left no doubts about what he was saying. “This is unacceptable. Inaceptable!”

“Carlos, you’re going to get fined,” Lewis warned quietly, though he was smirking a little, clearly pleased to see someone giving the FIA a piece of their mind.

“Fine me, I don’t care,” Carlos shot back. “It’ll be worth every cent if it means they treat her properly.”

The official quickly left, muttering something about reporting this to higher-ups, but the drivers didn’t care. They were all clustered around Y/N, making sure she was comfortable as they brought her a cold towel and water.

As soon as she was settled in, Max crouched beside her, giving her a warm but firm look. “From now on, you call us if they try to make you do anything stupid again, alright?”

Y/N chuckled, touched by their fierce protectiveness. “I promise.”

Carlos sat beside her, still fuming, but his hand gently rested on her stomach, protective and calming. “If they pull anything like this again, they’ll have to deal with all of us,” he said, his tone softer but no less serious.

That night, news of Carlos’s outburst—and his subsequent fine—spread like wildfire across social media. Fans took to Twitter, trending hashtags like #ProtectY/N and #JusticeForY/N. Clips of the drivers banding together to protect her from the heat circulated, and the internet quickly turned it into a rallying cry against the FIA’s treatment of Y/N.

@F1Fanatic: "Carlos got fined for standing up for his pregnant wife, and I’m here for it. #ProtectY/N 💪🔥"

@PaddockPrincess: "Seeing all the drivers look out for Y/N is the purest thing ever. She deserves all the love 🥹❤️ #FamilyGoals #ProtectY/N"

@F1Daily: "We all knew Carlos was protective, but the way he went off on the FIA? ICONIC. #JusticeForY/N"

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she scrolled through the support from fans, all of whom felt like an extended family. With Carlos by her side, and a whole paddock of brothers watching over her, she knew she and her baby would be safe, no matter what.

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theemporium · 2 years ago

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Character B, being someone who likes to hug something in their sleep, ends up using Character A as their makeshift pillow. Character A isn’t too keen on it at first but they end up accepting their fate. (It’s the best night of sleep they’ve probably ever had since they were a kid.)

I need this as fluff with max because there was one interview where he said he wasn’t big on spooning/cuddling and I as this and immediately thought about it

this is so🥹thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

As much as the Dutchman tried to deny his feelings for you, it was clear to everyone else in the world that he was head over heels.

He was blunt with his words and how he felt, never shying away from them when questioned. Though, that being said, he wasn’t always the most aware of his own feelings. And when he was, it wasn’t instinctive for him to yell them from every rooftop so everyone in the world knew how he felt.

Max bottled his feelings. He let them linger and fester until he was ready to confront them. And despite every single sign in the universe pointing out that he was in love with you, he was nowhere near saying the words aloud to anyone, or even himself.

But that didn’t stop him from showing you he loved you in simple gestures that felt like an instinct rather than a chore.

It was a surprise to most of the paddock that the two of you even became friends, let alone anything more.

You were opposites in every sense of the word. Max was blunt and direct, you were calmer and more patient with people. Max was seen as a villain to a large majority of the Formula One world, whilst you were a walking, talking ray of sunshine. Max was the golden boy of Red Bull racing, and you were a hardworking member of the Mercedes team.

And despite it all, you two were a bonded pair known throughout the paddock.

There would be countless little things Max would do for you that would confuse the people of the paddock. The way he would seek you out the second he was relieved from his duties in the garage or the media pen. The way he would bring you snacks and drinks even if it meant venturing into a sea of silver to find you. The way he would always have an extra hoodie or jacket for you in case things got chilly by the track. The way he would always drive you to and from the paddock, even if it meant he had to stay longer after the races on Sunday when he could leave.

Though your favourite ritual was the movie nights you would have.

They were sporadic at best, but you were both committed when you had one. It was usually after one of you had a bad day, when you weren’t quite ready to talk it out but wanted the distraction regardless.

It had been a tiring day for Max in the media pen, but when he saw the look on your face as he approached the Mercedes garage, he knew it was nothing in comparison to the day you had. He was soundless as he took your backpack from you and headed to the car, barely saying a word until you reached the hotel. He told you to change into something comfier and make your way to his hotel room afterwards.

Dinner had already been ordered by the time you arrived, and he silently handed you the remote so you could choose the movie.

Max’s lips twitched when he noticed you had picked New Moon, only snorting a little when you rolled your eyes and jabbed his side for judging your choice. But he remained quiet as you two ate, enjoying the movie as though you hadn’t made him watch it a million times.

However, he failed to realise just how hard the day hit you because it wasn’t even thirty minutes into the movie when he felt your head on his shoulder. You were both lying back on the bed, the pillows fluffed behind you and the duvet covering you both. It was comfy and it made sense.

And yet, in all the movie nights you had together—in the whole time you had been friends—never once had you shared the bed. You would always make your way back to your hotel room by the end of the night.

But here you were, fast asleep and tucked into his side.

Max was frigid and tense at first. A part of him knew he could have just slid away from you, guided you towards the other side of the bed. He could have shaken you awake and carried you back to your hotel room. Hell, he could have even taken the couch or the floor if it meant he had his own space.

But he found he didn’t really want to.

He told himself that it was the dinner and the long day that had tired him out. That he could no longer fight the sleepiness and exhaustion in his body, that it wouldn’t be worth the effort to move you away. He told himself all of that on a loop as he switched the tv off, as he shuffled down on the bed so he was comfy, as he let you wrap yourself around him like a koala.

He told himself that he didn’t like it and it was a one time thing as he fell asleep.

When he woke up in the morning, he was almost surprised to find that you were closer than you were before. Your legs were entangled and your arms were wound around his torso, your cheek pressed against his chest as you slept peacefully.

He was warm, though it wasn’t unbearable. The heat and weight of you pressed up against him wasn’t as irritating as he assumed it would be. It was comforting. In an odd way, it was soothing, assuring even.

He was almost annoyed when you woke up.

“You’re not as grumpy as you usually are,” his teammate noted when he entered the garage that morning, ready for the first free practice session of the day.

“I guess I had a good night’s sleep,” Max replied simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you get laid or something?”

Max rolled his eyes. “That’s not the only way to have a good night's sleep.”

Daniel just raised his hands in mock defence. “Alright, don’t bite my head off,” he murmured, though there was an amused smile on his face. “Is it a new stuffed bear? Maybe I should put you down for a nap if you’re getting cranky.”

His chest almost tightened at the thought of napping with you, of having you wrapped around him once again, of feeling that sense of calmness wash over him.

“You’re hilarious, mate.”

“I know.”

Yet, Max couldn’t help but spend the rest of the day wondering how he could convince you to sleep in his bed again.

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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mediocre-shark-tales · 3 months ago

Text

A Summer Break for the Ages

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Sorry for such a long wait everyone, things got super busy as my formula sae team got busy in preparation for an open house event. But I am back to planning and writing again. So to treat you all, here is an extra long and extra fluffy chapter for you.

The pen was starting to slip in my hand, not because it was too heavy or awkward, but because my palms were sweating. Stupid. It was just paperwork. Just another clipboard in another waiting room. I’d filled out dozens of these over the last few months—medical forms, release waivers, press permissions, rehab evaluations. But this one? This one felt different. This one felt… important.

The room was warm and quiet, filled with soft light and the faint scent of cedar. A dog barked in the distance, and I flinched slightly before reminding myself this was a safe place. I stared at the question on the page:

“What are you hoping to find in a dog?”

It should’ve been easy to answer. A companion. A little joy. Something to come home to after the chaos of racing and interviews and headlines I didn’t ask for. But more than that—something steady. Something that didn’t care about what the media said or the footage that kept replaying of the crash. Someone who didn’t ask questions, just stayed close when the nights got long and the thoughts got loud.

I scribbled down the first honest thing that came to mind:

“A partner. A friend. Someone who understands silence.”

When I handed it back, the woman behind the desk smiled softly like she’d read between every word I hadn’t said. “We have a little tradition,” she told me as she stood. “Our dogs… they choose you. Not the other way around.”

I followed her out of the cozy little office, heart pounding like I was about to walk into qualifying again. Except this time there was no helmet. No track. Just the sun-warmed backyard of the facility—and maybe a future waiting for me in the grass.

The gate opened and chaos greeted me in the most beautiful way. Dogs. All kinds. Bouncing, wagging, barking, rolling in the dirt. A pair of fluffy mutts ran straight for me, tails spinning like windmills, and I crouched down (as much as my shoulder allowed) to let them sniff and slobber and welcome me with happy energy I hadn’t felt in ages.

I was so distracted by them, I almost didn’t notice him.

He was standing off to the side—still, quiet, watching. A large German Shepherd, dark coat shining in the sun, ears perked, stance alert. He didn’t charge or bark or demand attention. He observed. Me. And when our eyes met, something… shifted. I didn’t know how to explain it, even now. But my heart settled. Not in a romantic way or a cheesy movie moment way, but in a deep, grounding way. Like a boat finally anchoring.

He took a few careful steps forward, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. Every inch of him radiated calm focus. And then—without hesitation—he leaned his full body gently into my leg. Solid and warm.

I let out a shaky breath, blinking hard. He didn’t nudge for pets, didn’t lick my face. He just… stayed. And that’s what I needed.

The trainer’s voice came from behind me, just a touch surprised. “Well, would you look at that. That’s Axel. He’s a bit of a legend around here.”

I looked down at him. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s more than that,” she said, stepping beside me. “He’s trained for emotional support. PTSD, anxiety, trauma cases. He knows when to give space and when to stay close.”

I blinked at her. “Wait—he’s already trained?”

She nodded. “Fully certified. And… he’s got something extra, too. Axel’s also trained in protective behavior. Not attack, just defense. He’s not aggressive unless you give the signal.”

I glanced down at him again, his head now resting gently against my thigh like he’d been mine forever.

“What kind of signals?”

“Two code words,” she explained. “If you say ‘susto’—which means ‘scare’—he’ll alert. Stand between you and whoever’s setting him off. He’ll bark, stiffen posture. Warn. But he won’t escalate especially when you say ‘hecho.’ That ends it. Brings him back down.”

“And if I don’t say anything?”

“He’ll decide based on your body language,” she said gently. “But he’s incredibly intelligent. He won’t act unless he senses real danger. You’re always in control.”

It took me a second to swallow the lump in my throat. This wasn’t just a dog. This was… security. This was someone who could help me feel safe again—not just emotionally, but physically. Someone who would see the fear I tried so hard to hide and stand in front of it for me.

“Axel,” I whispered, dropping to my knees beside him. “You okay with me?”

He looked up at me, then leaned in and licked my chin.

I laughed for the first time in days.

Later that day, after the bonding test and paperwork and basic command refreshers, Axel climbed into the passenger seat of my car like it was already his. He rested his head lightly on my thigh as I drove, his eyes flicking to mine every so often like he was still checking—you alright?

Back at my apartment, I didn’t feel nervous. I didn’t feel alone. Axel followed me through the rooms, nose twitching at the corners of my cluttered shelves, finally settling on the couch where I curled up next to him with a blanket and a box of leftover cookies.

He didn’t need to talk. Didn’t need to ask me how I was doing. He just stayed close, warm and steady.

When I whispered, “Thank you for picking me,” he let out a soft huff and nudged his head into my chest, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine.

And for the first time since the crash, I finally felt like maybe—just maybe—I could start to put the pieces back together again. With Axel beside me, I wasn’t just a ghost of myself anymore.

I was home and I felt safe.

—

I hadn’t been this nervous to sit in a doctor's office in a while.

It was strange, the way my heart fluttered—not from fear of bad news, but from this intense pressure building behind my ribs. The kind that came when you wanted something so badly to be okay, even though you weren’t sure you were allowed to hope yet.

Axel sat at my feet, tail thudding softly against the cool tile floor every now and then. He had this way of grounding me without needing to be commanded. Since we found each other, he’d been the constant shadow at my side, somehow always knowing what I needed even before I did. I glanced down, brushing my fingers behind his ears. He leaned into the touch, big brown eyes blinking up at me with an ease that made the moment feel less clinical, less sterile.

I heard the doctor before I saw her—her steps were confident, familiar. She stepped in with a tablet in one hand and a bright smile already on her face, and I felt a little piece of my tension start to unravel.

“Let’s check that shoulder first,” she said warmly.

I nodded, carefully beginning the familiar routine of unstrapping the restrictive brace I’d worn since the crash. My movements were slow, cautious. Not because of the pain, but out of habit—like if I moved wrong, everything might break all over again.

Axel stood up as I shifted on the exam table, his body brushing against my leg like he was offering backup support. I murmured a quiet “Hecho,” and he sat back down obediently.

The doctor’s fingers were gentle but thorough as she rotated my arm, checking each angle and joint. She paused to inspect the scars still healing near my collarbone—burns from the fire that had licked my suit. They weren’t as red anymore, not as raw, but I still flinched sometimes when the fabric of my shirts caught them wrong.

“You’ve made incredible progress,” she said finally, stepping back. “Inflammation is down. Mobility’s coming back faster than I expected. You’ve been doing the work.”

I smiled, a small one, but it was real. “Tell that to my frozen shoulder on day two of PT.”

She laughed, then reached into a drawer and returned with a smaller brace—sleek, more discreet, and definitely not the kind that made strangers on the street give me worried looks.

“This is your next step,” she explained, helping me guide my arm into the new brace. “Still no heavy lifting, and take care with how you sleep. But this will give you a lot more comfort. Should fit under clothes easily too.”

It was strange how something so small could make me feel almost normal. I flexed my arm slightly, feeling the way the support hugged just right.

Then came the next part.

I followed her down the hall to radiology, Axel once again sticking close. He waited patiently outside the door, nose pressed against the glass like he was supervising. I swear he’d taken his guardian job to heart the moment I adopted him.

The x-ray process was quick—routine by now. The techs barely needed to direct me anymore. I held still, breathed when they told me, and walked out already rehearsing worst-case scenarios in my head.

Back in the exam room, I waited. Axel laid down this time, head resting on my boot, tail occasionally tapping when I reached down to stroke his back.

When the doctor returned, she didn’t make me wait.

“Your fracture is healing beautifully,” she said, turning the tablet toward me so I could see the clean lines of my bone coming back together. “No shifting. No complications. You’ll be out of that cast next week.”

I blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “From there, we’ll work on gradually building weight back up. If everything keeps going this well, you will be back in the car by the second race.”

A breath caught in my throat.

Two weeks, only missing 1 race.

It had been just under a month since the crash, and two weeks from now, I could be in the car again. Not just thinking about racing—doing it. Feeling the wheel in my hands. Hearing the engine vibrate through my bones.

I didn’t realize my hands had clenched until Axel nudged me with his nose. I opened them slowly, fingers still stiff in the cast, but the ache didn’t bother me today.

From the corner, Nico’s voice chimed in.

“Perfect,” he said, already typing into his phone. “I’ll update Diego.”

I raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You mean my personal stalker-slash-trainer?”

“He prefers ‘dedicated professional’,” Nico deadpanned. “But yes.”

The news brought something else to the surface—something I’d been meaning to share with my audience, but hadn’t found the right time or words. Maybe this would be the moment.

Before Deigo, my training was impersonal. A faceless contract with a faceless trainer. Someone paid through an agency who thought I was a woman training for marathons or maybe motorsport-adjacent racing. They didn’t know who I was, and they didn’t ask. It was sterile, minimal, safe. I had to stay under the radar, even in my own recovery.

But now… I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Diego had been with me every step of this journey. He was the one who learned every layer of my body and how it healed. The one who researched PT for burns and race-related shoulder injuries and helped build regimens that weren’t just effective—they fit me.

He wasn’t just in my corner. He was the reason I’d gotten out of bed those first few painful mornings.

“Think I’ll tell them soon,” I said quietly. “About Diego.”

Nico’s face softened. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Feels like the right time.”

I pictured it—something casual, maybe a vlog or a behind-the-scenes reel.

“Hey, guys. So this is Diego. He’s been my radio engineer for a while now but he finally finished his certification and got to take over full time as my personal trainer too. He’s helped with my recovery since day one, and you’ll probably see him more often now not just as my radio engineer but my trainer too. He’s a pain, but he’s my pain.”

That would be enough.

No need to dive into the years of hidden injuries or the lies I’d had to spin to stay safe. No need to talk about how close I’d come to losing everything when the car went up in flames. They didn’t need the trauma to understand the truth.

They just needed to know I wasn’t alone anymore.

And as we left the doctor’s office, sun spilling onto the sidewalk like a warm exhale from the sky, I felt it—real, true forward momentum after weeks of feeling stuck in one small dull world.

—

When Nico dropped me off at my apartment, the world outside felt quieter, softer. Axel, the big German Shepherd who’d chosen me over all the other dogs at the trainer’s, was curled up in the backseat, looking as calm and collected as he ever did. We’d been through a lot in the past few days—vet visits, paperwork, a long flight to get him here—and now, after all that effort, he was finally home.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, giving Nico a grateful smile as I got out. I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder, Axel following close behind. He trotted up beside me, calm as always, his eyes scanning our surroundings like he was making sure everything was okay. There was something so reassuring about him.

Nico caught my eye, his grin widening just slightly. “You’re sure you’re good here? No help with anything?”

“I’ve got it covered,” I said with a chuckle, even as I gave the apartment door a quick glance to make sure everything was still in order. “I’ve got a puppy now, Nico. What else do I need?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right, you’re all set with your emotional support dog. Perfect time to leave you alone, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of affection in it.

“Everything’s fine,” I assured him, giving Axel a scratch behind the ears as the dog followed me up the stairs. Axel looked up at me, his tongue hanging out in a grin, but his gaze stayed steady and protective. It was so comforting to know that I had a partner who not only had my back but was also going to be with me all week.

As we made our way inside, I unpacked a few things while Nico made sure I didn’t forget anything. I made a mental checklist: clothes packed, medication in my bag, a fresh set of shoulder braces and wraps in my suitcase for the arm and shoulder, Axel’s travel gear ready. Everything was done. It was all going according to plan.

Then, a soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

I opened it, and immediately I was met with the loud, boisterous voices of Ollie and Kimi.

“Surprise, surprise,” Ollie grinned, stepping inside without hesitation, “Look what we’ve got, a delivery of sunshine and—”

His voice trailed off as he froze mid-step, his eyes going wide.

Kimi stepped in right behind him, also stopping when he caught sight of Axel. The atmosphere in the room shifted, a quiet awe filling the space.

Ollie slowly crouched down, his eyes filled with surprise and delight. “You... you got a dog?”

I nodded, unable to contain the excitement bubbling inside me. “Yeah, his name’s Axel. I didn’t tell you guys because I wanted it to be a surprise. I figured he could keep me company during the break, you know?”

Axel, ever the cool customer, just stood there, his tail gently swaying behind him. But I could feel him observing both Ollie and Kimi carefully. It was like he was weighing them, deciding if they were worth his trust.

Kimi, as usual, didn’t waste a second. He took a step toward Axel, his movements slow and deliberate, letting the dog smell his outstretched hand. Axel sniffed once, then twice, before he gave a little huff and nudged Kimi’s palm with his nose. That was it. Kimi smiled, his eyes lighting up in a way that made my heart warm.

“He’s already fond of you,” I teased.

Ollie grinned, and then—just when I thought Axel was going to ignore him—he walked over to Ollie, sitting at his feet, looking up with those big brown eyes like he was silently demanding attention. Ollie laughed, scratching Axel behind the ears. “Okay, okay, I admit it,” he said. “I’m in love.”

“I’m in love,” Kimi chimed in, looking at me with a grin. “But mostly because Axel’s clearly already won me over.”

Axel huffed again, letting his body relax as I sat on the couch, gesturing for them to join me. The dog nestled up beside me, one paw stretched lazily over my foot. There was something so comforting about having him with me in this moment. Something that settled the edges of my mind, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” Ollie said, looking around the apartment for a final check. “The Tahoe’s outside. Kimi’s manager is driving, and he’s got everything planned so we don’t have to worry about anything. Plus, we saved you the entire back seat. No choosing who sits with who.”

“That’s really nice of you guys,” I said, smiling.

We made our way outside, Axel following me closely as Kimi opened the back door of the blacked-out Tahoe. Axel hopped up first, with a little help from me. It seemed like everything with him just worked in a way that made everything else feel easier.

The ride to the airport was uneventful, in the best way possible. Just the soft hum of the engine, the cool leather seats, and Axel’s calm presence beside me. Kimi and Ollie chattered about nothing and everything, making plans for the trip, throwing out ideas for hikes and beach days.

But when we arrived at the airport, that’s when the magic of the day really began. As we stepped out of the vehicle, a group of discreet security guards greeted us, ready to whisk us through the back entrance, out of sight of any curious fans. The boys were still relaxed, enjoying the anonymity, and I could see the joy in their eyes as we moved seamlessly through the terminal, Axel quietly trotting by my side.

Once inside the VIP room, I breathed a sigh of relief. The tension I’d carried with me—about being recognized, about keeping Axel’s presence under wraps—finally melted away.

“So,” Ollie said, settling onto one of the plush chairs. “Four whole days of nothing but fun and relaxation. Just us. No interviews, no press. What’s the first thing we’re doing when we get there?”

“We’ve got a boat ride planned, remember?” Kimi chimed in, putting his feet up and cracking open a bottle of water. “Lunch to sunset. Then some hiking, maybe?”

“That sounds perfect,” I replied, leaning back, watching Axel curl up on the floor beside me, his eyes half-closed in contentment. “Anything that doesn’t involve me breaking my arm again.”

“Nothing too crazy,” Ollie reassured me. “But we’re going to hike up the Alps. Get some stargazing in, cook a few meals together, maybe hit the beach.”

I smiled, the thought of it all making me feel lighter. A boat ride, a relaxed hike, some stargazing under the clear French sky… and Axel, right there with me the entire time.

I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

“This is going to be perfect,” I murmured.

And as the boys began talking about their plans—about markets to visit and secret coves to find—I knew that this trip wasn’t just about escaping for a while. It was about finding peace in the little things. With them. With Axel. And that, to me, was everything I needed.

—

The low hum of the plane was oddly soothing, a steady white noise that matched the gentle vibration under my seat. We were about halfway across the ocean now, headed toward a much-needed break tucked away in the French Riviera. Our little group had lucked out with first-class cubbies, each of us in our own private pod. I was tucked into mine, Ollie in the one just to my right, and Kimi across the aisle, both only a few steps away.

Axel lay in the aisle between us, his big body curled up right where the stewardess had said he should be—close enough to reach me instantly, should I need him. It made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. Just knowing he was there was like anchoring myself to solid ground, even when we were flying above clouds.

I had reclined my chair into its flat position a little while ago, one of the many luxuries of these fancy pods. The blanket draped loosely over my legs, and my headphones sat gently over my ears—no music playing, though. I just wanted it to be a little quieter and I allowed Axel to hop up onto the makeshift bed with me.

Axel’s head rested beside mine now. My hand was tucked into his soft fur, slowly stroking behind his ears, the way he liked. His calm breathing matched mine, and soon, sleep began tugging at the edges of my mind.

That’s when I felt it.

A gentle touch brushing through my hair—fingers sweeping a few loose strands away from my face. Soft, careful. I didn’t move. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing steady, curious what would come next.

“She looks like she’s finally relaxed,” Ollie’s voice whispered.

I could hear the soft rustle as he leaned back in his chair, clearly thinking I couldn’t hear them through my ‘music.’

Kimi responded, just as quiet. “It’s still wild. A couple months ago… I didn’t think we’d get to do this. Not like this. Not with her here.”

My heart ached gently, but not in a bad way. I held still, letting them talk.

“I used to stay up, watching the crash over and over again, trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t have to worry anymore, that I wouldn’t wake up and she wouldn’t be here anymore.” Ollie murmured.

“Yeah,” Kimi said. “I’d wake up from nightmares where she just… didn’t make it. Couldn’t shake it off for hours.”

There was a pause, the kind that weighed heavy with old fear.

“But now look at her,” Kimi added, voice softening. “She’s got a dog who practically worships her, she’s healthy, and she’s laughing again. We can’t take that for granted.”

“No,” Ollie agreed, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I still worry, though. Every time she winces or disappears for a second too long. I hate how scared I still get.”

“Same,” Kimi admitted. “But I’ll take the worry if it means we still have her.”

My eyes burned a little. I blinked them open, letting my hand press just a little firmer into Axel’s side. He shifted closer in response, letting out a quiet whuff.

“I think she’s dreaming,” Ollie whispered.

Kimi chuckled softly. “Probably dreaming about being bossy and beating us at go-karts again.”

“Yeah, she’d better not heal that fast.”

They both laughed quietly, and I finally opened my eyes completely, turning just slightly toward Axel. I let out a little sigh and stretched, just enough to make it look like I was coming out of sleep.

Ollie immediately leaned over the partition. “Hey, hey, you good?”

I gave him a lazy half-smile. “Just comfy,” I murmured, voice still sleep-thick. “Axel makes a good pillow.”

Axel gave a very smug sigh, like he knew exactly what we were talking about.

Kimi leaned forward, his arm resting over the edge of his pod. “Did we wake you up?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. Just the best nap in weeks, that’s all.”

Their shoulders eased. The air between us was gentle now—filled with affection and warmth, with all the words they didn’t need to say out loud. I didn’t call them out on what I heard. I didn’t need to. Just hearing it had been enough. A quiet reminder of the bond we shared.

Axel pressed his nose into my wrist, and I rubbed his ears, mouthing a silent “thank you” to the best boy.

With the low lights dimming around us, and the clouds stretching endlessly beneath us, I settled back into my little cocoon. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like everything might just be okay.

—

The villa looked like it had been pulled out of a daydream.

Tucked into the side of a gentle slope and kissed by the French seaside breeze, it had an effortless charm — stone walls bleached by years of sun, pale-blue shutters framing the windows, and ivy crawling up one side like nature had given the place a warm embrace. Inside, it smelled like lemon soap and linen. The kind of place that made your shoulders drop the moment you stepped inside.

I stood in the doorway to my room, suitcase half-unpacked, just soaking it all in. Axel had already made himself at home, nose twitching at every corner before plopping dramatically on the foot of my bed. His soft eyes met mine, almost like he was saying, "Yep, this'll do."

"You're right," I said aloud to him with a small smile, reaching down to give him a scratch behind the ears. "This'll definitely do."

My room had huge windows that overlooked a gravel path winding through wild lavender and olive trees. The bed had cozy cream blankets and a little wicker bench at the end. I took my time folding things into drawers and hanging a few outfits I knew I’d want later. Even with the weight of a shoulder brace and a half-healed fracture, I felt lighter than I had in months.

Kimi and Ollie were still unpacking down the hall—though by the sounds of it, “unpacking” might’ve involved more laughing than organizing. I was halfway through smoothing out the last T-shirt in my drawer when I heard the soft thud of something hitting a wall followed by Ollie yelling, “That was not my fault, that shelf just hates me!”

Smiling, I stepped out of my room, letting the peace of this place settle into my chest like warm honey. I made my way into the kitchen—sunlight pouring across the counter, curtains fluttering slightly in the ocean breeze—and started thinking about dinner. Something simple. Something comforting.

Opening my phone, I browsed the local market's website. It had everything—fresh produce, cuts of meat, artisan cheeses, and even a little wine section. My mind was already building the meal as I jotted a quick list in the notes app:

Three nice, thick steaks

Yukon gold potatoes

Green beans

Cheese for the casserole

Milk, butter, and sour cream

Maybe a little wine…?

Definitely dessert.

As if on cue, I felt a presence over my shoulder.

“Are you plotting something dangerous?” Ollie asked, chin practically hovering next to my head. His hair was sticking up like he’d run through a wind tunnel, and he still had one sock on.

“I’m feeding you, actually,” I replied with a smirk.

“Ah. That’s extremely dangerous. I might fall in love,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically onto the nearby barstool.

Kimi entered behind him, far more collected, but still with that telltale smirk that said he’d heard everything. “Did I hear the word dessert?” he asked, walking toward the fridge to check if we had eggs. He opened it and laughed. “We have... two lemons, a bottle of water, and half a cucumber.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said, grabbing my phone and the handwritten list. “We’re going shopping.”

Ollie clapped his hands. “The grocery squad is a go.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but he was already slipping his shoes on.

Before we left, I grabbed Axel’s travel leash—one of the things I’d secretly ordered in preparation for this trip. The soft leather fit nicely in my hand, and Axel immediately perked up, trotting to my side like the perfect gentleman. I’d checked the rules a dozen times before bringing him, even booked an upgraded ticket just so he could fly cabin with me. He’d already earned his place here, and the villa was pet-friendly. He was part of my family now.

Ollie noticed the new leash, raising a brow. “Someone came prepared.”

“You think I was leaving him behind after only three days?” I asked, eyes twinkling. “Please.”

The walk to the market felt like something out of a dream. Narrow cobblestone streets, the occasional hum of a moped passing by, and the scent of fresh herbs from nearby window boxes. We took our time—laughing, pointing out little shops, Axel getting far too much attention from people who couldn’t believe such a big dog looked so soft.

The market was a little open-air plaza tucked between two streets, overflowing with color and warmth. We split up, everyone taking part of the list. Ollie became that guy who had to sample every cheese. Kimi debated between three types of steak for almost ten minutes. I picked out green beans and potatoes while Axel sat patiently beside me, tail thumping quietly.

We regrouped by the bread stand, bags in hand, sun warm on our backs.

“Mission success,” Kimi announced.

“Operation Dinner Domination has commenced,” Ollie added, fist-pumping the air like we’d just won a race.

Back at the villa, we turned on soft music and started cooking.

Axel laid in the corner of the kitchen, keeping one eye on me at all times. Ollie insisted on whipping the mashed potatoes. Kimi took over the cheese grating with intense focus, like it was a matter of national pride. I handled the steaks, searing them just right and letting the aroma fill the space.

The casserole bubbled in the oven, the potatoes were fluffy and rich, and the green beans were sautéed with a bit of garlic and butter. The kitchen became a beautiful mess—bowls stacked in the sink, spoons everywhere, but laughter filling every corner.

Dinner was magic.

The table was lit by candles we found in a drawer, and the sunset poured golden light across our plates. We sat together, eating like we hadn’t in ages, passing dishes back and forth, Axel quietly getting the tiniest bite of steak under the table as a reward for being the best-behaved boy.

At one point, I leaned back in my chair and looked at the two of them—Ollie mid-laugh, Kimi rolling his eyes but smiling anyway—and I felt something bloom quietly in my chest.

Peace. Real, soul-deep peace. I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the week would bring.

—

The air was crisp the next morning, the kind that whispered promises of adventure.

I’d woken up to the sound of birds and the faint rustle of trees outside my window. The villa was still quiet when I slipped out of bed, Axel padding at my side, his tail already wagging like he was excited for whatever the day held.

By the time the boys were up and dressed, the sun was creeping higher into the sky, casting long golden beams across the living room.

“Still down for the trail?” Kimi asked, slinging a lightweight backpack over his shoulder. “Unless you’ve decided to spend the day napping instead.”

“I do love a nap,” I teased, grabbing my water bottle, “but I love proving you wrong even more.”

Ollie snorted as he laced up his shoes. “Someone woke up feisty.”

“Feisty looks good on her,” Kimi added, and I felt the warmth crawl up the back of my neck, pretending not to hear him as I turned to check Axel’s gear instead.

The hike wasn’t too long—about an hour and a half up, winding through forested switchbacks and stretches of rocky ledges that offered postcard-worthy views of the surrounding hills. The trail was quiet, only the sound of gravel under our feet and the occasional bird overhead. Axel led the way confidently, stopping every now and then to sniff around and look back at me like he was making sure I was still okay.

We paused at the summit, where a flat stretch of land overlooked the valley below. You could see the tiny speck of our villa in the distance, just between the trees.

The wind tugged gently at my hair as I stood at the edge, arms folded, watching the clouds drift. Then I felt Kimi step beside me. He didn’t say anything at first, just handed me a bottle of water and stood close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“You know,” he said after a beat, his voice lower, softer, “you’ve been smiling more this trip.”

I glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” He looked down at me, eyes warm. “It’s just… nice to see it again.”

That quiet honesty settled deep into my chest.

We stayed up there until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in pinks and soft oranges. When night finally started creeping in, Ollie pulled out a blanket from his backpack and spread it on the ground. We all laid back, heads close together, watching as the stars began to appear one by one.

Axel curled up next to me, his head resting on my hip.

“There’s Orion,” Ollie pointed, tracing the constellation with his finger.

“I always thought stars looked closer together in movies,” I murmured, my voice barely louder than the breeze.

“That’s because movies don’t show you this,” Kimi replied quietly, reaching over and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than they needed to.

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t look away either.

The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It felt… full.

—

The next day felt like something out of a vacation beach magazine.

Blue skies stretched endlessly overhead, and the ocean sparkled just beyond the cliffs. After a lazy breakfast and a round of teasing about who had snored the loudest (it was definitely Ollie), we grabbed towels and made our way down the narrow trail from the villa that led to a semi-private beach.

It was small, the kind of place the locals probably kept to themselves, tucked between two rocky outcrops that hugged the shore.

I kicked off my shoes and let my toes sink into the warm sand. Axel darted toward the water with a joyful bark, skimming the waves and circling back like a four-legged lifeguard.

“God, I missed this,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

Kimi was beside me again. “The beach or the peace?”

“Both,” I said, turning to smile at him. “Though this view doesn’t hurt either.”

“You mean me?” he asked innocently, striking a ridiculous pose that made me laugh.

“You wish.”

We spent hours exploring. Ollie found a tidepool and named every crab he saw. Kimi and I wandered a bit farther, following a narrow stretch of rocks until we found a tiny cove hidden just out of view. It was beautiful—clear turquoise water, soft white sand, and just enough space for two towels and Axel to sprawl out under the shade of an overhang.

I sat down with a content sigh, brushing sand off my knees. “You think we’ll remember this ten years from now?”

Kimi didn’t answer right away. He sat beside me, our legs barely brushing. “I hope so,” he said finally. “But if we don’t, maybe we’ll just have to come back and do it all over again.”

That earned a real laugh from me. “You’re assuming I’d willingly vacation with you again.”

“You love me already,” he said smugly. “You just don’t know it yet.”

By the time the sun began to sink, we made our way back to the villa—sun-kissed, sandy, and carrying a ridiculous amount of shells Ollie insisted were "rare treasures."

That night, we gathered in the hot tub under the stars.

The water was warm, the jets bubbling quietly, and soft music played from someone’s speaker. Axel dozed on the deck nearby, completely at peace. We talked about everything and nothing, stories from when we were kids, favorite races, movies we still hadn’t seen. My shoulder brace was off for the night, tucked safely on a chair, and I felt free. Light.

“You’re glowing,” Kimi said, voice low and playful.

“I’m in a hot tub, its sweat bud,” I replied, nudging him with my foot under the water.

“Sure,” he grinned, leaning closer, “but I don’t think it is.” The look in his eyes told me he meant it. And for once, I didn’t deflect. I just smiled, heart warm and full. Whatever this was, whatever it was becoming — I wasn’t afraid of it.

—

The ride back from the airport was quiet. All three of us were sunk deep into the soft seats of the Uber, still a little sun-kissed, a little sleepy, and not quite ready to say goodbye to the calm we’d found at the villa. Axel had his head in my lap, paws twitching occasionally in a dream, maybe chasing butterflies or sniffing the sea air that still clung faintly to my hoodie.

When the car pulled up to my building, I turned toward the boys with a small smile.

“Wanna just… crash at my place tonight?” I asked softly, almost shyly. “It’s kinda late and I still have those giant air mattresses I used last time.”

Ollie and Kimi exchanged a glance, then nodded together. “Yeah,” Kimi said with a shrug. “One more night. Let’s drag out the peace a little longer.”

Inside, I got to work setting up. The air mattresses puffed up slowly, filling the open floor space in my room, one on either side. Axel wandered around while the boys brought their bags in and changed into comfy clothes, the atmosphere light again—easy.

It felt safe. Cozy. Like home was a little less heavy with them in it.

We stayed up for a little while just talking, laughing over villa memories and ranking who cooked best (I won, obviously), until the yawns caught up with us. Lights off. Axel curled at my side.

That night felt still.

The kind of stillness that usually came after something beautiful, like the final flicker of a candle before it goes out. My room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional huff from Axel as he adjusted where he lay on the floor beside my bed. The boys were stretched out on the air mattresses—Ollie closest to the door, Kimi near the window—and I could hear them breathing slow, steady, fast asleep.

I thought I was, too.

But then—

The dark started shifting.

In the dream, I was strapped in again. Back in the cockpit of the car. The high-pitched whine of the engine screamed around me, almost like it was crying. The track ahead blurred, sun glaring through the visor, and then—impact. Metal crunched and bent around me like foil, my body jolting in the seat with a violent force I felt in my bones. The car spun, flipped once, then twice. I could feel my arm snap—could hear the muffled screaming through the helmet. Mine.

The world around me slowed, stretching the seconds. Smoke poured into the cockpit, and I was upside down. Trapped. I tried to breathe. Tried to move. But my harness held me tight, the air thick and suffocating. And then I heard it—scraping. A fire crackling too close. Something sparked.

I screamed. I begged. Please. Someone help me. I don’t want to die like this.

“Y/N?!” a voice called—but it sounded warped, distant. “Stay with us, come on—!”

I knew that voice.

Ollie.

And then another. “We’re coming! Hold on, Y/N!”

Kimi.

But in the nightmare, I couldn’t see them. I was alone. Always alone.

The panic swelled, my lungs collapsing under the weight of memory and fear, and I thrashed against my restraints in the dream until I heard a sharp bark.

Axel.

Another bark. Louder. Urgent. Close.

My eyes flew open.

I was gasping, soaked in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs like the belts in my car. My heart was racing so fast I could barely breathe. I blinked rapidly in the dark and saw Axel beside me, paws on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and locked on me. His body was rigid, ears forward, focused like he knew exactly what had happened.

But I wasn’t alone.

“Y/N?” a voice said softly. Not dreamlike this time. Real. Present. “Hey… hey, it’s okay.”

Kimi.

I turned slightly, barely processing the warm hand on my shoulder, grounding me. Then I saw Ollie too, sitting on the other side of the bed, his face full of concern. Both of them were crouched beside me now, eyes searching my face, their own sleep clearly interrupted.

“I’m here,” I croaked out. My voice felt raw, like I had been screaming. I probably had.

Axel let out a soft whine, then gently nudged his nose into my arm, curling closer to me once I reached out to touch him. He settled again against my side, like a sentinel resuming his watch.

I looked between the boys and then away, the shame creeping in like smoke after a fire.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” Ollie said immediately, his voice still laced with sleep but firm. “You sounded terrified. We didn’t even think twice.”

Kimi’s expression was softer than I’d ever seen it. “Was it the crash?”

I nodded once, feeling the dam behind my eyes start to tremble. I’d kept this to myself for so long—thinking if I didn’t speak it, maybe it would go away. But it hadn’t. And now they knew.

“I… I relive it sometimes,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “Not every night. But enough. I dream about the fire. The spinning. The pain. The sounds. I always wake up at the same point… trapped. Screaming.”

Neither of them said anything right away.

Just silence—and then the bed dipped beside me as Ollie carefully crawled up and sat near my legs, while Kimi moved to sit at my other side, their presence warm and steady.

“You’ve been dealing with this alone?” Kimi asked gently.

“I didn’t want to make it worse. For anyone,” I whispered. “You were both already so scared. I didn’t want to keep dragging it out.”

“You’re not dragging anything out,” Ollie said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You nearly died. You’re allowed to have scars we can’t see. It’s not weakness.”

“It’s survival,” Kimi added, his hand reaching for mine, steady and calm. “You got through the worst of it. But you don’t have to heal from it alone.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks without me realizing. Axel licked one gently from my jaw before settling down again with a soft sigh, satisfied now that I wasn’t shaking as much.

I sniffled and gave them a watery smile. “He’s trained for this. For PTSD, anxiety, general emotional support. But I guess I didn’t expect him to know exactly when to wake me up.”

“He loves you,” Ollie murmured, shifting to lay beside me now, one arm loosely over my waist. “Just like we do.”

Kimi laid down on my other side, gentle, careful. “We’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Tonight or any other night. Got it?”

I nodded again, my throat too tight to speak.

The three of us, tangled in quiet and emotion, let the moment breathe. Axel rested against the curve of my legs. Ollie’s fingers softly traced circles on my back. Kimi’s hand held mine, firm and warm.

I didn’t know when I drifted back to sleep, but this time, there was no crash.

Just safety.

And peace.

And three souls anchoring me home.

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encachette · 3 months ago

Text

smart mouth 1

Part 1 of 2.

❣ Professor! Bucky Barnes x F!student

❣ uni au, F! student is in her 20s (she’s meannnnnn to our boy, I’m trying to write an unlikable FMC ok)

❣ cw: this is just the build-up to a pwp ch. 2, mentions of university tenure system (sorry, I’m in academia), political science (derogatory), crackfic

❣ MDNI

❣ Word Count: 8.1 k

❣ Summary: The last year of your university career is spent figuring out your life and bickering with taking out your anger on a the new professor in your department. Completing your degree feels endlessly tedious amongst the pile of bills and low prospects of career advancement. So maybe you let yourself indulge in a little game of catch-and-release with a handsome professor who falls over his own feet trying to keep up with you. But sooner or later the man cracks.

❣ Author’s Note: heavily inspired by a professor I had in an undergrad class on “human rights in the 20th century.” The professor himself was a bit of a fuckwit, but still reluctantly very nice to me against all effort on my part. I just wanted to make him scream.

I honestly won’t ever watch superhero movies but I thought Sebastian Stan’s public personality is quite himbo-ish if not a bit shallow, so he was kind of perfect for this piece. (Sorry to his fans, but ain’t no way that man has read Marcus Aurelius. His copy of the book in that GQ interview advertisement had a perfectly un-cracked spine.)

smart mouth, part 1.

“Miss, would you mind taking those out of your ears, please?”

Dr. Barnes mimed at you with a tight-lipped smile, forefingers and thumbs of each hand plucking out wired phantom earphones. You look up him, cocking an eyebrow and trying not to give a smirk — too early in the class to start challenging the doofus — and repeat his motions back to him, making a show of rolling the wires around your slender fingers before shoving them into your jacket pocket. No need to start today’s little sparring session over such a petty attempt to annoy you.

There would be countless errors in his pedagogy or lecture for you to pick at during the course of the hour, no need to tear into him quite yet.

You pull out your notebook and pen, letting out a loud yawn before leaning back in your seat and hiking your feet up on the seat next to you. You’re front and center, your usual spot in every course. At the computer, Dr. Barnes was fumbling around, trying to pull up another one of his bland presentations that would inevitably regurgitate the reading material. You sigh, leaning back and lacing your fingers behind your head, scanning him as he’s trying to remember his password to his Google Drive.

Begrudgingly, you allow yourself to notice how handsome he was; especially so in today’s sky button down and perfectly tailored slacks. The sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, exposing a few veins snaking up his forearm before hiding again under a bunch of white fabric at the crook of his elbow. You follow along the hard lines, eyes dragging up Dr. Barnes’ muscular form and to his face — that creeping shadow from one or two missed days of shaving, angular lines framing downturned, pouty lips. You wanted to bite into them and see the blood rush to the surface.

“Alright gang, we’re up and running. I hope you all finished the book and the accompanying article about…” You tune him out, reviewing in your head the reading material and finding logical flaws with the arguments, preparing to play with Dr. Barnes a bit as he makes his way through his lesson plan.

Today was a particularly irritating day. Your boss at your part-time nonprofit job spent too much time berating you about incorrectly formatted documents, and you sat in on one too many meetings that should have been one email. Plus, you had a stack of reading you had to do for your lectures this week — for classes that actually nurtured your intellectual curiosity. Running on three cups of coffee, your meds, and a spiteful attitude (you had forgone breakfast in exchange for an extra five minutes of sleep this morning), you had skulked into the humanities building and jerkily settled into your seat without your usual patience. In retrospect, maybe this was why you were more ruthless than usual today. Unfair, if you really thought about it.

Dr. Barnes was a perfectly nice guy, when you were feeling generous. Not particularly bright, but still a hard worker who seemed to like teaching; rigorous intellectual interrogation wasn’t a prerequisite for a PhD, evidently. Armed with a travel mug of tea and that stupid leather messenger bag, he was always exactly five minutes early to class, bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to prostrate in front of dimwitted little college students in exchange for the raving course evaluations necessary for tenure promotion. He was overeager, if you were totally honest.

Today, his tendency to prolong out his lecture — lingering on obvious concepts that any high school half wit would have understood — was grating on your last nerve. That slow voice he uses to read verbatim from his presentation slides (a sign of insecurity, in your eyes, that an alleged expert needed notes to prompt his lectures) to the class reminded you of the way adults spoke to you when you were five, shooing you away so you wouldn’t insert yourself into their adult conversations.

You’re leaning back in your chair, feet up on the seat next to you, scribbling a few chicken scratches of notes you have no intention of revisiting when you catch an opening in his lecture to interject. Perfect.

“And so, several scholars in the field have argued that practices in these countries have been unable to achieve the same standard of human rights that we find here in the United States,” Dr. Barnes finishes reading off of his lecture slides and aims a bright, toothy smile at the class. “Any questions before we get to discussion of the material?”

Your hand and a corner of your mouth shoot straight up, smirk deepening when Dr. Barnes’ eyes sweep over the class before reluctantly calling on you. You can almost hear his silent prayer, begging for any other student in the class to speak. You feel that beginning sparkling sense of fated victory bloom when he calls your name.

“So, these scholars…” you begin, voice saccharine and playful, “what methodologies did they use to get to that conclusion?” You start easy, asking a question you know he can’t answer, like circling around your prey pretending to decide whether to go in for the kill.

“Uh, well. I’m sure they used comparative methods and used the United States as a control,” he says, so unsure. Your eyes positively gleam at the opening he’s left for you.

“You’re sure, Dr. Barnes? So you’re saying that the United States gets to define ‘human rights’ in these studies?”

“Yes, that’s explicitly in the lecture today,” he says. Aha. He thinks he can rely on his little notes to save him. Too confident.

“So the United States should be the final arbiter of ‘human rights’ in the international political stage, is that what your lecture is arguing?” Fingers formed in air quotes, you’re practically simpering at this point, staring at his expression — he was too satisfied and sure that he had averted a land mine.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a stifled chortle, which seems to have an unnerving effect on Dr. Barnes. You make a note of how his shoulders have a tendency to tense upward when he’s defensive, when he’s faced with a challenge. So, with pure delight in your eyes as you raise an eyebrow, you challenge him to do something. Anything.

He clears his throat before saying your name, real nervous and slow, gravelly. Almost sexy in how pitiful it was. But you continue to speak, steamrolling right over his short-lived moment,

“Because the United States is famously really good at upholding human rights, right Dr. Barnes?” You relish in that little indignant flash across his baby blues, satisfaction dancing through your body the sight of your professor, squirming under your gaze. You made him squirm, someone who was ostensibly a figure of authority over you; some idiot who, by the skin of his teeth, might be a passable researcher but in no way possessed the chops necessary to be a good teacher.

It was cute, the few false starts Dr. Barnes stuttered through before fake laughing — nervous, pink-tinged cheeks curving upward. You almost wanted to flush yourself, a bit too focused on the scruff of his shadow, wondering what it’d be like for it to drag against your skin.

You blink that image out of your head, poised and ready to give your final contribution to the discussion,

“Weird that this is a lecture about the United States’ role in global politics and not a single reading about imperialism was assigned. Pedagogically irresponsible, if you ask me.” You bless him with your brightest smile, uncrossing your legs and crossing them again in opposite order — the sarcasm and smugness practically drips from your gaze. Dr. Barnes’ eyes flash indignantly, but you don’t miss that swift glance down toward your thighs, exposed under the skimpy hemline of your miniskirt.

The sound of laptops shutting and shuffling zippers and paper draws the both of you out of your staring contest.

Dr. Barnes clears his throat again, running his metal hand through his hair and pushing a few loose locks back from his forehead. Your bratty little demeanor remains undisturbed, and you think maybe Dr. Barnes is holding your gaze just a smidge too long before he tears away from you and back into his surroundings.

“Don’t forget to schedule your one-on-one office hour with me so I can approve your final paper research topics. Instructions are on the syllabus!” His last few words are drowned out by the hubbub of chairs screeching against the linoleum and students filling out the door.

Dr. Barnes turns toward you as you’re shoving your notebook into your bag, his handsome face shadowed in a scowl so childish you almost want to reach out and pinch his cheeks. Almost.

“That was extremely disrespectful conduct, Miss —“

“Hey Barnes, you got a minute?” Dr. Barnes’ fuming was abruptly cut off by a cheery masculine voice. You both turn to see Dr. Rogers — one of these days you’ll be able to snag a seat in his research class.

“Stark is asking everyone in the Department to turn in their syllabi for next semester by end-of-business today,” he continues, “Need you to look over my reading list, Buck.” Dr. Rogers stops for a second, clocking that you’re still in the room and clearing his throat, sheepishly correcting himself,

“I meant Dr. Stark; don’t tell him I forgot the ‘doctor’ part, he’s insufferable,” Dr. Rogers speaks to you, slightly nervous chuckle escaping as he offers you a good-natured smile. You make a gesture of zipping your lips, returning Dr. Rogers’ smile as you turn to leave.

Dr. Barnes looks between you and Dr. Rogers before calling your name again.

Hm. Stern, as if he were about to reprimand you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” Dr. Barnes glares at you, clearly loathing that smug look you’ve schooled yourself into maintaining. You make a show out of shoving your earphones in and paying attention to your phone instead of him, happily aware that his eyes were boring into your skull as you turn on your heel and strut out of the classroom.

Flippantly, you glance back through the door, a false little smile lighting up your face as you utter a phrase you know won’t do anything but rile up your professor,

“See ya later, Barnes.”

If the academic utopia is meritocracy, you’ll eat your shorts.

✶

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Meeting re: research topic approval

Hi Dr. Barnes,

Can I stop by your office hours next Monday to talk about my research paper topic?

Thanks.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re: Meeting re: research topic approval

Yes, please stop by on Monday.

Thunderbolt Hall, Room 616.

JBB

✶

You can’t help but snort as you close out of your email app on your phone, a bit taken aback by the bluntness of Dr. Barnes’ response to you. Half of the time, the man couldn’t stammer out two coherent sentences to answer your questions. The other half, his answers, delivered in clipped tones, were so cookie-cutter and shallow that you’d inevitably be left a little bored. Never were his responses so blunt.

Sure, maybe you were tiptoeing on that line between childish iconoclasm and outright insolence, but really, Dr. Barnes was an academic. He should be grateful that you were there to keep things interesting. At least your questions were generative for discussion!

Not that you cared, but did you push him too far during the last lecture?

Whatever.

Shoving your phone into your jacket pocket, you pack up your supplies and stumble from around the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, back aching from hunching over your books for the last two hours. Peter Parker is rounding the corner and bounding toward you as you hike your bag up your shoulder, two to-go cups in his hands. One for you, one for him. Thank God for that kid.

“Hey, Parker,” you relieve him of one of the coffees, glad you didn’t have to waste time picking up a source of caffeine before your next shift at work. “What’s going on?”

“Hiya. Locking in before my date with MJ later,” he takes a sip of his own coffee before slinging his backpack onto the desk and occupying the seat you just vacated — you would have complained that someone was using your sacred library work alcove if it were anyone other than Peter.

“Godspeed, buddy. Tell MJ I said ‘hi’ and that I’ll see her for Book Club next week.” You give Peter a goofy salute, stern face struggling to contain a smile, before making your way through the labyrinthine library stacks toward the more populated work areas in the front of the building.

✶

Bucky Barnes is spending his usual Tuesday afternoon deep in the stacks of the social sciences library, cobbling together research for the manuscript he was working on. Piles and piles of dusty leather-bound books surrounded his work station, which rudely occupied an entire table that could have sat several other library patrons.

That day was particularly irritating. Nothing felt right. The deadline for a draft of an article was looming large, and the pressure to publish as often and as much as possible was slowly closing in on him. Helping Steve formulate two undergrad syllabi proved to be a several hour-long endeavor, so Bucky lost an entire morning that he planned on devoting to catching up on his reading. Too many papers to grade, too many faculty meetings to attend, too many articles to review: Bucky was on the brink of burn out.

Despite the organized chaos that was his life as an untenured academic, a significant chunk of that day’s irritation can be attributed to that fucking smart mouth girl in his first lecture of the day. He’d dealt with his fair share of knuckleheads throughout his few years as a young professor, always with an open mind and a kind shoulder — qualities that he felt were essential for a good educator to possess. But you, he pictured you in his head with a sneer.

It was always something with you —

“Actually, that’s the wrong year, Dr. Barnes,” or

“You don’t sound so sure about that, Dr. Barnes,” or

“Dr. Barnes, are you sure that’s how you want to structure the lecture today?” Of course he was fucking sure. He’d been teaching this course for years and his teaching evaluations were top-notch, no thanks to you and your attempts to shake his confidence. Where the fuck did you get off on questioning his authority?

Bucky had spent maybe the first few weeks of the semester mulling over what he had possibly done to provoke you into being such a thorn in his side.

He supposed the first incident happened when he made the mistake of giving you a 98% on a paper and you had decided to grade grub him into oblivion. He thinks about that moment with a derisive snort. Little Miss Overachiever. Bursting into his office, absolutely incensed that a — and this is verbatim — “second round draft pick hire” had the gall to give you anything less than a 100%, the stones to ruin her perfect record.

If he were being perfectly honest, you were much more intelligent than your peers, and part of him understood that your behavior stemmed from boredom. University hadn’t been particularly challenging for you and it seemed to him that you were fed up with it. Figuring out how to fulfill every student’s needs in the classroom tended to be easy for him — his course evals were almost always glowing with praise for his pedagogy. But you. He just couldn’t figure out how to channel all of your spite into something intellectually productive, not only for the sake of peace in his classroom but because he (quite begrudgingly) wanted you to feel like you learned something. That was his fucking job, for fuck’s sake.

Bucky shakes his head, as if his brain were a goddamn etch-a-sketch and he could erase the image of you, sitting so pretty with that petulant smirk that seemed glued to your face. Without fail, always front-and-center. Ready to taunt him, make him flustered, like he wasn’t good enough to be your academic superior. With a deep sigh and a frustration that didn’t seem to dissipate no matter what he did, Bucky tries to knuckle down to finish his task in the library. He would not let some tiny little know-it-all distract him from his work. A know-it-all with a pretty face.

No. Focus, Barnes…

Bucky had started off that day bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, having completed his departmental duties for the week. He even had the time to edit both his and Steve’s syllabi for the course offerings next semester. His house was spic and span, not a spec of dust or a cat hair out of place — no thanks to Alpine. (Bucky loved that little fleabag to bits but goddamn did she shed like it was her full-time job.) The quiet of his morning routine was perfectly routinized to prep him for the bustle of the day. It was almost ritualistic, the warmth of his coffee mug — “Professor of the Year, 2020” garishly printed in university colors — and an apple as he reads through the queue of journal articles he’s behind on editing. Alpine would undoubtedly be inhaling her food (top of the line, grain-free, high protein, expensive cat food) after screaming bloody murder because her kibble landed in her dish at 7:01 instead of 7:00 am on the dot. After breakfast, Bucky lets Alpine go outside in the yard to chase around the critters in his herb garden, which he admitted was wilting at a faster pace than he’d like. Every so often Alpine would up look at him while he flipped through his textbooks, bright eyes blinking at him slowly as he sat on his porch with his one allotted cigarette of the day.

That morning had proceeded like every other morning, calm and restorative. Nothing was out of place, and Bucky was feeling pretty confident in himself that day. Finally. The stress of working toward tenure was wrapping itself around him like a vice, a near-constant suffocation until recently. Bucky thought he was getting a handle on his career, surefooted in his future at such a prestigious research university.

That is, until the venomous game you insisted on playing with him in every lecture finally knocked him off kilter.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

“Everyone read the assigned text for this week, correct?”

A weak mix of murmurs and ‘yes’s answered his question as an incessant noise started to permeate through the classroom.

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

Dr. Bucky Barnes’ bright blues, followed the source of the tapping, up the slender hand of its owner before loudly clearing his throat, as was his wont, though he quite hated that habit of his.

“Great, can someone briefly summarize the author’s argument so we’re all on the same page?”

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. Perfectly polished nails wrapped around a pencil as its eraser end collided again and again onto the desk. Bucky’s quick to glare at you this time, one eye twitching as he called on some overeager student whose hand shot up immediately.

“Well, Habermas’ idea of the public sphere…”

You raise your eyebrows, but you don’t challenge him, placing your pencil down instead of tapping it harder. A-ha. Victory, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t quite understand why in that moment, but the thought of that small, ever-so-slight advantage he had over you in today’s game sent a burst of warmth through his chest.

Overeager Try Hard pulls Bucky from his slight victory, and he trains his attention on the kid again.

“…and so liberal regimes tend to emphasize intellectual exchange in the public sphere as a basis for the educated voter.” Listening to this kid was such a fucking effort today, but Bucky forces a brighter demeanor,

“Yes, that’s correct —“ Bucky is cut off by a loud snort, much earlier than he expected. His eyes shoot straight toward you, as if he was willing you to combust in your seat. All you can do is roll your eyes at him, like a fucking child, he thinks. He almost bares his teeth when you dismissively mutter,

“Oh, please.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for about three seconds, desperate to keep his slender grasp on his self-control, before he draws out your name and practically snarls,

“Do you have something to say? Or can we both be adults and have a discussion without your attitude?”

A few mocking “ooh, she’s in trouble” ring out from the rest of your classmates, a low sniggering coming from Try Hard behind you. Bucky almost felt like he was winning — the teasing from your classmates, the brief shock at his assertiveness before your face breaks out into such a bright smile.

To Bucky’s great dismay, that mischievous, evil grin didn’t look anything like a conciliatory “You’re right, Dr. Barnes, I’m so sorry and I’ll never undermine you in my tight little skirts again” kind of smile. No, it was a “You’re in for it now, Barnes,” kind of grin, one that sent shivers up his spine in a way that left him almost… excited? Desperate for you to keep responding to him?

You only look at him, maintaining eye contact that felt much too intense for a lesson about what’s-his-philosopher-face and abstract political theory. Bucky swears he feels the tingles in his spine shoot straight to his heart when you respond in the most unexpected way: you back down.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Dr. Barnes.” That saccharine sweet voice, infused with the most malice he’d heard from you yet; and he almost short circuits when you push your bottom lip out into a pout. “Please, continue the lesson.”

What, no jab about his intellect? No undermining fucking snobby comments about his teaching methods? Bucky didn’t know how to respond, so he moved forward. “Just keep going, Barnes. Class is almost over,” he chides himself.

“Right. So,” Fuck. Stop stuttering, Barnes. “As we were discussing, Habermas’ ideas —“

Tap. TAP. Tap. TAP.

Bucky looks down at you again, no pencil in hand this time so his eyes travel down to the source of the noise. You don’t miss the way they’re caught on the skin left uncovered by your skirt, a sudden rush of heat flowing through your chest when your professor’s eyes slink down your legs toward the source of his annoyance. When Bucky’s eyes land on your boots, one of them tippy-tippy-tapping away in a deliberate attempt to make him go insane.

“Are you kidding me, right now, Ms. LN!?” Bucky blurts out at you, clipped tone threatening to burst into something louder, more powerful in impact because you have needled him one too many times. The sheer delight in your eyes doesn’t do anything but completely infuriate him.

“Oh ho ho! Look who’s finally developed a backbone,” you actually jeer at him. That domineering little smirk that he’s become so familiar with. You stop your tapping, leaning back and folding your arms across your chest. Bucky doesn’t miss the way your chest is pushed against your arms, making them look bigger, big enough to fit into the palm of his hand, maybe. Fucking God, Barnes. Focus.

“You’re way out of line today,” Bucky starts, ready to tear you a new one, let you know how fucking irritating it is to have a know-it-all in a course that he spent so much time, so much meticulous attention into developing.

“I’ll step back in line when you can teach, Barnes,” you scoff. You actually fucking scoff. And Bucky is seeing too much red to pay any attention to the taunting and chittering surrounding the two of you. And maybe, (just maybe) Bucky would grow to regret the words that spilled, unrestrained and furious as he slammed down his pile of lecture notes on the table:

“Listen, you and your smart mouth have been nothing but disrespectful to me and your classmates every single day of this semester. If you don’t like my teaching style, drop the class.”

“This course is required for my major, Dr. Barnes,” you state, too smooth, derisiveness barely concealing a deeper anger. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be wasting my time listening to an ‘academic’ so clearly devoid of intellectual depth.”

Bucky swears he feels both of his eyes twitch as he takes a deep, shuddering breath, every drop of will he had channeled into remaining civilized. ‘She’s just a student. Don’t say anything you’ll regret,’ he breathes to himself, over and over. The air quotes you placed around “academic” were too far.

Before Bucky could figure out the most civilized, but strict response, you stand up and turn on your heel, careful to tap your boots as annoyingly as possible as you leave in the middle of the lecture. You stop by the exit, turning around and calling over your shoulder to Bucky, again in that deceptively sweet voice, “Whatever, Dr. Barnes, see you in your office hours.”

In a move that was nothing short of uncool, Bucky calls after you, lacing as much menace as possible, as if he was issuing an ominous warning: “Fine! See you then. We’ll be discussing your unruly behavior, Miss LN.” You return nothing but a simpering smirk, fingers wiggling in a facetious wave that boils Bucky’s blood.

He does everything he can to ignore how shiny your hair is as you turn to leave, short skirt hiking up that much further as you tap, tap, tap down the hall.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

Even the quiet of the library, with its warm wood and cozy chairs, couldn’t soothe his mood. Bucky decides he needs a break, maybe a cup of coffee to wipe the mishap of today’s lecture from his brain. Maybe he’ll go down to the library café on the first floor and see if they had any of those blueberry muffins he liked so much. He stands up and drags one of the large leather armchairs near him closer to the large, arched windows. A hot cup of coffee and his books next to the window. Surely that’ll return him to some kind of equilibrium.

Bucky sighs and gives a yawn, arms up as he’s stretching out his back before he makes his way through the maze of shelves lined with rich leather-bound tomes, each in its rightful place. He lets that thought calm him. Everything is where it should be in the library. No nagging smart ass student. No irritating boss, because Dr. Stark would rather spend time schmoozing with department donors than in a classroom. No distractions — just Bucky and his stack of books, ready to be digested and organized into coherent research. Nothing out of place in his library until he runs into you, that is. As Bucky rounds the corner toward the elevator, a flash of long hair and a familiar short skirt stops him in his tracks.

He pauses for a second before stepping behind the nearest immediate shelf, able to see you and Peter without being observed himself. Bucky doesn’t really process it in that moment, but a tug of adrenaline sends his heart rate up as he watches Peter hand you a cup of coffee. Your face — annoyingly pretty, Bucky thinks — lit up gratitude as your hands grab for the warmth of the cup. Peter leans in, surely too close for propriety’s sake, to hear you better as the last few whispers elicit a chuckle from him. He watches you give a stupid salute to Peter, and a strange, dark heat bubbling through him and tightening his chest.

That day, head hunched over a few archival parchment documents, all that pranced through through his brain were you and your little attitude and little fucking skirt, and the fact that you had picked the wrong fucking day to antagonize him.

Hours later when he retraced the events of the day before bed, Bucky still really couldn’t explain why he stopped so abruptly, why seeing you with that Parker kid was so frustrating for him.

✶

It’s fucking early. Too fucking early on a Monday for you to be dragging yourself out of bed to make your appointment with Dr. Barnes. Usually you wouldn’t bother getting out of bed before 11 AM, but today was a stacked day: meeting with Barnes, work, then a few hours in the library to finish a few assignments. First on the agenda: getting Dr. Barnes’ office hours appointment out of the fucking way.

Of course, you were aware that you were in for a rather unpleasant conversation with Barnes, but you knew that it was bound to come sooner or later. Your behavior wasn’t exactly exemplary of a bright student on track to attending an R1 research graduate program next year. Oh on the contrary, you recognized that your behavior wasn’t much of a deviation from that of a petulant child who had missed her afternoon nap — grouchy, mean, and desperate for calm. But you couldn’t help it. Every time Barnes wanted to explain something (something you already knew, most likely), he dragged out his words like you were actually four fucking years old, like you were just learning such big words and couldn’t connect ideas together with your own, undeveloped brain. Worse than the over-explaining, you supposed that his worst crime was that you had learned absolutely nothing from him throughout the semester. You didn’t feel intellectually challenged. In a course you PAID TUITION for, no less. It was completely unfair.

So, if he treated you like you were a dumb kid, then you’d make it as unpleasant for him as possible. He made it so easy to argue with him. Often wrong, always timid and slow to rebuke — quite honestly, sometimes you thought that you were doing him a service, pushing him into becoming a better teacher. Forcing him to prove his arguments rather than regurgitating outdated research that had no business being taught in the 21st century.

Obviously, this effort was to no avail.

The chill of autumn seeped into the brick walls of your tiny apartment, kicking on the creaky radiator that sometimes disturbed your sleep with its ghostly noises. Usually, the sounds and smells of your routine, the slowness of the morning, were enough to calm you: the burbling and snap of the electric kettle, fragrant coffee with a hazelnut creamer, your little mackerel tabby, Friday, mewing at you for her breakfast.

“Hi, baby,” you coo at her, all nine pounds of terror weaving between your ankles, “Momma’s gotta be out for the whole day today so you be good.” You scratch her one last time under her chin and pour kibble into her bowl, refreshing her water before you mentally prepare for the gruel of the work day. “Don’t try to chew through the treat bag again or we’ll have a problem.”

It was sluggish, the pace at which you pull on your clothes, guided by the weather app on your phone. With perfunctory, sharp motions, you yank on your knitted tights, skirt, and sweater, the second-hand cashmere a tiny comfort to you as you lock up and trudge to the bus stop, the weight of your school bag exacerbating your misery and irritation as your make your way to Thunderbolt Hall.

Earbuds blasted music through your ears, sunglasses blocking your stare. The scarf you’ve pulled close around your nose and mouth to keep in the warmth swishing in the air as you stomped through the university commons. Any excuse to avoid social interaction this early in the morning. Music gave you an excuse to keep walking, anyone stopping to greet you automatically assuming that you couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them, or didn’t want to be bothered. Your sensory-deprivation contraption, you think, amused as you trekked toward Dr. Barnes’ office.

✶

Dr. Bucky Barnes hears the tap of your boots before he sees you. He’d been dreading this meeting, unsure of how you’d react to him reprimanding you for your behavior. He was determined to remain civilized today. Last lecture was nothing more than a student getting to him and him losing his cool. It was unprofessional. It felt fucking good, but unprofessional, nevertheless. And Bucky was nothing if not professional.

Nested at the end of the hall on the fourth floor of an old building foisted aside to be used by underfunded humanities departments, Bucky’s office was lucky enough to enjoy the warmth of the sun streaming in from two wide bay windows. Surrounded by furniture of dark wood, a cozy living room setup sat in front of the fireplace, which would be put to use as the northeast winter arrives in full force. Bucky tried hard to make it comfortable, bringing in a blanket and a few photos that he framed and displayed on the mantle. One of him and Steve the day they both graduate from their PhD programs. A photo of Bucky with a tight smile while shaking Dr. Stark’s hands, taken against his will on the day of his “welcome” party that the department secretary insisted was earmarked in the budget.

In the corner, a coffee machine whirred as it made his usual second cup of morning coffee. Bucky scoots in his fancy leather chair over to retrieve his mug, sipping on it just as he hears your knuckles wrap on his office door.

He waits a second, placing his mug down on a coaster before arranging himself behind his desk, ready to be the responsible adult between the two of you. He has his hands around his coffee mug, the ceramic warming his hands, and clears his throat one last time,

“Come in.” He watches the knob turn before your head pokes in, looking left and right before stepping in, leaving the door ajar. You’re stone faced, making your way slowly to the seat directly in front of Bucky’s desk and facing him. Bucky notices your skirt… barely catching his disappointment when he sees that your legs are covered in cable-knit tights. God damn, focus, Barnes. You cross, and uncross your legs, fidgeting with your bag in your lap, and raise an eyebrow at him.

He doesn’t respond, but just continues to stare at you, challenging you with an arch of a brow. You can make the first move today. He wants to know which way you’re headed.

“Well, Dr. Barnes,” you sigh, “we have a laundry list of shit to get through on the agenda, so where do you want to start?”

He snorts, amused and unable to conceal it, so he smirks and just says,

“Why not the easiest task? Run your research paper idea by me first.” Just as he couldn’t conceal the fact that he found you amusing, you couldn’t hide your surprise at his choice. But you quickly school yourself into a stony face once again.

“Sure. I’m thinking of juggling several ideas in my paper...” you explain as you pull out your notebook, flipping a few pages before turning to a sheet lined with pretty, swooping handwriting. Bucky notices the neatness with each flare of your pen, how organized you are and how it tickles something in his brain when he sees your long fingers wrap around a pen.

“…hello?” You snap a finger in front of Bucky’s face, shocking him out of his daze. Shit, what did she say?

“I’m listening, I’m listening,” Bucky lies, hurriedly trying to get a grip on himself. He was so determined to be in control of the conversation. “Your idea is good. No notes.”

Your face wrinkles, confused and a little frustrated. That pouty lip pushes out a bit, just the way Bucky liked to stare at sometimes when he caught you zoning out in class. Oops. Wrong thing to say, Bucky winces.

“That’s it?” You spat out your words with incredulity, vaguely aware that you had crossed a line somewhere and giving over to your intuition, you tense; ever so slightly, but enough for Bucky to feel his eyes flash in defiance.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says as his brows knit together, crossing his leg to rest one ankle on the opposite knee; he can still salvage the situation. But what the fuck would he say? “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to a word you were saying, I was too fixated on your fingers and what they could be touching?” The thought of it was enough to make him blush.

“I mean, you have no suggestions at all as to how I can improve my research topic?” Okay. Don’t panic, Barnes. Double down. Just double down.

“I think it’s brilliant, actually,”

“Figures.” You scoff, murmuring under your breath, and by this point, Bucky knows that he’s completely lost control of the situation.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Figures that you’d have nothing useful to say. Thanks for the meeting anyway.” You look at your watch before adding, all lofty and slow, “I have somewhere to be.”

You’re spinning on the heel of your boots — much too smug for someone dangerously close to receiving a referral to the Student Conduct Office — before you stop in your tracks at Bucky’s next command.

“No,” he spits out, “We have one more thing to discuss.” He’ll be damned if he let you out of this classroom without some acknowledgment that you were a pain in his ass.

“And what would that be?” you whirl around, quiet, frustrated, and a little taken aback by Bucky’s harsh tone.

“Don’t start,” he commands. You notice his upper arms, muscular, veiny, flex as he grips the arms of his office chair.

“What, you want me to apologize to you? You want me to say ‘sorry’ to the big man whose ego can’t take a little bruising?” you jab, but the confidence is not quite as striking as usual.

“Sit down,” he commands. Again. Much more assertive this time. He nods his head towards the seat you had previously occupied, and adds, “now.” You had frozen, midstep, with your hand on the door handle, cold brass against your palm making your pulse all the more noticeable.

Bucky is almost gleeful when he sees the surprise on your face at his directions. So surprised. So pretty. He watches you slowly make your way back into the chair, setting your bag on the floor next to you and crossing your legs before leaning back.

“Yes?” You grit out, slowly dragging your eyes up to meet his. Arms crossed, you dare to pull that face that gets Bucky so riled up. He clears his throat before beginning,

“We’re not done talking. Your behavior in class has been disrespectful and disruptive. I know for a fact that you don’t behave like this with other professors. What’s going on?” This was the mature thing to do, Bucky had thought. To sit down, ask his colleagues for help, and talk to you like you were an equal. “What’s your problem with me, huh?”

You don’t react, at least externally. You only smile, that fake sweet smirk that he can’t get away from.

“Why, I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Barnes.” Bucky has to take a deep breath, reminding himself not to get riled up. Not to let you get to him.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” Bucky responds, strict and to the point. He keeps staring at you, sure that he was in command of the situation. You watch as he gets up from his chair, making his way to lean back against his desk, directly in front of you. He crosses his arms, mirroring you. You don’t like the confident little attitude he has today. You didn’t know how to deal with this version of him. So you keep poking at him, in a way that you knew, that you were sure would rile him up.

“Aw, Dr. Barnes. Why don’t you explain to me what you’re talking about? As clearly as you can, please?” You keep the shit-eating simper on, but it fades into confused intrigue as he moves closer to you, invading too much of the air around you.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Bucky savors that innocent moment of shock on your face before he rests his hands, one on each arm of the chair you were sitting in, your arms and legs still crossed as you failed to keep your breathing even. A vague scent of man and aftershave sending an exhilaration through you and flooding you with a warmth. A familiar warmth you’ve only ever felt in your bedroom at night. After the long fucking library sessions and steaming hot showers, when you’d collapse into your bed utterly exhausted but mentally alert, you’d let your mind wander.

The closer Bucky got to you, the more you could see the little flecks in his blue eyes. He was angry. Furious, even. His mouth had set into a frown, and he was so fucking confused about how out of hand the situation had gotten, how out of control he felt in that moment. So he does what he feels is right, just like you always say what you feel is right. He leans in closer to you, nose almost touching yours as he breathes into you,

“I’ve been so patient with you, you know that Little Miss Smart Mouth?” Bucky looks down at your lips and back at your eyes, rasping, “Every fucking day. You come into my classroom and you torture me.” He watches you uncross your arms and legs, attempting to sit up straighter in your chair. He keeps waiting for you to push him away. For you to say something mean. To reject him.

But you don’t. You stare right back at him, demeanor so bewildered and at a loss for words, Bucky dares to let himself think that you were sexy. Pupils dilated, staring up at him, at a loss for words. Uncharacteristically quiet, and Bucky decides that he likes that look on your face, a little awed, a little defiant, but sexy. He watches you swallow, trying to grasp at words that usually come so easily to you,

“I —” Your stammer sounds so strange, and Bucky relishes in this moment, the chance to catch you off guard and unsure of where the dynamic between the two of you broke. He watches you, as you wonder how you have lost the upper hand.

“What, Miss L.N.? Cat finally got your tongue?” he teases, smirking down as he slowly, ever-so slowly, closes the gap between the two of you.

The press of his lips against yours is hungry. Electrifying. Hot. Bucky groans when you lean into the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his face and pulling him closer. Impossibly closer. He breathes you in as he kisses you, hands traveling up your back and bringing you to your feet. He feels a twitch in between his legs when you moan into his mouth, and he bites your bottom lip when you break the kiss.

Bucky stares at you as his chest heaves, your mouth swollen and pink where he had nipped you. Your eyes are glued to his lips, and he gives you what you want, with just as much desire and urgency as before.

“Can’t be a snarky little know-it-all now, huh baby?” Bucky murmurs into your mouth, fingers carding through your hair and working toward a firm grip at the base of your scalp. He gives a tug, and his cock hardens at the whimper that comes out of you when he turns your face to look at his, at the control he has over you in that moment, at the fact that you couldn’t escape him. You smirk up at him, still wild-eyed, and bite back,

“I don’t know, Dr. Barnes, guess you’ll just have to see.” You giggle, that girlish teasing giggle that drove Bucky fucking crazy. Your hands, just as greedy as Bucky felt, ran up the length of his arms, squeezing his biceps lightly before they settled on his chest.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs into you before capturing your lips again, desperate, savoring the feel of your lips on his. His cock demanded so much more when he felt you smile into the kiss.

But no, he’s in control today. Even if he hadn’t planned for today to turn out the way it did, he was still going to be in control of this. Of you.

The moment you both come up for air, Bucky steps back, trying to catch himself, to calm down. Your eyes trail down his body appreciatively, the glowing smile on your face brightening when you land on the bulge in your professor’s slacks and Bucky feels his cock betray him, twitching under his boxers and hardening even more under your observant gaze.

“Dr. Barnes,” you look up at him through your lashes, glasses slipping down your nose bridge when your lips perk up, “I thought you were an unremarkable teacher before, but now I’m thinking you’re dumber than I originally thought.”

Bucky tenses up even more, arms cross as he leans back against his desk. It’s taking everything in him not to pounce on you. You seemed to obey his commands earlier, when he was losing his grip on his temper. Bucky could do that again, he could be what you wanted, if it meant you’d stay.

If it meant you’d let him get you off.

“Stop talking, Miss Smart Mouth,” he sneers at you, in command of his tone — low, seared with lust when he sees you bite your lip, obeying him. God, fuck. You were just turned on as he was, he knew it. “Strip.” he says, more demanding this time, still not moving from his position against his desk. You weren’t more than a foot away from him. He could just reach out right now, give you both what you wanted.

But Bucky was patient. He was going to drag this out. For himself. For all the times you’ve gotten on his fucking nerves, undermining his authority during class, in front of other students. For getting to his ego, of all things.

He was patient as you stripped, one garment after another peeling off to reveal smooth, glowing skin that he was dying to lay his hands on. A glimpse of your clavicle here, soft thighs there, Bucky wasn’t sure where he wanted to concentrate his stare. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks to himself when his stare lands on your cleavage; soft, supple, begging to be bitten. By the time you were down to just your bra and panties, Bucky catches himself just in the nick of time.

“Wait, stop.”

You pause, looking up at him and arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, Dr. Barnes?” you ask, timid, in anticipation of what would happen next.

More often than you’d ever admit, your hands would wander under the cloud-soft cotton of your panties, fingers wandering toward your slit and smearing the wetness around your clit, determined to reach an orgasm that would put you into a deep slumber. You’d rather die than admit it, but sometimes, it was Dr. Barnes’ image in your head that brought you to your peak. His muscular forearms, lined with veins and evidently fortified by strength-training, would strain under your grip as he shoved himself in your imagination.

“Come here,” he gestures to you with one hand and moves to clear space on the desk before he taps the wood. The sight of his huge, toned body in front of you, out of reach and ready for you to touch — you felt the cotton of your panties dampen, just like you did on those nights you got yourself off to the image of Dr. Barnes. You take a step forward, hesitant, unable to keep your nerves reigned in.

“Finally found the stones to fight back, huh, Dr. Barnes?” you tease, attempting to get your head back into the dynamic you were used to. You were turned on, but not so much that you were willing to give up your dignity in that moment.

Unamused, Dr. Barnes taps the wood again. His next command is huskier, like he’s not willing to play your game anymore.

“Bend over,” he says, muscles in his jaw jostling with the strength it takes to hold himself back. He couldn’t describe it, this energy between the two of you. A heady, lustful sheen had blanketed the two of you in your own little world. He forgot who he was. He forgot that you were his student. He forgot himself, and all he wanted to do was scream.

#writing in hiding₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊#bucky barnes #smut #smut fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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thlayli-ra · 22 days ago

Text

I Love My New Handyman! (Chapter 1)

(Read on AO3) (Read next chapter on Tumblr)

Characters - LA Knight, Cougar FemDom,

Pairing - LA Knight X Cougar FemDom

AU - Cougar AU

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Power Imbalance, Power Play, Dom/Sub, FemDom, Non-Consensual Groping

Words - ~3.5k words

Summary - A rich, powerful cougar hires herself a new handyman to play with.

(Inspired by this gifset, the one above in particular)

I love my new handyman!

He came highly recommended by a dear, trusted friend, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and brought him in for an interview despite the ridiculous name on his business card. I mean, I understand this is Beverly Hills but honestly, what kind of professional calls themselves 'LA Knight'?

Fortunately, things took an upswing the moment he swaggered through my front doors. I had Marcel show him to my study and I told him to sit quietly and wait while I finished up some paperwork. This task proved too difficult for him apparently, but I forgave his constant squirming and need to make every noise imaginable as soon as I first laid eyes on him.

Closing my laptop, I took a while to study the specimen seated at the other side of my desk. He looked to be in his early forties, with short dark curls and the biggest baby blue eyes I'd ever seen in my life (and I've seen plenty!). Square jaw lined with tawny bristles (a few greys creeping in, not that I'm complaining in the slightest), strong neck and big broad shoulders. The rest was regrettably hidden beneath a soiled white T-shirt, tan leather jacket, filthy worker jeans with the knees worn away and big brown boots. He had dust in his hair and dirt smudged on his cheek.

He was the prettiest thing I'd encountered in years.

He apologised for his appearance, he'd just come from another job. Times were hard, his bills were rising faster than he was earning and his dilapidated van was in and out of the shop, exacerbating his finances. He couldn't afford to refuse any work that came his way. I listened to his woes with a sympathetic ear, trying my best to hide my glee until he was finished his tragic tale.

'Well now,' I said, reaching into my drawer to remove a file which I elegantly slid across the desk, 'let's see if I can help with that.' He went to grab the file but I kept my hand firmly on it, chasing away his overeagerness with a sharp eye. He withdrew his arm. Good boy.

I outlined the main details of the job. My mansion and estate needed a full-time handyman to keep up with the repairs and maintenance. Preferably someone with an extensive skill-set who was willing to turn their hand to anything - plumbing, gardening, possibly some minor building work - whatever was required to fulfil my needs. A van, tools and uniform would be provided, and one of the outhouses could be used as a base of operations. 'You may still take on extra jobs if you need, but, saying that, the salary..' I gave a salacious smile, '..well, have a look for yourself.'

Finally, I let go of the paperwork and his large, twitchy hands grabbed it up, his blue eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he saw the very generous figure typed in plain black and white.

'Well?' I asked, getting to my feet and buttoning the front of my suit jacket. 'Are you interested?'

He glanced up at me, grinning from ear to ear. He looked almost boyish when he smiled, despite the lines in his face (which were few, I must admit, for a man of his age and profession). I noticed his cute little buckteeth and imagined them biting down on a bridle gag. Made me a little hot and bothered, I must confess.

'Where do I sign up? YEAH!' he enthused. I handed him a pen and indicated where to put his signature, then, once all the 'i's' were dotted and the 't's' crossed, we shook hands to seal the deal.

'One more thing,' I broached before he left. 'I'm not calling you LA Knight. What is your real name?'

His smile changed, becoming something more casual, flirty even. 'Eli,' he replied. 'Eli Drake.'

Eli started the following Monday, arriving bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I gave him a guided tour of the mansion and the estate and showed him the shed he would work from. Finally, I presented him with his uniform. Initially, he scoffed when he spied the skimpy pair of black briefs I held towards him. 'This some kinda joke?' he chuckled, smirking haughtily out one side of his mouth.

'No,' I returned primly. 'I specified in the contract that uniform would be provided.'

'Yeah but...' Eli eyed the briefs warily. The smile slowly slipped away.

'Look, I even had your business name printed on them,' I noted, opening them out to prove the point. 'I often have friends, acquaintances, business associates, all kinds of people, round to visit and they may have use of your services too. I can certainly put in a good word for you.'

Yet still, he hesitated. I could see it in the way his bushy eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He was furiously considering whether to just turn around and leave through my front gates. But he was both smart enough and dumb enough to stay put. And desperate. A perfect mixture, just like my favourite cocktail (which is a margarita, if you're curious.)

'Good boy,' I praised him, seeing the way his shoulders stooped with defeat. 'Get changed then meet me at the pool-house for your first task. You may keep your boots on.'

I left without a backward glance.

It was difficult to wait. My laptop lay open and forgotten as I chewed the end of my ballpoint pen in ready anticipation. I personally feel he made me wait so long on purpose, although it's possible that he was simply a little self-conscious and it took a while to find the courage to leave the sanctuary of his shed. Although, I can say with complete objectivity that he had nothing to be self-conscious about.

The wait was worth it. The moment Eli walked into my line of vision, my normally composed jaw dropped, the ballpoint pen clattering gracelessly to the ground. I had an inkling that there was something exciting beneath his filthy work clothes but even my wildest fantasies could not craft such a Herculean frame. His shoulders were indeed broad and sloped magnificently down to a pair of imposing arms complete with bulging biceps. His chest heaved with a pretty pair of plump tits, under which a chiselled six pack rippled through his tanned skin with every stride. A slim waist, neat hips and two thick-set legs with strong, powerful thighs completed the masterpiece.

And as for the tiny scrap of black fabric I gave him to wear? It left very little to the imagination. Generously bulging in the front and straining at the back, I acknowledged that this was no mere man but a Greek God, a marble statue carved by a master of his craft.

It was then I realised that I held a true Adonis in the palm of my hand.

He came to stand before me, awkwardly, with his hands twitching by his side, deciding whether to cover himself up or not. Poor thing was feeling shy. Even his golden skin flushed a deep pink on the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. In the end, he placed them behind his back, lifting his chin to feign some pride even though it was already gone, along with his dignity.

'So then, Mrs...' Eli faltered, stumbling over his words, '..or it is Miss? Ms?'

'You will call me Mistress,' I told him.

His blush deepened. 'Ok then. Mistress.' He worked his jaw over the word, not happy about it at all. One thing I love about these so-called 'manly-men' - they don't like a woman pushing them around. No, not at all. 'What do you want me to do?'

'The pool-house windows need cleaned,' I ordered him. 'Everything is here ready for you. You can fill your bucket up from the outside tap.'

He went to protest, probably thought himself too high and mighty to be reduced to a simple window-cleaner, but he eventually saw sense. He shut his mouth again, sniffed loudly through his nose then walked over to the equipment I had waiting for him when I called his name, stopping him in his tracks.

'Oh, Eli. Before you go, I dropped my pen. Could you please-?'

He huffed loudly, clenching his jaw again. 'Sure,' he retorted gruffly and went to fetch my pen. It had rolled a few feet away by now, so when he bent over to retrieve it, I got a perfect view of his perky, round buttocks, admiring the way the printed letters stretched in the skin-tight fabric of his little briefs. He stood back up with a grunt and stomped towards me, holding the pen out. I picked it up from his palm, letting my fingers linger on his skin a moment. Our eyes locked, his studying mine with a fresh, new intrigue - mine like the hungry cat sizing up a fat, juicy mouse.

'Good boy,' I said. 'Now get to work.'

'Sure,' he muttered under his breath.

'Sure, Mistress,' I corrected.

He scrunched his nose again, this time his fists clenched at his side. 'Sure, Mistress.'

I owe my dear, trusted friend a new Prada handbag. Or perhaps a Luis Vuitton. Whatever expensive trinket she has her eye on because I am deeply in her debt. I could have scoured the murky depths of Craigslist for weeks and never have found a more perfect match.

My work was swiftly forgotten as I sat watching my newest employee beavering away. The more I observed him, the more I craved him. He truly was a find; a gorgeous, meaty himbo who was too loud and too clumsy to be anything but utterly endearing. I watched as he struggled with the ladder, fumbling to prop it open and when he was finally all set to go, he scrubbed the sponge so sloppily against the glass that the soapy water splattered all over his near-naked body. I found myself dazzled by the golden skin of his shoulders glistening in the Californian sun, the poor thing sweltering in the heat as much as he was soaked with the suds. A collection of bubbles had gotten caught in his curls and when he tried to wipe away some perspiration from his eyes, another clod lodged on his eyebrow.

I watched his big, oafish hands at work. Watched as they wrung out the excess water from the sponge, taking note of his thick fingers and gnarled knuckles. The skin had broken on a couple of them, old wounds that had now scabbed over. Working hands. A tradesman's hands. I thought about applying my cocoa butter lotion onto them, rubbing rough circles into those swollen knuckles. Pressing down on the healing cuts until he yelped. I imagined leather cuffs around those thick wrists, the clink of unbreakable chains as they struggled to break loose.

I licked my lips, my hand wandering south.

Easy, I scolded, resisting the urge to touch myself. It's only his first day. Don't scare him off just yet. Let him ease into the situation, slowly.

I had to acquiesce. Naturally I had no chance arguing with myself, after all, I am always right.

But I did so begrudge it. Especially when he stretched up to dry the top edges of the window frame and I could make out the hard contours of his ribs pushing against his glistening skin and the soft, tender underbelly of his hairy armpit. He looked so good with his arms up - I would have to remember that.

'There, done!' he said aloud to himself with a satisfied nod and I bit hard on my bottom lip when he tucked the corner of his rag into his sopping wet briefs.

Then he went and kicked over the bucket.

'GOD DAMMIT!' Ohhhh, he was so loud. My toes curled at the possibilities.

'The mop is inside, in the closet,' I smiled, cocking a brow at the poor dear, up to his ankles in filthy soapy slosh. 'I don't want to see a single sud left to dry on my tiles.'

I'm not unique in my liking of younger men, in fact most of my girlfriends enjoy the taste of lamb. However, they find my taste in older younger men endlessly entertaining. Yes, men in their twenties are cute and naive and oh so eager to please but to me they're still babies. Most of them have barely left home and long for a surrogate mommy to look after them. I'm not interested in mothering another child. I'm currently revelling in that delightful period of my life where my own kids have grown up and flown the nest but are not yet popping out grandkids and I aim to enjoy myself as much as possible.

No, I much prefer the ones who are long out from under their mother's coattails, who have enough life experience to know that the way they're being treated is inappropriate and bristle with the indignation. I love when they push back, when they try to resist.

I love it most when they cave in.

Now, it may have slipped my mind to pre-warn Eli that I was having the girls around this afternoon for martinis. The look on my newest plaything's face when he walked into the lounge and found himself heavily outnumbered by a pack of hungry cougars was delicious. I found myself wishing I had my camera ready to encapsulate that look of terror forever.

Eli scrunched in on himself, shoulders stooped and slightly hunched, his large hands draped over the sagging bulge in his briefs as he hovered timidly by the door. I knew why he hesitated. I had him clear out the gutters - filthy work! - and my plan had worked to perfection. I wanted his hands blackened. I wanted dirt lodged under his nails. I wanted my little wench tarred and feathered before he was presented to the rabble.

'Come in, Eli,' I cooed midway through laughing at a friend's joke. He gave a uncomfortable nod and took a step in, his muddy boots soiling my cream carpet. I let it slide. I will enjoy him getting on his hands and knees to scrub it clean tomorrow.

He wandered closer, eyeing my friend beside me, the same one who recommended him. 'Oh, uh.. hi Mrs Castellanos.'

'Good to see you again, Eli,' she replied with a tip of her glass and a grossly unsubtle peek at his buttocks in his tiny briefs.

'Uh yeah. You too. Um-' turning towards me, he looked ready to burst, his cheeks burning a deep scarlet. 'You wanted to see me, um...?'

'Mistress,' I finished for him. But dear me, the word was well and truly stuck in his throat this time, when he had an audience present. Every voice stilled, every eye languished on him as I spurred him on a second time. 'Mistress!'

'Look, I gotta get back to these gutters, so what do you need?' There it was. The push-back. The resistance. He was a strong-willed work horse, I'll give him that. But I had far more stubborn stallions in my stables, humbly eating sugar lumps out of my hand.

'Go speak to Greta over there.' I pointed my friend out across the room, already downing the remnants of her third drink. 'She needs your assistance with something.'

Eli huffed an exacerbated groan through his teeth. I noticed him scanning the tall, older woman up and down. Not that I blame him; Greta is a fitness guru and maintains her figure remarkably well (although don't be fooled when she says it's all natural - she's been under the knife more times than yours truly). Eli paused, for a moment I was sure he was going to refuse. 'Yeah sure,' he relented and walked towards Greta who beamed at my new handyman and beckoned him to follow her out of the room.

It must have been only five minutes before Eli returned. He was not a happy bunny! He rushed over to me immediately, no longer caring about the boot prints he was leaving on my cream carpet and growled in my ear, 'we need to talk. In private!'

I shrugged casually, made my apologies and took my leave. Once outside, Eli slammed the sliding door shut to stop any stray ears hearing.

'Look, this aint workin' out!' he groused.

'Oh, really?' I clutched my literal pearls. 'Why? What's happened?'

'I was already havin' my doubts when you got me all dressed up like some damn Chippendale but I draw the line at being 'entertainment' for you and your randy friends!'

I took a pause to 'mull over' his complaint. 'Did something happen with Greta?' I asked, innocently. Truthfully, I knew she couldn't keep her hands to herself. As soon as I asked him outright though, Eli got coy. The large, wide mouth zipped tight and he shuffled awkwardly from mud-caked boot to mud-caked boot. 'I can't help you if you won't tell me, Eli.'

His face went through a thousand different expressions, his left eye twitching, the corners of his lips sliding and it took a while for him to find the courage to finally reveal what happened. 'She was having problems with the toilet in the bottom bathroom. It wasn't flushing right, so I got down to have a look and see what the issue was when...' he ducked his head, chewing his cheek. 'She kinda, well she... she slid her hand down my... into my... my uniform.'

'How dreadful,' I replied, very sympathetically for this was very serious business, you understand. 'Did she hurt you?'

'No,' he admitted with an aggravated roll of his eyes. 'But she copped a good feel of my ass.' Both of his bushy brows shot up as if to say 'can you believe that?' I could. She actually let him off lightly. 'Look, I'm only here to do my job. You want me in skimpy panties? That's fine, it's a hundred degrees out, I aint complainin' about that but this right here? Nah-nah! This is a deal-breaker. So, thank you for the opportunity, Ms... sorry Mistress but you're gonna have to find some other dummy.'

He turned to leave. I let him take one step, two then asked, 'how much did she slip you?'

Eli went still. Glancing back over his shoulder, he narrowed his pretty blue eyes at me. 'Huh?'

So I repeated myself. Slowly. So that even he could understand. 'How. Much. Did she slip you?'

'Slip me?'

He's so dumb. I think I'm in love. 'Check your trunks.'

Blinking at me like I was insane, Eli buried his hand into the back of his briefs. The moment he found the little gift Greta had left him, his eyes locked onto mine, wide with confused wonder. He jaw hung limp as he brought it out and around into his field of vision. His big bug eyes grew to the size of vinyls when he unfolded the crisp note to reveal a one hundred dollar bill. Then it came away, revealing a second hundred dollar bill underneath. He gaped at the pair of bills, stupefied like a teen boy seeing his first pair of breasts.

'Oh, she must have been pleased with you,' I said, unable to break him fully from the spell. 'My friends are very generous that way. Do remember to thank her, will you?'

His gaze stumbled up to meet mine, his fingers trembling. 'Huh?'

'Before you leave, you will remember to thank her.'

He closed his mouth and swallowed loudly. I watched his Adam's Apple bob, imagining a leather collar strapped around that thick neck. 'Uh yeah, um... sure.'

'Such a pity it couldn't work out, Eli but I'm sure you will find some other way to-' I was stopped by a firm, filthy hand on my arm. Not a rough touch. Gentle, but firm nonetheless. I arched a brow at him.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his head bowed shamefully.

'As am I, but you must do what you think is best for-'

'No, I mean, I'm sorry for what I said,' he swallowed again and this time I was sure I could see some of his pride go down with it. 'I still want this job.'

I broke the tension immediately with a large smile. 'Oh good. I am pleased to hear that.' I placed my palm against his grimy cheek, stroking it lightly like I would one of my prize-winning horses. 'I know it's been an eventful first day and there's a lot to adjust to but I assure you, it will all be worth it. That tip you're holding in your hand is only the beginning.'

'Really?' he queried, his interest well and truly piqued.

'Make me and my friends happy and you will never have to worry about your finances again, Eli,' I assured him. 'Now, run along and go thank Greta then finish up the gutters. Once you're done, you may leave early for the day.'

'Yes, M'am, I mean, Mistress.' (Hmm, we'll have to work on that.)

I tested the waters and offered him my hand. He kissed it without prompting then hurried back inside to find Greta. I took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. To bask in the glow of my victory.

Like I said, I love it when they cave.

(She's being easy on him - it's only his first day after all! More to come soon 🤭)

#Thlayli-writes #la knight #original female character #cougar au #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction

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spitefulsatanfics · 3 months ago

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Title: A Flicker in the Dark

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (she/her)

Rating: Teen+

Word Count: 4,215

Tones: Awkward!Sam, reluctant romance, protective Sam, sweet and slow burn, emotional healing

Based On:

Season 1, Episode 13: Route 666

Season 1, Episode 14: Nightmare

Season 1, Episode 15: The Benders

---

Synopsis:

Fresh off another case, Sam Winchester finds himself haunted by the past—and not the supernatural kind. The wounds he carries make his heart a fortress he’s not ready to open. But when he and Dean cross paths with a quiet yet determined woman helping them on a haunting in Minnesota, Sam finds himself slowly unraveling. She's smart, intuitive, and she sees him—not the hunter, not the vessel of tragedy—but him.

Caught between the weight of what he’s lost and the quiet possibility of something new, Sam must navigate the chaos of ghostly secrets, human monsters, and his own reluctant heart. As the team works to stop a vengeful spirit that’s targeting a small lakeside town, he discovers that healing often begins in the spaces where grief has lingered longest.

---

Novella:

The snow had fallen heavy in Minnesota, blanketing the little town near Mille Lacs Lake with a deceptive kind of quiet. Dean had made a half-hearted joke about “Fargo vibes,” but Sam had barely cracked a smile. That was the norm lately.

He wasn’t the same. Everyone around him knew it—especially Dean—but they rarely said anything. Something in Sam had dimmed. That hopeful, earnest flicker in his eyes was slower to appear now, and most of the time, he was too caught in his head to notice much else.

Until she showed up.

She wasn’t a hunter. Not in the way Dean was. But she knew things—rituals, sigils, energy flow. She said her grandmother had taught her, a soft-spoken witch in the woods who had more love for herbs and protection spells than hex bags and curses. She’d introduced herself when Dean and Sam arrived at the diner that doubled as the town’s hub. She was a local, working part-time as an archivist for the town’s tiny museum and helping her aunt run the diner.

The first time Sam noticed her, really noticed her, she was standing over a stack of case files from the sheriff’s department, her hands stained with ink and her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She smiled at him.

He forgot how to breathe for a second.

---

They worked together over the next few days. The case was strange—violent deaths scattered across decades, with one haunting similarity: every victim had drowned.

A woman in the '60s in her bathtub. A teenage boy in a lake, despite being a strong swimmer. A man found in the front seat of a locked car, lungs full of water with no water anywhere near. All of it impossible—except in their line of work.

And always, at every scene, a cracked mirror.

Each clue pointed to Eleanor Voss, a woman who’d drowned in Mille Lacs Lake fifty years ago after being abandoned by the man she loved. Heartbroken, betrayed, her grief soaked the waters she died in—and cursed the mirrors that last saw her reflection.

Now she was back, and she wanted others to know what it felt like to drown.

---

Sam had started to notice more than just her talents. The way she twisted her fingers when she was thinking. How she always brought extra coffee during interviews. The way she leaned in when he talked, like his words mattered.

One night, while curled up on the motel couch beside him, she asked softly, “You always look like you’re thinking five things at once. Do you ever just... stop?”

Sam glanced at her, hesitant. “It’s complicated.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t have to explain.”

He didn’t. And she didn’t ask him to. That was new.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the soft buzz of the motel heater and the occasional scratch of his pen on paper. But she stayed close.

---

Dean noticed the way Sam looked at her. And the way she looked back.

“She’s good for you,” Dean muttered one afternoon as they leaned against the Impala. “You could do worse.”

“I’m not looking for anything, Dean,” Sam replied. “It’s complicated.”

Dean gave him a sideways glance. “Everything about our lives is complicated. Doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone.”

Sam didn’t answer. But his mind was already somewhere else—thinking about how she’d stood beside him during the salt-and-burn, lips moving through Latin like she was born to speak it.

She wasn’t a monster. She was a gift.

---

The final confrontation came under moonlight, frost biting the edges of their jackets as they returned to the lakeshore. They’d traced the haunting to a mirror Eleanor had clung to in life, buried with her in an old family crypt beside the frozen lake.

Her spirit rose from the water as they uncovered the mirror, her soaked and distorted reflection flickering in the glass. The drowning had already begun—waves lapping over the ghost’s latest victim, a man who had only meant to go for a jog.

Y/N recited the Latin. Sam shattered the mirror. The spirit screamed, her wail echoing through the forest as her form exploded into mist and vanished into the lake’s still waters.

---

By the time they got back to the motel, she was trembling.

“You okay?” Sam asked as he helped her out of her soaked coat.

She nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“I thought she was going to kill you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t—I wouldn’t have been able to stop her.”

Sam’s throat tightened. “But you did. You didn’t freeze up. You helped me stop her.”

Her voice cracked. “I just... I didn’t want to lose you.”

He stepped closer, brushing her damp hair behind her ear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not if I can help it.”

---

Later that night, when the room had fallen still and the adrenaline had faded, he kissed her.

Softly. Carefully. Like a man afraid of what he might break.

“I’m scared,” he murmured.

“Me too,” she whispered.

But neither of them pulled away.

---

They left town the next morning. She didn’t stay behind. She wasn’t a hunter, not exactly—but she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

And for once, Sam didn’t resist what he wanted.

Something warm.

Something real.

Something good.

---

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagines #supernatural family #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn x reader #spn imagine #spn imagines #spn #spnfandom

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shirohige-pirates · 6 months ago

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A Truly Mythological Christmas

Cisfem!Reader x Marco the Phoenix

Also on Wattpad // Ao3

18+ - this story is going to get steamy in ways not allowed for your holiday Lifetime specials. Swearing, cheating, assassins, intrigue - you know, all that simple small town stuff.

Chapter 26: The Zhou Conglomerate

The day after the Christmas celebration, was low energy for all of you. Sabo made coffee for you and Dadan, and you hugged him for being so cute that he started squirming in your arms. You helped the boys make the easiest breakfast you could manage, and did as little as humanly possible. After all the commotion of the party even Luffy was subdued.

You: How’s the manor?

Marco: Half a disaster. We got most of it cleaned up before bed though.

He sends a short video of the long dining table that still needed to be broken down, and the bags of trash needing to be hauled out. A few of his brothers waved blearily as he passed by them, plates and bowls with leftovers for breakfast on them. From the looks of things no one had finished a first cup of coffee, let alone woken up properly.

They had likely all been up until nearly 3am.

You: All that footage, and none of your beautiful face?

Marco: Handsome, maybe.

You: Need an extra set of hands to come help?

Marco: Nah, rest easy pretty bird.

Marco: I’ll be at the store tomorrow, you’re welcome to come help out, or just hang out.

Grinning you type in a sassy response.

You: Decorate your back office, maybe.

Marco: I would risk the store, please don’t tempt me.

“What’s it mean to decorate the back office?” Sabo questions quietly, looking at your phone from over the couch. He’s curious, but also trying to keep Ace and Luffy from hearing.

“With annoying things like wrapping stuff in foil and individually wrapping all his pens.” You lie as smoothly as you possibly can.

Sabo looks around and leans in, his face going pink. “I thought you were talking about adult stuff.”

You laugh, ruffling curly hair that’s destined to be amazing wavy locks one day. It’s good to be reminded that children are dangerously attentive. Ace and Luffy come over to see what you’re laughing about, and you end up pulling the boys into your camera range and sending pictures of the four of you making silly faces. You take a couple dozen pictures before you run them off to put away their gifts, and get their room cleaned up, but you only send a few to Marco.

Your day is a delightful collection of sending texts to Marco, lounging, and helping your mom make dinner. You don’t often spend an entire day in your pajamas, but it felt good to do almost nothing all day.

The next day, after breakfast, you get a phone call from a number that you only knew for sure was from the city. It wasn’t Candy Land’s extension, so you weren’t worried about answering it.

“Hello?” You answer tentatively, wondering who would be calling you from a number you didn’t know, just a couple days after Christmas. It was, at least, not the weekend yet.

“Hello, is this Miss Curly (Y/N)?” The question comes from a cheerful, and professional voice. It’s clear and full of maybe a little too much coffee.

“This is, what can I do for you?”

“Wonderful! My name is Wanda, I was hoping to have a few moments of your time, Miss Curly, my boss is Inuarashi, from the Zhou Conglomerate, and we were hoping we could get your hiring process started, if you weren’t against the idea?”

“Huh? No, I’m not… against it, but I haven’t even been interviewed.” You stammer.

“I mean to take care of most of that over the phone today,” she offers easily. “Interviewing was part of what I wanted to do today. The primary part honestly, since the rest can come after. Mr. Inuarashi and Mr. Nekomamushi just wanted to get things going as soon as they could.”

“I… uh, sure. Sure.” Getting up off the couch you head into Dadan’s den, since her and the boys will know to leave you be while you’re in there. “I’ve had breakfast and coffee, I’m happy to do this as best I can.”

Wanda’s smile comes through her tone. “Perfect. The owners were nearly flooded with letters of recommendation and phone calls on your behalf over the holidays. Coworkers from your previous job, your boss, several small businesses in the city.”

“Letters? Calls? Wha- how?” You sit down in the room, feeling a little disoriented. “Aside from my boss I don’t think anyone else was aware that I was looking for another job.”

“Oh, hm.” Wanda goes silent for a moment. “Well, I… guess the news hadn’t gotten outside the city. But news broke that Charlotte Perospero had been caught with… other people… and that you had broken off the engagement. Katakuri said he was doing everything he could for you.

“Since his mother had gone on quite the public tirade, I think people simply assumed you had also tendered your resignation as well.” She explains. “I know the truth, Miss Curly, and while I am sorry you weren’t able to stay where you wanted, if it isn’t too presumptuous of me to say, I am grateful to know you’ll be joining us.”

“I…she? … Wow. I didn’t know.” You take a moment and Wanda goes quiet. “I… whew. You know, um, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to make a cup of coffee before we get started.”

“Certainly, you can call me back, or I can simply wait.” Wanda offers.

“Chat with me, if you don’t mind. Whatever you’re comfortable with, tell me about yourself, tell me about the Conglomeration.” You prompt, getting up and heading into the kitchen.

You and Wanda talk for nearly three hours. In that time you make a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, and even get the water you probably needed to be drinking more of. She tells you a little bit about herself, and you share some of yourself in return. She talks about what she likes about the company, and you ask questions to dig a little deeper.

You vent about the issue with Perospero, as much as you’re comfortable doing, and admit that you’re doing much better now than you were before. You love the city, but getting away and getting back to where you grew up had been exactly what you needed.

Eventually you shift to the business of business and start talking about what you would be expected to do, what skills you had, experience and what your accomplishments at your current job were. Wanda gave you some hypotheticals to answers and you asked about the vacation policies and other benefits.

You weren’t too worried about falling into any kind of traps. Wanda was being far too direct, and with everything else in your corner it was silly to worry about such things. A small voice in the back of your head worried you were getting this job on some odd form of nepotism, but if that was the case you’d just have to work even harder when you started.

You even sent Marco some texts while you were talking with Wanda, explaining that you were on the phone with her, and that you weren’t sure when you’d make it to the store.

You: I’ll still be by though.

Marco: I’d say tell her hello for me, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to win you points.

You: You didn’t say anything to Nekomamushi yourself?

Marco: Nope.

Marco: I first heard of it from Katakuri. After that I was too busy to reach out, and I wouldn’t have even if I could have.

Marco: I know how you would’ve felt.

“Your starting salary is going to be, admittedly, significantly less than what you were making.” Wanda says, her voice dropping. “There are bonuses, however, and it is still competitive.”

“That will be okay.” You assure her. “If I can do my job well, there’ll be room for growth, and I’m okay with that. Candy Land paid well, but… there was a certain level of stress that went along with it.”

“But,” you say after a moment’s pause. “All I mean is that the salary is satisfactory, and the benefits more than make up for it. It works out even better for me, since I intend to travel a little more, and your company gives me leeway to do that by default.”

“Perfect then, the last thing to consider will be your start date.”

You laugh. “You don’t have to step away and deliberate the results of this call with your bosses?”

“They had effectively made up their minds already,” Wanda says kindly. “This wasn’t just a formality, however, since you and I will be working together closely when you start here. This was truly an interview between you and I.”

You look at how long you’ve been chatting easily with her and chuckle softly. “Okay, yeah, I can see how that would mean what it means.” You agree. “Well, I’ll be back on the 4th. I know it’s not a Monday, but starting the 8th would work well for me. It gives me time to ensure things went smoothly while I was gone for so long, and a partial week lets me get the administrative sign-offs and meet and greets done before starting properly the following Monday.”

“We’ll go with that then,” she agrees. “If anything comes up, you can call me and let me know. The number I called from is my personal one, so even if you need to leave a message I’ll get back to you shortly.”

“Fantastic. Well, this is the best way this could’ve gone, so thank you for making my day better Miss Wanda.” You say cheerfully.

“My pleasure Miss Curly, and please, call me Wanda.”

You let her know she can call you by your first name as well, and then end the call.

“Whew.” Letting out a sigh you sink into the chair in the den and enjoy a brief moment to yourself before joining Dadan and the boys for lunch. You text Marco and let him know you’ll be by after you eat, and tell him what the preliminary time line for your start with the company looks like.

Marco: You’ll have a couple days completed before I even get there.

You: Yeah, but I shouldn’t be able to get myself into too much trouble.

Marco: I’m the only trouble you need to get into 😈

You: Aren’t you technically getting into me, trouble?

There’s a long pause before his next reply and it’s just a single heart emoji. You figure you flustered him finally, but when you make it to the store it is jam packed. How he was even able to text you at all was impressive enough.

He’s filling in as a cashier and you’re back to the shelves, organizing, restocking, and directing customers on where to find things. The volume of work made the day go by quickly and you didn’t get a chance to really talk to Marco until the sun had long set.

The next three days were more of the same, though the frenzied flurry of the first day was never quite matched, but by the time you and Marco had any real time to yourselves again it was New Year’s Eve.

#a truly mythological christmas #marco the phoenix #x reader #reader insert #mdni #hallmark au

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blackcherryvelvet0909 · 1 year ago

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Why Should I Worry? (Filis O. Seaveworth)

Content Warning: Passionate kissing towards the end, spoilers for the Playful Land event, kidnapping (canon event), child abduction (canon event), mention of menstrual period

Note: Filis uses he/him and she/her pronouns throughout the story. She goes by he/him when under the moniker of Henry W. Taon. Filis O. Seaveworth/Henry W. Taon, Persayis N. Siofra, Liling Trieu, Revon C. Crowley, Alyssum Desrosiers, and Juliusz A. Bauer all belong to me. A few characters mentioned (surnames Sharnaz, Thazeen, and Fardowsa), as well as Arty, also belong to me. There are a lot in this one folks, haha.

Additional Note: This is a repost of a story of mine, with a few minor changes. It's over 11k words, so sit down and get comfy!

“Don’t forget to read pages one hundred seventy-two through one hundred eighty-eight,” reminded the assistant professor to the students. “The information found within the text will be on tomorrow’s test.”

A series of grumbles and groans followed the pupils as they walked out of the classroom and into the hall, off to lunch. Henry reorganized their desk space, restacking books on the left and sorting papers that needed to be graded on the right. He placed the feathered pen back in its inkwell, right after making sure said inkwell wasn’t in need of a refill. Once the desk was properly sorted, he erased the chalkboard directly behind him, then wrote down the instructions for the start of class with a piece of crisp white chalk. After dusting off his hands with the cloth used for that specific purpose, Henry walked down the aisles of student desks, making sure no one had left any belongings or trash behind. Satisfied that everything was in order for the next class, Henry gathered his things from the little cabinet next to the door. The strap of his canvas bag looped over his shoulder, the assistant teacher exited the room and headed to the cafeteria.

It was a pretty day outside. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, the air seemed sweet. The man’s calico cat ears twitched as they listened to a few birds chirp below, likely perched in a tree or on a bench. He couldn’t help but flick out his tongue for a taste of that sweet wind as a gentle breeze blew by. Henry quickly retracted that tongue as two students passed him from behind; he gave them a polite wave of greeting, which they returned with a smile before they continued on. The stress of teaching class slowly trickled its way out of his mind and body. It would soon return, likely in the afternoon once the school day was done, yet Henry didn’t mind too much.

Night Raven College was exactly where the beastkin wanted to be. For years they’ve dreamt of being a teacher - to get an opportunity to be a professor at their alma mater was extra special! Henry had applied for the position of assistant professor on a whim, not believing he would even get an interview. How surprised he was when the headmage himself contacted him and set one up with him. It was Trein that had recommended Henry for the position; the same man who wrote Henry’s letter of recommendation for his university of choice shortly before he graduated from Night Raven. Now, here Henry was: an assistant to Professor Trein, and a candidate for his replacement upon his retirement. Life couldn’t be better!

“Mr. Toan!” Henry stalled his stride as someone called his name. He turned to see a student approaching him: Ortho Shroud. The teacher smiled as the robotic boy approached, books clutched to his chest. His big yellow eyes practically twinkled as he gazed up at the beastkin; the new freshman looked quite smart in his new model, fashioned after the uniform for Ignihyde first years. “I decided to write about the lost city of Atlantis for my history paper. Can you recommend some books to read to help with my research?”

Henry chuckled to himself - there was at least one freshman eager to learn. “I think I can help with that. How about we reconvene at the library after the day is done? We can decide on the best options together.”

Ortho nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you so much, sir!” As the boy began to levitate back the way he came, he gave the teacher a friendly wave. “I’ll see you later!”

Henry waved back, right up until the boy disappeared around a corner. Not every student could be so dedicated. Although, Henry supposed he could sympathize with those who despised anything to do with education, at least to a degree. Back when he was a student, Henry always struggled with master chef and conjuration. He was barely able to pass those classes with a high mark, and that took a lot of struggle and studying, trial and error. Even now, as an adult working on their master’s degree, Henry still found those subjects to be quite troublesome. Not everyone could be like him and be stubborn enough to keep trucking along without giving up.

As Henry reached the road leading to the cafeteria, he paused and winced, placing a hand on his hip. The faintest grimace crossed his face, eyelids falling shut as he swallowed the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. Great Seven, what a pain! If it were up to Henry, that was one thing they would do away with. However, as he was still considering what he wanted from that part of life, he’d neglected to look into any sort of surgery to permanently fix the problem. After a small hiss, followed by a deep breath, Henry opened his eyes and let his hand fall back to his side.

“Hey, you okay?”

Henry glanced over at the woman that now stood beside him. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“That time again, huh?” she suggested with a smile.

“Not quite, but it’s getting close.”

“You want to come with me to the infirmary?” she offered. “I’m heading there anyway; we can pick you up some painkillers.”

That did sound nice. Henry checked the watch on their wrist - yes, he should still have enough time to grab a bite to eat afterwards. “Yes, I’ll come with,” he said with a smile.

It wasn’t that long of a walk, really. Within about ten minutes they were there, engaging in polite conversation even after they’d entered the nurse’s office. The ghost on shift gave the two a nod of acknowledgement as they entered. Once it was returned and the pair shut the door behind them, the nurse attendant went back to his business, making beds at the end of the room. There were no students in the room; as the ghost was privy to Henry’s situation, there was no reason to hide whilst there.

“How’s that binder treating you?” Revon asked as she handed Henry - Filis - the bottle of painkillers.

Filis let out a sigh as she fetched herself a styrofoam cup and filled it with water from the sink faucet. “I’m wondering if it’s for me. It’s awfully suffocating, and it only makes my cramps worse when my period comes.”

Revon hummed in thought. “You think you need a bigger size? Maybe one made of a different material?”

Filis shook her head as she sat down in a chair next to one of the beds close to the door. “No… I’ll probably just stop wearing it.” She placed the cup of water on the small side table next to her and opened the bottle of pills, pouring two into her open palm before closing it. “I’m so used to wearing sweaters and cardigans that I won’t feel much of a difference. I doubt any student will bat an eye, either, as that’s my usual fashion.”

Revon watched as Filis put the pills in her mouth and swallowed them down with a few gulps of water. “Well, at least you tried. You’re right, it’s definitely not for everyone.” She met Filis’s eye as she placed her cup on the table. “You think your regular bra will keep you from, y’know…bouncing?”

Filis let out a small, quiet laugh. “There’s barely anything to bounce!” She patted her chest. “These have been kept hidden since I came here as a freshman. No one noticed then - I don’t think they will now, especially with the layers I wear.”

Revon nodded. She paused for a moment, thinking something over. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Filis shook her head. “This is probably a dumb question, as I’m sure you went over your options before applying here, but you never thought to teach at a girls’ school? You certainly wouldn’t have to hide anything there,” she paused a second time, briefly, then finished her thought with, “though I’ll admit I don’t know why you even hide you’re a woman here. We’ve been accepting female students for a while now.”

Filis shrugged. “Force of habit, I guess? I told you that, when I enrolled here, it was before Crowley opened the school’s doors to all genders.” She shot Revon a smile, “No thanks to you, I assume.”

Revon put on a coy smile of her own as she shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Who can say?~”

It still was a little unbelievable who her father was, honestly. Filis nearly fell out of her chair when that little fact was revealed to her. “I guess it just might be kind of weird to some? I mean, I’ve masqueraded as a boy since I was sixteen. A part of me will always be Henry Wendall. Taon - switching over to Filis Olivia. Seaveworth won’t change that.” She took another sip of her water. “I also don’t want anyone to start treating me differently, whether due to my gender or my name.”

Her family name, to be exact. It wasn’t always Seaveworth, but upon her adoption Filis was thrust into high society. It felt like whiplash the first year or so, and while she’d grown used to it, the status came with its drawbacks. People kissing up to you and stop considering you a person and more of a prospect, for example. Filis was quite happy with being Henry W. Taon - Mr. Taon to many - for now. She likely would make the change to her actual name at some point, but for now she was happy with where she was.

“Well,” Revon began, “if you ever do decide to make the big reveal while you’re here, I can promise you I’ll handle any backlash or trouble that might come with it. No one should really bat an eye, since people transition and take new pronouns all the time, but there will always be some people.” Revon flipped a few tresses of hair over her shoulder for effect. “And I oh so love to deal with those types of people.”

Oh, Filis was well aware of that. She recalled the last time Revon had to wrangle an angry parent, and when she previously had to give a student a very stern talking to. Each for a separate reason, yet each held one similarity: those types of individuals were downright rude and entitled and did not know when to quit. The only reason Filis let Revon deal with her share of those miscreants instead of taking care of it herself was, as bad as it might sound, Revon had daddy’s protection. Seven held the one who tried to touch the headmage’s little bird. For how often he hinted at threats concerning his daughter, everyone and their mother knew he was serious.

“True identity aside, I really do like it here,” Filis added. “I would like to stay here as long as possible, even if I don’t take Mozus’ place when he retires. My family worked too hard to get me here as a student; I’m not going to back out now when I’m about to reach the goal they’ve supported since then.”

Revon knew which family she was referring to. “You know, if you don’t win a teacher’s award at some point, I’m going to peck out the eyes of whoever’s in charge of handing them out.”

Filis laugh was louder this time. “Do not!”

“Whaaat?” Revon mused. “They’ll never know it was me! It’ll just be some random bird with a mysterious vendetta.”

Filis felt a little sad Revon, Divus, Sam, and Ashton weren’t in her class during her time as a student. She believed those years would’ve been extra amounts of fun with them around. There truly wouldn’t have been much reason for worry.

Filis, currently Henry, watched as all the students filed in. He - she - gave a polite greeting to each that walked in; whether or not they replied at all depended on the person. Filis could discern which had gotten a full night’s rest and which decided to pull an all-nighter by the looks on their faces. Each placed stapled stacks of papers on the desk, right in the little basket Filis had set out to retrieve them. A few she could already tell would have poor grades, as they were either one page only or sparsely written. Those were from the usual suspects, of course. There was teenage rebellion and angst aplenty about the school.

When the last student took their seat, Filis grew a little puzzled. A few of them were absent, she realized. The first she noticed was Ortho, whose bright, joyful orbs of sparkling yellow had not greeted her at all that day, as they often did. The boy always tried to arrive early, especially attentive to his studies. Filis had been looking forward to reading his paper, which he’d been working so hard on the past two weeks. The memory of them picking out books at the library for Ortho’s research on Atlantis still hung fresh in her mind.

The other freshmen missing were Ace Trappola and Jack Howl. The former wasn’t too surprising, but the latter? Goodness, had they all fallen ill? Perhaps they partook in too much fast food or candy or some other treat that they overindulged in over the recent weekend, and now they were all sick in their beds? Wait, that didn’t make much sense for Ortho. The cybernetic boy couldn’t exactly eat, given his anatomy - his entire physical body. Filis didn’t feel like he and Jack would skip class with Ace, either.

When Trein arrived moments later, Filis pointed out the missing students. According to him, he hadn’t heard about anything befalling the three that would prevent them from attending class. While he brushed off the absence of Trappola, given his record, the professor stated he would check-in with the status of Shroud and Howl later. So, trying not to worry, Filis went on about her day. The majority of the first and second classes were spent reading and grading research papers, which was a very time consuming task. Thankfully, there were only a few times she pulled Trein aside for a second opinion on a student’s work.

It was one of those times when Filis noticed that there were other students missing from the lineup. This occurred in the second class of the day, which included sophomores. There were five missing this time: Jade and Floyd Leech, Liling Trieu, and Kalim Al-Asim. Jamil Viper was also absent. Later in the day, when everyone breaked for lunch, she was able to figure out where Jamil had gone off to. Apparently, according to Divus, Jamil had taken the day off to search for Kalim - the Al-Asim heir was missing. Filis’ colleagues, including Crowley himself, were looking into the matter at the moment, though how much Crowley would actually do was up for debate.

When it was time for the last class of the day, Filis truly began to worry. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Leona Kingscholar to be absent, and only a little odd for Cater Diamond to be. For Vil Schoenheit, Lilia Vanrouge, Persayis N. Siofra, Juliusz A. Bauer, and Trey Clover though? Fourteen students were missing. That was no coincidence. It was certainly cause for alarm; while Filis and Trein remained calm for the duration of class, afterwards an emergency meeting was held in Crowley’s office.

“Oh, you know how children are,” Dire Crowley mused. “They’ve likely skipped class to go off and make some mischief! I’m sure they will be back soon.”

“They are missing, dad!” Revon bit back. “Sure, a few of them like to skip class from time to time; they could have probably snuck off campus. But Vil? Persayis? They’ve nary missed a single day of school! Why would they suddenly take flight now?”

The man that was somehow the father of such a woman shrugged, in much the same way she would. “Youthly rebellion?”

Revon looked as though she might blow a fuse. It almost appeared as though her eyes were beginning to glow, her teeth grit in rage. Before a brawl could ensue, Trein spoke up. “I highly advise that we investigate the matter. Even if this turns out to be something trivial, it is our duty to assure the safety of our students. They could be in great peril.”

“I took it upon myself to question some of their peers,” Divus interjected. “Viper was the first to raise alarm; Hunt, Felmier, Bucchi, Rosehearts, Thazeen, Spade, Fardowsa, and the older Shroud were soon to follow. Just before I came to this meeting, Ashengrotto and Sharnaz also came to me with their concerns.”

“Draconia and his two attendants came to me earlier during our flying lessons,” Vargas piped up. He cut his eyes at Crowley. “They told me they’d come to you about Vanrouge and Siofra this morning, but said you just assured he’d turn up eventually.”

The headmage was slowly being backed into a corner. “I am well aware of the maturity of those two. I simply thought they might be out. Who are we to keep two legal adults under wraps?”

“When they’re loved ones don’t even know where they are?” Revon practically spat. “If I were the one missing, you’d be turning the whole island on its head!”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. It was Sam who broke the momentary silence. “Might I add that one of the little imps that’s MIA is the prince of the Sunset Savanna. Tell me, wise headmage: what would happen if word were to get back to his family - his brother, the current king regent, that his own flesh and blood went off the radar whilst attending this school? If I were him, I’d certainly have a number of questions.” He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. “Not to mention his highness’s current lover, who I’ve heard the king regent and his wife are very fond of.”

Filis could almost make out the sweat beading under Crowley’s shirt collar. There was no need for another push. The rest of the meeting was spent discussing how to proceed, aside from contacting the authorities and tracking down the students’ last known location. Each staff member had their part of play; unfortunately for Filis, hers was the smallest. She was to go back to Trein’s office and grade the rest of the second year’s research papers, and then go back to her living quarters for the evening. “I do not give you the task out of a lack of trust in you,” Trein explained to his assistant before he sent her on her way. “You simply do not yet possess the necessary experience to handle a situation like this.”

Though it did nothing to quell Filis’ unease, she wasn’t offended. Mozus was right: she had never experienced a crisis like this. While she certainly hoped one of this magnitude hadn’t occurred in the past, Mozus and the rest of the staff were certainly trained in the procedures one should follow in these circumstances. Filis would be sure to ask to be trained in these as soon as the students were found and everything was settled. The beastwoman could barely concentrate on her work - her attention kept going back to her students. She could picture them all in her mind’s eye, their faces clear as day. Ortho stood out the most, his pupils full of excitement and wonder, curious about the world around him and willing to do whatever it took to explore it.

Filis imagined their friends and loved ones were just as distraught. Whether their relationship be platonic, romantic, or familial, their hearts were likely being ripped to shreds now. Filis recalled Divus stating that Idia told him he couldn’t locate his brother via the tracker planted within his body. It was as though the boy had disappeared off the face of Twisted Wonderland! “It’s like he just floated out into the sea and poof! Gone!” For a young man that barely got any sleep to begin with, Filis reckoned he wouldn’t droop an eye anytime soon.

Filis sighed as she put down her ballpoint pen, letting it roll across the desk before coming to a stop beside a paperweight. She laid her head in the center of her folded arms, placed atop the desk as a makeshift pillow. Where could they be? Where had they run off to? They couldn’t have taken the mirror - her colleagues would have been able to track that. There was no way they could get off the island without being seen. They couldn’t just up and disappear without a trace!

As Filis thought and thought, picking her brain for any sort of clue, a memory came to mind. It was just yesterday, in fact, when it occurred. Ortho had come to her again in the late afternoon, returning a paperclip he’d borrowed earlier in the day. There was no need to give it back, but the boy was so kind and well-mannered he didn’t like the thought of taking something from Filis - Mr. Taon - like that. As Filis did not want anything in return, Ortho felt it was only right to give back what she’d lended him. “If you receive kindness, you should give it in return,” he’d told her. What a sweet boy…

She and the student made small talk before going their separate ways. Filis recollected Ortho telling her about a ticket he received earlier in the day. It was for some carnival or fair, if Filis remembered right. “I wanted my brother to come with me, but he doesn’t like things like that. He thinks it’s a bad idea… I still hope I can go. It sounds like a lot of fun!”

“It does,” Filis concurred then. “What is it for again? I don’t remember any news of a festival being held in town.”

“It’s a traveling amusement park!” Ortho had replied to her, looking ecstatic by the prospect. “It’s called Playful Land! You can only enter if you have a ticket. I’m so pleased I got one! I’ve never been to an amusement park before.”

Playful Land. The name had sounded familiar, but Filis couldn’t recall where she’d heard it then, and couldn’t now. Who’d given Ortho such a rare opportunity. A once in a lifetime venture, from the sound of it. The fact he disappeared the day after he’d regaled Filis of the entry ticket he’d received for it… Could the other students have gotten similar tickets? She further remembered Ortho telling her about going into town with some of his friends that day…

Filis reached into the pocket of her black slacks and took out a silver coin. It’d been given to her long ago by Arty: a member of her found family, the one she gained before her adoption. It was a good luck charm of sorts, one he gifted to her when she was just nine years old. Back then she wore a shirt and pants that were two sizes too big, a scruffy hand-me-down jacket with sleeves that went over her hands, and thrifted brown boots. She smiled fondly at the old memory, feeling nostalgic for those bygone days. If you’d told her little self that she’d one day have more riches than she knew what to do with, she would’ve believed you were a scam artist trying to sell her something. They were a dime a dozen in that part of town.

“Take it as a reminder, kid,” Arty had told her, wearing a pair of black shades. Filis always thought they made him look cool. “There will always be bad times, but good things will eventually come your way. Don’t get your tail up in a knot about it.” She remembered how he slid his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose and sent her a wink, paired with that devil-may-care smile. “Why should you worry?”

Neither of them knew that, years later, she would name her signature spell after that motto. No one could have known where her life would lead her. The coin she held in the crook of her thumb and forefinger, its old metal faintly clinting in the dim lamplight, was a daily reminder of where she came from. She would never forget, and never be ashamed. She was Filis Olivia - give or take the Seaveworth title. Good times were around the corner; everything would work out, just like it always did.

“Why Should I Worry?”

From the rim of the coin shot out a beam of light - not too bright, not too dim. Its soft blue hue matched that of Filis’ favorite color, the same shade as the pullover sweater she wore over her white button up. She sat herself up and stood from her chair, leaving the many papers - graded and ungraded - behind. From her canvas bag, left open beside the desk, Filis grabbed her magic pen. It was the same one she received in her freshman year at the college; somehow, she’d managed to keep it looking relatively new. Only the magetone was new, having been replaced the year prior. It matched the same shade of blue as the stream of light that led her out the door and off Night Raven College campus.

Filis’ brow furrowed as she reached the edge of the dock. What in the world…? The beam of light, still emanating from her lucky coin, stretched out to sea. It seemed to stop towards the middle of the expanse, but Filis couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, it could lead her many miles out, far away from Sage Island. This was certainly dangerous. She had to be smart if she wanted to get her and the students back to the college safely.

Filis noticed that the lights of the island’s library were still on. Though it was a little past closing time, Filis tried the door anyway. Thankfully, it opened, the bell of above chiming as she entered. “We’re closed,” came a voice from within. Filis approached the front desk; a few minutes later, a man only half a decade older than her emerged from the back. He didn’t look too pleased to see her, likely eager to go home for the night. Filis recognized him, and he recognized her, his facial expression shifting to one of surprise.

“I’m sorry to come in so late, Alyssum,” Filis said with an apologetic smile.

“For you to come in after closing, it must be important.” He placed his hands against the desk and leaned forward, their ponytail - this time, it was tied back with a teal ribbon rather than blue - falling over their shoulder. “Do you need to check something out for a class?”

“No, not tonight. I need a favor.”

The librarian raised a brow. “And that would be…?”

“Can I leave a note here with you? I hope you won’t have to deliver it, but it’s a precautionary measure.”

Their expression shifted to one of concern. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Filis admitted. “But my student may very well be.” Filis glanced down at the coin in her hands, the beam of light balancing on its edge pointed slightly to the side, out the window and towards the sea. Alyssum couldn’t see it, of course - he’d be even more puzzled if so. She put it in her pocket for now. “I think I know where they are. It’s risky, but I need to go now, before something bad happens.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.” She pointed to a small basket of blank sheets of paper. “Can I have one of those?”

Alyssum retrieved her one, along with a black pen. With haste, Filis scribbled down where she was going, and where her colleagues should look. She then folded the note and handed it to Alyssum. “Give this to the headmage at Night Raven College if I’m not back here by lunchtime tomorrow. Please.”

With some hesitance, Alyssum accepted the note. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to wait until the proper authorities arrive? I could give them a call.”

“I can’t wait that long.” Filis was determined to get to her students as quickly as possible. To wait any longer may put them in further peril. “I’m sorry to put you up to this. When I come back, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yes, when.” Alyssum cut a stern look at their frequent patron. “Not if. I swear, if you wind up missing, too, I’ll hunt you down myself!”

Filis’ ears perked up in surprise. “You’ve heard?”

The librarian shook his head. “Not a word, but I can put the pieces together.” He rolled his eyes. “A proper headmage you have over there.” Filis couldn’t argue with that. Alyssum sighed as he said, “Alright, I’ll do as you ask, if needed be.” He stood up straight again as he added, “I expect you back here a few minutes before lunch.”

Filis smiled from cheek to cheek. “Thank you.”

Alyssum watched her go, right up until the library door shut behind her. As Filis reapproached the peer, descended the stairs to the dock, she picked her magic pen out of her pocket and raised it in the air. She mumbled an incarnation under her breath, one she’d repeated probably a million times. Just as she reached the edge of the dock, something swished over from above her. Slowly, the woman’s broom floated down, the initials H.W.T carved into the wooden handle. Beside that was painted a tiny blue bow, and in the center of that was an even tinier painted yellow bell. Another reminder of her family back home - who, without a doubt, would do something crazy like this for her.

Filis pulled her broom over by the hand before mounting it. Usually she’d give herself a mental pat on the back for no longer being nervous to ride the thing, let alone fly, but now was not the time for such sentiments. Before she disembarked, she looped the button of her pants pocket into its hole, shutting the opening. That would prevent her lucky coin from slipping out of her pocket mid flight. The beam of light passed through the dark fabric, still trailing out to sea. Filis took a deep breath as she set her sights out on the horizon, swallowing any fear she might have and building up her courage. As she exhaled, she took off on her broom, following the blue trail.

About thirty-five minutes passed before the light began to reach its end. Filis squeezed her magic pen a little tighter as she approached her destination. She grew troubled as she neared the end of the trail. There was nothing there. Her heart began to sink, her mind coming up with all sorts of horrid possibilities. They couldn’t be… How would they…?

She gasped as she passed through something thick, as though she were flying through pea soup. It was cold and tingly, kind of like when she traveled by magic mirror. Her ears flattened against her head; every piece of fur and hair on her person stood on-end. Filis’ left hand gripped her broom tight, as did her right around her pen. She shut her eyes, pushing forward and forward and forward. Then, after what was probably only a few seconds, it stopped. Filis flinched as bright lights suddenly appeared in front of her closed eyelids.

When she opened them, she gasped again as she looked down at the new landscape she’d just entered. It was an amusement park! There was a gigantic roller coaster at the rear, a humongous eight ball to her left, a sprawling mansion behind the eight ball, and a water ride that ran the length of the north side of the park - all spaced out between funhouses and food stalls and colorful tents. When she looked ahead, Filis beheld a grand theater, bright lights highlighting its rich red curtains, gilded gold trimmings, and black and white striped stage. Filis slowed her speed, barely above a drift as she began to lower herself to the ground. She swept strands of hair away from her face, clearing her vision. As she descended, she observed various broken wooden figures scattered about the place, though a few here and there still remained in one piece.

“Puppets?” Filis mumbled to herself, curiously looking about. A few miles away, there stood the remnants of some building, now a shadow of its former self. Now that she got a better look at the land around her, the place was an absolute mess! It was like a stampede had run through, tearing apart everything in sight! “What happened here?” she whispered.

Her ears perked up as she heard a noise come from somewhere behind her. It came a second time, then a third. Filis quickly realized it was a voice, what’s more one she recognized. That had to be Ace! Another voice cried out after him: Kalim! They sounded like they were in trouble! Filis hopped off her broom and left it behind as she ran towards the theater, the source of their cries, magic pen at the ready.

She slowed to a stop as she neared the towering curtains framing the stage. There were other people with them, she realized. However, the voice that spoke now wasn’t familiar. It sounded like an older man, ordering someone else to put another in a cage “with the other one.” Filis crouched down and itched over to the entrance, discreetly taking a peek behind the curtain on the right. She had to hold in the gasp that dared to rip from her throat. All the missing students were there, in cages, and Filis was just in time to watch an unconscious Persayis be thrown into the one that contained Lilia.

Filis waited for the man to come to her side, to embrace and comfort her, perhaps try to wake her. To Filis’ surprise he didn’t move - not an inch. A rabid fury raged behind those dark eyes, yet the fae refused to budge. Could he not move? Filis glanced around at the other students - most of them weren’t moving, either. That was her biggest hint her assumption was correct, given that Floyd would have been throwing a fit in his predicament, especially since his little girlfriend, Liling, was trapped along with him.

Those poor things…Ace and Kalim were the only ones who seemed to still possess the ability to move. They protested and resisted, unwilling to back down, though it seemed Kalim was beginning to give in. Suddenly, a cell phone rang. It was only then Filis noticed a beastman standing a short several feet away from the cages. She figured he must be in cahoots with the smaller one, who just finished closing the cage holding Lilia and Persayis. The little one, just a bit younger than sixteen, put his droopy eyed gaze on the taller man, who excused himself to answer the phone. The boy, his partner in crime, did not follow.

It was then Filis witnessed just how cunning her students could be. Ace began to appeal to the younger boy, talking about his time at Night Raven College. A few of his classmates - thankfully, they at least still possessed the ability to speak - soon joined in, recalling all their misadventures at the school. The little boy, whose clothes were way too big for his body, seemed intrigued by their stories. He clutched his toy hammer in his hands, nearly equaling him in height. His large pupils and bright green orbs sparkled in wonderment, much like Ortho’s when he was beholding something that amazed him. Despite this, when Ace tried to coax the boy into freeing them, so they could take him back to Night Raven and show him what a good time he could have there, the beastman shrunk back and shook his head.

Something compelled Filis to step out of hiding. She stepped out from behind the curtain, the sound of her footsteps catching everyone’s attention. “Mr. Taon?!” Kalim yelled in surprise, but was hastily and vehemently shushed by his underclassman. From behind Ace and Kalim, Filis could see Persayis was starting to come to. Unlike the others present, she wasn’t wearing a mask. Could those masks be the key to their predicament?

Filis decided to figure that out later. For now, she focused on the small boy before her, droopy eyes now wider than before as they stared up at her. He appeared afraid, hammer at the ready to wallop her. If it could do much damage to begin with. She put on a friendly smile, holding up her hand to silently shush him. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Against her better judgment, she put her magic pen away in her right pocket. Her lucky coin, kept safe in her left one, still beamed that ray of blue light. It passed the boy and shot in the direction of where that other man had gone. So, he was the one Filis was supposed to find. She’d deal with him soon enough. She bent down a little as she maintained eye contact with the beastman, trying to get down on his level.

“My name is F-” She stopped herself, recalling who she was around. “Mr. Taon. You can call me Henry, if you want.” The boy still appeared unsure, but there was now a curious glimmer in his gaze. “I’m an assistant teacher at Night Raven College.” She pointed towards the cages.

“Those are my students over there. I was worried when they didn’t come to class, so I came looking for them.” Filis knew outright accusing the boy of kidnapping them, helping that other man imprison them and Seven knew what else, would be a bad move. She wracked her brain for what she’d been taught at her university, recalling how to talk to children his age. “What’s your name?” she asked. The boy didn’t answer - he simply stared up at her.

“His name’s Gidel,” Ace offered up from within his cage. “He can’t speak.”

Oh, so that's why the little cat was so quiet. She wondered if he knew sign language. To test her theory, Filis asked Gidel in sign, “Do you understand this?” Gidel continued to stare at her, this time with a wisp of confusion across his face. Well, there was her answer. “Did you see what I did with my hands? That’s called sign language.”

Gidel tilted his head to the side and blinked, growing evermore curious. He wanted to know more. “It’s a language specifically designed for people like you,” she explained. “It takes a while to learn,” she gave him an encouraging smile, “but I think you could get the hang of it!” This next question was a little stupid, but if it got Gidel to communicate, it was worth a shot. “Have you ever been to school?”

Gidel shook his head ‘no.’ What? That was strange…boys like him should be coming into middle school by now. She glanced in the direction of where the older beastman had disappeared. Just what had he been doing with this child, not giving him an education? That was all sorts of neglect! This boy might be as much of a victim as her students were.

She tore her gaze away from the backstage area and turned her attention back to Gidel. Filis kept her voice calm and light, as if she were talking to a friend. “Do you think you’d like to learn sign language?” Gidel paused for a moment, thinking the prospect over. Then the most adorable of little smiles crossed his face as he nodded his head. “Well, I’d love to teach you. I could make some time for it after my classes back at the college.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Kalim piped up, seeming a little more chipper than before. “Mr. Taon’s a great teacher! He helped me when I was having trouble with my History of Magic class.” Kalim looked very proud of himself, chest puffed out and grinning from ear to ear as he added, “I passed my exam with high marks!”

“Yeah, what he said!” It was Ace that spoke up this time. “Mr. Taon got Professor Trein off my back when I didn’t turn in my homework one time. He even convinced him to give me a little more time to turn it in! I’m sure he’ll stick his neck out for you, too.” Ace sure hadn’t expressed his thanks before - it felt good to hear him say that about her. Filis’ confidence got a little boost, which caused her smile to brighten.

“School can be hard,” Filis said honestly. “But it is also a lot of fun! You can learn so many things, and it can lead to you doing something you really like to do.”

“And get paid for it!” Ace added. Gidel certainly perked up at that. So, money was a motivating factor for him. Filis could sympathize - she knew what it was like to go without.

“Mr. Taon let me pick out the topic for my research paper!” Filis finally noticed Ortho, who was stationed in a cage a little behind Ace and Kalim. He was dressed like a little drummer boy, Filis thought. “It was so much fun to learn about Atlantis! It’s an ancient city that existed long ago and-” Ortho stopped himself. “Oh, I shouldn’t spoil it; Mr. Taon hasn’t read it yet!”

Filis’ heart melted at the young Shroud’s excitement. He’d worked really hard on his report, reading over every single page of the books Filis helped him pick out. She couldn’t wait to sit back and read what he’d written.

“A boy your age should be surrounded by other children.” Every head - that could move - turned to look at Persayis, who seemed to have just come to. Though she appeared to have not come around fully, she offered Gidel a kind smile. “You would be able to make friendships that last a lifetime.”

Gidel flinched away from the fae. There was an apparent fear in his eyes, his little body trembling a tad. Persayis’s smile was replaced by a look of shame and sadness, tucking herself as far out of sight as she could. Though he could not move, Lilia’s eyes portrayed his wish to comfort the poor thing. Filis pondered what could have happened before she arrived that made the boy so afraid of Persayis. She supposed she would receive the answer at a later date. “I really would love for you to come back with us,” Filis said, regaining Gidel’s attention. She held out a hand towards him in peace, “I promise to help you in any way I can.”

Gidel stared at her in silence, blinking every other second. He studied her like that for a few long moments, expression unreadable. Then, with barely a sound, he turned and walked away, in the direction where the other man had gone. Filis’ heart sank - she didn’t convince him. Gidel likely went off to tell the man about her, an intruder, so he could come and take her down. “Shit,” she cursed under her breath. What to do, what to do…

Filis noticed Kalim and Ace had gone stark still, along with Ortho. Oh no, she was running out of time! She bolted over to the boys and asked in a rush, “What’s happened to you?”

“The masks,” Kalim answered, struggling to speak. “They’re stuck to our faces; they’re gonna turn us into wooden puppets!”

Filis felt sick to her stomach. That’s what was happening to them? They were slowly being turned into dolls?

“It’s an ancient curse.” Filis whipped her head around as Persayis spoke up, a little more awake now than she’d been before. “Before, when we were given the masks, I got a feeling I’d seen them before. I discreetly tossed mine away and made a replica with my own magic while I tried to figure out where they’d come from.” She hung her head, tears in her eyes. “I realized when it was far too late.”

“Is there a way to break it?” Filis asked, trying to keep her cool.

“We couldn’t,” came her reply. “Only the caster can dispel the curse. There is another way, but we do not have the materials necessary.” Persayis raised her head to look up at Lilia. “If it would even work now.” It was apparent she was trying to not break down crying. “I’m so sorry…”

With great strain, Lilia managed a smile, a silent way to tell his love it was not her fault. It was all so heartbreaking… To think this could be their fate, and there was nothing Filis or anyone could do to stop it. …No, there was a way. Filis ripped her magic pen out of her pocket. She spun around and began to march in the direction Gidel and that other man had gone. If that man was the caster, he could break the curse - Filis would make him if it was the last thing she ever did.

Filis didn’t make it far. A few steps in and the two appeared from around the corner. The three paused simultaneously in their stride, shocked to see her standing there, more-so the older beastman beside Gidel. He appeared to be a fox beastman, now that Filis got a closer look at him. His clothes were neat, yet patched up in certain areas. They were old, that was for certain. With her lower class upbringing, Filis could spot a person down on their luck from a mile away.

Filis directed her magic pen right at the man’s head. A low hiss rose from the back of her throat, teeth bared and body prepared for a fight. No matter what, she was going to free her students from their cages, from that horrible curse. She was their teacher, their protector. That man was not going to get away with this! There was no time for thoughts of failure or all that could go wrong.

Why should she worry?

“There you go,” Filis said, handing the boy his workbook. “Remember: finish pages twelve and thirteen, and then you’re finished for the day.” She pooped the little man on the nose; it crinkled as he smiled and closed his eyes on instinct, his freckles in full view. “And I mean it! You’ll burn yourself out if you study too much.”

He smiled and nodded, then turned around and trotted back to his room. He would sit at his little desk, in his comfy little chair, and do as he was instructed down to the letter. Gidel was such a diligent student, so eager to learn everything he could get his hands on. It was trouble enough to get him to stop working and be a kid and play! Filis smiled as she watched him go, right up until he disappeared from view. She then went back to cutting vegetables on the counter - something she herself had taken time to practice over the past two years. Filis was quite proud of her progress.

In the next room over, the front door opened. “Honey, I’m home!~” came a voice in a sing-song tone, followed by the door shutting. Filis rolled her eyes, smile now mocking as she shook her head as she continued to chop the carrot into thick, but not too thick slices. Footsteps entered the room behind her, followed by the sound of three brown paper bags being placed on the kitchen table. Those footsteps swiftly approached Filis from behind; before she could react, two arms wrapped around her midsection and pulled her back against a strong chest. She gasped, almost dropping the knife as a kiss was pressed to her neck with an accentuated “mwah!”

“Fellow Honest, I have a knife!” Filis scolded, turning her head as far as she could to look back at the sneaky fox.

The man nonchalantly shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” Then proceeded to give Filis another lip smack, this time on her jaw.

Filis placed the knife on the cutting board, so neither one of them would get stabbed. Fellow rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, the silk blue bow tied at the back of her hair tickling his chin. Filis wrapped her arms around his own just as he placed a kiss on her scalp. “Someone’s clingy today,” she commented, a grin pulling at her mouth as he delivered a kiss to her ear.

Fellow made a hum in question. “Would you rather me be stoic and aloof and not shower you in kisses?”

Filis pretended to mull the prospect over. “Hm…if you were to act like that, I’d assume you were not who you said you were and proceed to beat you senseless until you told me where the real Fellow was.”

“Oh, come now, Filis!” The fox spun her around, releasing her from his hold in favor of addressing himself with his hand. “You really think someone could replicate my charms?~”

Without skipping a beat, Filis snapped back with, “Most likely.”

His expression shifted to one of surprise, thick brows scrunched in confusion, one rising in an arch. Then, just as quick, it switched to one of great pain and disappointment, Fellow’s ears flattening as he placed his hand over his heart. “To insult me so blatantly!” He sniffled. “And I thought you loved me.”

“Oh, don’t start that mess!” Filis lightly tugged at a lock of his bright orange hair. “Did you get everything we need for the stew?”

He threw out his previous theatrics and nodded. “All except the celery. They just ran out when I got to the market.”

Filis began to take the produce and other groceries out of the paper bags and set them on the kitchen table. “It’s alright, we can do without. We would have barely tasted it anyway.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Wash up and help me cut these up?”

Fellow swept down in a deep bow as he winked. “Your wish is my command, fair lady~”

Again, Filis rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. As Fellow turned on the kitchen sink faucet and proceeded to wash his hands, she couldn’t help but pause to watch him. In her mind, she could picture him in those elaborately patched clothes he wore when she’d met him. Fellow had looked like a ringmaster, but he’d mentioned to her before that that was the vibe he’d been going for. Nowadays, he often wore more casual attire: plain or graphic t-shirts, green cargo pants, a dark denim jacket, and a pair of black and white converse. Well, casual was the dress code unless Fellow was going to work, or some other time he needed to spruce himself up. The fox looked forward to dressing in such a manner, as he found it very fun.

In a way, he and Gidel both were still getting used to living in relative comfort, not having to scrounge for food or wear tattered, and sometimes oversized, clothing. It’d been a hard road since the two started fresh, right after the Playful Land fiasco. Filis had aided the duo when she could, one of the key helping hands being when she loaned Fellow enough money to attend career school. That was right after he obtained his GED, which Filis also helped out with in terms of studying. For all the bad cards dealt to the man throughout his life, Filis wasn’t surprised when he immediately grew suspicious of her generosity. Filis being part of the upper class was a deterring factor as well. That was until Filis took Fellow and Gidel with her to visit her family - not just her adoptive one.

The childrens’ home wasn’t as rickety and rugged as it was when Filis was a child, yet one could tell it lacked exceptional funds. The home only had two sponsors: the Seaveworth family and the government. While Filis’ adopted father poured a huge sum into the orphanage’s accounts every six months, it couldn’t buy everything. Even so, the Fifth Avenue Homestead was moving up in the world, slowly but surely. Filis always kept an eye out for other potential sponsors; recently, she’d even managed to get a charity organization to donate to the place. The home’s growth was documented with several photographs taken by its residents over the years. Gidel picked Filis out of many without much problem, and the look of her and everyone else back then gave Fellow a glimpse into just how similar their childhoods were, at least financially.

The romance was the unexpected bonus of the whole arrangement. It started out as a simple acquaintanceship; as Filis provided Gidel with an education, she lent a hand in Fellow advancing his and acquiring a suitable occupation. A little while later, Filis and her adoptive father began to set the groundwork for the school Fellow dreamed of opening for underprivileged children - with and without magical abilities. It would be located in a vacant townhouse just a couple blocks from where the three lived now. With a little remodeling, renovation, and the acquisition of study materials and other school necessities, it would be ready to open its doors. While Filis would be the face of the facility, it was only temporary until Fellow received his own teaching license. Just a little more saving, a little more hard work, and they could set that in motion, too.

To think she, a year and a half ago, wanted nothing more than to send the man flying into the Coral Sea. Under the circumstances, as well as Fellow’s own actions, no one could blame her - not even Fellow and Gidel. That pride had definitely been hard to swallow for the fox, but that was one thing he promised her he’d become more of: honest. It was a steep learning curve after lying and deceiving for so long, but Fellow was getting the hang of it. If there was one thing he’d never be able to shake though, it was his showmanship. One of many things Filis now loved about the beastman.

Suddenly, Filis was pushed out of memory lane as someone flicked her forehead. “Helloooo? Fili? Are you still with us?”

Filis blinked a couple times as she came back to reality. “Hm?”

“I turn around and you’re ogling me.” Fellow chuckled, smirk clear across his face. “Shameful! What if Gidel were to walk in? You’re supposed to be a role model for students, you know. Can’t be drooling over my good looks in front of the students, now can you?”

Filis scoffed. “The only reason I’ll be staring at you is to scold you for making a fool of yourself in front of the kids.” She flicked the tip of his nose, causing him to flinch and go cross eyed as he scrunched it. “You need to learn to behave yourself!”

“And let the little tikes die of boredom? Why, I would be more irresponsible not stealing them away for a game or two in-between classes.”

Filis placed her hands on her hips and shot the fox a mock glare. “Are you saying I’m not fun, Mr. Honest?”

Fellow laughed. “There is only so much fun to be had when it comes to learning, Filis.” He tucked his tongue into his cheek as he flicked his gaze to the side. “Especially when you’re learning about some dead guy’s good or bad deeds.”

Unlike Filis, Fellow never cared too much for history - or school in general. Filis knew from personal experience that, if Fellow had gone to a regular school in his youth, he would have been a pain in the ass to the teachers. “History is important and you know it!”

“Mhm mhm, when you make it interesting, sure.” To an outsider, they would think the two were in the midst of a lover’s quarrel. That couldn’t be further from the truth - they were just play-fighting. Catch them actually fighting and that was a spectacle to binge eat popcorn to. Fellow showcased his signature smug grin as he finished with, “How’s that, Mr. Taon?~”

Filis hadn’t been addressed by that name for a good six months now. It was bittersweet, leaving Night Raven College to open a school in the Shaftlands with Fellow. To become a professor at Night Raven was her dream; well, it was up until Fellow and Gidel entered her life. She remembered the night she made her decision, the one that would alter the course of her life. Filis had sat on her bed in her quarters on the college campus, lucky coin in hand. When she recited the incantation to produce her signature spell, the blue line of light that imitated from it sealed her fate. It shot out the window, away from the college and out towards the right side of Sage Island - where Fellow and Gidel were staying at a little bed and breakfast, visiting her for the weekend.

Sure, Filis wouldn’t mind using her old moniker in the future. It was going to be very odd for students to address her as Ms. Filis. She’d gotten a taste of that when the students present at Playful Land learned that she wasn’t who she said she was, nonetheless not a guy. Of course, they still addressed her as Mr. Taon for the rest of her time at the college, but outside of that? It was a little strange now, when she received letters from a few of her former students every other month or so. Her most frequent writer was who she came to call her star pupil: Ortho Shroud.

“I miss you being here,” he’d written to her once. “But I’m so glad you left to pursue your dreams! I’m still making good grades - I became an honor student! I hope Mr. Fellow and Gidel are doing okay, along with you, Ms. Filis!”

Sweet boy… Filis planned to visit Sage Island next month, right before finals week. While she was looking forward to seeing her old students, those who still attended the college, the little Shroud held a special place in her heart. Of course, her old colleagues would be delighted to see her as well. Filis still kept in contact with them, too, especially Mozus and Revon.

“Should you ever need guidance, know you can always call upon me,” Mozus had told her time and time again. Even professionals of the highest accreditation and excellence need a second opinion.”

“You three take care of yourselves!” Revon had said the last time Filis called her. “Send me pictures of the school once it's finished. Oh, and one of your first group of kids! I want to know every detail.” Before they’d hung up the phone, Revon mentioned one other thing. “Tell Fellow that, if he breaks your heart or does something stupid, I’ll break more than his ankles.” After that first meeting with the woman, shortly after the destruction of Playful Land, Fellow definitely took that to heart.

“Mr. Taon, Ms. Filis - doesn’t matter.” She poked his chest. “I demand, as your former tutor and your brother’s teacher, start chopping those vegetables, or we won’t have any dinner to speak of!”

“So demanding!” Fellow fished a hair tie out of his pants pocket and began to pull his hair back. “This must be what it’s like to be scolded by your mother,” he mused.

Filis forgot to reply. The calico cat was too busy watching her boyfriend do such a simple, domestic task. It was the little things that caught her attention when it came to her attraction towards him. The way he expertly twirled his hair between his fingers, effortlessly looping it through the hair tie. Though part of his biceps were hidden underneath the short sleeves of his plain white t-shirt, Filis could just make out them flexing underneath the cotton fabric. Fellow wasn’t overly bulky, nor could he be called a twink. To Filis, he was just right.

Once more, the fox caught the cat lost in her own head. He snickered to himself as he took a step towards her, this time booping her on the nose. “Hey, kitty, you’re staring again~”

Blood quickly rushed to Filis’ cheeks, clearly flustered. This time around, she slapped him on the arm. “Go chop the vegetables, now!”

“Ah ah ah~” The fox man tutted. “There’s a price to be paid for every show.” Fellow took another step forward, forcing Filis to take one back. Her lower back pressed up against the edge of the kitchen table, and she soon found herself leaning further backward onto it. Fellow trapped her there, arms either side of her torso, looking rather pleased with himself. “All debts must be collected, you understand.”

Filis’ tail slapped against his leg, brushing his fox tail. “Get off me you-”

“Handsome, debonair gentleman?” Filis glared at him. “No? How about…” He held his chin with his forefinger and thumb, tapping the underside as he thought of another set of compliments. “Gorgeous, charming devil?~”

Filis smirked. “More like a brazen, sly fox!”

While it was still playful, Fellow’s smile took on a genuine undertone. Fellow released his chin and lowered his hand down to hold her waist. “I can live with that~”

His kiss set every nerve of hers ablaze. Without a thought she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. The hand that was not holding himself upright slid up from her waist and to her cheek, caressing it gently. He soon deepened the kiss, gently tilting Filis’ head to the side to follow his lead. Her sleek tail coiled around his fluffier one, the fingers of one hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear. They now purred together, making their lips tingle. Filis smiled into the liplock as she felt Fellow’s tail wag back and forth, pulling hers along with it, swishing to and fro.

Fellow just made up his mind to break the kiss and begin peppering Filis’ face with more when he heard a noise. Both he and Filis’ ears perked up at the sound of soft footsteps approaching from down the hall, a certain little bounce to them. Gidel. In a hurry, Filis and Fellow released each other, Fellow stepping aside to let Filis sit up from the table. They simultaneously straightened their clothes and fixed their hair, right before Gidel entered the room, a clear pep in his step. The little cat didn’t notice a thing. Yes, the two adults present were being so normal right now.

“Finished already?” Filis asked, thankful she was able to hide the breathlessness she felt. Gidel nodded, looking quite pleased with himself as he offered up the pine green workbook, clutched in his sleeve covered hands. No matter how many times they offered Gidel clothes that were just his size, he always preferred ones with oversized sleeves. One because he was so used to it, and second because he thought it made him look cute. Filis wondered if a certain fae influenced that decision long ago. That, or it was how much Gidel could get away with when it came to strangers for looking so adorable.

Filis opened the book and flipped to the pages she assigned him. She skimmed over the answers he’d written down - the first half in red colored crayon, the second in blue. Filis smiled conspiratorially down at him and asked, “You’re not trying to butter me up by writing in my favorite color again, are you?” The boy held up his arms in a shrug, smiling coyly. Filis hummed in thought as she looked back at the pages, pretending to scrutinize them a second time. The beastwoman then grabbed a red pen off the table, pulled off its cap with her teeth, and wrote a big ‘A+’ on both pages before flipping the workbook over for Gidel to see.

“Not a single error. Great job!”

It was like someone got a big bottle of glitter and poured it into Gidel’s eye sockets. He hopped up and down on the balls of his feet, clapping his hands together in glee. “Awesome job, smart guy!” Fellow congratulated his little brother with a ruffle of his naturally messy hair. “You’ll be making the big bucks in no time!” Fellow swiveled his head to the side to address Filis. “What was today’s subject?”

“Algebra I.”

Fellow looked like he got hit by a brick. Ah, yes, of course Gidel would succeed at something he absolutely slumped in. Well, better for him, he supposed. Though he was a little envious of the guy, Fellow’s frustrated grin was completely false. “Trying to one up me, huh?” This time, he picked Gidel up and held him sideways under his arm before proceeding to give him a noogie. “Don’t think this means you get all the spoils this weekend.”

By spoils, Fellow meant the trio’s weekly night on the town. Scratch that, they couldn’t do it every weekend, whether due to business or finances or some other thing, but they made a point to go out and do something fun at least once a month. More often than not, if Gidel did a remarkable job in his coursework in the days prior to the outing, he had more sway in deciding what they all did. It was only fair - and it didn’t just happen when Gidel excelled in his classes, either. The kid was spoiled downright rotten sometimes! Fellow wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I don’t know, another visit to that ice cream shoppe sounds awfully good.” Filis watched as Fellow sat the boy back on his feet, all whilst shooting her a teasing stare. “Before we even think about that though,” Filis reached into one of the brown grocery bags and pulled out a potato, “we need to cook tonight’s dinner.” Gidel nodded eagerly, right before he trotted over to the counter nearest the stove. He pulled over his stepping stool - while the boy had grown two inches since last year, he was still quite short - and stepped up to the cutting board Filis had abandoned. Filis mouthed to Fellow, “Please, help him.”

Fellow sent his lady love a small salute before stepping over to Gidel, helping hold the knife and carefully cut the rest of the carrot. Filis busied herself with emptying the three brown paper bags of their contents: potatoes, corn on the cob, broccoli (Fellow still refused to eat it, that child), a few packages of chicken, apples, bananas, blackberries and strawberries. Once the stew was boiling on the stove, Filis planned to prepare a fruit salad for dessert. As they all preferred, it would be dusted with sugar and drizzled with cream. Before Filis made a move to continue cooking, she watched Gidel and Fellow for a few more moments. They were very cute together, sometimes more like father and son than an older and younger brother.

Under her breath, Filis recited to herself the very familiar words: “Why Should I Worry?” Filis did not have her lucky coin on her; it was still safe within its tiny padded box on her dresser. The coin was not required to use her unique magic - the beam of light could come from anything, even the tip of her finger. That soft blue stream of light appeared before her. Unlike many times before, it stopped only a few feet away. It disappeared right into the backs of Fellow and Gidel. Filis really never needed a reminder - she was right where she needed to be.

Why should she worry?

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museguided · 1 year ago

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@shrapnelsong sent: Of course, the tradition didn't extend only to her juniors. She'd made sure to have Mochi's gift delivered to his place that very morning. But. When it came to a certain pretty boy catcher, it was a little trickier. Not only because he didn't like sweets, but mostly because he'd never given her his new address, which is understandable, really. And she never asked him for it either, not wanting to risk putting him in an awkward position of having to deny or divulge personal information. She knew which team he was playing for, though... Sooooooo, if it happens to cause any trouble, she'll take only half the blame. It was easy enough to find contact information for the staff on their website, and she picked the person who she felt would be in charge of dealing with any fan mail for the players or anything like that. If anything, she was sure they would be dealing with a lot of packages already, but she still got in contact beforehand just in case, sending a polite email a few days prior informing that she had been a manager to one of their newer players and if it would be okay to send him a gift. Once given the clear, she proceeded with the plan. Alice had decided on a blueberry theme this year, but she knew she would make something different for Miyuki regardless. As much as she couldn't relate, it was fun trying to find or come up with recipes for someone who didn't have a sweet tooth, and now that she had another group of friends to gift, it was nice having a healthier option too. The almond lemon blueberry pie bars turned out so nice that she put a few extra pieces into his box so he could maybe share with his teammates. Picking a blue-purple pen for the card, Alice smiled to herself as she wrote: "You're not getting away that easily, Captain! Happy Valentine's Day!" It took a few seconds for it to register that he wasn't the Captain anymore, but she didn't want to erase the lingering sentiment and left it like that, securing the card to the box and mailing it his way via his team.

Kazuya knew plenty of eyes were watching his every move. Even after he signed into new contract, the scouts that had observed him through his high school career soon turned to sports media, angling to interview him while he settled in. Thankfully, his agent was well aware of his lack of desire to enter that kind of spotlight and fielded the majority. Given that it was his first year as the new promising catcher on, arguably, the best team in the NPB, he managed to slip away from most of the publicity. But as time went on, he wouldn't be able to keep getting away with it, especially if he strived to be the team's main catcher sooner than later.

It brought him back to a conversation that seemed ages ago now. They both knew that he couldn't focus solely on baseball for the rest of his life. He wasn't disillusioned by the idea of any press that could show up at his door. However, if anyone were curious enough to dig into his life past the sport, he'd hardly make it easy for them. In the privacy of the elevator bringing him up to his residence, he chuckled.

The doors slid open and he adjusted his grip on the large paper bag in his arm, digging into his pocket for the keys with the other. He was only somewhat aware of its contents, light in weight and concealed in its box. Though he could make a fairly educated guess as to what it was. While the staff that had called in had sounded odd in an attempt to keep the package a secret, they couldn't withhold the name of the sender—especially if they wanted Kazuya to come down and pick it up. When he heard 'Sakurazuka', he made his decision.

"She really can't resist her favorite holiday." Though he hadn't heard much from her since graduation. Which was to be expected when every one of them had their own life to lead. Their grand tales together with Seido had reached its end, and holding onto sentimentality over the opportunities provided to them wasn't too realistic in the long run.

With the package carefully deposited on the nearest table, he finally lifted the lid to reveal the sweets she undoubtedly made by hand, her short letter sitting neatly on top. A soft smile curved his lips at the sight of his old title, popping the plastic tin to bite into one of the bars. With the taste of blueberries stuck to the roof of his mouth, he sought his old phone, hidden away in a drawer by his bedside. His management insisted that he should upgrade to receive their texts and files much easier and reliably. With the money that came from his contract, he saw no reason to refuse—well, beyond his own preferences, but he's heard enough of their mild complaints.

The flip phone was out of service, but he was still able to access his email to view his contacts, taking a few minutes to type out her email address from one phone to the other. Then, he wrote the address to his apartment along with his reply.

"Long time no see, Manager-san ❤️ I'm not sure what kind of strings you pulled, but you have the staff wondering who you are already. You're probably the only one I trust with my new address. At least you would let me know if you're stopping by ahead of time. Keep it from Kuramochi a little longer; I want to see his face when he finds out he's not my first choice~ And you should stop by, when you get the chance. I have a lot of recipes I'd like you to try to make up for all the baking you've done for all of us over the years. Including the extra consideration for my sake! Thank you. Happy Valentine's Day."

#shrapnelsong #(ic. kazuya miyuki)#(ask. vday 2024)#(sorry this is late but miyu is complicated with alice asjdkf)#(also miyu owning a smart phone but /still/ using the email app ajsdkf)

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lonespektr · 2 years ago

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SEPTEMBER 7TH HORROR WATCH

Sell your haunted house (2021)

I have literally never heard of this

It's right up my alley and I am just literally now seeing it

Unsure of the tone, urban horror but like more action comedy or they being serious

Lovely credits

Ok derelict hospital ✅

Ha ha fake skeletons every where because obvs it's a hospital

Oh she's on the attack!!!

She really chasing him down she doing then one by one

Nail gun that fires?????

Dunno what she shootin but it's giving barrier

She got them little hair things the OG's have but she rockin modern Constantine all blk exorcist vibes

A TRAP

Oh the dude is the vessel

How feminist

There's horror shows you can count on one hand where the guy gets possessed - on purpose

It's always the women's job to be invaded bodily spiritually

1000pts for that alone

But that does appear to be the play

The guy is warded they deliberately trap the entity in with him, he drops the ward (dramatically lol bruh u buy a new necklace every time???)

Juz slide it off 🤣🤣

And allows himself to get possessed then she physically fights possessed him

And stabss him with dome kinda spirit evac epi pen

Legit realators

Do they have a license?? 😂

Specifically advertise as their job that's what they do

New job

Customer lying through they teeth

Hmm okay need confirmation of identity of the ghosty that sounds difficult AF

How would people know who they ghost is??

Who this man?

He lying yoo

Lol whut?

What's with the color on his suit

English?

She supposed to be a loser she got a house watching daytime tv who paying rent?

Lol ghost said u got too many shoes already

🤣🤣🤣🤣 IT'S HER MOM

Why does she look messed up??

Oh that's right she did inhale some parts of the ghosty residual crap

Do they train these women to throw shit jabs

All men

Fucckin lol they finding people who don't even know they are mediums 🤣🤣

They google they tracking him what kinda interview took place 🤣🤣

Virgins

CEO

Salt

They can all see

Literal mattress behind you playa

Annd hes down

Not ROLLIN HIM OVER

this is mad cute

Sure screaming

No candidates

I think this guy is whoopi

But maybe he targets bad people

He said naw i don't 🤣🤣🤣

Car chase

She said these virgins are WEAK

Mom stuck

I thought they were just codependent

Mom is/was in the industry

She can't hear her

She just sittin there moody??

Possible murder mystery past older bro but suicide is high

Those two have good chemistry

Lol he said mosquito

How are they doing that remotely

Lol who cast these extras??

Lots of B and E's

He can't see

He doesn't know he's whoopi

Money bottom line

Dead plants and stacked mail

Common enemy

Moms got juice

He wasn't even listening

Those prayer strips!

That's what's in the gun

New one every time 😂

Still has the current event of the week

Great first episode 😃😄😃

#graywatchhorror23 #sell your haunted house

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wayward-dreamer · 3 years ago

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Coffee & Chaos - Part 1

Pairing: Producer!Jensen x Fem!Screenwriter!Reader

Word count: 1,679

Summary: Y/N starts working at Chaos Machine Productions, finding joy in the work and fitting in instantly. She knows she could really thrive in the company, as long as she doesn’t fall for her boss, the executive producer and founder, along the way. Little does she know he’s trying to suppress his feelings, for the sake of professionalism, too.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst

A/N: I'm so excited to bring this mini-series to you guys! Let me know what you think! Happy reading and enjoy! :) beta’d by my love @evergreencowboy.

This mini-series is complete on Patreon!

Y/N pulled into the parking lot, the tires screeching slightly as she stopped the car abruptly, hissing at the noise. She turned off the engine, checking the time on her phone and breathing a sigh of relief. She was early for her first day, which allowed her a few extra minutes to look over the material that she had been given once she got the job to prep for the first day. She opened the canvas tote bag that had all the scripts she had to read before starting, taking out the last one and flipping to the last few pages. She read them quickly but made a few detailed notes on certain parts and hoped that what she had added would help her new boss see potential in her.

She had been hired as the office assistant/writer’s assistant, which she’d be pulling double duties of running the office to the producer’s liking, as well as helping with research and note taking during meetings. Considering they gave her copies of the scripts to read (after signing several NDAs), it was a good sign that they already trusted her.

Checking her phone again, she put the script away along with her pen and highlighters. She picked up both her bags and got out of the car, locking it before making her way towards the door of the production office. Walking down the hallway, she took in all the framed posters of films and TV series along the walls. Some were projects from Chaos Machine Productions, and others from the production company they shared a building with. With the help of the signage, she took a left at the end of the hall, turning towards Chaos Machine.

“Hi,” a young woman approached her as she reached the office, a bright smile on her face. Y/N recognized her as the woman who conducted her interview. “Great to finally see you in person Y/N.”

“You too, Sarah,” Y/N responded, shaking her hand.

“Alright, let’s get you set up,” Sarah stated, and gestured for Y/N to follow behind her.

Y/N smiled at some of the other employees as she walked past the desks, each of them set up with Mac computers and personal touches from the person who sat there. She reached the end where one of the desks only had a computer and dropped her bags near the leg of the table, sitting on the chair and turning it in Sarah’s direction.

“So, computer’s ready to go, your username and password are in the employee email, and you can change the password any time. This is everything that needs to be done before Mr. Ackles comes in at 10,” she explained, pointing at all the papers in front of Y/N. “But don’t actually call him that, he prefers Jensen.”

“Okay,” Y/N nodded.

“If you have any questions, I’m just a few desks down,” Sarah said, a kind smile on her face. “Welcome to Chaos Machine.”

“Thanks,” Y/N muttered, sighing softly once Sarah walked away. She felt a little lighter now that she had a general idea of what was going on at the company, and what the people were like.

She got everything set up on her computer, the itinerary for the day, printed out all the documents needed for the morning’s meeting, and then got started on setting up the room before Mr. Ackles came in. One of the employee’s mentioned that he was pretty punctual, so as soon as it turned 10am, she had his coffee ready. She didn’t get to meet him at the initial interview because he was out of town overseeing one of the productions, but considering she had seen some of his work, she knew him and just hoped he wasn’t going to be a problem with those distracting features of his.

That thought immediately went out the window as she finally laid eyes on him, seeing him walk into the office with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He sauntered past her, engrossed in the script he had in his hand, filing through the pages. He stopped abruptly, turning on the heel of his boot and facing her, causing her to gulp.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

She stood up, trying not to think about how great her name sounded on his lips, smiling politely. “I am. It’s great to finally meet you, Mr. Ackles.” She frowned as soon as the words left her mouth.

He had clearly noticed her chastising herself, but he didn’t make it known. He smirked, waving her off. “Jensen’s fine. Is everything set for the meeting?”

“It is,” she confirmed, picking up the papers that she had looked over three times already. “That top one needs to be signed, and the writers should be here soon.”

“Awesome.”

“And this is for you,” she muttered, handing him the steaming mug of caffeine.

“Thank you.” He took the mug from her, taking a small sip with a hum of approval. “You’d think it wasn’t your first day. Let everyone know to be in the meeting room in 5?”

“Sure thing,” she agreed.

“Great,” he breathed, smiling at her once more before he walked towards his office.

She watched him leave, an involuntary sigh leaving her as she took in his retreating form. She found herself biting her lip as her gaze drifted down to his shirt-covered back, denim clad ass and the bowlegs that took long strides towards his office. She shook her head as she sat back down. The last thing she needed was to develop a crush on her boss.

She couldn’t exactly avoid him in order to help with that, so she just hoped that the universe would have mercy on her.

Lunch time rolled around quicker than she had realized. She tried to escape outside to hopefully have at least one moment she didn’t have to see him, but that plan went to shit the minute Sarah dragged her into one of the other meeting rooms where everyone was having lunch together.

“So how long have you been in L.A. for?” he asked her as she sat down across the table from him.

“About 6 months,” she replied, only meeting his eyes briefly before she looked back down at her salad, “I was at another production company for a couple of months, but a friend heard about Chaos and told me I should apply.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes staring deep into hers. “So, what’s the next move? Writing, directing?”

“Writing, hopefully,” she sighed, her lips pulling into a small grin. “Honestly can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

He leaned back in his chair, an approving smirk on his face. “I don’t think I’ve heard an honest answer like that in a long time.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up the longer she looked at him, and she knew she had to take her leave and get back to early as soon as possible. Picking up her box of salad and phone, she stood up, and with one parting smile, left the room, still feeling his intense but alluring gaze on her.

She could feel the initial fluttering of attraction deep in her stomach, but she had to ignore it.

Y/N yawned as she slapped the last script on top of the pile, stepping back to take in the work she had done in the last hour. She had separated all the screenplays that had been sent to the company, sorting them into ones that were worth coming back to, others that would be better suited to other companies, and ones that unfortunately had to be sent back to the writer. She frowned as she thought about how hers were probably sitting in an office similar to this out there, waiting to be given the time of day.

It's all a part of the business, I guess. She looked down at her watch and sighed heavily, seeing that it was close to 8pm. She had no energy left to go home and cook, so take-out would have to do. Shutting the lights off in the small back office, she closed the door behind her before making her way back to her desk. As she approached, a smile grew on her face, seeing Jensen leaning against the surface.

“Figured you deserved this after a long first day,” he said, handing her one of the tumblers with two fingers of whiskey.

“Thanks,” she muttered, clinking her glass to his before she took a sip.

“Enjoy that while you can, ‘cause today was easy,” he warned her, a playful glint in his eye as he smirked. “Things are about to get a whole lot tougher.”

Standing up a little straighter, she tilted her chin in silent challenge as she looked up at him. “I can handle whatever you’re gonna throw at me.”

He chuckled, throwing the last of his drink back. “Good.”

She huffed a small laugh as she finished her drink, passing the glass back to him. She flinched slightly as his fingers brushed against hers, causing their eyes to meet once more. He slowly took the tumbler back, stepping back as he smiled softly.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jensen,” she whispered.

Y/N watched him walk back into his office, the door left slightly ajar. Sarah had told her he was usually the last one to leave because he just preferred doing a little extra work at the office before going home. With one last look at his door, she packed up her things and turned off the lamp at her desk, walking down the hallway to the front of the building.

She couldn’t believe that she already had one day down at the company, after weeks of anticipating this new job. She knew it was only going to get tougher just like Jensen had told her, but she was prepared for it.

She just had to hope she wouldn’t fall for his ridiculously handsome face along the way.

Join my taglist(s)! If you’re crossed out I couldn’t tag you :(

Forevers: @evergreencowboy // @makeadealwithdean // @writercole // @flamencodiva // @440mxs-wife // @sexyvixen7 // @foxyjwls007 // @maliburenee // @waynes-multiverse // @weepingwillowphoenix // @kyjey // @lunarmoon8 // @stoneyggirl2 // @hobby27 //

Supernatural: @winchest09 // @deanwanddamons // @jensengirl83 // @watermelonlipstick // @emoryhemsworth // @katelyn--renee // @spnwoman // @lacilou // @kazsrm67 // @mariaenchanted // @smellingofpoetry // @snowlovespie // @stephv213 // @desimarie12 // @redbarn1995 // @nancymcl // @mrswhozeewhatsis //

Jensen: @akshi8278 // @whatareyousearchingfordean // @candy-coated-misery0731 // @siospins2 // @deans-baby-momma // @pink-sparkly-witch // @krazykelly // @lyarr24 // @perpetualabsurdity // @lessons-of-red // @xlynnbbyx //

#Coffee & Chaos #Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader #Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader Series #Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader Fanfiction #Female!Reader Insert #Producer!Jensen #Screenwriter!Reader #Jensen Ackles Fluff #Jensen Ackles Smut #Jensen Ackles Angst #Jensen Ackles Series #Jensen Ackles Fanfiction #Supernatural RPF #Supernatural Fanfiction

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kpopmultistanfanficarchive · 3 years ago

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Jungkook x Reader - Taking Your Relationship Public

“You look like you’re about to hurl,” Jungkook admitted, placing the back of his hand to your forehead. “Do you feel bad?”

You shook your head, trying to put on a reassuring face. “No. I’m alright,” you said. “Just a little nervous. I’ll be a lot better once this is all over.”

“It’ll be over quickly. I told them we’d give them ten minutes. Then we can call it a night and go home.”

Your couple reveal had been strategically planned. You had been in a relationship with Jungkook for just over a year when, together, you’d decided it was time to go public. You had expected to be mobbed. You had even expected to be interviewed. You were the BTS maknae’s secret girlfriend, after all. That came with a certain level of public intrigue.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was the massive fucking press briefing you’d been swindled into participating in.

You hated crowds. When you felt like you were under a microscope, your hands shook and your face grew blotchy. You knew this about yourself, and you had relayed it to the makeup stylist that had whisked you away, separating you from Jungkook the moment you’d entered the venue. Being away from him hadn’t helped with the nerves and by the time you were reunited, both dolled up to the nines, you felt just about ready to heave yourself through the nearest exit.

“You don’t have to be scared; I’ll do all of the talking. You just have to sit there and be beautiful.”

“That’s…not nearly as reassuring as you think it is,” you chuckled half-heartedly, stumbling as a PA checked the security of your mic pack. They’d insisted on double-miccing just in case something went wrong with the tabletop microphones but the extra weight added to the back of your dress was only adding to your anxiety.

"Listen," Jungkook murmured, looping his hand through yours and interlocking your fingers with his, "if you get too nervous to think straight, there's going to be a pen and paper for you. Just scribble. Make it look like you're taking notes or making translations. That always helps."

You nodded, relieved to hear that there would, at the very least, be a way to keep your fidgety hands busy while on stage.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

"Yeah," you said, though the tone in your voice suggested otherwise. You jumped up and down a couple of times, trying to will away the last-minute jitters.

"You're going to do great," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple in an attempt to sooth your nerves. It was a comfort that you needed. Otherwise, you may not have been able to will yourself to put one foot in front of the other and walk out on stage.

And with that, you were off, walking arm in arm with Jungkook out onto a small stage in front of a sea of blinding flash bulbs. You could feel him lean forward to bow and followed his action before taking the few steps necessary to the table in the center of the stage and taking your seat.

"Thank you for coming to today's…rather exciting event," a manager who would pose as the interview's moderator began, "To start, we'd like to thank you for your patience with the delay agreements. We know you'd like to have this story out as soon as possible. Frankly we would as well, but I'm sure you can see the value in letting the happy couple at least return home before the breaking news…well…breaks." A smattering of indulging chuckles rippled out across the crowd, though you could tell that none of the reporters sitting in front of you were particularly amused by the manager's attempt to keep things lighthearted. "We'll be going on question at a time. I will call you by the name of your organization and you will be given the opportunity to ask a single question with one follow-up…"

As the manager continued to rattle off the rules of the day's engagement, your focus began to drift.

As Jungkook had assured, a pen had been provided, but you couldn't seem to find a sheet of paper anywhere in your vicinity. Your eyes peered over to Jungkook who was already very animatedly answering questions.

Where did you meet? How long had you been together?

He rattled off answer after answer but before you know it all eyes were on you. You should've seen this coming. You should've known you'd be obligated to answer at least one question throughout the course of this god-awful press event.

"Sorry, I didn't hear that," you murmured into the mic with an apologetic smile.

"That's alright. Y/N-ssi. The question was 'what drew you to your partner Jungkook'?"

"Oh!" you exclaimed in a way that drew an animated chuckle from the crowd that made your head spin. The feedback from the microphone had you jumping in your seat as well. "We, um, well, we met at the gym, as Jungkook pointed out. He'd tried to bench too much on his own and looked over to me to ask for help getting the barbell back onto its stand. So, I guess from the beginning I was really appreciative of his ability to ask for help when he needed it."

A quiet murmuring went out over the crowd. It was as though they were expecting more, though that had been all you were prepared to give. With your "part" out of the way, your eyes met the table. You wanted to go home where there weren't what felt like a million sets of eyes staring back at your, pleading for more, more, more.

Drawing you from your thoughts, Jungkook shoved your pen into your hand, rolling up his sleeve and letting his hand rest on your thigh, offering his arm - and further to the point, his tattoos - up to you. He'd done this before on occasion, when you'd been at a party and there had been too many people crowded around, or when you were at home and big storm had rolled through. Using your hands kept your brain occupied long enough to calm it.

So without hesitation, you reached out and began to trace the lines of his tattoos with the pen, shading around the edges and filling in where they had begun to bleed and lighten. And it helped. In fact, it helped so much that you'd hardly realized how much time had passed until Jungkook was standing from his seat and bowing, you shooting to your feet to do the same at his side. And then before you knew it, the junkit was over and you were being whisked out the back to a car waiting to take the both of you home.

"See?" Jungkook murmured, turning you by the chin so that he could place a quick kiss on your lips, "over before you knew it. And now we're free."

"Oh don't sound so dramatic."

"I mean it, though. We don't have to stay in on date nights anymore. We can go to the clubs now, or out shopping or to a coffeshop without starting some sort of rumor. You can visit us on tour stops without causing a huge rise. Now everybody is going to know," he said, pressing another kiss to your lips. "We're free."

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty nice…" you chuckled, breathing your first sigh of relief since you had woken up that morning, as Jungkook leaned his head back against the headrest and took your hands into his own once again. It was then that you saw his forearm, the tattoos, and the number you'd done on his arm during the conference. "Sorry about that, by the way. I'll get you some rubbing alcohol when we get back to the apartment so we can get that off."

"No, no. I like it this way," he said, lifting his arm, along with your interlocked hands, to eye level so he could get a better look at the number you'd done on him, "Yeah, I think I might just bring a picture of this to my guy and have him make it like this permanently. That was I can have a little bit of you with me everywhere I go."

"Oh my god. Ew." you chuckled, pulling your hand away from his with a laugh, "Don't be so cheesy, Jeon Jungkook."

"I won't be cheesy if you don't give me a reason to be cheesy. How about that?"

My inbox is currently open and I am accepting requests for multiple groups at this time (BTS, Monsta X, Stray Kids) so if you have any drabble prompts or MTL requests, send them my way! Thanks for reading~

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #jungkook headcanon #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #bts headcanon #bts reaction #bts jungkook

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tteokdoroki · 4 years ago

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had it | k.bakugou.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 4.5K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.

♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..

♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.

♡ author’s note(s): hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes�� creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.

the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.

working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.

particularly this time, right around noon.

the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.

an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.

nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.

the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”

a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”

“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.

haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.

the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.

katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.

being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.

the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.

‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’

bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“

“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”

the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.

‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’

your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.

“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”

the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.

nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”

happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.

you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.

“bakugou?”

“what? the fuck y’still here for?”

you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”

“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.

“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).

bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.

feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”

“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”

you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars, inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.

like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.

“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.

“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”

it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.

bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”

“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”

he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“

“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.

your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.

katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”

you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.

he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”

“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”

you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”

the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.

she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.

you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”

“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“i would never joke about such a thing, just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.

on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.

extended ending:

“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”

you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.

taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”

“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.

“why not?”

your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.

but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”

bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.

setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.

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