#i think this counts as a mental condition at this point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

featherandferns · 24 days ago

Text

colour in the lines (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | enemies-to-lovers, tutor!reader concept set around season 1 era (no gold hunt) | not yet proofread so apologies!

content warning: dr*g use (weed, drinking); references to s3x; unique family dynamics

word count: 20k. (she's a slow-burner, but it's worth it)

blurb: When Mr Sunn hires you as JJ Maybank's tutor for the summer break, neither of you have high hopes for success. But as the lessons stretch on, maybe JJ isn't as much of an asshole as you thought, and maybe you aren't as much of a brown nose as he assumed.

The Arrangement

“You ain’t serious.”

“As the plague,” Mr Sunn nods.

JJ groans and tosses his head back. He’s lounging in the wooden chair as if it’s a comfortable Lay-Z-Boy. “Mr Sunn, can we just admit to each other right here and now that me getting a diploma ain’t ever gonna happen?”

Mr Sunn’s eyebrow quirks. He clasps his hands together atop of his desk. “You might be willing to give up on your education but I’m not. And until the day comes around that I am, you’re going to have tutoring.”

JJ stares begrudgingly at Mr Sunn like a sulking child. Tutoring? Come on, man. It felt as laughable and as useless as gifting a paralysed person a treadmill.

“When’s this tutoring gonna be?” JJ reluctantly asks.

“Every week on a Wednesday.”

“In September?”

“Starting next week.”

“Next week?” JJ gapes. Mr Sunn nods. “Mr Sunn, next week is the start of summer vacation. I ain’t gonna be educating myself during summer vacation. I think that’s actually against one of the human rights or something.”

“It isn’t. Maybe you’d know that if you actually attended class,” Mr Sunn remarks, almost smug. JJ rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

“Summer vacation?”

“If you stop your moaning and bitching, you’d hear more about the conditions of it.”

“Oh, goody. Please do tell.”

There’s a warning in the look Mr Sunn shoots JJ that has him rolling his eyes again. Glancing off out the window, he sighs. The football field is devoid of life save for the birds pecking at the grass. There’s no bustling in the halls, no students in the classrooms. JJ was the lingering student on Friday after school, subject to the conversation with Mr Sunn per request at the end of class. It had been almost thirty minutes; the start of the discussion had been a delightful monologue delivered about JJ’s failing grades and concerning marks. That had followed into this downright hideous discussion of tutoring.

“I’ve assigned a student who’s more than happy to give you tutoring. Like I said before, every Wednesday at one in the afternoon - unless exceptional circumstances occur.”

“Like me not wanting to get outta bed?”

“Like being in the hospital for a traumatic brain injury,” Mr Sunn corrects with a levelled look. JJ scoffs. Close enough, in his head. “She’ll tell me if you’ve attended the session, and if you stayed for the full time allocated–”

“--Wait, she? Who the hell–” Another pointed look that has JJ clearing his throat. “Who the heck is this tutor?”

Mr Sunn glances down at the papers laid out in front of him (many of which are evidence of JJ’s poor grades). “A Miss L/N.”

JJ’s brows furrow as he flicks through his mental rolodex of classmates at his school. The last name rattles around his brain until he finally finds a picture. His face falls. “Y/N?”

Mr Sunn nods. “She’s a stellar student.”

“She’s a brown-nosing bore.”

“Don’t think comments like that are very necessary, Maybank,” Mr Sunn warns. JJ doesn’t much care.

JJ used to be in the same class as you last year but you had been in the background of JJ’s life since kindergarten. Kildare was a small county. Nearly every classmate traced back to the beginning of childhood. New students were rare and most seemingly went to Kook academy. He hadn’t interacted with you much, if at all, but he could place you pretty well. You always abided by the dress code; always attended class; always handed in your homework on time; always stuck up your hand in class; always got the answers right; and always aced the exams. You were on some of the nerd teams at school - chess and mathletes - and JJ was certain he’d seen you in the marching band at a football game he was dragged to a few years back. A textbook goody-two-shoe know-it-all: that’s what you were. The only defining story that JJ had of you was from Pope, who held a half-joking, half-serious grudge against you following a loss at a spelling bee in middle school. You’d won and JJ wondered if it was Pope’s villain origin story. The word ‘chromotosis’ was still a tender spot (and one JJ liked to poke from time to time).

JJ laughs humourlessly, becoming increasingly annoyed with the situation. “Mr Sunn, you can’t be serious! I’d rather have you just tutor me instead!”

“Well, I’m going to enjoy my summer vacation after spending the year teaching your classmates.”

JJ doesn’t let the omission of ‘you’ from his sentence bother him too much. It was valid. JJ was a failing student. He attended school fleetingly. Homework was nothing more than a theoretical concept in his world and tests were his mortal enemy. The letter ‘F’ had become a best friend, with ‘D’ and ‘C’ close companions. Learning didn’t come easy to him, not in the way it did for John B and Kiara, and especially not in the way it was for Pope. Everything took him longer. Reading, writing, equations, retaining information. It didn’t help that most of it didn’t interest him, either. Besides, JJ found it hard to sit still for long in the classroom. He got fidgety and restless. The outside world called to him through the window: the song of the waves, the tweeting in the trees. JJ was good with practical things like handiwork and mechanics. That was the profession he’d venture into more than likely, so what was the point in breaking his back over a pointless high school degree?

Sighing, JJ rakes his fingers through his unruly hair. “Look, Mr Sunn, I’m gonna level with ya. I don’t think there’s much point in me getting a degree. I don’t give a crap about history or English or maths or any of that bullshit. And I don’t need it, a’right? I mean, you gotta know that, surely?” Before Mr Sunn can answer, JJ’s leaning in and digging through the papers. He retrieves one of his report cards and points at Mechanics. “Look! See! I’m pretty decent at stuff like that! Why can’t I just drop the rest and focus on that and be done with it?”

Mr Sunn sighs and smiles sympathetically at JJ. He takes the report card back and talks as he straightens out the papers. “I wish I could do that for you, JJ, but the state requires you to take all the core classes to graduate with a diploma. It might not mean much to you now, but trust me when I say that you’ll open so many more doors in your life if you apply yourself and finish school.”

There’s an unfamiliar sincerity in Mr Sunn’s words when he tells JJ, “You might not think you can do it, but I know you can. With some extra help, you can graduate, JJ.”

JJ holds Mr Sunn’s gaze for a long moment. Swallowing, JJ is disbelieving of the next words that leave his mouth in a resigned sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The First Lesson

Your pencil taps rhythmically on the table as you glance at the clock on the wall for the eleventh time. Ten minutes late. Sighing, annoyed, you pick up your phone and text your best friend, Esme.

Huffing out another breath, you return the phone to the table and busy yourself with reviewing the resources you’d brought.

When Mr Sunn offered you the summer part-time job of tutoring, you thought - frankly -that it would be a piece of piss. Give some lessons to some snotty little stressed out middle schooler and earn fifteen bucks every Wednesday? Where do I sign? But that fantasy was soon broken. Instead of an innocent child struggling with algebra homework, it was JJ Maybank. JJ’s reputation preceded him like Jay Gatsby. He was a prolific class skipper. When he did attend, it was usually to disturb the lesson with childish jokes until he wound up in the principal’s office and, most likely, detention. He spent quizzes blowing raspberries, tapping his pencil and gazing out the window. Teachers stopped bothering to ask him if he finished his homework. Outside of that, you knew him to be a womanizer, a petty thief, and an adrenaline junky. The only notable interaction you had with JJ had left a bad taste in your mouth. You tried to forget about it, pushing it into the back of your mind, but the name always brought back the memory of that one day in class. That one passing remark that changed your opinion of JJ in a split-second. Following all of that, fifteen dollars - whilst still enough to have you agree to tutoring - did not feel like an even trade for dulling your brain cells for one hour in his company.

Good news was that he wasn’t going to show, it seemed. Silver linings. Bad news? No JJ - no payout.

As your eyes glance over the textbook photocopy to ensure it didn’t cut any information off, the door to Mr Sunn’s classroom swings open. You startle and look up, half expecting to see the security guard asking you what the hell you’re doing here. Instead, your eyes land on JJ Maybank. He’s talking as he walks over to the table you’ve claimed.

“You would not believe how good the weather is out there today, holy shit,” he rambles as he pulls out the chair opposite you. “It’s fucking golden, Goddamn.”

You’re unsure what to say. Instead, you watch as JJ sighs and relaxes in his seat. One of his arms is tossed over the back of it; his legs manspread comfortably. Hair pressed under a beige cap, scruffy on the lip, his t-shirt and shorts are appropriate for the scorching weather outside. His combat boots that you’d noted when he walked over, not so much.

Seemingly at your silence, he quirks a brow. “So? We gonna get started, or?”

“You’re late,” you say, annoyed at his urgency. “Ten minutes late. Actually-” A quick glance at the clock. “-eleven minutes late.”

JJ shrugs. “I was hungry. Had to stop by in-n-out.”

“You went to in-n-out?”

His brows raise. “Did you want something from there? Didn’t peg you much as the, uh…fast food type.”

You’re not sure what he means by that but you imagine something unfriendly. Rolling your eyes, you level him with a glare. “You were eleven minutes late to our lesson because you stopped at an in-n-out?”

“Yep. So, what we starting with?” Before you can even formulate your next sentence, JJ’s interrupting you. “Actually, can I just– D’you mind if we wrap this up early today? Maybe do a half-session or something?”

“A half session?”

“Mhn,” he nods. JJ grins as he says, “the swells today at the beach are insane. It’s perfect surf weather. I gotta get a piece.”

Anger bubbles in your throat. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you grit your teeth. “Well, since you were eleven minutes late to the start of the lesson, we gotta make up for lost time. ‘Sides, Mr Sunn said that you had to attend the whole hour.”

“Yeah, but, like…He ain’t here, is he? So…” JJ leans forward on the table, closing down the space between the two of you. His biceps push against the sleeves of his short sleeve top when he rocks his weight forward and you’re quick to avert your eyes back to his face. There’s a boyish charm shining through his smirk. His eyes are half hooded as he scans your face and figure. You shift and square your shoulders, sitting back in your seat, trying to reclaim the gap. “What’d you say you do me a solid and tell a little white lie ‘bout it, huh? No harm in that, right?”

Oh. You see what’s happening. JJ thinks you’re just another one of the girls bewitched by his beauty. That all he has to do is bat his pretty eyes and flash you that gorgeous smile and you’ll fall at his feet and do as he asks.

You try to bite back your smirk as best as possible when you lean forward. You leave the smallest gap between you, forearms almost touching, and you get a thrill at the flash of surprise in his eyes.

“Listen, blue eyes. I get paid for the hour and, unlucky for you, I don’t enjoy lying to people. So here’s what gonna happen. We’re going to sit here and do the full one-hour session, making sure we don’t lose those lovely eleven minutes. Sound good?”

JJ’s smile falls quickly. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. You sweeten the deal with an overly sugary smile before returning to how you were sat before.

“We’re starting with biology.”

JJ slowly unfurls himself to retain into his seat. You dig out one of the worksheets and slide it across the table to him.

“What’d you remember from this semester?”

JJ sighs as if he’s bored and slowly raises his hands to count on his fingers. He takes his time as he recounts, in a dull tone of voice, “monkeys masturbate and…that’s about it.”

Rolling your eyes, irritated, you look down at your twinning worksheet. You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose when they slip down. “Right, okay, starting from square one then. If you look at the first paragraph, give it a quick read and then I’m gonna ask you some questions about it, ‘kay?”

JJ doesn’t say anything but grunts. It’s hard to restrain from rolling your eyes a third time. When a substantial amount of time has passed, you glance to see if he’s still reading. JJ sits, head rocked back, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. You see red.

“Done reading?” you manage out. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hums ‘yes’. “Okay then…” You look down at the questions you’d prepared and take a sigh before reading out the first one. “The powerhouse of the cell is called the…”

JJ doesn’t say anything. Clearing your throat to prompt him, he cracks open an eye, observes you leisurely, and then closes it again. “Heart.”

“The Mitochondria.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant. Same thing.”

Your teeth grate against each other. Another cooling breath and you read the second, third, fourth questions. Each answer given by JJ raises your blood pressure by another degree. This is going to be a fucking pain in your ass. At the forty minute mark, you’re repeating the mantra ‘think of the money, think of the money, think of the money’ like a religious prayer in your mind. JJ has managed to make an almost impressive amount of crude jokes about cell anatomy, gave some brain-cell killing answers to pretty basic biology questions, and yawned enough times to have a doctor concerned for his well being. You’re relieved when your eyes find the clock reads that an hour has passed.

“Right, well. That’s everything for today.”

“Oh, damn. I was just getting into it, too,” JJ sardonically says. You glare at him. He stands and stretches, his shirt riding up as he extends his arms above his head. He fixes his cap as he asks, “same time next week, then?”

“One in the afternoon.”

“Can’t wait,” he mutters. He wanders to the door, giving a fleeting ‘see ya’ as he slips out the classroom. You’re amazed the door doesn’t burst into flames with the heat of your stare.

The First Complaint

The sun bathes JJ in blisteringly warm rays of daylight. He revels in it like a gecko in the desert. Arms tucked underneath his head, he lounges on the front of the boat. Sunglasses sit on his face, eyes closed behind them, and a toothpick sticks out from his lips. The water laps at the boat, rocking it gently from side to side. An old-school R&B song hums out the speaker near the cooler.

“I’m telling y’all, the fishing out there is crazy. Worth the trip, for sure,” John B tells the Pogues. He’s probably where JJ last saw him; stood by the end of the boat, shirtless in his swim shorts like Pope and JJ, fishing.

“I’m down. Could go next week,” Kiara says. She’s probably scrolling on her ipod to cue the next song.

“My dad’s got me working shifts but I can do Wednesday,” Pope adds, likely reading.

JJ blows a raspberry. “Wednesday is a no-go.”

“Why not?”

“I got class.”

He can hear the shared confusion in the silence. He props himself up on an elbow, jutting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose enough to scan over his friends. They’re all exactly where he pictured them, staring at him blankly.

“Class?” Pope finally asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got tutoring.”

John B barks out a laugh and Kiara rolls her eyes, looking back to her ipod. “Yeah right,” she mutters.

“Dude, I’m so serious right now,” JJ loudly defends, throwing his arm out.

“The day you get tutoring is the day hell freezes over,” Pope declares.

JJ shrugs. “Alright, then it’s frozen, cause I am.”

“How’d they get you to go? Gag and bind you?” John B sniggers, making the others laugh.

“Hilarious. Thank you for caring about my education, assholes,” JJ grumbles. He isn’t actually offended. It tracks that the Pogues think he’s bullshitting. It isn’t as if JJ has valued books and pop quizzes at any stage in his life. Returning to his previous position, he grins as he says, “you’re not gonna guess who’s my tutor.”

“Mr Sunn?”

“Nope. He did allocate her, though.”

“Least we know it’s a she,” Kiara says. “Helps with the guessing.”

“Well, go on. Guess.”

“Just tell us,” Pope sighs, in no mood for games. JJ’s grin grows.

“Your mortal enemy.”

John B and Kiara let out a gasp and snigger. JJ glances through his sunglasses to make out Pope’s face. In his disbelief, JJ nods. “Yep.”

“She still as brainy as she was then?”

“More,” JJ mutters. His memory flicks back to yesterday; the way your glasses slipped down your nose just slightly when you leant forward on the table. The shimmering of your eyes as they glared at him. The sneer on your lips. You clearly think rather highly of yourself. It had been pretty entertaining seeing how far he could push. He’s impressed that you didn’t lunge at him before the session was up; he was certain you’d come pretty close several times. Sighing, JJ sits back up on his arms and looks to his friends. “We’re going to that kegger tonight, right?”

“We could,” John B shrugs. “Not doing much else.”

“It’s Touron season,” JJ grins boyishly, making Kie roll her eyes.

“You guys are gross.”

“Come on! Just trying to get little Pope’s dick wet for a change,” JJ lies, getting up and smacking a hand reassuringly on Pope’s shoulder. He’s shrugged off, making him snigger.

“My dick is perfectly fine as it is, thank you,” Pope mutters, looking back down at his book. Rolling his eyes, JJ retrieves a beer from the cooler.

“Whatever man. Lemme know when you want to learn how to get girls.”

“Yeah. JJ’s a scholar now, afterall,” John B jokes. At the heckling laughter of his friends, JJ rolls his eyes mirthfully and goes back to enjoying his summer break.

The Second Lesson

You’re not sure why you’re surprised that JJ is late yet again to his lesson. This time you’ve found better ways to entertain yourself than clock watching. Sending memes back and forth with Esme and doomscrolling Instagram was working well to keep you from counting the minutes wasted in the empty classroom. You can hear people outside, playing in the fields, chattering on the streets as they walk to and from their summer day plans. There’s an itch under your skin to leave and make the most of the beautiful weather. It feels a shame to spend your time cooped up in a dusty classroom, making anagrams out of the history posters lining the walls. But the posters make you think of Mr Sunn, reminding you of the promise you’d made to him before the vacation started.

“You’ll be paid for the tutoring and your trouble. But I’m trusting you to be honest. I don’t want to be paying out for an hour spent on Call of Duty or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

“Definitely not Call of Duty.”

“Either way: if Maybank doesn’t show, then I need you to be honest with me. I’m trusting you.”

“I promise, Mr Sunn. You can put your faith in me.”

Your phone begins to ring. Picking up, you don’t have the chance to say ‘hi’ before Esme is talking.

“What a fucking loser.”

“I mean, he has my number. He could at least message to say he’s running late,” you complain.

“He could at least bother showing up on time,” Esme corrects, making you laugh. “He’s probably not even doing anything anyway.”

“I honestly don’t give a shit what he’s doing. Just wish I had a heads-up if he’s not going to show so I can actually do something with my day,” you sigh, rubbing at your forehead. “Mom’s got another night shift tonight and I hate leaving Leo alone all day.”

“I thought he was going to that summer day-camp thingy? The scholarship deal didn’t get cancelled, did it?” Esme worries.

“He’s not going anymore. Not because of the scholarship - that’s still fine. Just…” Your voice trails off, heart tugging at the memory of his crestfallen face, muddled with confusion when you had to tell him he wasn’t going to be going back.

“The usual stuff?” Esme guesses. She’d known you for almost six years now; she knew Leo for just as long. She shared that same protectiveness for him.

“Yep.”

“Kids are shitheads.”

You bark out a laugh. “You can’t say that about children, Esme.”

The two of you laugh quietly. You sigh and fiddle with the corner of one of the worksheets. Just as you’re about to tell her that you’ll leave in the next five minutes, the door pushes open. “I gotta go, Esme.”

“Wait - did he actually show up?”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit, someone call the media,” she mutters. You give a sheltered laugh, eyes scanning over a sunglass-donning JJ. “Alright, message me after. Love ya.”

“Talk soon,” you hum before the line clicks off. Placing your phone down on the table, you watch as JJ shuffles into the room lethargically. He’s dressed similarly to last week: combat boots, shorts, t-shirt. The cap this week is red, equally as well-worn as the beige. The sunglasses are new though. “You seem lively.”

“Not so loud, please,” JJ groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead as if nursing a headache. He collapses into the chair opposite you with a grunt. A silence lingers between the two of you. JJ is so still you half question if he’s passed out. Eventually, he shifts enough to tug his sunglasses down, revealing a slither of his eyeline. He’s looking at you.

“You gonna start with the lesson, then?”

“You gonna stay awake for it?” you ask in return. He pushes the sunglasses back up.

“No promises.”

“You’re hungover,” you observe. JJ makes a ding-ding-ding noise under breath. The momentary peacefulness that came from your quick phone call with Esme is soon dissipating. “You’re hungover despite knowing that we had tutoring today?”

“I don’t know what ‘despite’ means, a’right? Can we make a ban on big words when my brain feels like it’s gonna explode?”

“Might need you to define big words. Have a feeling most words qualify as that with you,” you mutter. JJ scoffs.

“Get off your high horse, brown noser. Just cause you’ve read a few books don’t mean you know everything.”

“As opposed to you?” you quip back.

JJ snuggles in his seat, folding his arms over his chest in an echo of his posture last week. “Just start with the schooling, huh? Thought you needed to report back to Daddy Sunn that you’ve done your duties.”

Your nose turns up at the nickname. Not bothering to argue, you dig through the worksheets and hesitate in passing one across the table to him. Your eyes scan over his figure. His carelessness in his appearance; his indifference to this generous opportunity he’s been given; his dismissiveness of your valuable donation of time. It irritates you. A lot.

“You don’t realise how fortunate you are, do you?” you snap.

JJ visibly stuns at your tone. He doesn’t hurry his movements as he sits straighter in his seat, turning to face you, sliding his sunglasses off his face. His eyebrows rise, bloodshot eyes zeroing in on you. “What was that, brown nose?”

“You have no idea how fortunate you are to be here right now,” you repeat, holding your ground. You clear your throat and correct your glasses on your nose. “Mr Sunn put a lot of effort into organising these sessions. Letting us have access to the building out of hours. Access to all these resources. He put a lot of faith into you. He genuinely believed that you’d give enough of a crap to at least try tutoring. But instead you stroll in her like the sun shines out of your ass and you’re God’s gift to earth and waste everybody’s time.”

JJ watches you after your outburst. His eyes flit over your face, taking in every inch of your disgruntled expression, and his lips twitch downwardly. Leaning forward on the table, he raises a finger to point in your face.

“You don’t know shit about my fortune,” he remarks darkly, in a tone that you’ve never once heard from him. He’s unrecognisable as he warns you, “you stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine, a’right? I ain’t needing you preaching on your soapbox about how good I got shit when you ain’t know anything about anything. So either get on with teaching, or I’ll get on up and out that door.”

It’s unnerving, JJ’s demeanour and tone. It’s unnerving but it isn’t enough to make you back down. Narrowing your eyes, you sit proud and tall, hands clasped politely atop of the table.

“Be my guest. The door is behind you, in case you’re too drunk to find it.”

JJ’s chair pushes back from the force he gets up with. He mutters under breath curses and cusses as he makes his way to the door. Your voice is polite and cheery as you call, “One o’clock next Wednesday.”

The door slams closed. Another successful tutoring session. Another migraine to go home with.

The First Check-In

“JJ! Answer your damn phone!” John B hollers from the bathroom.

JJ jogs through the Chateau in search of the cell. It’s the third call he’s missed. It isn’t on purpose: he can’t find where he put the damn thing. It’s as if it’s fallen into a pocket of the universe that ceases to exist. Digging through the couch cushions of the pull-out, JJ’s fingers finally make contact with the buzzing device.

“Aha!” he cheers, pulling out. He swipes to answer, tumbling back on the sofa-bed. It must have fallen down there when he was fooling around with some Touron he met at the kegger last night. “Yo.”

“Maybank.”

JJ’s eyes press shut and his mood significantly drops. “Sup, Mr Sunn.”

“Not much, not much. Just calling to check in on how the tutoring is going?”

“How’s it going?”

Terrible. It’s awful. JJ has never known a bigger waste of time. He’s learnt a total of zero things from the hour and ten minutes spent in your company, apart from the fact that you’re the most aggravating girl he has ever met. You might be the first female that JJ hasn’t enjoyed spending time with. Rather impressive, actually.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great,” JJ lies easily. He rubs at the sleep in his eyes as he continues, “learning a ton, feeling really smart. Gaining all that knowledge, y’know?”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“That’s interesting. Cause your tutor couldn’t agree less.”

JJ grits his teeth. Of course, you’re a rat as well as a shrew. You just seem to cover all areas of dislike in JJ’s books, it’s as if you’ve read all of JJ’s least favourite things.

“Oh really? What’d she say?”

“That you’re not engaging with the work. The last session was cut short too, apparently,” Mr Sunn recalls, disapproval dripping from every word.

“Yeah, well, you see, there was those exceptional circumstances you were talking about for that one, Mr S,” JJ half-arsedly defends.

“Really? A traumatic brain injury?” Mr Sunn checks, unconvinced.

“Yeah, yeah. A really brutal one, too,” JJ says, wincing at the memory of the banging headache he was awarded for going a bit too hard at the kegger the night before.

Mr Sunn’s sigh cuts deep. It’s parental. That sentiment of ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ is translated through the exhale, and JJ hates how much of an effect it has on him. JJ liked Mr Sunn: all of the Pogues did. He was a good teacher and cool guy. As annoying as your preaching was, JJ was reluctant to admit there was some truth to some of the things you said. Mr Sunn did believe in JJ. God knows why or what for, but he had put all of this together to purely benefit the blonde haired boy. Maybe you were somewhat right in him taking that for granted. Maybe.

“Look, JJ, if you’re not gonna take this seriously then we might as well call it off now,” Mr Sunn hedges.

“No, no, wait, look, Mr Sunn…I’m gonna level with you…” JJ takes a sigh and braces himself. “I haven’t been taking it seriously but I will now. I’ll start, y’know…Trying. Like, actually trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ reassures. “Just gimme one more chance, yeah?”

Mr Sunn hesitates before sighing once more. “Alright. Fine. One more chance.”

“Thanks, Mr S,” JJ says. He’s surprised with himself for willingly signing on for more of your boring-ass lessons, but something in his gut tells him this is the right call. “I won’t let you down.”

“Alright, Maybank. You got one more chance. Wednesday, one o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” JJ promises. As the phone call ends, JJ makes a secret deal with himself to give the tutoring a real chance. To give himself a real chance.

The Third Lesson

The feeling of your heart pounding in your throat is uncomfortable, to say the least. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you race around the house. In your head, you’re mentally juggling a million and one thoughts. Need to do this, need to do that. The checklist spans over several thoughts and derails every line of logic. It doesn’t help that it feels like Satan's asshole in the house right now. It is so hot. You think you might have seen something on Instagram claiming it was the hottest day of the year. Your family home is noisy with the sound of life: the washing machine and dryer are both on, rattling loudly in the utility room; the blender is going for your mom’s protein shake; the television and radio are both on and Leo refuses to turn either off. Overstimulating children’s cartoons bellow out into the stuffy living room.

You’re standing in the bedroom, packing your bag frantically with school supplies for the tutoring session that’s near approaching. A holler of your name from downstairs has you groaning. At first, you try to ignore it, but it only gets louder and louder, until Leo is practically screeching for you. Your mom starts to call for you, too, beckoning you to go to him from her bedroom. With a frustrated huff, you ditch your mess of belongings on your bed and rush out of your room.

“I’m going, mom!” you loudly tell her as you hurry down the stairs.

Leo is sitting on the living room floor, a broken mechanical car in his hand. He holds it up to you, pouting, as he demands, “fix it, sissy! Fix it!”

“Leo, I really don’t have time to fix it,” you sigh tiredly, leaning down to take it from him. You inspect the damage and shake your head, “can’t you play with something else until I get home?”

“Fix it! Sissy! Fix it!” Leo continues to command. His eyes well with tears and his lip begins to tremble, and you know the signs of one of his episodes well. Overwhelmed, you sit down on the sofa and try your best to remedy the toy. It’s useless. It requires some sort of tool to get everything back together and functioning. Leo comes over and tugs on your t-shirt as you work, murmuring ‘sissy, fix it. Fix it, sissy,’

“I’m trying, Leo. Sissy is trying,” you mumble. You feel your own lip tremble and tears starting to form, and you internally curse yourself and will them away. You never cry in front of Leo. It’s your duty to keep him protected; to shelter him from the stresses that come along with your life. It isn’t his fault that things are different with him. But the more you try and fix the toy, and the louder the washing machine and dryer and blender become, and the hotter the room gets, and the more insistent Leo’s tugging and pulling becomes, the harder it is to hold back your brimming emotions.

Leo begins to cry and you curse under breath. You place the toy on the coffee table and get down on your knees.

“Leo, honey. Don’t cry. I will fix it, okay? Sissy will fix it. I just need a bit more time, m’kay?”

“Fix it, fix it, fix it,” he wails. His small hands ball into fists and he pummels the sides of his head, and your heart lurches. Your hands scramble to gently cup his own, ceasing the action as much as possible.

“Don’t do that, baby. Please don’t do that.”

“Fix it, sissy,” he sobs.

“I will, I will,” you promise. Anything, you think. I’d do anything for you. You’re relieved when he lets you pull him into an embrace. You let him cry and smack his hands against your back. Emotions are big in his tiny body. They overwhelm him. It isn’t his fault. You press a kiss to his cheek, hoping you can somehow communicate that thought to him. When he’s settled, you give him one more squeeze before pulling away. Taking the toy from the coffee table, you tell him, “I’ll have it fixed by the time I get back home, m’kay?”

“Sissy fix it later,” Leo sniffles, nodding. Your smile is brimming and bright as you nod encouragingly.

“Yes, yes. Sissy fix it later,” you reassure. Your eyes dart to the grandfather clock that stands in the hallway. Shit. “I really need to go, Leo. You need anything, you tell mom, yeah? Wake her up only if you need to, though.”

Leo nods.

You jog through the house, scrambling up the stairs. The toy is shoved into your tote bag alongside the rest of the supplies, and then you’re racing down the stairs. The blender is finally finished; pouring it into a glass, you’re hurrying back to your mom’s room and leaving it on her bedside table. She’d finished a 32 hour shift at the hospital about two hours ago. Asleep, buried in the bedsheets, you lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.

“See ya later, mom. Love ya,” you mumble softly. Closing the door gently behind you, you return downstairs to find Leo peacefully playing with a stuffed animal. Thank God. As you unlock the front door, you relay your usual farewell: “there’s carrot sticks and bell pepper sticks in the tub on the coffee table. Wake mom if it’s an emergency. Don’t touch the fireplace. Sissy will be back soon!”

Leo’s farewell is cut short by the closing front door. The pulsing heat slows you down as you speed walk to the high school. Children playing soccer and couples sharing picnics and surfer bros and girls loading up cars and vans and trucks blur into pictures of fantasies that you wish you could indulge in as you make your way down the streets. Finally, finally, you arrive at the high school. The air con is as relieving as heroin as you rush down the isolated corridors. JJ’s head whips to the opening door when you make it to the classroom.

“Wow. You did show up.”

Your eyes squeeze shut with suppressed emotion as you bee-line to your chair. JJ doesn’t lose the opportunity to lecture, though. You suppose you have it coming from how much grief you’ve given him from being tardy.

“I mean, you’d think that you’d at least practice what you preach. After all the shit you gave me for being late and you’re nearly twenty minutes over. Even I’m not that bad,” JJ goads. “Could at least take it seriously, y’know? Ain’t Mr Sunn putting all his hopes and dreams on you or some shit?”

Your hands freeze in your tote bag, midway through unpacking yourself. Tears rush to your eyes and you panic, pressing them shut, begging for them to go away. Crying in front of somebody was one thing. Crying in front of JJ Maybank was another. Your teeth sink into your lower lip to keep it still. The tightness in your throat keeps growing, with that horrible lump and scratchy dryness. Come on, get it together.

“Hello?” JJ asks impatiently. “You gonna do something or…?”

That’s the breaking point.

The tears fall in fat, ugly drops as a shaky sob rattles out of you. And then it’s as if the floodgates have opened. You can only imagine the horrified look on JJ’s face as you sit and cry in an empty history classroom. You cry, and cry, and cry. When you’re not crying, you’re gasping for air, sniffing back the snot, wiping aggressively at your nose and your eyes and your cheeks. Every attempt to slow the sorrow seems to bring about a new wave of waterworks. Until, finally, it seems to ease up.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter, taking off your glasses and wiping furiously at your face. It’s red hot, mostly from embarrassment, and you blink up at the ceiling. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know why…Sorry.”

When you brave a look at JJ, you’re surprised to see no look of horror or humour. Instead, he’s frowning. He looks sympathetic, even. You can’t bare that expression. It feels as though people have looked at you like that for most of your life. Wiping at your wet cheeks, you take in a deep breath. With a violent sniffle, you return your glasses to your face, damp fingers trembling as they flick through the papers.

“Where, uh…Where should we start?”

JJ mumbles your name.

“Maybe Biology?”

He repeats it, slightly louder. You can’t stomach looking at him.

“Or History?”

It’s with a stern voice, JJ has your attention. He holds your gaze unapologetically. Then, he’s glancing down at the papers in your hands, out the window to the spotless summer, and back at you. He nods, a decision apparently made, and gets to his feet.

“A’right, come on,” he says. You blink at him.

“Huh?”

“Come on, get up. We’re getting outta here.”

“What are you…JJ, no, you have a lesson. I need to teach you about…”

“Teach me it in the car,” JJ tells you, not waiting for you to finish your thought. He’s walking around the table into new territory. His extended hand is like an olive branch. You eye it as if it might be laced with arsenic. But when you look up at his face, the smile on his face is new. It’s friendly. Reassuring, even. Your still quivering hand out stretches to land in his. His palm is warm and slightly clammy. He helps you up from your seat. You shrug your tote bag up your shoulder and JJ releases your hand to gather up your papers. Holding them out, you return them to your bag, and then you’re blindly following JJ out of the classroom and down the corridors.

His black shorts look like swim shorts. They end around the mid-thigh. His shirt is sticking to his back with a thin veil of sweat. It’s sweltering in Kildare County. You’re surprised by how attractive you find it. In your frantic fragility, you hadn’t realised JJ wasn’t wearing a cap. Instead, his blonde hair sat atop of his head, longer strands hanging slightly over his forehead. You think that’s the first time that you let yourself admit how attractive JJ Maybank is.

“Where are we going?” you ask, picking up the pace to walk beside him.

“The beach.”

“Why?”

“Because,” JJ says, pushing open the door and holding it for you to step through, “it is officially the hottest day of summer,” the two of you make your way down the stairs, “you just had some weird, psycho freak-out,” you follow JJ to a brown, banged-up campervan, “and nature is the best healer.”

You can’t argue with much of anything he’s said, so you don’t. Instead, you walk around to the passenger side and climb into the van. It smells of seasalt, men’s cologne and remnants of cannabis. There’s empty beer cans at your feet that you kick out of the way. Crumpled up in-n-out paper stuffed into the wings of the door. JJ sighs as he drops into the driver’s seat. You watch as he brushes his hair from his face, fingers running easily through the locks. He turns the key in the ignition and his silver rings glint in the sunlight. The van rumbles to life, vibrating the seat, and JJ puts it in gear.

“Wind down the window, would ya?” he asks, meeting your gaze. You nod and do as he asks. JJ does the same on his side, and then he’s putting the van into reverse, and soon enough you’re on an impromptu road trip with JJ Maybank.

It’s difficult not to look at him. He’s so different from the guy you’ve been trying to tutor for the past two weeks. He’s also different from the image you’d built in your head of him. Some suave, ladykiller. Cruel, phony, dismissive. In the bright glow of sunlight, he’s rather gorgeous. His arm is propped on the window ledge. The wind brushes at his hair. His fingers tap on the steering wheel rhythmically with the beat of whatever song is playing from the stereo. Scared to get caught staring, you turn and watch the view out the window. JJ was right: you needed this. It’s hard to find excuses to relax and have fun when your mom and Leo need you so badly at home. Any time spent just for you without any benefit behind it feels selfish. But this was like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. An excuse dressed up in combat boots and dreamy muscles.

There’s no conversation made as the two of you drive. It isn’t uncomfortable, though. It feels strangely natural, sitting side-by-side in shared silence. When the shoreline comes into view, you’re weirdly disappointed that the journey is over so soon. JJ parks and gets out with a ‘come on’ that has you following. You linger and look around as JJ digs about in the back of the van. He’s proud as punch when he emerges with two cans of seltzer and a towel (you don’t want to know the last time it was washed, if ever). The waves sound delicious in their susurrus against the sand as the two of you walk through the sand dunes. It was fairly busy: people surfing, others lounging with music playing from speakers, children playing volleyball. Girls lay on their fronts and backs, reading, tanning, relaxing. Guys bob their heads to the music and watch people dip in and out of the waves on their boards, nodding in approval. Seabirds call out afar and crickets chirp in the reeds. You feel like you’ve taken your first breath of fresh air in years.

“Here seems good, huh?” JJ says, slowing near a more secluded patch of beach. You nod. He lays out the towel horizontally, leaving space for you to both sit side by side. JJ smells like sunscreen and cologne and a touch of sweat. The crisp cracking of cans opens the conversation. “Cheers.”

Your can tinks against his. You have a sip. It’s tangy and refreshing as you swallow. Toeing off your trainers and socks, you sink your feet into the hot grains of sand. JJ copies. The two of you lean back and lounge.

“So,” JJ says. The two of you turn to look at one another. “You feeling okay?”

Laughing, you shake your head and have another sip of your drink. JJ grins. Looking out to the water, you sigh as you reply, “I was just overwhelmed. Sorry ‘bout the…y’know…”

“Snot?”

You laugh, facing him again. “Yeah. And the tears.”

“I was a little freaked out, I’m not gonna lie,” JJ tells you mirthfully, making you laugh more.

“Mhm. Same here.” The two of you sit in a jovial lull for a moment until you feel the need to clarify, “I promise that isn’t a usual occurrence.”

Laughing, JJ nods. “Yeah, well, did seem out of character. Used to you giving me hell for…Well, shit, for anything.”

“You make it pretty easy to do that, in my defense,” you grin. JJ cringes, rocking his head as if to say ‘is that true?’ “Mr Sunn said something ‘bout you wanting to take the tutoring more seriously?”

“Damn, news travels fast here,” JJ mutters, making you smile.

“For the record: you were right.”

“That’s rare.”

“I bet,” you snigger. JJ shoves your shoulder and you giggle. “But, you were. I didn’t have any right making any assumptions about your life. Your fortune, as you said.”

“Nah, don’t take it personally,” JJ says, dropping his head slightly. He swings his can between two fingers. “I’m a dick when I’m hungover.”

“You hungover all the time then or…?”

“Damn, mama! I’m tryn’a make amends here!”

The two of you share a laugh. It sinks away like footprints on sand. Nodding your head, you hold his gaze as you smile.

“Well, we could start fresh.”

“I’m down.”

“Hey - to new beginnings,” you announce, holding up your can. JJ smiles at you, nods, and clinks his can against yours. The two of you have a drink. A kid races across the beach in front of you, chasing a stray soccer ball. “Can’t remember the last time I came to the beach.”

“Really? I go all the time,” JJ replies.

“My parents used to take us on picnics here every Sunday,” you say, smiling to yourself. You watch the little boy return to his sister. She takes the ball from him and they continue their game. The smile changes. “We stopped going after my brother was born, though.”

“How come?”

You swallow. Remembering yourself, you blink out of your thoughts and flash JJ a smile. “Just new routines, I guess.”

Nodding, JJ digs about in his pocket as he talks, “me and my friends surf a lot so we’re at the beach most of the time, really. John B lives right near the marsh though so sometimes we just go out on the boat, y’know?”

You watch as he retrieves a small metal tin. He opens it to reveal a joint and lighter. Instinctively, your eyebrows raise slightly. His eyes flash to yours and he falters. “D’you mind?”

“No, no, uh…Go for it,” you say, gesturing lamely to his blunt. He doesn’t hesitate as he brings it to his lips, guarding the flame for the breeze with a cup of his hand. The smell is fruity and poignant when he takes a few starting drags. You watch the ash building on the end as if mesmerised by fire, like you’re some kind of cave person. Then you realise JJ’s offering it to you. “Oh, um…I’m good. Thanks, though.”

JJ takes another hit. “You smoke before?” You give him a look of ‘what do you think?’ JJ coughs out his vapour with a laugh. “You wanna try?”

“Um…” You hesitate, eyeing up the joint. “I don’t know. What’s it feel like?”

“Depends,” JJ replies. “Usually makes you feel relaxed. Less aware of yourself. Loosens up your shoulders, calms you down, that kind of thing. Can make you laugh too. Hungry. Talkative. Pope on weed - Jesus Christ - you should see him. It’s like he took speed or something. He won’t shut the hell up, for once.”

You smile, having a vague memory of Pope. You went head to head with him at a spelling bee back in Middle School. He always seemed like a nice guy. Intelligent, too; he definitely gave you a run for your money that day.

“Can you have a bad trip?” you wonder, curious. JJ shrugs.

“Sometimes. I’ve only had a couple. Mostly depends on what state of mind you’re in before you take it, or if it’s a bad batch. Smoking’s the best way to start, though. You stop smoking and it’s out of your system a faster than if you have an edible. With an edible, you’re in it for the ride, y’know?”

“Hm,” you hum in deliberation.

“It’s safe. I mean, it’s legal in a bunch of places now,” JJ reassures.

Snorting, you say, “that means nothing! Cigarettes are legal too, don’t stop them from giving you cancer.”

Rolling his eyes, amused, JJ replies, “can you just not overthink everything for one second? Look, I ain’t gonna pressure you into anything, but I think it could help. Especially if you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed, like you said.”

He doesn’t press it any further and you don’t ask more questions. The two of you sit for a couple minutes before you find yourself reaching out to take the joint. JJ’s happy to oblige. You bring it to your lips, heart beating nervously in your chest, and you hesitate. Looking at him, you ask, “how’d I do this, again?”

“Just bring it up and inhale,” he says, mimicking for you. “Try and hold it in for a bit and then exhale. Don’t freak if you cough. Most people do, first time.”

Murmuring an ‘okay’, you swallow your anxieties before following JJ’s instructions. The air gets caught in your lungs and throat and you splutter out a cough. JJ laughs lightly as you do and you flip him off, smiling despite your hacking. Once it’s passed, you take a few more drags, getting better with every attempt.

“Now what?” You ask, handing it back. “Should I feel something?”

Laughing, JJ leans back on his elbows. “Relax. You’ll start to feel it in a minute. Might need a few more hits.”

“Alright,” you say. You shadow his posture. A thought occurs that has you giggling. JJ quirks a brow, curious. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…I’ve only ever had, like, one glass of wine at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Just a bit new.”

“Aw, man, don’t say that,” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “That makes it sound like I corrupted your ass or some shit.”

Sniggering, you can’t help but glance at him and tease, “maybe you did.”

The look JJ returns hits somewhere new inside of you.

Turning to your bag, you dig for your bottle of water. Leo’s toy car tumbles out onto the sand. “Shit,” you mutter, picking up and dusting off the grains.

“What’s that?” JJ asks.

You turn and show him the broken car. He takes it from you and studies it as you tell him, “it’s my little brother’s. He was asking me to fix it but I don’t even know where to start with that kind of thing. It’s meant to move, see?”

JJ nods, looking at the motor you point to. He turns it over in his hands, inspects some parts, before announcing, “I can fix this.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty simple, really. Just need to fix this part here,” he points at somewhere on the car, “and then change out the batteries, glue a few things, and should be good as new.”

“For real?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs. He smiles at you. His eyes are blue, decorated with green flecks. You smile back. A fuzzy feeling builds in your chest. Your eyes dart down to his lips. They probably taste like seltzer and cannabis. He probably tastes like seltzer and cannabis.

A scream has you both jumping, drawing your attention away from JJ. You look across the beach to find a kid screeching with laughter, screaming as their dad chases them through the wake of the water. You smile. In your peripheral, you see JJ smiling too. Maybe you had him wrong. Maybe the two of you can actually get along. Perhaps even be friends, of sorts.

As the rest of the day stretches on, you and JJ pass stories and tell jokes. You churn up hilarious theories and stories about fellow beach goers as you smoke your way through his joint. The weed takes effect after a few minutes of smoking, like promised, and you get the giggles over something JJ says. You like his laugh. It’s bright and youthful, yet still somehow raspy. He gets rather philosophical when he’s high. Starts spewing ideas about the universe and fate and plans. That opens up a path to talk about daydreams and castles in the air. Fantasies of lives with high grossing jobs and Kook-sized homes and vacations every month. As the hours pass by and the topics come and go, you find yourself free from thoughts of studying and cleaning and cooking and caring for others outside of yourself. You find yourself present and in the moment for maybe the first time ever. That to say, when JJ eventually drives you home, the sun finally beginning to set, your heart deflates with the thought that the day is almost over. That you’re going to have to get out of the car and say goodbye to him, even if it’s for a week.

The Sixth Lesson

JJ never thought that the day might come when he enjoys school. However, whenever Wednesday rolls around, this wave of energy washes over him, putting some pep in his steps like he’s in a Saturday special. Mr Sunn’s classroom had become this sanctuary; this garden of Eden that only you and JJ knew about. You had this way of explaining things that made it click for JJ. It was if you were a translator, taking complex terms and working them into analogies that fit into JJ’s head. You showed him tricks to keep notes which saved his paper from becoming a stressful, confusing mess of scribbles. You recognised his need for taking breaks, splitting up sessions with stories, taking the chance to show him memes that your friend Esme had sent you. There was a sweetness to you, underneath the bossy, business-like exterior JJ was first met with. And with that sweetness came JJ’s sudden realisation that you’re really fucking beautiful.

He’s not sure why he didn’t notice it at first. Maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was too busy cursing you for taking up his summer vacation. But now that’s noticed, he can’t unsee it. It’s like watching a movie and realising your favourite actor is in it; they take all the attention. And you took most of JJ’s, during your tutor sessions. He’d steal glances when he was reading through worksheets or filling pop quizzes. Snippets of your head bent forward, reading, your glasses slowly slipping down your nose until you push them back up. Glasses suited you. Framed your cherub face. Your laugh was melodic; tuneful like you were singing. But your lips might have been JJ’s favourite thing about you. You’d gnaw at them, chewing on them when you concentrated. You’d pamper them with lip gloss and balm, making them taste like strawberry or raspberry or cherry cola. A flavour JJ dreamt of licking off. On the downside, it made his already ADHD-ridden mind even harder to concentrate on the work.

“You done?”

“Hm?”

“You finished with the quiz?” you ask, nodding down to his papers. You’d caught him looking at you and assumed he was finished.

“Almost,” JJ says, glancing back at his answers to remind himself where he was. “Kinda stuck on this one though.”

“Which one?” you wonder, leaning across the table to have a look. JJ points at it and does his best to look at your face and not your cleavage as you read the question. But he has to steal a glance. Fuck. You smell fucking delectable. In a truly desperate and pathetic strain of thought, he considers asking what perfume you wear so he could spray his pillows with it. Jesus Christ, get a grip. It’s terrifying, the hold you have on him by doing so little. It’s like you have a voodoo doll stashed in your tote bag; potions that you drip into his water. It’s the only explanation. JJ Maybank has never been pussy whipped for a pussy that he hasn’t even seen. I guess you really do learn stuff at school.

“Okay, so,” you say, sitting back in your seat. You push your glasses up your nose: it’s adorable. “You remember learning about adaptation, right? Like how animals change themselves–”

“--to fit in with their environment and survive, yeah,” JJ finishes, surprising himself with how easily he plucks that knowledge from his memory. Your smile is beautiful, full of pride.

“Right. Exactly. So, if you think about a camel - like the question says, yeah? - and where they live, why would they need to store water in their humps?”

JJ looks down at the paper and reviews the picture of the camel. “They live in the desert,” he thinks aloud, watching you nod in her peripheral vision, “so there’s not much water. So they need to store water so they don’t become…thirsty?”

“Another word for thirsty?”

“Dehydrated?”

“Yes!” you grin. “Yes, that’s it.”

JJ laughs despite himself, shaking his head as he writes the answer down. “Never thought there’d be a day when I’m actually decent at school but here we are.”

“Well, never thought there’d be a day when I smoke a joint,” you counter teasingly. JJ flashes you his smile. “Alright, come on. We got ten more minutes. Finish the quiz.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, brown nose,” JJ mutters, sniggering when you flip him off. He fills in another answer before stealing another glance. You’re reading. Focusing intently on the page, knees brought up near your chest, book resting on the back of your thighs. “How’s the book?”

You look at him, visibly debate telling him to focus on his work, before answering. “It’s good. It’s the third in the series.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a fantasy. The usual stuff: witches and elves and stuff like that. Dragons, sometimes.”

“Fancy,” JJ mumbles, returning his attention to the paper. “Read something out-loud from it.”

You don’t say anything. Frowning, JJ’s eyes dart up to you. You’re staring at the page, clearly not reading. He starts to smirk, bemused. “What? Why don’t you read something?”

“It’s just, uh…Pretty boring, y’know?”

“Mhm,” JJ hums, unconvinced. He waits until you’re distracted before he quickly swipes the book from out of your hands. You shriek, jumping out of your seat.

“Give it back, JJ! Give it!”

“Come on! Just wanna see what you’re reading!”

“No!” you screech, chasing after him. The two of you perform some sort of dance around the tables of the classroom, white walls bright in the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. JJ steps up onto one of the cabinets and holds the book high above his head, open on the page so he can read. You helplessly hop up and down below him, trying to swipe it from him. Through his laughter, it takes a moment to stop shaking and focus on the words. JJ begins to read. Then his eyebrows raise so high he’s surprised they don’t fly off his forehead.

“Holy shit!” he sniggers.

“JJ! Give me the book now, Goddamnit,” you demand, returning to the version he knew of you from week one.

He loses control a little when he comes, his grunts deep and unusually rough, his grip viselike, and she feels his orgasm course through her as if it were her own. She sucks him gently through the end of it, and when she looks up at him she’s wet and swollen and she feels empty, trembling, a messy lump on the floor.

“Open your mouth,” he rasps.

She blinks up at him, confused. He cups her cheek.

“I want you to open your mouth and show me.”

She complies, and the sound he makes, possessive and hungry and pleased at last, travels through her like a wave. He massages the back of her neck while she swallows, his thumb caressing her jaw, and when she smiles up–

The book is suddenly ripped from JJ’s hands. He’s in hysterics, doubling over, grabbing at his knees.

“Holy shit! That’s insane, I had no idea people wrote shit like that,” he manages out through gasps of air. But when he looks at you, his humour quickly fizzles out. You’re closing the book, eyes downcast, visibly upset. “Hey, shit, I was just messing around, okay? I didn’t mean to–”

You turn and walk back to your bag, shoving the book inside of it. JJ jumps down and follows, grabbing your wrist to get your attention. You reluctantly look up at him. Tears tease your waterline. Shit.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, “I’m sorry. I was just messing ‘round. I just didn’t think books had stuff like that in them.”

“Yeah, well, they do,” you say, tugging your arm free and crossing them over your chest. “Didn’t have to be a douchebag ‘bout it.”

“That’s fair,” JJ hums, nodding. “M’sorry. Is it, uh…Is it good? Y’know? Book-porn?”

That has your lips quirking upwards. He smiles too. Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “it’s pretty good, yeah.”

“Yeah? I mean, seems pretty detailed,” JJ remarks, recalling the paragraph he read. You laugh quietly, shrugging.

“It is. That’s what girls like ‘bout it, y’know? It’s more focused on the girl. About her…y’know, pleasure and stuff.”

JJ hums, thinking. It seems like more work to him than just putting on porn or even finding someone to hook up with, but considering what he’s learnt about you, it makes sense that you prefer it. As the two of you return to your respective seats, and JJ returns to his quiz, his mind can’t help but wander. Did you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Did you hook-up with people whenever you felt like it, like he did, or were you a one-person kind of girl? Were you a virgin? JJ warily lets his eyes wash over you. You’ve given up on reading and are now scribbling on some print-out, probably preparing next week’s class. Your head is propped up in one hand, the end of the pencil pressed against your lips. His eyes trail down your face, over your chest, lingering. It was hard to get a read on you. He felt like you were either one of two extremes: a virgin, perhaps never been kissed, or a hardcore freak. He wasn’t sure which he liked more. Probably both. Either. Any. If JJ had his chance with you though…Holy shit. He wouldn’t let you out of bed for hours. He’d show you things you didn’t know, make you feel things that you’d only ever read about and daydreamed in the darkness of your bedroom. He’d have you screaming, close to tears, desperate to come again and again and–

“That’s time.”

JJ quickly focuses on the page, reads the last question, and ticks a random box. Clearing his throat, washing his thoughts away down the gutter, he sits back in his seat. You take the test from him and read over it. JJ watches you nervously, teeth nibbling at his lips, as you start to mark. For the first time in his life, he cares about this quiz. It isn’t a mock exam, doesn’t hold any real weight, but he’d like some proof that maybe he’s worth a shit. Maybe his brain isn’t a complete waste of space in his skull. Maybe, just maybe, JJ might be smart.

“Jury’s in,” you say, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You hold the paper back out to him, face down, and JJ eyes it nervously. “Go on.”

Sighing, he takes it and flips it over. His eyes quickly scan over the ticks and cross before honing in on the numbers outlined in a neat red circle. His lips part. “Eight out of ten?”

“Yep.”

“Eight out of ten?” he checks, meeting your eyes.

“Well, if you want to be really harsh with yourself, it’s more like 7.5 because I gave you that hint with the adaptation-camel thing, but everything else was all you,” you smile, nodding.

JJ can’t help but laugh in disbelief. He feels like he just passed his SATs. And if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have gotten hardly one answer right. He wouldn’t have even tried. As if reading his mind, you gently remark, “you’re smarter than you think, JJ. Just gotta believe in yourself.”

“That’s the corniest shit you’ve ever said,” JJ snorts. But the look he gives you speaks volumes. Speaks of his thanks. You smile back, pretty like a magnolia in May, and JJ is petrified by the way his heart yearns.

The First Warning

“Whose turn is it?”

“Who’d you think?”

“Girl, she’s barely looked away from her phone.”

“Yo!”

Fingers snap in front of your face. You jump then frown at Esme. “The hell was that for?”

“It’s your turn, dipshit,” she playful replies, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, turning off your phone. You ditch it beside you on the sofa and lean forward, grabbing the dice. They clatter against the vinyl board, bouncing over colourful squares and claimed buildings. “Alright, seven.”

As you move your counter around the Monopoly board, your phone buzzes with another message. Eyes drifting over to the screen, your lips instinctively twitch when you read JJ’s name. Esme narrows her eyes at you in suspicion and, quick as a cat, grabs for your phone.

“Esme! Give it!”

“Who are you texting so much?” she wonders. Lily and Palma giggle, scooching in to gather around the screen. You roll your eyes. These were your closest friends, you didn’t much mind if they found out - which they were bound to, considering Esme knew your passcode. Her voice isn’t particularly happy when she asks, “JJ?”

Rolling your eyes, you take your phone back and scan over the messages.

“Oh no.”

You look over the top of your phone and meet Esme’s eyes. You know that look. “Esme, it’s not like that.”

“You like him.”

“Esme–”

“You have a crush on JJ Maybank,” she announces. Lily and Palma gasp like they’re in a courtroom drama.

Shaking your head, you laugh as you say, “can you not use the word ‘crush’? Makes us sound like we’re in junior high.”

“Girl, this is serious,” Esme warns, shifting on the sofa so she’s facing you head on. “This is JJ Maybank we’re talking about here. Need I remind you who he is?”

“Fuckboy?” Lily offers.

“Asshole,” Palma chimes in.

“How about surprisingly nice person who is also really freaking hot?” you give as a rebuttal.

“Are we forgetting what he did to you?” Esme wonders, genuinely alarmed by your change of tune. “I mean, not more than a month ago he was enemy number one and now, what? You’re sending him cute little dad-jokes?”

“He’s not like what I thought, a’right? He’s actually pretty sweet,” you meekly reply.

“Wait, what did he do to you?” Lily asks, frowning.

You roll your eyes. “Literally nothing.”

“Nothing? You cried in the bathroom stalls for, like, twenty minutes!”

“It was ten minutes, and that was over a year ago,” you argue. “Jesus, you’re acting like he skinned my cat or something.”

“Hello!” Palma interrupts, throwing up her arms. Her cornrows sway off her shoulders as she asks, “are either of you going to tell me and Lily what he did?”

Sighing, you force yourself back to English class last year.

“I’ve got to say, guys. Not your finest hour,” the teacher, Mrs Halls, remarks as she paces the aisles of the classroom. You chew nervously on your lower lip. You’d spent hours studying for this test; even pulled an all nighter just to cram in as much content as possible. You’ve read Romeo and Juliet enough times to recount almost every line. Recited the sonnets in your sleep as if you’d written them yourself.

As she makes her way between the desks, your foot thrums against the vinyl flooring. To your left, she delivers a quiz paper onto a desk. JJ Maybank’s desk. He was hardly ever in class. Sometimes he’d get up and leave halfway through and not bother coming back. You’d never shared a word.

“Poor work, Mr Maybank. I want you to see me after class,” Mrs Halls berates. JJ tugs off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair, huffing, rocking back in his seat.

Then, your test sheet is returned to you. “Nice job. Top of the class - as always,” Mrs Halls tells you proudly, finishing with a wink. You smile, relieved, satisfied, and look back down at the neat A+ staring up at you. But your joy is short lived. JJ snorts, scoffs more like, and you glance over at him.

“Fuckin’ virgin.”

The girl behind him overhears, as does the boy in front, and they both snigger underbreath. Your face burns hot and your eyes dart back down to your paper, head hanging with shame. Tears sting your eyes and you try desperately not to let them fall. And they don’t, at least not until you’re out of class and in the bathrooms with Esme.

Lily and Palma’s sympathy is palpable. You roll your eyes. “Look, who cares? He was probably pissed with himself and took it out on someone else.”

“Oh, yeah, so I really want you to catch feelings for a guy like that - y’know, now that you’ve put it that way,” Esme sardonically replies.

Sighing, you reach out and meddle with your game token. “I’m not stupid, okay? I don’t like JJ like that. There’s no point. So, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout anything.”

Guys like JJ Maybank did not go out with girls like you. It was as simple as the alphabet. The maths was easy: he was a commitment-phobe, heartthrob with a craving for adrenaline and adventure; and you were a rule-abiding, goody-two-shoes with an affinity for a good book and cup of tea. Hell, you’d smoked your first joint for the first time a few weeks ago and had your first casual drink outside of a holiday celebration. Skipping class was practically a religion to JJ whereas just the thought made you feel sick. The two of you were opposites, and whilst it might be true for magnets, the world of romance was quite a different story. It may attract, but that doesn’t mean it’s viable.

But despite the logic, you knew you were lying. You had fallen for him, hard and fast. How could you not? He was funny and charming and attractive. He had a tenderness that he hid beneath the surface, like a tortoise cocooned in a shell. There was a sweetness to JJ, the kind that made the memory of his cruel remark feel false. But Esme’s disapproval and your own insecurity were poignant. You don’t text JJ back for the rest of the night.

The Ninth Lesson

Since that day on the beach, you have never been late for another tutoring session. Now that JJ had made friends with you, if either of you were running late, you’d send a text message and the whole thing would be put to rest. That to say, when you were late to the session by an entire hour, JJ knew something must be wrong. You hadn’t replied to a single message he’d sent. Forgetting things was not your style, especially your tutoring sessions with JJ. He hadn’t outright asked, but something told the blonde haired boy that you enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours. He wasn’t blind. He’d seen you taking peaks at him during the lessons the same way he did with you. As arrogant as he could be with his looks, JJ knew you weren’t like the others girls who fell at his feet. You were complex, contradicting, and chemical.

The debate to go to your house is brief in JJ’s head. He’s given you several rides home after tutoring. The drive was always something he looked forward to, as well. You had a similar taste in music and the conversation flowed like a fresh water spring. It’s starting to feel second nature when JJ takes a left onto your street. You don’t live in Figure Eight but it’s a nicer area than where JJ resides. Somewhat of a middle ground, your neighbourhood is something of a suburban dreamscape. Children play in the streets and some front lawns even have sprinklers, when the drought isn’t around.

JJ parks outside your door and sighs, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror. He fixes his hair under his cap and checks his teeth. God knows when that started becoming a habit. Then he’s hopping out the Twinkie and wandering up to your front door, hands in pockets. He raps gently on the red painted wood and waits patiently. He glances up and down the street and rocks on his heels. The door swings open and JJ turns, jumping into his introduction before he has a chance to see who it is.

“Hey, I was wonderin’–” When he comes face to face with nothing, his head tilts down to find a little boy looking up at him. JJ’s breath catches in his throat. The child’s face is disfigured. It isn’t ugly and it isn’t horrifying in any way, but it is enough to notice. Enough to have a person take pause. JJ tries not to stare at the strange patching of skin and the protrusions of flesh. Instead, he ducks down so they’re more level at the eye. “Hey little buddy. Your sister home?”

He’s visibly nervous. “My sissy?”

“Yeah. Your sissy home?”

“Mhm,” he nods. He glances behind him, down the hallway, then back to JJ. “Are you her boyfriend?”

JJ eyes widen slightly. “Oh, uh, nah, little dude. Just someone she’s helping out.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, could you do me a solid, little man, and go get her for me?” JJ wonders. The little boy studies him for a moment. His eyes don’t seem to focus, one tracking a little slower than the other. JJ waits patiently.

“Why aren’t you her boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s a pretty long story,” JJ chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you a surfer?” With that, the little boy points at JJ’s t-shirt. It’s one of his graphic tees from a local surf shop in town. Grinning, JJ nods.

“Yeah, I sure am. Are you a surfer?”

“Sissy won’t let me,” he replies through mumbled words. He rubs at his arm, one hand still holding tight to the door handle. “Says it’s dangerous.”

“It can be,” JJ replies. “Pretty dope though. I bet you’d make a cool surfer.”

“Leo, I’ve told you before to pick up your toys when you’re finished playing!” Your voice comes from some far room in the house. JJ glances over (what must be) Leo’s shoulder to spot you walking into frame. You look pretty frazzled, clearly working through some sort of mental checklist. “Leo?”

“Here, sissy,” Leo calls back. Your head turns and you notice your brother first, then the open door, and then JJ. Visibly startled, your lips part. Hurrying over, you lay a protective hand on your brother’s head, taking the door in your hand.

“JJ. What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, didn’t come to the school so I wanted to check you were a’right,” JJ explains, raising back to his full height. “Little dude here said you were home so…”

“Sissy,” Leo says, tugging on your t-shirt. You glance down at him and this smile comes over your face that reminds JJ of a warm blanket. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Oh, uh,” you’re flustered, glancing quickly at JJ before returning your focus to your brother. “No, honey. This is just, uh, a friend that I’ve been tutoring.”

“Oh,” Leo says. He tugs at your shirt again. “Sissy?”

“Yes, Leo,” you say with undying patience.

“You should ask him to be your boyfriend,” Leo tells you. The two of you manage to hold back your laughs.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“He’s a surfer. Said I could be a surfer too,” Leo says.

“Oh did he now?” you wonder, looking up at JJ. He smiles apologetically. Oops. Shaking your head, you recall what JJ said prior to Leo’s interruption. “Wait, what’d you mean I wasn’t at school? Class isn’t ‘til one.”

“Yeah…It’s nearly three in the afternoon, now.”

Alarmed, you grab at your phone and groan. It’s dead. JJ shows you his. Your horror is borderline hilarious. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I don’t even…God, I just lost track of time. Um…Come in, actually. Come in.”

You and Leo make space for JJ to walk through the doorway. He closes it behind him. Leo grabs quickly at JJ’s shirt and pulls him with surprising strength through the hallway and into the living room.

“Look, look!” Leo exclaims, grabbing at any and all toys in sight. One is familiar to JJ when he takes it in his hand. It’s the toy car he fixed for him. His eyes drift to yours to find you watching everything unfold with a strange expression on your face. Something tells JJ that this is a little overwhelming for you. He’s amicable when he places the car back down on the floor.

“Listen, little dude, those are some sick-ass toys. But I really need to start this lesson with your sister, huh? Maybe we could play some other time?”

“Teach me to surf,” Leo seemingly demands. Your face falls.

“Leo, honey, we’re not learning to surf today,” you gently say.

Leo looks between yourself and JJ and his face begins to contort. His lips tremble and your eyes slant with concern. His fists clench at his sides and he stamps his feet.

“Teach me to surf! Teach me to surf! I want to surf!” Leo shouts. His hands begin to thump against the sides of his head and you rush over, dropping to your knees.

“JJ, can you wait in the kitchen please?”

JJ does as he’s asked, quickly leaving the room, overhearing your pleading with your little brother. Through the muffled door, he can follow some of the conversation despite his trying not to. He occupies himself by looking at pictures on the wall and on the fridge. A drawing that Leo must have done - of him on a surfboard - and a picture of you and him from Christmas. You look sweet like cinnamon in your reindeer pyjamas. There’s an impressive collection of report cards and certificates and rewards, all addressed to you. A framed photo on the wall has JJ taking pause. The man in the frame is striking in similarity to you. He’s dressed in army formals, staring stoically ahead before a grey background. The ones around it are more casual. A family vacation. You in the marching band (so he was right, you did used to do that). The infamous spelling bee victory.

“How ‘bout this: tomorrow, me and you go to the beach together, huh? Sound fair?” your voice creeps through the walls.

“Sissy take me to the beach tomorrow?”

“Yes. Sissy take you to the beach tomorrow,” you say. The relief is evident in your voice. JJ cracks the kitchen door open, sensing an end to the conversation. “How ‘bout you tidy up your toys whilst I hang out with my friend, hm? Sound fair?”

“M’kay.”

“Gimme a hug.”

JJ catches your embrace through the crack of the half-closed door. He smiles to himself. He’s never seen this version of you. It’s like you’ve transformed into a different person. When you reappear in the hallway, closing the door behind you, it’s as if you struggle to meet JJ’s eyes.

“Come on, we can study upstairs,” you say, leading the way.

Your bedroom is not how JJ imagined it. Parts of it are - the Jellycats and the candles and the motivational quotes on the wall - but he’s startled by how little possessions you have. There’s not a lot of books, like he was expecting, and your bed is simple with a duvet and two pillows. Your desk is a mess: papers and pens and highlighters and sticky notes. JJ closes the door behind him as you clear some clothes off your bed.

“Sorry I forgot,” you say as you clean. “I had to sort out Leo’s dinner and he’s decided that he doesn’t like pizza now, he only likes dinosaur nuggets. And they have to be dinosaur shaped, or else all hell breaks loose. And then the laundry needed doing cause my mom needs her scrubs and–”

You stand upright and sigh, bringing your hands to your face. If JJ wasn’t in your family home, he’d offer you a joint. Instead, he stands and waits, unsure whether he should hug you or not. You haven’t crossed that line yet, although somehow standing in your bedroom feels miles more intimate. Another steadying breath and you’re pulling your hands from your face, fixing your glasses.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” JJ frowns.

“Y’know. For being nice to Leo,” you reply, gesturing to your door.

JJ’s frown deepens. “Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just sometimes people can be…” You shake your head, drop onto your bed, and sigh loudly. “Assholes. They can be real assholes. Kids especially. Which, fair enough, they’re kids, but come on.”

JJ chuckles quietly. He sits beside you on your bed, sinking into the plush comforter. “He’s a cool kid. And I honestly don’t mind teaching him to surf. Might be cool to have a little apprentice.”

You laugh at that, smiling at him. “A little protege?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs, not fully knowing what that word means. He wants to tell you how pretty you look right now, despite being a little flustered from rushing around. You’re clearly busy. Busy in a way JJ didn’t know about and could never relate to. The question catches in his throat. It doesn’t feel appropriate to ask but it’s hard to keep it at bay for long. “Can I ask…What…What is it?”

You take a small breath before replying, looking down at your hands. “It’s a few things, really. Doctors aren’t even sure they can give it one name. He’s neurodivergent, so he likes routine and familiarity. Emotions are pretty big for him. They can be hard to manage. He’s getting better at compromise, though, which is nice. Uh…There’s also something developmental there. He’s nine, but he acts more like he’s seven, and his language is more at that stage too. He’s smart though. Really bright. The kids at school aren’t always so nice so sometimes I give him lessons, to help, y’know, bridge those gaps.”

JJ listens intently, nodding. Rolling your shoulders back, you let out a relieved sigh. He wonders if you’ve ever spoken to someone about this stuff before. If you have someone to lean on, vent to. He imagines Esme might fill that role to some degree.

“The physical stuff…That’s because of a gene. Well, two genes, that my mom and dad both had, and it was luck of the draw. In another life, in another world, I would look like him. He had a shitton of surgery when he was little so he could breathe better, talk better, look better. Some helped home with mobility too. His tongue, uh…was too big for his mouth? They had to sort of…reduce it? It was a rough few years. Mom had to pick up extra shifts to get better health insurance and help cover the bills. My dad was in the forces and he’s deployed a lot. He is right now, in fact. I guess I learnt how to grow up fast.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head, and meet JJ’s eyes. “I feel like I’m five different people. Sometimes more. I have to be the sister, and the daughter, and the mom, at times. I have to be the best friend and the star student. And then, I have to be the teenager. Even though most of the time I feel like a mini adult, trying to keep everything in order. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I’m so neurotic. Shit, I’m probably a psyche major’s dream case study.”

JJ laughs along with you but the words hang heavy in the air and in his heart. He could relate, though, to some of it. “I get it.”

“You don’t have to say that,” you solemnly reply, smiling sadly.

JJ shakes his head. “No, I really get it. A bit, anyway. Having to grow up fast. Being different people.”

It feels empty to leave it at that, like faux empathy to defuse an awkward situation. Sighing, JJ’s fingers meddle with a stray thread on your duvet cover. “My dad’s in and out of trouble a lot. Jailtime and stuff, y’know? I learnt pretty fast that if I didn’t wanna go hungry, I gotta fend for myself more. Started working. Started stealing. Just had to survive, right?”

You nod sadly. ‘I’m sorry’ falls silently from your lips as you offer him a smile, and JJ’s heart drops down through his ribcage, into his stomach, because nobody has ever looked at him like that before. Looked at him as if they can see right through him. Through the facade and into his soul, into his mind. Look at him like they understand him. It’s terrifying. JJ’s throat feels tight and dry and his brain feels full. Butterflies tickle at his intestines as his eyes slowly, slowly, fall to your lips. It feels like a temptation when your tongue darts out to wet them, your teeth rolling over your lower lip, and he wonders what lip balm you’re wearing today. He wonders what you’ll taste like.

JJ isn’t sure which one of you begins to move first, but soon enough, he can feel your breath on his lips. When his mouth presses to yours, his eyes sink shut and his heart nearly explodes from how fast it’s beating. Your fingers slip over the top of his hand as if holding him in place, keeping him close. JJ’s head tilts and so does yours, and you deepen the kiss. You taste like cherry cola. Cherry cola and lemonade. You sigh against him and one of JJ’s hands comes up to your cheek, fingers tracing the soft skin before cupping your jaw, guiding your movements with his. Your own hand creeps further up his hand, along his arm, until it’s looping over his shoulder, keeping him near. It’s sighs and hums and pure, simple pleasure as the two of you make-out. It’s never like this. Never this patient, exploring, wading through the waters, finding out what little move makes the other person react. The brush of teeth on lower lips, the shadow of tongues dancing against one another. JJ’s used to fast and fiery, rushing to get to the next part. This, right here, feels like JJ could kiss you forever and never once grow tired.

The two of you are so consumed in one another that neither hears your mothers voice down the hall. It isn’t until a floorboard creaks just outside your door that you’re springing away from him, wide eyed. JJ’s still in a daze when the door swings open. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and JJ strategically sits so his crotch isn’t in view.

“Honey have you–” Your mom’s words die on her tongue. JJ musters up some courage to look over to the doorway to find a blank expression on her face. “You’re not one of my kids.”

“No, uh, mom this is the guy I was telling you about. The guy that I’m tutoring, I mean,” you stumble through your words, gesturing to JJ. He gives a nod and tense smile.

“Hiya, ma’am.”

“Ugh, don’t call me ma’am when I’m not on duty,” your mom groans, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. You chuckle and JJ realises it’s a joke, faking a laugh of his own. Then her eyes narrow as she looks between the two of you. “Tutoring, huh?”

“Yeah, uh, your daughter’s been helping me get my grades up over the summer. Mr Sunn hired her, actually. It’s all legit,” JJ reels off. Her eyebrows raise.

“Okay, well��Sure. If you say so,” she says. She doesn’t sound particularly convinced. Her eyes train back onto you. “What I was gonna ask was, did you wash my scrubs?”

“Yeah. They’re in the dryer right now. Should be good to go in an hour.”

“Perfect,” she sighs, relieved. “Oh, and Leo?”

“He’s had his dinner. I had to run to the shops cause I thought he liked the unicorn shaped nuggets but it’s actually the dinosaur shaped ones, and we didn’t have any of those.”

“Nuggets? I thought he liked pizza. Thought he hated nuggets?”

“No, no, he’s done a complete one-eighty. Decided yesterday that nuggets are the new meaning of life; pizza is out,” you explain with a too-cheery laugh.

“You said you bought some? How much were they?” Your mom worries, but you brush her off. She rubs at her head and laughs self-deprecating. “Jeez, some mom I am, huh? Can’t even remember what my own kids like to eat.”

Before you can say anything, she’s plastering on a smile and reaching for the door handle. It seems as though she just woke up from a nap. “Alright, well, I’m gonna get ready for work. You kids, uh, have fun…studying.”

“Thanks mom,” you smile, nodding.

She begins to close the door, but lingers when it’s a crack open. “And use protection.”

“Mom!” The door slams shut. Groaning, mortified, you drop your head in your hands. “Sorry ‘bout her.”

“She seems nice,” JJ chuckles. Shaking your head, you look up at him.

“Don’t indulge her,” you say jokingly. The smiles linger on your faces as you look at one another. JJ wants to kiss you again. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be able to think about anything else now that he knows what you taste like. Those fantasies are back, the ones he shoved down in a box, and he wants to fulfill all of them. But you’re back to your usual ways: duty-focused. Getting to your feet, you slap your hands together. “Alright! Lesson time! Let’s start with…Romeo and Juliet.”

“Are you going to the kegger on Friday?” JJ asks out of the blue.

You look over to him from your desk, where you’re flitting through the impressive stack of papers. “Kegger? What kegger?”

“This kegger on Friday. Meant to be a good one. Down at the boneyard.”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning back to the papers. “I’ve never been to one before. Wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“Come find me and I can show you,” is JJ’s suave reply. You snigger, rolling your eyes. “I mean it. It’d do you good to get to wear the ‘teenager’ hat or whatever you called it.”

Sighing, you venture back to him with the worksheets for the day in your hands. “Maybe. How’s that?”

“Good enough for now,” JJ relents. Before JJ can try and make a move, you’re thrusting papers into his hands. He groans, disappointed, and you only pretend not to care.

“Okay, so: Romeo and Juliet. We all know what a shitshow that was…”

The First Kegger

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look it.” You toss a Jellycat at Esme’s head. “Hey!”

“That’s not very supportive of you,” you mutter, glancing at the mirror. You fiddle with the hem of the skirt and try to shimmy it further down your legs. It feels ridiculously short and revealing. God help you if you drop anything, there’s no way in hell you can bend over to pick it up.

“Why’d I be supportive of this? You’re going to a kegger purely to appease the patriarchal nightmare that is JJ Maybank.”

“You don’t have to use his full name every time, y’know?” You reply, choosing to ignore her complaint.

“Girl, this ain’t you.”

“It might be me. I can go to keggers.”

“Sure, okay, go to keggers - that don’t mean you have to cosplay as somebody else,” Esme sighs. She gets up from the bed and walks over to you. Her fingers meddle with the straps of the rather skimpy top you’re wearing. You’ll spend the whole night crossing your arms to try and cover your chest. Meeting your gaze, she sighs once more and takes a step back. “Look, if you really think this thing with JJ Maybank has legs then at least be yourself. I thought we agreed that as feminist women we wouldn’t conform to society’s brainwashing of what an attractive, ideal woman is.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” you mutter. But as you glance back in the mirror, you can’t help but agree. This isn’t you. The skirt, the top: it feels unnatural. Wordlessly, you walk over to your dresser and dig about through the drawers. The outfit that replaces the ‘hot-girl starter kit’ eases your anxiety in a second. An adorable skort and crochet style cropped sweater that sits pretty over a tank top. Yes, that’s more like it. Esme seems to agree, as she nods approvingly from the bed where she’s taken purchase once again. The reflection you’re met with smiles back at you. But then the thought of actually going to the kegger makes reality weigh heavy. “I don’t know…Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“You look cute. It might be fun, you never know,” Esme shrugs.

Sighing, you flop down on your bed beside her and stare up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars you pasted there when you were thirteen have lost their shine, but they still have a dull illuminessence that feels like safety. “What if I’ve got this all wrong?”

“Didn’t you say he kissed you? How could you get that wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just…What if he’s doing it to mess with me?”

Esme thinks for a moment then groans. She sits up and huffs. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to defend this douchebag but,” she mutters, before meeting your eyes, “I think he might really be into you. And if you’re going to let some silly self-loathing stop you from being happy, then that’s pretty depressing. And sad. And pathetic.”

“Thank you,” you deadpan. She grins. You give a small smile back. “You’re right. But you know what would make this miles better?”

Realisation dawns upon her and her reaction would make it seem liek you asked her to go bungee jumping with you. Esme’s head begins to shake as yours begins to nod. “No. Nope. No way.”

“Yes! Come on, we can go together! Solidarity in numbers and all that!”

“I would do anything for you, but wingmanning you at a social event that reinforces incorrect assumptions that excessive alcohol consumption is synonymous with being cool is–”

You plaster a hand over her mouth. Glaring, you say, “shut up and get changed, will you?”

She stares at you as if challenging you to break, but you don’t. Rolling her eyes, Esme pushes your hand off her mouth and begrudgingly gets up and off the bed. Mutters and complaints fall from her mouth as she rifles through your clothes. ‘You’re lucky you’re my best friend’ is the most common.

After the time spent debating whether or not to attend, changing outfits, and convincing Esme to join you, the two of you walk up to the kegger almost three hours in. It’s bustling and boisterous. Groups of friends are scattered across the beach and the dunes. People sit on the driftwood and chat animatedly. Boys wrestle and jeer at one another near a makeshift bonfire. Girls gossip and giggle amongst themselves as they catch eyes with classmates across the way. Tourons huddle nervously together and try their best to appear at ease and at home in the boneyard. The Kooks tend to keep their distance from the Pogues, a strange invisible divide drawn in the sand. Keggers and coolers are stacked up beside some speakers, with R&B and hip-hop music thumping out across the seashore. It’s nearly completely dark outside, save for a thin line of navy just above the shoreline. The bonfire works well in illuminating the sand with a warm, orange glow.

“Holy shit,” Esme mutters. You snort. This was a first for the both of you. “This already blows.”

“The music’s pretty decent, at least,” you comment as the two of you weave through gaggles of teenagers. It seems you’re both naturally gravitating towards the keg to grab a drink. Red solo cups are stacked precariously beside the beverages and you grab one each. As Esme chatters and fills up your cups, your eyes scan the beach in search of a certain blonde haired boy. You’d texted JJ before leaving but had yet to get a response. Glancing down at your phone to double-check, you notice that the service is appalling, and sigh, pocketing the device again.

“You found him yet?”

“Nope. Holy crap, can you believe how busy it is?”

“Look out!” someone shouts. With that, you and Esme stumble back as two guys tumble in front of you onto the sand, wrestling. Esme rolls her eyes and mutters into her cup, ‘imbeciles’ before taking a sip. Your fingers nervously press into the plastic over and over as you scan the beach over and over. It’s so busy and in the darkness, it’s hard to make out faces. Everybody looks the same (save for the Kooks, who are dressed in designer threads). You and Esme find yourselves in what feels like a safe spot on the beach. Sitting on an old tree trunk, you sip at your beers and people-watch whilst discussing the gossip you knew of your classmates. It’s nice to have her company; you’d have no idea how you would have coped if you had come on your own. Checking your phone once more, there’s still no text from JJ. Just as you’re about to recommend leaving - already an hour in - Esme is suggesting to get a refill and give it a bit more time. You’d made the journey and the effort, after all.

Approaching the keg, you vaguely recognise the boy refilling his cup. Smiling, you call out, “Pope!” and watch as he startles and turns around. His smile is amicable.

“Hey! Uh…YN, right?”

“That’s the one,” you smile. The alcohol gives you a boost of social confidence, what with your tolerance so low. “You remember Esme, right?”

“How could I forget? Mathlete reigning champion,” Pope smiles at a rather smug Esme.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where JJ is, would you?” Esme asks on your behalf. Your face burns hot at the directness of her question.

Pope doesn’t seem to be phased, however. He looks around as he says, “he is here somewhere. I’ve been hanging with Kie though so I lost track of him. He’ll show up.”

Esme gives you a nudge and you roll your eyes, smiling into your cup to try and hide your glee. He’s here.

“JJ says you’ve been tutoring him at Mr Sunn’s request?” Pope asks you. You nod.

“Yep. Once a week for over a month now.”

“Honestly, you deserve a medal for that. I gave up trying a long time ago,” Pope remarks joshingly.

“He’s actually doing pretty great. I think it’s making a difference.”

The rest of the conversation stretches on with Pope. You start to exchange stories from the chess team and Mathletes and Model UN and, eventually, the Spelling Bee tale comes up. Unaware of the secret vendetta Pope held against you following your victory, it’s fair to see you have a good laugh when it’s revealed. The three of you become more giddy and familiar as the conversation continues and you wonder why you and Pope had never hung over before, when you seemingly have so much in common. When Esme wanders off to go find somewhere to pee, you and Pope sit side-by-side on some driftwood and discuss the latest fantasy book you both happened to be reading.

“I gotta say, I did not see Eldmore and Scarlett getting together,” Pope tells you. You scoff, gaping at him.

“How could you not!? He was practically falling at her feet in the second book!”

“I don’t know, I just thought he had more chemistry with Mistress Londar.”

You consider this as you take another sip of your drink. You’re three beers in now and can certainly feel its effects; probably best to quit while you’re ahead. “I guess. Mistress Londar is in too deep with the alliance, though. I think it would have been too much of a conflict.”

“Maybe. Still. That one chapter when Eldmore and Scarlett…y’know…do it,” Pope’s voice trails off and the memory has you laughing. Smiling brightly at him, you’re far too excited to have the opportunity to mention JJ.

“That was the chapter I was reading when JJ stole the book from me. I think it might have scarred him for life,” you snigger.

Pope laughs, shaking his head. “The stuff he gets up to? I doubt it.”

As the laughter dies down, Pope goes to take another drink only to find his cup empty. Smiling apologetically, he rises to his feet. “I’m gonna get a refill. It was nice talking to you though. See you ‘round?”

“Sure,” you smile, nodding. With that, Pope walks away. You stay put for a moment, considering what to do. The interaction with Pope had distracted you from your search for JJ. Upon checking your phone, you realise you’d been conversing for over an hour. Oops. Esme had also vanished. You better go look for her. Getting back up, you ditch your cup and walk around the boneyard. You thought it would have started to die down with how late it was getting but, if anything, it seems busier than ever. The alcohol has your head slightly fuzzy and you concentrate on not tripping over. You’re not drunk - not by a long shot - but it’s probably best not to have any more for the night. Pulling out your phone, you try texting Esme despite the poor cell service: Where are you? When you look back up and glance around the beach, your heart stutters.

There’s JJ, as gorgeous as ever, stood talking to some random girl. He’s leaning against an abandoned, rusted watch tower, nursing a red solo cup, and staring at her as she talks. He seems to be listening rather intently to the story she’s telling, nodding his head, as her hands move as she speaks. When her fingers brush against his forearm, you suddenly feel very sick. And then, he laughs.

The tears kick in with the embarrassment and disappointment. How could you be so stupid? Of course he doesn’t want to be with you. Of course he isn’t going to change. Of course he’d want somebody else.

A hand on your back has you jumping and spinning around. Esme. You sigh in relief. She frowns at your expression, spotting the tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head and grab her hand. “Let’s just go. I wanna leave.”

“Hey, what–” Her voice trails off and you know she must have spotted JJ. You remain with your back to the interaction and try tugging on Esme’s arm to prompt her to move, but her feet are welded into the sand. “That filthy, slimy little toad of a man, I swear to God–”

“Esme, please,” you beg. Your voice cracks and gives you away. She meets your gaze. You shake your head desperately and a tear falls. “Please, I just want to leave.”

Huffing, she takes one last look at JJ talking to the girl before reluctantly appeasing you. The two of you walk down the beach, hands interlocked, and you sniffle pathetically as you try to wash the image from your mind. Why would he invite you just to get with somebody else? Why would he kiss you if he didn’t want anything? Why would he do this to you? Why? Why? Why?

Your mind jumps back to that day in the classroom. The sneer in his voice when he muttered those two words. The sniggers from the classmates that felt like elephants trampling on your chest. The shame and the embarrassment that overcame you. You were so convinced that he was a different person. That you’d merely caught him on an off day and you didn’t know him, not truly. The day at your house was so special: it felt like finding gold in the attic. Nobody had ever seen your life up close apart from Esme. Not even Lily or Palma. Nobody had ever met your brother apart from Esme, either. Had heard your fears and anxieties and seen your exhaustion not once, but twice. You’d trusted him. You let him into your home and gave him a snapshot of your life and you thought he understood. But you must have thought wrong.

Esme doesn’t try to spark a conversation as the two of you walk back to your house. She gives you a long, lingering hug at your front door before bidding you goodnight. Slipping into the house, you keep your footsteps light and your cries quiet as you make your way up the stairs. Your mom’s bedroom door is shut and you can hear her snoring through the walls. Leo’s bedroom door is open by a crack and you wipe your tears and sneak inside. He’s lying in his bed, bundled up in his dinosaur bed sheets, cuddling his stuffy. He looks so peaceful like this. So safe from other children’s whispers and other parent’s horrified stares. So safe from the world and its cruelty. The cruelty that you were exposed to tonight. Ducking down beside him, you brush your hand lightly over his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. Climbing into bed has never felt like such a relief before now.

The Final Lesson

You haven’t texted JJ since the kegger on Friday. His message he sent last night went without a response but JJ’s sure you read it. He was clarifying that the lesson was still on for today, in the usual spot in school. At your lack of response, JJ simply assumed that it was routine as always, and packed up his backpack for his lesson. He isn’t sure how to explain it, but when JJ passes through the threshold of the building, something feels off. It’s as if the air is thick like molasses, study and heavy, pushing against his throat. A bizarre feeling of unease washes over him with every step he takes. The classroom door is shut and JJ pushes it open, finding you sat at the desk. Your head is down and you’re reading something laid out in front of you. There’s less paperwork than usual stacked by your side. You don’t look up or smile at him as JJ walks in. You don’t even acknowledge that he’s there. JJ suddenly feels nauseous. What the hell is going on?

“Hey,” he says, unsure, as he walks over to the table. The glance you give him is brief.

“Hey,” you mumble.

Frowning, JJ takes his seat. You’re focusing pretty hard on whatever it is before you. JJ takes a long inhale and waits. Eventually, you clear your throat and push over the paper.

“This is, uh, your scoresheet from all our lessons. Y’know, so you have physical proof of what we covered and how you performed in the different quizzes.”

JJ’s frown deepens with your words. He slowly takes the paper from you and scans over it.

“You can give it to Mr Sunn if you like, but I’ve already emailed him a copy so he has it. He’s aware that you’ve attended every session, save for the one in week two, but–”

“Wait, what the hell is going on?” JJ interrupts. His heart is starting to beat faster, his anxiety building, because this sounds an awful lot like goodbye. “Are the lessons done?”

When you meet JJ’s eyes, he hardly recognises you. You haven’t looked at him with that level of nonchalance since the early weeks. Pushing up your glasses, you say, “yes, the lessons are done.”

JJ blinks at you and waits for you to drop the act. He waits for you to make a joke and tease him like always. He waits to see your expression melt with that smile that he likes to think is saved just for him. But instead, you just look at him. It pisses him off.

“The fuck d'you mean ‘the lessons are done’?”

“JJ–”

“You never told me that we were finishing the lessons. I mean, shit, I just walk in here and suddenly it’s over? I don’t understand!”

“We’ve covered all the content that you need to cover before the next semester starts–”

“--Bullshit we have!”

“JJ!”

“No, no, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” JJ argues loudly, “but you’re fucking with me.”

“JJ, please,” you plead. It’s the first crack in your icy exterior. Your lip quivers as you try and steady yourself. There’s little power behind your voice as you say, “please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

JJ’s heart squeezes and he rubs at it through his t-shirt. He feels like you’ve just shoved him off a cliff and he’s falling and falling and falling, and you’re just standing there and watching it happen. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you’ve both been reading the same book and then you’ve skipped ahead three chapters. He tries to calm himself down, taking a few slow, shaky breaths. His eyes press shut and in the darkness behind his lids, he sees your face, moments before he kissed you. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes and looks at you.

“You could at least give me a reason.”

You’re visibly uncomfortable. Swallowing, you look down at the papers before you and meddle with the corner of one until it starts to split. JJ utters your name and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal of this. It’s not like it means anything to you,” you tell him quietly. JJ’s brows furrow.

“What're talking about?”

Sighing once more, you lift your head and meet JJ’s gaze. There’s a sadness behind your eyes that he’s never seen before. “I saw you at the kegger.”

JJ’s frown deepens as his brows tug closer together. “Huh?”

“The kegger, JJ, I saw you there,” you say, firmer. Shaking your head, you busy your hands with anything and everything as you ramble. “You have every right to get with whoever you want to get with and mack on any girl you like, but you could at least, y’know, clarify before doing it. I was just confused. It felt like a sick joke or somethin’ and I really hope that you wouldn’t be that cruel but…But it just confused me and I don’t think I can compartmentalise this dynamic if that's the case...”

JJ’s shaking his head frantically. He holds up his hands in mock surrender as if trying to ease traffic. “Woah, woah, slow down, you lost me. What d’you mean you ‘saw’ me?”

“With that girl, JJ.” Your voice is thick with despondency. “I saw you at the old watchtower talking to her and…I don’t know…”

Oh.

JJ isn’t a genius at most things, romance being one of them, but he had a sense for when things were deeper than a fling. He knew his own emotionality enough to recognise when he liked someone, even if he was reluctant to admit it. It didn’t take a scientist or therapist and even a mere scholar to read you right now. The way you’re looking anywhere but him; the way your hands are practically tearing the paperwork, that seemed to follow you like a shadow, into shreds; the way you’re so desolate and so vulnerable in your words, strategically saying so much without saying anything at all. It’s like how you taught him during Romeo and Juliet: ‘you have to read between the lines’.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” JJ says, suddenly calm.

“JJ, you don’t have to–”

“I was looking for you all night,” he interrupts. You seem unwilling to accept this, sighing and shaking your head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I was. I swear it. I was looking for you the whole night and then, when I found you, you were talking to Pope.”

That has you taking pause. Your fingers finally cease their relentless vandalism. JJ sees your eyes flicker over to him warily. He takes the gap to continue.

“You were talking for an hour. Maybe more. And you were laughing and…And I’m not an idiot, a’right? I know that you and Pope have a million more things in common, and that he’s actually got a hope in hell of making something out of himself. You’re both smart. It’s probably fucking fate. And I’m not gonna stand in the way of that, a’right? I ain’t gonna stop two people from being happy and shit just because I like you too. It ain’t fair. Pope’s a good guy. He’d be good to you.”

The hopeful part of JJ’s psyche is leaning heavily on your pure look of confusion. JJ’s face feels burning red from his clunky confession. But he perseveres and takes another quick breath, preparing himself to talk up his best friend, but as JJ’s lips part, you’re talking.

“I don’t like Pope.” The two of you stare at one another. The table has never felt so wide. Shaking your head, you repeat, “I don’t like Pope. Not like that, anyway. We just have a few things in common and started talking about that book I was reading, and lost track of time and– I had no idea you even saw that.”

“Yeah, well…I did…so,” JJ mutters.

“JJ, I was looking for you all night, too,” you tell him. The smile on your face is solemn when you say, “and when I found you, you were talking to that girl. And…she’s beautiful, JJ. She seemed really nice and, of course, you’re welcome to–”

“--Didn’t you hear what I said?” JJ can’t help but cut in. You frown slightly. JJ doesn’t mean to laugh when he repeats, “I like you. Like really like you. Like holy shit what the fuck am I supposed to do like you. Like you’re all I can think about sort of like you. It’s fucking terrifying and pathetic and I know that there isn’t a chance in hell but–”

“--You like me?” you whisper. JJ laughs softly, almost under breath, and shrugs. He feels stripped off his confidence; bare without his boyish façade. This was real, genuine, organic. This was honest.

“Course. Why else would have I invited you to that damn kegger in the first place? I mean, shit, I full-on kissed you. Thought it was pretty obvious,” he says, his voice trailing off.

“I…I just thought…”

You’re in disbelief, it seems, and it makes JJ’s heart want to bleed. It’s as if you can’t fathom the fact that somebody might have an interest in you. Someone might want to care for you like you do for so many others; to be the one who helps look after your brother; who helps you study for your exams despite the fact that you’ll inevitably ace them either way; who helps you remember how to relax and let loose and just be. JJ wants to be that person. He wants to be the one that you can cry to and the one who makes you laugh. He wants to be the guy that you spend your mornings sleeping in with and your nights wide awake. He wants to make you smile and scream and moan and– All of it. JJ wants it all.

“That girl was my cousin. Well, step-half-cousin– It’s get confusing, a’right? The point is:” He takes a sharp breath before laying his hands palm down on the table. He’s determined to hold your gaze when he says, “I don’t want anybody else - not one person - but you.”

JJ’s patience has never been more impressive as he waits for you to process what he’s said. He can practically see each word working its way through that beautiful brain of yours. As the meaning sinks in, your smile finally begins to show like the first sunrise after winter. Brilliant and full of promise and hope. No more dark days, no more cold nights, no more dull mornings. Just sunshine - through and through.

“I want you too,” you confess.

His heart feels like it’s about to bust out of his chest. JJ’s not sure he’s ever smiled so hard in his life. There’s a faint worry that his skin might split from how wide his grin is. But he can’t help it. This is better than any high he’s ever had. It’s euphoric because you want him too. Despite all his misgivings, all his stupidity, all his hopelessness: you want him. And not just the version that he might be able to become, but the version he is now.

“Come over here right now,” JJ demands in a breathlessly chuckle.

The giggle that falls from your lips is adorable as you get up from your seat. JJ’s laughing too as he pushes his chair back to make space for you. You drop down onto his lap with a laugh and JJ tastes them on his tongue when he kisses you. It feels like coming home as your hands lace into his hair, pulling him nearer. The graze of your tongue against his, sensually tasting him the same way he does you, has him quietly moaning. The moment he takes your lip between his teeth, you’re whining, and it’s as sweet as syrup. His hands run down and along your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh just enough to remind himself that you’re real, this is real, and you want him too.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” JJ murmurs against your mouth. Your sheltered moan drives him on; JJ kisses you with new fever. The scratch of your nails against his scalp is orgasmic in itself. It’s never been like this: never has something so simple made JJ feel like he’s been brought to his knees. Pulling away, JJ stares up at you, panting lightly, and waits for you to open your eyes. Pupils blown wide, you look like an angel, the sun casting yellow behind your back. His fingers slowly lift until he’s taking the frame of your glasses in grip and easing them from your face. JJ’s never seen you without your glasses on; not up close. His lips quirk at the edges. “I think I like you more with them on.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, smiling despite your words. He makes sure not to be careless when he puts them on the table. His hands cup your face, fingers brushing over your soft skin, fuzzy like peach lining, and you lean into his touch, gazing into his eyes, and JJ thinks this. This is what true happiness is.

“What?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” JJ smiles, losing his nerve. Nobody’s ever looked at him like that. You look at JJ like he’s somebody. “Just happy s’all.”

Your lips are slightly damp when you tilt your head enough to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. JJ’s breath catches in his throat from the tender action. He’s serious about this. Serious about you. He’s as serious as the plague.

“Same here,” you murmur, leaning back down as if to meet his lips. Before they reunite, you let one last thing slip. “M’happy too, blue eyes.”

---

want more? read part two - paint by number - here!

667 notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 26 days ago

Note

Idk if you write about this topics since they are really sensitive, but it is something I’m currently struggling with and I would like to see how lando would react after finding out that the reader has been hiding a her struggle with mental illness and attempts of ending her life. Once again I know how sensitive this request is but I started reading your work and fell in love with it and thought that you would write this beautifully

Seasons change | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── This was a pretty difficult one-shot to write, even though it's not very lengthy. I know that mental health is still a topic of actuality that we all deal with in one way or another. The only thing that I want you guys to remember after reading this, is that you are not alone. I know that it may sound like a broken record, but it's true. Each of us has a Lando in our lives who will care enough to stand by you without ulterior motives or conditions. And if you really feel like you don't, I can be him for you. My DMs and ask box are always open, so don't hesitate to reach out if you need someone. You matter in all your forms 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

☆ summary ──── He's been away for work for a while now, but when Lando comes home to find his girlfriend at her lowest, they have to learn the hard way that love is about sitting with each other in the dark, not just chasing the light.

☆ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

☆ rating ──── mature

☆ category ──── F/M

☆ word count ──── 2.6k

☆ date ──── Jan. 11, 2025

☆ warnings ──── 16+, established relationship, soft!Lando, mental health struggles, depression, suicidal ideation, mention of alcohol consumption and pills, emotional distress, vulnerability, guilt and healing, non-sexual nudity (bathtub scene, including tenderness and intimacy).

Please, proceed with caution and prioritize your well-being. If you or someone you know is struggling, these are some of the resources I personally used for years now & I think (and hope) that it might help you at some point:

☆ MENTAL HEALTH APPS

Calm

7 cups

BetterMe

☆ INSTAGRAM ACCOUNTS

idontmind

thefabstory (also an app)

getreformative (currently inactive, but great resources posted there)

talkspace

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE APARTMENT IS too quiet tonight. A space that once felt like a sanctuary, now seems to close in on her, the walls pressing closer with each passing hour.

To anyone looking in, her life might appear perfectly ordinary, even enviable. She has a stable job that she loves, a couple of friends who care in their own way, and Lando. Lando, with his boundless energy, his boyish grin, and his unwavering ability to see the good in her even when she struggles to find it in herself. But beneath that polished surface, there’s a darkness she’s been hiding for as long as she can remember.

She’s not really sure when it happened, or what caused her to lose her spark. Most of the times, she thinks that she’s always been like this, but that can’t be right. Although, at this point in time, it went on long enough that she learned to wear masks and mimic people’s gestures. It’s exhausting, but it’s easier than explaining why some days she can barely drag herself out of bed, or why her mind feels like a storm she can’t escape.

Lately, the same storm has been relentless. Lando’s been away for weeks, hopping from one race to another, his life a whirlwind of fast cars, tons of people, and flashing cameras. She’s proud of him, of course, but his absence leaves a void she can’t seem to fill on her own, no matter how many phone calls they share.

She knows it’s not his responsibility to fix her, but without even knowing it, Lando does it every time he looks at her. In those moments, pieces of her heart are welded back together, giving her hope that one day, maybe, it will be whole again.

Of course, things aren’t that easy.

She’s always been a loner, someone who enjoys her own company more than the chaos of others. This is why she doesn’t go with Lando to all of his races. Over time, they’ve developed their own rhythm, and it only works when they both put in the effort to be together. However, she knows that he often works for both of them. She also knows that it’s not right to let him do this, but she doesn’t know how to stop.

But being alone isn’t the same as being lonely, and lately, the loneliness feels like it’s swallowing her whole. She tries to keep busy, to distract herself with work or a new book, but the dark thoughts always find her; a cycle she can’t break. They usually creep in at night when she’s most vulnerable, whispering lies she can’t ignore.

You’re a burden.

He’d be better off without you.

Everyone would be better off without you.

In spite of everything, she knows she’s lucky, though. She has a roof over her head, food on the table, and someone who loves her. And, somehow, knowing that only makes her feel worse. Most of the times, the guilt is suffocating — a heavy weight that presses down on her chest until she can’t breathe. She’s tried to push the thoughts away, to drown them in work or meaningless distractions. She tried to be grateful. But tonight, like many other nights before, they’ve won.

When Lando steps into the apartment, the soft click of the door is echoing in the stillness. It’s late — later than he’d hoped — and he assumes she’s already asleep, because he texted her hours ago to let her know he was on his way, but there had been no reply.

Dropping his bag quietly by the door, he toes off his sneakers and glances toward the dimly lit living room. The faint glow of the city skyline filters through the curtains, casting muted shadows across the floor. He moves carefully, not wanting to wake her, with a simple plan in mind: slip into bed, wrap his arms around his girlfriend, and fall asleep to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

But something feels off.

On his way to the bedroom, he spots the balcony door slightly ajar. A cool breeze sneaks through the crack, carrying with it the faint scent of something acrid. He pauses, his brow furrowing as he approaches the glass door.

That’s when he sees her.

She’s out on the balcony, her back to him, legs dangling dangerously over the edge. For a moment, he’s frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he’s seeing. Then his gaze shifts, taking in the scene: some things are knocked over on the small table by the door, a small flacon of pills alongside a half-empty bottle of wine, and all the mess. The realization hits him like a physical blow, and his heart starts pounding in his chest.

But then, panic grips him as he slides the door open, stepping out onto the balcony. The sound startles her, and she turns her head slightly, her expression distant and unfocused. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s an eerie calmness about her that chills him to the core.

“Hey, is everything okay?” asks Lando, his voice soft as he crouches beside her, careful not to make any sudden movements. “What… baby, what are you doing out here?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, her gaze drifting back to the city below. The silence stretches, each second feeling heavier than the previous one.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his voice slightly cracking. His eyes dart back to the table, to the pill bottle and the wine, and he feels a surge of anger mixed with fear. “Is this—fuck. Did you take these?”

She shakes her head, a small smile curving in the corner of her mouth. “I’m so tired, love,” she whispers finally, her voice shaking over the hum of the city.

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut, and he’s suddenly aware of how fragile she looks, and how close she is to the edge. His hands shake as he reaches for her, gently gripping her arm. His heart beats so hard that he feels it throughout his body — his ribcage, in his throat, in the hand he tightens around her, to make sure he’s holding her with enough force.

“Okay. That’s okay,” he says, his tone soft but urgent. “Let’s go inside, yeah? I’m tired too, we can rest together. What do you say?”

“No… no, it’s not—” she tries to speak, but her brain is clouded by a mental fog, and everything around her moves too quickly for her to catch up.

“Come on, can you step back? Please. For me?”

His last question is what jolts her back to reality. For him? She would do anything for him. Lando knows that, and she soon realizes that he is using it to emotionally blackmail her. He always does that, and it annoys her.

She raises her head to look at him, her tired eyes meeting his, and for a moment, Lando thinks she’ll comply. But then, she pushes his hand away, a trace of betrayal crossing his face.

“No. It’s pretty out here,” she says, gazing down at the world that simply exists under her feet. The distance makes her stomach clench, knowing that all it takes it’s a small misstep for everything to end. Still, she doesn’t move an inch.

“I see that, love,” he agrees, “But I want to talk to you, and I can’t do that unless I make sure you’re safe. Did you… do this before?”

She nods slowly, refusing to look at him.

At that, Lando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm in his chest. He knows her enough to know when to push and when to give her space, only this time around, he’s met with a weird combination of both. Luckily, his body decides what to do before his mind agrees to it and, cautiously, he climbs up to join her on the edge, his hands gripping the cold railing as his pulse pounds in his ears.

Her head snaps toward him, her expression instantly shifting, panic flashing in her eyes. “No, what are you doing?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“I’m with you,” he murmurs, his voice tender, laced with fear he’s desperately trying to hide. “If you’re staying here, then so am I.”

She blinks, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words come. Instead, her gaze softens, the wine-induced haze in her eyes clearing. Slowly, she lets out a shaky breath and sits down on the narrow ledge, her hands gripping the edge. Lando follows her lead, sitting close but careful not to crowd her, his knee brushing hers. He hesitates for a moment before gently reaching for her hand, and he exhales relieved when her fingers close around his, grounding both of them.

They sit in silence for a moment, the distant city lights flickering around them.

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know?” he finally whispers, his voice barely audible, breaking the quiet. “I never… If something happens, I don’t want to have to miss you all the time—”

“Lando, I know,” she cuts him off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she continues, staring at their joined hands. Her voice is small, guilt creeping into her tone.

He nods, looking at her, “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Lando says gently. “I know I’m away a lot, but if you need me, I’ll do anything.”

Her grip on his hand tightens slightly just as she turns to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, tears pooling but not yet falling. “It’s not your fault, Lan. It’s me. I… don’t even know. There’s nothing wrong, but at the same time, nothing’s quite right, either.”

He shakes his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Don’t apologize for feeling. It just makes me think now, because I thought you trusted me,” says Lando, his words cutting through her like a knife through butter. “I trust you,” he adds, almost like pointing it out.

She knows he does, her mind instantly replaying the moments in her mind, the times he’d come to her with his struggles. When a race didn’t go his way, and he doubted everything he’d worked so hard for. When social media was brutal, tearing him apart with words that left invisible scars. When he felt hated and couldn’t understand why. He always talked to her, shared his pain, his fears, his insecurities. He let her in, trusted her completely. And now, here she was, shutting him out when he was only trying to do the same for her.

“Don’t say that…” she starts, but her voice catches, and her breath hitches. “I’m trying.”

“I know, baby. I know,” Lando says gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Can we, please, just go inside?”

The tears she’s been holding back for too long finally slip free, carving hot, silent paths down her cheeks. She looks up at him, her lips trembling as she whispers, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His expression softens, and without hesitation, he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, mostly to show her that she didn’t. The gesture is so simple yet so full of love that it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over her.

Lando doesn’t let go of her hand as he gently helps her to her feet, guiding her back inside the apartment. The night air clings to their skin, but it’s the quiet inside that feels even heavier. He doesn’t say much, just keeps her close, his touch steady and grounding as they make their way to the bathroom.

A little uncomfortable now, she leans against the doorframe, watching as Lando moves around, carefully. He runs the water, testing the temperature with his hand, adding just the right amount of bath salts from the container on the shelf. The pale lavender-scented steam begins to fill the space, creating a safe bubble for both of them.

When Lando finally looks back at her, his expression is warm and inviting, somehow hopeful. He steps closer, reaching out to gently cup her cheek, wiping away the tear stains that remain.

“You’re everything to me,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over her skin before his hands move to the hem of her hoodie.

She doesn’t protest as he carefully lifts it over her head, his touch tender, his eyes never leaving hers. For a moment, she stands there, feeling vulnerable under his gaze, but there’s nothing but love in his expression.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches out to return the gesture, undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one. His eyes stay locked on hers, silently reassuring her, grounding her in the best way possible. By the time she pushes the fabric off his shoulders, the weight in her chest feels a little lighter.

They step into the bath together, the warm water enveloping them like a soothing embrace. She settles between his legs, her back against his chest, and his arms come around her instinctively. There’s no rush, no need for words. It’s just them, surrounded by the quiet hum of the water and the soft glow of the candles Lando had lit earlier.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment before he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Promise you’ll talk to me next time?” he asks, his voice small but steady. “I know things won’t change overnight, I don’t expect them to. But I need to know you understand that I’m here for you. That I love you enough to listen, and feel everything with you.”

The words settle in her chest, heavy but necessary, like the first raindrops of a storm. For the first time in what feels like forever, she sees beyond the swirling chaos in her mind. The weight of his love and understanding wraps around her like the warmth of the water they’re sitting in. And then it hits her.

How life itself is the changing of seasons, a constant push and pull — a constant chaos. Sometimes, the sun will break through, lighting everything in gold. Other times, it will rain so hard she won’t see the way ahead. But Lando’s right. It will get better again. Then worse. And then better again. That’s the way it is for everyone. A relentless tide of ups and downs, joy and pain, hope and disappointments.

As she leans back into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, she realizes the most important thing: it isn’t always black or white. Sometimes, it’s a hazy gray — a space where the lines blur, where the answers aren’t clear, and the path you find yourself on feels impossibly difficult to navigate. But it’s in that in-between, in the murky middle, that having the right person beside you matters the most. Not to pull you into the light or demand you leave the shadows, but to sit with you in the dark, holding your hand, letting you know you’re not alone.

She swallows hard, her throat tight, but not from sadness this time. “I promise,” she finds the strength to whisper. Her breath catches, and she turns her head slightly to meet his gaze, tears still pooling in her eyes. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I—”

“You deserve everything, my love,” Lando assures her, his lips brushing her temple, before placing a tiny kiss there. “And I’ll make sure you get it.”

His definitive tone sends shivers down her spine.

She closes her eyes, feeling the water ripple softly around them, and holds on tighter, knowing that no matter what storms may come, the most important thing is that they won’t lose each other’s touch.

And that’s everything to her.

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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depressedcoffeeobsess · 1 month ago

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╰𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞.ᐟ

Pairing(s): James Potter x fem!Reader

Summary: James would do anything for a date with you.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 680 words!

Note(s): Im loving the picture on the right side :)

:the question and answer are both from google

THE MARAUDERS WERE sitting at the library. Rare sight really. Well it was no doubt that you'd seen remus at the library. Fifth year kicked in hard with the owls so near. You and lily were working so hard, that you both decided to take a break.

You took your seat infront of James, with a book in hand. This was the break for you. Though Sirius merely doubted that. Lily had gone off to find books. You were currently reading your charms book.

“hey, will you go out on a date with me?” James was always asking you to go out with him. You considered it for once but never again.

“I've already told you my answer Potter,” you would say it every time. “and if you don't already know it's no”

“come on.” he said it in a kind of a sing a song tone. “just once, please” oh for the love of merlin.

You could tell remus was already regretting his life. So instead of that you started a bookworm conversation with him. You loved remus (no not in that way) because he was the only one you could properly relate to. You both loved talking about extra nerdy things going out in hogwarts.

“will you go out with me now?” James was starting to get a little irritated because of Remus. He didn't like watching people talking to—his future wife—you. This occurred especially when Remus was talking to you.

“no” you said blankly. You didn't want to hurt his feeling but you also didn't want to go through break ups and all that drama. You weren't one for drama like that.

“please?”

“no”

“please?” in a desperate tone

“nope” popping the ‘P’ out.

“please?”

“oh fine!” James’ eyes lit up. “on one condition...”

“and that is?” he was quite eager now. Sirius and Remus were just too shocked to not be letting flies into their mouths. You had said yes to James out of all the guys in a line for you.

“answer this question and I'll go out with you” typical nerd.

James huffed. “why is it always about studies?” he was getting bored now. (Not of you)

“because you need to study to get a good career,” you were smiling all the way. James and Sirius mentally rolled their eyes, while Remus was nodding. You were pretty confident he couldn't do it. You pretended to flip through your charms book just to find a paper with pre wrote questions. You looked at them and glanced up at James, smirking evily. “Explain the difference between a Crucio and an Imperio curse.”

“uh, funny thing,” he laughed nervously. “Is that wormy I see there pads?”

You sighed and mentally face palmed. “seriously? Are you that dumb? That was a basic question!” (this line was for you rese)

“fine if you're so good why don't you answer it y/l/n” James looked like he was pretty confident too. His ego was obviously at it's fullest.

“Crucio causes extreme torture, while Imperio puts the victim under the caster's control” you seemed like you were reading out of a book. You had your eyes closed and a finger pointed up.

James' mouth went open. His jaw dropped to the floor. “I obviously knew that” he huffed.

You rolled your eyes and set of to find lily. James' eyes followed your figure until it turned to the corner. James sighed.

“do you think she'll go out with me?” he asked this question normally.

“No”

Sirius and Remus said in unision. They were tired of James asking them a single question all the time.

“Mate, maybe she'll go out with you once you've actually read a single page of that book” Sirius didn't read either. He was just there to be James' hope.

“who likes reading these days?”

“apparently she does” remus muttered as he went back to his potions book.

“dont worry the woman will have to surrender one day!” Sirius exclaimed brightly. Honestly he was just making it worse, according to Remus.

As they usual banter on the marauders was playing in the background, you were smiling to yourself. Maybe you would consider going out with him next time.

Bonus +

James was blabbering to Peter about how good his day went. “and then she was about to say yes!” you were. “she was?” Peter was horrified for you. “yea! I wonder how our children will look like” he said dreamily. “if you ever have any” Remus muttered.

#dividers by adornedwithlight #james potter x you #james potter x reader #hp fanfic #james potter x y/n #harry potter #james potter #james fleamont potter #james x reader #prongs x reader #prongsie #[🖍]───joy writes

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fangdokja · 24 days ago

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🔞You like them crazy because deep down, you are too.

❤︎ Synopsis. Your favorite yandere is a walking red flag, and honestly, you’re just obsessed with the idea of being loved to the point of insanity. You want someone who’ll choke you with affection (literally), and hey, that says a lot about your choices… and your taste in men.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Jujutsu Kaisen Males (Gojo, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Yuji, Inumaki, Kenjaku, Shiu Kong) x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Headcanon. What Your Favorite Yandere Says About Your Interesting Kinks

♡ Word Count. 4,055

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age. This post is meant to be a fun, exaggerated meme—don’t take it too seriously. It’s all in good humor and not a deep psychological analysis (but maybe a little bit).

♡ A/N. So, I enjoyed making the Genshin shiz post and decided to make a JJK version. Might do a HSR one next as well... maybe. Also... I kinda went overboard here, compared to the more organized Genshin one, but seriously I was laughing while writing this. Just funny shiz post. I would say this one's more explicit though haha (no explicit sex), I had way too much fun haha, especially Naoya's and Kenjaku's.

♡ Gojo Satoru.

You have a god complex by association. You want someone who could obliterate the entire planet, but instead, he chooses to stalk your Instagram at 3 a.m. to overanalyze your cryptic "feeling lonely" post.

You’re into men who act like they’re God’s gift to humanity, and honestly? You believe them. You probably like bratty tops who think they’re in control but low-key need to be chained down before they destroy Tokyo because you wouldn’t let them kiss you.

You like men who are unbearable, but in a way that makes you want to lick their face instead of slap it. You saw him take his blindfold off once and immediately decided you’d risk everything for a man who can and will ruin your life with a smirk. Therapy? Never heard of it, because why would you need that when you’re obsessed with a 6'3" man-child whose idea of foreplay is showing off while making you think it’s all about you? Spoiler: it’s not. It’s about him, and you’re fine with it.

You like the idea of someone worshipping you, but also low-key want them to ruin you mentally, emotionally, and physically—preferably in that order.

But you’re still into being spoiled rotten—designer everything, sugar daddy vibes, and someone who’d probably keep you locked in a gilded cage. You pretend you have standards, but deep down, you’re just into being treated like you’re the rarest Pokémon in existence.

You don’t want a boyfriend—you want an all-seeing sugar daddy who gaslights you into thinking the world revolves around him (because in his mind, it does). You probably love the idea of being tied up in a metaphorical (or literal, no judgment) infinity of his obsession. Big on tease and denial, huh?

You’ve definitely thought about what his infinity could do in a make-out session and probably Googled "can Gojo turn infinity off during sex." (No, you’re not getting an answer to that.)

You're also into being teased until you're on the verge of tears, only for him to laugh and say, "Aw, you're so cute when you're frustrated," while continuing to absolutely destroy you. Bonus points if he calls you sweetheart in that condescending, sing-song voice while pinning you to the bed with one hand.

You're also into blindfolds… probably for the aesthetic, but we all know you’re fantasizing about what comes after he takes it off. You’re not scared of being kidnapped, you’re scared of never being spoiled again.

You’re also the type of person who screenshots memes and sends them 3 weeks later without context.

♡ Ryōmen Sukuna.

You're feral. You don’t want love—you want to be destroyed. You want a man who’ll treat you like garbage and somehow it’s hot. "I can fix him" but also, "I don’t want to fix him. Step on me, Daddy."

Your idea of romance is someone who could rip your heart out (literally) and then hold it hostage as you beg for his attention. You’re also too into biting. If he left a handprint bruise on your neck, you’d frame it. Low-key fantasize about getting kidnapped because you think you’d be “too bratty to kill,” and he’d find that cute.

You’re into primal domination, teeth marks, and being pinned against the wall while he laughs at your “attempt” to fight back.

You think it’s hot when men are morally bankrupt and would rather die than be called soft. You definitely believe in Stockholm Syndrome as a viable love language.

This man could call you maggot filth and you’d be texting your friends, “Sukuna said he cared about me today 🥰.” You secretly want him to slap you so hard you see the Cursed Realm.

The worse he treats you, the harder you simp. If he kills your whole family, you’d probably just be like, “They were annoying anyway, babe.”

You’re into primal play, possessiveness, and hearing “you’re mine” growled into your ear like it’s a death sentence (which, with Sukuna, it might be).

You definitely have unresolved trauma and thought “you know what would help? A walking red flag with abs.” You want someone so feral they’d burn down a village just because someone looked at you for 0.2 seconds. Also, you like men who are literally impossible to please because the idea of “earning his love” gets you off.

Your kinks? Pain. Not just physical—emotional, spiritual, metaphysical. You’re the type who thinks choking is romantic foreplay and that love should feel like a hostage situation.

You act like you hate red flags, but you’re planting them in your garden, watering them, and crying when they bloom. Therapy is not in your vocabulary.

You’re deeply into degradation and secretly believe you could “fix him.” Spoiler alert: you can’t, but you’ll die trying. You probably tweet things like “If a man doesn’t put me in his domain expansion, does he even love me?”

Bonus points if you’ve searched for Sukuna x Reader fics where he calls you pathetic but won’t let anyone else touch you.

We see you, masochist. We see you.

You also have daddy issues so big that Sukuna would probably laugh in your face while exploiting them. You’re a masochist in denial and definitely want him to choke you out with those extra hands.

You’ve 100% Googled "can I sell my soul for demon dick" and meant it. You're 100% into monsterfucking. Your search history also includes "tentacle bondage" and "can cursed energy be sexy?"

♡ Suguru Geto.

You have a superiority complex and an inferiority complex. You want someone who’ll emotionally devastate you while maintaining the vibe of a calm, manipulative cult leader. You think you’re classy, but we both know you’re just a slut for a man who says “we need to cleanse the world” like he’s ordering wine at a fancy restaurant.

You think cult leader chic is hot. Your dream date is being kidnapped and indoctrinated into a religious group. You’re into soft-spoken manipulation and think “he didn’t abandon me, he abandoned humanity.”

You want someone who sees you as the one good thing in a world full of “monkeys,” but also you secretly like the idea of being his religion.

You’ll excuse literal genocide because "he’s got a point."

You want someone who hates everyone else but you. Like, he would literally commit mass murder just so you can have a peaceful walk in the park. Into spiritual awakening, but make it horny. Imagine him whispering sacrilegious promises in your ear while surrounded by cursed spirits. That’s your vibe.

You’re the kind of person who’d get Stockholm Syndrome after two days and start quoting his manifesto back to him. He’d probably love-bomb you, use you for his master plan, and then leave you to pick up the pieces. And you’d thank him for it.

You’re into praise kink but only if it’s delivered in a soft yet condescending tone while you’re kneeling in front of him. You want someone who’ll call you his “favorite pet” while subtly threatening to end your bloodline if you step out of line.

Your other kinks? Corruption. You’re into “turning to the dark side” scenarios, and the idea of being brainwashed is weirdly hot to you. Maybe you need a therapist, but Geto would probably convince you therapists are a scam.

You probably daydream about scenarios where you “fix” him, but let’s be honest—you’d fold faster than a lawn chair if he so much as smirked at you. You want a man who looks like he listens to lo-fi while murdering people. You also have unresolved issues with wanting to “save” someone who’s already beyond saving.

You’re down bad for emotionally unavailable men who’ll manipulate you into thinking you’re special. Also, you think long hair = good in bed, and you’re not wrong.

Hair-pulling kink? Try him pulling yours while telling you you’re his only salvation.

Also, he probably tells you to call him master, and you’re into it.

Also, you’re a sucker for men who look like they haven’t slept in 10 years but can still bench press you emotionally.

♡ Naoya Zen'in.

You hate him. You absolutely despise him. And yet, why are you blushing when he calls you a stupid little slut?

You have daddy issues, but instead of unpacking them, you decided to make them worse by stanning this sexist menace. You hate him, but that’s the appeal.

Congratulations, you’re a walking meme of bad decisions, and your search history definitely includes “toxic alpha male x reader.” You don’t even want a healthy relationship—you want to be insulted creatively until you're crying, and then have him smirk while telling you how pretty you look when you break.

You tell people you hate misogyny but get weak in the knees when he says “stay in your place, woman.” You want someone who’ll treat you like garbage, then be jealous when other people try to respect you.

You think Naoya calling you a “stupid little girl” is the height of romance (because if you’re into him, you’re already used to disrespect).

100% into punishment kinks. The idea of Naoya spanking you until you cry and then calling you a “good little servant” lives rent-free in your head.

You have issues in general—daddy, mommy, and probably every other flavor. You like them toxic because boring men don’t deserve rights. You thrive in arguments, especially if you’re the one winning.

You have the worst taste in men, and you know it. You actively choose violence. You think hate sex fixes everything. Spoiler: it doesn’t. But you’ll still keep coming back for more.

You either have a degradation kink or you’re lying to yourself. You want someone to look you in the eyes and call you pathetic while simultaneously making you feel like the most desired person alive.

Into degradation? No, you’re into obliteration. You want to be called the most heinous names and still hear him say, “Good girl” after. If he spit in your mouth, you’d say “thank you” like it’s a five-star Yelp review.

You're the type to start arguments on purpose because makeup sex is your Olympic sport. You think misogyny is hot as long as it's directed at everyone but you (spoiler: Naoya’s a yandere, so he’ll worship you, but he’ll still be the absolute worst).

Brat taming. You want Naoya to slam you against a wall and hiss, "You're so mouthy for someone who's about to beg for mercy," and you’d call him an asshole just to see him lose it.

You also have a breeding kink, don’t lie.

You’re into enemies-to-lovers with 90% enemies and 10% begrudging affection.

You’re probably the most unhinged of them all. Like, “I hate him but also step on me” vibes. You’d start a fight with him for fun, only to let him win because he’s hotter when he’s smug. Also, your type in men is the human embodiment of the patriarchy, and that says a lot.

You also secretly love being called slurs in bed, and you’d let him ruin your life if it meant he’d pay attention to you. You tell people you don’t believe in second chances, yet you’d give him 47.

Naoya IS your red flag, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re also that person who gets mad when people insult your favorite character, even though your fave literally deserves it.

♡ Megumi Fushiguro.

You're into the quiet ones, but let’s be real, you know he’s one bad day away from snapping and going full “yandere shadow puppeteer” on you. You want someone who’s obsessively loyal, even to the point of chaining you to a radiator “for your safety.”

You’re that person who says, “I can fix him,” and you believe it. Spoiler: you can’t.

Soft yandere vibes are your weakness. You want him to apologize for locking you up and then immediately do it again. You cry during sex, and Megumi is your dream man because he’d hold you gently while fucking you senseless.

You’re basically the emotionally repressed type who cries over sad anime but denies having feelings. You low-key want to be fixed, but you also get off on being the problem.

Silent, brooding types who lose control just for you. You’d die if Megumi whispered, "I don’t care what happens to the world, as long as I have you," while dragging his nails down your skin.

You want a yandere who doesn’t look like one. You’re basically into emotionally constipated men who will quietly destroy anyone that looks at you wrong, but they’ll do it with zero fanfare.

Pretends he’s not obsessed, but you find out he’s been tracking your location via his Shikigami for weeks.

Slow burn? Try agonizingly torturous burn. You love the suffering.

Your kinks? Praise and ownership. You want a boyfriend who’ll carve your name into his soul and blush when you call him a good boy. You also cry during movies about dogs.

You fantasize about wholesome dates that spiral into him casually committing arson because someone looked at you the wrong way. You think being protected is sexy, but deep down, you know you’re the real danger.

You have main character syndrome, but you’re too awkward to admit it. You think you can “fix” people and are always attracted to brooding, emotionally unavailable boys. You’re the type to fall for someone because of their tragic backstory and spend hours analyzing their behavior like you’re trying to win a Nobel Prize.

People think you’re quiet and reserved, but deep down, you’re the freakiest person in the room.

Also, you want his demon dogs involved somehow, and we’re not unpacking that.

♡ Yuji Itadori.

You think sunshine boys are the ultimate bait-and-switch. You want someone sweet and wholesome on the surface but capable of going feral if someone threatens what’s his (spoiler: it’s you).

You’re into soft yanderes who make you think, “Wait, am I the villain here?” But then he kisses you with tears in his eyes and says, “I just don’t know what I’d do without you,” and you’re like, “Oh okay, my bad, ruin my life I guess.”

You’re delusional and think nice guys finish first. You believe you can fix him, even though there’s nothing broken except his moral compass after meeting Sukuna.

Your kinks? Consent (most stan a green flag king), but also low-key primal. You want someone who’s soft and sweet but will absolutely ruin you when pushed too far. Also, you’re probably into breathy whimpers.

You’re into soft yandere energy, like him cooking you dinner while thinking about how to “disappear” your coworker for complimenting your outfit. You also have a praise kink, but you want it to feel genuine. You’re high-key a romantic but still enjoy the thrill of danger.

You’re the type to fall for cinnamon rolls, but you secretly want them to have a feral, toxic side. You pretend to be wholesome but you’re just as depraved as the Sukuna stans—you just hide it better. Also, you’d probably call him “puppy” in bed, and he’d eat it up.

You probably fantasize about “accidentally” walking in on him shirtless after training.

You’re into strength kink. Yuji carrying you around like a sack of potatoes is your idea of foreplay.

If Yuji’s your fave, you’re into the gentle dom who’d snap someone’s neck for you aesthetic. He’d die for you, but he’d also kill for you. And you’re oddly okay with that.

Bonus points if you want to corrupt him because you think it’d be hot to see him snap.

You’re also the type to fall in love with someone because they smiled at you once in 2017.

♡ Toge Inumaki.

You want someone who won’t talk back. Literally. You think communication is overrated and fantasize about a partner who’ll just look at you with hungry eyes while whispering forbidden words into your ear.

You’re the quiet type who wants absolute filth whispered into your ear.

You want to be whispered sweet nothings like "sleep" and then wake up in his bed with a collar on. The duality of “onigiri” and “shut the fuck up” does things to you.

The idea of hearing nothing but the word “come” and losing your mind sends you feral.

You’re into restraint—both the literal and metaphorical kind. You’ve imagined him using cursed speech in the bedroom, and you know exactly how you’d want him to shut you up. You definitely think subtlety is sexier than overt passion.

You claim you like soft boys, but really, you’re just waiting for him to whisper something filthy in that raspy voice.

You’re into the duality of him being both your sweet protector and your most dangerous weakness.

You think “silent but deadly” is hot, but you also have a thing for guys who communicate through body language and emotional gestures. You probably have a Tumblr tag called “soft yanderes” that’s full of questionable content.

Your kinks? Teasing. You want to be pinned down, held firmly, and whispered sweet nothings in cursed speech that leave you trembling. Also, bondage. Don't not lie to yourself.

You think you’re subtle, but everyone knows you have a thing for quiet guys with devastatingly good bone structure. You’re also into the idea of being “the only one” who truly understands him. Let’s be real: you’d let him ruin your life with three words or less.

You’ve definitely thought about what those cursed speech commands could do in the bedroom, haven’t you? Don’t lie. “Stay.” “Kneel.” “Louder.” It’s a problem. You think you’re subtle, but the fact that you bookmarked that one smut fic about him proves otherwise.

You’ve also Googled "what does ‘salmon’ mean in bed" and debated buying a Toge cosplay for your next convention.

♡ Kenjaku.

You’re insane. Full stop.

You’re the type who’d fall for the villain just because they’re hot.

You tell yourself it’s because you “appreciate complex characters,” but it’s really because you have no self-preservation instincts. You’re also probably into weird shiz like non-human anatomy, but you’ll never admit it.

Let’s be honest: you’ve considered the implications of his ability to switch bodies. Your fantasies are wild, and you need a moment to collect yourself.

You want someone who’s both your daddy and mommy because Kenjaku’s body-hopping antics make that possible. Extreme levels of psychological manipulation and kinky body horror. A true deviant.

You’ve definitely read an NSFW fic about body possession and didn’t even flinch. You like the idea of someone who will tear your life apart but still call you their “greatest creation.”

You’re a mess. Like, emotionally and spiritually. You’ve been reading dark fanfics for so long that nothing fazes you anymore.

You don’t want love—you want chaos. You like characters who are 50% sexy and 50% terrifying. You probably think brain surgery is hot. You’re also into weird power dynamics where you’re both the victim and the accomplice.

You think mad scientist energy is hot, and you’d probably let him experiment on you just for the intimacy of it. You’re into power play and mind games, and the idea of someone controlling you physically and mentally is your ultimate kink. You’d sell your soul for five minutes of his attention, and he knows it. Your moral compass? Nonexistent. You just want to get tied up and brainwashed by a centuries-old freak.

You think it’s hot that he’d use your body as part of his experiments. You’d let him ruin your entire lineage for “science.”

You’re not even into happy endings; you just want to be obliterated.

♡ Shiu Kong.

If your favorite yandere is Shiu Kong, congratulations—you’re into men who could ruin your life with one smirk and a casual drag off their cigarette. You like your chaos with a suit and tie, and you’re absolutely weak for someone who looks like they’d call you “kid” while tying you to a chair in a dimly lit room. You’ve definitely fantasized about being the center of his cold, calculated obsession, probably while he’s adjusting his cufflinks and making morally questionable business deals.

You love the idea of a man who’s emotionally unavailable but physically possessive. Shiu wouldn’t say he loves you, but he’d definitely let you know you’re his. You probably have a thing for the cold, calculated type who’ll throw you a smirk that says, “You won’t survive me, but you’ll die happy.” Let’s be honest—you want someone who treats you like a business deal but kisses you like he’s closing the contract with teeth and tongue.

You’re into men who handle their business—and by business, we mean kidnapping, extortion, and murder with a side of snark. You probably tell yourself you’re into “stoic bad boys,” but let’s be real, you just want a man who can pin you against a wall and growl something like, “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.” Bonus points if it’s in a low, gravelly voice that makes your knees weak.

You’re the type to think a cigarette dangling from his lips while he manhandles you is peak romance. He’d pin you to a desk, adjust his suit jacket, and ask, “Do you really think anyone else could handle you like this?” in that calm, businesslike tone that makes you feral. You like being dominated by someone who looks like they just closed a multi-million-yen deal, and you want him to ruin you in the same suit he wore to work.

You want someone who exudes “don’t waste my time” energy but secretly has the patience to torment you until you’re begging (for mercy or more, who’s to say?). You saw him in that suit and immediately thought, “I wonder if he’d use that belt on me?” Spoiler: he would, but only after lighting a cigarette and telling you to be quiet.

You fantasize about someone who’ll say, “Don’t get attached,” while making you fall so hard you’re practically writing your own kidnapping ransom note.

You’re also into the grudging protector trope—he’ll act like he’s just “handling business,” but the second someone else looks at you wrong, you know he’s flipping tables and snarling something like, “They should’ve known better.” Bonus points if he dusts himself off afterward and says, “Clean yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve got plans for us.”

“I’ll only associate with you in hell” energy that screams hot and toxic.

———

P.S. Actually fun fact, among all JJK yanderes, I enjoy writing Kenjaku the most.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud

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hello-nichya-here · 1 year ago

Note

Did Sia insult topic of autism somehow?

Oh honey, it's sooooooooo much worse than that.

Sia wanted to make a movie about an autistic girl that manages to connect to people/feel safe and confident through music. So far, nothing outrageous, just a simple concept that would obviously put Sia's music front and center while doing something nice and educating people on autism.

There was controversy about her not casting an autistic actress as it would have been nice representation, but she could have totally gotten away with that since, come on, hollywood hasn't even figured out Rain Man isn't exactly true to life, they're not ready to have an autistic person playing an autistic character. Baby steps.

The real problem started when Sia started promoting the "charity/support group" that was helping "educate" her on the topic to make the movie. The "charity" in question was Autism Speaks - which is absolutely HATED by the autistic community for things like:

1 - Spreading the myth that autism is a mental illness that one can develop/catch like the freaking flue and potentially be cured of, instead of a neurotype, aka something starts in the woomb and cannot be "cured" because to do that you'd need to replace someone's entire nervous system, which is impossible.

2 - Using that myth to get outrageous amounts of money from people so they "search for a cure" - that doesn't exist and will never exist because curing autism is biologically impossible, AND despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of autistic people don't even want to be "cured" (plus, since said "cure" would essentially mean giving the person a new brain, it leads to the question of "Would I even be the same person, or would that just kill and replace me?")

3 - Using the myth of "We don't know what causes autism" (we do, it's genetic) to, of course, get MORE money from people so they can "do research to find the missing puzzle piece" (if you ever see autistic people complaining about a puzzle piece being used to represent the condition, that's why, it was started by Autism Speak's massive disinformation campains).

4 - Falsely "confirming" things like soy milk cause autism with one of the world's most ridiculous "research", losing only to "vaccines totally make kids autistic, buy MY vaccine instead, guys, I am totally not an unbelievably biased person, it's ALL the other doctors/scientists lying to you. GIVE ME MONEY!"

5 - Pushing the narrative of "autism is inherently a tragedy" to distract from the fact that all the money they waste on stupid shit could be used to help autistic people and their families. Instead, they focus on creating more and more panic, making parents in particular despair even more - to the point that one of their "awareness videos" includes a mother talking about how she wants to murder her autistic daughter and then kill herself... while sitting right next to said daughter.

6 - Promoting ABA "therapy" - which was created by the same guy responsible for the attrocity that is gay conversion "therapy." Both have led to unbelievably high rates of confirmed PTSD and suicidal ideation in patients (victims), and ABA in particular has been compared to literal dog training. Very fitting since it was created by a guy who famously did not believe autistic people truly counted as thinking, feeling human beings, and said as much several times. Despite that, it is still praised by some utter bastards because "it makes the patients act less autistic when they're not crying in the corner or trying to jump out a window"

So yeah, working with these guys is a genuinely horrible thing to do since they're basically a scam/hate group pretending to be a charity - and people were STILL willing to give Sia the benefit of the doubt, since Autism Speak uses all their resources to make sure they're the first thing people see when looking up how to help autistic people.

Lots of Sia's fans, both autistic and allistic, warned her repeatedly, politely, that she needed to supporting them IMMEDIATELY as their goal was the exact opposite of the one she claimed to have - aka raise awareness through an accurate portrail of autism. People were even kind enough to name organizations like ASAN as replacements to help her fix any damage done to the project.

And instead of being a decent human being, Sia decided to cry on twitter about how the mean retar-I mean, autistics were bullying her even when she was so kindly using them for her vanity project.

Because yes, that's how the movie turned out. An unwatcheable piece of garbage, with the autistic "character" being so fucking bad even the people who actively use "autistic" as insulted being offended on our behalf - and of course, she was used just a prop to show how awesome Sia's character was.

Seriously, it was so bad the actress playing the autistic girl was sobbing in between scenes because she knew how it was horrible and she didn't want to insult anyone, but Sia is literally her godmother and helped her career by putting her in nearly all her music videos so she felt obligated to go along with it.

So yeah, fuck Sia and fuck Autism Speaks.

#asks #sia #ableism #autism speaks #actually autistic #aba therapy

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sunkissedscribbles · 5 months ago

Text

How To Save A Life

pairing: bestfriend!mattheo riddle x mentallyill!reader

genre: angst, angst, angst

tw: major character death. get some tissues. not proofread

word count: 1626

a/n: i should really write some fluff after this – this is the third one like this in just over a week

playlist: How to Save a Life - The Fray, The Beach - The Neighbourhood

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

Hogwarts was empty without your presence, it was all too silent without your laughter filling his being and making him smile. It was hard now that you were gone. It was boring, dull, the emptiness weighing down on him was all-consuming; it was gnawing at him from the inside.

Mattheo hadn’t been himself since summer break started. Your argument left lingered mercilessly and was eating him away. It was stupid, so, so stupid.

“I can’t believe you did that, Mattheo!” you called out, entering your dorm with him right behind you. You couldn’t help the anger that was taking over your entire being.

“It’s not like it’s anything serious!” he objected with a shake of his head, following close behind you and shutting the door.

“Not anything serious?” you repeated with an unamused scoff. “You’re so selfish! How can you not see just how serious this is?”

“Look, let me explain-”

You swatted away the hand reaching out to calmingly touch your shoulder, “No! You made a fucking bet, about shagging girls! Don’t you think that’s humiliating? Isn’t that sexist in your mind?”

“Y/N, just let m-”

“I thought I knew you,” you shook your head with disappointment evident in your voice and with a lingering hurt that your knotted eyebrows told the most about. When he didn’t try to object, to explain, you continued with a bitter scoff, “They were right. You’re just as heartless and selfish as your father.”

You could hear him calling your name out one last time but you were already on the other side of the door.

Mattheo left you raging alone, knowing you needed some time alone.

And he was too bitter to go after you, the cut was still too fresh. Because how could you, his best friend say something so cruel to him about what you knew was a sore point for him? You knew just how it touched him to be compared to his father, yet you did it.

And you’d come back anyway.

You didn’t.

The last few days of the second term of your sixth year had gone by with the both of you silenced by your frustration and bitterness. You felt betrayed by him, even if the bet hadn’t been about you, nor had it included you in the slightest. Yet still, you thought Mattheo wouldn’t do such a thing. His regular hookups were one thing, but this? This was outright awful.

You hadn’t even said goodbye to him, nor had you sat with him on the train. Maybe you should’ve apologised for being so harsh. But it was still an open wound.

He’d write over the summer anyway, no matter how the things at the manor would be going.

He didn’t.

He’d been waiting for days in a row for an owl from you to fly through the open window, he’d checked it every damn morning for almost a week but there was no sign of you. With a sigh, he thought maybe he should be the one breaking the ice.

Dear Y/N, How are you doing? It’s been a while since we last talked. How are you? Things at the manor are the same as always, not the easiest but I manage through the days. I’m sor- I wish we could meet, life’s awfully quiet without you. I mis- Looking forward to hearing from you. Yours, Mattheo

He sat a good fifteen minutes over the parchment, just staring at it. “Bullshit,” he muttered and with a definite movement he showed the addressed letter into his desk.

Your dilemma was the same: shall you or shall you not write to Mattheo? You’d waited patiently for days but you hadn’t heard from him and this only fuelled the fire in you, it only made your mental health conditions worse, as the only person you could hold on to, the only sure point in your life was not reaching up to you. this filled you with bitterness, as well as disappointment, but what weighed most was the sense of not being enough, the thought that you weren’t important to him anymore, and how it put even more pressure on your shoulder to think he realised your baggage of several mental health issues wasn’t worth it. You felt abandoned, invalidated, even.

It was over a week when you gave i and sat down to write probably the most honest letter of your life, without the polite manners the British used.

Dear Mattheo, I’m sorry for that day. I said things I shouldn’t have, I don’t know what’s got into me when I said that. You’re not like him, I was selfish for saying so. You could never be like him. You have such a big heart, even if you don’t show it to just anyone. Yes, you can be really infuriating at times but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. In opposition, you care a lot about those close to you and it’s admirable just how you always stand up for us, even when you turn to beating people up for badmouthing me us. I must be even more selfish for saying this but I love you for that. I really don’t want to lose you over something so stupid. I’d love it if we could talk it through. Yours, always, Y/N

But you, you didn’t send it either – finding the shoebox under your bed a better place for it as it was too sappy for your liking, and knowing maybe he’d misunderstand what you meant by how you love him. You didn’t know how to take it either.

Two weeks spent in this he/she would write anyway state of mind got the two of you writing unsent letters to the other, each one more and more desperate, and revealing more. It was like writing into a journal.

Matt, I’m going completely insane. Life is so hard without you, I can’t bear it. Remember how I told you about those bad thoughts? How there’s something watching me? It won’t go away. It’s getting worse and worse, I can’t breathe. I can’t do this without you. (You’re) You were the light in my life and I can’t see anymore. I’ve never felt this numb before. Yours, Y/N

The more you wrote the more you hated yourself for being so selfish that you hadn't apologized. For ruining everything. You reminisced more about what it was like before, how you loved Mattheo, how you felt so safe with him, in his hugs, his cologne filling your nostrils as you told him your deepest secrets.

Mattheo, I’m really sorry. I wish I were stronger, I wish I fought harder, but I failed. I failed really bad. Remember when I first told you about what was going on inside my head? You didn’t abandon me, though I thought you would. You have been there for me, ever since then, and I’m really grateful. We had something special, a bond I could have only ever dreamt of. You made me feel things I had no idea I was capable of. You were my everything. But I failed you. I wish I had told you just how much I loved you, how much I needed you and cared for you, but I was a coward because hell, I was so afraid of rejection. Because how could you ever reciprocate my pathetic little feelings? You were the brightest star in my life and I'd like to remember you that way. So shiny, gorgeous, yet untouchable, too far away for a simple girl like me to ever touch. I still dread what I said to you when we last talked, about who I compared you to. If I hadn't said that, if I hadn't been too proud to apologize maybe things wouldn't have happened this way. I'm really, really sorry, for hurting you. And I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. I'm going to watch over you. I love you. Yours only, Y/N

He stands by your grave with a stack of unsent letters – one for each day of the summer break and even after. He still writes to you, you're his best friend after all, and that won't ever change just because you're gone. With a heavy heart and a suffocating lump, he places another letter on the stack, carefully wrapped around so the wind does not blow them away. He places a red rose on top of it and just as his tears begin to fall, the rain starts to pour down on your grave, soaking his clothes and the letters, but he doesn't care.

Dearest Y/N, Your funeral was beautiful. Remember how you joked about wanting 'Highway to Hell' to be played at the ceremony? I told you it would only ever happen over my dead body. Over yours, you replied, laughing. Looks like, as always, you were right. I shouldn't have played that game with you. Just how I shouldn't have made that bet, and how I shouldn't have kept all these letters in the darkness of the drawer of my desk. I still can't believe you're gone. You're gone, and with you, so is the hope that I'll ever love again. I should've told you how I loved you. How I still do, and will forever. You were my sun, my moon, all the stars in the sky for me. Damn it, you were my whole universe, and I was so lost, in you, all the time. Lost in those eyes of yours, your beautiful voice, that mesmerizing smile and the way you navigated through the life you had, wishing I'd be a part of it someday. I love you, Y/N, with all my heart, for eternity. Yours, and yours only, Matt

✰ Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend Somewhere along in the bitterness And I would have stayed up with you all night Had I known how to save a life

How to save a life How to save a life

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare @mamartinez

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 6 months ago

Text

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area.

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning.

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?”

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder.

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures.

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.” Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her.

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently.

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes.

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump.

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat.

“What’s this?”

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule.

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?”

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.”

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs.

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything.

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm.

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment.

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day.

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was.

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal.

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing.

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick.

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone.

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?”

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.”

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle.

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back.

“But prison, Agatha? Really?”

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you.

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation.

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO.

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?”

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season.

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back.

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest.

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why?

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an ocean separated you.

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.”

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening.

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening.

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day.

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest.

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes.

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed.

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind.

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha.

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes.

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?”

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning.

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper.

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin.

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late.

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions.

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away.

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before.

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared.

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses.

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked.

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…”

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met.

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage.

“Has that helped you?”

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry.

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation.

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket.

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-”

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.”

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile.

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfiction

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nanowrimo · 1 year ago

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5 Tips to Avoid Burnout as a Neurodivergent Writer

When taking on a project as big as writing a novel, you may run into the risk of burnout. NaNo Participant Joana Hill gives some tips on avoiding burnout as a neurodivergent writer.

Burnout. As writers, we all know it. For neurodivergent writers, burnout can be even more damaging than usual. We can be much more sensitive, both mentally and emotionally, than our neurotypical friends and family.

This means avoiding burnout, and taking care of it when it does happen, can be even more important for us. I’m here today to provide some tips for my fellow neurodivergent writers to tackle just that.

1. Write What Interests You

Write what interests you rather than what you think you ‘should’ be writing. Many of us get caught-up in pleasing others. For neurodivergent people who’ve spent much of their life masking, or hiding their true personality and needs because of fear of rejection, it can be a hard habit to break.

If you want to write a 50k slow burn coffee shop AU of your favorite fandom, an epic space opera starring ants, or a main character with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or any other disorder or condition you have, go for it.

2. Get A Support Network

For neurodivergent people, we’ve often lived our lives with special interests no one wants to hear us talk about. It often results in us not talking about them at all before someone can tell us they don’t want to hear about it.

Whether it’s offline with friends and family, or online here at NaNoWriMo or other sites, having people who are actively interested in listening to you and helping you plot and write can be a game-changer.

3. Celebrate As Many Victories As You Want

Many years, my personal goal is that I can get the new Pokemon game, which always comes out around the middle of November now, once I hit 50k. But you don’t need just one grand goal.

Get a bag of your favorite candy and say you can have a piece every so many words. Find something on Amazon you want (and can afford to get!) and say you’ll get it once you hit the halfway point. Whatever motivates you to keep going, set it into motion.

4. Plan For Flexibility

That may sound like an oxymoron, but hear me out. Neurodivergent people often love to have a plan. I know I can get frustrated and upset when I’m expecting something to happen and something different does. For a big goal like writing a novel in a month, a lot of things can end up going wrong.

Carry a notebook and pen or tablet with a keyboard case in case an errand takes longer than expected. Back your writing up to several places in case your main writing device crashes. Make sure at least one of those is a cloud service in case you end up writing on a device that isn’t yours. The more contingency plans you have, the better prepared you are when life happens.

5. Be Kind To Yourself

Some days you may not get the minimum goal, or you might not write at all. You may feel like you just can’t do it because you’re behind on your word count, or you decide you don’t like what you’ve written.

I get it. But don’t beat yourself up about it. Take a break. Play your favorite game or read your favorite book. Go for a walk. And remember that you’re awesome. No one can write this story like you can.

Joana Hill is a writer of young adult stories, as well as novellas inspired by Japanese light novels and anime. You can find her books, social media, and anything else you could imagine wanting to know about her on her LinkTree. Photo by Andrea Piacquadio

#nanowrimo #writing #writing advice #self-care #neurodivergent writers #writer's life #by nano guest #joana hill

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ctrlsht · 1 year ago

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Fragment of the Past 02

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: after finding out that Jungkook is responsible for his own mother’s death, you decided to terminate him as your patient but Jungkook didn’t agree with that idea and pulled his cards against you.

chapter warnings: fraternity, hazing, blackmailing, ASPD, unstable mental health of mc, disturbing thoughts of JK word count: 8.8K

parts: (1) | (2)

note: this fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

As the words tumbled from his lips, confessing the heinous act, his expression transformed into something disturbingly demonic. In that moment, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was no longer the person you knew, or perhaps that was just the chilling façade he was revealing.

“You’re the one who did it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is that what you believe, Dr. Y/N?” He tilted his head trying to prevent himself from grinning.

“You do know that it’s a grave offense, right?”

“Is it?” He smirked before he poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Jungkook is messing around like he just didn’t confess his crime, like it was just a big joke for him.

“Are you aware of the consequences of your actions?”

He didn’t respond and just continued staring at you while he smiled devilishly. You weren’t prepared in this scenario because in your years of your career, you haven’t encountered a situation like this. Guess it will be added to your experience.

After a few moments, he looked at his wrist watch and returned his gaze at you.

“Oh no, we have already exceeded our normal session hours, Doc. We can just continue this for our next meeting, or do you consider my offer to you?”

“Jungkook, this is a serious matter. We have to talk about it.” You spoke with hardness in your tone.

“You still have your next patient, doc. Huh Yunjin, right? Diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder. It’s unfortunate that even though she has everything, she still suffers from depression. But I think it's all because of his useless and abusive boyfriend who keeps messing with her mental health. What a shame. Her work may be perfect but for her boyfriend, it was trash.” you were taken aback with his statement. He shook his head as he clicked his tongue.

“How did you know that?” You outburst as you stand up. He also stood up and walked towards the door. “Jungkook, I’m not done talking to you.” At this point, you were still containing yourself from being angry but you just can’t help yourself.

“I’ll just see you next week, Dr. Y/N.” It’s his last statement before he twists the doorknob and steps out of your office leaving you dumbfounded.

You didn’t expect the outcome of this session and most especially, you don’t know how you will react with the information that he just said. From how he was the culprit of his own mother’s murder to how he knew about Yunjin’s boyfriend because as far as you know, you’re the only one that she trusts regarding her situation with her boyfriend unless he knew Yunjin’s boyfriend personally.

You’re still at your position when Jungkook leaves you for a long moment until Soyeon knocks on your door informing you of the arrival of your next patient. You don’t know if you can still handle a new session after him but you cannot cancel the session in this late notice.

“Tell Yunjin to give me a minute before she enters. We’ll start in 10 minutes.” You instructed Soyeon before you composed yourself. You don’t know how to face Yunjin with your condition but you don’t have a choice. You will just see how it goes.

—

You’re standing 5 feet away from an old house on the edge of town, all by itself. It’s surrounded by overgrown grass that hasn’t been cut for probably a year or two and there are no neighbors around. It looks like it was abandoned but you’re sure that there is someone living here. Mr. Jeon, Jungkook’s father should be here.

You were observing the house for a couple of minutes before you decided to knock on the door and find out if there is someone inside.

“Hello? Is anybody here? Mr. Jeon?” You call out while you’re knocking but no one is answering. You’ve been knocking and calling for a lot of times already but there’s really no one answering. You take a few steps backwards and look at the whole exterior of the house. This is where Jungkook once lived along with his parents and this is where the crime scene happens.

You take a deep breath before you decide to turn around to leave. Maybe Mr. Jeon isn’t around.

As you take a few steps towards your car, you suddenly hear a door open. You immediately turn around, and from where you are, you see Mr. Jeon standing beside his door with a cigarette in his mouth. You didn't expect him to appear in such shabby attire. Perhaps Jungkook truly despised his father to the extent of letting him live like this.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” You give him a smile and walk towards him.

“Who are you?” He asked as he inhaled his cigarette.

“I am Y/F/N, a psychiatrist and I am handling your son, Jungkook.” You introduce yourself and extend your hand to give him a handshake but he only stares at it so you take your hands back.

“What do you mean? Has that bastard become crazy already? Actually, he did lose his mind years ago.”

“No, Mr. Jeon. Your son suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder after the incident that happened to your wife. I am here to ask a few questions about him to help him recover with his disorder, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows before he blew smoke from his mouth.

“Post-traumatic what? What kind of bullshit do my son is pulling? What, he had the audacity to be traumatic after he killed his own mother?”

His father knew. But how come he didn’t ask for his statement? Or did you overlook it?

“Do you believe that your son killed your wife? What are your reasons? Why didn’t you say anything about it?” You didn’t know that you’re already asking multiple questions because of how desperate you want to know the answer. Mr. Jeon only looked at you as his response and after a few moments, he smirked and inhaled from his cigarette.

“You act more like a detective rather than a psychiatrist, Y/N.” He blew a smoke before he continued. “Come in. Let's discuss your questions inside. It’s already getting cold and you wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

The house doesn’t seem like a home. It only looks like a place where a person has to stay for them to be sheltered. Inside, vintage furniture fills the rooms, and faded wallpaper lines the walls. In the dimly lit living room, a faded armchair sagged, its upholstery torn and revealing the stuffing beneath. Only a few personal items adorn the space but you haven’t seen any family photo frame.

Mr. Jeon lets you sit on a single couch, you haven’t touched the upholstery yet you already know that this hasn’t been cleaned in ages. But you didn’t mind because you’re here not to be comfortable.

“I’m sorry, I can’t offer you anything. It’s only me in here and you show up unannounced so I didn’t prepare anything.” You immediately shook your head with what he said.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m just here for a few questions. I apologize for showing up unannounced.”

He lit a new stick of cigarette and blew a smoke before returning his gaze to you.

“So, what do you want to know?”

You have a lot of questions that you want to be answered but you have to pick the most important one before you proceed with the others.

“How is Jeon Jungkook as your son?” He didn’t answer right away. He just stares at you as if his answers are in your eyes. Or perhaps, he’s just thinking the right answer to say.

“Well… Jungkook is a smart kid. He has a passion for photography which I find a waste of time. But look at him now. He managed to build a studio and become successful.” He smiled like a proud father but it only lasted for a second before he was back with his seriousness. “I don’t know how you see him but there is a high possibility that he just built a personality that he wants you to see. You cannot trust him especially with what he says because most of them aren't true.”

“Can you be more specific with your statement about him? Maybe, give a few examples on how you can justify what you just said.” You slowly grab your phone inside your bag and instantly open the voice record and hit the record button before you return your attention back to him.

“It’s complicated to explain and elaborate because even I cannot understand him. All I know is that he’s a dangerous man.”

Just like what he said about his son, you should not trust him as well, especially now that he doesn’t even have any evidence to justify his statements.

“You’ve mentioned that he was the one who killed your wife. Do you have any proof to prove that?” You asked him and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t, but I am positive that he’s the one who did it. I knew my son so well.”

All his statements don't have concrete evidence and all pure accusations. Maybe that’s why he didn’t raise his accusations to the higher position because it wasn’t supported with anything. But you still ask, anyway.

“Did you try reporting it to the police?”

"Yes, I did. But did you know they do? They showed a lot of interest in my statement about him and assured me they would stay in touch. But, after the following day, I didn't hear anything from them anymore. They didn't reach out, and when I approached them, they said that the case had been resolved and my statements weren't sufficient to prove anything."

Based on his story, if you’re the investigator of the case, you wouldn’t think much about his report because like what’s happening right now, his claims support nothing. But you knew better because Jungkook already admitted it to you.

“If Jungkook really did it, what may be the reasons?”

“There are a lot but the major reason is he’s a psychopath.”

That's a serious accusation from a father against his son. However, you must allow him to explain because, no matter what, he knows Jungkook better than you do.

“I admit that me and my wife aren't the perfect parents for him. There are problems that we always argue about, like work problems and we also have a trust issue with one another, and he doesn’t deserve that. We try to separate our problems as husband and wife to him but every time we try to reach him out, it’s like he doesn’t want to be reached out. When he turned high school, that’s when I started to notice the major changes in him. He was always angry and he doesn’t treat us as his parents anymore. We’ve tried to talk to him but it only gets worse.”

He takes a long pause as he remembers everything that he’s talking about. He tapped the ashes into the ashtray and inhaled another smoke before he continued.

“The principal of his school wants to talk to us about our son but the message wasn’t sent to us because he finds a way for us not to know. We only knew when his teacher visited us here and we found out that he’s involved in an illegal fraternity. One of the initiations rites at his fraternity is making the people suffer before they officially become a member. He killed a lot during the initiation rites and he didn't look like he was bothered. He was still a minor at that time so he didn’t go to jail. I was relieved but right now, I wish that he just went to prison.”

His cheeks flushed, and his eyes glistened with the threat of tears. He’s looking away and he took a deep breath without making it obvious. He tossed the cigarette butt on the ashtray beside him and returned his gaze to you.

“I was patient with him but he’s too much. I let him be, we let him be. But when things get harder, that’s how I realized that he has no hopes. We’ve lost our wealth and he was on the peak of his success. We tried to ask for help but he just threw us out like we weren’t even his parents. And when he killed my wife, I completely disowned him.”

—

You’re back at home after visiting Jungkook’s father and you keep on repeating the recording you had during the conversation. You believe in the story that Mr. Jeon has told you because of two things; first, he doesn’t look like he’s lying while telling his story and second, there are certain things he said that connect to how Jungkook describes him as a father.

“He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

Maybe the reason why they lost their wealth is because he’s a gambler. And he and his wife have trust issues because he’s cheating on her.

“He only wants money from me.”

Mr. Jeon mentioned that he asked for the help of Jungkook after they lost their wealth.

You have already got the perspective of both sides and Jungkook’s relationship with his parents has a big impact on who he is now.

You were in the middle of your business when your phone rang, and when you saw the caller’s ID, your heart raced, thudding against your chest. You didn’t move and you just stare at your phone contemplating whether you will answer or not.

After a moment, the ring stops and when you think that you’re already safe when it rings again. Your hands shake as you pick up your phone and slide the answer button.

“Good evening Dr. Y/N! How are you?”

Jungkook greet in his usual energetic voice.

“Jungkook, it’s already late. Do you need anything?” You ask in your low voice, hiding your nervousness.

“I just want to check up on my favorite therapist after I left her last time.” his chuckles erupted at the most unsettling moment.

“You walked out even though we’re not done talking. We can continue our discussion in our next session.”

“You surprised me, Doc. I thought that after our conversation, you'd go straight up to the police, but you did not. Instead, you chose to run to my father.” His words are sinister to your ears. Your heart is beating rapidly as you try to stay composed. The reason why he knew that, you don’t know. You want to ask but there are no words coming out of your mouth.

“Have you eaten your dinner?” he asked after a long pause.

“I already did.” You lied.

“But I haven't. You promise me that you’ll come with me for dinner, Dr. Y/N. It’s a perfect time for you to fulfill your promise.”

“Jungkook, I’m sorry but I really can’t. I have a lot of things to do.”

“Tsk Tsk. Your excuse is already overused, Doc. Do you have other excuses?” He laughed once again and continued. “But I won’t force you anymore. I’ll just see you on Tuesday. Goodnight, Dr. Y/N”

—

You were occupied through the following days already, thinking about Jungkook’s case. You’ve been trying to connect the dots by communicating with the people behind this case but unfortunately, no one is useful. You have to do it yourself and the progress was so slow that you’re about to give up.

You got more important things to do but you left them behind for this and it’s not healthy anymore. You aren't a detective but a psychiatrist. Not a lawyer but a successful book author, therefore, you should stop this madness and go back to your track.

Tuesday came and you should have a lot of patience to attend to and things to get done with but you cleared your schedule out just for the person who’s not worth your time.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Y/N. You look so stressed out. What have you been up to lately?” Jungkook said as he entered inside your office. He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes when he visited your clinic for a session, on the contrary, he’s wearing the clothes that you used to see during your photoshoot with him. A casual long sleeve polo paired with tight black pants.

He doesn’t look like a murderer. He’s very charismatic and no one will know what’s behind his mask.

“I bought you a salad and orange juice to boost your productivity for today.” He places the paper bag that he’s holding on the top of your office table.

He acted like everything was normal and fine but deep down, you were terrified.

You let him settle down on the couch in front of you before you spoke.

“Jungkook, we have to talk about everything. This is a very serious matter. I want to understand you as your doctor and choose what’s best for you.” You started before you pressed the record button on your phone and placed it on the top of your table. Jungkook glanced at it but he returned his gaze to you.

“Are you the one responsible for your mother’s death?” You don’t want to ask it immediately but you’re itching to know the truth.

He chuckled as he caressed his lips before he crossed his legs.

“I didn’t know that you’re also a detective, Dr. Y/N. Did you also ask that to my father?”

“Jungkook, I’m serious right now. Please, cooperate.”

You were waiting for his response but it didn’t come. The whole room became deadly silent and Jungkook continued to play with his lips, looking at you with intensity.

You only have 5 more sessions to go before the psychotherapy treatment will come to an end, but you don’t think that you can attend more sessions with him anymore.

“I’m not stupid as you think, Y/N.” He finally speaks out, without addressing your title. You only heard him twice calling you without your title, during the photoshoot and now.

“After I tell my heart-dying story about what happened, you won’t waste any second to go to the police and surrender the recording you had with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm as your lips quivered, betraying the anxiety building within.

“What do you mean?” You try your best not to stutter as your words come out in fragments as your nervousness is disrupted.

“Oh, you know what I mean, Y/N. Don’t play dumb.” He intertwined both of his fingers and wiggle his ankle while his legs were crossed. His stares swivel from you to the phone that’s placed at your table.

You didn’t move, afraid of what’s going to happen next. He slowly stood up from his seat and took a step near your chest drawer, looking at the different licenses, certificates and achievements that were placed on the top.

“You become so successful within four years of your career while others take decades of their life to be where you are right now.” He caresses some of the frames standing. You didn’t move, nor say anything, letting him speak. “Are you proud of what you become, Dr. Y/N?” He turned his head towards you and you tried not to show any weakness to him.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You answer with a low voice.

“If you want to keep that way, then you should keep out of my business.” He smiled so sweetly, like he just didn’t say something to threaten you.

He took a step towards the door and opened it but before he stepped out, you spoke.

“No matter how fast and long you run, the truth will eventually come to you, Jungkook.”

—

"Can you believe how surprised I was when I read your message, inviting me for a drink?" You chuckled at what Taehyung said as he continued to drive to your destination. "It's such a rare occurrence, and I thought I must have read it wrong. But, damn, it's like a once-in-a-blue-moon moment when you're the first one to invite me for a drink!"

“Yeah, congrats to you.”

Taehyung was right about you inviting him to go out for a drink. You don't usually do that, and most of the time, he's the one who invites you. You're used to being alone and doing things by yourself, so you don't often think of inviting him. But right now, everything is fucking you up, and you can't be alone with your thoughts because you might end up losing your mind.

You didn’t show any signs of your problems to him. You act like everything is fine and you just miss him. You don’t want to make him overthink. Just like you, he also has a lot on his plate.

You ask him to have a drink with you in Itaewon where everyone goes at this hour. It’s friday and it’s a perfect time to chill with someone you’re very familiar with.

The night is lit up with neon streets in different colors, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air. Everyone is having fun as if the city itself was a living as well. There are a lot of pubs and bars beside each other but you chose where it wasn't so rowdy.

“Will people recognize you?” You ask him as you sip on your beer.

“Nah, and if they do, so what?” He spoke a little loud as the music became louder as well.

“Do you mind when you’re out and people recognize you, asking to take a pic?” The crowd is getting louder along with the music so you have no choice but to speak louder as well.

“I don’t mind. I’m cool with it.”

You did talk to him about his life and when the night went deeper, the crowd was becoming wilder as well. People started to recognize Taehyung and ask for a quick photo. You can’t help but smile whenever he interacts with people with so much energy and happiness. This is what he wants ever since high school, for people to recognize him and his music. Music is Taehyung’s language.

After a few moments, Taehyung joins the crowd and dances along with the ocean of people. He asked you to join him several times but you refused, content with your position right now. You just watch him become the center of attention inside the bar you’re in.

You’re not a fan of parties and nightlife but right now, you embrace the music and the alcohol that’s influencing you right now.

You were suddenly startled when a subtle but distinct crept up your spine, an unshakable sense that someone's eyes were fixed upon you. You tried to look around to find if someone’s looking at you but you found nothing. You’re about to brush it away when a familiar figure is standing 10 feet away from you. A pair of eyes bore into you, a gaze so penetrating it felt like a laser, igniting a trail of fire across your skin. The music and the crowd faded in the background and your eyes are fixed at the person while your heartbeat increases rapidly. A person blocked his view and when you tried to find him again, he wasn’t there anymore.

You don’t know if you’re hallucinating or Jeon Jungkook is really around.

—

You will terminate Jeon Jungkook as your patient. You have to terminate him.

You have your reasons for you to terminate him and as far as you see it, they were valid. Since he first stepped into your office, there is something about him that you couldn’t understand. You’ve been brushing off that feeling multiple times already and now, you should have trusted your instincts.

Jeon Jungkook isn’t a victim. He was the one who killed his own mother at their own house. You don’t have a concrete reason why he did it but you’re sure that it’s about their relationship as a son and mother. Based on the two-sided perspective, Jeon Jungkook is capable of killing someone without showing any remorse.

He pretended to have experienced trauma solely for his own benefit. His condition isn't post-traumatic stress disorder; instead, it's characterized by antisocial personality disorder, which is evident in his absence of empathy, aggressive and criminal conduct, and a background of lying and deception. Similar to those with ASPD, Jungkook possesses charisma, attractiveness, and above-average intelligence.

You can help him. You really can, but you were also affected by his condition. He crossed the boundary between a doctor and patient several times and you couldn’t tolerate that. If you’re going to keep him, there might be worse that can happen not only to him, but to you as well.

You still have 4 more sessions before the final session comes to an end but you cannot wait for that day to arrive. When Tuesday comes, you must inform him already. So you are sitting at your swivel chair while he’s seated at the black couch in front of you when you finally say it without any hesitation. You want this to be done already.

“We can no longer continue your remaining sessions, Jungkook.” You started without stuttering. You try to stay calm and strengthen your mentality before you continue. “There are several reasons but on the top of all, you’re not improving with your mental state.”

His arms are on the top of the arm-rest while his fingers are intertwined. His legs are crossed as he wiggles his ankle while he’s staring at you with so much intensity like he’s looking at your soul.

He’s not responding so you continue to your list of reasons why he’s being terminated.

“I also diagnose you incorrectly but I can still refer you to other doctors that can help you start up. I’m really sorry for failing you, Jungkook but it's best if you can see a new doctor to help you with your mental state.”

Of course, that’s not only the reason but you chose not to go further, afraid that you might trigger him.

After a few moments, he leaned forward, not removing his intense gaze away from you. You know that this won’t be easy but you must proceed with it.

“Is that really the reason, Dr. Y/N?” He slowly stands up from his seat and takes a step towards your countertop beside the chest drawers. From there, he looked at the instant coffee sachets, coffee grounds and a coffee maker before he took a mug and placed it in front of him. “I would appreciate it if you tell me the real reasons.”

You didn’t respond immediately as you watched him make a cup of coffee using the mug that you always use. When he’s done, he turns around to face you and takes a sip of his coffee.

“What’s taking you so long to answer?” He said after he sips his coffee.

“That. What you’re doing right now is one of the reasons why we cannot proceed with the remaining session.” He wants to play like this? You will give him what he wants. “You cannot touch my things without my permission, Jungkook. Remember, I am your doctor, not a colleague. You should know what the boundary is.”

“Oh? You will dump me just because I made a cup of coffee without your permission?” He raised his brow, as he smirked with the sarcastic undertone of his statement.

“You’ve been threatening me, multiple times. You’re making it difficult to maintain a professional relationship between the two of us. You know that to yourself, Jungkook. Don’t make me state every reason why because I want to keep my professionalism towards you.” You try to compose your tone but there’s still a hint of irritation.

He rests his hands on the top of the counter and sip from his coffee.

“Uh huh. But what if I refuse?”

“You don’t have a choice. That’s my decision and it’s legal.” A mocking smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if you were the punchline of a cruel joke.

He releases another soft chuckle before he gets his phone from his pocket and scrolls down. Your eyes widened in horror as a shiver ran down your spine. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and waves of fear washed over you when he played a voice record coming from his phone.

“I started hiding my painting from Louie but he managed to find out about it and he kept telling me to stop painting again. He said that they were trash and I should just focus on my academics.”

“That’s unfortunate. You don’t deserve that, Yunjin. Your boyfriend kept on messing up your mental state. I’ve been telling you to break up with him.”

“I can’t because I love him—

“Where did you get that?!” You instantly stood from your seat. He looked at his phone and scrolled once again before he played another voice record.

“He’s been stalking me, doc. He’s just finding the perfect time to kill me.”

“Mr. Park, you have tons of your bodyguards around you. He doesn’t have a chance to—

“Give me that!” Your eyes blazed with fury, as your voice erupted, a thunderous roar that reverberated through the room. You tried to snatch the phone away from him but he was too tall for you to reach.

“Will you think twice about your decision when I decided to upload your illegal voice recordings with your patients on the internet?” His voice dripped with mockery as he grins.

“Those are not illegal because I asked for their permission to be recorded.” You respond in your stone voice. He smirked once again before he played another voice record.

“How are you, Jungkook? Did you sleep well last night?”

“I did, doc. I even sleep so early. Thanks to the medicine that you prescribed me because it helps.”

“As far as I remember, you didn’t ask my permission to be recorded.” He smiles mockingly before he puts down the cup of coffee that he’s holding on the countertop.

“I can already see the headline for these voice recordings. Bestselling author and psychiatrist who records their patient without consent. That’s going to be number one on social media and in front of the newspaper.” He returned his phone in his pocket and took the coffee to sip from it.

“Where did you get that?” You asked as you clench your jaw.

“It doesn’t matter, Dr. Y/N. What matters most is the backlash you will get when I decide to upload these online. With how you quickly reach the top, that also determines how quickly you will fall down.” He smirks.

Your eyes bore into him with such intensity, a storm of anger raging just beneath the surface. Your anger has reached its boiling point and any moment now, the tears forming on your eyes will flow over your cheek.

“What do you want?” You ask with your teeth. His gaze softens as he pouts.

“Come on, Doc. Don’t be so upset at me.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Your voice was raising again as your right hand balls into a fist. “You stole my recordings and you are threatening me now!”

“You’re dumping me. I have to do something.”

You take a step backward without removing your gaze from him. “What do you want?”

“It’s nothing big, Doc. You wouldn’t have a hard time.” His gaze softens before he continues. “I just want to continue our sessions. That’s it.”

“For what? I didn’t see any progress from you. Your condition might worsen.” You cannot be in this room with him for another session. He’s too much. “I will refer you to another psychotherapist who is much better where you’re going to recover.”

He shakes his head. “You were wrong. I do make progress, Dr. Y/N, and I would like to completely recover with your help. Besides, there are no ‘much better’ doctors beside you. I want you for me.”

You didn’t respond and continue to stare at him, hoping to see any sympathy or even a change of mind, but you only see a demonic who’s in the body of a human.

“Okay. But when the 12 sessions with you are completed, that’s it. Our business will end there.” Jungkook smiled devilishly and took the last sip of the coffee before he nodded.

“That’s all I want, Doc. To complete our session so I can get better and nothing else.”

—

You can’t believe that Jungkook has something to hold against you. Everything happens so fast and you didn’t know why it had to come to this. You’ve tried to make him speak up on how he got the recordings but he never did, instead, he keeps on blackmailing you about what might happen when he uploads it online.

“I wonder how your other patients will react when they find out that you recorded their most vulnerable moment. Will you ever get someone to trust you after that?”

You’ve tried to imagine what’s going to happen if he really uploaded it online. You can just simply tell the truth that you record your patient because it helps you to create a better book that will help a thousand people as well. That’s the truth, anyway. You can just accept your mistakes and move on.

But that’s not the case. Even if you kneel down just for the people to forgive you, that won’t change anything. Your name will be ruined and you might lose your license for violating the patient’s privacy and confidentiality. The worse thing is, everyone will hear the recordings you took and you can be subject to criminal charges.

Yes, you can blame everything on Jungkook but you know better. He got away from killing his own mother and he can also get away with this. You don’t know how powerful he can be.

You don’t know how to handle this. It’s so heavy that you can’t proceed with your daily routine. From waking up until you go to bed, that’s the only thing that keeps running to your head and it’s getting out of hand.

You don’t know if Jungkook can be trusted that he won’t upload it online if you continue with the remaining sessions or he will betray you at the end. You cannot hold onto his promises. You have to do something before he completely ruins your reputation.

“Your clinic became my second home at this point, Doc. It’s so comfortable already that I can practically sleep here.” Jungkook transfers from the single couch to the bigger one and lays down and uses his palms as a pillow.

“How are we supposed to start with our session when you’re lying down?” You rolled your eyes and dropped the folder that you’re holding to the table.

“We can still have a conversation even if I’m in this position. It’s not like I’ll be muted if I lay down.” He responded without moving from his position. You rolled your eyes once again before you face your desktop and pretend that you’re busy with something. It’s hard to deal with a patient when you’re irritated with them.

You glance at him when you hear him laugh. He was laughing while he sat up from laying down. “You look so cute when you’re angry, Dr. Y/N. It’s a rare moment. Or this is really how you feel deep inside when you’re facing your patients.”

“Am I supposed to smile and clap my hands while you’re blackmailing me? You can’t even settle down properly to begin our session.” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“And you’re being sarcastic too! How adorable.” He laughs, matching his grin as he returns to his original seat. He placed his arm on the arm rest before he spread his legs, looking at you with a smirk on his lips. “I just want to push the buttons and see who Dr. Y/F/N really is.”

You sip on your coffee and open the folder once again, trying to relax while staring at the folder. After a few moments, you take a deep breath and return your gaze to the monster in front of you.

“I’ll prescribe you with another medicine, although you can continue to take the medicines you have right now.” You said and listed down the prescription for him.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll take note of that. And thank you for accepting me once again. I really appreciate it so much.” He’s back with his sweet voice which you would be glad not to hear again. You’d prefer his demonic voice because you know that it’s his true nature.

“No problem. As if I have a choice, right?” He chuckled and proceeded with his habit of playing with his lips.

“Come on, Doc. You’re really helping me to recover. That’s really what I wanted because you’re so good with what you do.”

“Uh huh.” You said while flipping the pages from the folder. “If that’s what you believe. So, do you want to talk about something that happened recently? What might be the reason why you think that you’re getting better?”

“There are a lot of good things that’s happening to me lately,” which you don’t deserve. “I have new investors for the growth of my business. It’s going to be a corporation. And I’m here, sitting on this couch in front of you.”

“That’s good for you.” You said, trying not to sound sarcastic. “How do you feel when you tell me who’s really responsible for your mother’s death?”

“That’s an excellent question, Doc.” He leaned forward before he continued. “I feel relief because I don’t need to fake my traumas, nightmares and anxiety because my mother died. I can finally celebrate it with you.” A twisted grin crept across his lips, eyes sparkled with a sinister delight.

A shiver ran down your spine, and goosebumps erupted on your arms. But you still manage to take note of his statements.

“I also plan on bringing my father along with my mother but I’ll save that for later. I’ll let my father live even though his life is useless. His existence only adds pollution to the earth, don’t you think? You’ve met him already.” A wave of nausea washed over you, as your skin turned clammy and cold. You can’t believe that he just told you his plan to kill his father like it was a normal thing he does.

“Jungkook, that is inhumane. You can’t talk about that during our sessions. Our goal here is to get your life back on track, not to plan on killing your father. You know that I can report you, right?” You lowered your voice in a softer way where Jungkook can feel that you’re really concerned with him.

“Come on, Doc. You’re so boring! And I know that you can’t do that because you’re putting your life on a pedestal.” He grins.

“You said that you wanted to recover so you want these sessions to continue, instead, you’re doing the opposite. You kept on blackmailing me and telling me your desires to kill your father.”

“You’re the one who said that you didn’t see any progress with me, so maybe, it’s better to talk about other things rather than talking about bullshit that only triggers me to do something worse.” His voice raises and his face remains completely lacking emotion while his gaze is penetrating that it feels as if he’s peering into your soul.

You froze on your seat as your body language reflected the overwhelming impact of what he just said.

“I am a psychiatrist and psychotherapist and my job is to help my patients with their problems and situations and not to tolerate their wrong behavior.” You close the folder that you’re holding and place it back on your table before you continue. “We’re not being productive here, Jungkook. As mentioned earlier, I would be delighted to connect you with one of my highly skilled colleagues who can assist you in making progress.”

He shook his head and he even used his finger movement to indicate that he disagreed. “No. We’re not going to do that.”

“Why?” You said, almost losing your control.

“Because I want you, Doc. You’re the only one I wanted.”

—

The remaining 3 sessions with him were all the same; very unproductive and a waste of time. He kept on pushing to talk about his desire to kill his father and topics you never want to talk about. He insisted on discussing his desire to harm his father and other topics you'd rather avoid. He continued to blackmail you, leaving you with no choice but to wait until the final session ended. You allowed him to talk about whatever he pleased while you sat there, pretending to listen. You try your best to give him proper therapy but he was the one who kept pushing away the help that you give. It may sound tolerable but god knows how horrible you feel with every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

“Nowadays, everyone seems so pathetic. I can't grasp why they constantly attempt to alter society, as if our lives are like a movie capable of transforming the entire universe in a single snap. They should learn to deal with it and adapt to what's happening instead of wasting their effort on making changes while acting like hypocrites themselves.”

“Individuals remain consistent throughout their lives. Scientific evidence indicates that our genetic imprints predefine our existence, our personality, and our decisions. If you're born stupid, you'll continue to live with your stupidity, and it will remain until the end of your life.”

During some of your sessions, you can’t help but to argue with him on how he sees things versus how you see them. You tried to let him understand that life is more than just existing. There is something that he hasn’t seen yet, but he was already the one who refuses to change.

If your life is not in danger because of him, you will risk everything just to help him recover and change his perspective in life. But that’s not your case because you’re trapped in the palm of his hands.

It's the last Tuesday of the month, marking the arrival of the final session with him. You've been anxious the whole day, eagerly waiting for it to end. The hours have felt agonizingly long, but you remind yourself that it's the last day, and you need to endure it just a little longer.

“Our deal is off. We’ve completed the remaining session.” You remind him before he steps out of your clinic. “Keep your promise, Jungkook.”

“Days are running fast, I didn’t even notice that it’s the last Tuesday of the month.” He smirked and twisted the doorknob. “See you again soon, Dr. Y/N.”

It’s done. You’ve managed to push him away, but you can’t stop thinking that he still has something against you. He promised that after the final session, he’s done with you but you can’t hold onto that because he’s Jeon Jungkook and dealing with him isn't as easy as you think.

And you were right, because one week hasn’t passed and Jeon Jungkook is already inside your office unannounced.

“What are you doing here?” You spoke with the hint of anger in your voice. “Aren’t we finished with our business?” Jungkook maintained a smirk on his lips as he sat on the black couch.

“Why? Can’t I visit my favorite doctor?” He spread his legs, his eyes met yours in a sultry, lingering glance and a playful smile graced his lips.

“Jungkook, we have no business here. I have tons of things to do, so, if you still have a conscience left, please, leave already." You remove your reading glass and throw it on your table.

He licked his lips and tilted his head before he responded. “As far as I know, patients can request additional sessions with their therapist, and that’s why I am here. So technically, I still have business with you.”

You grimaced, deep furrowed formed on your forehead as your anger intensified. A sly smirk of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow in a mocking arch. “You look upset.” He pouted in a mocking way. “It’s too obvious how you hate that idea, Doc.”

“We had a deal, Jungkook. Stick with our deal.” You said with a clenching jaw.

“Yes, it’s still ongoing. We have to finish our sessions and we’re done.”

“We are done. We’ve completed your 12 sessions.”

“But I asked for another session and it’s legal. Therefore, our deal is still ongoing.”

Your hands were shaking while you breathed heavily as if you’re out of air. You want to stand up from your seat and pounce on him. You want to struggle him until he’s out of breath. You wanted to hurt him so badly for you to calm down but you kept your composure, concealing the simmering anger that threatened to erupt.

“You said that you’ll leave me alone after our deal.” Your words were delivered with restraint.

“That’s true, but I asked for another session, so our business is not yet done.” He smirked.

“Get out!” You can’t control it anymore. It’s too much. He’s too much.

“Oh. You’re kicking a patient out?” He laughs and he gets something in his pocket. “How would people react if they found out that the psychiatrist and a best-selling author that they are looking up, is kicking a patient out.” He faces his phone for you to see that he’s recording the conversation.

Your mind raced like a hurricane, breath came in short, shallow gasps as your hands can't stop trembling.

“Why are you doing this to… me?” Your voice caught up your throat, and choked sobs filled the room as you began to let your tears flow from your eyes.

He stood up from his seat as he slowly took a step towards you, putting both of his hands on the platform of your table, leaning towards you. He looks at your eyes with so much intensity that he can practically read your mind.

“I’ve told you already. I just want to continue our sessions until I recover. Is that too much to ask?” He whispers as he pierce his eyes on you. He lifts up his right arm, slowly wiping the tears from your cheeks using the back of his fingers. “Weakness doesn’t suit you, Y/N. So I suggest that you stop with your tears.”

—

If you can only bring back the time where Atty. Kim Namjoon asked you to take Jeon Jungkook as a patient, you’d immediately refuse. If only you knew what kind of a living hell that you will live when you work with him, you would never wish to see him standing in front of you from the first time.

You know that your life won’t be easy when you enter the industry that you are in right now. Life will put you on a test and see if you will survive. You in fact did, not knowing that you haven't even experienced half of what you're going through now in the hands of Jungkook.

You thought that Jungkook was already at his worst, but little did you know that he could deteriorate even further.

His weekly ‘sessions’ became almost every four days. His supposed 90-minute session stretched into a painful 2 hours, and that went on and on. You don’t know when he’ll stop with his madness.

You tried to convince him to stop, but every time you do it, he will always pull his card against you. It’s too much that you can’t take it any longer. You’re getting tired already and it’s consuming you. You’ve already reached the point where you think that what he’s doing to you right now is much worse than what you’d experience if he were to post the recordings you took in public.

If he can’t be convinced to stop, then you have to do something that will make him stop. You have to take action because if you let him continue to tie you up, you will no longer escape.

You put your both hands inside the pocket of the coat that you’re wearing right now. It’s getting colder because winter is just around the corner.

Jongno Police Station

The police station stood tall with a large reflective window that had a sense of transparency and modernity. There are people that passed by and police officers standing outside the glass door with cigarettes in their mouth.

You took a deep breath before you took a step towards the entrance.

“Hello, may I talk to detective Jung?” You speak to the male receptionist as you enter the station.

“For what reason?”

“I just have to report something about the case he’s handling. I am Y/F/N and a psychiatrist.” You gave him your ID and when he looked at it, he kept on shifting his gaze to you and to the ID.

“Wait for a while. I’ll call detective Jung.”

You sit in the waiting area as you wait for the person you’re looking for. The receptionist is on a call and you notice that he keeps on glancing at you while he speaks with detective Jung, as you guess.

When you saw detective Jung approaching you, wearing a denim black jacket with his ID, you stood up to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Detective Jung. I apologize for showing up unannounced but I just have to talk to you about something.” You greet as you extend your hand.

He shook your hand as he smiled so wide, like a ball of sunshine.

“That’s okay. Come, let's talk inside.”

Detective Jung's office was a place for investigating, featuring a comfy leather chair and a sturdy oak desk in the middle. The walls showed years of hard work with awards, old news articles about big cases, and a bulletin board filled with clues and suspects.

He was the one who handled Jungkook’s case, and he’s with Atty. Kim Namjoon when they bring Jungkook to your clinic, asking for you to take him as a patient.

A decision you wish you never made.

“So, what brings you here?” Detective Jung asks you when you already settled down on his leather couches.

“I’ll go straight to the point, Sir. I’d like to talk about Jeon Jungkook, the one you want me to handle as a patient, do you remember?” Detective Jung smiles before nodding so you continue. “He’s responsible for his mother’s death.”

You explained thoroughly on how it happened and he carefully listened to you. It's the first time you’ve talked to anyone regarding this manner and it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulder. You wanted to burst out when you explained to him about your situation but you strengthened yourself and went further.

Telling him gave you a sense of relief because you never expect that you’d come to this, reporting him. You know that the situation may escalate when Jungkook finds out that you’ve reported him but you don’t care anymore. What he’s doing to you is worse than the backlash you’ll experience if the recordings went public. There is nothing worse than dealing with him.

You ask for a restraining order against Jungkook and Detective Jung assures that Jungkook will pay for his crime.

You wanted to cry. You should’ve reported him a long time ago but you were overtaken by fear. You were scared of what could happen to you when Jungkook decided to carry out his threat but you can’t live your life with fear forever.

There are several ways that you can do if the recordings go public. Ask for the help of a security specialist, confront your patients regarding the situation and even report Jungkook with what he did.

You should focus on eliminating Jeon Jungkook in your life now, and deal with the consequences later.

You’ve strengthened yourself with the situation that can happen. Asking Detective Jung for help gave you strength and encouragement to stand up against Jungkook.

He may be a psychopath but you’re Y/N, and you’re greater than him.

Or that’s what you thought.

Your hopes and courage crumble at your feet as Jungkook visits you the same day.

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blurredcolour · 11 months ago

Text

VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

War is hell and every time it seems you and Bucky adapt to your new normal, the game is changed yet again. When at last Victory in Europe is achieved, the pair of you can finally focus on forging the way ahead.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Grief, Mentions of Death, Imprisonment, Pregnancy, Childbirth in Retrospect, Child Rearing, Motherhood, Era-Typical Sexism and Marital Expectations, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Sex While Trying Not to Be Overhead] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note(s): This is it! Oh wow, we made it, kids! Thank you to each and every one of you for your incredible engagement with this series it has truly been an inspiration! I love all of you and have more Bucky thoughts brewing!!!

As always, letters/telegrams have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this series. I could not have done this without you, darling! This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7444

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

Your sudden return home in mid-February had been decidedly awkward. Without time to send a letter of warning, you had spent a lot of coins on a phone call in a telephone booth at the hospital in New Jersey while you awaited the arrival of a WAC commanding officer to process your discharge.

To say your mother had been surprised to hear your voice over the line was an understatement. Mercifully, your father had already left for work that day and you had only had to break the news to her. Given the frosty welcome you had received from him by the time you managed to reach the steps of your childhood home, you hated to think what his reaction would have been if you had informed him that his unwed daughter was kicked out of the Women’s Army Corps for being pregnant without the softening interference of your mother.

It was truly disorienting to be back somewhere so very familiar when you were so utterly different. The war had left its marks here too, though. A gold star banner hung proudly in the front window, in honor of your brother, and your mother’s garden out back had mostly been turned over to the growing of vegetables, with a huge stockpile of jarred preserves now overflowing the pantry. But the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs belonging to you and your brother, separated by a small hallway that was really no more than a glorified landing, were exactly as you had left them in 1942. As if they were frozen in time. Dusted and cared for, but ready and waiting for you to pick up your old lives.

Only your brother was never coming home, and you had returned home but entirely changed. After the relentless pace you had maintained since enlisting, the thought of remaining at home in idle leisure was too off-putting to even contemplate. You allowed yourself a few days of adjusting to the violent change in time – at least when you had traveled to England you had been afford several days at sea to transition. Flight across the Atlantic had been utterly jarring, and it had taken great discipline to turn your nighttime back into day.

But once you had re-acclimated to the North American clock, you had promptly ventured out to find yourself gainful employment at a nearby grocery store. The owner, Nick, was a friend of the family. A kind man who did not seem interested in asking too many questions about why you were back early, was simply eager for the help around his store. It was most definitely not as mentally taxing as the work you had previously undertaken as a WAC, but it was money, and that was sorely needed as babies were expensive.

Your mother seemed fretful about you working in your ‘delicate condition,’ but the demands of the position paled in comparison to the one you had just left, and you rarely worked more than six hours a day. There was still plenty of time to sit with her, improving your knitting skills as you started on a baby blanket. Your mother was duly impressed you had picked up such a feminine skill abroad and seemed more than happy to pass along helpful hints.

In all truth she did appear to be struggling, dwelling frequently on memories and nostalgia for happier times. It was difficult to say how your father was coping in the wake of your brother’s passing. Any hours when he was not at work, he was spending behind the closed door of your dead sibling’s room, all manner of noises and the odd curse word seeping through the cracks, but neither you nor your mother were quite certain what he was up to.

You had sent a letter to Bucky immediately upon your arrival, as promised, still not divulging the full extent of the situation, but it had been stocked with reassurances and re-direction. It appeared he had not yet received it based on his letter that reached you in mid-April.

Damn that man, but you did love him so. Baby animals – had he guessed the true nature of your discharge then? Gnawing ruthlessly on your lower lip, you found yourself pacing around your room, one hand rubbing at your lower back, sore from standing all day with the growing weight of your swollen abdomen.

‘Or is he simply fishing for more information, unconvinced?’ You wondered to yourself, sighing heavily.

He was simply too intelligent for his own good. Another man would simply have taken your words at face value and left it at that. But there was a reason you had not fallen in love with another man. Had not given yourself to another man.

With another deep sigh, you dug out your writing supplies and drafted a reply that acknowledged his statements but neither confirmed nor denied them. There was no desire on your part to entrap or obligate him into anything. That was the last thing you wanted – to pin a man who so cherished his freedom down against his will. Particularly after enduring his current stay in a prison camp.

As the weather grew ever warmer, it became increasingly difficult to conceal your predicament – no matter how baggy or oversized your dresses were. Your engagement ring only went so far in polite society to protect you from judgemental stares and by the end of April you were forced to quit your job and confine yourself almost entirely to the house. May seemed to drag on, though you certainly managed to knit a wide variety of nearly perfect baby clothes for different stages.

Perhaps the brightest spot came one evening when your father emerged from the room opposite yours and left the door open for the first time since you came home, revealing not the preserved bedroom of your brother, but a fully prepared nursery, complete with an assembled crib, rocking chair, dresser, and change table. As you stood in your doorway in shock, eyes brimming with tears, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gruffly muttered, “baby needs somewhere to sleep after all,” before trudging down the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your mother.

June burst onto the scene with the Allied invasion of France and the good news only continued with the signing of the GI Bill on the 22nd. Your years of service and honorable discharge earned you, and your very active and rapidly growing baby, subsidized medical care. It could not have been timelier as appointments became more and more frequent, your due date looming at the end of July.

Much like her father, Clara Mae had a mind of her own when it came to her time of arrival. She was born in the middle of the night on July 22nd at the local veteran’s hospital – one of the first GI Bill babies, the nurses informed you.

The choice of her name had been rather easy, derived from Bucky’s middle name - Clarence. While you could not give her his family name, or even list him as her father on the birth certificate without his signature, you could at least give her this for now. He had already given her his mischievous eyes and unmistakable ears. Time would tell what other of his features she would share. If the grey-blue of her eyes would settle in the color of the stormy sea like his. If the slight dusting of fuzz of her head would grow into luscious, dark curls.

Sitting there in sore, stunned exhaustion as they carted her off to the nursery, you looked up as your mother sidled over, the broad grin of a recent grandparenthood still splitting her face.

“We have to write Major Egan right away and let him know. Oh he’ll be so thrilled, a sweet little girl to come home to now!”

The force with which your face crumpled, physically unable to bear to weight of all your falsehoods and desperate attempts at inner strength one moment longer, sent your tears scattering down the front of your hospital gown. Your mother snapped her mouth shut, completely taken aback by the abrupt shift in your mood, before she collected a wad of scratchy hospital tissues and tenderly wiped at your eyes.

“There now, I know. It’s been a tremendous effort, and things are very difficult.” She soothed and cradled your head to her breast, rubbing your back softly.

Despite becoming a mother yourself not a full hour ago, it seemed you were still very much in need of one yourself.

“What if he doesn’t want me, mama?” You gulped and looked up to her pathetically as you finally gave voice to perhaps the greatest fear that had been stalking you since the realization that you were pregnant had come crashing down upon you. “We’re not even…it’s not even real…” Your eyes dropped to the false engagement ring that mockingly glinted up at you from your left hand.

She sighed deeply before her hands grasped your face and forced your gaze to meet hers. “Well, pumpkin, I’d say that a man who writes to you despite the difficulties is one of the good ones. And usually it’s the good ones that do the right things.”

You frowned and shook your head slightly, as much as her tight grip would allow. “But I don’t want him to do the right thing. I want him to marry me because he wants to…”

There was another maternal sigh before you were gathered close in her arms once more. “Let’s hope for the best then. I’ll get Felix from down the street to bring his camera. We’ll send a photo of sweet Clara Mae and see if she can’t work her magic on him.”

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

The Allied invasion of Western Europe had felt like a gift from above, flooding Bucky’s life with a new sense of purpose, and shattering the grim monotony that had calcified everything around him. The gnawing hunger, the biting cold, the evasiveness in your letters, the constant worry and uncertainty he felt for both himself and you. There was surely only one explanation, at least only one rational, sane explanation for your early discharge. But he’d had far too much time on his hands to postulate and theorize all manner of possibilities and their catastrophic outcomes.

June 6 had brought an abrupt and decisive end to that, a sharp divide to their life in camp, and a need for preparations now that the Commonwealth forces were closing in from one side and the Russians from the other. It was early September when he received your life changing letter, two small photos tucked securely between your folded, scented pages. One of you, looking so very beautiful it made his heart ache fondly. And the second of a very tiny infant with remarkably familiar ears.

He huffed fondly and turned back to the letter to read it properly as you finally confirmed what he had long suspected.

Shaking the envelope once more produced a square of paper with the stamp of his daughter’s – his daughter’s – footprints on it.

Cradling it in one palm, he could not help but gawk at the small scale of her. She must be truly tiny…only 20 inches.

“Your girl finally explain herself?” Buck leaned over his shoulder, and he nodded, holding up Clara’s photo.

His friend barely contained a snort and Bucky scoffed in return. “I know – poor girl’s got my damn Dumbo ears. Couldn’t even deny she’s mine if I wanted to.”

“She’s beautiful anyway, despite your influence.” Buck smirked and handed the photo back carefully. “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

“Clara Mae.” An involuntary grin of pleasure overtook him as he said it, quite enjoying the way it sounded. You had picked well.

“Your girl did an excellent job. Be sure you tell her so.”

“You know I will.” He replied with a firm nod.

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

The twelve weeks it took to hear from Bucky were both a blur and an agony. Clara did her utmost to keep the household, and you in particular, thoroughly occupied. You were somewhat relieved that your parents were sleeping on a different floor than her, that it gave you a chance to dart across the hall and mollify her discordant wails with a fresh diaper or a feeding. But on those nights when even you could not seem to sort out what ailed her, your father stepped in and patiently walked her up and down the length of the porch until she melted into the crook of his arm.

Truly, for such a small being, she had the entirety of her grandfather wrapped around her littlest finger. Clara was the first he greeted upon returning home from work and the last he kissed goodnight. None of this would have been possible without his willing arms, nor your mother’s endless wisdom when it came to washing bottles and diapers and Clara’s vast wardrobe of tiny clothing. But in the quiet moments, when she was busily suckling in your arms or just as you were falling asleep, your thoughts would always fly across the Atlantic to barbwire fences and Bucky.

You hoped your letter reached had him. You hoped it had all of its contents still, that none of them had been lost while being reviewed by the censors and whomever else pried into your mail. His reaction? Well you could not even dare to hope what that might be. It would cause your entire body to tense almost painfully and prevent your lungs from filling with air.

Every day you did your best not to look too eagerly as the postman delivered the mail, flipping through the envelopes calmly, hiding your disappointment when his reply was not there. Your agony came to an end, at last, in mid-October. Hearing your soft gasp, your mother offered to take Clara on her morning walk – it was generous to be sure, but you were also more than aware that she enjoyed the attention warranted by pushing the gorgeous girl through the neighborhood in her pram.

Settling down at the kitchen table once they had left, you sliced open the envelope anxiously.

Tears of relief were tracking down your cheeks by the time you reached the end of his letter, making it difficult to read his words clearly. He had replied. He was not angry, nor dismissive. He called himself Clara’s father. And there was an oblique, very Bucky-like proposal in there. Your watery laugh echoed in the empty kitchen before you sniffled in a very unladylike way. God, you missed him so very much. By the time your mother and Clara returned, your tears of relief had been replaced by sobs of longing that had her tiptoeing through the house, deeply concerned his letter had been one of rejection.

Looking up at her apprehensive face as she peered through the doorway, you smiled through your pain and nodded. “It’s good news.”

“Oh, well…good.” She gave you a somewhat bewildered smile and found a handkerchief for you to once more clean yourself up before you gathered Clara close.

“Your daddy says he loves you, peanut. What do you think of that?”

Clara’s face stretched into one of her toothless grins that came just as easy as Bucky’s did, and you fought the urge to cry again. “Yeah…me too.”

Your reply to Bucky’s letter was accompanied by a holiday card fingerpainted by Clara, now that you were confident in the mailing time of roughly six-weeks, as well as another set of dry goods for him to share with his friends. Time continued to march on and in an effort to better document Clara’s rapid growth, you purchased a user-friendly camera, having Felix give you some lessons.

Mid-January, Clara received a gift from her father – a stunning ink drawing of him done by one of his roommates apparently. It had been over a year since you had looked upon his face and the breathtaking detail captured by the man who drew it, A. Jefferson based on the signature, inflicted an intense barrage of memories. You promptly went to a five-and-dime store to purchase a frame for it, setting it on the dresser in Clara’s room next to a model of a B17. You made a point of showing it to her every day, telling her stories about her daddy – only the appropriate ones of course, wanting her to know him.

That it was also self-soothing was simply a bonus.

That letter was the last one you received from him. As Clara’s features sharpened into Bucky’s, and his dark curls framed her face, it was his gaze staring up at you from your arms as the weeks ticked by with no word. When the abnormally harsh winter yielded to spring once more, there was still no reply to your January letter. The war was all but won, the Germans quite literally surrounded, the Russians in Germany and yet there was nothing.

It was mid-April when the dreaded Western Union vehicle pulled up in front of the house, your heart leaping into your throat.

‘Please let him be alright.’

Your mother had been in the kitchen, working on lunch, but silently appeared at your elbow, ghosts of her own heartbreak etching her features.

“Deep breaths. Anybody can send a telegram, not just the War Department.” She murmured and knelt down beside Clara on the rug to play with her as you forced your leaden feet to move towards the door.

Accepting the yellow envelope from the infuriatingly neutral-faced boy, you confirmed that it was indeed addressed to you before impatiently tearing into it.

Exhaling shakily you smiled in relief. Major Cleven must have escaped. That he would have spent the money to send a telegram to update you on Bucky, and to share a message from the man himself, was quite moving. You could not help the chuckle that escaped you, however, at the fact that this was twice now that Cleven had terrified you in the process of trying to share good news.

“All is well?” Your mother asked softly from the living room, and you turned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, he’s ok, his friend somehow made it back to England and wanted me to know he’s doing alright.”

The smile she gave you in return contained no small amount of relief.

The Russians were in Berlin by the next time Western Union made its second delivery at the beginning of May.

‘Please, when we are so very close to victory, please.’

Even less patient with this envelope than the last, you felt a swell of elation at just the first word.

And he meant it. It was not entirely as soon as either of you would have liked, given that Victory in Europe happened not a week after that telegram, on May 8, 1945, but Bucky certainly did come to you and Clara as soon as it was possible.

It was a hot afternoon in early July, the wind having abandoned everyone when the sun rose that morning. Clara was in a bit of a mood courtesy of the heat and her desire to move about the house independently. Certainly, she had been crawling for months, terrorizing everything and everyone in her path, but as of late she had been pulling herself to her feet and trying desperately to take those first few wobbly steps towards upright freedom. She certainly could manage it while gripping tightly to your fingers for balance, but today her chubby cheeks and granite eyes were screwed tight in consternation as she swatted your hands away to go it alone.

“Alright peanut, off you go then.” You smiled encouragingly, sitting back on your heels as beads of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

Letting go of the edge of the coffee table, she wavered and wobbled, overcorrecting her round little infant body before landing heavily onto her bottom with a squawk of frustration.

“So close, so–”

The rapping of knuckles against the wooden frame of the screen door cut off your statement and you scooped her up, perching her against your right hip as you rose to your feet.

“Let’s go see if that’s the postman with Grandma’s package, shall we?” You smiled and tickled her soft tummy with your free hand, earning a giggle accompanied by her gap-toothed grin as you headed over to the front door.

The man standing there in uniform was most certainly not the postman, however.

“Bucky…” You whispered in shock as he stood before you, in the flesh, after nearly two years of constant worry and concern.

All that separated you now was a flimsy screen door, which you lurched forward to shove open. His eyes were wide as he stared at the pair of you, Clara peering at him curiously. The movement of your left hand caught his eye and his brow furrowed as his gaze landed on the ring you had been hiding behind since April of last year, making you swallow painfully.

“It’s not real.” You murmured quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and stepped back to invite him inside.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was all the warning you had before he was pulling you tightly against him, burying his face into your hair. Pressing your face against him in return, you clung to the back of his uniform jacket, wondering if he had always smelled this good or if he had bought new cologne since returning stateside. A sudden strangled sound came from his throat, and you straightened quickly to see Clara had a ruthless grip on his tie and a wicked grin on her face.

“Ta.” You said firmly, holding out your hand and she surrendered her stranglehold on the piece of fabric which you carefully tucked back into his jacket.

Bucky smirked down at her slightly, but his eyes were filled with barely concealed wonder. Clara, for her part, did not seem the least bit fazed by him whatsoever. Her chubby little fingers moved to trace the shiny buttons of his jacket before stretching up to brush along the coarse hair on his upper lip.

“You like my mustache, Miss Clara?” He grinned and pretended to devour her finger as it strayed too close to his mouth, sending his daughter into a fit of giggles and making your cheeks ache from smiling so wide.

An involuntary yawn suddenly overtook her, and you glanced at your watch, nodding as the time confirmed your suspicions. “It’s nap time, I’ll just take her upstairs.”

“Can I come?” He asked softly, making no move to release his hold on you and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his cheek softly before leading him to the stairwell at the back of the house.

“This place looks exactly how you described it…” He murmured softly, threading his fingers through yours as he followed.

Looking back to him, startled, you swallowed down the swell of emotion that had been threatening since you had first laid eyes on him. “I told you about it once, in that…hotel room in London…almost two years ago.”

“And I’ve imagined it almost every day since.” He assured you easily as you climbed the stairs, making you shake your head in awe.

Glancing through the open door into your room curiously for a moment, he followed you into Clara’s nursery, grinning softly as his eyes landed on the drawing he had sent.

“You gave it to her.”

Setting Clara into her crib, you turned back to him. “We talk about you every day.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours and he smiled gratefully before reaching out for your left hand, his thumb stroking along the band of the ring there.

“You know, this isn’t very believable, doll.” He muttered and you felt yourself tense as you eyed him, suddenly nervous in his presence after all those months apart. You had been separated longer than you had even known one another. “I’d have bought you a much bigger rock.” His lips curled into a smirk.

Laughter, something that felt so foreign to you after its long absence, bubbled up from your chest while tears simultaneously flooded your eyes. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours at last, the kiss distinctly salty despite the best efforts of his thumbs to swipe your tears away. Laying your hands atop his, it began to sink in that he was really home, he had truly made it back to you. And Clara. There was no more need for constant fretting and pleading mantras. He was here.

“In fact I did.” His statement, a continuation of his discussion about your fake engagement ring, felt disorienting as it interrupted your inner musings, and you watched in confusion as he sunk to one knee right there in Clara’s bedroom, slipping the piece of costume jewellery from your ring finger before tucking it one of his pockets.

It was not until he produced a much shinier ring, with a larger and very real diamond, that you registered just what was happening. He addressed you properly, by your full name, before asking the question.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course I will.” You nodded vigorously, watching him clumsily slide the heavier ring onto your finger before his mouth was on yours once more, demanding and possessive.

Pressing against him, you would have completely forgotten yourself if not for the sound of your mother calling your name from the bottom of the stairs, tone laced with confusion and worry – surely from finding the front door open and a piece of strange luggage in the front hall. Bucky pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to yours, hot puffs of his breath caressing your face.

“Parents’ house…”

You let out a small laugh of chagrin. “Parents’ house.” You confirmed before pulling back and guiding him out, leaving the door slightly cracked so you would hear when Clara awoke.

Miraculously she had slept through the entire exchange, a superpower she had surely inherited from her father. Descending the stairs, introductions were made, and you did not miss the way you mother’s eyes lit up as she took in the new ring on your finger. Your father was slightly more difficult to win over, still smarting from the perceived mistreatment of his little girl. You were more than a little convinced he might be taking Bucky to the toolshed to shoot him when he asked for the man to accompany him out there for a chat after dinner.

Your aggressive scrubbing of the dishes in the sink as you watched anxiously out the window amused your mother to no end.

“He’s just ensuring Major Egan has your best interests in mind.”

“He’s not gonna kill him, is he, mama?” You worried your lip and she laughed, wiping Clara’s sticky fingers clean after her joyful decimation of a bowl of sliced strawberries.

“He will do no such thing.”

By some miracle, the pair of them immerged unscathed twenty minutes later, shaking hands and sharing a laugh. You rediscovered the ability to exhale and prepared Clara for her evening walk, which Bucky insisted on joining. Even though you assured him you had a perfectly good pram, gestured to where it sat on the front porch, he insisted on carrying Clara on his hip, much to her delight.

Not only was the vantage point much better, but she had unfettered access to all the intriguing bits of his uniform to occupy herself with as the pair of you followed the usual route around the neighborhood. While no one had taken it upon themselves to be overtly rude to you, something about seeing all six foot two inches of Major John Egan carrying his carbon-copy daughter with you on his other arm seemed to go a long way to repairing your somewhat tarnished reputation around town.

People who had politely nodded or offered no more than tight-lipped smiles were now openly waving and calling greetings as you passed.

“Sure are popular around here, doll.”

“I assure you, it’s the pair of you.” You smirked at him and Clara who was busily tugging at the flap of his breast pocket. “Everything alright after your visit to the toolshed?” You asked now that you were far enough away from the house that your father would not hear.

He nodded easily. “Your father and I are of like minds. You and I are going to the registrar’s office tomorrow to get a marriage licence and then we’ll get this little one’s birth certificate sorted as well.”

“He wasn’t…too harsh on you?” You asked with more than a little trepidation.

Bucky looked to you softly. “No more than I deserved.”

“You deserved no harshness, we both know full well how this happened…”

“I sure didn’t stop you. Couldn’t have, even if I had been able to think straight.” He smirked and kissed your temple. “So we did it out of order, that’s fine. It’ll all be how it was meant to very soon.”

Sighing fondly you continued your progress until Clara was slumped against his shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open. By the time you returned to the house, your mother had set up a small camp bed in the nursery for you and moved Bucky’s things to your room for the night – everyone agreed there was no way he could possibly be expected to sleep on the sofa. He was simply too long. Wishing one another good night in the hallway with a lingering kiss, you pressed your lips together as your mother cleared her throat expectantly from the landing below and slipped into the nursery for the night.

It was difficult to say how long you had been asleep when a faint noise, your ears now well trained to listen out for the smallest of disturbances, woke you. It was most definitely still dark when you raised your head, immediately looking to the crib to see Clara sleeping peacefully on her stomach, index and middle fingers of her right hand suckled soothingly by her full lips. Shifting your gaze in the dimly lit room, you jumped slightly to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, clad in his boxers and undershirt, silently watching her sleep, expression pensive.

Sliding to your feet as gracefully as the low bed and your thin cotton nightgown would allow, you padded over to him quietly to whisper, “everything ok?”

“She’s just so small…” He replied in a hushed voice, gesturing with his hands, eyes still fixed on Clara’s sleeping form, and you smiled fondly.

Reaching out, you gently manipulated the distance between his palms to represent how small she had been as a newborn. “She was only that big a year ago.”

His eyes tore from the crib to study the small gap between his hands before lifting slightly to drink in how little you were wearing, how thin the material was to try and make sleeping in the summer months bearable. His eyes briefly flicked to yours, revealing the rapid dilation of his pupils before his mouth descended onto yours ravenously.

Sliding one arm around his waist, you pressed with the other against the centre of his chest to guide him back across the hall, closing the door to your bedroom behind you as you quickly surrendered and parted your lips for him. He grunted eagerly, pressing his fully hard length against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, making you gasp at the rapidity of his response.

“The damn sheets smell like you, I’ve been hard all night.” He groaned and you quickly smothered his mouth with yours, well aware just how loud he tended to get.

If you were lucky enough to get away with this, you were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Rucking the hem of your nightgown up over your hips, he pivoted to deposit you onto the edge of the bed, settling between your thighs as you worked one another’s underwear off. Pressing skin to skin, his head fell back, and you quickly slid your palm over his mouth to smother his eager sighs, rocking your folds along the length of him as you gnawed on your lips and swallowed your own keens. Bucky’s eyes bored into yours hungrily as he mirrored your movements, almost daring you to keep quiet as he continued to moan against your hand.

Silence became impossible for you too as the blunt tip of his cock snagged on your entrance and he rocked his hips forward, slowly sinking into your warmth. Falling back onto the mattress, you slapped the hand that had previously been propping you upright over your own mouth to smother your eager groan as your eyelids fluttered in the struggle to remain open. Shifting forward once he had settled fully inside you, Bucky’s face hovered just above yours, eyes still pinning yours as he began the eager push and pull towards ecstasy.

Desperately trying to keep your hands in place over your mouth and his, your back arched at the long forgotten and very heightened sensation of being so very stretched by him, trembling with each brush of his pelvis against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands planted onto the mattress on either side of your head, fisting into the sheets as his hips snapped demandingly into yours, each sharp exhale from his nostrils cascading across your knuckles as you felt the tension building within you.

Sweat glistened on both of your skin, the efforts in the lingering heat of the night only making you both slick as you writhed beneath him, heart hammering inside your ribcage. And still his eyes would not leave yours. The one time you gave into the urge to clench them shut, he sent them flying open once more with a sharp nip to the meat of your palm and you quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, deeper.

You could feel him clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, desperately driving into you until your body shattered in release, nearly going limp with the force of it. Bucky nestled his face tighter to your palm as, with two more erratic thrusts, he followed suit with a harsh cry, thankfully still smothered. Slumping forward, utterly spent, you cradled him close a moment before shuffling and maneuvering to rest against the headboard with him properly nuzzled against your neck, and his legs mostly on the bed.

Stroking his hair lovingly, every so often scratching your nails along his scalp, you could not help the fond smile as his harsh breaths evened out and the weight of him grew heavier against you when sleep overtook him. Sighing softly, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to join him in rest.

The next time you opened them you were alone, tucked beneath the sheet, the soft light of dawn filling the room. The distinct sound of Clara’s giggles carried from across the hall, and you sat up, grabbing your summer housecoat and peered into the nursery to find the pair of them perched on the camp bed engaged in a very entertaining game of wooden blocks it seemed. Bucky had retrieved the model of the B17 from the dresser and was frequently swooping it down to destroy whatever Clara’s clumsy little hands built, much to her delight.

“Ah, Mommy’s up.” Bucky’s statement revealed that you had been caught and you smirked, stepping into the room to kneel on the carpet beside them. “Did we wake you?”

Shaking your head softly, you kissed Clara’s head and then Bucky’s cheek. “Did she wake you, though?”

He shrugged. “Probably my turn anyway.”

You smiled tenderly, laughing as Clara clutched at his arm to demonstrate that she had assembled a new construction in need of his attention. Watching fondly, you blinked slightly to see a new addition to the dog tags, crucifix, and medal that he normally wore. Amidst the collection was now the faux engagement ring you had sported for over a year. Reaching out, you traced your finger along it, raising an eyebrow in silent question as his eyes met yours.

“To remind me of that time I was overly reckless.” He murmured and you swallowed painfully, pressing your lips to his firmly.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he pulled you snuggly into his side, continuing to entertain Clara easily.

“We’ll get the licence today but, what kind of wedding would you like, doll?” He asked quietly.

“Just a date at the courthouse is fine.” You assured him with a nod.

“You don’t want a big wedding or anything? Honestly doll, anything you want and it’s yours.” He assured you softly.

You laughed watching your daughter gnaw on the corner of a wooden block. “Seems a bit hypocritical to put me a white gown don’t you think?” You smirked and shook your head when he looked ready to defend your honor. “I don’t need all those fancy things John, I just need you.”

When he finally came up for air, your lips more than a little swollen from his attentions, he huffed a laugh.

“Not sure what I’m going to do with the parachute I smuggled home now, though…”

“Well, Major Cleven’s getting married soon, isn’t he? I’m sure Marge would appreciate it. She seems lovely from the letters we’ve exchanged.”

He turned to you wide-eyed, struck silent, and you could not help but laugh. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of women, John.”

Bucky shook his head in awe. “Trust me, doll…I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.”

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

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas, @carpediem1219, @blueberry-ovaries

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan imagine #john egan fic #john egan #john bucky egan #mota fic #masters of the air fanfic

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detentiontrack · 6 months ago

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It doesn’t excuse her behavior, but Sasha’s actions in reunion are so much deeper than “these gross frogs are annoying and I don’t want to share my best friend with them”. Sure, it may be some of it, but it’s so much more than that. (A rambly analysis of Sasha Waybright’s behavior and what led up to her suicide attempt in reunion)

Sasha perhaps had the most traumatic entry into amphibia. She went from hanging out with her friends on Anne’s birthday to being suddenly transported into a bizarre unfamiliar world filled with scary creatures she’s never seen before. And immediately after that, before she even got a chance to process, she was held at spear point, arrested, and thrown in prison in horrible conditions. It’s unclear for exactly how long, but for at least a few weeks to a month, she was kept in that prison being constantly interrogated. At this point she had no idea where her friends were, if they were even ALIVE or in the same place as her, and she didn’t know if the toads would decide to torture or even kill her.

She had to use every single manipulation tactic she had ever learned (most likely from her traumatic childhood) just to improve her conditions and chance of survival. It’s written as a joke and glossed over in the show, but that entire situation is HEAVY and TRAUMATIC. And she is 13 years old.

Sasha’s introduction, her very first perception of this strange new world, was one of trauma and pain and fear. Anne was alone and then she met the Plantars. Marcy was immediately taken in by the newts. Sasha was completely alone and for all she knew, she was the only person in that entire world that she knew she could count on.

And then…. She receives news that ANNE is there. She went from torturing herself mentally thinking about all the scenarios where she possibly lost her friends forever, to learning that there’s HOPE. But even then, the only evidence is Anne’s singular shoe. She doesn’t know if Anne is hurt or even alive. She only knows that this scary strange toad captain who is holding her captive is interrogating her on the whereabouts of her friend. Realizing that even the captain of the toad army doesn’t know where Anne is, she feels like NO ONE does.

Finally, after prison break, she’s out. Not only is she out, she is lieutenant of the entire toad army. Again, she is 13 years old. She got there by desperately manipulating her way into freedom. Suddenly, she went from being captive in a cell for a month, to having the mission of finding both of her friends alive and finding a way to get them back home AND also becoming an entire lieutenant soldier in order to uphold the end of her deal with captain Grime.

FINALLY after a really long time of trying to find her friends, she receives word that Anne is alive and well in Wartwood. And everything changes. The hope she’s been running on has been refilled. And if Anne is alive, Marcy might be too. She learns that Hop Pop is the face of the frog rebellion, but due to the news about Anne, she’s sort of tunnel visioned. People forget that before reunion, Sasha probably didn’t even really trust Grime. Later in the show they have more of a familial relationship, but at this point, their alliance is purely out of convenience. She doesn’t trust him. But she NEEDS him to get home. And he needs her. So when she learns that Grime needs to smash the rebellion, she only thinks of amphibians as the people who have kept her captive and tormented her since the moment she got there. She thinks she doesn’t owe them anything. She just needs to get home with her friends. She’s willing to do whatever it takes.

They make a plan and arrive at Wartwood. She finds out that not only is the frog that is charged with starting the rebellion Anne’s FRIEND, but she has a new family, and someone she calls her best friend. Sasha’s entire world shatters as she hears that Anne replaced her. In her mind, Anne replaced her and started over exactly like her parents when they divorced and started new families. Anne was the only constant in her life, and now not only is she replacing her, she’s also aiding and friendly with the very creatures that have been traumatizing her. This is earth shattering to her. She can’t think straight. She feels raw emotional pain and has NO time to process it. So she does the only thing she knows how to do. Continue with the plan.

She thinks that maybe Anne will realize that they’re just frogs, and this entire thing will be over and they can go home, like how things were before. She’s not the same Sasha that originally got transported to amphibia, but she expects Anne to still be the same Anne.

She’s so caught up in the emotional pain and trying to cover it up with the happiness and relief that comes with finding Anne and (in her mind) being SO CLOSE to going home, that her world ends AGAIN when Anne takes a stand against her. She takes a stand against her for the first time in their 8 years of friendship AND it’s the replacement best friend AND an amphibian that encourages her to do it.

She didn’t mean to fight Anne, but the white hot rage took over her body. She got through her entire childhood by being ANGRY and fighting back, and this was her knee jerk response.

When toad tower crumbled, her change of heart that led to her suicide attempt wasn’t due to her believing that everything she did was wrong. She wasn’t quite there yet (as shown in toad catcher). It was in response to the fact that Anne was doing fine without her. It’s the fact that Sasha thought she was so replaceable, Anne allowed a strange evil creature, who is also highly annoying, to become her new best friend and companion. Anne didn’t need her. Anne was better off without her.

So she let go.

#I am NAUSEOUS typing this in my car in a 711 parking lot at 10pm #but I needed to get it out #anyway that’s my two cents #sorry #amphibia #sasha waybright #anne boonchuy #sashanne #reunion #amphibia analysis #tw sui

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rogersideup · 11 months ago

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｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter 5:

Rearview

Series Masterlist

Previous part: Pink Peonies Next Part: Little Birdie

Word Count: 6,610

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts, anxiety, and sever depression.

Gentle knocks barely caught Bucky's attention from his spot on the couch in his apartment. All the lights were off, and it was quickly nearing bedtime as a show played a little louder than it probably should.

He thought he was hearing things until it happened again, this time he got up and looked through the peephole in his front door. To his surprise you were standing there.

The door swung open with a sense of urgency and Bucky on the other side. His eyes were immediately soft and concerned, his posture relaxed as he leaned onto the doorframe.

"Bug, what happened to you?" He questioned sounding sounding worried as he took in your appearance.

Comfortable work out shorts and a hoodie was pretty much all you wore during your time off of work in the building that always seemed to be air conditioned to a temperature a few degrees below your comfortability, but this time your hair was thrown up in a messy bun, your cheeks pink and your eyes and nose red, but the main point of concern was your arm in a sling.

Bucky had been way better at respecting your boundaries and giving you the space you needed to heal more than anyone else in your life at the moment, and right now, you just really needed a friend. You had some reluctant confidence that he would be willing to listen to you, maybe even give you a hug if you were lucky, and you were also reluctantly confident in your ability to forgive him at this point.

"Hey, I'm really sorry to bother you but I was just hoping you had a few minutes to talk about what happened today?" You pitched.

Bucky was admittedly taken back by your appearance. Your mental health was taking a toll on you, and it was becoming evident. Even since he last saw you a week ago at your evaluation, you looked sadder, frailer, and smaller.

His hand latched onto the upper arm that wasn't in a sling and he gave it a gentle squeeze as he stepped into the hallway, letting his door close behind him.

"Tell me about it" he nodded.

"Um, Harvey yanked my arm back and trapped me against the wall in the hallway earlier today. He dislocated my shoulder" You admitted with a big deep breath, really trying to keep your composure. "I went to the med bay, they popped it back in place but suggested I rest it and take it easy for a few days, hence the sling."

"Oh you poor thing, that sounds painful." Bucky's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

You let out a sad chuckle. "No, I'm not." The admission slipped past your lips for the first time ever.

"M'sorry" Bucky sunk into himself.

"Right after it happened I went to training with Steve, it didn't go well." You explained. "He got mad that I was late, and he really wasn't interested in hearing about what made me late or why I was clutching my shoulder and crying. He grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back then tied my wrists together. The doctor thinks it wasn't completely dislocated until I had to get myself out of the rope. He gave me pain killers and a pretty strong dose of Xanax to calm me down from the panic attack I was having because of him."

"Steve did that to you?" Bucky questioned quietly in disbelief. "I can't believe he did that."

"I don't think he meant to, but whether it was his intention or not, it happened and the bridge has been burned." You gently nodded. "I couldn't believe it either."

"I don't know what to say." Bucky shook his head sadly.

It was evident that Bucky was stuck between a rock and a hard place in this situation. He kept doing what he thought was right, but he still felt immense guilt that his friends were hurting as a result of it.

"You don't need to say anything." You reassured him. "Rogers made it clear that he's not my boss anymore, and Commander Bennett is sleeping so I figured you'd be next in line as a higher up to make informed that I can't report for duty for a minimum of 24 hours because I'm under the influence of benzodiazepines. It's noted in my medical chart."

"Okay, you rest up and I'll make sure to tell him in the morning." Bucky noted. "How are you feeling right now?"

"A little out of it, but the pain isn't nearly as bad so that's all I could've ever hoped for."

"Mental or physical?"

"Both." You admitted. "I'm sure I'll be feeling a lot worse tomorrow, but I'll leave that to be a problem for myself in the future."

"Steve mentioned to me that you quit the rest of training with him, is this why?" Bucky questioned hesitantly.

"Yeah, it is." You sadly confessed. "Ever since the initial fight, seeing him every day has been pretty hard. After today I realized I really need to prioritize my health before being a good agent. I can't go out and fight on a battlefield if I can barely get out of bed anymore. Plus with my shoulder I can't do strenuous physical activity for a week, and after that there would only be one more week of training left so it would be pretty useless."

"Prioritizing your health is important to being a good agent." Bucky reminded you. "Although it makes me sad to hear, I hope you know I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself to anyone that's causing you pain."

"Thanks." You crossed your arm close to your body, chickening out on the conversation you initially came for.

You weren't stupid, you knew there was a reason why he wasn't inviting you into his place, and that reason was either Natasha or Steve. Either way, you didn't want to interrupt.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, and it made your skin crawl. Both of you were far too wrapped up in your own heads just trying to find the right thing to say to each other, but the words never appeared, so you put an end to it.

"oh...and uh thanks for handling Commander Bennett in the morning. It'll be nice to sleep in and not have to worry about waking up early."

"Does he know you're going to quit training? I can tell him about that too."

"He doesn't, but that's not in his jurisdiction anymore so it's fine."

"Got it." Bucky nodded.

"See you around." You awkwardly lifted your hand in an attempts to wave and walk off.

"Hey, would it be okay if I checked on you tomorrow?" Bucky asked. "It's okay if you're not ready for that yet, but I still worry about you a lot. I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

"Yeah, that's fine. You can stop by whenever." You agreed.

"Thanks" Bucky accepted sadly. Then, what he really wanted to say rolled off his tongue unapologetically. "I really miss you, Bug."

"I miss you too." You agreed, the pain you've become rather familiar but never comfortable with was clawing at your chest again. "A lot, actually. But I don't see a situation in which Steve would be okay with us hanging out again, and I know how important your friendship is with each other and I'd never want to be the one to drive a wedge into that."

"I hope you don't take this as me defending him, because I'm not. I promise I'm not." Bucky started. "But I've known him my whole life, I'd like to think I have a good read of his character, and this is nothing like him. He said some really dumb things to you, but bug? I've never seen him this upset with himself in my entire life."

"I don't think there's anything I can do about that." You shook your head. "He's in your place right now, isn't he?

"Yeah, he is." Bucky told you the truth. "He told me about what happened today, he cried for the first time in a few years because he feels terrible about it and how he made you feel."

You swallowed thickly. "That's not an apology for his behavior."

"It's not, but I'm trying to help you understand each other better. If I can attest to anything, it's that you found out about his crush on you at the worst time imaginable. He loves and cares about you so much, and none of it is ill intended. The reason he kept it in for so long was because he was scared of exactly this situation happening, and he's mortified that he broke your friendship and trust in him. Yes, he's been avoiding talking about it because he was hurt by what we did, but now I think he understands and he's avoiding it because he thinks you hate him."

"I don't hate him" You denied. "I'm mad at the way he's handling this, but I don't hate him."

"I know" Bucky nodded.

"He was really angry when I got to training." You told Bucky. "I've never been scared of him before, but I was terrified of him today. I don't know what he was mad about, but I think it was because I was late. I was only late because Harvey was being an asshole, but Steve told me pointedly that he didn't care."

"He was mad at himself, and it was making him grumpy. He's been like this for a week now."

"I don't know how to move past the way he made me feel earlier. It's like I'm scared to see him again because I'm scared that he's still going to scare me." You explained. "It was like there was no traces of my friend left in there, it felt like he was Captain America, and I was the enemy, and there was no mercy for whatever I did to make him mad."

Bucky sighed because he's seen Steve that angry before, and he knew how scary he really can get. He's a tall, muscular guy, and you're barely five-foot-something with far less fighting experience.

"He would never hurt you" Bucky reminded you. "He knows he scared you, and he's having a breakdown because of it."

"He did hurt me, Buck. In more ways than one." You reminded him. "I love him, I really do, but I'm not responsible for his reaction to the way he hurt me. He scared me, he berated me, and he broke my heart but that's his own doing, and he has to deal with the consequences of that just how I have to deal with the consequences of what happened between you and I and how that made Steve feel."

"I get it." He agreed.

"I'm glad that you two seem to be on okay terms, but you understand how that's bullshit, right?"

"Yeah." Bucky practically whispered.

"Well, for what it's worth I'm sorry you're in the position of being stuck in the middle." You apologized. "I love you, I forgive you for telling Steve because I understand why you did it, and I'll always be here for you if you need me, but I also know I can't be the priority."

"Bug, that's not-"

"It's fine, I get it." You saved him from his own lie. "If he's already struggling, are you going to tell him about my shoulder?"

"I don't know." Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Should I?"

You shrugged with your one good arm. "You know him better than I ever will."

"Do you want to talk to him?" Bucky asked already knowing the answer, but he had to give it a shot.

"Not tonight." You denied. "If he wants to talk about it he can come to me, but right now I'm a little high on crazy pills and pain killers so I'd rather wait until I have more time to get into my right mind."

"I understand."

"Thanks for listening, it was really nice seeing you again." You said sincerely.

"Thank you for trusting me. Can I give you a hug?" He asked knowing you needed one desperately.

You nodded and opened your good arm for him, he hugged you gently to avoid hurting you, but it was still healing in a way you haven't felt in a while.

"Don't be a stranger, okay? We can talk more about it whenever you need to in order to make it better. I love you bug, I still want to be your friend and I know we can make it work."

"I appreciate it." You nodded.

"Do you need help getting back to your apartment? I can walk you home."

"I'll be okay." You reassured him. "Have a good night, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came around, and Bucky did eventually come check on you. He found you in bed around 4pm fast asleep with a romcom playing quietly in the background. It made him

Sad to wake you up, but he did it anyways just to make sure you were okay and that you didn't need anything, and once he was convinced that you were okay he left you alone.

Then, that was the last anyone had seen you for 4 whole days. Was it your intention to stay in your apartment for that long? No. But things happen, mental health quickly spirals, and your body felt sick. It was like there was an external force locking you in the walls of your home, and imaginary restraints tying you to your bed.

You were scared to leave because you didn't want to get attacked again, scared to report to work because you didn't want to see Harvey or Steve again, and you were scared to move because you were so tired of being in pain. So yeah, your apartment became your little safe space, but you never realized you were the point of concern around the building.

Especially not so much that you woke up once more, but this time Steve was sitting on the edge of your bed looking absolutely terrified as he gently shook your arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" Steve asked the second your eyes opened, eyebrows pinching together in concern.

You grumbled something he couldn't understand before turning away and covering your entire head with a blanket.

"Wait, stop, I'm not joking. Are you okay?" Steve asked, this time you could hear the genuine worry in his voice.

"Why are you here?" You asked with an adorable glare as your head popped out of the blanket. “What part of leaving me the hell alone do you not understand?”

He hated that it almost made him smile. "No one has seen or heard from you in 4 days. We got so many concerned reports of your disappearance that they made me to a mandated wellness check."

"Obviously I'm well, you can go now." You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets and turned away from him again.

"You're not obviously well. It's 2pm and you're in bed, you haven't answered anyone's texts or phone calls, and you were supposed to report to Fury today to see if you were okay enough to get back to work. Everyone is worried."

"I'm fine."

"You're watching pride and prejudice." Steve noted simply. "You're not fine."

"Tell Fury I'll report to him in an hour."

"Fury is gone for a while, I think he's out until the end of the month." Steve explained.

"Commander Bennett, then."

"Out of jurisdiction" he reminded you. "That's why Fury sent me."

"Then who can I talk to in an hour?"

"Me." Steve sighed, knowing that's not what you wanted to hear.

"Do you have a meeting spot available in an hour?"

"No, my schedule is full for the rest of the day."

"Tomorrow?"

"Dude, I'm here right now. What's wrong?" Steve asked, his heart pounding and cracking in his chest.

"What time you you have available tomorrow?"

"8am." Steve said simply.

"Fine. I'll take it." You agreed, closing you eyes and trying your best to pretend like this wasn't happening.

"I'm not allowed to leave until I'm convinced you're okay." Steve noted. "Are you sure you don't want to push the meeting up to right now?"

"Positive." You grumbled. "Sometimes when heavy conversations are sprung on someone with no time to prepare for them, it leads to overly emotional responses. Ever heard of something like that happening before, Rogers?"

"Maybe once or twice." He made the active choice to not bite at the argumentative bait you threw him. "How's your shoulder?"

"Attached and functioning."

"When was your last full meal?"

Once again, you turned your head to glare at him. "If I answer these stupid questions does that mean you'll get out of my apartment and go back to pretending like I don't exist?"

"This is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you" Steve told you. Really, seeing you look so broken down and worn out made him genuinely sad, but right now you weren't looking for his pity. Quite honestly, he was worried about how you would react to him if he expressed how concerned he really was.

Now with knowing what you knew, Steve was at least smart enough to know that if he reacted to this scenario as a coworker, or a boss, or even a friend, all of his concern would be directed straight to the romantic advancement category of your brain. He knew that he always would and always will care for you regardless of if you rejected his feelings for you or not, but in this situation where that information was taken horribly wrong, the best thing he could do was stay neutral and respect that you didn't want to be part of his life anymore.

You didn't want him to care, you didn't want him to be there, you didn't want to get out of bed, and you didn't even want anyone to notice you were gone for so long.

Yet, somehow on the very flip side of the coin, you were mad at him for not expressing that he was more worried about you than he was letting on, you wanted him to just stay with you and fight for a spot back in your life, you wanted to just get out of your congested apartment and breathe some air that wasn't from the buildings circulation system, you wanted to go on a long run and feel the cold morning air, and you wanted the same people who reported you as missing in action to care enough about your existence to actually be nice to you beyond a mandated report.

But really, you just couldn't get yourself to do anything.

Leaving was overwhelming, staying made you want to cry, and there was no solution in between those two options.

"Hey, did I lose you?" Steve asked.

"No. Sorry." You shook your head.

"When was the last time you ate?" He repeated.

"Dinner last night." You grumbled. "I would've lied and said I ate lunch today, but your bullshit detector is almost unfair and I think anything but the truth would make you even more worried."

"At least you're honest." Steve sighed. "Last time you drank?"

"This morning"

"Water?"

"Coffee."

Steve frowned. "Last time you left your apartment?"

"I saw Bucky after I got released from medical, whenever that day was."

"Last time you went outside? Had fun? Hung out with a friend? Anything?"

"I played The Sims 4 yesterday, it was riveting." You said dryly.

"Any future plans you're looking forward to? Something? Anything? Literally just give me anything to work with."

"Ooh!" You perked up. "There's a new sim's expansion pack coming out next week it costs $40 but it's okay because if you break down the cost per hour you play it, it really is cents to a dollar."

"Oh my gosh" Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the ends a big trying to relive the stress you had caused him. "I can't in good conscience say you passed a wellness check."

"I'm trying my best dude, this is all I got. I don't know what else you want from me." You huffed.

You watched Steve's eyebrows furrow in concern as he checked his wrist watch for the time. "Okay, here's the deal."

"If this ends with me in grippy socks and a gown I'm going to be so undeniably pissed off at you."

"You're already undeniably pissed off at me so that's not very threatening, but, no I don't think you need that at this very moment." Steve corrected you. "I have 45 minutes until I have to get to a meeting. If you can pull yourself together and leave your apartment to go get food and do something fun, then check back in with me in a few hours, I'll mark you as well."

"That sounds like a lot of money and effort." You complained.

Steve sighed and pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his nice jeans, then handed you a card between his two fingers. "Take the company card, I'll mark the charges as a business expense."

Only then did your face light up, and you happily grabbed the heavy silver card from his hand. "I think I can work with this."

"The rules are that I need cold hard proof you ate and did at least one activity that'll make you feel better, I don't care what that is. And I need the card back by the end of the day, no ifs ands or buts."

"Deal."

"Okay great, you have 44 minutes now to get out of the building." Steve reminded you.

"Are you really going to stay until I leave?" You questioned, tone full of annoyance and dread.

"Yeah, that's part of the deal."

"Ugh, fine." You ripped the blankets off of yourself. "Can you at least go into the living room so I can shower and change in peace?"

"As you wish" Steve stood up and raised his hands in defense. "But don't make me late, you know I hate being late."

"How could I ever forget?" You rolled your eyes.

More bait that Steve refused to bite, so he quietly walked out of your room and softly closed the door behind him. Sitting on the couch and waiting, half an hour later you flew through your bedroom door and didn't miss a single beat as you flew through the living room and grabbed your purse off the rack.

"Come on, Captain, i'd hate it if you were late under any circumstance!" You said sarcastically, pulling open the front door as he shot up off the couch. "Even if it was completely out of your control!"

"I'm choosing to not respond to that" Steve grumbled, following you out and down the hall with confidence your door would automatically lock as it slammed shut behind the two of you.

Calling the elevator did nothing to slow either of you down as the doors automatically opened, and you shoved yourself into the furthest corner you could, trying your hardest to ignore your racing heart and internal panic over being forced out of the compound. He could read the anxiety on your facial expressions, and feel it radiating off of you as if you were telepathically sending it to him.

You hit the lobby button, Steve hit the floor his office was on.

Since his floor was above the lobby, the doors opened once more and it was his turn to get off. "Have fun, be safe, give me the card back today."

"Wait? When was I supposed to give it back to you?" You made one last sarcastic jab before the doors closed, completely shielding you from his annoyed face.

As per his request, you got food, spent more than a few hours and a few hundred at a beauty salon, made a quick stop home before Steve texted you that he was out of his last meeting.

So you made a leisurely walk over to his office, and knocked twice before entering. He looked tired and more than ready to turn in work for the day as he straightened out the haphazard papers and various sticky notes on his desk.

"That pothos is looking a bit sad." You noted, leaning in the doorway.

The once happy plant with bright green leaves with tiny cream colored patches was now droopy and under watered.

"It's not sad, it's just dramatic when it needs some water. I watered it a few minutes ago, it'll perk up again soon" He explained, looking at the plant, then up to you. "Oh, you got your hair done."

Your hair was now perfectly styled, cut a little shorter, and was a little lighter throughout the ends. Steve also noticed your casual street ware was replaced with your favorite sweatpants and a cropped t shirt. He once again cursed himself for thinking about how beautiful you were when he really should've still been mad at you.

"And my nails, and my eyebrows." You noted, holding up your hands for him to see. "Is this enough evidence?"

"I guess it is." He nodded. "What did you get to eat?"

"Dim sum" you admitted. "Here's the card."

It wasn't the cheapest option in the world, but every few weeks you and Steve would happily splurge and go get dim sum together because it was just so good. But hey, if you had the company card, you we're definitely going to fill your belly up with bao and dumplings.

"Thanks." He took it back from you. "Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah, maybe a little bit." You nodded. "But I am going to continue on with that meeting in the morning, oh, and definitely finish pride and prejudice."

"Would you like to have the meeting now? I'll stay late, I don't mind." He asked. Staying late was the last thing he wanted to do, but nothing would be worse than living with the anxiety that this unknown meeting was causing him.

"No it's fine, you seem tired." You denied. "And by the way, did you know the company card works on The Sims 4?! Now I'm even more excited for that new expansion pack because I didn't have to pay for it!"

He could tell you were still deeply sad and exhausted by your surroundings, but your fake enthusiasm wasn't helping him feel any less concerned by your state of being.

"Lovely. I'm happy for you." Steve said dryly.

"See you in the morning, Captain Rogers. 8 am, don't be late."

And just like that, you slipped past his office door. Steve wished it was physically possible to kick himself in that moment. He so desperately wanted to just talk to you, he wanted to explain himself, express to you that he loved and cared for you regardless of where the two of you stood, he wanted to be a good friend and be there for you through this very obvious rough patch, but he couldn't.

The words never properly formulated whenever he was within eyeshot of you, yet the second you left and when he would lay awake at night staring up at the dark ceiling unable to sleep, those words formed perfectly and passionately with no way to express them in a way you deserved to hear.

Just like always, he laid awake all night just for 8 am to come around. Promptly on time, you were back in his office.

As you took a seat in the very familiar chair across his desk, he noticed three things. The first being that you weren't in uniform, the second being that even though you looked beautiful, you no longer looked like yourself, and last but not least, the words escaped him again.

The concealer under your eyes did little to hide the fact that you had been crying, the blush on your cheeks didn't fool him into believing that the life hadn't been drained from your face. Your eyes were dull, your sweet and spunky personality that he loved so much had been missing for a month now. You were right in front of him, but you felt like a ghost and he found himself missing you.

"You're on time" Steve noted. "I stopped for a coffee this morning and grabbed you one too since you're the first meeting of my day."

Steve placed the perfectly ordered vanilla cold brew in front of you, "oh, thanks. I appreciate that."

"Will you please tell me what's going on now?" Steve practically begged. This very meeting had been looming over his head in a storm cloud of anxiety since yesterday.

Without saying anything, you handed him a piece of paper. He took it from your shaky hands with a dreadful look in his eye, so you sat and sipped your coffee and looked at the swirls in the wood of his beautifully stained desk while awaiting his reaction.

The first and only thing his eye picked up before he refused to read more was 'This letter is intended to notify you of my resignation in two weeks from S.H.I.E.L.D.'

"No." Steve said sternly before sliding your resignation letter right back to you.

"No?" You questioned.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm quitting and you're saying...no?" You cocked your head to the side, trying not to cry out of immediate frustration. "You understand that's probably illegal?"

"When have I ever been one to follow the law?" He asked rhetorically. "I can't let you throw everything you've worked so hard for away just because of me. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen."

"This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me." You corrected him.

"Why do you think this is the best choice for you right now?" Steve poked, trying his hardest to ignore the way his heart was sitting in the bottom of his stomach.

You braced yourself with a big breath, and accepted the presence of the never ending tears that always stung your eyes nowadays. "Being here has proven to be the worst experience for my mental health, and I need it to get better because I'm scared of what will happen to me if it doesn't."

"There are other things we can try before taking a step this drastic." Steve pleaded.

You shook your head in denial. "I can't get out of bed anymore."

"I'll get you a therapist."

"I've barely been able to eat, shower, work out." You continued painting the picture for him while quickly wiping away a tear. "This is the furthest I've ever been from myself. I look in the mirror and don't recognize my reflection, all i want to do is sleep so I don't have to deal with the constant state of anxiety I'm in just to wake up and hate that I feel numb. I've lost control over my own emotions and I can't take it anymore. We all saw this coming, Steve, so please just let me go."

"Harvey is literally one write up away from getting fire-"

"Four months ago, it had been 3 years since the last time I cried. Now I think I cry about three times a day, and sometimes I need to cry but nothing happens. It's like I'm losing my mind and I hate it."

"But..."

"I never took a day off or called out since I started shield until that one mission when Harvey made sure I got hurt. Ever since then I've been getting hurt more, working less, having to take days off left and right. At this rate, I'd rather go quietly before I get fired."

"Nobody is going to fire you." Steve denied.

"Even before everything happened, I haven't been happy here. My friends and my boyfriend were the only ones keeping me sane and tying me down to the compound, but now? I don't have a boyfriend or even friends for that matter. Everyone here hates me. Nothing is grounding me."

"Do you have another job lined up?" Steve sank in his chair.

"I'll figure it out."

"You know quitting means you'd lose your housing?" Steve challenged. "Do you have another living situation lined up?"

"Yeah, I have two places and two sets of people waiting for me."

You were being cryptic, but Steve knew you were talking about your Sister and Brother in-Law, and your Mom and Dad.

"But you haven't signed a lease yet?"

"No, not yet." You sniffled.

There was a break in conversation, Steve's wheels obviously moving and cranking desperately trying to come up with a solution. So you sat and dissociated from the situation while talking small and slow sips of your coffee.

"Okay, since I legally can't say no to you right now, here's what we're going to do." Steve sat up, and rolled his chair closer into the desk. "I'm putting you on a two week paid leave of absence instead. Take the two weeks to get out of the compound, stay with whoever is waiting for you and really focus on yourself. Really think about what you want, then at the end of the two weeks if you still think that you don't want to do this anymore, that's fine. I'll terminate your employment on the spot, no need for another notice."

"Okay" You accepted. Not only was it a good deal, but it got you out of the compound as soon as today, and all you wanted to do was run out of the doors and never come back.

He started typing around on his computer, and a piece of paper came out of the printer that jumped on. "In the meantime I also really want you to consider this." You grabbed the warm paper from his hands, and looked it over to see that it was the benefits list to the Avengers position. "You'd move up into the loft with the rest of us, you'd never have to see any of the other agents again if you didn't want to. The job is easier- not as busy with more downtime. Everyone loves you and wants you there, plus it would be an increase in pay with better benefits and a killer 401k."

"Everyone?" You asked, "I can think of two people that probably wouldn't want me there right now."

He gave you a disappointed dad stare. "Everyone, and I mean that."

"Much to think about." You mumbled.

"Since you'll be gone and out of harms way, I'm going to take the time to whip the boys into shape since they can't retaliate against you." He noted.

"Good luck with that."

"Questions, comments, concerns?"

"No questions, no more comments, and no less than a million concerns but that's just an average day for me." You stood up from his desk. "Thanks for your time and effort, I'll be back in two weeks I guess."

"Hey, I'm rooting for you, and I genuinely mean that." Steve reminded you sadly. "If you need anything at all, professionally or personally, I'm here. I always will be."

You nodded before pushing through the doors with your coffee and benefits list in hand. As quickly as you could, you packed a bag full of everything you'd need to be gone for a little while in hopes that you could get out of the building before the news spread. The last thing you wanted was Bucky trying to convince you to stay or Harvey getting some sort of sick satisfaction from your choice.

It took about an hour, but walking through the compound with a backpack and a duffel was the most satisfying and enjoyable experience you've ever had since the first time you walked into the building.

Getting into the car and turning the key in the ignition, you let the air from the vents hit your face and dry out the tears on your cheeks. Your seatbelt clicked in place and held you like a hug while the music from your playlist connected to Bluetooth and sang comforting words to you.

After putting in the address to your parents house in maps and set off on your journey, you had an hour and 45 minute drive ahead of you to relax and let the weight of the world roll off your shoulders.

But in the process of setting off on your journey, nothing was more comforting that seeing the reflection of the compound becoming smaller and smaller in the rear view mirrors.

Much like the gravity of all the issues that lived within the cold, gray building, they became smaller and smaller the further you got.

You let all of your problems stay locked in the concrete walls for Steve, Bucky, and Harvey to deal with on their own. Because right now, you needed to get better, you needed to feel like you again.

By the time you pulled into your parent's driveway, you barely had time to open your car door before your dad was grabbing your bags from the back seat while your mom was waiting for a hug.

You hopped out of the car and happily wrapped your arms around her. Before you knew it, there were little arms around your legs, your dad joined in, then two more sets of arms held you close.

"Wha-" You mumbled, lifting your head to see your sister, her husband and your nephew were here as well. "What are you guys doing here?!"

"We made the drive over so we can spend a few days together as a whole family." Jane explained with a kind, sympathetic smile on her face. "Luca lives in a constant state of missing his Auntie Smalls, and we all miss having you around so we thought this would be a perfect opportunity to get some quality time in."

"We know you're having a hard time, sweetheart." Your Mom pet your hair lovingly. "But we're here to rally around you no matter what, okay?"

"Whether you choose to be an agent, or an avenger, or a barista at the coffee shop around the corner, we're going to love you and support you just the same." Your dad reminded you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "There's plenty of space here for you, we're happy to have you as long as you need. There's no rush."

“And when they inevitably start to drive you absolutely insane, our house is your house too. You know we would love to have you, as would Luca." Nathan, your brother in law told you.

"We're going to have so much fun! Mommy brought puzzles, and paints, and ooh! We can play Nintendo-" Luca started excitedly.

"Woah there buddy, let's let Auntie at least put her stuff down before we start bombarding her, alright?" Jane giggled.

"Fine... Auntie let's go inside!" Luca grabbed your hand and gently pulled you towards the door of your childhood home.

You looked back with a genuine smile on your face. Tears filled your eyes at the sight of your family in the driveway, but this time they were happy tears, something you were completely unfamiliar with.

"Thank you, I love you guys." You put your free hand over your heart as Luca continued to happily walk you in.

"We love you too." Your mom said, finding comfort next to your dad who was lovingly wrapping his arm around her.

He was happy and content to have his kids and grandkid all under the same roof. Nothing made him happier than his empty nest becoming full again. "We love you more."

Next Part: Little Birdie

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