#and my list of questions to ask other people

[ms-demeanor]

Great question! This is legitimately an important thing to ask when you're presented with advice online.

Some tips for when you see instructions/a how-to/educational guide online and you aren't sure if you should trust the source:

Find out what else the author has done; you can do this by searching their name online or by following the links they may have attached to their writing. In my case, I've got information about myself in my pinned post which includes links to previous guides I've written on a variety of subjects - including tech-related subjects - and a link to my personal website that you can investigate.

Find out what experience the author has in the field being discussed. During the height of the pandemic we saw how important this was, because there were often GPs and nurses giving advice that contradicted the information shared by virologists and infectious disease specialists. It's not just important that someone presenting information is knowledgeable about one subject, it's worthwhile to find out if they're specifically knowledgeable about the subject they're talking about. To find this kind of information you'd want to look into a writer's history; check their publication history by searching their name on the site you found their writing on (so if it's a magazine click the author bio, if it's a journal search research databases). On tumblr you can click through someone's archive or you can run their handle through the jetblackcode tool to see what their most popular posts are about. I try to make this easy, so I (again) link a bunch of posts in my pinned. Tumblr search is notoriously terrible, but you can also search keywords on someone's blog (and it's a good idea to do this on anyone's personal website if you're following up about something they've read online). Personally, I have a long history of posting about various kinds of scams (medical and pseudoscience scams, as well as email and phone-based scams) and social engineering; you can find this in my archive but also in some of the many sideblogs I list in my pinned.

Think critically about the information being presented. Ask yourself: - If this information is incorrect, how could it cause harm? - If it does do harm, WHO would it harm? - Who is this information aimed at? - Does it seek to change someone's behavior? How?

Fact-check the information yourself. If something stands out as sounding wrong or incorrect to you, or if it is directly counter to something else you've learned, do some research.

Compare the information presented to what other writers in the field have to say. If the information is way out of line with other writing in the field is there a reason why (is it highly contextual? based on new research? predicated on an unusual behavior) and if so is that reason explained?

Do exactly what you've done here and ask questions. People who are operating in good faith generally don't mind being questioned about their work and why they did it. (They won't always have time to answer, but they should at least be *open* to being questioned)

Anyway, the 30-second answer on why you should trust me specifically on this topic: I am a tech professional who has spent 13 years educating people on how to avoid being scammed online as part of my job. I also have a background in journalism and have a great deal of interest in increasing media literacy in general; I consider this kind of thing an aspect of media literacy.

How to avoid sharing Social Media Scams in the Wake of a Disaster

The world is full of disasters. It is also full of people who have learned to profit off of disaster. It is an unfortunate fact of life in the modern social media/online environment that in order to avoid spreading scams, you have to make a continuous effort and you have to be cynical.

There are a lot of wonderful, well-meaning people in the world who want to help everyone who asks for it. Unfortunately, those people are easy to scam.

These are some rules to prevent you from either falling victim to scams or from passing scams along to other people.

These are not suggestions, these are not things to take into consideration, the rules listed here are RULES that you need to adopt in order to keep from spreading scams on social media.

Rules:

Never, ever share screenshots of fundraisers or resources that you haven’t verified yourself. If you see a screenshot of, say, the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds Instagram announcing that they will be accepting evacuees with RVs, you go find the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds website, you find the social media linked on their website, and you check that the post you’re seeing actually came from the entity it’s claiming to. Once you have proved that the post actually came from the entity it’s claiming to, double check that entity with a couple of verifiable sources. So, for instance, if I was checking on the Guitar Center Music Foundation I’d check Guitar Center’s website and maybe I’d look for news articles about donations from the foundation. If I was looking up the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds, I’d look for a local newspaper calendar of events that linked to the fairgrounds or would check the city websites in the area and search “fairgrounds” on them. I would not share a link to a social media page for an organization until I was 100% certain that it was actually associated with the organization. You shouldn’t either. If you see a post that claims to come from a specific group but all you have is the screenshot of the post, go find the group’s website and if it all checks out you may share it IF AND ONLY IF you add the link to the post. And if a post has a link already, click through it and STILL check that everything looks okay.

Never give money or information to someone with a free email address. This sucks. I know. But if the group you’re looking at only has a gmail address or a protonmail you have no way of knowing if they’re legitimately associated with the organization at a glance. And even if they ARE associated with the organization, the free email account demonstrates a lack of planning/commitment that has troubling implications for the handling of your money or data.

Do not share screenshots of “resources,�� headlines, social media posts, or news articles. I’m done with screenshots. Screenshots are easy to fake and almost always remove context from the discussion. A standalone screenshot isn’t information, it’s a trap to get you to share something without thinking. Do not *trust* screenshots of “resources,” headlines, social media posts, or news articles. Always assume a screenshot is faked unless you have found the original post yourself. A screenshot isn’t a “resource” it is an un-source, it is intentionally removing information from the viewer and we are well past the time when people should have understood that sharing screenshots without a link to the original text in context is never, every trustworthy.

Do not give money or information to accounts without a history. This may mean individual social media accounts, or it may mean a shiny new mutual aid project that popped up near your house. It’s unfortunate that people have their accounts deleted, it’s unfortunate that new orgs have trouble finding support, but the likelihood that a new account is a scam is simply too high to trust your money or information with it. If someone is asking for money or offering help on an account that hasn’t posted for years, or that suddenly changed all its content, or that has only existed for a month with no links to other, older sites and socials, you shouldn’t trust that account.

Okay, those are the RULES. Those are the lines you draw in the sand. The TL;DR version is this:

Don’t share posts you haven’t personally verified

Don’t give money or information to accounts with generic email accounts like gmail

Don’t share or trust screenshots that have no links or further context

Don’t give info or money to brand new accounts

I absolve you of any guilt you have surrounding this. You want to share that post to help a stranger but they have only had an account for a week. You want to spread that resource, but unfortunately it is only available as screenshots of an anonymous instagram account. You think that perhaps that mutual aid group really can help people, but the only way contact them is to put your info into a google form and send an email to their gmail account. That post seems really helpful, but actually you can’t find anything that suggests that the Mt. Pacifico Aquatic Center exists outside of this twitter account. No more guilt! Guilt be gone! You do not have to feel bad for not sharing these things, or not reaching out, or not giving money because doing so would be irresponsible and would put other people at risk of being tricked by scammers or wasting what money they can donate on a potential fraud.

Now, some tips:

Always, always, always take at least ten minutes to think about giving someone money or your information online. Read the post that moved you, then re-read it, then go sit away from it for ten minutes and think about it. There’s a good chance you will still want to give, or sign up, but ten minutes away will give you a chance to consider if there are any red flags in the post that inspired you.

Independently search everything you’re going to share. Go outside of social platforms and check on search engines. Check Wikipedia. Look up the website and send a while clicking around. Go on a *different* social media platform and check their account.

Just straight up search “[SUBJECT] Scam” before you do anything. See if this thing you’re looking at is actually an old scam that’s revamped for a new disaster. See if you can find an explanation of how something might be a scam or risk in a way that you didn’t understand before.

Get used to getting away from social media. Go check websites.

Learn domain name syntax. “musicfoundationguit.arcenter.com” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenterfounditaon.org” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenter-foundation.org” is a bullshit scam. The actual domain is “guitarcenterfoundation.org” and the link to the correct page isn’t going to be “guitarcenter.foundationfires.org” it’s going to be “guitarcenterfoundation.org/fires”  

Tips for Orgs:

If you do not want your org to look like a scam you are going to have to put some effort into it. Unfortunately this will probably also require at least a little bit of money; I know it’s hard to get money together at the beginning, but it will pay off in the long run.

Invest in a domain and hosted email. You can get relatively inexpensive hosted email through most domain registrars and even if you only get one email address for your domain you can forward it to all the free gmail and protonmail accounts you want. But buy a domain, set up a simple website, and get an  info@[yourdomain].com email set up because you don’t want people emailing “MyOrgInfo@gmail.com” because it’s super fucking easy for a 1337 hax0r like me to set up “YourOrgTeam@gmail.com” and scam the people who want to reach out to you.

Make a blog on your actual website, not on a social media site. A blog means that you can make regular posts and establish a history to prove that you are real and you do real stuff; it will also help with SEO and help to ensure that when people search for your org YOU are what comes up. Keeping up calendars of previous activities with links to those activities is also good.

Set up social handles on all the sites you use, make a “socials” page on your website, and link to your handles so that people can verify if you’re the one posting something. If you don’t make it extremely easy to find your socials, that means it’s extremely easy to set up fake accounts claiming to be you. Then put the link to your website in the bio on your socials.

If you are offering something or holding a fundraiser or doing anything on your social media page, link it back to your website. If you have an IG post offering resources, you should include a url for your site in each image. If you share a photo on twitter with the info for a march, that should link back to your website with more info about the march. If you post a fundraiser on tumblr you need to link the fundraising page of your website on that post.

If you absolutely positively cannot set up a website and a real-ass email address, set up a linktree, choose a primary social media to post on that all the others refer back to, and very explicitly state what your email address is and that you do not have other email addresses somewhere that's difficult to miss. Build a history of posts and link to other orgs that you work with or any writeups or stories about your events or projects. The point of all of this is making yourself easy to verify. "northfullertonfnb@gmail.com" sucks but it sucks a lot less if it's in the bio of "@northfulltertonfnb" and that page has a two year history of posting meal share schedules and menus.

In conclusion, don't share things that you haven't personally checked. When in doubt, it is always safer not to share.

[nerdygaymormon]

Ben Schilaty, who has done so much good through his book, his podcast, and being a visible gay man in the church and at BYU, shares about the change in climate at BYU over the past few years. Many LDS members consider him "safe" and "a good one," but even he was not spared. The current retrenchment can be seen as beginning in 2020 when the Honor Code changed to remove prohibitions on same-sex dating or displays of affection. That caused a backlash amongst conservative donors and some LDS General Authorities who have since worked to restrict queer visibility and silence queer authenticity.

I'm sharing Ben's entire post below

————————————————————

I Worked at BYU as an Openly Gay Administrator

I have three degrees from BYU (which I lovingly refer to as my “three degrees of glory”) and I worked there as an Honor Code administrator from 2019-2023. I spent 12 years of my adult life on that campus. So I say this with no hyperbole and a bit of embarrassment–Brigham Young University is my favorite place on the planet. 

It’s been almost a year and a half since I left my job at BYU and I feel it’s time to share some stories about what it was like to be an openly gay employee. BYU employs over 6,000 people so there is a wide range of experiences and I only speak for myself. I hope anyone who reads this will understand how incredibly wonderful it was to work at BYU, while also painful and difficult at times. 

When I applied to work in the Honor Code Office I shared in my cover letter that I was gay. I did not want to work anywhere that I couldn’t be open about my orientation. I literally jumped for joy when I was offered the job. Just a few weeks later the Chairman of the Board of Trustees gave a devotional at BYU where he spoke extensively about the LGBTQ community. After the devotional I was working in my office when one of my new colleagues popped in to ask how I was doing. We didn’t know each other well, but he thought I might have some feelings about the devotional. I told him everything, absolutely everything I was feeling. To his credit, this near stranger listened with curiosity and compassion and asked a lot of great questions. I’m sure he didn’t agree with everything I said, and I didn’t need him to. I was just grateful that he cared to ask. This coworker would become a dear friend. 

I was invited to a few meetings to discuss how the campus could move forward after this sudden pendulum swing. No one in any of those meetings could dictate what the Honor Code included, that was a Board of Trustees level decision, but I was invited to share my perspectives. I repeatedly asserted my belief that same-sex dating should be allowed at BYU. I was never reprimanded or disciplined for holding and sharing that position (the same was also true when I shared that I thought beards should be allowed). While my view did not prevail, I felt genuinely respected by everyone in those meetings. As I left one meeting, a high level administrator shook my hand and said, “We are so blessed to have you here at BYU.” I felt like I was the lucky one. 

A year and a half later in the summer of 2021, a two page typed letter arrived in my office mailbox. The author had read an article I’d written in Y Magazine and was deeply concerned that BYU would employ someone like me (you can read the offending article here). In the letter (that was longer than my article) he complained about me and stated that he was a longtime donor and would no longer be giving money to BYU because of me. At the end of the letter he listed all the people who he was sending this same letter to. I was by far the least important person on that list. I was hurt and confused, but I wasn’t scared. My colleagues at BYU knew me and they trusted me and I knew they had my back. 

A month later a member of the Board of Trustees gave an address at BYU where he quoted a letter from a concerned parent. I thought of the letter I had recently received. He spoke with concern about a student who had commandeered a graduation speech by coming out in the middle of it. He also spoke of divisive symbols and flag waving. He didn’t specify what symbols he was referring to, but given the LGBTQ context of his remarks I assumed he was talking about rainbows and pride flags. 

It felt like the world shifted underneath me that day. I was no longer sure what I was allowed to say about my orientation at work. Had I commandeered the BYU TEDx event when I came out in my talk? Was my rainbow ring divisive? Was I allowed to say I was gay when I guest lectured in classes? I was the same, but the university environment suddenly felt different. 

I felt a weight bearing down on me in the days after the talk. My boss’s boss sat with me on a bench as I shared my fears, hurt, and confusion. As I cried he just listened. I only ever felt love and care from the people at BYU who knew me. It was the people who didn’t know me that scared me. 

A few weeks later I spoke at an event on campus centered on belonging. I asked if it would be okay for me to come out in my remarks. One of the organizers said, “I think it’s better you don’t.” So I didn’t. As I got ready to walk onto the stage I slipped my rainbow ring off my finger and stashed it in my pocket, not wanting to be accused of displaying a divisive symbol. Later during the event, a musical performer came out as LGBTQ in between songs. Right after this disclosure I overheard one administrator say to another, “They won’t be performing here again.” Coming out had just gotten them cancelled. 

A few months later I was called into a meeting with a high level administrator. At the beginning of the meeting I was assured that I wasn’t in trouble. I was then told that I had said something that needed to be addressed. I had recently spoken at a fireside that wasn’t affiliated with BYU about how to minister to LGBTQ Latter-day Saints. A concerned attendee wrote a letter to the Commissioner of Church Education which was then forwarded to the president of BYU who asked this administrator to speak with me. The concern was that I had said that prophets aren’t fax machines for God. I explained that He doesn’t just put words into their minds that then came out exactly as they were communicated, but that divine inspiration was filtered through the prophet’s own words and life experiences. I had taken this idea from an article written by a BYU religion professor that was published by BYU. “You need to be more careful to not say anything that could be interpreted as you not sustaining the Brethren,” I was advised. I accepted the counsel and stopped using that analogy, with a new understanding that concerned letters would be read and acted on. And that a straight religion professor could say things that I couldn’t. 

On another occasion my bishop told me that the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office had recently called him three times to ask about me. After the third call he told them not to call back, that he had already told them I was worthy to work at BYU and he didn’t need to tell them again. A few days later I started sobbing uncontrollably in my car. I was overwhelmed with panic that someone was trying to get me fired. My reaction was so strong and unexpected that I made an appointment with a therapist to talk through what I was experiencing. I reached out to a therapist who also worked at BYU so he would understand the context of my situation. I told him about my sobbing episode and he said it was a stress response to months of fear and hypervigilance. In our second meeting he bluntly told me, “Ben, the truth is that you might get fired. That could actually happen, and the sooner you accept that reality the better you’ll feel.” I nodded my head. He was right. Simply acknowledging that reality did make me feel better, like I had a little bit of control. He also encouraged me to get more information about the calls from the Ecclesiastical Clearance Office. So I did some digging and learned that since I had recently applied for three jobs at BYU, the ECO had called my bishop after each application. The bonfire of terror I had felt was immediately reduced to the low simmer of fear I was growing accustomed to. 

He then explained that the Commissioner of Church Education had reached out to the BYU president to express concern about something I had said in my presentation at the BYU Religious Freedom Annual Review. The president then asked this VP to address the concern with me. He reminded me that during the Q&A portion I was asked why so many LGBTQ people leave the Church. As part of my answer I said that some members are excommunicated for marrying same-sex partners. This VP then instructed me not to share this anymore. I said, “But it’s true. The Church does excommunicate some people in same-sex marriages.” He replied, “It might be true, but it's not helpful.” 

The meeting lasted for an hour and a half and the VP spoke about 80% of the time. I walked out of his office confused about why I had been reprimanded. This meeting was so different from the thousands of other conversations I had had with colleagues at the university. I walked out of the building feeling like I was a problem that needed to be managed. 

Two months later I quit. 

The next day my new supervisor approached me. “Ben, we need to talk about what happened yesterday when you hugged that student. Someone from the dean’s office saw that interaction and heard what you said.” My heart sank as I remembered a time at BYU when I was accused of flirting with a male student (which I had not done) and a formal complaint had been written about me. I had just started this job at UVU and it seemed I was already getting in trouble. Then she continued, “The administrator got emotional as she told me about seeing you talk with that student. She told me to thank you for already serving our students, and to let you know that we are so lucky to have you here at UVU.” 

I was shocked. This is the story I tell when friends ask me how working at UVU is different than working at BYU. I had been primed to be afraid at BYU and now I didn't have to be afraid.  

The truth is that I miss BYU. Working there was my dream come true. It was my home for many years and I thrived there for a long time. My day-to-day life there was wonderful, but it was accompanied by a fear that if I didn’t talk about being gay in the “right” way, I’d get in trouble. And this fear was not irrational. 

As I’ve shared these stories with friends, a common response has been, “Well, things were so stressful because you’re a public figure. Being so open in your book, podcast, and presentations brings added scrutiny that wouldn’t have existed if you didn’t share so much.” I think this is true. If I had just not talked about my orientation or shared my lived experiences many of these painful moments would not have happened. But I would have felt a worse kind of pain. 

The deeper pain of hiding. 

Five months after I was hired at BYU I was invited to participate on a campus wide panel called “Reconciling Faith and Sexuality.” There were only a handful of openly gay employees so I was the only gay person on the panel. The JSB auditorium was filled to capacity as the moderator started the event by reading my bio, including the fun fact I’d included: “Ben still wears his retainers every night.” Not realizing that our mics were already on, I leaned over to my colleague and joked, “Gotta keep something straight.” The whole auditorium heard my comment and laughed. The audience then noticed the startled look of horror on my face, and a second wave of louder laughter filled the room. Many of the faces I saw in the audience had looked tense, unsure, and nervous. Then that moment of levity shifted the feeling in the room. This wasn’t going to be a depressing or prescriptive conversation, but one filled with joy, hope, and authenticity. 

The questions from this panel discussion inspired me to start the podcast “Questions from the Closet.” The very podcast that the freshman at UVU later told me changed his life. This moment of openness and story sharing at BYU wasn’t just a moment, but a catalyst that led to more good. 

Paul taught that “those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary. And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour…” (1 Cor 12:22-23). 

The Body of Christ is only complete when every member is included. And BYU was a place where I always felt valued and included by those who knew me, and sometimes treated with fear and suspicion by those who didn’t.

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Flashbacks

synopsis: you recall the gradual shift in your relationship with fred when prompted by questions at a panel promoting the movie.

wc: 13k+ (...)

warnings: rpf! reader is specified to be inexperienced! major plot point actually!

a/n: loads of backstory! and banter! and pedro and paul! and kissing!

i hope the format is as intuitive as i think it is, but just in case it isn't, italics means the start of a flashback and bold is the return to present day. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

<<previous part

The energy in the green room was calm, easy. You sat perched on the arm of the couch next to Fred, laughing as Pedro recounted a story from a previous panel he’d spoken at. Fred’s forearm draped over your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your knee, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

The casual physical affection felt normal now, expected even. No one batted an eye. Not Pedro, not Paul, not anyone in the room.

Ever since filming began, your relationship with Fred had only grown in comfort and familiarity. The closeness of your characters on screen slowly but surely translated to your friendship in real life. And then something more…

Late nights of practicing scenes together turned into deep talks and sharing secrets in the warm light of his trailer. Only a few months into filming, the two of you were attached at the hip. Inseparable. It became a running joke. If anyone asked where either of you was, the answer was always with the other. 

~

“Where’s Fred?” An assistant called out onto the crowded set one day. “He’s needed in hair and makeup!” 

“Where’s y/n meant to be right now?” Paul asked, barely looking up from the script in his lap. The young girl looked down at the clipboard in her hands, combing through the schedules and call sheets. Costume department, she concluded after a few moments of frantic shuffling. “Well, there’s your answer then.”

Pedro had laughed for days recounting the story, shaking his head at how predictable you and Fred had become.

~

“Are you excited?” Fred’s voice softened, meant only for you now despite the buzzing room. You lit up with a smile and a nod. You were incredibly excited. You had never been a guest at a panel before. “Nervous?”

“Not really,” you shook your head and shrugged. “Just more surprised, I think?” You mused aloud with a tilt of your head. In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you were invited to the panel at this convention today. 

You knew that your role wasn’t as impactful as people told you it was, they were just trying to be nice. You had less than ten lines in the whole film. Being invited to a panel discussing the complexities of the plot and the acting behind it was an honor! But a confusing one.

You had a sneaking suspicion that, somehow, Fred was behind it.

“Surprised?” Fred asked, his eyebrows rising and dipping in quick succession in that way that they do. “Why?”

“Just that—” You glanced around, as if gathering evidence. “Everyone here was pretty high up on that call list.” Fred’s brows furrowed even further this time and you knew what was coming.

“Don’t do that to yourself, y/n,” he almost whined. “You were a driving force—”

“I’m not tryna minimize my work, Fred.” You chuckled lightheartedly, cutting him off before he went on a tangent. He was always quick to pop any bubbles of self-doubt that formed in your brain, but this really wasn’t the case. “I know I worked hard on this movie. We both did.” You held his hand in yours. “But… Alexander wasn’t invited.” You pointed out with raised brows. Alexander had played Ravi in the movie, the healer in the Colosseum. “I’m pretty sure he had more lines than I did.”

“But you definitely had more screen time,” came Fred’s quick rebuttal. “Actually, that’s why I told them you should come—”

“I knew it!” You exclaimed in a whisper, making sure your conversation didn’t attract any attention. You were enjoying the private moment in the crowded room and there was no need for it to end so quickly. “I knew you did this!”

Fred’s grin tilted, eyes glinting with quiet defiance. “What? Am I supposed to feel bad for wanting people to notice how good you are?” He laughed. “You had almost as much screen time as anyone here, but nowhere near enough lines. So I told them that your insight into your character and the plot was just as interesting, if not more.”

“Does this count as nepotism?”

“Shut up!” Fred giggled, lightly punching your shoulder. “I just feel like— If I can help you get the recognition you deserve, why wouldn’t I?”

“Alright, thank you all for arriving on time.” A producer spoke up, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and putting an end to your conversation. You turned away from Fred to face her as she spoke, a smile still lingering on your face. 

“We’re gonna start calling you guys out now, one by one. It’s gonna be in the order your names are set up on the table, so you just come out and sit in the chair farthest from your entry. Does that make sense?” She asked, receiving a few nods. “Is everyone ready?” Another round of nods and yeses left the group, yours along with them.

“Don’t overthink it,” Fred whispered to you with a squeeze of your knee. “Just enjoy the moment.”

At that, you could hear the producer hype up the crowd for the cast’s arrival.

“That’s our cue.” Pedro got up from the couch with a clap of his hands. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Fred replied, standing up along with Pedro. “How about you, old man?”

“Creaky at the knees, but it’s alright.” Pedro teased, giving Fred a playful punch on the shoulder. That’s when you heard Pedro’s name called out into the microphone followed by the crowd’s roar in applause and cheers. “Later, losers!”

One by one the cast was called out, Fred’s name being the last one before yours. You breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful to be sitting next to him.

“y/n l/n!” Your name blasted through the speaker, signaling your cue to head out onto the stage. You walked out with a smile and a wave, the crowd cheering at your arrival. You sat down at the long table facing the audience, right there next to Fred. 

Your name was printed on a place card in front of you, spelled right and everything. With every passing day of working on this project, you felt more and more that you had finally found your place in the world.

The producer’s voice blurred into the background, distant and dull. Your focus drifted to the sea of faces ahead—posters with your name in big bright letters, shirts with your face printed on them. Some people were even dressed as your character from the movie. It was surreal.

The warmth of Fred’s hand on your knee tethered you back to the present. His steady gaze met yours, silently reminding you to breathe. He knew how overwhelming it could all be. And he knew what you were thinking, he could see it too. He was so proud of you. 

Fred squeezed your knee twice, a small act to show you that he saw you. To show you that he was there for you. And maybe, cockily, he was saying ‘I told you so’. That your presence was wanted here, not just by him. 

“We’ll get started with questions from the audience then.” The producer announced, motioning for a member of the crew to turn on the spotlight facing the crowd. When the light turned on, it illuminated a microphone on its stand in the middle aisle between all the chairs, and, with it, an incredibly long line of fans. Each with a vetted question, the producer assured.

Most questions were for Paul, though that wasn’t surprising. Many for Pedro and Denzel, as well. 

You listened and laughed along, enjoying the easy going nature of the conversation. A lot of the questions were based on the acting, which was a topic well loved by actors of course. But some, as expected, were about the on-set dynamics.

“What was your first impression of your castmates?” A teenage girl asked Paul.

This launched a chaotic answer, with multiple people joining in at once, talking over the other and laughing loudly. 

“We all know that I was absolutely terrified of Denzel at the beginning.” Paul laughed, patting Denzel, who was sitting next to him, on the back.

“So was I!” Joseph cracked up. “But I thought Fred was such a sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded with him. “Fred was incredibly kind to me on my first day on set.”

“Kind?” Pedro questioned, eyebrows upturned in surprise. “Little asshole is what he was.”

“He saves the sweet stuff for her,” Paul chuckled.

“Yeah, well Pedro was an old man calling me short and she was a pretty girl who was lost.” Fred defended himself with his arms crossed, tone clearly kidding. The crowd’s laughter rose at the banter, even if it was obviously turned up for the panel. “Who would you help, huh?” 

~

It was your first day on set and your very skin was buzzing with how excited you were. Your schedule said that you should start your day in the hair and make up department, and you heard someone say that it was next to the crafts center. But you couldn’t find either of them for the life of you. And you should’ve been worried about being late for your very first appointment on the set, but you were just too enthralled with it all.

The set was beautiful! Malta, as a whole, was absolutely gorgeous, but the set was something else. It truly felt like you were transported back in time— if you ignored the cameras, speakers, and lights, of course. You had heard of Arthur Max’s work on other productions, and of course knew of his work on the first movie. But experiencing it first hand was almost an out of body experience. 

You knew that, when the time came, immersing yourself on the set would be a piece of cake. An actor’s dream really, that was what this type of set was.

“Uh, y/n?” Your name being called out from behind you caused you to spin around. “Oh, it is you.” The man’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Hi, I’m Fred.”

Fred Hechinger. You knew exactly who he was.

“I’m y/n.” You replied, stretching out a hand for him to shake. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah, well from what I hear, we’re going to be exclusively working together.” Fred laughed as he shook your hand. “Had to do some research on my scene partner.”

“Glad I’m not the only one, then.” You chuckled.

When your manager told you of his secured position as Emperor Caracalla, you knew you wanted to look him up. Many other actors accepted the role before flaking for ‘scheduling issues’, so you were never sure who you were actually going to work with. But once Fred’s acceptance was confirmed, you went on a deep dive. You watched as many of his shows and movies as you could, his IMDb tab constantly open on your laptop.

“They were calling for you in hair and make up,” he said. “I offered to look for you and help you find the way.”

“How did you know I was lost?” You raised an eyebrow as you asked. You weren’t really lost, more so taking advantage of the lack of directions.

“Oh, I know you’re not lost.” Fred shook his head with furrowed brows as he folded his arms, faux seriousness painted his expression. Fred’s effortless confidence had an unexpected charm. It was magnetic. “But if I tell them it took me a while to find you, then we can admire the set for a bit longer.”

Your surprise melted into quiet laughter.

And just like that, you had made a friend.

~

Back on the panel stage, you leaned into the mic, smiling softly. “He gave me a tour.” You recalled. “And he vouched for me at hair and make up, because I was almost half an hour late.”

“On your first day?!” Paul questioned in astonishment, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Ballsy move, y/n. I could never.” Paul tsked and shook his head at you in disappointment.

“Hey!” You called out in offence, throwing an arm up in Fred’s direction. “Blame Fred, he’s the bad influence here!”

“Entirely my fault.” Fred nodded with his hand raised. “I take full responsibility for corrupting the child.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re like two minutes older than me.”

“Two minutes?! For your information,” Fred pointed at the crowd as he spoke now, “I am years older than her. Years!”

Another fan stepped up to the microphone, pulling you back to the task at hand. “Were there any funny on-set moments or inside jokes that made it into the movie? Or at least stayed with you afterwards?”

“Bless you.” Pedro whispered into the mic, causing a wave of giggles to pass through the rest of the line up.

“‘Bless you’ was a good one, I liked it.” Joseph smiled before bursting into laughter at a memory, sending Fred a look from across the table. "Tell them about the sword!"

Fred groans, but the memory sparks in your mind—the clang of metal and his ridiculous deadpan expression.

Connie lets out a loud laugh as she recalls the incident. “Fear me!” She clapped her hands together as she giggled. “Oh, it was hilarious!”

“Fear me,” echoes in your head, and suddenly you’re there again, barely holding back laughter on the set.

~

It was a late night, you were filming the scene where the emperors confront Acacius and Lucilla regarding their treachery. Ridley had instructed Joseph and Fred to make their reactions as dramatic as they saw fit, considering how fervid the scenario would make the twins.

You had been filming for hours at that point, the energy amongst you growing more chaotic with each take. Everything was funny to you now as the sleep deprivation finally hit.

During one of the takes, Fred jumped out of his seat on the throne and grabbed a prop sword from a nearby guard, as was written in the script. He was supposed to point it at Pedro and Connie, yelling about their punishments, as Joseph held him back. But, with each shake, you noticed how unstable the prop looked.

A loud clang echoed in the marble halls of the set. The sword had fallen right off of its handle.

No one said a word. Fred’s face scrunched up in confusion and anger. He stared at the broken hilt in his hand, then at Pedro. Without missing a beat, he raised it like a dagger. “Fear me.” He whispered menacingly, nose to nose with the older actor.

That’s it. Pedro snorted so loudly that the entire set erupted into laughter. You and Joseph were crying from laughing so hard. Denzel was chuckling into his hand, and Connie was leaning on Pedro to stay upright. 

“How dare you mock me?!” Fred shrieked, staying in character, even when it was clear the take was a lost cause, if only to keep making the rest of you laugh. “I am your emperor!”

“Alright, alright.” You hear Ridley’s voice call out, winding down from his own laughter. “One more time, then we’ll call it a night. Someone fix that sword, please!”

None of you ever let Fred live it down afterwards. 

Pedro would grab a toothpick from the crafts table and follow Fred around with it, a soft and dark ‘Fear me’ heard under his breath.

~

"Honestly, I thought Ridley would leave it in the movie." Fred shrugs, laughing it off. “If only someone didn’t break and ruin it all.” He sent a teasing look to Pedro out of the corner of his eyes.

You wipe a few tears from the corner of your eye as you catch your breath. “It wasn’t even that funny. We were just so tired.”

“It was like four in the morning, we were done.” Joseph explained to the crowd, still coming down from his giggles. 

“Anything would’ve been funny to us at the time.”

After the crowd’s volume slowly dwindled, another fan came up and asked about Denzel’s performance. Denzel spoke about how much he enjoyed the freedom Ridley allowed the actors in this movie. How exciting it all was. 

Afterwards, someone asked about how Joseph balanced working on multiple sets at a time. Pedro joked about Joseph being sought after and hard to find, always in a different part of the world. Joseph shot back at Pedro that they were always together anyways, considering how they both were working on ‘Fantastic Four’ together.

Another audience member asked Connie how it felt to come back to this movie after more than two decades. She talked at length about the differences and similarities the two sets had. How it was both nostalgic and new. 

Someone else stepped up to the mic and nervously waved to the cast after the laughter had died down. “My question is for Fred.” Fred perked up and smiled, nodding at her to continue. “How did you prepare for the emotionally vulnerable scenes you had as Caracalla while staying true to both his character and his sickness?”

“That’s a really good question.” Fred nodded, his arm coming up from your knee to rub at his shoulder. It was so incredibly endearing to you how he reacted to attention. “It was important, definitely. To make sure that you weren’t just seeing his sickness, but the true him under it all. And I think Caracalla, the man and not the sick emperor, really shined in those vulnerable moments.” His hands gesticulated wildly as he spoke and you were enamored the whole way through, not expecting them to motion to you next.  “But, at the end of the day, I think you just really have to trust your scene partner.” 

Fred looked at you with a shy but knowing smile, “It takes a lot of practice to be vulnerable in front of someone, even if it is just pretending. And y/n was always incredibly kind and supportive whenever I lacked that—that vulnerability—that powerlessness. It wasn’t that I lacked it, per se. It’s just a difficult thing to tap into. And she was always there to help me through it.”

Your eyes dropped downwards as you felt your chin dip towards your chest, your head tilting slightly to the side as a smile grew on your face. The crowd awed in response to both Fred’s words and your reaction.

Fred’s compliment sent your stomach twisting in knots. You glanced at him, his hand went back to its previous position, resting on your knee, steady and grounding. It reminded you of that quiet morning on set when everything between you shifted.

~

The set was calmer that morning than what you were used to. The haze of sleep still clung to the few crew members needed on set this early. They shuffled about quietly, setting up for the day's shoot. Fred sat on the edge of the prop bed, script in hand, shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the lines that refused to feel right. 

You were sitting on a couch a few feet away, observing him, script laying forgotten in your lap. His fingers absently tugged at his earlobe, a nervous habit you had come to recognize at this point in your friendship. He had been having difficulties with connecting with Caracalla’s childlike vulnerability. And it wasn’t because he didn’t know the lines—Fred knew them backwards and forwards. 

It was the emotion, the raw vulnerability of Caracalla crying like a child to Lovie about Geta, that he couldn’t quite reach.

You had been running lines all night, but he wasn’t performing it to his own incredibly high standards. So you had told him to get a good night’s rest and that you could practice some more in the morning before call time. You spent some time researching trust building exercises, because you were sure that Fred had it in him. He just had to trust you enough to let it rise to the surface.

After you watched him run through the scene a few more times with no progress, you got a look of determination in your eyes. “Alright!” You inhaled deeply and dropped your script onto the seat next to you. “How about we try something else?”

Fred’s head snapped up at your voice, the both of you having been silently in each other's company prior to your exclamation. “Like what?”

“Trust exercises!”

He blinked, unimpressed. "y/n, I really don't think—"

“Come on, it won’t hurt to try!” You insisted, knowing that he was worn down and everything felt useless. But you had faith in him. “For me?”

He rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine.” You cheered quietly at his agreement. “What did you have in mind?”

You stood and moved to sit across from him, knees nearly brushing. "Eye contact. No talking, just hold my gaze. Nothing else."

“For how long?”

“As long as possible.”

He hesitated for a second but leaned in slightly, blue eyes locking onto yours. The silence stretched. At first, it was easy. The hours you'd spent together on set had built a quiet comfort between you. You were comfortable with each other now, as any pair of friends would be.

But slowly, the air around you shifted.

Had his eyes always been this blue? And so full of emotion? You wondered how you had never noticed these things about him before. The longer you looked, the more your chest tightened, like you were standing too close to the edge of a cliff. You swallowed hard.

Fred’s head tilted, his eyes scanning yours as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface. Then, without thinking, he lifted his hand and gently brushed his thumb along your cheek, swiping away an eyelash that had landed there. The touch was featherlight, but it sparked something within you. Something new.

You sucked in a breath, breaking the rhythm of your breathing and pulling Fred’s attention to your lips. 

He quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. "Sorry. You had—uh—you had an eyelash."

You barely managed a nod, heat blooming beneath your skin. The air had changed so suddenly. It was sharp, tense, and neither of you knew how to break the spell.

More crew members were starting to file in, calling out names and times. The usual hustle and bustle on set was rising. Your name was called out from one side and Fred’s from another, instructions to go to wardrobe for you and hair and makeup for Fred.

“I—I should go.” Came Fred’s stuttered response as he slowly got up and backed away, his eyes now finding it difficult to stay on yours.

“Uh yeah, me too.” You nodded with pursed lips, just as awkward as he was.

That was different, you pondered as you walked away. You had never seen Fred in that light before. You had never reacted like that to his touch. This was entirely new territory for you. You liked Fred.

Oh no.

How predictable. Catching feelings for your on screen lover. You had to suppress the eye roll. This was something you had promised yourself you wouldn’t do once you got into the film industry.

But how could you resist? Fred was so kind and caring, so helpful and affectionate. His smile never failed to bring a similar one to your face. Now that you thought of it, you were a bit surprised it had taken you this long to notice. 

You had a crush on Fred.

And you were almost positive he didn’t see you in that way. 

This was horrible, you thought as you reached the wardrobe department. You were regretting everything. Not only was Fred no longer just a friend in your eyes, you were sure that you had ruined any chances of him getting this scene right after this. You groaned quietly to yourself as you changed into your costume in the dressing room. What a way to start the day.

But later, as the cameras rolled, Fred laid in your lap, perfectly in character. Something was different about him. He seemed more… open. More calm. When you softly carded your fingers through his hair to comfort Caracalla, Fred’s hand drifted to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin without thinking. Almost in the same way he had that morning.

It wasn’t scripted. But you stayed in the scene, unflinching. You wiped away his tears as he moaned about his wretched brother and the empire he was forced to bear the weight of. He was delivering the scene perfectly. Almost like nothing unsavory had transpired between the two of you less than an hour ago.

Ridley, watching from behind the monitors, leaned forward. Eyes glued to the screen. Once the scene had played its course, he called it. "Cut!” His voice boomed through the speakers.

Fred carefully got up from your lap, though not straying far.

An assistant quickly came over with a walkie-talkie. Ridley’s voice broke through the static, fragmented but understandable. “Fred, that wasn't in the script."

Fred sat up quickly, already apologizing. "Sorry, it just—"

"I liked it. Let's run it again. Same way."

Your eyes flicked to Fred, wide in surprise. He liked it. Ridley liked it. Fred shared his own surprised smile with you.

He finally got it. That obstacle was overcome. And Ridley noticed. It was exciting to have your work appreciated in that way. And he had you to thank, even if you thought otherwise.

And, in the process, something had shifted between you.

~

Then someone asked Paul who his closest friends were on set, pulling you back to the present moment. 

“You want me to make enemies of my colleagues now, do you?” Paul chuckled nervously, garnering a laugh from the crowd. “No, in all seriousness, I made many great friendships on this set. Pedro, of course Denzel, Connie, all great mentors that I can call friends now, I think. But who I spent the most time with on set? That would probably be Fred. Fred and y/n, yeah. They’re a package deal, as well. So yeah, it was always us three.”

His answer takes you back to a pivotal moment you had with Paul on set. You knew from then that he had your back, in every situation. Even in matters where he had no stake, you knew you could trust him. 

~

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky over the ancient stone set, casting long shadows across the Colosseum replica. The usual hum of activity filled the air. You were sitting on Caracalla’s throne overlooking the arena, legs dangling off the edge as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone.

Paul plopped down beside you with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

“Easy!” You laughed. “What did the chair ever do to you?”

Paul leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, completely disregarding what you had said to him. “Who are you texting?”

“No one.” You locked your phone quickly.

Paul’s smirk deepened. “So it is someone.”

“No, Paul.” You shot him a look.

He tilted his head and grinned. “Oh, so it’s Fred.”

Your stomach flipped. “Paul!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

“Oh, come on!” Paul leaned back, arms stretched behind him. “When are you not texting Fred?”

You groaned as your palms covered your eyes in embarrassment. “It’s not—” you mumbled before smothering your face in your hands.

“Not what?” Paul teased, nudging your knee with his.

“It’s not a big deal.” You exhaled, peeking at him between your fingers. “We’re just friends. Don’t make it weird.”

Paul gave you a flat look.

“Friends?”

“Yes!”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Okay.” He shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“Thank you.” You breathed out in relief, glad he was letting it go.

After a short moment of silence, he spoke back up. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He motioned to the air between the two of you with his pointer finger. 

“Paul—” You groaned, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“And I’d like to think that Fred and I are friends as well.” He leaned towards your side in his seat now, coming face to face with you. “I don’t take long walks with him on the lot, hand in hand. He’s not giving me his jacket when I’m cold. He didn’t let me braid his hair in the hair and makeup trailer.”

You glared at him. “That last one was one time.”

“Not the point.” Paul leaned closer. “He’s different with you.”

You bit your lip, looking away. “I don’t know… Fred’s—he’s sweet. He’s friendly. That’s just who he is!”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, but he’s not that sweet or friendly with anyone else.”

You stayed quiet, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hem of your costume.

Paul’s tone softened. “Don’t sell yourself short, y/n.”

Your eyes flicked to his, hesitant but curious.

“You’re smart, talented, and funny. And let’s not pretend the Roman attire doesn’t suit you perfectly.” He gave you a playful nudge.

You laughed despite yourself. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Paul’s grin changed into something more sincere. “Fred should consider himself lucky that you like him.”

Your cheeks burned.

“I just don’t want to—” You mumbled and trailed off. “Ugh, I don’t know. I don't want to make things weird between us.”

“You two are too stubborn for your own good. Someone’s gotta give.” Paul mumbled before raising his eyebrows at you. “You can’t yearn forever.” 

“Can’t I?”

His gaze softened as he took in your expression. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

“What?” Your brows furrowed and you shot up in your seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paul laughed in shock, pulling back and looking out onto the expanse of the set. “Wow.” He muttered to himself. “I can’t tell which of you is dumber.”

“Hey! I can still hear you!”

“Maybe put some of your other senses to use then, idiot!” Paul retorted as he got out of his seat, the speakers on set calling for him to go someplace or other. He walked away mumbling to himself, leaving you sitting there, staring after him, unsure of what to think anymore. 

~

“And I, of course, was chopped liver.” Joseph spoke solemnly to the crowd, dragging you out of your reminiscence. “Paul loved Pedro, Denzel, Connie, Fred, and y/n. But not poor old Joseph.” 

Paul stumbled over his words as he backtracked. “And Joseph! Of course, I was always with Joseph!” Paul cried, pleading with an unyielding Joseph. All a bit to keep everyone entertained, you knew.

“No, no, you can’t undo what’s been done.” Joseph shook his head dramatically at Paul as he motioned for the next person to step up to the microphone. “You have made an enemy tonight, Paul. I hope you’re happy.”

“My question is actually for Joseph.” The fan sheepishly spoke, sending Paul an illusionary apologetic smile.

“I have what you can never have, Paul. The love and affection of the general public.” Joseph deadpanned as he looked over at Paul before turning back to the girl at the microphone. “Go on, darling. What’s your question?” Joseph smirked as he looked away, leaving Paul rolling his eyes.

“Well, um, Paul and Pedro had extensive physical transformations they had to undergo to prepare for the role.” Joseph rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at the mention of Paul, the joke still running. “What did you have to do to prepare for Geta?”

“Not much, actually.” Joseph snorted. “I got really interested in the history of it, but in comparison to Paul and Pedro? Yeah, we got off easy. Didn’t we, Fred? Just loads of eyeliner.”

“Yeah.” Fred laughed as he nodded. “Shaving and eyeliner was our morning routine for a few months.” The crowd, as well as the cast, laughed at Fred’s note. “Emperor Caracalla is clean shaven, but I’m not.” He chuckled, hand instinctively rubbing at his chin at the thought of his light beard. “So I had to shave almost everyday, but that was about it for me.” With a glance towards you, you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

~

It had been another late night in Fred’s trailer. You were curled up on his couch, legs tucked under you, as you watched Fred pace back and forth. He had been reviewing lines, occasionally muttering to himself, but you hadn’t been paying close attention, not until the soft scruff along his jaw caught the light.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Fred,” you called softly.

He paused, blinking at you. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You’re getting a little...scruffy.”

Fred instinctively brought a hand to his chin, rubbing over the light stubble that had started to grow in. “Ah, shit.”

“What?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Sam’s out sick,” He explained. “Usually, they shave me every morning. I don’t know how I forgot about it today. Emily needs me to be clean shaven tomorrow.” He mumbled lightly, as if he was only thinking to himself out loud.

You pushed up from the couch, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. “Let me do it.”

Fred blinked. “What?” It was like he forgot you were here for a moment. Or, more accurately, he forgot that you were actively listening to his stream of consciousness. He didn’t expect you to offer to solve this non-issue for him. 

“Let me shave you,” you repeated, stepping closer. You gently grabbed his chin, feeling his rough hair between your fingers. You turned his face this way and that, appraising the work you’d have to do if he agreed. “I mean, you can say no if you don’t feel comfortable with your fate in my hands.”

He giggled, eyes softening as he watched you study his facial hair. “Is this another trust exercise?”

You smirked, eyes lighting up and looking back into his. “Maybe.”

Fred considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, Lovie. Have at it.”

The nickname sent a small spark through you, but you shook it off, hiding your grin as you gestured for him to follow you to the little bathroom in the corner of his trailer.

Fred settled on the closed toilet seat after you patted it, a silent command to sit down. He looked up at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. You rummaged through the small drawer under the sink, pulling out shaving cream and a razor.

“Fear me.” You whispered as you held aloft the blade, watching Fred roll his eyes at the reference.

“You better not botch this,” he teased, leaning back. He couldn’t help but admire you from this angle. The bathroom lighting highlighted your features so beautifully, though he was sure he’d think that of any lighting.

“It seems easy enough.” You shrugged as you squeezed a bit of shaving cream onto your fingers, rubbing your hands together before gently spreading it over his jaw. The cool foam made him shiver slightly.

Fred’s eyes got wide, his head frozen in your grasp. “You’re telling me you’ve never done this before?”

Your eyes sparkled as you raised your brows excitedly, grin wide. “I’m testing your limits. Is this one of them?”

You saw Fred’s eyes dance back and forth as he thought this through. It seemed the risks outweighed the cons, though not by much, because he nodded apprehensively. “Do your worst.” His eyes widened once more and then he winced. “That’s just a saying, please actually do your very best. Don’t hurt the money maker, alright?”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes with a snort. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Now hold still.”

Slowly, carefully, you dragged the blade along his jawline, your hand steady. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, but he didn’t move. His breathing slowed, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you in silence.

The room felt smaller.

Your thumb gently tilted his chin, guiding him where you needed. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You’re doing well,” you murmured, focusing on the careful strokes of the razor.

“So are you,” Fred hummed. “You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I’m that good, huh?” You chuckled, feeling him nod in response with the slightest dip of his chin in your palm. “Maybe I should go pro.”

“You’d leave all the glitz and glamour of being an actress and come shave my scruff every morning?” He asked, laughter lacing his words.

“You’re giving away Sam’s job that easy?” You raised your brows.

“To you? Of course.” He chuckled lightly. “Everything’s easy when it’s you.” The words slipped out, softer than he meant. The air thickened, and Fred’s eyes widened a fraction too late. The words weighed heavily in the space around you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours at your silence. Whatever he said must’ve been the wrong thing to say, he thought, because your facial expression was unreadable to him. “I’m sor—”

“Everything’s easy when it’s you too, Fred.” You whispered back before he could complete his sentence. With one final swipe of the blade along his jaw, you stepped back from him and the moment. “There. All done.” 

~

You smiled to yourself at the memory, glancing back at Fred next to you. You preferred him with the facial hair, you concluded. 

“Who was the best mentor on set?” Someone else asked once they had their turn at the microphone, the question not directed towards anyone in particular. But Joseph took it upon himself to answer for someone else.

“I know who Fred’s gonna say.” Joseph whispered into the microphone, causing Fred to roll his eyes.

“It was me.” Pedro smirked, flexing his biceps and wiggling his eyebrows at Fred. “He can deny it all he wants, but I pushed that kid when he needed it. Didn’t I, Freddie?”

“You did.” Fred mumbled, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Pedro pumped his fist in the air. “Those stories are private, for Fred’s sake. But I’m a good mentor!”

“The best there is.” Fred confirmed, a slight blush colored his cheeks as he snuck a glance at you.

~

It had been a while since the moment Pedro cemented himself as Fred’s mentor in the younger actor’s eyes. He had learned a lot from him. Both as an actor and as a human being.

But something changed between Pedro and Fred one day. 

A day where you had been utterly exhausted. You were filming in a grand room, the scene depicting a party or gathering of some type, you couldn’t recall the details. Everything was as opulent as you would expect with the twin emperors, of course. 

You and Fred had been up all night, bingeing movie after movie, showing each other your favorites and analyzing every scene. When you saw him the next day on set, you were shocked at how awake he was. Everything felt like it was in slow motion for you. You had never been more appreciative of your lack of lines in this movie.

After a few takes of you blinking slowly in the background, Ridley had called for a break. Something wasn’t right with the focus on a few cameras and a monitor or two needed recalibrating. Technical issues that shouldn’t take too long to fix. An assistant director said the issue could take about half an hour to resolve, so you turned to Fred, a silent question in your eyes and a slight pout on your lips.

You and Fred cuddled often, but never outside of his trailer. Movie night was just an excuse for you to curl up in his arms at this point, though neither of you ever acknowledged that. 

But you were so tired, and the pillows on the couch were decorative and stiff. And Fred was right there. It would only be thirty minutes. Just a quick lie down.

Fred saw your face and knew exactly what you wanted from him. He leaned back into the couch and patted at his lap, giving you space to lie down. It didn’t even register to him that anyone would notice nor care. 

His hands instinctively went to brush his fingers through your hair, your nightly routine as of recently. With his cologne and his warmth enveloping you, as well as the soothing motion of his fingers against your scalp, it was less than five minutes later that you were snoozing away.

Pedro looked over and saw the two of you cozied up together and couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the scene. He had been trying to throw hints at Fred for weeks about the two of you. It was clear as day. But neither of you was brave enough to bring it up, fearing the other’s lack of reciprocation. If only you two could see what everyone else saw.

He shared a look with Paul, who was watching along with him. “Go talk some sense into him, Pascal.” Paul snickered lightly, giving Pedro a slight shove in your direction. 

“I’ll try my best, Mescal.” Pedro sighed. 

“Is she out?” He asked quietly once he had settled down beside Fred on the couch, not wanting to wake you up.

“Like a light.” Fred muttered, eyes never leaving your sleeping profile. “It’s my fault, really. Kept her up all night.”

“What did you watch this time?” Pedro smiled, knowing of the private movie nights held every evening in the trailer next to his.

“The Godfather.” Fred answered. “Actually, both of them.”

“The sequel is amazing.” Pedro nodded, but he wasn’t really engrossed in the conversation as much as he was in Fred. It was hard not to admire Fred as he admired you.

“Definitely.” Fred nodded, not even sparing Pedro a glance. The boy was in love and he didn’t even know it. But so were you, to be fair.

“She’s just as bad as you are, you know? Thinking too much, scared to say something first.” Pedro mused, eyeing you curled up in Fred’s lap. You never looked as comfortable as you did in Fred’s presence. Pedro leaned in and his voice dropped an octave. “You should tell her.”

“Huh?” Fred is finally pulled out of the trance you had unknowingly put him in, snapping up to look at Pedro for the first time since he sat down. “Tell her what?”

“I’m saying,” Pedro emphasized each word, “She’s just as oblivious as you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should tell her how you feel!” Fred instinctively cupped his hand around your ear, guarding you from Pedro’s sudden laughter like it was second nature. You hadn’t even flinched, too deep in your slumber to notice. But Pedro did, he noticed Fred’s subtle protectiveness. It was sweet. And increasingly frustrating.

Fred scoffed, his cheeks glaringly crimson. “I think I’d prefer not risking those odds.”

“Buddy, trust me. Every single odd is in your favor.”

“Don’t quote the hunger games at me right now.” Fred rolled his eyes. 

Pedro frowned in frustration, leaning closer to Fred. “You really don’t see how gone she is for you?”

A few moments of silence pass between them. Fred’s eyes on you, and Pedro’s eyes on Fred’s lovesick expression. “...You really think she likes me back?”

“She’s not sleeping in my lap, is she?” Pedro smirked, standing back up. “Just think about it, would you?”

~

Fred buried his face in his hands to cover up his flushed cheeks. You shot him a concerned look, but he shook his head to ease your worries. You didn’t know about what had transpired between Fred and Pedro in the same way Fred didn’t know about what happened between you and Paul. And you both wanted to keep it that way. Too embarrassed that everyone else seemed to know of your affection for the other before you did.

“Did any unscripted scenes make it into the movie?” someone asked, pulling you back to the crowd once more.

You and Fred immediately glance back at each other with shy smiles.

Paul talked about the scene where he kissed Pedro’s forehead in the arena, even though it was technically cut. 

But then he turned to the rest of the table. “What about you, Fred?” He asked pointedly, noticing how you had looked at each other when the question was asked. “You had a scene they left in, didn’t you?”

Fred chuckled nervously, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah, a few made it in. But… you probably mean when I called her ‘Lovie,’ right?” The crowd roars in response and Fred’s ears turn pink as he tugs at them. “Yeah, about that…”

~

Fred had started calling you Lovie after that day he was having difficulties with that one scene. He hadn’t even realized when it started, but now, it was just second nature.

Today was the day you would be filming a scene you were dreading. The day Caracalla, the sick emperor you had spent months embodying a devotion to, would die. And you were taking it hard. You had somehow made a place for him in your heart. 

Fred thought it was sweet how your affections grew for his character. He assured you that he understood, working on a long term project like this always leaves an imprint on actors. 

The filming schedule on set didn’t rely on the order of the scenes, but more on the availability of certain sets and certain crew members. So even though this was nowhere near the last scene you had to film with Fred as Caracalla, nor was filming coming to an end anytime soon, you were filming Fred’s last scene in the movie.

The wardrobe department was a maze of fabric and armor, with soft R&B muffling through a nearby speaker, someone no doubt wanting to lighten the atmosphere in the stuffy warehouse. 

You sat hunched in a chair, eyes locked on the hem of your sweater, fingers twisting the fabric. You and Fred were waiting together to be given your costumes for the day.

It all felt so much heavier than you expected.

“You okay?”

Fred’s voice was gentle, but you didn’t lift your head. You just let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

“I’m being ridiculous.”

He came to crouch in front of you, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully. “No, you’re not.”

You sighed, pressing your palms to your face. “I’m getting emotional over the death of a villain in a movie.”

Fred’s head tilted. “Hey, we both know he wasn’t really a villain.” His voice carried a soft laugh with it.

Your lips twitched upward. “He was just misunderstood.”

“And syphilitic.”

You let out a wet laugh, wiping your face. “Yeah, and that.”

Fred grinned, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. Slowly, he stood and offered his hand. “Dance with me, Lovie.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

“Come on,” he urged softly, fingers still outstretched.

The nickname barely registered in your mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt different now, like a natural extension of you.

You slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

Fred’s palms settled at your waist, hesitant at first. But when you leaned in, looping your arms around his neck, his grip tightened, like letting go wasn’t an option. You swayed together, slow and easy, surrounded by walls of costumes and muffled music.

“How dumb is this?” you whispered, though the corners of your mouth lifted.

“It’s not dumb, Lovie.” Fred shook his head slightly, his hand gently smoothing over your hair. “Nothing you do is dumb.”

The nickname lingered in the air.

You exhaled, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“I’d take care of him so well,” you murmured, only slightly serious.

Fred let out a soft chuckle, his breath warming the top of your head.

“You did, Lovie,” he whispered back. “You did take care of him.”

And later, when you filmed the scene, the two of you covered in fake blood and silks, you couldn’t differentiate your character’s tears from your own. It all felt like the end of something. It felt like mourning.

When Fred said ‘Lovie’ instead of ‘My love’ as he wilted in your arms, you didn’t even register the deviation in the script. Only when it was over, when Ridley’s voice crackled through one of the hand held radios, did it hit you.

“Beautiful. Keep calling her that, Fred.” Ridley commended. “Lovie. Should’ve thought of that myself.”

~

“So what he means to say,” you spoke to the crowd, “is that my dramatics fundamentally affected the movie.”

“She was actually so sad,” Fred frowned, “It was heartbreaking. It was an honest mistake, though. Calling her ‘Lovie’.”

“But did you tell them where it came from?” Connie asked, teasingly looking at Fred.

“We uh—” He chuckled bashfully. “y/n and I called her character ‘Lovie’, because it was hard to workshop a character with no name.”

“And then ‘Lovie’ stopped being the character’s nickname,” Pedro chimed in with further explanation, “And it started being y/n’s.”

“I thought it was so sweet.” Connie sighed. “And it suits her so well.” 

“Ridley loved it, too.” Denzel joined. “I heard him grumbling over the radio. Something about how he didn’t think of it before.”

“No one cried when Fred cut off my head, though.” Joseph shrugged with a shake of his head. “Take from that what you will.”

“Actually, I did.” You corrected him with a smirk. “Don’t underestimate my propensity to get emotional when it comes to film.”

“Did you?” Joseph perked up, leaning forwards to look at you across the table. “Did she really?” He asked Fred, like he was the authority on all things true about you.

“Oh yeah.” Fred nodded. “And the scene where Caracalla asks where his brother is. Inconsolable. Sad movies are her weakness. You should’ve seen her when we watched ‘My Girl’.”

“Don’t bring that up right now.” You closed your eyes and shook your head solemnly, raising a palm in Fred’s direction. “He wasn’t wearing his goddamn glasses, Freddie.”

“It’s alright, Lovie,” Fred chuckled, speaking away from the microphone as he leaned closer to you. His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear. “We’ll watch a happy one tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You nodded at him, a smile growing on your face. Fred never failed to make you feel special, like you were a priority to him. Your choices always came above his, no matter how hard you insisted. It was so easy to love him.

“And our final question to wrap up the panel—”

“Make it a good one!” Pedro called into the microphone, a laugh rippling among the crowd in response.

“Come on up, don’t be shy.” The producer smiled at the young girl last in line to ask a question. “What did you want to ask the cast, honey?”

“What was your first kiss like?”

An ‘aw’ passed through the crowd as well as the cast on a stage. But a slight sweat began to coat your palms. You had been admiring Fred and his kindness only a moment ago. So tranquil, almost like you weren’t sitting in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. But this one question sent a shock of electricity up your spine. You were an actress, you reminded yourself. They wouldn’t know if you told the truth or not, would they? 

You heard Paul mention a school dance, and Pedro talked about a pool party during summer break. Denzel mentioned his wife, Connie spoke briefly of a night in Paris when she was a teenager. Joseph and Fred had similar stories, a stage kiss for a school play and a local production. 

When your turn came, you stuttered over your words. It didn’t feel like you had enough time to make something up, at least not something believable. “I guess—uh—technically, it was on screen.”

“Technically?” Joseph asked, confused. 

“Yeah,” You swallowed as heat bloomed across your cheeks. Your lips were upturned ever so slightly as you recalled that day. “My scene partner offered to practice with me before filming. It was much sweeter than it sounds.” You laughed before letting out a sigh. “It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever.”

~

It was the night before you would film your first intimate scene with Fred. The two of you were sitting on his couch, scripts open but long forgotten. The quiet of the trailer is filled with the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages as one of you shifts. You could feel Fred’s presence next to you, close enough that your knees brush when either of you adjusts your position.

“I don’t think Caracalla’s ever had anyone look at him the way Lovie does,” Fred mused, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, contemplative, like he’s voicing a thought meant only for himself.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the sincerity in his tone. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his blue eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “It’s like… even through the haze of his sickness and his trauma, he’s desperate to be seen. And she’s the only one who really does that for him. He doesn’t know how to love, not really, but he tries in his own way.” His gaze shifted to yours, a small, delicate frown tugging at his lips. “It’s tragic really.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his expression, the way he’s peeling back a layer of himself in his explanation. “I think Lovie sees that too,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “And maybe that’s why she stays.”

Fred’s smile faltered, his brows furrowing as he studies you. “You think she chooses to stay?”

“I think…” You paused as you pondered. “I think she’s grown to love him somehow, through this strange, abusive, co-dependent… thing they’ve got going on. And she’s choosing to stay. What you do with love is a choice,” you replied, your voice tinged with something wistful and raw. “Not everyone handles it as carefully as they should.”

The air between you shifted, growing heavier, thicker, as the weight of your words lingered. 

It didn’t feel like you were talking about your character’s anymore. Fred’s eyes didn’t leave yours after you spoke, and you suddenly realized how close he was sitting. His knee brushed yours again, and this time, neither of you moved away.

“Does it scare you?” he asked, his voice impossibly quiet.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs. “What?”

“Getting it wrong,” he said, his gaze searching for something telling in your eyes. “Love, I mean.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you held his gaze, unable to look away. “Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “It does scare me, I suppose.”

Fred nodded, a flicker of understanding passed over his face. “Me too.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, without thinking, Fred reached out, his hand brushed against yours where it rested on the cushion between you. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through you.

“I guess that’s why it’s easier on set,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “You get to pretend, just for a little while, that you know what you’re doing.”

You laughed softly, but it caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“Fred…” you started, your voice trailing off as his fingers curled gently around yours. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” You confessed, eyes falling down to your lap.

“I know.” He replied. 

You furrowed your brows and lifted your head to look at him questioningly. “You know?”

“Yeah y/n, of course I know.” Fred smiled softly, reassuringly, “I think I would be a bad friend if I couldn’t tell that you were nervous. And I’ve seen your filmography, I know you haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

You didn’t know if it was a relief or not that he thought you were only nervous about the shoot. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, eyes flickering downwards. “Never for a project, no.” You hoped he wouldn’t catch the half truth. Or maybe you hoped that he would. You weren’t sure how you felt about all of this.

You liked Fred. You knew this about yourself now. And sometimes, you think that maybe, just maybe, he might like you back. Paul never failed to seize an opportunity to tell you that, of course. But you were too scared to make a fool of yourself. And, selfishly, you didn’t want to lose what you had with Fred. But now, things were progressing. 

Fred was going to be your first kiss.

And that would be hard to overcome. Especially when you already liked him so much. You were afraid that you would imprint on him like a duckling, never seeing anyone else in the same light. And then what would you do?

“y/n?” Fred asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you alright?” You hummed in response, eyes still unfocused. “Do you wanna do a trust exercise or something?”

“What?” You questioned, finally pulling yourself back to the moment.

“For tomorrow?” Fred explained, raising his eyebrows as he spoke. “To help you feel better about it?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding. This might be just what you need. It was so helpful with Fred that last time, and hopefully it could be for you as well. “You wanna do the eye contact one?”

“How about another one?” Fred asked, leaning back against the back of the couch.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Tell me a secret.”

“What?” You balked. “What kind of exercise is that?”

“A secret for a secret.” Fred shrugged. “How about I start?” You nodded, though apprehensively. “I’m nervous for tomorrow, too.”

“Are you really?” You raised a brow at him. “‘Cause if your secret’s just a lie to make me feel better, then you’re cheating.”

Fred giggled and shook his head. “No, I really am.”

“Why?” You tilted your head inquisitively at him.

“Nope, I already told you my secret.” He pursed his lips and shook his head again. “Now it’s your turn.”

You shifted uncomfortably, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, the script forgotten in your lap. Fred’s gentle, observant gaze had a way of making you feel bare in a way that wasn’t unsettling, but intimate—like he could read every thought you tried to hide.

“I guess it’s not just in front of the camera,” you admitted softly, fiddling with the corner of a page. The confession felt inevitable, like it had been lingering between the two of you for weeks, just waiting for a moment like this to surface. “I mean… I haven’t done this before. Any of it. Not just on screen.”

Fred's eyes softened as he sat up slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his focus entirely on you. “You mean you—you’ve never been kissed before?” His voice was quiet, not prying but careful, like he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

For a moment, Fred didn’t respond. He simply watched you, and you could feel the weight of his attention, not heavy or oppressive. His brows furrowed slightly as if he were choosing his next words carefully.

“That’s… okay, you know,” he said finally. There was no pity in his tone, only a steady reassurance. “I know how intimidating this can be, even for people who’ve done it before.”

“It’s just—” you sighed, leaning back into the couch, exasperated with yourself. “It’s not that I think I can’t do it. I know I can, or at least I hope I can. I just don’t want to look ridiculous. I want it to look real.”

Fred smiled faintly, his head tilting as he considered your words. “It’s admirable, you know?” You hummed in question at him. “The fact that you’re sacrificing your first kiss for the production.”

“It’s embarrassing is what it is.” You rolled your eyes with a snort. 

“What?” He gasped quietly, the air still feeling ever so delicate between the two of you. “You're giving it away for Sir Ridley Scott! He’d be honored if he knew, I think.”

“He’d be confused if he knew.” You corrected him. “An actress in her early twenties who hasn’t been kissed before. I think I could apply to the Guinness book of world records.”

“Hey, come on.” He shook his head at you sympathetically. “You’re not breaking any records, trust me. There’s no deadline for this kind of thing.” He shifted closer as he spoke, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in that familiar gesture you’d come to recognize as a sign of his sincerity, “But…I could help—only if you want.”

Your heart skipped. “Help?”

He nodded. “I mean… if it makes you feel more comfortable, we could—” he paused, exhaling as if second-guessing himself. “I could be your first kiss. Just to take some of the pressure off tomorrow. It’s not a big deal. Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

The room felt impossibly quiet, save for the distant hum of the trailer’s air conditioning. You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. It wasn’t just the offer that stunned you—it was the ease in Fred’s voice, the way he treated it like something simple. Just Fred, offering to help you in whatever way he could. It was so sweet. He was always so sweet to you. But you couldn’t. Not like this

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you inevitably shook your head. “That’s really sweet of you, Fred. But I think I want my first real kiss to be with someone who actually really likes me, not a pity kiss from my scene partner. Tomorrow doesn’t count if I don’t count it. It’s fine, really. I was just in my head about it—”

Fred laughed before he could stop himself, interrupting your rambling. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“What?” You asked dumbly, not expecting him to say something like that after your vulnerable confession.

“Why do you think I’m nervous about tomorrow?” He asked incredulously, another laugh escaping him. “It’s because I actually really like you, y/n!”

Oh.

It was like someone knocked the wind out of you. 

You had hoped that he liked you back, maybe even thought it might be a possibility in the back of your mind, but to hear him say those words out loud? You were speechless. It was like a dream come true. All those months of pining for him, all that yearning, was reciprocated this whole time. 

“y/n,” Fred murmured, his voice low, soothing. “Can I be your first real kiss? Please?” He parroted your words back to you once more, breathlessly. You felt the blood rush into your head.

You managed a weak nod, barely able to meet his gaze. He waited a beat, letting the moment settle before he leaned in, his hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His touch was featherlight, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheekbone. The intimacy of the gesture almost unraveled you.

Fred's lips brushed yours tentatively, the kiss soft and unhurried. His movements were gentle yet assured, he understood that this was new for you and he didn’t mind guiding you through it. His other hand found your waist, steadying you, and you felt yourself melting into him.

As the kiss deepened, Fred’s grip on your waist tightened subtly, anchoring you as he shifted. Without breaking contact, he eased you forward, guiding you into his lap until you straddled him, your knees on either side of his hips and your hands resting tentatively against his shoulders. His fingers flexed against your hips, drawing you closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Your lungs felt tight as Fred pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips and his hands lingered against your waist, sending butterflies crashing into each other in your stomach. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—long enough for the rapid beat of your heart to settle into something softer, steadier.

“Was that okay?” Fred asked softly, his voice just above a whisper.

You nodded before opening your eyes to meet his gaze. There was something tender in the way he looked at you, and it made the words on the tip of your tongue feel less terrifying.

“Can we… do it again?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and your stomach flipped as you realized how vulnerable you sounded.

Fred's lips quirked into a soft smile as his hand slid up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” he murmured, a soft laugh coloring his words as he brushed his nose against yours. “Yeah, we can do it again. As many times as you want.”

His lips found yours once more, and this time, there was no hesitation. Fred kissed you with more certainty, his hands firm as they traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer still. You could feel his quiet desire in the way he held you, the way his fingers flexed when you deepened the kiss.

You were glad that confession made its way out before you could stop it.

The next morning, you woke up with a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubbling beneath your skin. 

The day was finally here. 

The scene you’d been dreading—and quietly anticipating—was actually happening. But unlike the restless nights leading up to it, you felt more prepared. More steady.

You had filmed a few suggestive scenes with Fred before. As a syphilitic emperor, Caracalla had the propensity to be very comfortable and open in his desires. But you weren’t asked to be nude for any of those scenes, unlike this one. The complexity of not even speaking, yet being so exposed on screen was a little difficult to wrap your head around. 

This scene was supposed to depict you and Caracalla in the privacy of his lavish quarters when Joseph as Geta barges in and angrily informs his brother of Acacius and Lucilla's betrayal. You and Fred were to be undressed and only covered by sheets from the waist down. 

Clara, the intimacy coordinator, had explained that Fred would be leaned back in bed, propped up by a few pillows, while you sat in his lap. The scene would open with a close up shot of the two of you kissing gently, the camera slowly pulling back with you as you leaned back. Your lower bodies would be covered with various messy sheets, depicting the long night the characters had already had before the intrusion.

The scene was much more than physical, it was also meant to show the characters’ co-dependent nature. Even when his concubine was on him, he needed his hands to be on her, both showing his dominance and control over her as well as his reluctance to pull away.

Fred’s kiss lingered in the back of your mind like a warm ember, small but constant. While you still felt the nerves creep in when you thought about today’s shoot, there was a quiet confidence blooming alongside them.

When you arrived on set, you noticed immediately how different the atmosphere felt. The crew was smaller, the lighting dimmer—intentional choices to provide you with a layer of privacy. 

Clara was already on set, organizing the sheets and setting up the space. She glanced your way, smiling comfortingly, but she didn’t say anything. She knew of your apprehension and had been worried about you. But she noticed something new in you today. Maybe there was a shift in your energy or a slight lift in your posture, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she kept her observations to herself.

Fred was already there, standing near the bed where the scene would take place with Joseph. He smiled the second he saw you, that familiar softness in his expression grounding you more than anything else could.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice low and calm.

“Morning,” you replied, a shy tight lipped smile on your face as you stepped closer to him. Joseph greeted you but was quickly ushered away to his mark behind the door, not giving him enough time to notice the change between you and Fred. 

Clara approached you and spoke with her usual calm authority, a roll of skin-safe tape in hand. “Alright, let’s get these sheets secured,” she said, gesturing for you to adjust your robe.

But you stopped her with a small, assured smile. “I don’t think we’ll need the tape today.” Last night’s events forged a confidence deep within you. You knew your team had your back. You knew Fred had your back. 

Clara paused, blinking at you as if processing your words. Her sharp gaze flickered briefly to Fred, who stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed into his robe pockets. 

He tilted his head at your words, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “You sure?” His voice was low, warm with concern.

You nodded, holding his gaze. “Yeah, I feel more confident now.”

Clara smirked faintly, a flicker of understanding in her expression, but she didn’t press. Fred’s gesture was subtle but telling. “Alright, just let me know if anything changes.” She said with a sense of finality before stepping away to oversee the set. 

Fred watched her retreat, then turned back to you with a concerned glint in his eye. He brushed your arm lightly to grab your attention. “You really don’t want the tape?” Fred asked again, his tone tinged with genuine care.

“Yeah,” You nodded with determination. “I can do it.”

He studied you for a beat longer, as if making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard, then smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” 

“You helped.” You confessed in a whisper, a smile curling your lips upward.

“Yeah?” He asked in surprise, his grin only grew wider when you nodded in confirmation. “Glad I could be of service. We could sneak off and practice some more, if you’d like-”

“Fred!” You cut him off before he could say anymore, scandalised yet amused all the same. “You’re horrible!”

“And you’re cute, Lovie.” He smirked as an assistant pulled him away, cutting your conversation short. 

Another assistant pulled you forward as well, telling you to get into place so they could adjust the lighting based on your position. Fred smiled encouragingly at you from the bed he was laying in as you approached. An assistant helped you get into position, straddling Fred’s lap with your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. The position wasn’t unlike how you had found yourself last night in Fred’s trailer. With a quick glance into Fred’s eyes, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

The makeup artists fluttered around you, dabbing at your skin with soft brushes, unknowingly keeping the moment from becoming too intimate. The lighting crew adjusted their angles, the soft glow from overhead casting shadows that added depth to the space.

Fred’s hands found your waist instinctively, his thumbs brushing circles against the fabric of your robe. His touch was grounding, steady, and it calmed the last bit of tension lingering in your chest.

“You okay?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.

You met his gaze, but your eyes kept drifting lower, to his lips. The memory of yesterday was still present at the forefront of your mind, your pulse quickened at the thought of doing it again.

Fred noticed immediately, a small chuckle escaping him. “You’re adorable.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier.

“I’m just—” You flushed, embarrassed at being caught. You were unable to find the words to explain the giddy excitement stirring in you. “I guess I’m excited to start.”

Fred’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t push it, not wanting to tease you any further. “Good.” His grip on your waist tightened subtly, the weight of his hands calming you.

As the cameras rolled, Fred’s lips found yours, his kiss was steady and deliberate, his hands guiding you gently as your body pressed closer to his. You pulled away from him when you heard your cue, the camera nearest to you swooshing in the air as it moved backwards. Soon enough, you heard the loud bang of the bedroom doors bursting open. You startled in Fred’s lap, the reaction a mix of yours and Lovie’s. For a brief moment, you weren’t acting on a set. It was just the two of you before Joseph barged in. 

Fred cradled you against his chest, covering your exposed form from Geta, like the scene called for. You couldn’t hear what Joseph was saying over the loud heartbeat in your ears, but you knew what the script expected of you and when. Fred’s warm skin and chest hair brushed against your arms as you huddled close to him. It was intoxicating. 

After the first take, you gently pulled back and shifted Fred’s position. “Keep your hands here,” you instructed, placing his hands firmly on your hips in view of the camera. “To show that he’s in control.”

“Okay,” he nodded, always open to your ideas. “You should try leaning into me more,” he added, his hands guiding your hips to tilt forward. “It makes it look like he’s really keeping her there.”

You furrowed your brows as you digested his notes. “Alright. Should I put more weight into it?”

“Yeah, exactly.” He nodded in encouragement. “Don’t hold back, I’ve got you.”

The next take felt even more intense. Fred’s hands pressed into your waist with more dominance. And you fell into him, relinquishing control, matching the energy you’d both discussed.

Between takes, he was quick to adjust the sheets, shielding you with practiced ease. Each touch lingered longer than necessary, his fingers brushing against your bare skin beneath the fabric, and every time you glanced up at him, his eyes held the same quiet intensity and kindness.

Joseph and Clara shared looks after each run through, the two of them noticing the shift in dynamic between the two of you.

“They’re different today.” Joseph whispered to Clara. 

“They’re more in sync.” Clara tilted her head as she observed the two of you. “Almost like…”

“Almost like they’ve been practicing.” Joseph smirked.

“About damn time, if you ask me.” Clara huffed, though amused all the same.

~

All these months later, and the memory was still fresh in your mind. And apparently, in someone else’s as well. “y/n?” Joseph’s voice broke the quiet hum of the green room. You were standing at the tea station, carefully deliberating over how much sugar and milk to add to your cup when he approached, his tone unusually hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You didn’t look up, focused on swirling the tea in your cup. “As long as it’s not about my sugar-to-milk ratio, because I’ll have you know, it’s perfect.”

Joseph chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “No, it’s not that. It’s… uh…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You can totally tell me to fuck off and mind my own business if you don’t want to answer.”

“I gotta hear the question first, Joseph,” you replied with a playful smile, still not turning to face him. “But I promise I won’t be offended.”

He took a deep breath. “Was Fred your first kiss?”

Your hand froze mid-air over the sugar tin, the question catching you off guard. You finally glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just…” Joseph shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence replaced with something softer. “What you said back there—on stage—about cherishing the memory forever. It sounded a lot like you were talking about Fred.” He looked down at the tea he was fixing, his words careful, almost shy. “And honestly, it reminded me of that day on set.”

“What day?”

“When we filmed the scene in Caracalla’s bedroom.” His eyes flicked back to yours, searching for confirmation. “You and Fred were… different that day. There was this energy between you two, like something had changed. I thought maybe you’d finally, you know, come to your senses about each other, but what you said on stage—it made me wonder.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” You added a splash of milk to your tea. “We did come to our senses that day.”

Joseph’s eyebrows shot up, his curiosity piqued. “And… was he—you know…?”

You glanced at him, tilting your head in mock thought. “While I appreciate your sudden foray into investigative journalism,” you teased, “I think the answer to that question is classified.”

Before Joseph could reply, Paul’s voice cut through the moment. “Or…” he started, strolling toward you with an infuriating smirk. “The answer is a three-letter word.”

“Fuck off, Paul!” you shot back, your laughter bubbling up as you grabbed your cup of tea.

Joseph groaned, shaking his head at Paul. “You’re relentless.”

“And mean,” you added with a grin as you turned to head toward Fred, who had just entered the room and only caught the tail end of the conversation. He gave you an inquisitive look as he draped his arm over your shoulders.

“What are we cussing Paul out for this time?” Fred asked, his voice light and teasing. He leaned down, pretending to whisper conspiratorially, “What’d he do?”

“He’s mean,” you said with a giggle, your words laced with amusement. “Are you ready to leave?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, the car’s waiting out back.”

“You’re leaving already?” Paul’s mock-pout followed you as you grabbed your bag.

“We’re literally seeing you guys at dinner in, what, two hours?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“And tomorrow morning,” Fred added, steering you toward the door. “Hopefully you’ll survive without us until then.”

As you walked out, Joseph’s amused voice reached you. “For the record, I’m still rooting for that classified answer.”

Fred glanced down at you, his brow raised. “What’s he talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” you said, stifling a laugh. “They’re just being nosy.”

Fred didn’t push, his signature crooked grin tugging at his lips as he leaned closer, his voice warm against your ear. “Well, whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

As always, you thought, smiling softly to yourself.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Fred’s arm still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but glance up at him. The way he fit so effortlessly into your life—his steady presence, his quiet reassurances—made you wonder how you ever doubted his feelings for you. Looking back now, it seemed almost ridiculous. Every glance, every touch, every word had been there all along, waiting for you to notice.

“Ready?” he asked softly, opening the car door for you and offering you a hand.

You nodded, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at his antics. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

How could you not be, when everything he did made it so easy to fall for him?

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (5)

—  Pairing: Namkook, Vminkook, Namjingi, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader,

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 5.7k

—  Warnings: Hospitals, sickfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Humor, Polyamory negotiations, Seizures, Chronic illness, flirting

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(3 years ago, Namjoon)

It’s been a little more than a year after Namjoon officially moved Seokjin and Yoongi into his apartment. And although the addition of the pup doesn’t happen overnight, it sort of feels like it does.

Namjoon is not regularly a skeptic, he doesn’t look down his nose at certain tropes, love at first sight, enemies to lovers, the waspish omega that falls into the arms of the big buff alpha brute. But there is only one trope when Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung fall into their lives: neither an old wives tale, a good luck charm, or a superstition.

Good things come in threes.

When Namjoon meets him, he doesn’t know Jungkook will be his omega one day. One day, but not quite yet. The day they meet, Jungkook is just another one of Namjoon’s patients:

The waiting room is full of the smell of sick people, vomit, and a lingering sliminess of blood and antiseptic. Covering up the smell of sour fear and anguish. It’s full of blaring red exist signs and the beep of an overhead alert for a code blue upstairs. Overstimulating to even those who are used to it.

Namjoon doesn’t have to worry, code blue means cardiology, code purple maternity.

A code red? Then he’d be running.

There’s one blond head, one black head, and one tawny waiting in bay 8. All of them look too young to consider themselves packmates and yet they act as one unit when Namjoon calls Jeon Jungkook’s name. He’s got wavy black hair and doe eyes and a strong jawline that he has yet to grow into. A pup still. But not for much longer.

An attractive omega. A pretty one.

Namjoon is just two hours shy of a desperately needed break and 10 hours into his current shift. Exhaustion weighs on his bones like a physical ache. No worse and no better than the other patients. But Namjoon's hoping to be promoted to the head of neurosurgery within the next few years (it will take him 6 months before they offer him the job) and he needs to put in the hours to achieve that goal. 

A goal that comes with things for his pack, a bigger apartment maybe, less hours for Yoongi and Jin, and more good food in the little kitchen. A vacation maybe (they’ve never been anywhere together, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?)  Both Jin and Yoongi like to cook and a bigger kitchen and a larger apartment is high on Namjoon’s lists of wants.

While the omega looks absolutely fine, you’d never guess that judging by the gun smoke and spiced wine scents that spike agitated into the air from each of his alphas. They’re tense, each of them holding one of the omega's hands so hard their knuckles are white.

Jungkook’s hands are calloused, Namjoon notices while he’s taking his blood pressure. Eyes on the monitor and not on Jungkook’s eyes. Staring at him unwaveringly as Namjoon asks his quiet questions.

“Do you lift weights Jungkook?”

“Yes, I ugh, I’m a personal trainer.”

Namjoon hums, it shows, Jungkook’s veins are so good that Namjoon doesn’t even have to check to see if he’s dehydrated. He compliments him on it (weird doctor quirk) and the omega blushes. Looking down an away. “Have you ever hit your head on any of the equipment at work? Or ever fallen during a set. You said you had a seizure, where you working out when you had it?”  

“No, I was at home I was-”

The larger of the two alphas is the first one to speak- when his patient chokes on his own words. The blond one turns his impassive eyes upwards at Namjoon and says nothing. He’s terribly small for an alpha, but his eyes are no less threatening, his glare, although it comes from a sweet face, is anything but blank, it’s murderous.

But Namjoon is not here to hurt their omega, he’s here to help heal him. Namjoon is only too used to dealing with this sort of thing- packmates worried and fussing over their pack members, omega’s nesting around their alpha’s in the waiting room, that sort of thing.

Namjoon feels a tug in his gut. But the tawny haired one is the first one to speak, and Namjoon shoves it down in favor of doing his job.

“If someone had a seizure during…” he pauses, glancing at Jungkook then at Namjoon “Sex- would you be able to tell? And how would we make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

The omega is bright red between the two of them.  the alpha that smells like gunsmoke and glares a bit like the devil might, re-settles his other hand on the back of Jungkook’s neck to soothe him. His shoulders drop from around his ears and Jungkook’s distressed omega scent evens out from rotting flowers back to sweet honey. 

Namjoon’s inner alpha perks up. Lifting its head from folded polite paws.

People smell different when they're sad than when they're happy. Namjoon’s own coffee scent starts to smell like coffee liquor when he’s angry, or too tired to breathe properly or too anxious to think straight. Seokjin smells like curdled milk and wet dog when he's upset or missing them but sweet milk when he's happy. And Yoongi goes all salty and ocean murky when he's miffed that someone's looking at him a bit too long but smells like thick chocolate every other hour of the day. 

The two alphas on either side of Jungkook smell like Gunsmoke (the angry one) and peppery wine (the tall one) or maybe he's just drunk and smells like pepper. Namjoon's first thought is not how to help them- but wondering what they'd smell like if they were happy.  

Huh.

That should be the first thing that tips him off really. He tries not to worry too much about the happiness of his patients, only their health. There are some boundaries that need to be maintained so that Namjoon doesn’t get too attached.

Namjoon pauses to fill Jungkook’s waterglass. He gets two other paper cups and fills those too while he talks about symptoms.

They all look so small and scared. And Namjoon can’t help but send out comforting pheromones- his scent blockers have worn off this long into his shift. It’s just in his nature to want to comfort these three- so lost in a sea of concerned stressed faces and scents. It must be bombarding them. Namjoon is used to how the emergency room smells. The tangle of stressed scents and possible threats.

Their shoes sit side by side, a pair of combat boots, a pair of converse, and a pair of brown leather loafers. All of them have purple shoelaces threaded through. Namjoon knows a pack mark when he sees it. All of Namjoon’s packmates wear Yoongi’s one flannel- trading it back and forth between the three of them.

The three of them lean into Namjoon’s space.

But still, he’s nothing but professional, taking Jungkook’s vitals under the watchful eye of both of his alpha’s. And the small cagey looking one hands over Jungkook’s hand when Namjoon needs to fix the heartrate monitor and lets him take Jungkook in for a scan upstairs, promising that he’s in good hands and really Jungkook is.

He prattles on to Namjoon the whole way up and is Namjoon sure he’s never worked out before, not even a little? How else does he get so strong? Namjoon guides Jungkook into the big machine, trying to soothe his anxiety. Rubbing his fingers on his wrist, his scent gland there small and tender to the touch.

The minutes Jungkook is in the machine feel terribly long, the thudding all around him loud and scary. “Are you still there Dr.Kim?” he asks through the intercom.

“Of course I am, Jungkook.”

“My alpha’s call me Kookie, or Jk, you can call me Kookie if you want. Cuz I’m sweet like one.”

Namjoon pauses, before he clicks the button on the intercom, worried. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“No! I’m like this naturally!”

He watches the screen, waiting, tapping his foot, and the technician asks him if he has more important things to do.

Namjoon’s glasses reflect the blue light of the monitor. “Looking after my patients take precedent” the technician scoffs something like ‘looking after huh’ and continues to click away as pixel after pixel comes through.

Namjoon finds evidence of the seizure and others on Jungkook’s MRI.

He gives the three of them a lengthy conversation, spending more time than he ordinarily would on them, explaining the depts of Jungkook’s illness. He hates breaking life-changing news to people. He hates the look in their eyes when it hits them. When they look at him like he can change it or like he might be wrong.

Namjoon is a good doctor, he’s rarely ever wrong.

Telling this omega that he has epilepsy, that he can't drive and will likely have to change every aspect of his life to avoid as many seizures as possible or risk permanent brain damage- sucks. Telling the omega with the bunny eyes and the chubby cheeks that his life as he knows it is over feels like the worst thing that Namjoon has ever had to do. And he had to perform a craniotomy on a two-year-old last week, so he’s got perspective. He books multiple follow up appointments with Jungkook. More than normal.  

It's pretty clear that Namjoon's instincts are having some bearing on his emotions. He usually doesn't care so much. He's had enough people die on him that he can't care the way he used too about people who aren't Jin or Yoongi. It’s not heartlessness, it’s just self-preservation.

But that all goes out of the window when he breathes in their scents. So unhappy, Namjoon can’t not soothe them, can’t do nothing.

“It could never happen again, and it could happen twice every week. There's no way to know how often you’ll have them so you should be extra careful for a little while. No operating heavy machinery or driving and stay away from stairs if you can. You’ve got two packmates to take care of you so that’s good.” 

 I’ve got two packmates too, he wants to say. If yours are any good, they’ll take care of you half as well as Seokjin and Yoongi take care of me.

As if the two alphas can smell a hint of the suggestion that they wouldn’t hang the stars for Jeon Jungkook, they curl protectively around Namjoon’s patient. Even the small one with the blond hair looks protective and large in the small space, sizing Namjoon up like he could be a potential threat. He’s used to this kind of alpha posturing at the hospital when tensions run high and concern for loved ones becomes adrenaline. Any possible threat prompts aggression.

Instincts are fickle things. Namjoon’s alpha does not take his posturing as a threat.

Namjoon’s alpha is pacing and howling in the confines of his head, straining it’s neck to get out out out. He’s a man of science not instinct. No one, not even the other alpha- would be able to tell that Namjoon was feeling anything at all.

But Seokjin would know.

Seokjin would poke at the vein on Namjoon’s neck that stands out when he rolls his jaw and Namjoon would go from feral wolf to puppy and putty in Seokjin’s hands.

Namjoon has always been a dominant alpha. It doesn’t matter much in their small 3-person pack because Namjoon is the only alpha when it comes to Seokjin and Yoongi. But looking at these two sitting here, it feels like it does. The tall alpha- Taehyung- looks at Namjoon but he looks away first. The small patient room is full of the scent of fresh coffee. Namjoon's scent fluffs out through his blockers without any kind of effort.

The two alphas breathe in the scent of coffee- the kind that’s pressed into your hand the second after you wake by someone you love. To Jimin and Taehyung- it conjures up the image happy Saturdays and Sundays, the moments shared in intimacy and half wakefulness. Namjoon likes that he smells like innocent moments.

Even they have to admit that Dr. Kim smells good.

Their shoulders ease away from their necks, and their fear begins to dissipate as Namjoon explains.

To Jimin fear has always been a necessary evil. It feels weird to try and let go of it with Jungkook sick, with the news that everything is going to change (that maybe everything already has). Every few seconds Namjoon’s scent makes Jimin’s body relax, and he has to straighten up again. Namjoon just tells himself that it’s a sign he’s good at his job even though it feels a little too much like flirting to be completely appropriate.

Namjoon has never flirted with another alpha, at least not knowingly.

“Could it also have been a one-off fluke?” Taehyung asks. He’s been mostly quiet, but Namjoon shivers when he meets his eyes. There is something placid about his face, even under the storm of this, the alpha looks mostly calm. He can't explain it, but looking at Taehyung feels like looking at the ocean, scary if you look away.

Namjoon reminds them that he’d found signs of other seizures on his brain scan too. Points them out to them on his tablet, shows a picture of a normal brain to compare. He explains that sometimes the only indication that a seizure is happening could be that time is passing weirdly or that someone is staring off into space for too long.

Taehyung goes pale when he says that. “Jungkook gets that way all the time.” He says the next part quieter, “especially when he’s nesting.”

Namjoon’s breath goes shallow at that, the idea that this omega, this Jungkook and his packmates will never be able to see him nest again without worrying, without asking and doublechecking. Something that is routine and a necessary part of all omega’s and their biology and pack intimacy will never feel normal to them again.

When they leave- Namjoon gives them his personal number because he’s so concerned about the three of them. So vulnerable and unprepared to help Jungkook navigate the world like this. None of them are older than 25. And while they're not not adults, Namjoon's instincts scream at him pups pups pups. 

Surprisingly it’s Jungkook who uses Namjoon's number the most often.

He wants to talk to Namjoon about it all- the new definition of his life inside his medical condition. No bright flashing lights and limited screen time. A set bedtime every night and a new diet that’s helping considerably but still feels so restrictive. Jungkook can’t do anything without thinking about it, weighing out calories and estimating carbohydrates. Pricking his fingers to monitor the blood sugar spikes.

“I would kill for some pretzels- or just- some fucking bread. Do you know how good fresh bread is when you know you can't have it Joonie?”

Namjoon doesn't scold Jungkook for the nicknames anymore. Not after the first few calls when Jungkook's natural earnestness melts away Namjoon’s better judgment. “Too much salt bunny” Namjoon hears Taehyung say on the other side of the phone.

“I will kill you for carbohydrates Hyung.”

Namjoon does the best he can to ease the young omega's worries. And slowly- they talk about things other than Jungkook’s condition. Though that remains a soft topic, “I didn’t have any this week hyung! Maybe they’re finally turning a corner, aren’t you proud of me?”

“Of course, I am bunny- I’ll always be proud of you.”

In the background of the call, he hears the words ‘hot doctor’ and ‘hopeless’ faintly. A happy little giggle he’s started to recognize as Jimin’s when Jungkook shoots him a scandalized “Hyung!”

He and Jungkook talk until late at night sometimes. They text a lot too, so much that Yoongi and Jin tease him about it, “What are you smiling at your phone about?”

Like they don’t already know.

Jungkook fills the spaces when Yoongi and Jin aren’t there; the days after Namjoon’s had a night shift and both of his pack mates are working. Jungkook’s voice fills the air in Namjoon’s room. And when he closes his eyes, it feels like he’s really there.

Namjoon wants more than he would ever willingly admit. Wants more than he’d ever think through if Seokjin told him no.

But Seokjin only ever teases Namjoon for smelling strong and ask to see Jungkook’s Instagram. “Wow he’s like- model hot.” Namjoon had just pecked his cheek, dispelling any anxiety or insecurity.

“If he’s model hot then you’re ancient Greek statue hot.”

“Joonie.”

“Do you want me to stop calling him? I will.”

Seokjin’s thumb had hovered, a photo of the three of them there. The like count is what bothers him. Even Seokjin gets more than 50 likes on his photos of Namjoon and Yoongi. But these three pups, they only have 11 people in their corner. Two alphas and one omega.

This omega, this Jungkook must be special.

Seokjin’s heart beats hard. Flicking through the photos. Namjoon lets him look through their texts too. Jungkook is old fashioned, he prefers to call. “He’s got seizures Namjoon.”

“I know hyung.”

“He’s sick, and you can’t cure him.”

“I know.”

But packs are built this way, they all know that.

He talks to Jungkook’s alphas too. Mostly Taehyung who studied literature in undergrad and works at the large public library in the city center, not far from Namjoon’s hospital. One morning he even finds a coffee waiting at the check in desk for him, a cup of coffee and a not scrawled on the side in elegant handwriting.

Thanks for looking after Koo. He’s very special to us.

How many nicknames does this omega have? Namjoon saves the note, keeps it in his jacket pocket.

They share a lot of the same interest in poetry. Taehyungs the one who rescues Namjoon from the sound of static when Jungkook falls asleep on the line and talks quick, about stories and plot lines and the newest viral book that they can’t keep off the shelves that he’s just been dying to read but won’t until no one reserves it.

(Namjoon might leave it at the front desk in the library, might wrap it in a little purple bow)

The next time Jungkook calls he opens the phone to, “no fair! You got Taehyung a present before you go me something! It’s supposed to be omega’s first Hyung.”

“Okay bunny okay, what would you have me get you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook had hesitated, “something for my nest maybe?” Namjoon’s breath had gone short, and the shouting through the other end of the line was good natured, goofy, but still indignant enough that Jungkook’s giggles had smoothed over any uncomfortableness. “Kidding hyung, you can buy me food.”

“Something seizure safe?” Namjoon had clarified, ducked into a corner at the hospital, words quiet.

“You gonna tell my doctor on me if it’s not?”

“Kookie-”

But scolding Jungkook never works out well, he’s too cute to be scolded, too good for it. Jungkook’s a personal trainer and luckily his work hasn’t been too disrupted by his diagnosis. Namjoon doesn’t know if he would have been able to resist offering monetary help if it had. They’re not rich, but having three people to pool their paychecks together takes the anxiety out of a lot of things.

Jungkook’s body feels more and more like a cage as the seizures get worse. His life is narrowed down to the five or ten minutes a week he surrenders to the seizures. But the best part, the part that makes him feel most free, is picking up the phone and calling Namjoon. Namjoon never makes him feel like he’s sick, his concern isn’t stifling like Jimin and Tae's can be at times. Namjoon never makes Jungkook feel worried and under watch, only looked after.

Jungkook knows that Jimin and Taehyung will get better at it, they have been adjusting but it’s Been hard. He’s not fragile right? He’s not going to die from this? Right?

Jungkook’s okay until he’s not.

Taehyung sends him poems and pictures of Jungkook sleeping and getting his rest. But he also calls in a panic just days from his third follow up MRI because Jungkook had a seizure when neither of the alphas was home. He’s still on the floor, and he’s having trouble standing.

Namjoon knows. Namjoon knows what that looks like after a seizure, knows how scary it is when the body won’t listen to the brain. The dissonance to it, like a car crash happening quietly or mold inside of a jam jar, shocking at the opening.

“He says he’s okay- but Joonie- Joonie- how do we know- what if he’s bleeding in his head or if he’s-”

“Tae- Tae- it’s okay baby. I’m here, do you want me to come over and check him out?”

The use of the word baby gets a little look from Yoongi and Jin. They’re playing footsie at the coffee table with a pint of ice cream and only one spoon between the two of them. Their night of domestic leisure interrupted by this phone call. Namjoon’s startled tone draws their attention away from each other. Namjoon’s too panicked to notice their questioning eyes, too worried about Jungkook.

He’s got more on his mind right now, the thought of brain bleeds and strokes and the misfiring neurons in Jungkook’s brain that could kill him. Really- Jungkook could die at any time from this. He could die and Namjoon's only seen them a handful of times. His follow up appointment that Namjoon had desperately been looking forward too, is barely a week away.

But that's not soon enough. 

Tae goes silent on the other line until the phone gets handed over with a rustle of fabric against the earpiece. But Namjoon recognizes the calm breath. Namjoon doesn’t have as much of a rapport with Jimin, beyond a few selfies or videos of him and Jungkook being cute sent to him by Taehyung (because if he has to suffer through being so deeply in love that Jimin snorting sprite out his nose makes him have heart eyes then everyone else has to witness it too).

(In Namjoon’s defense those are Taehyung’s words- not his).

“Hyung, can you come over?” He asks.

He's never called Namjoon Hyung before and never asked to. There's a warmness there. Namjoon knows a little about why that might be. All of them are immigrants to different degrees and Namjoon's technically 3rd generation and had never learned Korean just like Jungkook. Tae and Jimin know more, have the sentiment built into their language, Korean to English and back again tangling until it’s hard to tell what they are- if they’re anything other than other. Jimin can’t read hangul but Tae can.

Jungkook throws the word ‘Hyung’ around like an American and likes to tack it onto every sentence or forget it entirely. Namjoon doesn't speak Korean like Yoongi and Jin do. But Namjoon recognizes the same cadence in Jimin's voice that Yoongi uses when he talks to Seokjin in that soft special way reserved for someone you expect to look after you.

The supplication is sweet as he asks for Namjoon. He lives up to his stoic persona; his voice barely wavers when he gives Namjoon their address.

In the mad dash over to their apartment, Namjoon recalls the story Jungkook told him of how he met Tae and Jimin. Jimin is a professional bodyguard and works for an entertainment agency, they both used to go to the same gym (Jungkook works there now but Jimin is too busy working to go more than once or twice a week) both of them staunch jocks and Tae the one erudite that charmed their hearts.

Taehyung and Jimin had known each other since grade school, had grown up and gotten kicked out at the same time because their parents didn’t approve of alpha and alpha relationships. They’ve been together even longer than Seokjin and Yoongi have. Had presented together and loved each other through it. Although it seems impossible given their age. He remembers Jungkook’s smitten expression over Facetime, stars in his eyes only meant for the two alphas’ and Namjoon a happy voyeur.

“They’re soulmates Hyung, like you and Seokjinnie.”

And that’s how Namjoon ends up halfway across town wearing only one slipper in Yoongi’s robe at 10 pm on a Wednesday. His car keys jingle in his hand as he realizes- fuck- I didn’t even comb my hair. His alpha instincts are screaming at him to find the three pups and make sure they’re alright. Maybe scruff them, maybe make sure that their den is as safe as Namjoon's.

(It couldn't be as safe as Namjoon's- his instincts say. He should take them by the nape and drag them back to place them in Seokjin's nest, the only safe place for pups. Seokjin might not even mind, Seokjin might chirp like his alpha has brought something significantly valuable back to his nest, like food from hunting or more furs. Three more packmates yes. That would be a very very good courting gift for the pack omega. Seokjin will like these alpha’s, Namjoon is sure of it).

Namjoon’s only ever felt this protective with two people in his life and he knows enough to guess what this means.

Jimin answers the door, moving to the side instantly to let Namjoon into their den. Routine, like not even an inch of his instincts reject him. They’ve only met in person twice and talked over the phone a handful of times. But Jimin’s eyes still shine, glassy and trusting.

“Alpha, you came.” He says, blushing when he realizes his slip-up. It’s quite a chang3e from his glaring before but Namjoon doesn’t question it. Namjoon whips through their apartment, his nose seeking out their omega.

“Couldn’t stay away, would have come over even if you said you didn’t want me to.” Is the confession too much or is it perfect? Jimin’s eyes go dark, and his hand loosens on the doorknob where it’s closed. Keeping the world out and Namjoon inside.

Namjoon wants to growl, but it comes out as a near purr.

Namjoon barely notices the checkered yellow carpet and the plants on the windowsill or the books piled by the couch where Jungkook sits with Taehyung, head in the alpha’s lap. The soft drone of the TV is the only noise. The brightness is turned down too. Both of his hands clasped in Taehyung’s tight, and a kitchen towel pressed to a mark on his cheek that's not bleeding anymore. 

It doesn’t need stitches but will scar anyway. The scar will stay for years after, small and slight. Just barely puckering over Jungkook’s cheekbone. Namjoon spends half an hour holding his hands and checking his pulse. Shining a light in Jungkook’s eyes before he verifies that Jungkook is okay. That his pupils look fine, that he doesn't have a concussion. And he's going to be fine. 

Tonight, Jungkook is alive and healthy, but that will not always be the case.

“You can borrow a pair of Tae’s shoes to go home,” Jimin says while Tae and Jungkook waddle off together towards the end of the hall where the scent of the three of them grows thick and sweet. In the direction of Jungkook’s nest.

Taehyung holds Jungkook up, still tired and dizzy from the seizure, but at least his legs are cooperating again. He’ll be back to normal by the morning. But for now he sleepily nuzzles into Namjoon’s shoulder. His words lisping with sleep, “it feels better when you’re here. Like you a lot hyung, like you lots and lots.”

Taehyung laughs awkwardly. “Okay, that’s enough honey bunny.” He’s understandably a little embarrassed that his omega is scenting the doctor that they met that one time (no matter that their call history says they’ve spent nearly 50 hours talking on the phone over the last 3 weeks.)

Taehyung holds his shoulders and puppets Jungkook to their room. Namjoon has to force himself to let them go down the narrow hallway and not follow them.

Namjoon is just about to leave when Jimin stops him at the door. “Alpha?” It’s not a mistake this time. Namjoon pauses in the doorway.

“Thanks for caring for us.”

Namjoon can’t stop his shivers even when he gets home. Yoongi strokes down his arms to warm him up. “You look like you’ve just had a bomb dropped on you or like you're coming down with something.”

Yoongi's honesty makes Namjoon word vomit all over the quiet. Jin is asleep next to them, but he stirs at the sudden spike of Namjoon's distress. Turns and opens his eyes, crusty. Rubbing at them with a curled fist before he leans his head on Yoongi’s arm. Curled beneath his cheek. Both of them lean in close to watch and listen.

“I think- I think they’re going to be a part of our pack.”

Yoongi kisses Namjoon’s frown away, kissing him over top of Seokjin who huffs, a little bratty at being ignored. Yoongi’s scent remains an uninterrupted ribbon of chocolate melty goodness. If Yoongi feels at all threatened or uncomfortable. He doesn’t smell it.

Namjoon knows he smells relived, even more when Yoongi kisses his cheeks, his brow. Namjoon clings, hands circling the beta’s waist. Possessive, almost apologetic.  “Good, I’d rather listen to them talk here than get only half of your conversation through the phone.”

Late-night phone calls turn into tentative flirting and pinky promises. Seokjin always makes sure to like Jungkook’s posts on Instagram. Makes Yoongi like them too.

He finds flowers downstairs not long after, pink roses, two dozen of them. Long stems elegant and pretty. ‘To Dr.Kim’s pack omega, from Jungkook’s alphas’

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange? I just liked their photos on Instagram and they’re sending flowers?” He remarks to Yoongi later, admiring the flowers in their kitchen, so tall they almost block the view.

Yoongi had simply shrugged, “I think they’re probably just feeling guilty that Namjoon’s spending so much time away from us to take care of him.”

“What do you think of him. Of Jungkook?”

 Yoongi had simply shrugged, “if it works out, it works out.”

“And if it doesn’t.”

“Then we put Joonie back together again.”

But lucky for them it will work out. Lucky for all of them there is nothing to worry about.

~-~

“I always think I’m too much for Jiminie and Taehyung- they’re such good alphas, and I’m just a burden.”

Namjoon hums disapprovingly, soft in his reassurance, opening the fridge to get out the milk, it’s almost noon, and Jungkook is just finishing up his classes. Namjoon is home and the others aren’t.

“Enough of that bunny. They love you. You know they don’t mind at all. They’ve told me they don’t. Promise me you'll call me when you feel this way.”

I’d take care of you too if you’d let me. Taking care of someone like you would be the opposite of a burden. Do you want me to take care of you Jungkook?

Jungkook’s voice is crackly through the phone. "I promise Hyung." 

Seokjin steals the phone from Namjoon sometimes. “Namjoon says you’re cuter in person and I demand we have a cuteness competition where we make out and don’t let him join us.”

Jungkook’s hum comes through immediately. “To torture him? Wouldn’t nesting be more painful? I have a really really cute next Seokjin Hyung. Can you come over and see it sometime?” Asking an older omega for help nesting is-

Seokjin licks his lips, eyes Namjoon up and down, the blush on his cheeks, at a loss for what to say for once. Seokjin looks like he’s relishing in it. And Namjoon starts to get worried for a whole different reason.

It’s so terribly Seokjin as first introductions go. Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the phone and has Namjoon reaching for the phone to hear it. Leaning in cheek to cheek with Seokjin, fighting for it, play wrestling and roughhousing, but Namjoon is resistant to use any real force with Jin.

The omega puts his foot on Namjoon’s chest, both of them sprawled on the couch as Yoongi watches, brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink. Smiling through the bit of white foam that’s gathered on his lips.

“But seriously- when am I going to get to meet you Kookie? Can I call you that?”

They have a group dinner after Tae complains that he’s missing his favorite pair of comfy slip-ons and Jungkook complains that he’s missing his favorite alpha (a sentence that has both Tae and Jimin screaming indignantly but it’s all playful animosity and healthy competition between alphas).

They come over Jin pets Jimin's hair for a full hour, The puppy alpha leans into his touch, staying quiet while Tae explains to Jin the finer points of the dewy decimal system and where he went to college and how he organizes his own personal library in a much much more efficient system. Maybe the quiet or attention Jin gives the other man would bother Namjoon where it not for the sweet, sweet scent of vanilla that the alpha brings with him and the fluttering of his pretty eyelashes.

It’s not the usual vanilla, something deeper to it than baking vanilla, not quite as warm, but still musky and sweet.

Alphas don’t usually smell so sweet, Namjoon knows Jimin smells like Gunsmoke when he’s angry or distressed, had sort of assumed that his happy scent would mirror it. It’s a scent that most omega’s would have, makes saliva gather in his mouth, it smells awfully good when combined with Jin’s happy scent. Both of them smell like melted vanilla ice cream.

Tae chuckles and holds him when he starts to teeter. “Careful, Jimin’s sweet spot is his hair.” And Namjoon drinks down the pretty blush stronger than any whiskey. When Jimin blinks owlishly up at Jin, suddenly looking nervous Jungkook pipes up, agreeing.

“Seriously, just keep doing and he’ll kill for you.”

Jimin- Namjoon’s learned- is probably the quietest in their little pack.  Jimin confesses to him months later that he got teased for his sweet scent growing up. Combined with his short stature and soft features he gets mistaken for an omega more often than not. 

Namjoon learns that out of all of them Jimin is probably the most in touch with his baser instincts. This is why he was so shy at first. Jimin’s inner wolf (though he’d cringe if Namjoon ever used such archaic wording) is so much louder than everyone else’s. He’d recognized Namjoon as not just an alpha but his alpha immediately.

It had come as such a shock to him that day in the hospital that Jimin had rejected it a little. Jimin had never thought he’d feel the urge (and actually did have to stop himself) from rolling over and showing his stomach to another alpha. The same way that Taehyung does in the middle of rut sometimes when he's truly brought into a lower more instinctual headspace. 

Namjoon watches him interact with Jin while Jungkook curls under his arm. It feels so natural to touch Jungkook, to stroke down his side, to duck low and whisper his observations into the omega’s hair. While they watch their two packs intermingle. Yoongi and Tae talk through their favorite books and music while he helps Yoongi set everything up for dinner. Yoongi might not read as much as Namjoon or Jin or Tae do- but he still appreciates Tae talking about what he loves. The way he’s so invested in the stories that he talks quick. The pretty way he smiles when he's really getting into his favorite book. 

Tae is a librarian, Yoongi learns. He looks the part of it. 

His soft silk shirt looks so delicate and simply pretty, the collar parted against honey collarbones. His well-tailored pants hug his toned thighs and trim waist. Yoongi is a little distracted by it that he almost burns the bechamel sauce. Distracted enough that he loses track of what Taehyung’s saying and settles for just watching.

Taehyung’s adorable grin flattens after a moment when he realizes how long he’s been rambling, that Yoongi hasn’t replied to anything in a few minutes. “Sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this I know it’s annoying when I info dump-”

“No, I was listening, keep going- that story sounds really interesting.”

He’s honest and genuine and he never looks away from Tae as he talks. There is something about the beta’s attention that makes Tae feel undeniably special. But less like a butterfly burning under a magnifying glass and more like a piece of sea glass in a child’s bucket. A treasure found to be marveled over. The attention makes all sorts of foolish emotions warm in Taehyung’s chest, nurtured carefully by every encouraging nod he earns from Yoongi.

If this is what Yoongi’s flirting is like they’re all doomed. There’s nothing more attractive than someone who is genuinely interested in your experience as a person. And Yoongi is invested, he wants to hear everything.

A beta. Taehyung hasn't been around many betas before. None of them have. Very few packs have Beta’s that stay for any length of time. But somehow Namjoon and Seokjin have managed to keep this one. It’s clear that Yoongi’s roots are here, his record collection is in the corner, and his flannel hangs by the door along with these beat up old shoes that look like something out of the 80’s.

Taehyung doesn’t have to look very far to find reasons why. Namjoon and Jin are sort of a power couple, they’re sort of perfect together. It’s hard to believe that Namjoon is both a doctor and only a year older than him and Jimin. Both of them are tall- just as tall as Taehyung and broader even.

By all measurable standards, the night is going fantastic until Jungkook has a seizure at their dinner table.

Triggered by what- who knows? It could easily be all the new scents in the room or the faintly flickering light that Yoongi’s been meaning to change in the living room. The spicy soup that Seokjin cooks or all the new scents tangling in the air overloading Jungkook’s cerebellum and plunging him headlong into it.

Dinner has barely started, there is still bites on the ends of forks, drinks being lifted to lips for first sips, when Jungkook’s body goes limp. He’s like a marionette with its strings cut. Limbs all limp and trembling, the whites of Jungkook’s eyes visible- only for a second before Namjoon guides him carefully to the floor.  

Jimin and Taehyung operate with practiced ease. They’ve learned to see the signs right before it happens. Sometimes Jimin even thinks he can smell a subtle shift in Jungkook’s honey scent before his eyes roll back and his brain just shuts off and goes all wonky.

Yoongi and Jin watch on scared. Jin flinches, reaching, spilling a glass of white wine.

But Namjoon holds his head, and they hold each other and don’t restrain him except to keep him from flinching his arm into the leg of the chair which Seokjin takes and promptly yeets away from the youngest- the pup. They're all Seokjin's pups, he's already decided. Together the five of them wait for the twitching to stop because that’s all they can do.

Namjoon watches Jungkook and feels like he wants to cry, keeping time with his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Counting the seconds. He hadn’t expected something like this to happen outside of work hours. Seeing sick people when you’re not expecting to as a doctor- it’s jarring. Even though Namjoon’s used to it, it never gets any easier.

And then Yoongi swoops in when Jungkook’s body gives a particularly violent jerk, knees sliding across the linoleum floor, smashing his arm into the table leg in a way that looks incredibly painful. Yoongi doesn’t think- just follows his instincts and shoves his wrist under Jungkook’s nose.

Jungkook’s body heaves an unsteady breath of Yoongi’s chocolate scent and stops twitching. The violence in his wild limbs calming to a tremble.

Everyone just blinks.

He comes out of this seizure faster than others. Barely a minute before he’s blinking into clarity. His body’s first reaction is to press further into Yoongi. Curling around him on the kitchen floor. Knees behind his back as Yoongi threads his hand through Jungkook’s hair and holds him close.

The disorientation fades after a few minutes when they all help Jungkook up and onto the couch after the room has stopped swirling with colors like the filmy edge of a bubble. His brain trying to turn back on. Tae’s hands are shaking. Seokjin is crying a little, hiccupping. But he’s the least used to these kinds of things out of all of them, his shock is understandable. No one knows what to say, even less what to do.

In the silence, Yoongi turns to the three of them and calls it.  

“That’s it, you’re staying.” His declaration rings with a tone of finality. 

No one challenges him.

~-~

They move in next week, though they try to keep to separate bedrooms to make the transition from two packs to one a little less dramatic. It hardly works when Jungkook splits his time between the two rooms, when the others can’t help but wake up to the sound of pattering feet across the narrow hallway. Even on the nights he’s supposed to spend cuddling with Jimin and Tae, he somehow always finds his way into Yoongi’s arms.

He smells nice, or so Jungkook says, soothing. Especially on the days after the seizures. Sometimes Yoongi's scent is the only one Jungkook can handle. 

It's so much more than that.

Jungkook’s seizures decrease dramatically after he moves in. Until they’re barely happening at all. Maybe once a month when before they’d been once or twice a week. He doesn't change his diet or his schedule. He doesn't change anything but his scenting sessions with Yoongi. 

Yoongi doesn’t mind when he asks, always says sure and sits and lets Jungkook crawl tentatively to his side, rubbing their wrists together slowly at first and them more brazenly as the shyness wears away. And Yoongi tilts his throat up to let Jungkook have at it, cheeks all ruddy and blushy by the time he’s satisfied.

“We’re all a pack, we should all wear each other’s scents around.”

"You just want an excuse to kiss Jin Hyung in the nest Kookie" Taehyung teases, making the tops of Jin's ears go pink. Jungkook is a little bit obsessed with the elder omega’s nest.  

"It's like a really sexy nest alright- you guys just don't get it because you're not omegas." 

At the beginning Jungkook tried a few medications to get his seizures under control but none of them worked, either their side effects where worse than the seizures themselves or they hardly decreased their frequency. Yoongi's scent is better than any pill Jungkook could pop. Jungkook feels one coming on and a quick drag of Yoongi’s wrist along his throat stops it dead in his tracks. Or Yoongi shoves his wrist under his nose when Jungkook’s starts twitching, and the seizure lasts barely a minute. It’s not correlation, it’s causation.

Yoongi stops the seizures. He’s medicine made man, love made cure.  

Privately, Namjoon thinks that he’d love to study it- the healing powers of betas aren’t something that’s well understood by science. When he accesses the hospital’s medical databases on his break, he finds that the evidence of any special beta healing properties is anecdotal at best and pseudoscience at worst.  

There’s only one story in the scientific literature- from a beta doctor who says he cured his mate’s lupus after he gave them a mating mark. But the peer review on that alone is scathing. And in Namjoon’s agrees with it, because betas don’t mate.

For one beta to bind themselves to only one other person goes against everything that Namjoon knows about beta biology and sociology. There are even some in the field who don’t believe betas even can give or receive a mating bite.

One or two reports (that seem more like horror stories) he finds on his way down the rabbit hole of omegas and betas going absolutely insane after they’d tried to be bonded. They couldn’t be separated- that it seemed to hurt them if they were. Brain scans support this idea. Both of them had bright parietal lobes, actively experiencing pain when they were only a few rooms away from each other. Though noticeably less from the beta than their non-beta counterpart. 

Betas can’t mate. At least not in the same way that omegas and alphas can. (And even alphas and alphas, and omegas and omegas- Namjoon’s progressive brain reminds him).

Things are changing, with Jimin and Taehyung in the house. Namjoon tries to be polite about it, watching both of them kiss over morning coffee, watching them nip and nibble. Tries to convince himself that his scent isn’t going heady and musky, that he’s not watching both of them over the top of his newspaper.

It becomes harder to ignore when both of them sit on either side of him and tangle their hands over the table. Pausing to feed him bites of Jin’s cooking saying, “alpha this is so good, you have to have it.” And Tae's gentle chiding of “good bite.”

It’s not so strange, is it? Two people of the same sub-gender loving each other, right? Namjoon’s instincts hum in agreement as he watches Jin and Jungkook roughhouse, Jin says something low and sweet that makes Jungkook laugh and Jungkook slaps Jin’s thigh in retaliation.

They all recognize the correlation between Jungkook’s health and Yoongi’s presence in the young omega's life. Jungkook’s seizures only come back if he and Yoongi haven’t spent enough quality time together or if he hasn’t been scent-marked or cuddled daily.

The near-overnight change is amazing. To Jungkook- it feels like he gets his life back. 

At night Taehyung and Jimin look down at Yoongi like he’s a marvel. Like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. They kiss at his scent glands and even dare to nibble, as if to absorb part of him, so that they might keep Jungkook safe too. Making the beta gasp and his heart beat quick.

Honey and spice and vanilla- as good as Jungkook and Taehyung and Jimin. They join their pack, meeting Namjoon and Jin’s milk and coffee. Sometimes Yoongi just lies back up and breathes in deep. Enjoying the smell of all of them together and yet sure that they’re missing something.

“We smell like a bakery,” someone never fails to comment. “Yoongi’s bakery.” 

It makes him feel good that he belongs here; this is where he’s meant to be he’s sure of it. But still- his heart has edges that still need mending. Or maybe he needs something to mend. Like arms he doesn’t know yet but can’t help but reach out for.

That something that their combined pack scent is missing happens to be the caramel sweetness of Jung Hoseok.

Another sweet-smelling alpha and sunshine incarnate.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- You guys really have no idea how much medical researched I’ve had to do over the years to talk about Jungkook’s seizures in an accurate way! Like literally I’ve had to look up everything. I would have thought grey’s anatomy would have prepared me for this but I guess those hours rewatching season 7 where wasted.

- I can confidently say that Jk probably has something called focal transmantle cortical dysplasia- which is resistant to treatment via medication and is either genetic or can sometimes be triggered by injury.

- Having worked in medical stuff for the last 4ish years- I can tell you without a doubt that if a patient acted like Jk with me I would be!!! Swooning!

- Okay but I’m a little in love with how Jungkook’s character changed to the beginning. Like “I’m like this naturally.” What a little shithead. I love him so much, he’s like lowkey my favorite character.

- Okay so, I’m not entirely sure whether or not my depiction of them as immigrants and the tangle of this being a kpop fanfic is like- alright? Because all cultures are different, and all cultural experiences are different and I’ve been reading a lot about the Korean diaspora. But I will say that like- I am an immigrant to the extent that Namjoon is in this story. Both my grandparents where in refugee camps before they came to America, they don’t have accents anymore but they still speak to each other in private in their first language. I’m American, I’ve never known any life than this and my mom calls herself American too, but I still feel in the middle you know? I want my depiction of it to be accurate but it’s not a focal point of this story in any major way- unlike for instance Jungkook’s illness or Tae's transition if that makes sense? I’m wondering how much I should talk about it and how much I should explain in this universe.

- If we’re talking like- actuality, I think that there is a possibility that Jimin could have presented as an omega in bily but because he grew up in such an abusive and stressful environment his body made him present as an alpha to better protect Tae.

[where-dreamers-go]

"Rescue" Leon Kennedy x Reader

(A/N: And so I finally write down an idea that’s been cinematically in my mind then made it a soulmate au. Leon Scott Kennedy is back in action! What happens when he realizes he’s closer to his soulmate while on assignment?

Warnings: angst, strong language, canon violence and imagery descriptions, hurt/comfort, fluff, and use of (Y/N) for your name.

Word Count: 4,145 words)

~~~

~~~

Mornings set the tone for the rest of the day. On most days. The hours ahead were hopefully to be positive ones. Your day started incredibly early. On purpose and with intention. Around you, wall were white and decorated with monochromatic modern art. Metal chairs were arranged in a rectangular fashion with an empty coffee table in the center as you sat. No magazines or pamphlets to entertain. Each step taken by others on the tile floor echoed in the lobby. There were no conversations or passing comments to fill the space. The sound of your breathing was louder than whatever the receptionist was busying herself with behind the tall desk. Just about ten minutes, you thought as you checked your watch. Talk steady. If they don’t mention a start date, ask. They definitely need more people for data entry. You got this. On your lap, you nervously spun a metal ring around your left index finger. The circular crystal embedded into the metal was currently light blue. Pretty normal. A sign you were not too far nor too close enough to your soulmate. If it was a mood ring the color would had signaled you were possibly calm. Despite your nerves, you felt good about the day ahead. It was an opportunity for something new.

. . .

Rumbling and the occasional bounce of the vehicle were unfortunately the only normal occurrences in Leon Kennedy’s day. Passing into the edge of a town, the team of agents were in route to a facility. A science center in appearance, there was nothing in advancement happening that late morning. The Umbrella Corporation made sure of that. An alert of bioweapons sightings came in two hours ago. To make matter complicated, not all civilians had evacuated the building. So saving any civilians was added to the to-do list. If Leon could save someone, he’d at least smile. “ETA: Two minutes.” The driver called out, another agent. Leon glanced out the small window. All geared up, his vest held nearly every weapon and tool he would need. Beside his watch on his left wrist sat a personal item, a metal bracelet. Both sturdy and a comfort on dark days. Its small crystal within darkened into a deep blue, almost purple. A little too close, Leon thought and hoped it would lighten by the time they moved in. The man could only hope.

. . .

“Shit.” Leon grimaced as he reloaded his gun. The lobby was trashed and blood-stained. Broken chairs and other bare furniture was scattered across the floor. Added a freshly eliminated infected. “Hate to see the break room.” Based on the intact entrance doors and windows, the bioweapons’ forced entry was not through the front of the building. Chris peered around and stated, “I’ll take the right side and sweep the first floor. You take the left.” “Got it.” Leon headed down a hallway. Its usually closed door was splintered across the tile. He avoided stepping on any debris that would crunch under his boots. There was no telling how many infected were in the building. Not until the other agents checked in. After taking a quick look at his watch, Leon registered the drastic change in color on the crystal bracelet. “Oh, fuck.” Leon sighed and swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Not here. Why do they have to be here?” Steadily checking the hall, all his senses were alert for danger. His mind, however, was tumbling with the worst questions. What if you worked for Umbrella making bioweapons? What if you were a bioweapon, infected and doomed? Just make it quick, Leon thought somberly.

. . .

Adjusting yourself quietly off of your half-asleep leg, you leaned against the tile wall. Hunched in the back corner of the largest restroom stall was turning into a new, unwanted activity. I should’ve left as soon as the interview was over, you thought for perhaps the twelfth time in the past two and a half hours.

Over your time hiding, screeches could still be heard every so often. Piercing and making your blood run cold. Always when hope of it being gone rose in you, your heard it. Frightening and disheartening. You counted yourself lucky. For your quick thinking and for having your phone on silent, you were still alive. Too bad the cell signal sucked on the third floor. If only your heartbeat was the loudest sound that morning. How is this evening happening? You wondered as you counted the tile again. Feeling distressed would sure to wreck havoc on your system later. Raising your head, you swore you heard a sound. Please be nothing. The sound grew faintly louder. Soles of shoes out in the hallway. You remained silent. Not knowing who or what rampaged through the building after your interview left you at a disadvantage. One you were well aware of. At first, you had suspected an armed attack to the company, however blood-chilling roars proved otherwise. I wanna go home. You thought, still as stone on the floor. You were not about to meet any creature face to face. Bipedal or not. Small thumps shook the main door of the restroom. Is someone trying to come in? How well could that lock above the main door hold for?

THUMP ping WHAM

You covered your mouth as you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Hello?” A deep voice called out. “Is anyone in here?” Heart beating rapidly, you did not dare to move. Could you trust the stranger? This random man? How long were you intending on hiding in a stall? Bending lower, you observed dark boots slowly making their way into the restroom. A room with five stalls. “Listen, I’m here to help.” Likely, you thought suspiciously. “It’s too dangerous to be in here,” he said three steps closer. “We’re on orders to rescue civilians.” And he totally knows I’m in here. Government or something? “My name’s Leon. I can get you out of here.” Fine. Fine. Okay! “Are those things still out there?” You asked in a broken whisper. Fear and hours of silence effecting you. “Yeah.” “Crap.” “Tell me about it.” Your eyebrows pinched together. Didn’t expect him to say that. Easing yourself up to stand, your body was more than a little relieved to be off of the cold, hard tile. You took a steady breath. As quietly as you could, you unlocked the stall door and peered out. Icy blue eyes regarded you immediately.

“I’m Leon.” Said the man with dirty blond hair. A bulletproof vest covered his torso and overall distracting from his casual clothes. “Are you all right . . . ?” “(Y/N).” You answered, trying really hard not to glance a the gun he held. With all the other ‘tools’ on his person, he seemed pretty legit to you. “Is . . . everyone else hiding too?” Lips pressing together, Leon glanced away for a moment. Oh, no. “We still haven’t done a complete sweep of the building yet, but the team has found others.” He stated. “I’m sure they locked themselves in their offices if they didn’t run out.” “Do you know who’d be in an office now?” “I have no idea.” You said honestly, “I was just here for a job interview.” His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Oh yeah?” His tone was steady. “Guess I’ll keep looking.” You shrugged. “I hope you have better luck next time,” Leon turned back to the open door. “Let’s get going. Stay close.” “Okay.” What choice did you have otherwise but to follow him? You were ill prepared to observe the aftermath of whatever happened. The eerie emptiness and scattered belongings throughout the hall. Maybe this guy was your ticket out, your guarantee of going home. Anything was better than your earlier options.

Leon hadn’t been exaggerating when he said ‘sweep’. With his weapon ready, he checked every open room. Thankfully nothing scary showed itself. “Any chance they gave you a tour?” Leon asked as he glanced up and down a hallway. “No. But they have some pictures on their website.” “Helpful.” “Not really,” you whispered. Glancing over his shoulder, Leon gave you an amused look. Oh. Good sarcasm. You tore your gaze away. An open door down the hall became occupied uncannily fast. So quietly. Someone leaned against the doorframe. Stepping out, their professional attire looked wrong, hanging where it shouldn’t. A gravely, strangled breath carried towards the pair of you. Leon turned with aimed precision. Remaining still, you felt coldness creep up your arms. Something was very wrong. The person hobbled into the hall with unblinking eyes and a strangled screech. Their pace increased as they angled in your direction.

BANG

You covered your ears a second too late. What used to be an employee laid in an unmoving heap on the tile floor. Discolored and inhuman. “What happened to them?” You asked with a shaky voice. “They’re infected,” answered Leon as he turned down the other half of the hall. You kept up without missing a beat. “So a zombie?”

GRRAAAH!

Two more infected raced out from the open room behind you. Jaws slacked and fingers clenched forward like claws, they targeted the pair of you. “Crap,” you exclaimed. Before you could move anywhere, Leon had opened fire on the infected. Aim perfect and practiced. The threats were down before your heart rate raised too high. Grumbling under his breath, Leon went forward to inspect the room. “Stay right there.” He advised as you remained by the hall’s intersection. “Sure.” Freaking zombies, you thought. Out of everything -- anything. Zombies. Briefly, you peered around and thankfully nothing moved. Leon’s handling this well. Maybe zombies aren’t new? And real. You cringed at the thought. Witnessing and knowing what had rampaged through the building earlier wasn’t a comfort. A bit of scary closure maybe. “All clear in there,” Leon announced as he joined you. “We’ll see the rest of the floor and meet back up with the team downstairs.” “Cool.” You breathed out a short reply. “Don’t worry,” Leon assured you, “I’ll get you outta here.” “I appreciate it. Really.” He sent you a small smile. It warmed the hope in your heart.

The rest of the hall held knocked over seating areas and ignored art. Beyond it was a closed set of doors. Unlocked and probably designed with fire safety in mind. Leon paused as he reached one of the doors. Does he hear something? You dared not stand too close. Not that standing near your new acquaintance was disagreeable. Simply, you did not want to be in his way.

WHAM

“Leon!” You jumped back against the wall. On the floor with growling and grunting was a struggle of alarming visuals. Both Leon and an terribly disfigured infected fought for purchase, for an upper-hand. For survival. Frantically watching over Leon with increased anxiety, you didn’t move. You didn’t even scream. Should I kick it? With a frown, Leon hit the infected back to get out one shot. It was enough. Leon scooted back before rising to his feet. “You all right?” He turned to you. “Me? Sure. You?” “I could use some pizza later.” Leon said as he cautiously entered the section of the hallway. “Sounds good,” you added as you followed him and dearly hoped your stomach wouldn’t start vocalizing its agreement. Especially after witnessing that frightful fight.

Glancing around, the plain walls gave a stark contrast to what could be lurking behind every door. Every unexplored corner. “We almost made a full circle,” you announced as you spotted a familiar elevator at the very end of the hall. “Then we’re out of here and --” “What?” Leon’s arm came up to block you from moving forward. A well defined, muscular arm. You didn’t notice anything abnormal. Yet that didn’t make you feel any less hesitant of what lay ahead. So you elected to stand behind Leon. “Show yourself.” Leon called out with his gun raised to a doorway. “If they’re still human.” You whispered.

Steadily with raised hands, two people in business casual attire walked out of an office. They appeared healthy. Definitely unnerved in their situation. But human nonetheless. “We just want safe passage out,” said the taller of the two men. No duh, you thought as you brought yourself to stand beside Leon. “Then stay close.” “Who are you?” Asked the second man wearing glasses. “I’m Leon Kennedy. I’m on orders to --” “Rescue us?” Interrupted the first man. “Let’s not waste time.” “Right.” Leon subtly turned to check on you. Blue eyes giving you a quick once over. You gave a brief, if not tiny, smile of encouragement.

The faster we’re out of here the better. At least those two had each other. You thought as you followed Leon across the echoing tile. “Which department are you from?” You glanced over your shoulder to notice the shorter man directing his question to you. “Oh, I don’t work here,” you answered. Both man shared concerned frowns between themselves. Therefore, you followed up quickly with, “I was here for a job interview. For data entry.” “And you didn’t do it from home?” Asked the taller man. “I . . . didn’t see that option.”

Being as the men asked no more questions, you set your sights straight ahead. Thankfully, stepping around a trashed bulletin board. You kept closer to Leon than your new group members. Definitely not going to work at any place associated with this one, you thought as all of you reached the end of the hall. Stealthily, Leon crept into a stairway and quietly beckoned the three of you onward. “We’re three floors up,” whined the taller man behind you. “I’ve never not taken the elevator.” “Good time to try them out,” commented Leon as he headed down stairs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Better than ten flights of stairs, you thought to yourself. Even better with Leon leading the way. He probably did the ground floor too. Hope of safety and freedom, you lively took each step. Easily done even with two grumbling men following after you. You’d think they’d be more thankful. They work here! You frowned. Did they call for help? “Uh, Leon?” You inquired. “Yeah?” He paused to look up to you. Patience in his eyes. “Are there any more of those . . . things in the lobby?” “There shouldn’t be.” “That’s not very confident,” sneered the shorter and obnoxious man. You rolled your eyes. “Let’s keep going,” Leon announced and took two steps at a time.

With the door to the lobby in sight, you were anxious to see if the rest of Leon’s team found other survivors. Surely, there were people who weren’t infected. What do we do when we’re out? You wondered. Were other buildings attacked too? You swallowed dryly. Where does Leon go?

SLAM

Yelping, you peered above as a broad shouldered infected burst through the second floor’s door. “RUN!” At Leon’s order, you rushed passed him to the door. In seconds, you were back in the same lobby and surrounded by broken furniture as your heart pounded in your chest. Electing to head towards the reception desk was your first thought. The front entrance was further off and a little too good to be true. “Hey,” you stumbled as the two men pushed passed you. The men did not utter a word to you nor did they let up their speed. They knew where they were going. They knew where to hide. Both heading towards a far door. But what if they run right to a zombie? Fear rushing through you again, you made your way to the tall desk. After checking inside the space, you entered through the unlocked door. You were safe for the time being. Just wait for Leon. That’s all. You thought as you tried calming your breathing. He’ll be fine. We can go home. I can, you corrected yourself. Everything will be fine. Quietly, you sat on the cushioned chair. You’re safe. Just breathe. Besides your breathing and heartbeat, you did not hear anything else. A relief for sure until you immediately considered your new friend. The brave man you left in a stairwell alone with some monster. Your stomach dropped as you remembered him being tackled earlier.

“(Y/N)?” Called out a familiar voice. “Leon,” you exclaimed happily and jumped out of your seat. In another breath and a few echoing footsteps, Leon was in front of the receptionist desk. A smirk soon curving his lips. “Rethinking a job position?” Leon asked with raised eyebrows. “No.” You hastily exited the tiny room. He didn’t appear injured. “Where are the others?” “I think they took the stairs.” Pointing off in the direction they had gone, you asked. “Are they going back up?” A frown creased Leon’s concerned expression. Their actions troubled him. “They could’ve left, right?” You glanced towards the entrance. “Yeah . . . So why go down to the basement?” “There’s a basement?” Icy blue eyes regarded you. “Not that I’m scared of basements,” you said quickly. “We can check it out. Maybe they’re stealing or something.” “We have to get you out of here.” “Them too. Who knows what they’re doing? They might need help. Not with stealing hopefully.” Expression softening, Leon nodded. “Come on. Stay close.” “Will do.” You whispered with a determined nod of your own. “Not too close to step on your heels though.” “Heh. That’s the least of my worries.” “But everything should be good now, right?” “Let’s hope.”

Together, Leon and yourself made a beeline for the basement door. An easy task even with knocked over display cases of assorted business accomplishments and dead infected in your path.

Despite everything, you thought, at least Leon is easy to get along with. The lady who interviewed me was . . . seemed bothered to talk. Oh well. Coming up to the door, Leon raised his left hand to the handle. It was then that you finally noticed his bracelet as you stood mostly behind him. A crystal so dark a shade, you nearly mistook it as onyx. You took a quick glance at your ring. “Oh.” Heat rose to your neck. “Yeah,” murmured Leon over his shoulder. “Some first meeting, huh?” “Yah think?” Of all other things to happen today. My soulmate is rescuing me from zombies? What the heck is going on? You blinked and asked without another thought, “You knew this whole time?” “There was no one else in the restroom.” “Touché.” Stepping back, you observed Leon peek beyond the door. You weren’t quite sure what to make of the indistinctive sounds coming up. Leon did. Grabbing his walkie talkie, he communicated the news to his team. Something about an umbrella and biological weaponry. The others advised a warning regarding the two employees. What is his job exactly? Efficiently and quickly, Leon checked over his gun and remaining supplies. Set for another round of sweeping. “Stay here,” he ordered firmly as he pushed open the door. “But--” “Here.” You sighed and leaned against the wall. “Fine, but come back in one piece. This place has made me nervous all morning.” “Then we’ll have lunch somewhere else.” In a blink of an eye, Leon was out of your sight. Every minuscule sound afterwards made you jump or hurriedly check your surroundings. Being alone again activated the rest of your fear. It was a wonder how being in good company, very capable company, eased your worries. He’s my freaking soulmate, you thought as you attempted keeping your breathing even. And he’s down there with two strangers or fighting off infected like a regular Thursday for him. You sighed again. Tuesdays suck.

. . .

“Damn it,” Leon leapt out of the way. A basement of a science center should had been much quieter and clear than how Leon found it. Somewhere behind a generator, the two men -- scientists -- were terrified and hardly conscious. In the open area beyond, storage containers stood a large infected. Slender with thick legs, the infected had a new target. It lowered to the floor with a deep growl. Just my luck, thought Leon. Thankfully, the experienced agent was more motivated than usual. With Chris and the rest of the team on the way down, they’d be finished in no time, which left good news in regards to his soulmate. You were alive and well. Leon was determined to keep you safe no matter the danger. “Who’s hunting who, pal?”

BANG BANG BANG

. . .

Anxious and heart rate moderately high, you remained close to the basement door. Nothing came in or out of the lobby. All around you had remained silent as chaos erupted beyond the closed door. Half an hour of not knowing what occurred in the basement felt like two hours worth of unnerved twitching. Is the whole basement full of infected? You thought as you fiddled with your ring. What if one comes out? What if Leon doesn’t --? “Ah.” You nearly jumped a foot back as the door opened and a team walked out wearing protective vests. Not one could you recognize. Each armored and live human eyed you before heading to the exit. Even the two men from earlier were dragged out. Weird. You thought, expecting someone to at least converse with you for security reasons. “Uh…” Despite the clear lack of danger, the situation appeared all the more odd. Confusing too. Less odd, thankfully, when a familiar dirty blond haired man stepped out into the lobby. “Leon.” You rushed up to him without a second thought. A little beat-up with red marks, Leon turned in your direction. “How are you not one bruise?” You exclaimed. “Give it time.” Leon smiled. “Are you okay?” You asked. “A little hungry, but fine.” You shook your head. “You’re something else, you know that?” “In a bad way?” “No… Different in a very…unexpectedly impressive way. If that makes sense?” “Heh.” Leon rubbed the back of his neck. He is pretty handsome, you thought off-handedly. “So, if all’s well, what now?” “We get out of here.” He answered simply before adding, “medical checks, debriefs, reports.” “I’ll take that over infected.” “Me too.” Icy blue eyes studied you softly. All seriousness and survival focus faded away. He was Leon Kennedy. A man who probably did not expect to find his soulmate amongst entering chaos. “Leon!” A muscular man called from the entrance. “Let’s go!” Without a word, Leon and yourself headed out of the building. Armored and unmarked vehicles were pulling into the parking lot. An organized sign of clean-up. It was going to be okay. You survived and your soulmate found you when all was terrifying. The rest of the day lay ahead. “So…about lunch?” Leon murmured.

. . .

Music smoothly filled your living room as a movie played with interruption. Something calm and a little nostalgic. Just what you needed. Days had gone by after all the checkups and documenting of the events that had taken place at the science center. You hadn’t even looked at your résumé after that. On a brighter note, the ordeal had placed your soulmate in your life. When each document had been signed and you were free to go, you were able to start getting to know each other in a domestic setting. No infected sightings. No upcoming job interviews. Both of you were completely safe and quite comfortable. Relaxing on the couch, you found solace in being all snuggled into Leon’s side. Cozy and cared for. He had an arm wrapped around you as his other hand played with the soulmate ring on your finger. Together and alive. You counted yourselves lucky. Situations could had been extremely different. Over the past week or so, nightmares plagued your sleep and made days uneasy. So having Leon, your soulmate, who completely understood helped. Life didn’t have to be all scary. Neither of you needed to run from one day to the next. You were able to take things slow or any pace you desired. All would be okay. Leon had promised safety. You had no doubt he meant it.

Nudging your head against Leon, you caught a glimpse of his smile. Like a sunrise. “Leon.” “Hmm?” “We could pretend we met in a grocery store or something.” “Oh, yeah?” He pulled you closer. “Like during a holiday rush. It gets wild…I’ve heard.” “Which aisle?” You snickered, “Toilet paper aisle.” “Nothing says ‘want a date’ like two ply.” “Homemade pizza does.” You kissed his chin and was rewarded another smile from Leon. “You had me at ‘not really’. After I asked if they gave you a tour.” “That’s so random.” “You were just being you. How could I not like you?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is this a soulmate thing?” “As long as we’re together, I don’t care what it’s called.” Gently, Leon leaned in to kiss your forehead. His smile curved against your skin. “I’m just glad I found you.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Leon Scott Kennedy Tags: @bumblebeesfromvenus @c4rl40n4 @d333athw1sh

** Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.

[flowery-mess]

in vino veritas

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / slight smut / drinking alcohol / let me know if anything else should be taged

Words: 2k

frat boy Noah masterlist

„So you can chose from this list of presentation topics or you can think of your own, but you need to discuss it with me in that case. Everything clear? Any questions?” your professor then ended the lesson and you turned to face Molly and Clara.

“How are we gonna do this? There’s three of us.” Clara said, pointing between the three of you. You were just assigned new team project, team meaning two people.

“Ella can be with Noah, they can work on their project after their sex sessions.” Molly said, teasing you with playful smirk.

“Molly, fuck off.” you said with nice smile, showing her your middle finger.

“That’s not a bad idea actually.” Clara nodded along as the two of them looked like they just found cure for deadly disease.

“He has his buddies in this class, he’s not interested in doing school project with me.”

“One, two, three, four aaand five! Perfect!” Molly scanned the area where Noah and his friends sat, pretty happy with the number of them.

“Just text him, or one of us will end up with Anna again.”

“And you don’t want that for any of us!”

Anna was your classmate, short girl with long hair. Clara was paired up with her for another project and she said she’s rather have a bath full of spider than work with Anna again. She didn’t give you details, only that her dorm smells like sweat and that she told Clara she doesn’t take shower more than twice a week to save the planet.

“You’re the worst friends ever.” you ironically said when you pulled your phone out of your bag to text Noah.

“Any chance your friends ditched you for the project like mine?” you hit send and then turned your body so you could see Noah reach for his phone.

He read your text and chuckled before answering you.

“No, but I could ditch them for you.”

Before you could write your response he sent another message.

“Unless you want Trevor to be your partner.”

You looked up to see Noah looking back at you, his face without any emotion so you didn’t know if that Trevor message was just a joke or if he was serious.

“I don’t want Trevor to be my partner.” you sent your reply and before you could see his reaction, you turned back around to face your friends who were patiently waiting for your answer.

“Okay I’ll do it with Noah, but next time one of you will make the sacrifice.”

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

“Do you like any topic from the list?” Noah started the conversation when you two found a free table at the coffee shop in the campus.

“I haven’t read them all yet, do you like any of them?”

“I don’t really care about the topic, you can choose.”

“You sound like a perfect partner, let me see.” you opened the document with different topics and Noah sipped on his coffee. “Workplace diversity, Urbanization and its social impacts, Religion in moder communities, everything’s boring.”

You scrolled some more before something finally caught your eye. “This! Sociology of first impressions: expressions through appearance.” you pointed your finger in the middle of your screen where topic was written.

“Why this one?” Noah asked.

“Because I hate when people judge others based on their looks. I might get angry while doing this project.” you warned Noah, but that only got a chuckle out of him.

“Okay, sign us up for that one.” so you did write Noah Sebastian and Ella Thompson next to that topic so no one could steal it from you.

“Let’s make an outline and we can start on our own parts separately.”

You wrote down ideas and topics you wanted to talk about and when you finished your coffees you were pretty satisfied with the work you’ve done so far.

“How about we work on in at my place on Saturday?” Noah proposed when started packing your things.

“Oh, okay.” you said, surprised by his question. First, it meant that he planned on taking you back to his place on Friday and second, he wanted you to stay and not leave in the morning. But it was because of the project, you reminded yourself.

“Okay. Bye Ella.” he gave you quick salute and left the coffee shop.

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

Sitting on Noah’s couch on Saturday with schoolwork in front of you felt weird. Unnatural.

“So the introduction is done, we can change it as we go on with the rest. I was thinking we could do interview for the practical part of the project?” you looked up from your notes only to find Noah sitting on the floor with his head on the couch and eyes closed. “Noah!” you groaned and threw your pencil at him.

“What? I want to sleep.”

“This was your idea.” you reminded him.

He opened one eye to give the annoyed look, but he knew you were right. He was also a good student and wanted the project to be good, but he was also tired from the party last night and then your bedroom fun that lasted until 3AM.

“Okay. What did you say about the practical part?” he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat straight. Sleepy Noah kinda looked cute, but you were sure he was gonna change into angry Noah after you’re gonna propose your ides to him.

“I was thinking about an interview with someone extraordinary.”

“Like?”

“Like, well, you.”

His eyebrows shot up at your proposition “Me? You think I’m extraordinary?”

You couldn’t name the look in his eyes, but it almost looked like it made him sad and surprised at the same time.

“I mean yeah, look at you. You’re what this project is about. Don’t tell me no one ever judged you based on your tattoos.”

He was quiet, confirming what you just said out loud. It was true, he was familiar with the judgement from others based solely on the tattoos that were covering most of his body.

“I don’t think that’s allowed when I’m working on the project.” His answer was short and firm.

He knew that if he’d agreed you’d ask questions like why he got this and that tattoo, the meaning behind them or at what age he started with them. And he didn’t want you to know that, his covered body meant all the obstacles he had to overcome and he didn’t like talking about his past. But you didn’t know that, so before you could shut your mouth the question slipped out.

“Why do you have desolate on your stomach Noah?”

“Stop asking questions Ella, I told you no.”

“It can be anonymous, no one has to know it’s about you.”

“I said no.”

“It can be just few questions, like 5 to 10?” you just couldn’t help yourself and stop your mouth.

“Leave.”

“What?” you looked at Noah, confused by his sudden reaction.

“I don’t feel like working on the project anymore. We can have coffee on Monday and continue.”

He looked hurt, and suddenly you felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

But he didn’t answer, instead he started packing your things to show you he was serious about wanting you leave.

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

You didn’t talk about his tattoos on Monday, you talked about the theoretical part of the project. Noah was giving you the cold shoulder, not talking more than he had to.

You couldn’t stop thinking about his reaction to your question about the desolate tattoo. You always wondered what his tattoos mean when you saw him naked, but you never asked. Or you just didn’t have a good excuse to do so.

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

The next Friday you were both more drunk that usual, blaming the beer pong competition for it. When you made it to Noah’s place and you started taking each other’s clothes off, your drunk mind couldn’t help itself.

You slid your hands down Noah’s naked chest and stopped at the desolate tattoo.

“What does it mean Noah?” you asked him in a whisper, your mouth on his.

“What?”

“Desolate. Why do you have it on your body?”

“Because I’m desolate.” he confessed, the lust from his eyes fading away.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s the truth tho.” he dipped his head in the crook of your neck and started kissing your sensitive skin.

And you pieced all the things you knew about Noah together. He was living alone, in this big ass apartment, he never mentioned visiting his family for the holidays or someone’s birthday. He doesn’t have any pictures of him and his family around the place and his mom never called him at 6 in the morning like yours did.

“What about your family?” he stopped his movements and you felt his muscles tense under your touch.

He pushed himself off of you and sat on his bed, his tatted back facing you. You heard him sigh and push his hair out of his face.

“Why do you care about my family?” he asked just above a whisper.

“I don’t know. You never talked about any family members, you live here alone and you just told me you are a desolate.”

“We said just sex, no feelings. I think that includes this too.”

“Well I’m too drunk so I probably won’t remember shit in the morning.” you lied. And you felt guilty about, but you wanted to get to know him better and the alcohol just gave you courage to continue.

The alcohol probably made him more emotional too, because he believed that you won’t remember what he said to you that night, but how could you.

“I don’t have any family. Parents left me with my grandparents when I was a kid. Haven’t seen my mom since then and I only see my father if he needs money from me. My grandparents died when I was 15 and since then it was just me. I was left with their house and money. I worked through high school so I could afford good college. Sold the house when I was 19 and bought this place. But I got no one Ella, I am desolate. Always have been.” his head was hanging low, his breath became uneven and he closed his eyes to picture his three year old self asking his grandmother when will mom come pick him up.

“Noah,” you didn’t know what to say to his story, you were feeling sorry for him, but you were sure that wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “You made something from yourself, your grandparents would be proud.”

When he didn’t answer you shifted on your knees and pressed yourself at his back.

Noah fell asleep in your arms that night and your view on him changed. He was the great example for your project, how the outside of someone doesn’t reflect his inside.

But in the morning you pretended like you didn’t remember anything he told you and couldn’t figure if he really did not remember sharing his secrets with you, or if he actually didn’t remember.

You finished the project and got almost full score from your professor.

Things between you and Noah stayed the same, neither of you going back to that night or hiss desolate tattoo.

But every time you got the chance, you made sure kiss those letter on his body to silently tell him he’s not a desolate.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h

Click here to get on my tag list

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

[gyaruhana]

Hai since you aren't taking actual fic requests right now and only headcanons I wanted to ask if you also do those rankings? If you haven't seen basically people ask a question like 'who would be the biggest gentleman in a relationship' and the person who asks either gives a few characters for the writer to rank and write a few sentences or let the writer choose which characters they think fit best

But yeah I've basically have been seeing this a lot recently and had to think of you and your blog because I think I'd be something nice and short to write when you don't wanna do hc's/fic's and could help with potential writers block !

And if you plan on doing that then here would be your first ranking request !! :3

So out of Thanos, gwi-nam and niragi who would be the most freaky and rough in bed?

(btw I know this is long and I hope this wasn't a bother to you, I just ramble a lot about things I'm interested in and I just love your blog and everything you've written so far and I hope you continue <33)

im in love with this ranking system thingy uhm oh em gee ?!?!?!?!

i will absolutely be ranking now it's such a cute concept😭😭

below is my personal ranking.. (also thank you for liking my writing it always makes me so nervous when people compliment me..)

No.3: Choi Su-Bong/Thanos (Squid Game)

Thanos is rough, yes. He likes choking you, he likes making you cry - not to mention he really enjoys edging you for as long as possible to watch your face contort in slight pain as you beg him to let you cum.

However, I'd argue he's not entirely the type to force you into anything if it makes you super uncomfortable. The only exception for this is when he's high and not really mentally present but most of the time he doesn't push you too far over the limit.

Of course, don't mistake this for me saying he's not rough! He totally is. But, compared to the others I'm ranking, he's def less extreme..

────────────────────────────────────────────

No.2: Yoon Gwi-Nam (All Of Us Are Dead)

This is pretty self-explanatory.. we've seen plenty of scenes with him and he does NOT play.

Again, he also likes seeing you cry and choking you and blah blah blah but he's more freaky than Thanos which is why he's number two on my ranking.

He's ONLY degrading. There's nothing nice about this man. Maybe he would've pretended to be a little nice but he drops all that when he's fucking you honestly.

However, he's still only no.2 because while, yes, he isn't above being violent toward you and man handling you - he's not quite as bad as who i put as no.1

────────────────────────────────────────────

No.1: Suguru Niragi (Alice In Borderland)

No.1 for a reason.

He's the roughest and the freakiest best believe it !! He really doesn't bother playing nice whatsoever. If he sees you and he likes you, he'll just claim you without a care in the world.

Just really kinky in my opinion!!

prolly into gun play, knife play - anything incredibly violent sorry not sorry. I mean.. we all know the typa guy he is so..

i'd argue he views you ENTIRELY as a doll for his pleasure. Not anything more honestly.

────────────────────────────────────────────

CONCLUSION: First time ranking and I may have made it a little fancy set up bc i got excited at this concept..

But, yes - Niragi is No.1 on this list. I feel like he's just a real kinky and rough asshole. Although, I do totally see Gwinam being similar to Niragi in the future when he reaches PEAK dickhead-ness.

My king Thanos is only No.3 bc he's not totally mean at heart i feel.. he's just really rough when he's high but I don't think he'd be the same level of rough as Gwinam and Niragi.

anyway, hope my ranking was good !!

────────────────────────────────────────────

(thank you sm for this idea i need more holy moly..)

[cyb3rdoll]

୨⎯ MUST READ ⎯୧

Hi! you can call me doll or princess, i will not give out my actual name or personal details, my pronouns are she/her i am 24 and bisexual (sub for both)

DNI LIST: minors, zionists, racists, homophobes, transphobes, people who cross my boundaries, MAPS, people who don’t respect consent, trump supporters

Kinks: corruption, dumbification, alcohol/weed intox, cnc, dacryphilia, bondage, choking, knife play, masks, fear play, somnophilia, priest kink(?) (will add)

Boundaries: do not demand me to do things for you in DMS you are not in control of me and not a real dom, i prefer ASKS over DMS so do not expect a reply because there is literally too many of you, if you make me uncomfortable you will be blocked, you can send fantasies and questions to my ask inbox

other interests: criminal minds, hannibal, kpop, art, horror movies, mike flanagan series, ethel cain

[ambiguous-avery]

Chasing Shadows, Part 4

Dean Winchester x OC fem!Touched!Reader/You | WC: 6927

Summary: She’s never been afraid of the dark, not really. She’s more concerned about getting lost in it. He’s haunted by every dark deed he’s ever done. It’s constantly nipping at his heels like a hell hound. He’s her light in the dark, and she’s the one bit of darkness he’s willing to embrace.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff and angst, POV alternating (sometimes a little all over the place), mutual pining, no beta we die like men

Disclaimer: The base concept of Touched comes from @aylacavebear and is used with permission. I’ve taken creative liberties with it.

A/N: I think this is the longest I have ever committed to a single story before in my life, and I am so excited to have others along this journey with me. I feel like in my short time here on Tumblr, I’ve learned so much more about writing and how to string words together in ways that people seem to enjoy. I think it’s safe to say that I have drawn a lot of inspiration from @godmadeaterribleerror for this part. If you haven’t read her work, I highly, highly recommend her. She is an amazing writer.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had shared a bed with someone. So when you woke up with a heavy weight over you and warmth at your back, it was almost jarring. Almost. You stopped yourself from immediately pulling away and instead tried to will yourself to relax. Dean’s arm pinned you against him, your back pressed against his chest. After the initial wave over surprise had ebbed away, it was easier to melt against him, reveling in the closeness of another person. Life had been too hectic as of late, so finding a significant other hadn’t been high on your list of priorities. The right guy had never come along, and if his company wasn’t better than the peace and quiet you had in your own solitude, then there was no reason to keep him around. It didn’t quell the little rat of loneliness that gnawed at the edges of your self-esteem, though. 

This though? The lonely rat was loving this.

Your eyes slid shut again, comfortable in the moment despite the spring digging into your side and the lump in the pillow that sat in just the wrong spot. You must’ve dozed off because when you came to again, Dean’s warmth was gone. Rolling into the spot where he had been, it was mostly cold. You frowned before sitting up and looking over at the other bed. Sam was gone, and the thought that you had been left behind roared to the forefront of your mind. You stumbled out of bed, nearly falling flat on your face when your foot got tangled in one of the blankets, and rushed to the window. Relief washed over you as you spotted the Impala still parked just outside of the room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and physically felt the tension in the air lift.

A door squeaked on its hinges behind you, and you turned to find Dean stepping out from the bathroom, still fumbling with the buckle of his belt. You didn’t even try averting your gaze from watching the way his nimble fingers worked the leather through the metal.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” You heard the grin in his voice before you begrudgingly lifted your eyes to look at his face. “You get a bit cold last night?” he asked. When you tilted your head in question, he continued, “‘Cause you were all over me like I was your personal heater.�� You weren’t sure how it was possible, but his smile seemed brighter than usual. And were those dimples? How had you missed those before? You blushed.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure that you were the one wrapped around me like some kind of octopus when I woke up this morning,” came your indignant response, although there was no real heat behind it. He laughed and walked towards the bed, briefly stopping to scoop up your keys from the floor. The light on them was flashing, and he clicked it off.

“Hey, I never said I was complaining. Pretty girl in my bed wants to cuddle? How could I say no?” You smiled. Ever the charmer, huh? You couldn’t say that you hated it, although it would likely get old sooner rather than later. Or maybe not. You couldn’t say for sure.

You gathered up some clothes from your suitcase you had pushed into the corner of the room and slipped into the bathroom to change. When you came out, Dean was seated on the edge of the bed the two of you had shared, your keys set on the bedside table right next to the obsidian pendant you had purchased. He picked it up.

“So, this is the kind of thing you like, huh?” he asked, turning the stone in his hands. A twinge of something you couldn’t name shot through you, and the urge to walk over and snatch it from him had you marching over to him before you caught yourself part way there and stopped. To try and save face, you held out your hand expectantly, waiting for him to hand it over rather than taking it from him.

“I dunno; I just kinda thought it was cool. And at five bucks, I figured it couldn’t hurt to pick it up.” That was the understatement of the year, but how were you supposed to tell him that something as simple as holding the pendant made you feel complete? That there had been a perfect crescent shaped hole in your very existence that you didn’t know you had until you wore the stone? That sounded like a good way to get Dean to turn around and drop you back at your house with no further questions. He dropped the necklace into your hand, and your fingers wrapped around it. The stone, despite having sat on the table the entire night, was warm, as though you had been wearing it the entire time. You moved to pull the necklace over your head but paused. 

When you had done that last night, you had been whisked off to the Void without meaning to, and you weren’t sure you wanted a repeat of that visit. At least, you didn’t think you wanted a repeat. What exactly had happened was still hazy in your mind. You vaguely remembered someone or something there with you which was a first. It had spoken to you, and the words it had said were on the tip of your tongue but they wouldn’t fully form. You knew that when you Walked, your whole body went to the Void, leaving no physical form behind until you re-emerged. Dean hadn’t mentioned anything about you disappearing into the shadows which made you think that your trip to the Void had only been mental. If you had actually gone there. 

Sam and Dean had mentioned a spirit attached to an item, and you could put two and two together. Could there be a spirit attached to the necklace? Part of you wanted to bring it up to Dean. But another, much louder, part of you vehemently argued against the idea. If there was something bad about the necklace, then the brothers would likely take it and destroy it, and the thought of that did not sit well with you. You would just add it to your list of things to research when you got access to their library.

You tugged the necklace on and tucked it beneath your shirt, thankful when there were no impromptu trips to the Void. You and Dean slipped into idle small talk, and you realized that this was the first ‘normal’ conversation you had had with Dean since meeting him two days prior. The last 48 hours had been packed with so many new experiences that it left you reeling when you really thought about it. You had met this man two days ago, and you were already road-tripping with him and his brother. And you thought people in romcoms moved fast... Dean only gave surface answers to your ‘get to know you’ questions, telling you that hunting was a ‘family business’, and he and his brother had been at this for several years. Before you could delve into anything too deep, Sam came back into the room, a brown paper bag in his arms.

“Got some breakfast.”

When you had been promised a library of information about supernatural creatures, your mind had jumped to the mental image of floor-to-ceiling shelves with books packed all along them in a room tucked away in a large Disney-esque mansion. This wasn’t what you had pictured. The library was no less cozy or comfortable looking, though, and even though you didn’t have your Disney princess amount of books, you were certain that there was enough information in the room to keep you busy for a long while. 

Their homebase – the bunker, they called it – was a large, cold-war era industrial-looking complex with winding hallways and all sorts of older looking furnishings. Sam motioned down one of the hallways with doors lining the sides.

“Take your pick,” he said. “Dean’s in 11, and I’m in 21. But all the others are vacant. They’re all identical, but you’re welcome to look through them.” You still peeked into each one of the rooms, not because you doubted what Sam said, but rather because you were curious to explore. Like he had promised, each of them had the same bed, desk, and bedside table in them, with the only variation being where they were in relation to the door. After a short deliberation, you settled on room 16, placing yourself comfortably between their rooms, at least numerically. In practice, the bunker’s layout wasn’t quite as straightforward, and your room physically was closer to Dean’s. But only by a bit. You tossed your suitcase onto the bed, figuring that you would have plenty of time later to unpack before you left and met back up with the brothers.

Dean took it upon himself to give you the grand tour, and you were thankful for it because you were likely going to get very lost in the identical hallways and various doors and rooms. The bunker seemed to have everything. A gun range, a garage full of old cars – was that a 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback? – a kitchen, and the “war room” as Dean called it. Hell, there was even a hidden dungeon with a single chair in it. Dean seemed quite keen on you stepping into the weird symbol drawn onto the ground before moving onto the next room. By the time you made it back to the library, Sam had piled a few books onto one of the tables.

“There’s no rush, but I pulled the books I could think of that had to do with shadow creatures, night creatures, and things that are generally associated with the dark.” He sounded like a kid in a candy store, almost immediately diving into the way the library was sorted when you matched his enthusiasm. Somewhere within these walls had to be the answer you were looking for. It was just going to take some digging. You cracked open the first book. The text was tiny with near illegible handwriting in the margins. You frowned. Correction: this was going to take a lot of digging.

The first week at the bunker took some getting used to. It was clear that the boys weren’t used to having someone of feminine persuasion living in their shared space, at least not Dean. Sam had shared an apartment with a girlfriend of his years ago, although he seemed reluctant to talk about it beyond that. You had walked in on several of Dean’s late night fridge raids when he was clad only in his boxers, and his flushed cheeks and uncharacteristic sheepishness told you that he hadn’t meant for you to see him like that. You learned that Sam had a habit of going on morning runs, and, figuring that you didn’t have anything better to do now that you didn’t have a job, you asked if you could join him. 

That had turned out to be another mistake. 

Sam had long legs which meant that every one of his strides equaled about two of yours. And he had the benefit of having done this for who knows how long before you came to the bunker. After the first day, you had decided that you were going to give yourself a break and take it easy on the research. You would’ve told Sam that you probably weren’t going to join him for any more runs except that he seemed so genuinely happy to have a running buddy. You didn’t have it in you to take that away from him, so you resigned yourself to a new morning routine. Mercifully, Sam slowed down a bit in the following days.

Getting to know the brothers was fun in its own right. They each had their own quirks, of course, but the more time you spent with them, the more you saw the similarities they shared. Sam was the booksmart one, and Dean was more hands on. Between long bouts of research in the library with Sam – occasionally Dean joined in the research too – you spent quite a bit of time with Dean. Sometimes he would teach you things about guns at the range. He would take up a spot right behind you, leaned in close and chest pressed against your back as he would nudge your foot into the right spot for balance. His hands would sit over top of yours, and he would help you aim with the iron sights. Other times, you would sit with Dean in the garage while he worked on the Impala – you learned her name was Baby – and listen to music. It consisted almost entirely of just classic rock. You had heard almost all of the songs he played, but you couldn’t always name them. 

“This one’s easy. It’s Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song,” you said as the familiar guitar riff played through the speaker. 

“Thank god you know Led Zeppelin. I think I would’ve had to kick you out if you didn’t,” he said, glancing over at you as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag. 

“Oh please, you wouldn’t do that. I’m way too cute to be kicked out of here.” You stuck your tongue out at him playfully as he shook his head, a light smile playing on his lips. He went back to what he was doing, tossing the rag to the side while he ducked back under Baby’s open hood. He was sweaty and greasy, but you found that it was kind of endearing. He put a lot of effort into making sure Baby was well taken care of. You wondered if he was like that with women he cared about. You could definitely see it in the way he seemed to watch over Sam like a hawk. After a bit, the song changed to another familiar tune you had definitely heard before.

“Okay, what’s this one?” he asked, continuing your guys’ game. You listened closely, knitting your brows together in thought as a piano started playing. You knew it. The song title was rattling around somewhere in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t quite pull it. As the song dipped into the hook, you perked up.

“Ooh, it’s, uh,” you snapped your fingers. It was right there on the tip of your tongue. “It’s the car part cryptid song!” you blurted out. Dean stopped what he was doing, dip stick only half pulled out, and turned to look at you, his expression more confused than you had ever seen him before.

“Car part cryptid?” he repeated slowly, looking at you like you had just grown a second head.

“Yeah! Baba O’Riley!” You grinned triumphantly as the song name rolled off your tongue. Dean’s confusion didn’t waver. Your grin faltered. “Y-you know... Baba like a baba yaga and O’Riley like the auto parts store?” As your explanation sank in, Dean simply sighed and shook his head again, all dimples.

“Why does that make so much sense?” he asked, chuckling to himself as he returned to his work. “Car part cryptid...” you heard him mumble under his breath.

You and Dean had circled each other the entire time you adjusted to living at the bunker, exchanging flirty remarks and quips here and there, but it never seemed to go any further. Neither of you brought up sharing the bed in the motel, and there hadn’t been any offers of a repeat from either party. The initial lust and attraction hadn’t faded, at least not from you. Rather it had been tempered into something more solid. More tangible. Something that could’ve served as a foundation for an actual friendship that was more than just sex. Maybe even a relationship, if that was in the cards. You weren’t going to hold your breath for it. A friendship would be enough. If that’s all he wanted to offer, it was all you would take. 

In the middle of the third week of your stay at the bunker, Sam had called Dean into the War Room, stating that he had found a case several hours north in Nebraska. Just like the ghost in the small town you had stopped at on the way here, you were relegated to stay at the bunker where it was safe. 

“But I’ve been learning so many different things! It’s not like last time,” you had argued.

“We’re teaching you these things so you know how to keep yourself safe. Not so you can join in on the fray. Leave the monsters to us, sweetheart,” Dean had said. You pouted, but he didn’t budge on his decision. As you watched the Impala rumble out of the garage, you decided that your new goal – how many did you have now? – was to become competent enough to join them on a hunt.

Your search for an answer about yourself had hit dead end after dead end. None of the books Sam had set out had anything remotely close to what you potentially were. Anything that had shadow walking abilities didn’t also have the ability to heal and vice versa. It was frustrating, constantly beating your head against a wall with nothing to show for it. You tossed the book you had onto the table and pushed your chair away from it, the legs scraping against the bunker’s wooden flooring. You were getting nowhere. You blew out an exasperated breath, your fingers unconsciously finding the crescent moon pendant you wore. You had made no headway on finding answers, and the strange experience you had had when leaving the pawn shop was little more than a whisper of a memory. You were ready to go crazy if you spent another hour staring at a book. 

It was time for something different.

The boys had been gone for the entire rest of the week and part way into the next, and with each passing day, it had gotten harder and harder to focus on keeping your mind occupied. Their safety was a constant concern, and you spent more than a couple nights laying awake in your bed imagining horrible scenarios involving whatever creature you had read about most recently. They had been courteous enough to send you a text or two each day, updating you that they were still alive and that they’d be back as soon as the hunt was over, but it was incredibly lonely and quiet in the bunker without them. You had even begun missing morning runs with Sam. You had tried keeping the routine a couple of times, but without someone to hold you accountable, there was no motivation to get up early and run. 

Instead, you had spent the better part of the week getting a much better grasp on the limitations of your shadow walking. You had replaced the battery in your light on your keys several times, and the more you Walked, the more confident you became with it. Previously, it had been like jumping into a pool with both feet every time you Stepped into the void. But as you practiced, it became more like a gentle wade into the shadows. You found that you could move through the bunker in the shadows the same way you could in your home, but you were unable to cross the bunker’s threshold in the shadows. With your light flashing just beyond the open door to the bunker, you had tried moving into it but found yourself stopped by some sort of invisible barrier. Concerned that you might have locked yourself out of the safe house, you exited the shadows and were relieved to find that you could still physically enter without issue. Sam had told you that the bunker was warded from just about everything, and no creature or entity could enter through supernatural means. Apparently, that included your Shadow Walking. 

There were all sorts of different weapons in the bunker, and you had tested just about everything with a sharp edge, thinking that if you could find something you couldn’t heal from, then that might help in narrowing down what you were. The search hadn’t proved fruitful though. You tried a few different knives you found, one of the axes in the library, and even went so far as to try a couple of the paring knives in the kitchen. None of them left a lasting mark, and you cursed having put yourself through the pain for nothing. When you read the same sentence for the fourth time and still didn’t comprehend the words, it was your sign that you needed to put the book down and call it a day on the research. Another day with no progress. You were way past just being sick of it. You needed something that was mind-numbing in a different way.

It was a short trek back to your room, and you popped in one of the DVDs Dean had insisted that you needed to watch. Westerns had never been your go-to genre, but Dean liked them. You couldn’t really say you had ever given them a fair chance, so you owed it to yourself to at least give it a try. You dozed off within the first twenty minutes of the movie. Your phone’s ping woke you, and the clock on it read 9:43pm.

Not dead, on our way back. ETA 2 hours

Sam’s text was a relief to see. You were about ready to go stir crazy if you had to spend another day completely alone in the bunker. You had grown so used to having them around that their absence almost felt like you were missing a limb. You took a quick wake-up shower and were already in the garage when the Impala rolled in. Your excitement over seeing them was cut short when they stepped out of the car. Dean’s jacket was half shredded, and he had several cuts across his face, chest, and arms, and it looked like one eye was swollen shut. Sam had a busted lip and walked with a limp. Your eyes dropped down to a blood stained bandage wrapped just below his knee.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Dean tucked himself under Sam’s arm on his good side and helped support him.

“Rough night,” Dean said. You thought he might have been trying for his signature smile that always made your stomach flutter, but it was tainted by a grimace as they progressed further into the bunker. 

“I’ll meet you guys in the infirmary,” you said, darting to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl. As you stepped into the infirmary, your jaw practically hit the floor. Dean had his back to you as he helped Sam up onto the blue medical bed. “You drove all the way back here with that?” There were claw marks that dragged from his shoulder blade across his back and disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks. You fix up Sammy, and I’ll have him stitch me back together,” Dean’s tone was nonchalant, but you had picked up over the weeks that Dean didn’t like to let on whenever he was hurting. This was likely no different.

“Oh no you don’t. Neither of you are leaving this room until I’m done with you.” And it was your turn to put your foot down. You had read through a medical textbook on and off during your research time, learning how to properly identify and dress wounds. Initially, you had questioned Sam why you would ever need that knowledge if you could just bleed into whatever wound he or Dean had and solve the issue. Sam had insisted it was good knowledge to have regardless of super healing abilities, and you had to admit that you were starting to understand why.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean affirmed, surprising you with his compliance.

You held your hand over the glass bowl, blood dripping down your fingers as you squeezed and pushed more blood out of the wound before it closed up. You cleaned Sam’s leg wound with a damp cloth and rubbing alcohol before dipping your thumb in the bowl and swiping your blood over the deep gash that had torn through his calf. He grunted through gritted teeth as you repeated it twice more, each pass encouraging the skin and muscle to knit back together. After the fourth time, the wound had disappeared, leaving fresh, slightly pink skin in its wake. 

“Do you want...?” you motioned to Sam’s busted lip, and he shook his head.

“I’m good. Thank you.” He tested his leg, bending and unbending it a couple of times. When he was confident about it, he got off the medical bed, tentatively placing his weight on his leg. “Still sore,” he reported, “but way better than it was. Thank you, again.” You nodded before turning to Dean who seemed transfixed by watching you mend Sam with ease.

“Alright, you’re up next, you big, bad hunter.”

“Oh, I’m good,” he waved you off with a hand. “You don’t gotta bleed for me, sweetheart.”

“Nu-uh. I said you’re not leaving, and I meant it. Get on the bed or so help me God I will strap you to it.”

“Ooh, kinky.” He quirked his eyebrows up suggestively, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. Sam excused himself from the room with a quiet,

“I’m just gonna let you two be.”

“Just get up there,” you ordered, pointing at the bed. “Sam, can you grab a bag of frozen peas?” you called after him, still hearing his retreating footsteps. He made a vague affirmative noise somewhere down the hall.

Dean relented and seated himself on the bed. You looked him over, mentally cataloging his injuries. 

“I think it would be better if you took off what’s left of your jacket and shirt for this,” you said softly. Blood soaked both garments, and they were likely going out with the trash in the upcoming week. There wasn’t much of a chance to save them. 

“First demanding that I get on the bed, and now you’re telling me to strip? Careful, sweetheart. Keep this up and I might think you’re into me.” Despite his teasing, Dean moved to obey. When he tossed his shirt and jacket onto the bed, your strictly medical gaze slipped. Even bloodied and cut up, Dean looked good. Hunting clearly kept him in shape, and while you had felt his body pressed against yours before, it felt like a completely different ball game seeing him like this. 

If Dean caught you staring, he didn’t say anything. You grabbed a new cloth and dipped it in the warm water you had prepared, setting about cleaning each one of the cuts across his skin. There was a tattoo over his left pec, and you were pretty sure you had seen the symbol in one of the books you read through. Which one exactly eluded you at the moment, though. Sam returned with the bag of peas partway through you cleaning the blood from the wounds on Dean’s back, and Dean pressed the bag against his swollen eye. Sam said a quiet good night, and you paused in your treatment of Dean to give Sam a hug. 

“Maybe let’s skip tomorrow’s morning run?” you said, looking up at him. He smiled, briefly squeezing you back.

“Yeah, I think I can afford to take a day off.”

You methodically worked your way up Dean’s arms, painting blood over each and every individual cut and wiping away the excess with another clean cloth. Your fingers trailed over his cuts for medical purposes and ran over the veins of his forearm for more selfish desires. It was oddly intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. When you had helped him with his wounds from the vampire, you had seen him shirtless then as well. But this time, Sam wasn’t there as a sort of buffer, and there was more for you to mend. You could feel Dean watching you work, and you tried not to squirm under the weight of it. Could he see through you? It felt like he could. Felt like he could see the way your heart skipped a beat when he looked at you or the way your fingers dragged against his skin longer than they needed to. When you moved to his back, you were thankful for the weight of his heavy gaze lifting. When you brushed your thumb along the first deep cut on his back, Dean sucked in a sharp breath. You immediately pulled your hand back, fearing that you might have hurt him, but he urged you to continue with a soft,

“Sorry, I’m good.” You took your time with each laceration, starting with the top one and working your way down with care. Up close, you could see that there were freckles dotted across his back, and you endeavored to memorize all of them. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and your fingers lingered on him for seconds longer, not willing to let the moment be over so quickly. When you reached the lowest wound, the one that dipped beneath his waistband, you hesitated.

“This last one goes a little lower,” you said. Dean looked at you over his shoulder.

“Is this you telling me that I need to lose my pants too?” 

You had managed to tamp down your embarrassment up until this point in the name of stitching Dean up. However, his comment broke through the paper thin wall you had put up, and you jerked your hand away from him.

“Wha- no, you d- that’snotwhatImeant!” Despite your floundering, you heard the distinct sound of metal clinking as Dean made quick work of his belt. To your relief, though, rather than discarding his pants entirely, he slid the back of them down enough to reveal the last bit of the claw mark that ended just above the cleft of his ass. You swallowed and took a steadying breath as you worked on the last wound. As your fingers dragged along the length of it, your blood working its magic and encouraging the skin to repair itself, you couldn’t help but notice two dimples that mirrored each other on his lower back. They were subtle, but as your fingers ghosted over them, you felt the slight dip of them. They were adorable.

And now you were always going to think about Dean Winchester’s lower back dimples when he smiled.

“Okay, I think that’s the worst of it. Did you want me to get the ones on your face?” You stepped around the bed to face him and impressed yourself with your ability to string together a coherent sentence with thoughts of his well toned back dancing in your mind. Dean set the bag of peas on the bed next to him. The swelling of his eye seemed to have gone down some, but it would likely take another day or so before it was fully back to normal. You weren’t sure if your healing abilities extended to swelling like that, and if they did, you didn’t have the faintest idea of how you would apply your blood to it.

“Nah, you’ve done more than enough, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said your name earnestly. There was a warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before, and it spread through you, enveloping you like a blanket. You clung to it. 

“Of course, Dean. Anytime.” And you meant it. Wounds were something you could fix, and you were more than willing to help either brother if it was within your skillset. There was a beat of silence between you. “Anyway, it’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted. You should get some rest.” You set about discarding the cotton balls and gauze you had used.

“What, Sam gets a good night hug, and I don’t?” You met his gaze, and there was a curious half-smile tugging one side of his lips upwards, though it wasn’t enough for the small divet in his cheek to show. It almost seemed bashful in nature.

You wiped your hand on the cloth you held before moving to stand in front of him, right between his slightly parted legs. You didn’t miss the way both ends of his belt rested against his thighs or his unzipped fly or the dark color of his boxers peeking out from beneath the denim. You’d stay here forever if he asked it of you. Had you missed your chance with him? Did you even have a chance in the first place? Flirty Dean seemed to be a default setting, if the way he interacted with the cashier at the corner store was anything to go off of. He probably had women falling for him left and right, and you were just another casualty. Dean pulled you into his arms and out of your thoughts, and instinctively, you returned the hug, soaking in his heat and closeness. This would be enough for you. You felt him take a breath in like he was going to say something, but he hesitated and instead you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good night, Dean. Welcome back.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Dean groaned as he rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen the uncomfortable tightness there. He kicked the door to the shower room closed behind him before stripping down and stepping under the hot spray. It felt good to be back. The motel showers couldn’t compare to the bunker’s, and returning to the motel room that didn’t have you there had sparked a strange feeling of disappointment in him that he wasn’t prepared to face. Nevermind that he had foregone staying a final night in the town before driving back to the bunker. He hadn’t admitted to Sam that he had been chomping at the bit to get back to the bunker. To you. And watching you take care of Sam without a second thought did things to him long before your hands had even touched him. When that had happened, he wasn’t expecting just how tender you would be with him. He was used to Sam’s terse “suck it up”s and “you’ve had worse; this is nothing”s. You hadn’t said any of that. You had taken care of him. Hell, you bled for him and Sam. Again. And he hadn’t needed to ask. Not that he ever would have. He didn’t want to ask anything of you because everything he wanted felt like it was more than you would be willing to give.

But he already had asked.

You had momentarily stopped focusing on him to give Sam a hug before he turned in for the night, but when you were done patching him back together, you had been so ready to dismiss him without so much as a pat on the back. The fact that he had to ask for a hug when you had freely given one to Sam? That stung a bit. More than a bit. How sad was that? A girl showed him a little bit of kindness, and he was jealous that he had to ask for a hug. But he hadn’t been ready to give up that modicum of physical touch you had given him. 

And he had almost slipped up a second time in the next breath. Almost asked you to stay with him for the night. Almost asked for too much. Instead, he tucked it all into a neat little gift and left it with you in a kiss. If there were a god out there that gave a shit about him, then maybe they’d whisper to you in your sleep and you would deign to give him another one of your brilliant, unburdened smiles or touch him again with hands that were soft and untainted by the horrors of the world.

Dean swore he could still feel the echoes of your touch on his skin. Did you know? Did it feel the same when your wounds sealed up? Did your skin tingle with a soothing warmth as a cut stitched back together the same way his had? Did you feel the same rush that shot through him whenever you dragged a finger over him, leaving nothing short of a miracle behind with every touch? He doubted it. If he understood it right, you had grown up with your healing ability which meant it was as natural as breathing was for you. What would you do when you had your answer? A hunter’s life wasn’t for you. You deserved a normal, safe life with a partner and kids if that was what you wanted. Surely once you had your answer, you would leave. Once your curiosity was sated, there wouldn’t be any other reason for you to stay. So he would just have to cherish however much time he had left with you.

When Dean stepped out of the shower and pulled on a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, he spotted a familiar looking stone sitting on the counter. He picked it up, running his thumb run over the smooth suface of the crescent. It was warm in his hand, likely from the heat of the steam from his shower, and as he turned it over in his palm, it thrummed against his skin. His immediate instinct was to throw it against the opposite wall. In his experience, nothing good ever came from an object that did something when it was picked up. Against his better judgement, though, he didn’t. You had had the necklace for weeks, and there hadn’t been any strange occurrences or any change in your demeanor that set off alarm bells in his head. It didn’t rule out the possibility of something playing the long game, but Dean had seen the way you kept it close like a security blanket. He couldn’t justify destroying it on little more than a wild assumption. 

He gathered up his belongings and dropped them off in his room before continuing down the hall to the closed door marked ‘16.’ He knocked, waited for a few moments, then knocked again. You didn’t answer, and he should’ve just left it at that. He should’ve been happy with all the attention and care you had already given him tonight. But he was selfish and weak. So he didn’t do what he should have done. 

Dean quietly pushed the door to your room open, thankful when the hinges were silent and didn’t betray his entrance. He spotted your flashing keys on the bedside table, and he couldn’t stop from smiling as he realized that he hadn’t had a chance to show you what he had picked up while on the hunt. He was certain that you’d smile when you saw it. Sam hadn’t let him live it down when he saw it attached to Baby’s keys. You were laying on your side, facing the door, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder just how you managed to sleep with flashing lights in your face. It was probably another thing you had just done for as long as you remembered. At least after you had gotten lost the first time. 

He couldn’t help himself. Dean stared at your sleeping form, mesmerized by the way the shadows created by your light danced across your face. It was as though they had a mind of their own and seemed to fall in just the right way to accentuate your features. Your expression was so peaceful as you slept. Not an ounce of a hunter’s instinct keeping you with a foot in the waking world in case something happened. He wanted to keep it that way. If he had it his way, you would never lose sleep worrying about being attacked in the middle of the night. He had made a promise to keep you safe, and he intended to keep it.

Dean pulled your necklace from the pocket of his pants and froze on the spot when he saw it. The pendant gave off a soft glow. It wasn’t bright or vibrant, though. It was more akin to a black light. The glow was dark, almost purple in appearance. Had it been doing that when he found it in the showers? A sense of unease crept into the back of his mind as he moved to hold the necklace by the braided leather cord rather than the pendant itself just in case. As it dangled from his fingers, he eyed it carefully, half expecting something more to happen. He sprinted back to his room, grabbing for the gun beneath his pillow, and when he looked back at the crescent moon, the glowing had stopped. Just to be doubly sure, he turned off the light in his room. 

Still no glow.

He took slow, deep breaths as he eyed the necklace, waiting for something – anything – to happen. Nothing did. He walked back towards your room, watching all the while. When he crossed the threshold of your room, the glow was back. And when he dared to stand beside your bed, the glow was at its brightest. He needed Castiel to give him answers because Dean couldn’t in good conscience let you keep wearing it without knowing what it was doing. He muttered a quiet apology before leaving and closing the door behind him, the leather cord of the necklace wrapped around his hand.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @wendichester @checkedoutghost @jacxx2

Want to join the taglist? Ask away!

Part 3 --- Part 5

[dufferpuffer]

Sometimes, this line is taken from Tom and used to make him out to be a victim of Albus' suspicions: growing up disliked by a man he feared. Constantly watched him like a helicopter parent, assuming him to be a problem from day one...

But the text shows this not the case.

They didn’t see another person until they reached the Entrance Hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase. ‘What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?’ Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore. ‘I had to see the Headmaster, sir,’ said Riddle. ‘Well, hurry off to bed,’ said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. ‘Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since …’ He sighed heavily, bade Riddle goodnight and strode off.

(CoS Ch13)

This scene is just a little after Myrtles death - and immediately precedes Hagrid being framed for her manslaughter. Tom has spoken to Headmaster Dippet and been denied staying at school over the summer because... well, a girl died. Who is going to stay in the school just to babysit him?

Albus, finding Tom wandering around at night after such a tragedy, simply asks what he is doing - and when given a vague answer suggests it's unsafe to roam the corridors and sends him to bed.

He doesn't question Tom. He doesn't walk him to his common room, or follow him even from a distance. He just bids him goodnight.

That's the exact opposite of assuming Tom to be a problem. That's more trust than a teacher would put into many students even under normal circumstances, let alone after a death. It lines up with freedoms he has previously given him, too:

“I don’t need you,” said Riddle. “I’m used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley— sir?” he added, catching Dumbledore’s eye. [...] Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you — non-magical people, that is — will not. Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —” [...] "[...]So — when I’ve got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?” “All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too.” Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again.

(HBP, ch13)

Even surprising Harry - Albus allows Tom to take care of his own path to Hogwarts, simply because he wanted to do it alone. After hearing bad stories about how he uses his magic, after experiencing first hand him not wanting to return stolen objects and snatching coins from his hand - he trusts Tom to act alone.

Because Tom agreed to start a new life in the Wizarding World. He agrees to follow Wizarding Law and respect him as a teacher at Hogwarts rather than command and spit on him with distrust. So he trusts gives him with a fresh start - no unwanted supervision.

In regards to his 'penetrating stare':

The very first time the word 'penetrating' was used in the books at all was in the previous chapter, in a very similar scenario: Harry, sheltering secrets of whispers and snakes, talking to Dumbledore about an attack Hagrid would then be accused of.

‘[...] Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets.’ In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high-backed chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare. Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, [...] ‘It wasn’ Harry, Professor Dumbledore!’ said Hagrid urgently. [...] ‘Hagrid!’ said Dumbledore loudly. ‘I do not think that Harry attacked those people.’ [...] ‘You don’t think it was me, Professor?’ Harry repeated hopefully, as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk. ‘No, Harry, I don’t,’ said Dumbledore, though his face was sombre again. ‘But I still want to talk to you.’ Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together. ‘I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,’ he said gently. ‘Anything at all.’ [...] ‘No,’ said Harry, ‘there isn’t anything, Professor.’

(CoS ch12) [edited, sadly - Hagrid's vehement defense of Harry is very sweet]

Dumbledore talks about Phoenixes re-birthing from their deathbeds, remaining faithful (love this line, I wanna pick it apart one day) - then gives Harry the same look he gave Tom. Hagrid comes to Harry's defense - and Albus is quick to agree... ...but he wants to question Harry more.

This is something he doesn't do to Tom. He has changed his behaviour from the past - where he was more trusting of Tom.

Could the 'penetrating stare' be him using legilimency...? He seems to know Harry is hiding things. He 'considers' Harry. Well... even if he did use legilimency, what did he find out from Tom?

Riddle said he had been to see the Headmaster. Albus stared - then said 'goodnight' and left. That means he mustn't have seen Myrtles death, the Basilisk, the Chamber - not gotten any inkling of Tom's plans. If he did look - I think he was only seeing if Tom really had just been to the see the Headmaster, and saw it was the truth. An invasion of privacy, yes. But he didn't pry deeper, in a way that suggests particular distrust - and it is obvious the fact a little girl was brutally murdered is on his mind.

~~~

As prev. and OP say, Tom's idea of 'not being liked as much' seems to be 'didn't kiss my ass - but still bent over backwards for me.' Albus was still giving him special treatment - or at the very worst, regular student treatment. He was still assuming the best of him.

Re-reading Chamber of Secrets and I get to this little gem from Tom Riddle

“Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did…”

In light of HBP, this sentence is gold. So Dumbledore didn’t like you as much as the other teachers? I wonder why, Tom! Could it possibly be that the first time he ever met you, he discovered that you were already using magic to intimidate and hurt your peers, even before the tender age of 11? That you were bullying people into giving you their possessions? That you were torturing and killing animals? That Dumbledore, what a fuddy-duddy, mistrusting and misliking you over a little torture and intimidation. Or maybe it was because you used a giant snake to murder a young girl and then framed an innocent boy for that murder? I guess we’ll never know!

[waffle-bubbles]

Autism is making a bunch of lists on your phone and constantly updating it and ranking the things on the list

[a2zillustration]

The desire to draw these two again but without the motivation to make something more than one of these little charts (oops)

Thank you Valc0 for making the sheet!

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[kalikoking]

[devilfic]

What is a "codependent psychosexual platonic relationship"? Genuine question

need I say more

[skunkes]

Did or does anything inspire your art? It’s so fun and unique

I do have artists (both Established and like Peers/Mutuals) I enjoy and I do pluck traits from art I like as I see fit to mold my own but I don't have any conscious inspiration ykwim...ive had ppl tell me my art looks like or reminds them of things i like, whether "vibe based" (stuffed animals) or a specific media (care bears) but i dont consciously draw inspiration from care bears ykwim... I could tell u i loved archie comics as a kid and i love the art style but thats not a good answer to the question bc it doesnt present itself in my work (and if it does its not on purpose) ykwim...i hope dis makes sense.

I always bring up Urasawa when this question comes up, like I love urasawa's art and often save lots of it for inspiration but my work doesnt really ever come out as an emulation of his as a result, it's more osmosed as I try to figure out how I want to draw, bc I haven't seen anyone who draws the way I'd like to yet. (Also using him as an example, as this is how I feel about all my other "inspirations").

Theres tons of different ways to draw every possible trait of a face or body etc, so I just do that, taking shapes and such from other artists i observe along the way without really picking up the influence (and if i do its never for very long), since I've yet to find anything im very happy with