#okay this is scheduled so !! shorter chapter for this week :)

[saerins]

⋆୨ chapter five ୧˚ if not for this love of mine

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter four - behind a box of reasons why <> next: chapter six - redefines in every way what love is ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 5k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, manipulation, slightly suggestive | notes: since mirin is everyone’s favourite , i decided to give her a little more screen time ^_< hehehe

It’s a pain. It’s torture.

You’re not sure why you’re like this, but you wish you weren’t. If only you weren’t so wishy washy. If only you could confront Sae like a normal person would then maybe this would all be simpler. But sadly, you don’t do normal—you do stupid and you do idiotic because that night, after you’ve just found out that Mirin of all people had been in your house (because you’d recognise that table anywhere), you don’t ask Sae straight up.

Eggshells. You’re walking on eggshells around the topic, trying to get Sae to cough it up himself.

After all, she didn’t just post that one story apparently. She posted a few more after that, conspicuously typing some white hearts over it, or other things like days like this are the best >>> or just like the old days 🤍 which makes you want to punch her through the phone. 

“So, what’d you do today?” You are always genuinely curious about his day, but having a hidden agenda for the question tonight makes you feel a little guilty.

On Sae’s part, he’s generally disinterested in talking about himself, as usual, which is now not quite working in your favour. He shrugs, wiping the countertop since he accidentally spilled some water on it beforehand.

“Nothing much, stayed home, still feel like shit.”

Right, because that morning he’d told you he seemed to have gone down with a cold. To be fair, his nose was running and he had puffy eyes. His nose is still kind of red now but then you wonder if he’d intended to invite Mirin over, then.

“Oh, so… nothing interesting happened?”

Your tone seems a little off, and Sae picks up on it, turning around with his brows furrowed. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

If you were smart, you’d cough it up yourself. But no, you aren’t because you’d been over this—you’re stupid and idiotic and dumb, so dumb. So instead, you force a smile and shake your head.

“Just curious, that’s all,” you brush it off, effectively losing your chance to ask Sae about it anymore (for now).

Nothing really escapes Sae, though, because he knows something is off, but he’s not a mind reader. And maybe it’s because despite getting so much closer recently, neither of you have actually spoken about your actual deep feelings that there’s uncertainty in the air between the two of you.

He takes a seat across from you, dinner already finished, nothing else but the sound of the television playing the news in the background. Sae doesn’t really do anything but look you in the eyes, as though he’s searching for answers to his unspoken question.

“What is it?” You ask, shirking slightly under his innocent stare.

This time, Sae’s the one shaking his head, though he’s still looking into your eyes. “You can tell me anything if you ever need to, okay?”

Sae’s given you permission. He doesn’t know what it is, for sure, but he has. So then you start wondering to yourself: why are you so scared?

“You are so dumb.”

“I know!” You have your head in your hands, groaning as you feel Reo’s deathly judgey stare upon you.

It’s been a week since you found out about Mirin being over at your house, and you still haven’t found the guts to ask Sae about it straight. And thanks to Sumi, you’ll be the first to know if Mirin ever posts about being inside your house again. (So far there’s nothing.)

Reo’s been busy the past week, but now that he’s heard your predicament, he’s cursing himself for not making time. He didn’t think it was this bad. Knowing you, you must’ve been overthinking yourself to sleep, even if Sae is right there beside you.

He sighs, pensive as he watches you spiral. You’re whining incoherently and babbling on about being stupid and hating this Mirin girl. You’re definitely head over heels for Sae by now and there’s a bittersweet feeling building up inside Reo. But he’s nothing if not the best friend ever so he shoves his personal feelings aside.

“But really, if Sae told me that, I’d ‘fess up straight away. I don’t think he’d care if you told him you stalked Mirin’s story,” Reo tells you, hoping it’ll give you the small push you need to just talk to him.

Sighing, you look up at Reo, eyes hidden behind your hair and got you looking straight out of a horror film. Reo would usually tease you for this, but considering your emotions right now, he spares you the agony of having to listen to him poke fun at you.

“I don’t know,” you groan, dragging out the last syllable.

It’s an entire mix of reasons, honestly.

One, you’re too scared to ask him because you’re afraid it’s true. It’s a stupid reason, but you’re beginning to feel like this marriage is hopeful (ironically) and you want this to work so bad that you don’t want anything to ruin this. If you could just make the problem go away silently, wouldn’t it work too? You don’t want to risk having one single argument with Sae that would lead you back to square one.

Two, every instance of communication that you’ve brought up since you were young convinces you otherwise. Nothing you’ve ever raised to your parents has given you the safety that you so sought. All you ever got in return for telling on someone who bullied you or complaining that the tea is too hot and it burns your tongue or confiding in your mum that their business partner seems shady was a tight slap on the cheek or public humiliation. Sae is neither of your parents, but that’s the interesting thing about being raised that way—it’s hard to snap out of it.

There are probably more excuses you can offer, but you’re too tired to think about them. It’s been too many sleepless nights, ending only with you waking up for work like a zombie. Sumi’s been trying her best to keep your energy up, always getting you coffee and perking you up in between tasks but it’s hard to get your mind off it.

Sensing that you’re going off the deep edge, Reo sucks in a deep breath.

“You mentioned that everything was going well with him, right?” Reo asks you, and you nod, albeit like a sad little puppy. “You said that the honeymoon ended in a rocky way, but then in the end, Sae made you feel comfortable, didn’t he? Like you could feel that it could work?”

Those are all things you mentioned to him today during the catch up, yeah.

“What are you getting at, Reo?”

He averts his gaze, hesitant. “Y/N, why’d you ask to meet at my place? Why not our usual hangout?”

You’d planned to keep your lips sealed about that, but looks like it doesn’t escape Reo’s notice. Giving up, you confess.

“Remember the last time we met? Apparently, someone snapped a pic of us in a misleading angle and, well, my parents confronted me about it—I don’t even know how they fucking got it, maybe they have a PI on me or something but urgh,” you say in one breath, sidetracking. “But yeah, anyway, Sae didn’t see the picture and I guess… I just wanted to avoid any misunderstandings.”

Reo listens to you, a full face of seriousness, before leaning back against his chair, facepalming himself. “Oh god the two of you are just two idiots.”

Straightening up, you look at your best friend, wide-eyed. “Okay you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay look, I don’t know what’s going on with this Mirin chick, okay? But what I do know is…” Reo trails off, knowing that he’s absolutely pushing you to Sae, losing his own chance forever. But then again, he’s already lost. “Sae really cares about you.”

You stay silent, wondering what on earth led Reo to that conclusion when he barely knows your husband.

“Remember that night you called when you were in Korea?” Reo asks, and you recall that he was too busy to pick up. Not entirely out of pocket. You nod. “Actually… I was talking to Sae.”

“Huh?”

That was not the information you’d expected, so you can only stare at Reo dumbly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“That night, he called me, saying that you had been acting weird and he thinks you’re upset and especially that night in particular.” You’re not sure why hearing that sounds surreal to you. “He was asking me how best to comfort you.”

There’s a lot of things you want Reo to elaborate on, but all you can keep thinking of is the fact that Sae made that much effort to try and console you, even when he didn’t know what was going on. It’s a far cry from the guy who initially told you you essentially meant nothing to him.

You didn’t even notice it, but Reo’s already shifted himself, sitting beside you, his hands on your shoulders. 

“Listen, I don’t know if he’s over his ex or not, I really don’t,” Reo tells you honestly, but his grip is firm on you, “but I really don’t think his feelings for you are fake.”

It sounds funny hearing this from Reo, somehow.

“I just think… maybe you should try to talk to him?” Reo suggests, although you knew that. He only serves to further convince you. “Otherwise, are you sure you want to send this marriage to its end like this?”

Reo’s words sit with you the whole ride home.

The worst part is he’s right. If you don’t talk to Sae, then you’ll just end up gradually drifting apart from him. Then where would the marriage go? You doubt Sae would’ve ever thought that you saw Mirin’s story and started acting cold because of it.

Besides, if you’re letting yourself be hopeful, maybe Sae didn’t tell you about it because it was insignificant. (You know it’s a stupid excuse especially when your husband invited his ex over to the house but you’re trying to hold on to hope.)

Relenting to fate, you text Reo.

you’re right, i’ll try talking to him…

You immediately get a text back.

you can do it! lmk if you need anything ok? 

You just give his message a thumbs up because you’re too nervous to form any more sentences. At the very least, there’s comfort in knowing that your best friend will always be here for you.

Judging by the time, half past eight at night, you’re sure Sae’s already home, probably flipping through the channels because there never seems to be anything that he wants to watch. It’s just the way he is; you like the intimacy of knowing that. That means you need to figure out what to say before you even get there. Preparation is key—because you don’t want to space out when it’s time to talk to him.

So that’s exactly what you do.

By the time you reach your front door, you’ve rehearsed your opening line a hundred times, and your heart’s pounding out of your chest. 

But of course, none of that means anything when you open the door and still space out because now, guess what’s the only thing you can think about?

Why the fuck did you open the door to see Mirin at your bedroom entrance?

There it is—the blank. It’s creating a gaping hole in your head. Because not only is Mirin here in the flesh, dressed head to toe in designer labels and looking like a model out of a magazine, she’s noticed you too now, and she’s looking at you without an ounce of guilt. All she’s doing right now is staring back at you, her listless face forming into a smile.

That’s not the worst thing, though. You notice her lips: smudged mauve lipstick in the corners, looking heavily like she just made out with someone.

“Oh hi! You must be Y/N, right?” She greets, holding out her hand that you really just want to slap away but you don’t—best not to fuck with the iceberg, or tip the boat or whatever that phrase is because you can’t think properly at all right now. “I’m Seto Mirin,” she introduces as you shake her hand.

You can’t even say hi before you hear the familiar click open of your bathroom doors, inside the master bedroom where Mirin has just been waiting outside of.

Out comes Sae, as though he’d been rushing, his collar a mess and his hair slightly wet. Has he been washing his face? When he comes face to face with you, you nearly scoff because he’s missed a spot: on his neck. Because he’s slightly taller than her. It checks out.

His usual nonchalance is replaced with perplexity, like he’s unsure what to say to you. It’s fine though, because you’re not sure if you can take what he wants to tell you.

“Should we go, babe?” Mirin asks Sae, and all you see is red. Sae turns to her to speak but she cuts him off, turning her attention to you. “It’s nice meeting you!” Her fingers wrap around Sae’s wrist, pulling him with her to the door before either of you know it.

You’re stuck staring into your bedroom at nothing, too stunned to even speak. Is this really happening right now? Just when you resolve to speak to Sae about it, the problem shows up right underneath your nose. It sucks even more that just looking at her face makes you think back to all those photos he kept of the two of them, kept safe wherever it is now because evidently, he’s moved it away from its original hiding place since he asked you to sleep in the same room with him.

A hand on the back of your neck brings you back to the present, and you realise that he’s here, looking at you apologetically that you’re halfway expecting him to say sorry and that he’s leaving you.

He doesn’t.

What he does do is look you in the eyes, and you’re not even sure you recognise those teal hues of his anymore. Maybe you don’t want to.

“Hey it’s nothing okay, this is nothing, so wait for me to come back?” Sae is genuinely asking because for the first time since you met him, you can feel the worry and tension in his voice. As if he sort of expects you to already think of running.

When you don’t say anything, Sae’s grip on you loosens, and he asks, softly, like a whisper, “do you trust me?”

Part of you would like to scream at him, to ask him how dare he ask you that when all of this is happening right now. When he’s never once given you any sort of warning about Mirin? When, if you’d never happened to see that little black box in the first place that you’d be caught completely off guard right now?

“I don’t know, Sae. Can I?”

Sae swallows the lump in his throat. For once, you’re the one who sounds cold. But he supposes that he deserves that. “Look, I’ll explain everything when I get back later okay? Please, just- I know I haven’t earned it after today, but just trust me, okay?”

You don’t offer any assurance or answers. You don’t move at all. Not until Sae hesitantly leaves, the ding of the elevator all you hear until it closes, and their pair of footsteps disappear and that’s when you get to the closet, grab a bag full of essentials and don your leather coat, turn off your phone and then leave.

This is all way too much for one day.

You should really count your blessings that you have money handy. The amount in your joint account is untouched, because you don’t want Sae figuring out where you are. At least you have your own credit card.

What you need now is time. Some time to yourself to figure all of this out; what exactly is left for you here, whether you can circumnavigate out of the sticky situation with your parents if you do end up calling this off.

As you toss your bag onto the bed, you look out at the expensive view below you. It’s not so beautiful when you’re in a bad mood.

There’s a knock on your door, and you find a dark-haired man dressed in a tailor-made suit at your door.

“Is there anything I can offer you, ma’am? Perhaps a glass of wine or anything from our restaurant?”

He looks familiar but you see a lot of faces everyday so you don’t even bother. You shake your head. “No that’s fine, I’d just like to be left alone tonight, so.”

Seemingly understanding, he nods curtly. “Very well, have a good night, Mrs Itoshi.”

Mrs Itoshi. You’re not even sure why it’s become a habit to sign off as Mrs Itoshi. Considering the projectile at which your marriage is at danger of crumbling down from, you really need to kick the habit.

Sighing, you plop yourself down on the bed, looking around at the suite you booked for yourself. It’s petty of you, you know that, to book yourself the most expensive suite available at the last minute, at one of the most expensive hotels in all of Japan. But you’re heartbroken, so you give yourself a pass.

At the very least, you’d thought that being alone tonight would give you some peace of mind, but all it does is make your head swim with thoughts about what Sae and Mirin must be up to. Are they kissing each other right now? Because that must’ve been interrupted earlier when you waltzed back into your own home right? Or maybe they’re just like you, in an expensive suite somewhere else, getting ready to do—

You shake your head, irritated at yourself and your inability to stop thinking about Sae. Fuck, maybe a walk around the park downstairs would take your mind off it. You’ve always liked nice sceneries, especially up close—maybe that’ll work.

And it does, to a certain extent.

With the chilly air blowing in your face, the cold of the night somehow so much more inviting than the warmth of the empty hotel room. All you could think about in there was the fact that the last time you’d been to a hotel was during your little honeymoon trip.

It’s a nice park right outside the hotel, one of the most touristy areas in the city, where couples like to take pictures together against the backdrop of the giant heart in the middle of the vicinity, or where schoolgirls like to frequent after school armed with their cup noodles and their girlfriends.

An hour later, maybe two, you find yourself sitting on one of the benches facing the river, enjoying your time thinking about nothing at all. It’s the most peaceful your mind’s been in a while. In a long time, actually. Maybe comparable to before the news of having to get married was ever broken to you.

You miss it, somehow. The absence of problems. Especially ones that relate to a third party. Sure, you had your parents to deal with, but you always had that problem. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever had anyone stand up to them for you like Sae did. Not even Reo, only because he thought it would just make matters worse if he did. Still, Sae’s exceeded your expectations many times.

It all seems like such a waste now.

You stare at your lifeless phone. You can’t even switch it on even if you wanted to because it’s properly dead. Not that it’s any use anyway. You don’t want to speak to anyone. Not even Reo. But you wonder if Sae even bothers enough to check in with you while he’s out doing god knows what with you know who.

There is something you feel like you urgently need to do, though.

So you borrow a phone from a nice stranger, seems like a couple who’s on vacation from Hokkaido. You dial the number you’d been trained since a kid to remember.

“Mr Ishiro? This is Y/N.”

Mr Ishiro, your ever trusty family lawyer who would be able to get you out of any sticky situation you ever needed. God knows what went through your parents’ minds when they asked you to memorise his number. Did they think you would somehow do some illegal shit in the future that needed some bailing out of?

“I know this isn’t typically what you do, but um, I need help with some divorce papers and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my parents yet—”

“Do you mean your parents—”

“Haven’t approved of it? No, of course not,” you cut him off, just wanting his agreement to it more than anything. Everything else can be discussed once he has it drafted.

“Y/N, I don’t know—”

“Please, I just need those divorce papers drafted—”

But the phone is swiftly taken from you, and you’re about to apologise for taking too long, except you realise the one who took it from you isn’t even the owner but your husband.

Your husband. Itoshi Sae. Right in front of you, face red and panting as though he’s been running in the cold.

He hands the phone back to the kind strangers, thanking them and waiting for them to go before he turns back to you, his face utterly devoid of emotions. You’re not sure why he’s here, and you’re not sure why it seems like he’s been running all the way over here to find you.

“Divorce?” He asks, and there’s a smidget of incredulity in his tone.

It doesn’t make you back down. 

“You don’t have to explain anything. I’ll get my lawyer to draft out the papers and—”

“He’s not going to draft out anything,” Sae interjects, keeping his voice down. At this time of night, there are still lots of people around, and you guess he wants to spare both of you the humiliation of being caught in a public argument.

You have to avoid looking him in the eyes; if you catch even a sliver of concern in them then you might waver and that’s the opposite of your desired effect.

“Look, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to work it out with your parents or something because I’m not cut out for this, okay?”

Sae doesn’t move, and he doesn’t speak too soon. He lets your words sink in before asking, “not cut out for what, exactly?”

You think it’s cruel how he wants to make you spell it out. 

This time, you look him in the eyes. He’s inching closer to you, and his cold facade is breaking. He still looks very much like the person you fell in love with.

“I just think that…” God, it hurts to say it out. “I get that neither of us wanted this. That we both had no other options. But… I can’t just go about everyday pretending I’m fine if my on-paper husband is out everyday dating his ex that he can’t get over.”

Sae’s brows furrow for a second before he heaves a deep sigh, moving towards you, one of his hands extending to the top of your head, gently placing it there before he pulls you in for a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softly, relief easing his shoulders when you don’t pull away in retaliation.

While there’s no more anger left in you, something that’s much too easily seeped away with his mere hug, what’s left is confusion. Confusion, because you’re not sure what he’s apologising for.

“I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

Still. Only. Confusion.

Is this Sae’s way of refusing you? Is this his way of being a tyrant?

You pull yourself away, pushing him back in the process.

“So what? You wanna continue this charade? Fool our parents and have me cover for you while you keep a mistress on the down-low?” Sae’s mouth opens but you don’t give him the time of day to speak. “Look, I get I’ll never be her but that’s too much, Sae. It’s too much to ask of me.”

There are no words to describe how you feel; it’s everything all at once. Disappointment, confusion, surprise, and worst of all is that there’s still that little speck of optimism inside you that wants to wish for the best. But you know best that all that is is an excuse for disappointment to work its way back around again.

That’s why you don’t even let him finish calling out your name before you run back towards the hotel, where you came from. Yeah, that should be a good plan—just run back, get to your suite and lock the doors. Maybe on a little television to drown out your thoughts.

Behind you, you hear the sound of boots clacking against the cobblestone path, and you know that it’s Sae because… you just know. You’d know him by any sound and any scent—you’ve fallen hopelessly for Sae and you were an idiot to think that he could’ve possibly felt it too because this is the real world, the world outside your head, and in this world, Itoshi Sae is in love with someone else who’s infinitely prettier, probably smarter too, and who’s had so much history with him that you can never even dream of replacing.

A thousand more winters with Sae would probably never replace his youth with her.

And just when you think your night can’t get any worse, you’re barely back at the hotel entrance when you spot the familiar wavy hair, the familiar pair of eyes that haunt you whenever you remember their pictures together.

But there’s something that renders you speechless, a sight you never expected to see—there are tears in her eyes.

Mirin is in front of you, just a few steps away, puffy red eyes and contorted facial expression, yoghourt in hand, half open and nothing makes sense to you right now, because the next thing you know, she’s flung the pack of half-eaten yoghurt at you, the whites staining your coat.

“You… you bitch!”

It reflects so much of what you’re thinking that you nearly thought you were the one saying it. But it’s Mirin. And she’s angry and upset and crying and you’re utterly, completely confused.

“Wait, what are—”

The next thing you know, Mirin is storming towards you, her hands grabbing your coat collar, yanking at it while she’s hurling profanities at you.

“It’s all your fucking fault, I wish you’d just disappear already!” Mirin’s crying and sobbing between her words and usually you’d feel bad for someone who’s in this state but you’re not. Not when she’s painting you a bitch, a whore, a slut and whatever else she’s calling you.

Sae stands in front of you when he gets there, and you recall him telling you about how he got hurt and there’s a little bit of guilt there. He pushes Mirin away from you, his first course of action being to assess whether you’re hurt.

“Hey, are you okay?”

This all hurts, though not in the way that he’s looking at.

You just nod. Your head’s in a mess, you don’t really know what else to do.

As everyone around you stares at the scene, the hotel manager from earlier strolls out, hands in his pockets, an unbothered aura surrounding him. He merely bows and apologises to everyone, urging them to move on and that this is just a small disturbance, nothing worth their time.

Before you can even thank him, he gives Sae a look that seemingly says yikes before turning to Mirin, opening his mouth before realising that she’s still glaring at you, and then deciding to avert his initial plan to speak to her. This time, he chooses to look at you next. The calmer of the two.

“Hey Mrs Itoshi, you alright?”

“She’s fine, Karasu,” Sae answers for you, holding you close, even if some of the yoghurt is getting on his coat.

Karasu shoots you a grin—this must be why Sae’s here. He must’ve tipped him off. And now you finally remember where you’ve seen him, among Oliver’s instagram pictures as the nameless friend you’d yet to meet.

Sae only needs to nod at him for him to understand what he needs to do, namely, be a distraction for Mirin or to take her away—either way, it’s to leave the two of you alone with each other.

Once Karasu forcefully drags Mirin away, Sae fully turns to you, putting his own coat around your own.

“It’s fine, the hotel’s right there so I can—”

“Don’t leave,” Sae blurts out, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him be so gentle, so genuine. You think he probably means not to leave him, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Sae, what’s going on?” You ask, sighing, your head pounding after an inconceivable few hours.

He hesitates for a while before ultimately proposing a compromise. “If I tell you everything you want to know, could you reconsider the whole divorce thing?”

It’s not that hard for you to agree to this time, because there’s so much more that you want answers to than you initially thought, and besides—Sae said to reconsider, not that you still couldn't flat out do it anyway. It’s a win-win, at least for you.

But just when you think you have your emotions under control, all it takes is a simple kiss on your temple and the words that Sae whispers in your ear to catch you off guard.

“Good, because I’m in love with my wife, and I don’t want her to leave me.”

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @tsukishiro-yue2402 @kaiserkisser @pookiebearcave @dcvilxswish @saeskiss @whtflrr @arminseas @raphsimp @saharei @danibxe @lectris00 @comet-kun @ishitam67 @gskill @sweet2wthsblog @astruoise @scaraslover @beaniedoodz @bersuadikotatua @idk-bro-gay @etoiile @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu @yourstrulyharu @noimnotttt @tinyfurytaco @bxddiebloss @biaonww **bolded: means i can’t tag you guys because of your settings >_<

[whimsiwitchy]

I hear the secrets that you keep (series) 

chapter six: 24

Pedro Pascal x plus size F!reader 

series masterlist

series summary: 24 year old y/n is an insecure and struggling actress in Los Angeles until she finally books a leading role in a big Hollywood movie next to her leading male, Pedro Pascal. A spark of friendship flickers between the two and slowly begins to blossom into something more. As y/n is navigating a new found fame and a new found romance, she fears that a lie she has been sitting on might ruin everything.

Warnings: plus size afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of y/n, swearing, age gap (24/14 years), descriptions of the female body, use of the word fat, descriptions of a bigger body (stretch marks, cellulite, rolls, etc.), descriptions of nudity, sexual themes. 

Please let me know if I missed anything! Warnings may change as the story progresses. 

chapter summary: y/n tells Pedro the truth. 

authors note: Hi everyone! This chapter is a little rough, but it's done lol. Also, what do you guys think about the length of the chapters? Do you want them longer, shorter, the same length? Let me know! I believe they're average 1.5-2k words as of now. Enjoy! :)

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗ 

“BITCH, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!” 

You had spent the last thirty minutes catching Angie up on the newest details of your escapades with Pedro and all of your doubts that came with it. It has become really common for Angie and yourself to go weeks without seeing each other, only sending each other texts here and there or the two of you discussing work stuff when necessary. When both of your busy schedules finally aligned, the two of you immediately set up a ‘catch up and gossip’ sesh on your living room couch. 

“Please stop yelling. I’m one noise complaint away from being evicted because of you.” You sigh only half joking. 

“Sorry sorry. I’m just… okay wait let me gather my thoughts for a moment.” She takes a sip of her iced coffee and she's staring just past your head at the wall behind you. Your leg is bouncing at a record breaking pace. You told her everything, not skipping a single detail, and you were hoping whatever came out of Angie’s mouth next was positive. You weren’t exactly sure why you were so nervous to hear what she was going to say. Maybe you wanted some confirmation that what had been happening between you and Pedro wasn’t crazy, that you weren’t in over your head. 

Angie had always been better at relationships than you and understandably so. She was naturally beautiful, it baffled you how someone could even be born so blessed. She was about 5’4, with ginger hair that went down just past the middle of her back. She has this perfectly white smile that hid behind her perfectly plump lips with light freckles scattered along her cheeks and shoulders. Her loud and outgoing personality just solidified just how easily likable she was. You used to envy her but she was never competing with you. She was the kindest soul you had ever met and she stood beside you always. You knew whatever she said was probably what was best for you. She was the definition of a girl's girl. 

“Okay okay... so you’re telling me that he came to see you on his day off, the two of you messed around in your trailer, he asked you to come over, and the two of you didn’t fuck?” She says as she finally snaps back into reality. 

“Angie oh my fucking god… how many times do I have to tell you that we didn’t have sex.” You’re starting to feel hopeless. You had asked her for advice and shes done nothing but annoyingly ask if you and Pedro had fucked since the moment you mentioned that the two of you basically dry humped each other for a good five minutes in your trailer.  

“Can you please be serious for five minutes and actually help me? I’m freaking the fuck out. Everytime I’m with him all of the worrying goes away but once I’m alone it hits me like a fucking truck.” You’re begging her at this point to put her dating expertise to use. 

“Okay fine, I’m sorry.” She says sincerely and you let out a faint thank you. 

“So he said something about wanting to take you out?” 

“Yea, um, he mentioned it when he was asking me if I wanted to stay over. It wasn’t anything set in stone but he did mention like dating and stuff so I don't know…” You trail off, really unsure of everything. 

“I think you’re overthinking it babe. If he didn’t fuck you, he definitely respects you and wants to have something more with you, ya know?” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so. He’s a good one y/n, I can feel it in my bones.” You give her a small smile. 

“You should totally introduce me to him though so I can really double down on him.” She grabs your hands from your lap and looks you in the eyes. 

“It’s all going to be okay, okay? In the end, he's just a man y/n. Besides, we can jump his ass if he plays you.” She squeezes your hands and gives you a tough nod. 

“But that’s the thing Ang, he’s not just a man. He’s my older, insanely hot co-star, who still doesn’t even know just how young I am.” You huff and shove your face into your hands. 

“Y/n, you haven’t told him?” She’s giving you a look you’re not familiar with. 

“No…I tried but work stuff interrupted me and that was before he kissed me” 

“Hm… well I think you should for sure tell him sooner rather than later, but don’t worry about it too much, yea? I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

“OH fucking shit, fuck fuck fuck…HOLY SHIT..” 

Swears were flying from your mouth left and right as the wax lady ripped more and more wax off of you taking each hair follicle with it. With your intimacy training coming up soon, you had to prepare by being silky smooth on all body parts that have a chance of being on camera- which was basically your entire body for this shoot. You’ve been through this same process many times before but something about this felt different. You knew that this project was bigger than anything you had ever done before but somehow you being naked on camera for millions to see wasn’t your biggest fear right now. 

Once your appointment was over and there wasn’t a hair left on your body, you were speed walking home. For some reason you always convince yourself to walk to the wax studio due to the close proximity to your apartment, but you always regretted it once your skin was begging for some sort of soothing distraction from the pain. Even with the loose fit of the skirt you were wearing, commando at that, you could still feel the irritation growing stronger. Your thighs were beginning to rub together in a way in which you knew you'd have to slather vaseline between your legs just to prevent any further chafing. 

After your long ass hike (a ten minute walk) through the depths of hell (it was 80 degrees with a breeze), you finally made it home. You walked straight into your bathroom, stripped, and hopped into a cold shower. You scrubbed your body with a vanilla and coconut body wash, being extra careful when you got closer to your fresh brazilian wax, and washed your hair. When you finished showering, you lotioned up, dried your hair, and laid down in your bed to relax. 

You planned on bedrotting and watching tik tok for the rest of the day but you couldn’t shake the thought of what Angie had told you earlier today. 

Sooner rather than later…

*hey! I was wondering if you’d want to hang out sometime soon? :) 

You sent the text and threw your phone across your bed. It’s been a few days since you slept over at his house. After you agreed to stay, he offered the guest room, but with all of your courage -mostly sleepiness,  you asked to sleep with him. The next morning you were wrapped in his arms, soft snores in your ear. His hand was holding yours and you laid there memorizing each crinkle of his knuckles, staring at the tattoo that sat between the webbing of his thumb and index finger. You kept trying to imagine how he looked when he was sleeping, wondering if he had a peaceful look to him or if the wrinkles in his face relaxed. Not being able to hold off any longer, you turned over so your mind wouldn’t have to imagine anymore. You were right. He looked like the definition of peace. His hair was a mess, his mouth ajar, eyelashes resting beautifully on the underneath of his eyes. Pedro was the most handsome man you had ever seen, you were sure that you could have fallen in love with him right then and there. 

Pedro:

*Hey baby. I’m done filming around 9 tonight. I can come pick you up and we can grab some food. 

*Sound good? 

You:

*sounds good. see you later <3

Another late night with Pedro. You’d unconsciously have been reserving nights just for him. When the sun was up, you worked, saw friends, handled whatever business that needed to be dealt with, but the night was strictly for him. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was purposeful or completely accidental that the two of you seemed to meet when the moon was out. The next few hours leading up to seeing Pedro would be hell, you were certain of it. Knowing that everything that has built over such a short time period could be washed away and you would have to awkwardly deal with him on set, somehow ignoring the strong feelings that you were beginning to hold for him. You were really hoping that Angie was right. That he would somehow be totally cool with the whole 24 year age gap thing, but you knew deep down that just wasn’t likely. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

It was 9:30 and you were pacing around your living room waiting for any sign of Pedro. You’ve been anxious all evening and now that the time to see him has come, you weren’t ready at all. A soft knock on your door makes you come to a halt. Walking over to the door, you peer through the peephole to see Pedro- who looks so good it makes your jaw drop. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door. 

“Hey sweetheart.” He greets, smile beaming. You open the door wider, allowing him to step inside. 

“Hi..” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, anxiety seeping through your body. “Uh, let me just grab some shoes and my bag then we can head out.” You walk towards a small coat closet to grab your checkered vans. “You can take a seat if you want, I'll be right back.” He gave you a nod and walked over to the papasan chair that sits in the far corner of your living room. Meanwhile, you were in your room freaking out. Seeing him was a hard slap in the face. You knew you had to tell him tonight before feelings developed and someone got hurt, but who's to say that won’t already happen tonight. 

You felt like shit and you definitely looked it. Grabbing a small purse, you spray some perfume on and make your way back to the living room. 

“Ready to go?” You ask, putting on a small smile, hoping Pedro couldn’t see through it. He returns the smile and stands up. The two of you make your way to his car, stopping once outside to lock your door. 

“So, what’re you hungry for?” Pedro asks while putting his seat belt on, you do the same. 

“Whatever is fine with me, I'm not too picky.” 

You ended up grabbing some mcdonalds and parking in some random parking lot to eat and talk. He was being so sweet to you, complimenting you every few minutes, a smile never leaving his face. He was truly your dream guy, he was everything you could ever want. You were terrified that you were going to lose it all. You hadn’t been completely yourself all night and Pedro was starting to catch on. 

“You okay baby? You seem a little off.” He’s looking at you, eyes filled with concern. You don’t answer him right away. You’re trying to find the best way to go about telling him. You were 24 but you were an adult and you hated that this age gap was such a big deal. You had never been into the idea of dating an older man but then Pedro came around and changed everything. For you, it wasn’t a life changing idea, but for Pedro, it could very well be career ending. If he was seen with you and people found out just how young you were compared to him. This whole relationship, or whatever it is, was doomed from the start. Your leg is bouncing, a regular occurrence around Pedro it seems. 

“P…I need to tell you something.” You’re looking down at your hands, unable to look him in his eyes. 

“What is it sweet girl? You can tell me anything.” His voice is filled with nothing but sincerity and you can physically feel pain from your heart slowly breaking. 

“I’m not actually 35…” You’re still not looking at him, silence fills the air. You’re waiting for him to say something but he never does. You look up and his expression is unreadable. 

“Okay…How old are you then?” From the sound of his voice, you can tell that he is confused. 

“I’m 24.” You’re looking in his eyes searching for any rapid change of emotion. Your leg is still rapidly bouncing, heart pounding. 

“What?” 

“I’m 24, well i’ll be 25 soon but yea…” 

“Jesus fucking christ y/n…” He’s shaking his head and running his hand over the slight stubble coming in on his chin. 

“Are you mad at me?” You ask. You sounded so pathetic right now, but it’s all you could muster up. 

“I’m not mad.” He’s staring at you. Relief flows through your body and you start to relax. 

“Why did you lie to me?” His voice is raised slightly causing you to wince slightly. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you P, I swear. My um…my agent, Angie, lied about my age to book the audition. It wasn’t something I did intentionally, well it wasn’t something I did at all.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” A look of hurt present on his face. 

“I just never thought to bring it up. I mean we were just hanging out then you kissed me and everything changed. I tried to tell you at the skating rink but we had to head to the floor and I swear I've been trying to find a way to tell you but I was so scared to ruin whatever we have going on here. I really like you pedro…”  

“I really like you too y/n, but you’re so fucking young. I mean I’m about to be 50, I can’t be screwing around with a 24 year old.” 

Your heart drops. You can feel the tears starting to well up before a few fall against your will. 

“I’m sorry.” You're looking down again, trying to hide your tears from Pedro. 

“I should get you home.” He sighs and starts the car. 

The drive back to your apartment was quick but painfully awkward. You faced the window the entire time, letting your tears fall freely. When he pulled into the parking lot, the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. You were afraid to leave the car, afraid that this might be the last time you get to be with him outside of work. 

“What does this mean for us?” You whisper, turning to look at him. He has his right hand still sitting on the steering wheel, while his left hand is sitting on his thigh, fingers tapping. 

“I don’t know y/n.” He’s still not looking at you, face staring out the front windshield. 

y/n.  No baby, no sweetheart or sweet girl, just your name. 

“Okay. Well um… thanks for dinner. I’ll see you on set.” Your voice betrays you, cracking on your last words towards him. He gives you a slight nod. You get out of the car and make your way to your apartment. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes and walked slowly to your room. Collapsing onto the bed, you let out a sob, all of the emotions you had been holding in finally being let free. You felt heart broken. For once you had the perfect man who saw past your weight, thought you were beautiful, and enjoyed your time. But it didn’t matter now. It was all ruined because of some stupid lie to get an audition for some stupid movie that has a stupid fucking title. You were starting to feel more angry than sad. Angry that you had even got the part in the first place, angry that Pedro asked you to hang out with him, angry that he had kissed you. If the two of you could have been professional and just be costars, your heart wouldn’t be breaking into a million pieces. Life was so fucking unfair. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝ 

series tag list: @nuetralcolorsenthusiast, @kungfucapslock, @hansilandgretel, @ashleyfilm, @titabel, @fifitheragertot

*If you wish to be added to the tag list, leave a comment on this post letting me know! <3

[kteezy997]

the director’s daughter-part four//t.c.

I’m having a bad day. My depression has been bad the last couple of weeks or so. This chapter is shorter than previous ones, but I wanted to put out something for you all to enjoy💕

Warnings: suspicious friends, slight angst, cursing, kissing, making out, beginnings of smut

The next day, y/n sat next to Timothée at breakfast. Florence had lovingly served up the hot morning meal with coffee and assorted juices. Of course, it smelled divine and everyone started to eat immediately.

Colleen announced that she thought it might be fun to have a BBQ at her home with all of the cast members and her daughter, obviously, and invite some other crew members. A little party to celebrate the kick off of the movie production.

Everybody agreed in a near unison, nodding their heads as they sipped their drinks and munched on their breakfast.

Y/n finished her plate, and sat silently as she glanced at Timmy periodically while pretending to listen to the table conversation. She thought he looked so cute, his bed head still evident, the heavy bags under his eyes from tiredness. It was such an innocent contrast to the events of the night before.

“So where were you two last night? We didn’t see either of you at all.” Zendaya asked eyeing up both y/n and Timothée.

Y/n looked at Z and Timothée swallowed hard.

He quickly cleared his throat, “Oh, I had a bad headache so I didn’t really feel like going out to see the fireworks.”

“Hmm.” Zendaya nodded, then looked at y/n, “And I suppose you went out with your friends as you had planned?”

She nodded, “Yes, I did.”

“Babe,” chuckled Tom as he touched his girlfriend’s hand, “are you their mother or something? Let them live.”

“No, I’m not mothering, I just thought it was a little funny because I’m pretty sure her car was here all night.” Z shrugged.

“Well, my friends actually picked me up.” y/n chimed, “And dropped me off early this morning.”

“Okay. That makes sense.” Zendaya seemed satisfied with the answer, but y/n couldn’t help but wonder why she was acting so suspicious.

“Wow, Zendaya’s a better mother than I am these days.” Colleen joked to lighten up the mood.

……

It was a good day, but it ran into evening and y/n was ready for everyone to leave so it would just be the housemates. She was mostly missing Timmy. With the filming schedule and having so many others in the house, they hadn’t been alone in a week. And this morning he didn’t even look at her at breakfast. She hoped he wasn’t losing interest in her.

Florence had suggested going for a dip in the hot tub to end the evening. She had brought a date that she met at the farmers market earlier that day, Shane, or Shawn, no one could remember which his name was.

Y/n went inside and up to her room to change into her bathing suit. Timmy followed her upstairs, not saying a word. She felt discouraged when he remained quiet and went to his own room. Maybe he was forgetting about her. She wanted the fling to continue, and maybe eventually turn into something more. Perhaps it was silly of her to think that could happen. She was still in college and he was a mainstream movie star pushing thirty.

She opted for a black one piece swimsuit that cut high up on her thighs. The square neckline also held her boobs up nicely. Maybe Timmy would notice.

She hurried along in an attempt to catch Timmy before he walked back downstairs to the jacuzzi. She opened the door and he was walking down the hallway, “Timmy, wait!” she called out to him.

He stopped and turned, raising a brow at her, “What do you mean? We’re getting in the hot tub.”

“I know.” she said, hustling over to him. She stopped, smiling softly as she put her hands in his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

He was surprised at first, but then kissed her back, holding her close by pressing his hand to her lower back. “Mm.” he hummed against her lips blissfully. “What was that for?” he asked with a tiny grin when she pulled away.

“Just checking.” she said, smirking back at him.

“What, just checking to see if I’m still into you? Because I am, Bunny.”

“Well, it hasn’t seemed like it this past week.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy, and I wasn’t sure if you were still in to me. I thought maybe you’d think I’m too old for you-"

“I thought that you’d think I’m too young for you. Like you could find someone your age who’s prettier and more experienced, maybe.”

“No, I’m sorry if I’ve been misleading. I definitely want you, y/n.” he smiled, then bit his lip.

She grinned like a schoolgirl, saying, “Fuck, I’m so lucky.” She pulled him into another kiss, a harder one, putting a firm hold onto the back of his head. She wove her fingers into the soft curls just for a moment. Pulling away, she quipped, “We should get out there before Flo comes to find us.”

Timothée chuckled, “Oh you know she will.”

They took each other’s hand, him leading the way downstairs, “Let’s keep it between us, just for a little while longer, yeah?” he asked, looking at her. “I mean, I’m sure everyone in the house might have their suspicions, but let’s not give in to them until we have to.”

“Sure. Let’s keep it close as long as we can.” she smiled, giving his hand a squeeze before they parted on the back patio.

“Fucking finally!” Florence exclaimed, seeing them both come down. She was in the hot tub with her date. “It’s about time you two showed up.” She gave the pair each a cheeky grin.

Some time went by, the four adults enjoyed the jacuzzi and the calm summer night, sipping their drinks and making light conversation about the film.

Things shifted, however, and Florence started kissing Shawn.

Y/n and Timothée kept to themselves, trying not to stare. But the other couple started making out more heavily and touching each other. The mood was entirely different from how it started out.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Nine (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Shorter chapter this week (be warned, next week's will be the heftiest yet), but I hope you like this next instalment! It's really gearing us up for the FINAL TWO! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. If you've read this far, THANK YOU! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.8k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Today is a new day. It’s a new day and you’re done crying. You’re done holding on to anger and resentments. 

Besides, you feel as though you gave Santiago everything you had last night, and - at least for now - there is nothing else left to give. 

So, instead of wallowing, you plod downstairs to where Frankie is stationed in the kitchen, offering up your favourite pastries, coffee, and even pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. You pull up to the breakfast bar, hopping up on a stool to survey your extravagant pity platter. 

It’s true then. “He’s gone.” 

Frankie nods solemnly, leaning into the other side of the island like he’s a sympathetic bartender in some old Western flick. He claps his palm to your shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry, chiquita.”

You shrug. 

His face twists. That’s not all there is. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but…”

“What, Frankie?” 

“He had to bounce but he didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked far too peaceful sleeping for him to come along and fuck that up.”

Your brow notches, absorbing all of that with a contrived neutrality. “How did he… seem?”

Frankie’s eyebrows raise lightly as he ponders, thinking back over prior events. “Calm, actually. Happy, even.” 

“Hmm.” You smile softly to yourself. Makes a change from lately to hear that. You get it though. After last night, you can’t feel anything else either. Even if he technically didn’t say goodbye in words, you get it. You aren’t mad. Chances are one or both of you would have fucked it up this morning. This way at least, it leaves the night you spent together untarnished. Makes it feel like holding on to a good dream, before the realities of the day can set in and make things fraught. 

Frankie’s face crumples with concern as you gaze wistfully into the middle-distance. “You gonna be alright?” 

You pump your eyebrows. Search yourself for feelings. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m okay.” 

Frankie’s eyes glint playfully then. “Oh. So you won’t need alllll o’ these yummy pastries?” 

You laugh as he eyes the pain au chocolat pointedly. “Get stuck in, Morales,” you invite fondly, and he obliges, scraping up a stool and wiggling on his ass until he’s comfy. 

“Hey. So,” he says through mouthfuls. “Did you two figure anything out?” 

You groan at the sheer complexity of Frankie’s simple question. Did you? Or are you still going around in circles? “We know we love each other. The rest? Uh. I still don’t know.” 

“He’ll get there.” 

You puff air out from between your teeth. 

“You don’t think so?” Frankie interprets. 

You wrap your arms around your middle. “It’s not that. It’s… I don’t think it was all on him.” You don’t have any blame or accusations left. No grudges to hold on to - your hands are open. You’ve both made mistakes. Manufactured this distance, in your own ways - sometimes literally, sometimes not. You were both just trying to figure all this out as best as you could. 

Frankie’s brows notch and rise with a silent question. How so? What do you mean? 

The thoughts form as you speak them. Clumsy yet intrepid. “I guess... It just feels like we were… Both waiting for the other person to get somewhere, you know? But this whole time, we should’ve been heading there together. Otherwise, how the fuck were we supposed to know where to end up?” You slide a palm over your face. “Christ. Does that make any fucking sense?”

Frankie ponders. “I think so. Like trying to meet on the highway without a time or a place or directions?” 

You reach out and clasp his hand. “You get me, buddy.” 

Frankie blinks, tangling himself up further in your metaphor, but valiantly trying to muddle through. “And so… do you…?” He scratches his chaotic mop of hair. “Do you have a map now? A meeting point? I mean… What happens next? On the highway?” Your mouth lilts into a gentle smile at Frankie’s earnest question. He notes and feeds your amusement, going off the deep-end with this metaphor now. “Are you driving in shifts, chiquita? Grabbing cheez-its for the road?”

You laugh, the musical sound mingling with Frankie’s throaty chuckle. “What happens next?” You repeat the question out loud, carefully, posing it to yourself. Hasn’t that always been the question? However, the very sentiment which used to scare you now feels a lot more like potential. Like possibility. 

Still, you feel -for the moment- like leaving that question hanging. You leave a pregnant pause. You let it breathe. 

For now; you let it go. You let him go. 

“Where are the other guys at, anyway?” 

Frankie rides your tangent with ease. “Packing shit up.” 

“We should help them.” 

“Yeah, we should,” Frankie grins mischievously, and yet neither of you make any effort whatsoever to mobilise. 

Instead, Frankie pours you a cup of coffee from the pot. 

“You wanna call off the hike today?” he asks hopefully, Frankie increasingly a creature of comfort. 

“No. Hell no. I need to move.” You lock your fingers and stretch your arms above your head, a satisfying stretch extending down your spine. 

Frankie’s eyes sparkle across at you. “Just not in aid of helping the Millers pack their trunk, huh?” 

“Exactly! What did I tell you, bud. You get me.” 

You do though. You need to move. You need to move forward. No more standing in place. No more moving in circles, always repeating. 

Still, when you think about it. When you think to what is ahead, to what is next, your stomach drops. You feel overcome by a sudden anxiety which you can’t place at first. Like having misplaced something dear to you. Like having done something wrong but not being able to recall exactly what. Then, all of a sudden, you understand it entirely. 

“Listen. Tell me about this job, Frankie.” 

He immediately tenses up. “What job?” 

You take a bite of your pastry. “The one with Lorea’s cash house.”

Frankie simply groans. He always knows more than he lets on, this one. About everything. Everyone. 

“Is it true? That you and the boys are in?” 

You can plainly see his reticence to respond. But you know for a fact that he’s about to cave. 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

“They need a pilot,” Frankie states, looking up at you with guilty, puppy dog eyes. 

“Fuck me. He dragged you back in too, huh? You know… Sometimes I wonder if any of us are good for each other.” Your tone grows mildly irate, your heart quickening, but you recognise it for what it is. It’s simply anger veiling worry. You love these boys. 

“Come on, don’t say that,” Frankie bargains. “We’ve dragged each other out of hell.”

“And back again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath. His tongue pokes around the meat of his cheek. “He says it’s simple recon. In and out. No mess.” 

You jut your chin up. Stare at him levelly, unblinking. You know that Frankie will give it to you straight. Know that he can’t help himself. “And you buy that?” 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

“Not for a fucking second.” 

You scoff, shaking your head. Not when it comes from Santiago, no. After all, you’ve fallen for Santiago’s bullshit plenty of times yourself. It’s the fact that Frankie would wander in with his eyes wide open to it that really gets you. It’s something else. 

Still, before you can chastise him for being so stupid, Frankie glumly offers up some explanation. “Look. I need the job. I… I got my license revoked.” 

Your heart drops - and your face with it. Your hands clamp over your mouth. “Frankie,” you say softly, with empathy. “Fuck.”

He hunches in on himself despondently, his hands disappearing up his sleeves, his fists clenching and his gaze cast downward. “I fucked up, man. Cassie has a baby on the way and I fucked up.” His eyes swim with a deep shame. 

“Coke?” you venture, tentatively.  

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

Slowly, he nods. 

“Frankie.” Your hand swipes over your face, and your eyes fill with concern for him. His palm waves in the air, however, quickly dismissing any sympathies you may care to bestow. 

“I’m back on track. Getting there. I am.” His eyes are nothing but determined. Sincere. “But I need this gig. No matter how fucking hare-brained a scheme that pendejo is cooking.” 

“Think of the baby, dude.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Frankie says forcefully, in a harsh tone he rarely uses, and you know in no uncertain terms that the conversation is done. That he’s made his mind up, and that he won’t hear you out any further on the matter. 

You swallow. Regroup. You chew on some platitudes, but none of them feel quite right. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frankie says after a stretched, tense moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“It’s okay,” you jostle his shoulder, and it shakes a little of the tension from him and the room. “I get it. And shit. I’m sorry for putting all of my bullshit on you this weekend. I wish you’d said something, Cat.” 

He shrugs. Speaks with finality. “There’s not much to say. It’s done. I just need to make it right. And I will.”

“I believe it. But you do know that I’m… If you need… Anything, Frankie.” 

He looks up at you then, the warmth back in his eyes as your voice cracks, searching for the words. But, he already knows everything you could ever say. You’ve said it before, a hundred times. He knows you love him. Knows you’re proud of him. Knows you’d do anything for him. Knows you want the best for him. He knows it already. 

In turn, you are sure that he already knows everything you could possibly call him out on. That he’s already thought about it. Weighed it up. Thought about the risks. About the possibility that he’s acting out of desperation. The possibility that he’d probably be better off staying the hell away from Pope’s schemes. 

He scrapes his stool back and comes to you, bundling you into a tight, warm, big brother hug. You tug in a deep breath, and you let it go. You’re done trying to control everything around you. It never really got you anywhere. 

Still, there’s an undeniably uncomfortable knot in your chest as you think about them all gearing up. Strapping on their tac vests. Shoving clotting pads into their med packs. It makes you feel physically ill. And so, you can’t help yourself. “Do me a favour, Frankie? Don’t take Tom?” You muffle the words into his shirt, half hoping they will get lost there. That maybe he didn’t even hear you. But, you know when he braces his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, that your game is up. 

“Why not?” 

You see it then, in his eyes. That Tom is not a risk Frankie has considered. His presence not something he has weighed up. 

You deliver your words as plainly and transparently as possible. “He’s too hungry, Cat.” 

Frankie simply locks eyes with you, as though trying to weed out your motives. Shrewdly trying to assess your conclusions. Is this just your petty vendetta talking? Is this intelligence? Is this coming from your gut? 

“Please. Just trust me.”

“I do,” he nods eventually, but you should know better than to feel any relief. And next, there it is. “I do but it’s not my call.” 

Well. You’ve said your piece. You guess that’s all you’ve got. Absent-mindedly, you tug on Frankie’s lapels. “You’d better come back to me, Cat,” you plead plaintively. “And by God, you’d better bring those other fuckers back with you to boot.” 

With a wistful affection, Frankie tugs you to him again and you stand there in silence for a few more moments, the sounds of the other guys evident in the background. In time, you and Frankie release each other and gravitate towards them, tucking yourselves under the porch to survey their efforts packing up the trucks. 

“We should probably help,” you repeat again, and, to your side, your hear Frankie’s murmur of agreement. However, when you glance to him you see his long, lean frame stretched out up against the wooden porch post. He looks like a man with nowhere else to be in a hurry.  

“Fuck,” he curses at nothing in particular, surveying the animated bodies of his buddies before him with both awe and trepidation. “How did we get here? Years of service and none of us have anything to show for it.” 

That’s a Santiago sales pitch, through and through, you reckon. You recognise his propaganda. Funny, since he used to swallow the flag for breakfast. Is that how he got to him then? Convinced Frankie he could finally make bank? Take what he deserved? Ah. Or give his family what they deserved? Frankie is all about family. 

A sad smile twitches your mouth. “Well. That’s not entirely true, is it? Not nothing.” You think of what you’ve gained from all of this. “I got a gaggle of weird ass brothers. A suitcase full of trauma. A fucked back. And! An array of unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Despite the darkness of your statement, Frankie’s eyes crinkle. What else is left to do but laugh, anyway? “Maybe Will should put that in his speech.”

You belly chuckle at that, moving to lean up against the opposite post. “Yeah. Scare those poor recruits off before they can end up like us, huh?” 

Frankie looks wistful again. “It hasn’t been all bad.” 

No. It hasn’t. He’s not wrong about that. 

You ponder on it. If you could go back and change your path - would you? But, despite everything, your squad would be far too much to lose. “Sure. The weird thing is, as shitty as it’s been at times? I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

There is a beat, and Frankie reaches out across the space between you and wordlessly clasps your hand. 

“Listen. You gonna be okay, Frankie?” He looks down at his worn sneakers, contemplatively, as though he really doesn’t know the answer yet. You give his hand a squeeze, trying to let him know that’s okay. “We’ll talk more, okay?” 

He nods - a subtle, concessionary thing, like maybe he could really do with that. 

“I get why you didn’t tell me. But I’m sorry. That I didn’t do a better job of asking.” 

“It’s not on you,” he says generously. A little too generously, in your estimation. You’ve been rather wrapped up in your own shit. A little too self-involved. “I know I can talk to you. I just… I, uh. Didn’t want to ruin the weekend.” The irony of that statement causes a throaty chuckle to bounce in Frankie’s neck, and your palm slides over your face in regret even as you laugh in reciprocity. 

“Christ. I did a great job of that all by myself.”

“Well,” Frankie says good-naturedly, shifting to bump your hip with his. Wrapping his crooked arm over your shoulder. “You had some help.” 

It is your turn now to look wistful, as you contemplate the storm that is Santiago, and all the rubble he left behind. “He’s really gone again.” Frankie simply squeezes you a little tighter. “Hey. Anything else I should know, by the way?” you needle. “You’re not holding out on me?”  

Frankie sucks air through his teeth. “Tom and Molly. She finally served him papers.” 

You fold forward, hinging to collapse your upper half onto the porch rail. “Fuck. Shit. I really need to start being nicer to that shithead.” Still, from behind, Frankie’s familiar chuckle buoys you, even as you inwardly berate yourself for getting wrapped up in your own business. “We’re all messes, huh, Frankie? Do you think we can fix it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.” 

“Truly?” 

“Truly.” 

You toss him a soft, grateful smile, which extends as Will makes his way over to your position, greeting you “Hey, slackers!”. You and Frankie share a conspiratorial glance. 

“All set for the hike, Captain?” 

“No thanks to you.” 

“I had an alternate mission. Ranks of pastries to deplete.”

Will feigns tiredness, but his baby blues sparkle even as he rolls them. 

“Anyway. Didn’t need you. All set to head out as soon as you slackers get your act together. You wantin’ to do the usual route, hon?” 

You brace your arms against the porch rail. Dig your fingers into the wood. “No,” you say, the words a little tight in your chest, but they feel good. “Not today. There’s somewhere else. Somewhere I always wanted to go.” 

Somewhere new. 

“Fine by me,” Frankie offers. “Just let me grab more pastries.” 

***

You relish the hike, when it comes. You relish walking a path that is -to you- entirely untrodden. That he can’t touch. You walked the old, familiar trails for too long, and the only place it ever got you was right back where you started. 

The bullshit ends here. You’ve decided. 

And so, you turn your attention away from your sun, and to the wider constellation of stars around you. To yourself. 

You even do your best to make peace with Tom. To put old grudges to bed. 

You relish the hike. Enjoy the undulating landscape. You don’t know for sure what’s next, or where you’re going, but the difference is that for once, that feels okay. Full of potential. 

You walk until your legs burn, and when you get to the summit you take a moment to drink in the crisp, clifftop air. To look out across the ocean. To see it from a distance and to know that this time, it cannot break you over and over and over. 

Still, when you’re at the top, as if by providence, Santiago texts you. 

“Hey. Sorry I had to take off early. I wanna say… Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“For the best night of my life.” 

“Ah. Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, and you press the button to call him. You immediately call him. He immediately picks up. “Hi.”

”Hi. What’s up? They just announced my gate.”

”That’s okay, I’ll be quick. I, uh. I just needed to tell you too. Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For a proper goodbye.” 

“Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“-I’m not mad, Santi. I think… I think we said everything we have to say, right? I think it was…”

”…Perfect?”

”Yeah. Yeah, pretty perfect.” 

“Listen. It’s selfish, but. With everything coming up. The Lorea job and… I needed it, you know? Needed that image of you sleeping.” 

There’s an ache in your chest and it’s bittersweet. 

He cares for you in every way he knows how, doesn’t he? In every way he can. He’s not perfect, but hey, neither are you. You’re both a little bit broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. And most of all, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love while you’re doing it. 

One day, he’ll turn up at your door, and he’ll be welcome. Whenever that is. Whenever it happens. But until then, you can’t just wait for him. 

Until then, you’ll love him; from a distance. 

No longer can you leave him in anger. No longer can he break you. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Maybe one day, that will even be enough. 

“Would you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Come back and visit soon, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”  

You conclude the call, and you stretch your arms above your head. A pleasant tingle snakes down your back as it cracks. You haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such peace. 

The path that you are walking is yours, and you implicitly trust where it’s taking you. 

***

You are grateful to slip into the passenger side of Frankie’s car, beginning the drive back to the city and signalling the end of your stay at the beach house. Still, there is something bittersweet there too as you leave behind the site of so many memories from over the years - and now, the site of your most perfect night with Santiago. 

It reminds you of all you’ve been through. The ups and the downs and plenty of things which went sideways. You are starting to realise though, that perhaps the landscape of love is undulating. That sometimes the terrain is tough. It shouldn’t have been quite so tough though - so steep and unforgiving; and so, you hope for gentler, easier paths ahead. 

It is bittersweet then, as you leave this place behind. 

As you look forward, having said goodbye. As you wrestle with your past, future, and present. 

Frankie swings the car out and onto the highway, the Millers up ahead and Tom behind, your vehicles forming a convoy through the dark, the glow of headlights illuminating the route ahead. 

You sit in silence, eyes and thoughts unfocussed, in abstraction, as you watch vague shapes and colours slipping by the window, your own face occasionally reflected right back at you. You look older than you used to. More tired. But you don’t dislike that. 

After a while, Frankie’s robust voice slices through the dark, his eyes on the road and hands threading the wheel. “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse but… Do you want to hear it?” 

You swivel your head towards him, fractured, liquid panels of light slipping over the planes of his face as your surroundings pass by in a haze. “Hear what?” 

“Pope’s heartbreak playlist?” 

Your hands dig into your thighs where they rest. “Do I?”

“Well?” Frankie asks, his finger poised over the button, and evidently not willing to make that decision for you. 

“Yeah. Fuck it.”

You brace a little, in all honesty. A tightness takes hold of your chest as you wonder if the first track to befall your ears might be angry. Resentful. Full of blame or sadness that you can’t hope to wrestle with and come out on top. But, as the first notes of the track sound out, you are surprised to find a full, unfettered laugh rises from out of your throat. The tears swell in your eyes next, for it is nothing if not bittersweet. 

“That dickhead. I can’t believe…” 

You can’t believe it. The fact he has chosen a song which reflects your life together? Which reveals a happy memory? 

He loves you, doesn’t he? He has for a long time. And you can’t help but hope that maybe one day, that will even be enough. For tonight though, it will definitely do. You’ll take it. You’ll treasure it. 

“Whiskey in the Jar,” Frankie scoffs as he catches on to the song, even if his fingers are drumming against the lip of the wheel involuntarily. “I mean. What the shit’s that all about? He’s a weird kid, I swear.” 

“Frankie,” you laugh brightly, turning once again to look wistfully out of the window, as the view of the beach house and the ocean recedes into the distance. You catch another glimpse of yourself in the pane, and this time you look younger, you think. More alive. “Did I ever tell you about that night in Philadelphia?”

[wipbigbang]

WIP Big Bang 2023 Round Schedule & FAQ!

Schedule

All times are by 8:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Sign-ups Begin- April 1st Sign-ups Close- April 21st Check In #1- April 22nd Check In #2- May 15th Snippets Due- June 1st Art Claims Begin- June 17th Check In #3- June 22nd Check In #4- July 6th Rough Drafts Due- July 15th Posting Claims Begin- July 23rd Posting Claims Ends- August 1st Final Drafts/Art Due- August 7th Posting Starts- August 8th Posting Ends- October 31st (the last two weeks are reserved for emergency posting)

FAQ

What is the WIP Big Bang? Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanfic drafts folder. These are stories that were unfinished for whatever reason, that authors returned to and completed, and the art that goes with them!

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate? No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth, Tumblr, and sometimes Twitter at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many fics can we sign up for? We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups. I know one year someone submitted 50 fics to finish, and got at least half of them done. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one fic you give each fic a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your fics...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang? We do send out some emails, mostly for snippets and art claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

What do you mean by minimum word count to enter? This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 500 words of your story drafted when you enter.

Can an outline count towards those first 500 words that are needed at sign up? We have admitted work on an outline before so yes, if your outline is fleshed out enough to cover a 7,500 word+ fic, we’ll allow it.

Are multi-chapter fics allowed? Yes, multi-chapter fics are allowed and even more so encouraged if your fic is lengthy.

What about fics that are already posted on ao3 in part? Do those qualify for the bang? It's okay if you have posted a few chapters of your fic already (you never know when the muse deserts you, after all), we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the fic until August 1st (or July 1st with the mod’s okay). We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments so don’t worry about pulling the fic down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum word count? 7,500 words for each finished fic, but the sky's the limit, right?

I see that the fic minimum is 7500 words and that published WIPs are acceptable - but what if the WIP I’m considering is already more than 7500 words? Is the expectation to add an additional 7500 to it? No. You can add as much or as little as you need to finish the story, though we do expect at least 1,000 or so new words if your WIP already meets the word count.

What happens if an author finishes the fic they signed up with but it’s less than 7,500 words? The intent was to go over the minimum but once they got into it the story was shorter than they thought and stretching it out would make it less good. Do they have to drop out at that point? By all means, we want your stories to feel as natural as possible, and if it’s under 7,500 words you may have two options:

1 - Drop the fic for the main BB event, post it now, and wait to post it to our AO3 collection in February when we run our International Fanworks Day celebration of finishing fics that are less than 7,500 words when finished. There’s no art for the fic, but bragging rights are posted to the communities for a week.

2 - If there are enough fics that fit that category, we can do a special day of posting the fics, but you’ll have to forgo art for the fic. I, as a mod, would probably pick October 31st for the posting day, as it’s the last day of posting for the bang and I don’t think anyone will mind more than one fic that day. You can post bragging rights to the community and share the fic with everyone.

Is there anything not allowed? As long as you wrote it and you want to finish it, you're welcome to participate. RPS/RPF is fine. Incest pairings are fine. Things like that I know have been hinted at in questions asked and as long as you tag for them, we’ll allow it. Also, canon settings with mostly OCs is allowed. We just ask that it be tagged properly with any content warnings you would deem fit and be given the appropriate rating for the level of sex/violence there is in the fic. As of the 2023 round, original work is also allowed; however, we recommend you bring in your own artist or forgo art for an original work.

I have a fic I wrote a few years ago, but only the first couple chapters are posted on AO3 because I was never happy with the rest of it and knew it needed major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire fic has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be rewritten for AO3 and WIPBB. I think revising a fic for posting would work, as long as you have at least 500 words done, will have 7,500 words at a minimum when it’s done, and are planning to add more to the fic. Simply rewriting what you have would be a gray area, but if you’re going to take stuff out and add new scenes, either in the old scenes place or on your own, you should be fine.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric stories? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine? Based on my own personal experience making art for a story that had a heavy OC presence, it’s not something we discourage at all, but be forewarned when it comes to the art accompanying your fic your artist may not be able to incorporate the OCs into your art. Not everyone makes art of a hand-drawn or digitally drawn nature, so it helps if you have people for face claims ahead of art submissions, and you and your artist communicate regularly. You can also end up with art not featuring the OCs at all, just the canon characters, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Your other options are to bring in an artist you trust with your vision of your OC/make your own art (we do allow that, we just need to be told during the check-in before art that you’re bringing in your own artist if you go that route, or that you’re doing your own art…there will not be a need to sign up in the artist’s sign up, however) or to opt-out of art entirely. So there’s plenty of options to call on when it comes time for art. What are 'check-ins’? These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each fic) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used? They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate story allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated total wc, I guess?) Ideally, with each check-in, you should be at least 25% closer to finishing. The end word count only really matters in that the fic needs to be at least 7,500 words when done, so it’s more your progress towards finishing that should be measured, not so much the word count.

What are the snippets requirements? In order to allow the artists to make art for the story they claimed, we require you to supply three snippets from your fic, between 500 – 1500 words each. The snippets will be sent to the artist after they have claimed your story. They're to help the artist match your story for artwork the best way he or she possibly can. It’s helpful to choose scenes or parts of scenes that you feel best represent your fic, but don’t feel like they have to be perfect to be submitted. Along with the snippets, we will send your artist the basic fic info and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

What are the rough drafts requirements? For the rough drafts, stories should be at least 80% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? I’ve had a few longfics get killed by big bangs forcing posting to happen on a given day, and would prefer to avoid that if possible. For most fics, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in August and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from August 8th to October 16th with two weeks for emergency posting). However, you can send us an ask/e-mail about posting as early as July if you have an extremely long fic/something with a long posting schedule. Mostly what we want is the fic to be completely up on the website of your choice by your posting date, and I know some people don’t want to overwhelm their readers. So we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from August 8th to October 16th with two to three stories posting a day. If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until October 31st to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB.

Will the three snippets per story we have to send in be the ones we want the artist to make art for? Or can it just be random snippets and then later the artist and I can check together to see which scenes would work best for art? So ideally, you and the artist will be communicating once you’re each sent each other’s contact information, and you’ll give your artist a chance to read all that you’ve written at that point. That’s what happens in most cases. If your fic gets picked by an artist and they don’t work with you, then the snippets you sent will be what the artwork will be based on. It’s a good idea to know that, while most of the time the artists work closely with the authors, there are a few exceptions to that.

How do I know when to post? Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be three fics, plus art, posting per day between August 8th and October 31st. The post with date claims will go up on July 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by August 1st.

Posting of chapters on AO3 or your own blog (or wherever you usually post) generally starts August 1st, but you can post earlier (as early as July 1st) if you let us know you have a long story. However, posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this story was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Art will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

What am I posting to the Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the fic elsewhere? You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my art? There is no strict minimum, but we do ask artists to remember that the authors are writing a minimum of 7,500 words and your artwork should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including banners, wallpapers, icons, mixes, vids, gif sets, picspams, etc. Suggested guidelines for art are 500x500px (or equivalent of smaller pieces like banner + spacers, cover + icons, etc.) for traditional art, digital art, and manips; 2 minutes for vids; 10 songs + cover art for mixes; and 6 images for gif sets and picspams. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. a wallpaper, book cover, etc.). The art is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'art claims'? The claims are when anonymous summaries of the story go up for artists to choose from. Artists sign-ups and art claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, and that way the authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists may choose up to three potential stories (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more stories than artists, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with, and on and on until all stories are claimed for art.

If a fic up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some authors may be uncomfortable working with underage artists on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to be the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension? Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your story in time, please let us know by June 13th.

Can I swap out a fic if my muse abandons it again? When you sign up, you give us the information on the potential fic(s) you want to write. If, say, one fic isn’t working but one you didn’t sign up for is, you can switch them out while letting the mods know if you need to change a user ID you used. It is absolutely okay to switch fics all the way up until snippets are due. By then, we hope you’ll have however many fics you plan on doing to at least 80% completion since rough drafts are due not much later. Just drop an email to the mods at wipbigbang@gmail.com with the new information (title, fandom, etc) and if you want a new sign in ID or plan to use the same one for the fic you’re replacing it with.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by July 13th (if at all possible).

Is it possible to be banned? We do have a banned users list. We hope to use this to encourage participants who are having issues to communicate with the mods. We want to help you! The way the ban works is that participants, either authors and artists, will be banned for dropping out without notifying a mod. This means that anyone who has not posted or talked to a mod by the time the posting period ends will be banned. Dropping out is not in and of itself a banning offense, so please do not panic if you have to drop out! We understand that there are many reasons you may need to drop, and we want to work with you.

Bans will last one round or until the issue is resolved, whichever comes first. To resolve a ban, authors will have to finish and post the story they signed up with and artists will have to finish and post the art for the story they claimed. Three bans will result in a permanent ban from the bang.

Are we allowed to participate without joining the Discord? Absolutely! The Discord server is optional, as just another way to interact with your fellow writers and get updates on important dates. It’s not mandatory you join, however.

I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something? Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which fics I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world? No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new parts to fic that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least July 1st)! We will be running Word Wars, where you can add more to a fic in a certain amount of time, and Whine Bars, where you can complain or ask for help or whatever else you feel like talking about when it comes to struggling with a fic, all after sign-ups end on a weekly basis, plus there’s the Discord server for chatting with your fellow authors and artists.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here. If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, wipbigbang@gmail.com.

[bettyfrommars]

it’s the a7x anon 😘

imagine stripper harlot reader and eddie falls for her (obviously) and he follows her to a club one night. it’s an underground club (got me thinking blood rave from blade) but shes deadly, she sucks the soul out of men in the clubs, poisons them for fun, the club is filled with different types, vampires, wolves, ghouls, but none are more desired or feared than her.

Sympathy for the Devil

eddie x demon!fem!reader

It's the mid-90's and Eddie has moved to Seattle with the rest of Corroded Coffin to get in on the music scene. He sees you one night dancing at a bachelor party and can't seem to stop thinking about you. His hunt for you takes him to a dark part of town where only monsters dare to go. wc: 2.5k

18+ONLY, grunge!eddie, descriptions of monsters, eventual smut, star-crossed lovers, Gareth, reader described as having thick hips and tattoos, exotic dancers, alcohol consumption, breathing fire. Readers dad is basically Hellboy.

Part 1: Great Balls of Fire

Part 2: Mark of the Beast

Part 3: Burn it Down

A/N: There is just so much I want to explore on this topic, I had to turn it into multiple parts. No smut in this chapter, but there will be in the next two, if there are people who want to read it. I love any reason for a good Blade blood shower. I love this anon, and I hope I did some justice to your idea.

-----------

Eddie dropped down into the dark venue on a wing and a prayer, hoping you were working that night.  He didn’t know your schedule, he only knew you from that one night two weeks ago when he was there for Jeff’s bachelor party.  

Out of a sea of beautiful, scantily clad women, you stood out like a flash of  lightning in a pitch black night.

“I can’t believe we’re here again, man,” Gareth complained, swiping his hair out of his face.

“What are you afraid of?” Eddie shouted over his shoulder, hoping to be heard above the throbbing, electronic music. His eyes scanned the crowd for you, or any one he remembered seeing you talk to that first night.  Ahead of them, down the shadowed alcove of the venue were several dancers gyrating on poles and spreading their legs out wide for customers at the rack to hook dollar bills into their g-strings.  

“I’m afraid my girl will cut my nuts off if she finds out I came here with you,” Gareth responded.  

Gareth's hair was shorter than it had been when they were in high school. It was just long enough to tuck behind his ears, but still so full and curly that he had to slick it back.  Eddie’s hair was much longer now, almost to his nipples, and he’d grown his bangs out, so it was more grunge rather than early 80’s metal.  

“We went to see Mudhoney at the Crocodile,” Eddie confirmed. “That’s all you need to tell her.  We only came here to look for someone.”  They had done exactly that, and the Mudhoney show had been amazing. Corroded Coffin’s relocation to Seattle was the best decision Eddie had ever made, and he was grateful his band made the journey with him.  They were all renting this old house on Capitol Hill and getting paying gigs a couple times a month—it was a dream.

But since he’d laid eyes on you—he could barely function.

You had bewitched him in the best of ways.  

So, there he was---dragging Gareth back to the same strip club to look for you.  He honestly didn’t expect to get your number, or even talk to you—he just needed to see you again.   

Once he reached the dimly lit red cocktail bar, Eddie froze.  “She’s not here,” he wet his dry lips, getting on the balls of his feet to scan the crowd. “I mean, I don’t see her.”

“Okay, great, "Gareth tried to avert his eyes from the women on stage so that he wouldn’t feel guilty.  “Can we go now?”

But Eddie wasn’t ready to give up that easily.  

“Hey,” he called over to one of the servers he remembered from the last time. She was about to carry a tray of drinks over to a table when she caught his eye and her face lit up.  

Eddie was awkward when he didn't want to be, but on every other occasion—he possessed a decent amount of charm.  Plus, this particular server was a fan of his band, he just didn’t know it.

Eddie stroked some hair behind his ear and leaned closer, giving her your full description, right down to the color of your eyes, and the details of a few of your tattoos, and then asked if you were working that weekend.

The server shook her head, her cheeks burning hot under Eddie's attention.  “Sorry, she’s not here. I think she’s at the Devils Den tonight.”

Eddie squinted at Gareth and the both of them mouthed “the devils den” with a question mark, like they had never heard of it in all of the 2 years they’d been there.  

The Devil’s Den did not advertise.  You could not find it in the phone book.  It was a word of mouth or friend of a friend only, and security was tight.

“Be careful,” the redhead server offered a warning, passing Eddie her phone number on the inside of a gum wrapper with a wink. Gareth rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

Eddie drove Gareth back to his car first.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with?” Gareth asked Eddie over the hood, strumming his fingers on the metal.

“Nah man, I’m good,” Eddie assured him, twirling his keys on his finger as he walked backwards. “You go home to your girl.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He remembered the directions the redhead told him as he sucked down a cigarette with the window open, blowing smoke out into the crisp city night.  It took him down through the east end of town, along a tunnel, and then shot him deep into the industrial district.  Vacant buildings loomed like faceless gargoyles as his van rolled along the dismal expanse, void of human life.

The building was unmarked, but the address was correct; he checked it with the numbers inked on his palm several times.  He parked a block away and walked over with his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his leather while scraps of paper and leaves skidded across the pavement.  His long hair flew across his lips and clung there until he peeled the strand back and tucked it behind his ear again.

He could hear the music now, thudding low from inside the building as he rounded the corner.  

There was a purple light coming from the open doorway, and a minotaur man with a thick tail and broad shoulders sat on a stool blowing smoke out his nostrils.  Eddie heard him ask the couple ahead of him to see their IDs, so Eddie got his ready.

You just happened to be on your way out for a smoke when you saw him—-

Him.

The one you couldn’t take your eyes off of two weekends ago. The grungy boy with the long hair you couldn’t stop thinking about.

What was he doing at a monster bar? Did you want him to see you like this? 

Self-consciously, you spun around, ducking your head so he wouldn’t see your horns, wondering if you should try to cover them with your hood and retract your claws. 

Eddie handed the Minotaur bouncer his ID.

“What the fuck you want me to do with this?” The bouncer asked, aggressively standing up to his full height which was close to 7ft.  His voice bellowed, “no humans allowed, can’t you read?” Sure enough, there was a black and white sign on the door that said: NO UNAUTHORIZED HUMANS ALLOWED.

Eddie tucked his ID back in his wallet, about to offer to try and pay the guy off when he saw you appear in the doorway.

“Oh shit,” Eddie whispered to himself.  You were even more stunning than the night he first saw you. Now you have horns? He hadn't noticed them the other weekend at the club; maybe you had them tucked under your wig. He could tell you were different, but he had no idea you were what was known in human circles as a Beastly.  

“He’s with me,” you told the enormous Minotaur man, and Eddie watched him cower before you.  He sat back down on his stool and bowed his head, muttering his apologies.  

He had to remember not to let his jaw hang slack as you walked closer, swaying your hips as you did so, plucking a cigarette out of the pack to pop it into your mouth.  He noticed that what he once thought were tattoos were actually designs that seemed like they were burned into your flesh; they glowed orange in the night as if there was lava flowing in your veins.  

Eddie patted his jacket and his back pockets, forgetting where he put his lighter. Once he found it, his hand was trembling, but he took a breath and cupped his palm over the flame, leaning forward to offer it to you.

You hesitated, searching his rich brown eyes.  His very human eyes: you wanted to watch them sparkle.  “Do you want to see something cool?”

Eddie lowered his hands and poked his tongue out between his teeth. “Always.”

“It might freak you out,” you warned.

“I love getting freaked out.”

You held the cigarette out and blew on the end of it, producing a string of fire from your lungs.  It was a soft, blue flame and Eddie watched the tip of your smoke light up and crackle with embers just as the fire disappeared behind your lips again.

“Party trick,” you took a drag, squinting one eye at him playfully.  

“Can you do mine?” Eddie opened the top pocket of his jacket to pull out a smoke from his pack, while a few more bodies shuffled by on their way to the door.  Two had chalk white skin with fangs, one had the snout of a pig and a green mohawk, and the other looked like she could’ve passed as human, until she stuck her tongue out at one of the other men and it was long and forked, falling almost to her chest.  

They each gave Eddie a suspicious look, but when they saw you standing there, they quickly jerked their stares away.

Eddie gripped the cig between his full lips, and his eyes never left you as you leaned in.  You could’ve produced a flame long enough to reach him where he was, but you decided to step in close, so that your mouth wasn’t far from his.

Your eyes met as you breathed a steady stream of fire.  The thought occurred to you that you could take him right then; you could suck his soul out like juice from a Capri Sun and he’d never know what hit him.  You could drink his essence like oxygen and fill your stomach with his charming warmth—but then you wouldn’t have him anymore, and your heart was screaming louder than your hunger.  

“That’s so rad,” Eddie chuckled.  He took a drag and then blew the smoke out sideways.  “What other tricks do you know?”

“I think it’s your turn to do a trick,” you raised an eyebrow. 

“What could a human possibly do to impress you?”

“I’m sure there are lots of ways you could impress me,” your smile was coy, and it made Eddie’s pupils widen with admiration.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But then one of the ghouls with skin that looked stapled on stepped out of the doorway and said your name.  

“What is it?” You snapped.  Your demeanor changed—your eyes narrowing on her.  

“Sorry,” the ghoul stammered.  “Um, it’s Drucilla—she says there’s a phone call for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” you grumbled, waving her off, but when you turned back to Eddie, your face softened.  “I have to go.  If you’re around later we can—-”

“Yeah, I’ll wait,” Eddie said quickly.  He didn’t know how long the wait would be, and he didn’t care.

You motioned for him to follow you inside, and as he entered, the Minotaur bouncer grumbled: “Sorry about earlier, man.”

“It’s all good,” Eddie clapped him on his big, beefy shoulder.

There was a band at the back of the venue playing something that reminded him of Alice in Chains, and Eddie felt right at home.  Everyone turned in his direction, and he followed close behind as you traveled down a few carpeted steps to the long, low-lit bar along the wall.  Your tail flicked from side to side as you walked, and he smiled to himself when he noticed it.  

You swatted the bar with your hand to get Danny’s attention.  The wolfman bartender stopped the conversation he was having mid-sentence and rushed over, a furry hand swiping hair away from his beard.  

“He’s with me,” you told Danny, motioning over your shoulder to a bewildered Eddie.  “Anyone fucks with him, and I’ll rip their head off.”

You meant it literally, and Danny knew that.  

“I’ll keep an eye on your pet,” Danny nodded as he cleaned a glass with a towel.  He made eye contact with Eddie and ran his tongue over his sharp canines.

Eddie sank down onto a stool at the bar and watched you go, his heart hammering in his chest.  There were two exotic dancers in cages on either side of the dancefloor, and one looked like she had reptilian skin with an alligator tail.  The action on the main floor was more of a mosh pit than actual dancing, and he knew the guys from his band would dig this place.  He wondered what you would think of his music if you saw him perform; maybe he could do a few tricks for you on stage. He wanted to look out and see you in the crowd and know you were his.

“What can I get you?” Danny asked, flipping a coaster in front of Eddie with a flourish.  

Flustered at his choices, Eddie ordered a beer, and then he leaned in.  “Hey, what is her story? Why does everyone seem so…afraid of her?”

“You mean you don’t know who she is?” Danny raised both bushy eyebrows at him as he popped the cap on his beer. 

Eddie shrugged, eyes dancing over the wall of bottles.  “I have no idea, man.  This isn’t my scene.”

Danny came forward and put his hairy forearms on the bar.  “Yeah well, her dad is the head Devil in charge of all of this,” he gestured around.  “He runs the underground Beast Mob, and everyone is scared shitless of him.”  Danny scooted Eddie’s beer forward, giving him a pointed look.  “And you should be too.  He hates humans.”

Eddie swallowed hard.  “I’m pretty good with parents,” he mumbled. 

He sat there for a while and sipped his beer, taking in the scenery and the other monsters, when he caught sight of you weaving your way back through the crowd.  Everyone you walked by seemed to beg to touch you or talk to you; a couple of them even bowed.  He wanted to have you on his arm, to feel the fire from your lungs burn his skin.

“Hey,” the person behind Eddie tapped his shoulder, and Eddie spun around to find an orc-looking guy with two tusks jutting up from his bottom teeth.  

“Yeah, man, what’s up?” 

The bartender glanced over Eddie’s shoulder at you, and then regarded him with a nod.  “Be careful with that one, son.  She will feast on your soul and drain you dry.”

Eddie turned to see you watching him from across the way, and you offered a shy wave.  Your short horns looked sharp and ready for battle; the marks in your skin glowed like neon.

Eddie sighed wistfully.  “Damn, I really hope so.”

[torialefay]

☀️ Everyday Idol 🌙 (Chapter 3)

✨ head on over to my masterlist if you haven’t read chapters 1 & 2!

��possible bangchan x reader (f), possible jungkook x reader (f)

✨wc: 4.3k

✨ friends to lovers? possible love triangle? future angst and smut??? definitely fluff.

✨ summary: JYP Entertainment launches a new show and y/n somehow gets recruited. Even though she doesn’t particularly care about the outcome of the show, she does particularly care about one of the artists she met: Chris from Stray Kids. Does Chris feel the same or will a potential relationship with one of his friends overcome what y/n feels for him?

✨ author’s notes: pls pls pls let me know if you’d prefer shorter, more frequent chapters like this one, OR longer chapters posted about once per week. i’m heavily debating lol

✨ warnings: cursing from time to time.

Previous Chapter Recap:

Dang, another instagram notification. Maybe Jungkook WAS really into you. You tapped to open the chat again.

gnabnahc: Hey! I know this is random, but if you have any time tomorrow, could you meet me in my studio? I’ll be around in the morning and at lunch after hair & makeup. If you have time of course, I understand if not. I just wanted to talk to you about something.

‘Good fucking God,’ your heart dropped. “Anna… I need you. NOW!” you screamed.

——————————————————————————————————

Y/n’s POV:

Anna quickly bolted into the bathroom, thinking you’d accidentally cut yourself shaving or something. She was determined not to let you bleed out. Med student to the rescue!

When she arrived, she was surprised to see you totally fine, but also totally naked, sitting on the lid of the toilet.

“Okay… WHY?” She looked down at you, eyebrows raised.

“Just come here,” you motioned for her with your arm. You extended your phone out for her to grab it.

“This is some Hollywood movie shit,” she laughed, handing the phone back to you.

“This isn’t funny!” you exclaimed. “What in the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Well do you want to see him?”

“Duh.”

“Then you’re going to find a way to see him. Just tell him you can’t in the morning and that you can late into lunch.”

“Yeah, only one problem. I’m supposed to be meeting Jungkook for lunch,” you rolled your eyes, now wondering if she had paid attention at all to your prior conversation.

“Okay, so tell Jungkook beforehand that you don’t have much time because of your schedule, and then go meet Chan. Who says you can’t have it all?” she grinned, raising one eyebrow.

‘Okay, good plan. Solid plan,’ you thought. ‘Unless…’

“Okay but I don’t know how close Chan & JK are. What if JK is telling him that we’re getting lunch together? Then I just look like a two-timing bitch.”

“Alright, and how do you know that JK hasn’t already told him and Chan is going behind his back?” ‘Ain’t no way he’d do that,’ you thought. “I’m just saying, in all of your time with Chan, he never once mentioned JK. In all of our time with Changbin and Felix, they never brought him up either. I honestly don’t think they’re that close. Both of their fandoms would have figured it out by now if they are.”

‘Alright, let’s look,’ you thought, pulling your phone in front of your face again. You went to “X” (you still couldn’t get used to calling it that instead of Twitter) and typed in “jungkook bangchan”. Surely the detectives on here would know a thing or two. You scrolled and scrolled. A few tweets about the same thing- the 97 liners grabbing dinner together, but it was more than just the two of them. Not a single picture of them together otherwise. Not a story about seeing them together either. Maybe Anna had a point.

“Fuck it, I’m gonna do it,” you said, not knowing where your newfound confidence came from. Anna started giggling and took a quick seat beside you on the edge of the hotel’s bathtub.

Your fingers began to type quickly, not allowing yourself time to think. Or rather, overthink.

Hey Chris! I could stop by late after lunch? I’m not sure of a specific time yet, but I can text you later when I find out?

Send.

“Okay, it’s done,” you breathed out… You sat there for a moment, absorbing all of the feelings and trying to get the nerves out.

“Pinch me,” you said to Anna with a huff coming out from your bottom lip.

She reached over, laughing, nipping you in the arm. “I’m so happy for you I could cry,” she continued, keeping that same big smile on her face. “Butttt,” she leaned in closer and began to whisper, “whoever you don’t take, just remember I’m single.” She winked and you started to laugh, pushing her away.

“Whatever,” you said jokingly. “BUT I have to shower. Now I have two guys to impress.”

——————————————

Chan’s POV:

‘It’s alright Chris, don’t be nervous,’ he thought to himself, still planted in his studio chair. ‘The worst she can say is no. Well I guess she could laugh at it and tell all of her friends that you’re whipped. In which case, you’re fucked. But she wouldn’t do that, right?’

Chan’s mind got the best of him and he decided to start pacing. He needed to get his mind on something else… but what? His new song! Yes, his new song. He had been working on a hook and just couldn’t figure out where he wanted to go with it. ‘I need Jisung,’ he thought. He sent a quick text his way to see if he was busy. He couldn’t help but to re-read the message he had sent you. He clicked on your profile to view all of the pictures. Your dogs, your friends, your birthday party. He pictured what he would look like included in each photo. He let his mind wonder, looking at one photo in particular. You had been at the beach. He didn’t stick to that photo because of anything you were wearing. You were fully clothed. There was just something about it. The way your smile was lit up like you had not a worry in the world. The way the sun cast a golden color all over your beautiful face. The fact that the beach was Chan’s favorite. He thought about what it would be like to be there with you. Walking along the shore, getting to know you better. What was your family like? How did you like your eggs cooked? Where was your favorite place in the world? He let himself get lost in the scenario.

*BUZZ*

Your instagram username flashed across the top of his screen. He clicked as soon as he possibly could.

Y/n’s Instagram username:

Hey Chris! I could stop by late after lunch? I’m not sure of a specific time yet, but I can text you later when I find out?

‘Yes Chris, Yes! See, it was just a rumor. A dumb rumor. I mean JK would have told you since you were the reason they had met. He couldn’t possibly be that into her after meeting her for 2 minutes. You worried for no reason.’ He was elated. Ecstatic even. He looked down to his phone, stupid grin on his face.

‘Felix, you’re fucking dead for giving me a heart attack like that,’ he thought.

The little shit quit responding. ‘He’s got about 4 hours to text back before I get home and jump him.’ Chan thought. He sunk down into his chair. All of his excitement was now replaced with confusion. This was gonna be a longggg night in the studio.

——————————————————————

Felix’s POV:

“SUCK ON THAT!” Felix screamed sarcastically. He had spent the last 2 hours plopped on the couch next to Changbin. They made it a point to get together once a week, no matter how busy, to play a few video games together. Today’s choice: League. Felix lowkey kinda sucked, and he knew that. But he didn’t care because Binnie sucked even more.

“No, you suck on this,” Changbin yelled back, putting Felix in a headlock and giving him a noogie.

“Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!” Felix screamed for help, trying not to die laughing. “Someone help me!” he yelled, while grabbing at Changbin’s arms to rip him off. It was no use. No matter how much Felix flailed his body and thrashed left and right, Changbin’s hold was even tighter. Eventually, he ran out of energy and decided to just lie there. Changbin released him right after.

“So you admit defeat,” Changbin raised his eyebrow. Felix had a dazed look on his face, hair fluffed up from Bin’s relentless hand movements. He was just grappling for his breath back at this point.

“I’ll take that as a yes! Yay, next round!” Changbin said enthusiastically, turning back around to the tv.

‘Brain need oxygen. Can’t form word,’ Felix thought to himself. ‘Lol I can’t believe I just thought that. Felix you so silly.’ He smiled and focused his attention on the tv now too. Well, for a split second. Until Chan came barging in.

“Felix!” he called, like he was a tornado coming through the front door. He walked a few paces before setting foot into the living room. Felix just looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Mate! Why did you do that?!” He walked over and snatched Felix’s controller from his hand.

“Damn, if you wanted to play, you just had to ask!” Felix said back seriously. You could see the annoyance growing louder on Chan’s face.

“Oh my gosh Felix. Your text, cunt!”

“My… OHHH my text,” he smirked while (horribly) trying to look inconspicuous.

“You better tell me what you know right now,” Chan threw his fist down. He was trying to “act” mad, but honestly he was really bad at acting. He actually was mad.

“I don’t know anything,” Felix smirked again. “I swearrrr. Don’t you trust me?” He smiled, squinting his eyes up at Chan with a suggestive look on his face.

“No I don’t, you little shit! Now tell me what you know!”

“Never!” Felix pouted.

“Tell me!”

“NO!”

“Tell me!”

“NOOO!”

“I will break this controller, don’t try me!”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

“No you won’ttttt.”

“Yes I will.”

“Bet, do it then.”

Chan lifted the controller in the air and huffed out... “You’re right, I won’t.” He reached it back down to Felix.

Felix, now satisfied, took the controller and happily bobbed his head from side to side. “Thanks Channie-hyung!” he teased.

“Fuck off,” Chan retorted. ‘I hate being a father,’ Chan thought as he turned around to storm out. Once he was out the door, Changbin turned his body around to Felix.

“What don’t you know anything about?” Chanbin laughed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Felix said with a flirty smile. “All I’m saying is it involved your mentee. That’s all, can’t talk about it anymore! New game, let’s go!” Felix avoided Changbin’s stares at all cost, fixating on the tv. Eventually Bin turned around to face it too, continuing on like nothing ever happened.

‘Fuck, that was close. Felix baby, you’ve gotta stop being so messy… Lmao who am I kidding, I love this shit.’

———————————————————————————————

Y/n’s POV: The next day

You arrived to the JYP building 10 minutes early to your professionalism training. You knew you would be able to see the finalized schedule first thing when you got there. All you knew so far was professionalism training at 9, hair and makeup, lunch, and begin shooting intros for the show. You had no clue how long each would take though.

You ran up in front of the big bulletin board posted outside of the conference room. You saw the agenda:

• 9:00 AM- Professionalism Training; Level 5 conference room

• 11:00 AM - 2:00 PM- Hair and Makeup; Level 7 shooting room; See list below for names and scheduled times

• 11:00 AM - 2:00 PM- Lunch break

• 2:00 PM- Shooting program material with mentors; Level 10 shooting rooms #1-5

• 8:00 PM- Dinner and drinks at Nine Mile Restaurant (see email for location and directions)

You quickly scrolled through the list of names below to see when you’d be scheduled for hair & makeup:

• Y/l/n, y/f/n: 11:00 AM

‘Fuck yeah,’ you thought. ‘Getting hair and makeup done first. It shouldn’t take over an hour, right? Surely not. They have new people scheduled for 12 and 1, so yeah, you’re good. No more than an hour.’ You quickly took your phone out to send a message to the 2 boys waiting to hear back from you.

To: abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz

Hey, I should be good to go around noon today. Do you still want to meet me outside the JYP building?

SEND.

To: gnabnahc

I could meet you around 1-1:30 today? Does that work for you?

You let out a hot breath and headed into the conference room. There, you found Anna who had already walked in while you told her you’d check for both your names on the bulletin board. You saw a couple of other girls you had met as well through the night with Stray Kids. They were Seungmin and Han’s mentees. You had all instantly connected that night and you were excited to spend more time with them.

Once you were settled in, you gave into the gossip that everyone was discussing.

“Yeah, I heard her dad works for JYPE high up in marketing and that’s how she got in,” Sunnie whispered to the group.

“OMG I heard that too!” Anna bounced up and down. “I’m not even sure where I heard it from.”

“Literally same. I also heard that one of the new cast members was,” Kara leaned down low, “hooking up with Jungkook,” she giggled. You had to physically stop yourself from your jaw dropping on the floor. You were not SLEEPING with Jungkook. You hadn’t even had fucking lunch with him yet!

“OMG who?!” Sunnie questioned.

“I don’t know, it’s just what I heard some of the other girls saying. I don’t think anyone knows,” Kara added. “Which meanssss, we’re gonna have to keep an eye out for Jeon Jungkook ladies. See who the culprit is,” she laughed.

You and Anna looked at each other, trying to fake a laugh right along with them. You were sure she could see the panic in your eyes.

Suddenly, you heard a voice come over the speakers and the lights began to dim. ‘Let’s get this training over with.’

———— 3 hours later ————

Abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: Out front waiting on you :) I’ve got on a black mask and baseball cap in case you don’t recognize me. That’s kind of the point haha

y/n: On my way down!

Your nerves were starting to get to you, but you tied them down. This was just two people getting lunch after all. That’s literally it. Plus, why would you be nervous anyway? You were the one that made a great first impression anyway. He was the one who had something to prove.

Plus, not to brag, but you looked damn good. The hair and and makeup department definitely knows what they’re doing.

*DING*

You arrived at the ground floor and quickly made your way out of the main exit. You scanned your head first to the right, looking for a black cap, then to the left. The problem was… There were like 10 of them.

‘Fucking hell, why does everyone have to dress the same?’ you thought. You wondered off to the left, seeing if you could get a better look. Suddenly, a black figure appeared next to you. You turned to see a bright-eyed Jungkook, mask covering the lower half of his face, stood straight and proud with the most beautiful bouquet you’d ever seen. Pinks, purples, blues, greens. All of your favorite colors incorporated into one. Was this a sign?

“Y/n! Hi! I brought these for you,” you couldn’t see his mouth, but by how scrunched up his eyes got, you assumed he was smiling.

“Oh my goodness, they’re beautiful! You didn’t have to do that!” You smiled up at him and went in for a side hug. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even awkward. Jungkook just gave off such a charming, confident vibe.

“I wanted to. I saw them and automatically thought of you.” You blushed down into the bouquet you were now holding.

“You’re too sweet,” you flashed the biggest grin. ‘Okay, so maybe he’s better than I thought.’ “Where do you want to go?”

“How do you feel about bibimbap?”

“I love it!” You’d only had it once, but you assumed you’d still love it. “But just so you know, I really don’t have that much time today. I need to try to be back in an hour or so.”

“I completely understand. I’m just happy you could pencil some time in for me,” his hand grazed the side of yours, sending a shock up your arm. “I was gonna say that my favorite bibimbap place is right around the corner and I’d love to take you there.”

“Sounds good to me! Let’s go!”

He had a smile painted across his face looking down at you with the pretty flowers in your hand. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. “Follow me. And hold on to me if you need to. Wouldn’t want you getting lost in this crowd,” he chuckled, giving you a wink.

Your heart fluttered. Why was it fluttering?

Jungkook turned to lead you around the street. It was pretty packed, but what else would you expect in the middle of Seoul at lunch time. You could tell that JK was looking down slightly, making sure he didn’t get recognized. You ended up actually reaching to hold onto the back of his coat to make sure you didn’t get separated. You weren’t about to fight your way through the crowd to get a view of every Korean man currently wearing a black coat, hat, and mask. It would take all day.

You both made your way down the busy street, finally able to squeeze next to each other and talk about how your day was going so far. You know, all the basic boring stuff that you had to get out of the way. You soon reached a set of narrow, tall stairs almost hidden away.

“This way,” Jungkook said, taking the first step up. You looked down to see how tall the stairs were and mannnn you thought you were going to have to catapult yourself up.

Jungkook saw the hesitancy in your eyes and quickly leaned the upper half of his body down, holding one hand out for you to grab onto. You graciously took it, as he slowly ascended, making sure you followed him every step of the way. Once you reached the top, you finally jumped up onto the platform of the restaurant, now pressed right up to JK. He still had your hand in his.

“Nice job for a first timer,” he joked, squeezing your hand before he gently put it down and let it go. It was one of the most tender things you’d ever felt. He was handling you with such care.

You followed him as he walked a few steps to the door. He opened it for you and let you step inside first. Your eyes took a moment to focus as you acclimated to the new atmosphere. ‘It’s dark…’ you thought to yourself, eyes now tuning in. ‘And damn, it’s NICE.’ You looked around the the swanky bar to the left, wall topped off with liquors you kne you’d never afford in your lifetime- even on a doctor’s salary. Black tablecloths covered each table, with booths being tucked away into walls. Candles were the main source of the lighting and made for a seductive atmosphere.

“Hello, I had a reservation for Jeon Jungkook,” JK told the host at the stand on the right. She was beautiful, in formal all black attire and long, black hair.

“Of course. Right this way,” she stepped out from behind her podium and led you both to a booth at the far back of the restaurant. It was tucked out of the way, no other tables reaching beyond it. No one would have a reason to walk this way unless delivering food to the table directly.

“Will this do?” she looked to Jungkook.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he smiled as she left.

“Here, let me help you,” he reached out to you, gently taking your flowers and setting them on the far side of one of the booth’s benches. He walked behind you to grab onto one arm of your coat, allowing you to slip out easily. He held onto the coat and placed it next to the flowers.

“Watch out, it’s a step up,” he said, reaching for your hand. What is up with all these steps?

You looked into his eyes, silently thanking him for the thoughtfulness, while taking his hand. He led you over the two steps to the table and held tightly as you took the step up and over. Once you were settled in, he looked satisfied and took his place on the opposite side.

The rest of the meal was a whirlwind. You learned so many things about him. First, that he is an absolute devourer of bibimbap. Second, that he was actually really funny and down to earth… Charming too, but were you really going to admit that? Third, he actually had a super cute, bunny-like smile that popped up every time he caught you staring at him for too long.

You actually got along very well. ‘What a pleasant surprise,’ you thought. Conversation was just so easy with him. Maybe you didn’t get into the deep stuff with him like you did with Chan, but so what? This was only lunch. What did you expect him to do, give you his entire life story? He oozed confidence and playfulness, something you were envious of. Maybe, after more time with him, you thought you could learn to have those qualities as well.

You were both laughing over a story of how you accidentally cursed at someone in Korean on your second day here when all of a sudden, your phone lit up. 1:02 PM. Dang, it went by that fast?

“I think I’m running out of time,” you looked down with puppy dog eyes, motioning him to look at your phone.

“Awww, it’s alright. We better get you back on time though. The last thing I need is someone from JYP on my ass,” he laughed.

A small laugh left your mouth too as you both moved to exit the booth. He helped you put your coat back on and placed the flowers back into your hands. He grabbed 3 bills of 50,000 won out of his wallet, and placed it on top of the bill on the table. ‘Damn, this man’s a good tipper.’

“Here,” you scrambled to grab your own wallet out of your coat pocket. “At least let me pay half,” you started to take some money out.

“No, no y/n,” he grasped onto your forearm for a short moment. “Put your money up. Please. It’s on me.”

“Are you sure? I promise I don’t mind one bit to pay. Let me just-“ you stopped talking as you watched his eyebrows lift and his eyes get wide, small grin on his face as if saying “watch yourself now.” He was still holding tightly to your arm, not letting you lift it.

“Okay, okay,” you smiled, putting your wallet away. “But I owe you!”

He smiled at that. “Come on, let’s get you back.”

——————————————————

Chan’s POV:

He had been a nervous wreck thinking about seeing you. Thinking about what he should say in order for you to be interested in him. He knew through your messages to him that you’d be there closer to 1:15, so he made sure he’d get back in time.

He tried to calm his nerves by going out to grab an iced tea really quickly at a local shop. He couldn’t stomach any food- not right now. Once he finally got the chilly beverage in his hands, he walked his way back out into the cold. Only a couple minute walk from the company building.

‘Alright Chris, pull yourself together. Whatever you say, she’s gonna understand. She’s great, so of course she’s gonna understand. She may even be just as nervous as you, you never know.’ He let his mind wonder. He started to picture a scenario. One of you seated next to him in his studio. He had finally worked up the courage to ask you on a date- a proper date. Maybe he jumbled up the words a little bit, but you found it endearing. You nodded your head excitedly, saying how you’d love to go on a date with him. He would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you would get dressed up for him. You’d drink red wine and talk about anything and everything- what you loved and what your passions were. Your eyes would have a certain sparkle that only happened when you looked at him. By the end of the date, you’d be asking when you could see him again. He’d hold your hand, your warm little hand, as you left to say your goodbyes.

As wonderful as the daydream was, Chan suddenly snapped out of it. He froze, standing rigid, then almost tumbling back. There’s no way.

There you stood in front of him. With all the beauty that you were. But you were with someone. A man. Chan squinted to see what he could make out. Jungkook? Fuck, that was definitely Jungkook.

You were smiling up at him and clung onto him for a long hug. He gave in, leaning his head down to plant a small kiss on the top of your forehead. You giggled, waved goodbye, then ran inside the company building.

With that, Chan felt his heart shatter for the very first time.

Through the building’s glass walls, he watched as you made your way a little further, then stopped to bring your phone out. 10 seconds later, he felt a buzz from his phone

From: y/n’s instagram

Hey, I’m here :) Should I head on up to you?

He wanted to cry.

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

✨ Continue to ➡️ Chapter 4

✨if you enjoyed, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging <3

[megs-98]

Mesmeric Revelation

The Mystery of Gale Dekarios

“We’ll stop wasting your time then, Mr. Dekarios.” Mara said in a rough manner as she turned her body to let Fox and Astarion leave the room first, her fierce gaze still locked on Gale.

A/N: This is chapter 1 of a slow burn, enemies to lovers, modern au between Gale and my tav Mara! I've had so much fun writing it and appreciate the love on the snippets I've shared about it. Also! A huge, huge thank you to all my followers as I've hit 100 followers now ^_^ I appreciate each and every one of yall

Characters: Gale, Mara, Astarion x Fox (@justporo 's tav), Shadowheart, a little bit of Gortash and Orin, and a mention of Thorm I'm hoping to add all the companions eventually

Summary: It's the start of a new school year at Chiontar High and there's been talk amongst the teachers about how the esteemed Professor Dekarios from Blackstaff Academy has joined the schools faculty. After a chance encounter between Gale and Mara, leaving her less than impressed with the professor, will the two be able to start a friendship and maybe something more?

Tags: Really none for this first chapter, just a little bit of pining and Gale being a jackass

Word count: 2.8k

It was a week before the fall semester was set to start at Chionthar High School. Mara and the other teachers sat in the cafeteria as they listened to Principal Gortash and Vice Principal Orin as they attempted to talk over each other about what to expect throughout the week; have all materials printed out, classrooms ready, and a good attitude to greet students with. Fox, Astarion, and Mara were sat in the back, in the middle of their own hushed conversation.

“God, I don’t understand why Thorm keeps them around. It’s not like they get anything useful done.” Fox quipped as she checked her phone in one hand and rubbed Astarion’s back with the other. 

Mara didn’t take her eyes off the athletics schedule as she said “At least we don’t have Thorm actually here. I’d rather have these two than him. We wouldn’t be able to get away with anything with Thorm here.” 

Mara heard Astarion as he let out a sigh as he tightened his grip around Fox’s waist. “This is true, darling. If he were here then our ‘meetings’ would have to be especially clandestine.” He said as he nipped at Fox’s shoulder. Mara rolled her eyes and smiled as her two dearest friends cavorted with each other. 

The trio resumed their conversation as they slowly grabbed their things as the meeting came to a close. Just as everyone was about to stand to leave as Principal Gortash had already left the cafeteria, Vice Principal Orin cleared her throat.

“One more important piece of information, that Mr. Gortash forgot,” she said with a sneer, “we will be having a new AP literature teacher this year. Gale Dekarios, from Black Staff Academy.” She waved her hand as she left, as if she were shooing away the teachers. There were immediate murmurs between the teachers as they left for their classrooms, Mara could hear whispers about a professor now being at their school and how disconcerting it was that he wasn’t present nor had been seen at all during summer prep. 

The trio made their way to their respective classrooms slowly, knowing that they had already completed everything at Mara’s behest. As they came upon the front doors to the school, Mara collided with a man she’d never seen before. She caught the man by his arm as she kept the two of them standing. 

“Fuckin’ hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you! Are you okay?” She asked in a frantic tone as Fox helped steady her. Mara noticed that he was shorter than her, but not by much, with ever so slightly graying dark brown medium length hair, a single dangling earring in his left ear, and the prettiest brown eyes. She glanced at Astarion after thanking Fox, he raised his eyebrows and gave her a cheeky smile as he glanced between Mara and the mysterious man. Before she could give Astarion a smack, the man answered. 

“Quite alright. It appears I, also, was not being as observational as I should have been. Gale Dekarios,” he said with an outstretched hand and slightly irritated tone, “pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mara shook his hand and introduced herself, and the other two. After their pleasantries, Gale awkwardly asked if any of them would be able to help him bring some boxes to his classroom. Mara agreed that they would all help him. 

“Excuse me. Why do I have to haul his stuff around? I’ve already finished my classroom setup, maybe he should have done his summer prep and he wouldn’t be so atrociously behind.” Astarion said with a groan as he looked right at the new teacher. Mara and Fox rolled their eyes and said, “Ignore him”, at the same time, which caused the two women to chuckle as they followed Gale to his car. 

“Seems you three are quite chummy, I take it you all have been teaching together for a while?” Gale asked the group as they made their way back inside. 

“Bit longer than that. We all met during our freshman year of college, were in the same classes for the teaching program, and we did our student teaching here together.” Fox answered with a smile as she looked at her two favorite people. Astarion couldn’t help but smile back at her as he spoke. 

“Yes, yes. We’ve all been such great friends for so long now. But the real question, Gale, is how did such a prestigious professor from Blackstaff Academy end up here?” Astarion asked as he cocked his head at the ex-professor. Gale narrowed his eyes at white haired man, silent as he contemplated his answer.  

“Ease up, Astarion. Let’s not scare him off on his first day here.” Mara said to break the silence. She turned her head to Gale, “It doesn’t matter, anyway, we’re always happy to welcome newcomers.” Gale gave a small nod to her as a thank you. 

Gale cleared his throat as he asked them what subjects they taught. The three each shared that Fox is the Entrepreneurship 101 teacher, Astarion taught Government, and Mara has been the underclassman and middle school PE teacher and was hopeful that she’d still be teaching an elective class. Gale simply nodded and gave a hum of acknowledgement as he followed the friends through the school.  

The group continued in a comfortable silence before they came to Gale’s classroom. There was a note littered with neat and tight cursive as well as crude, barely legible writing taped to the slightly ajar door. 

Mr. Dekarios, please visit my our secretary to receive your keys and to get a badge.  

– Principal Gortash & Vice Principal Orin

Gale rolled his eyes and pushed the door open with his shoulder after he read the note. He looked around the classroom as he furrowed his brow. “This isn’t quite what I was expecting, if I’m being honest. It all seems a bit… small. But then again, this is a small school.” He said as he set his boxes down on his desk. He sounded increasingly more frustrated than when they had first met only minutes ago. 

“It is a little small, yes, but there’s plenty of bookshelves for you. Every literature teacher we’ve had has loved this room.” Mara said as she looked for an empty spot to place the boxes. 

Gale let out a loud sigh that caused the three to stop where they were. 

“I understand you might not understand the difference, but I am teaching advanced. placement. literature, standard literature, as well as a philosophy elective.” He said with a sharp tone in his voice. He locked his gaze with Mara as he finished his sentence. She opened her mouth to say something to remedy the situation but Gale held his hand up. “I do not wish to be rude, but I don’t see how you could understand how my situation here is simultaneously underwhelming and overwhelming. I apologize that I do not have the time to explain the difference between the two to a middle school gym teacher at the moment.” 

Fox’s eyes went wide as she listened to this stranger talk down to Mara. She took a step forward as she roughly placed the boxes down on the desk next to her. Astarion quickly took a step in front of her to keep her from lunging across the room at Gale. Mara kept her gaze on Gale as she took in everything he had just said to her, her eyebrows raised at the audacity. She startled everyone slightly as she stretched out her arms and dropped the boxes on the ground in front of her with a hard thud.  

“We’ll stop wasting your time then, Mr. Dekarios.” Mara said in a rough manner as she turned her body to let Fox and Astarion leave the room first, her fierce gaze still locked on Gale. Fox grabbed Mara’s arm on the way out. She didn’t hesitate as she followed the others after she made sure to slam the door behind her. Mara widened her stride as she stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched at her sides; earning a few worried glances from the teachers that had stepped into the hallway to see what had happened.

Astarion and Fox did their best to keep up with Mara as they tried not to jog after her. They soon realized that Mara had made a beeline for Fox’s classroom as they entered the hallway; Mara opened the door to the classroom for the couple as she huffed her way in behind them, obscenities muttered under her breath. Astarion perched himself on the desk, his legs crossed while he watched Mara pace around the classroom silently and as Fox worriedly watched her beside him. 

“So,” Astarion said, as he made sure to draw out the vowel, “what do we think of our new friend?” A dry chuckle escaped him as he finished his question. His lover was quick to smack him with a glare. Mara didn’t stop pacing as she gave Astarion the middle finger.  

“That pompous, shit eating, jackass is not our friend.” Her pacing finally came to end as she stood in front of her two friends. “He’s just another pretentious savant with an inflated ego. There’s no point in wasting anymore energy on him.” Mara said as she ran a hand through her hair. 

“Oh, boo. I was hoping you two would fight him, like you did in our college days when egotistical men wouldn’t leave the two of you alone.” Astarion said with a smile. Mara tried to keep a straight face but it quickly devolved into laughs as she and her friends reminisced on their years together.

The rest of the week passed with relative ease for Mara. She made a point to avoid the hallway Gale’s classroom was on to prevent seeing him and spent her time between the gymnasium, getting the equipment prepped for the incoming students, and Fox’s classroom as she prepared herself for another year of teaching Introduction to Ethics. She was not able to escape the new teacher all together, though. Wherever she went that weren’t her usual places, she heard talk of the man and rumors that floated around; and even worse yet, she had always listened, wanting to find out more about the mysterious teacher. As much as she hated it, her thoughts traveled back to him quite often. Mara couldn’t help but think that he was quite attractive and from what she had learned from searching his name, he was, in fact, a very accomplished literature scholar and seemed deserving of the awards that he had won throughout his career. She had a hard time convincing herself that the man she met earlier in the week was who Gale actually was and that they had just got off on the wrong foot. Mara, however, was too stubborn to be the first to admit this and had told herself he needed to be the one to apologize before she attempted to make amends. 

“I hear that he was fired because so many of his students had to cheat to pass his classes. Why that doesn’t hardly sound fair though, does it? If it’s true.. the students simply leveled the playing field if he was really that bad.” Astarion said as he organized his desk for the first day of school that was just a day away. Mara sat on the floor as she stretched and Fox kept herself busy as she rearranged Astarion’s desk the moment he finished. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he was a dickhead teacher. He had no problem talking to Mara the way that he did, I’m sure he’d have no problem talking down to students.” Fox said as she left a wake of chaos behind her on the desk. 

Mara opened her mouth to say something before she was interrupted by someone stood in the doorway. 

“The two of you are hardly correct. The real reason is much more salacious.” The voice came from the Psychology teacher, Jen Hallowleaf; or as she preferred to be called, Shadowheart. “He left Black Staff because he was ‘involved’ with his department head, the critically acclaimed Mystra. She was going to turn him into the ethics board after he kept asking for tenure, he couldn’t risk losing his license, so he quit and accepted a position here. Took quite a hit to his reputation from what I’ve heard.” She said as she checked over her nails. 

Mara sat up from the stretch she was in, “Shadow, how would you possibly know that?” she asked with a quizzical look. Shadowheart laughed as she told the group that she had her sources. “Really? You have sources all the way in Waterdeep? That give you accurate information?” Mara continued to push, she knew that Shadowheart had a propensity to gossip and mislead. 

Shadow scowled at Mara as she answered, “Of course I do, I can know just about anything about anyone anywhere after a few glasses of good wine.” Astarion looked impressed at her answer and Fox continued to watch her as her gaze flickered to Mara occasionally. 

Mara was off the floor now as she leaned against the wall next to the psych teacher, arms crossed over her chest. “I see, and what else do these ‘reliable sources’ say about Mr. Dekarios?” Her voice was laced in sarcasm but her features betrayed her; her eyes stilled on the woman and a slight blush formed across her cheeks as her body tensed. Fox tapped Astarion with her foot and made a subtle motion for him to look at Mara. A glance was shared between the two as they saw a glint in Mara’s eyes, unsure if it was yearning or repugnance. 

“Well,” Shadow replied, “they say he’s quite close to his mother, has a cat named Tara, I believe it was, and that he has always been quite gifted in literature. Supposedly he was Mystra’s favorite professor at one point but he wouldn’t quit asking for tenure and benefits she thought he didn’t deserve.” Shadowheart seemed quite proud of herself after having relayed such information about the mysterious newcomer in the school. 

Mara shifted on her feet as she mulled over the woman’s words and pretended, not very well, to not care about the information provided to them. Shadowheart announced her departure after she grew bored of the silence between the four of them. Both Astarion and Fox had to say something to get Mara’s attention as to pull her from her thoughts. Mara looked at the two of them and caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall between the two of them.

“Shit, it’s time to leave already. I need to finish organizing the equipment closet in the gym.” Mara grabbed her bag as she gave them a wave, “I’ll call you guys later!” The two returned the sentiment and decided to leave what they saw alone for the moment as they left the school hand in hand. 

Mara made her way through the school as she scolded herself for two different things. The first being that she didn’t finish the work she had started when she started it, which now caused her to leave work late. The second being that she had been genuinely intrigued to hear what Shadowheart had to say about Gale Dekarios. The same man who had talked down to her in such a condescending tone. The same man she had been avoiding all week. The same man that had been plaguing her thoughts when she let her mind wander. She forced her mind to focus as she approached the gym and connected her phone to the bluetooth system so she could blare her music as she finished the last of her work for the day.

As she left the gym and locked it, she heard a voice emanate behind her. It was a warm and sincere voice that she had been wanting to hear; it was Gale’s voice. 

“Hello, Mara. I hope you’ve been well this week?” She saw Gale smiling up at her as she turned around. 

“Oh, hi, Gale.” She kept her voice level and did not return his smile. “I’ve been fine.” 

Gale nodded as he adjusted his bag awkwardly and cleared his throat. “I’m glad, the week of the new semester starting is always stressful so I’m happy to hear you’ve been handling it well.” 

Mara almost broke, in that moment, wanting to ask him if she had done something wrong, but she held her resolve. She didn't answer him, which made him release an anxious laugh to fill the silence. 

“Well, I just wanted to say hello and let you know that I hope you do well with your students this year. Now if you excuse me, I must be leaving now, as you probably should be as well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with a small wave, he took his leave as he walked away from Mara.

‘Oh, so he really is an audacious egomaniac.’ She thought to herself as she scoffed. Mara walked to the back doors of the school and pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contact list.

“You’ll never fucking believe what just happened.”, she said into her phone the moment Fox answered her call.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Proposal

Part One of Three Years

Masterlist | Year One

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 4.3K

Notes: ....Hi! This is the first of 2-3 fic drops. I'm hoping to push all five chapters of this fic out this weekend. Also I started writing this before the current AI market explosion. Not beta-read. Never beta-read.

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan

Summary: He’s shorter than you thought he’d be.

Nathan Bateman isn’t unattractive, or short, even, he’s just…Shorter. 

Of all of the things that you thought you’d feel about Nathan Bateman’s visit, surprised wasn’t what you thought would be first. Shit-scared, sure. Insanely nervous, absolutely. Surprised by his height? Not on your list.

“This could be huge for us.” 

Jenn looks at once desperate and wild-eyed as she paces in her office. You watch her closely, taking in the dark circles under her dark eyes. Her typically California-tan skin is pallid from her recent late nights, and her days spent indoors. The company is running her ragged—and this potential seed money from Nathan Bateman is throwing her into the craziest tizzy you’ve ever seen. She sweeps her hands through her frizzed auburn hair before she raises her nails to her mouth.

“I mean,” She mutters, continuing to pace, voice muffled as she chews her nails, “If we get Bateman’s backing, that’d be great, but if I can get him on the board.” She stops finally, turning to face you, lowering her chewed nails from her mouth. “That would send us into the fucking stratosphere.” 

“...Okay,” You sit up a touch. You don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you need to bring Jenn down from the fucking stratosphere. “Nathan Bateman has scheduled a meeting. Okay? A meeting. One,” You raise your finger. 

“He’s having his team go over our numbers—” 

“I know that. He’s doing the due diligence that anyone coming in would be expected to do. Just, don’t put all of your eggs in one basket when we haven’t even gotten the basket yet.” 

“Come on,” Jenn groans. “I could be the next Steve Jobs!” 

“Yes, you absolutely could. But if you keep putting your focus on the idea stuff and not on the structure and application stuff, you’re going to be the next Elizabeth Holmes. And honey, I love you, but you do not look good in orange.” 

Jenn deflates just a little, slouching back against the windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. 

“...It clashes with my hair,” She grumbles. 

“I’m not saying don’t be excited at all," You insist, "I’m just saying…We’re bringing him in to talk about financing. How freaked out would you be if you went on a first date with someone and instead of asking for a second date, they said, Hey this was fun, let’s get married.”

“...Pretty freaked.” 

“Right. And asking someone to join the board is like a business-y 3.5 carat pear cut diamond on an infinity band. So. Let's schedule an All Hands, give the team a heads up, get them prepped. Before that, though, we need to get you some fucking lunch and some sunshine.” 

“You’re my sunshine.” 

“Awww,” You coo before you get up, adding, “Seriously. Get your phone and your sunglasses, we’re going out.” 

“But I have an email from prod—” 

“Production about the user profile settings set to drop at the end of the week. I know, I answered it already. Phone. Sunglasses. Lunch. Let’s go.” 

"You'll be here, right?"

You frown, shaking your head in slight confusion, and Jenn clarifies: "For his tour. You'll be here?"

You consider, glancing at your phone. If you can get the time off—but that's no guarantee.

"I'll try."

--  

When Jenn started Sc(ai)le three years ago, you’d had no idea that it would take off the way it would. You knew that Jenn was brilliant, you’d never had a doubt about that. But you couldn’t have anticipated how quickly varying industries moved to scale AI. Jenn had assembled a team of engineers, scientists, and sales reps. She trusts her teams, and they work hard to keep the company in motion.

But Jenn still insists in being very much hands-on everywhere she possibly can, sometimes to hers and the company’s detriment. She needs a Chief Knowledge officer, a Chief Information officer, and a Chief Marketing officer. She has a Chief Tech officer, a Chief Financial officer, a Chief Compliance officer, a Chief Data officer—all incredibly knowledgeable in their fields. She wants a board, too, but you’re worried that the company may still be too young for it. 

You work with the SVP of Marketing now and again, helping her to manage the way marketing materials are created, where they’re stored, and how they’re distributed. You’re working with Sc(ai)le part-time, on a temporary basis (though it’s technically been ‘temporary’ since the company started). Jenn needs an official team, with people that can work with her full-fucking-time. You have a full-time job at a separate tech company, one that’s well away from the AI space. You’d been worried their hackles would be raised when you informed them that you’d be taking a part-time position elsewhere, but they hadn’t even flinched. 

Hell, your manager had asked you if you’d be able to get them an employee discount. You may just have to take a few days off for Bateman’s visit.

You don’t blame Jenn for being so excited, or so nervous. 

Nathan fucking Bateman? This is huge. 

But if both of you have your heads in the fucking clouds, neither of you are gonna make it out of orbit. So you’ll keep yourself grounded, and bring Jenn back down to Earth if you absolutely have to. 

-- 

He’s shorter than you thought he’d be.

Nathan Bateman isn’t unattractive, or short, even, he’s just…Shorter. 

Of all of the things that you thought you’d feel about Nathan Bateman’s visit, surprised wasn’t what you thought would be first. Shit-scared, sure. Insanely nervous, absolutely. Surprised by his height? Not on your list.

You glance over at Jenn to find her tipping her chin up, slapping on her I Should Be On the Cover of Forbes smile. It’s the smile that’s brought every other investor on board. It’s the smile that’s brought on every single team member in the company. Now, you can only hope that it’ll bring Nathan Bateman into her coffers.

Where you’d typically leave Jenn to finesse any other investor, you stick close by. You trail Bateman and Jenn by a few steps as she directs him around the offices, and the facility. 

He asks a fair number of questions. A few are unexpected, but for the most part, they’re things that you and Jenn had anticipated. The three of you come to a stop overlooking a row of engineers. You don’t want to appear nonchalant, but with Bateman and Jenn focused elsewhere, you allow yourself to lean back against the wall, eyeing the room. It’s then that you see an engineer flagging you down, a harried look on her face. You glance toward Bateman and Jenn’s heads and make sure they’re distracted before you push yourself off of the wall, skirting around the two and walking over to her as calmly as possible. 

“What’s up?” You ask, crouching down beside the engineer’s desk. 

“The marketing team sent through a brief about the user profiles—” 

“Uh-huh—” 

“And there’s an error regarding the, uh—The functionality.” 

“Okay. Where’s the problem, what’s the fix?” 

“Our systems are starting at Mac- or Blue-OS compatible.” 

“But not Windows?” 

“Most of the companies we use don’t touch Windows OS anymore.” 

“But we have got a few clients that do.” 

“Yes, we’re—We’re working on it. But this can’t go out like this, it’s not correct.” 

“Okay,” You nod, mind racing through the possible, necessary fixes. “Okay. Could I use your laptop for a second?” 

“Sure.” 

The engineer starts to stand, but you wave her back into her seat, just turn the laptop toward yourself. You hurriedly log into your email on a web page, and tap out an email to the marketing SVP. 

“Mac and Blue only,” You reiterate as you type. 

“—But not Windows, yep.” 

“Do we have an expected date on Windows functionality?” 

“Q2 of next year—Maybe Q1, but—” 

“We don’t wanna over-promise and underdeliver,” You shoot the engineer a smile. “I appreciate the honesty.” 

The engineer nods hurriedly. You feel her casting a glance behind you, but you’re already turning back to the laptop, practically hammering the keys as you send out the message. You lean back, reading and rereading the message before you CC your work email, Jenn’s, and the engineer in question. Then you send it, straighten up, and sign out of the email. 

“I’ve put myself and Jenn on the email, we will take it from here. Thank you so much for flagging that—And if anything comes up, please text, email, slack me. Anything.” 

“Thank you!” 

“No, thank you,” You insist, patting her shoulder. You straighten and turn, and freeze immediately at the sight of Jenn and Bateman standing just behind you. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep a straight face. 

“I didn’t mean to hold up the tour,” You apologize. “You guys could’ve moved on, I would’ve caught up.” 

“Everything alright?” Bateman asks, nodding toward the engineer. 

“Yes. Just a little communications update.” You give them both a reassured smile. “Why don’t we continue?” You add, nodding down the hall. 

--  

“What are you doing for dinner tomorrow?” 

It’s a question that he should be asking Jenn, and that’s why your mouth works wordlessly, your brow furrowing heavily. It’s a bad look—Nathan Bateman has asked you a simple question, and you’re floundering like a landed fish. 

“Uh—Shoving something in the microwave, probably?” You manage with a shaky laugh as you put your laptop into your bag. You haven't been able to take the time off as much time as you’d hoped, and you’ll have to make up what time you have taken to keep yourself on track. “I’m working a double, so, I’ll get off shift around one in the morning.” 

“A double.” 

“...Yes? It’s when you work two shifts at—” 

“I know what a double is.” 

Jeez, of course he does. 

“Right. Sorry. You seemed—...Anyway.” 

“I seemed what?” 

Confused is the wrong word to use with this man. 

“Inquisitive?” You offer. Nathan’s brows tip impossibly higher, his chin angling down to gaze at you over the tops of his glasses. 

“One,” He finally confirms. “How’s 1:30 for you?” 

“For what?” 

“For dinner.” 

“I—I don’t think I’ve ever eaten dinner that late in my life. I don’t even go out that late anymore.” 

“But you’ll make an exception?” 

“Do I have to?” 

When he smiles, you know that you will have to. 

“I’ll send you the details.” 

That’s it. He breezes away from your desk space. He doesn’t offer to walk you to your car; he doesn’t ask you any questions about what you want to eat, or what you like to eat. He just walks away. You look after him for a moment before you look down, taking up your laptop chord and wrapping it with a mutter of, 

“Dinner at 1:30 in the morning? Not in fucking college anymore…What’s even gonna be open that late for fucking dinner?” 

You think, and then giggle. 

Maybe Nathan Bateman is going to take you to McDonald’s. 

--  

“You ever been here before?” 

“Uhh…” You peer down at the menu. It’s timeworn, and splattered with what look like gravy stains. At least—well, you hope it’s gravy. “Nope, can’t say I have.” 

The diner has a vintage bent to it. The seats are all coated in robin’s egg blue vinyl; the floor is tiled like a checkerboard; the walls are pepto-pink. There’s a jukebox in the corner, but the oldies being played in the diner are coming from a few recessed speakers in the ceiling. You glance up again as you hear Bateman shifting in his seat. He’s lounging back in his seat like he owns the damn place. 

…Maybe he does own the damn place. 

It could explain why they’re open so late, at least. There are a few other people in the diner, a ways away. Now and again, an explosive swell of cackling laughter will pass over your way before one of their party hurries to hush them. You glance back curiously as you hear one of them add, 

“Dude, you’re gonna get us kicked out again.” 

“So how long have you known Jenn?” Bateman asks. 

“Oh, gosh,” You turn back to him. “Since Kindergarten. She’s my oldest friend.” 

“You two seemed pretty close during the tour yesterday.” 

“Did we?” 

“Insomuch as you were her shadow.” 

You close your mouth, reaching for your water. You had shadowed because Jenn had asked—but you’re in no position to quibble with this man. You’ve no need, either; he goes on: 

“How was your double?” 

“It was fine.” 

“What are you working on?” 

“I work at a company that produces technical books and longform guides for—” 

“I know where you work, that wasn’t my question. What are you working on.” 

The bored, irritated tone in his voice raises your hackles, and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. But you swallow your annoyance in favor of giving a straightforward answer: “Right now, a quantum software engineering roadmap.” 

“Are you enjoying it?” 

“The writing can be a little dry, but the subject matter is interesting.” 

“Hm…” Bateman nods, his eyes sweeping your face curiously. You fight the urge to shift or fidget under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

Can you ask questions? Are you allowed? Why does this man make you feel like you’re in a damn interview? Your gazes break as a waitress comes over, a pad in hand and an expectant smile on her face. You instinctively offer her one in return as you order. You don’t really hear what Bateman orders; you’re too busy wracking your mind for things that came up on yesterday’s tour—pain points, questions that Jenn promised she’d get back to him on. 

“So,” Bateman’s voice snaps your focus back to him, and you arch your brows as you meet his eyes again. “In your opinion, what’s the company lacking?” 

It’s a slap of a question. Your brows manage to inch higher. Oh…God. No wonder he didn’t want to do this with Jenn around.

“Uh…” Is your initial succinct answer. You clear your throat, taking your glass up for another sip, gathering yourself. You could say that Jenn has everything she needs, save for capital. You could say that the team is rowing as one one, your little unsinkable ship, the Sc(ai)le. 

But Nathan Bateman is a genius, and a billionaire, and a man with a low tolerance for bullshit. 

“She needs a complete C-Suite,” You admit firmly as you set your glass aside. “She needs a solid, knowledgeable team behind her. We’re doing the best that we can now, and the Chief positions that she has filled are pushing the company in the right direction, but the ones that she doesn’t are slowing down growth. We need a CMO and a CKO and a CIO, like...Yesterday. We have a lot of data, and we have a lot of marketing materials—and the seniors VPs in those positions are doing the best they can, but you can only fill a leaky bucket so many times before the handle breaks. The company doesn’t have the capital to bring those positions on, and until it does, the company’s going to continue to grow at half-speed because the plane’s being flown while it's still being built."

Bateman doesn’t react for a moment. His silence makes your stomach twist with nerves; your palms are sweating. 

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” He finally says. You can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Look—I could tell you that we’re all one happy family, and that the only thing wrong is the fact that bluebirds don’t land on our shoulders and code for us—” Your stomach flips as Bateman’s lips twitch with a smile, “But you’ve already been inside. You’ve looked through our books, you’ve seen the facility. And if you’re going to go in on investment, you’re going to see the dirty laundry anyway. I may as well show you where the hamper is.” 

“You like your metaphors.” 

“It’s the writer in me.” 

Bateman’s brow quirks a touch as he nods. 

“...Why aren’t you full time?” He asks. That question throws you for a loop. You shake your head a little—like it’ll knock an answer loose. But the answer—the truth—is that you and Jenn haven’t worked well together in the past. Sure, you’re part-time now, but you hardly ever interfere with her day-to-day unless it’s to coax her out of her office to get some air or a meal. You prefer to take your time with a project, and Sc(ai)le is in a growth period where time is of the essence. 

“...It’s not…” You start, brow furrowing as you grapple for a reasonable answer, “What Sc(ai)le does, it isn’t what I do.” 

“The company has technical writers.” 

“...Yeah—” 

“It needs someone that knows how to compile the information, translate it for the average consumer—” 

“But—” 

“Just tell me they can’t afford you.”  

Your chest twinges with indignation. 

“That’s not true,” You insist. 

“So they can afford you.” 

“That’s not what I—” 

“Which one is it?” 

“You’re twisting my words, and I don’t appreciate that.” It leaves you more harshly than it should, and you damn your tone immediately. There’s no way scolding this man is gonna bring him on board. You realize that your shoulders have scrunched defensively and risen toward your ears, and you force yourself to relax them. But Nathan’s lips just twitch again, his eyes bright with amusement. 

“...Why aren’t you full-time?” He repeats. 

“I told you. This isn’t what I do.” 

“It could be.” 

You don’t want to make the concession, but the look on Bateman’s face tells you that he’s got you pinned. So you give a small, begrudging nod. 

“Hypothetically.” 

His smile widens at your confirmation. You want to smack him. 

But that really won’t bring him on board. 

--  

You expect Jenn to grill you for your time with Nathan the second you get in, but she’s grabbing your hand and hissing, “He’s here, and he’s waiting.” 

“What?” You ask dazedly, pulling your sleeve back to eye the watch face where it rests on the inside of your wrist. “He’s not supposed to be here for another two hours! I didn’t see an email—”

“He didn’t send one! He just showed up!”

You pull Jenn to a stop in the hall, slowing her with a gentle, “Whoa, whoa—Okay. Look at me.” 

Jenn stops, eyes wide, head shaking minutely as she tries to continue walking toward the conference room, insisting, “We’re already late—” 

“Slow down!” You urge. She looks stricken, and you immediately feel guilty. You take her hand in yours, giving it a squeeze before drawing in a deep breath. Jenn hesitantly does the same, pushing it out when you do. You draw in another, and are relieved as she copies you, some of the tension melting from her face as she closes her eyes. You watch her pull in and push out one more deep breath before she opens her eyes slowly, nodding. 

“Thank you,” She breathes, patting your hand before she tugs down the hall again. 

--  

“I like what I’m seeing.” 

Bateman’s assertion shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Sc(ai)le is a good company, something that would make sense in his portfolio. But he’s so steady and calm as he peers out of the office of Jenn’s window. 

You don’t like how he’s commandeered the space behind her desk. She shouldn’t be sitting on the other side of it with you; she should be behind it, with him—or he should be on your side. 

Still, Nathan pushes himself off of the window, turning to face Jenn. His gaze flickers to you before he looks down at something laid out on the desk. 

“Your initial proposal was…Whadda we got here…” Bateman tuts as he turns a page. You think he must be dragging it out for suspense—there’s no way he doesn’t have those numbers memorized. Sure, it must be chump change to him, but it’s still a big fucking number. “One million for a fifteen percent stake in the company.” 

“That’s right,” Jenn nods. 

“I’ll give you four.” 

“...Four?” Jenn repeats dazedly. 

“Four million for what percent?” You ask before she can leap up, kiss the man on the lips, and accept. 

“Fifteen,” Bateman affirms. Your eyes narrow at him. This doesn’t feel right. He adds, “I have one condition, though.” 

“Name it,” Jenn nods. You glance at her nervously. You’re certain that if he told her to strip naked and run through the office covered in spray cheese, she’d do it right this second. 

“You come on as CKO, CIO, and CMO.”

Your brow furrows as Jenn turns to you. Who comes on? Jenn? She’s already CEO for fuckssake—

And then Jenn turns to you, eyes wide and insistent as she nods toward Bateman. Your head snaps to him, stunned. He’s waiting with that same patient, bored expression that he'd given you with all throughout dinner. 

“You want me to take on three C-Suite positions?” You ask, brows raising. “Are you that strapped for cash that you won’t spring for two more people?” 

Jenn hisses your name in warning. You know it’s the wrong thing to say, but to your surprise, Bateman just smiles and leans against Jenn’s desk. 

“Hear me out,” He waves your irritation off. “I want to roll the positions of CKO and CIO into one. Chief Knowledge and Information officer.” 

“And add Chief Marketing officer on top of them.” 

“That’s right. You’re much quicker on the uptake than you were the other night. No, it’s alright—I’m sure the double shift and the late dinner had you off your game.” 

You want to argue, but Nathan is already turning his attention to Jenn. 

“Four mill for a fifteen percent stake,” He reiterates before nodding toward you. “And her.” 

What would Jenn get if you didn’t come on? One million at fifteen? Two million at thirty? Nothing at all? You can’t bring yourself to look at Jenn just now—you know you’re getting a pleading expression. So you keep your eyes on Bateman, and his expectant expression. He knows he’s got you backed into a corner. 

“...Does this condition have a term limit?” You ask. Bateman purses his lips, seeming to think for a moment. Then he levels you with an ungodly answer:

“Three years.” 

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. You only just manage not to double over with it. Three years. Three years inhabiting two positions that you never wanted or asked for. Three years working with your oldest friend on her passion project, knowing that you will lock horns on approach. Three years of Nathan Bateman hanging over your head. 

You can’t face Jenn. One look at those hopeful, doe-like eyes and you’re going to fold like a house of cards. You can’t look at Bateman. One look at him and you’re going to lunge in, slap him silly, and ask what the fuck is wrong with him. 

You look down at your lap. 

Three years. Three years or what? Nathan pulls his backing? Asks for repayment? That could level the company, and everything that Jenn has worked for would disappear overnight. 

Three years. 

You don’t ask about the pay. You don’t care about that. You’re not doing badly as it is. Two C-Suite positions (well, three) would surely pay you more than you make now, but still. 

Three years. 

You’ve been considering leaving your current job. You’ve been chugging along happily, though you’ve started to get too settled, too bored. Too complacent. But you've been ducking away from management positions at job after job because you just don't want to be in charge of people. You want to be fully in the action, working on the words, not floating above them and giving them a thumbs up or a thumbs down. This isn’t like anything you’d consider throwing yourself into. 

Three years. 

This is bigger than you and Jenn. Pumping more money into this company would give Sc(ai)le the chance to expand its staff, upgrade it's tech, bring on a more comprehensive QA team.

You draw in a deep breath, giving a small hesitant nod. 

“Alright,” Leaves your mouth before you can talk yourself out of it. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Bateman bats back without missing a beat. You can hear a note of triumph there, one that makes you want to reach into his throat and rip out his layrnx. Jenn is springing out of her seat, pumping Bateman’s hand enthusiastically and telling him that he won’t regret it. You’re staring down at your hands, your head and chest feeling hollow, like you’ve just been jailed for three consecutive life sentences. 

Three years. 

Bateman’s hand enters your field of vision, outstretched and patient. You eye it for a moment. 

You could still tell him to go fuck himself. But you glance up at Jenn, and find her beaming down at you. Her eyes are bright with joyful tears; her hands are clasped to keep from visibly shaking. 

You can’t tell him to go fuck himself, and he knows it.

So you suck in a deep breath and raise your hand, shaking Bateman’s without meeting his gaze. 

“We should grab a drink to celebrate,” He insists. You let go of his hand and push yourself up shakily. 

“I—Have some things I need to sort out. You two go on,” You add, slapping on an encouraging smile and turning to Jenn. 

“Sure,” Bateman concedes. “You have a letter of resignation to write.” 

You pat Jenn’s shoulder on the way out, hardly meeting Bateman's eye as you go. You get into your car, and drive back to your apartment. You mechanically unlock your door, drop your keys in the bowl by the entryway, kick your door shut. You don’t bother to turn the lights on. The sun is streaming in through your front window with a vengeance. You walk over to your bar cart and take up a bottle of whiskey. You don’t bother with a glass. You just plop into your favorite armchair and curl up. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You just stare blankly at the wall. 

Three years. 

Next Part: Year One

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @aellynera ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @revolution-starter ; @rachelwritesstuff ; @queen-of-elves

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Four

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Chapter warnings/tags: slow burn, dad!din, bonding, injuries (not in detail), negative self-talk, mentions of past trauma/abuse

Chapter Length: 4.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info

notes: im sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others! if it's any consolation, a few of the chapters in this fic are 10k, so there's that. :) i've set a posting schedule of mondays and thursdays, but this week i'm posting on sunday because i'm going to be travelling on monday and i have to stay off tumblr to avoid tlou spoilers until the evening. so, surprise :)

i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw you

“How do you feel?” Is the first thing you hear when you wake, rolling over on your makeshift bed to find Mando standing at the cave entrance again. He’s leaning against the wall with one shoulder, his hip cocked out, one leg bent casually. 

Kriffing hells, how is he so attractive when all you can see of him is his posture and his impossibly shiny armour? 

You force the thought from your mind, blaming it on your half-asleep state. 

“I don’t know yet,” you answer with a grimace. It’s been two days since your fall. The pain is better, though the rest of your body feels stiff now, muscle soreness finally catching up with you after the tumble. There hasn’t been another storm, at least, so Mando has managed to hunt for every meal so far. He goes out to get water every morning, filling canteens to the brim. He makes you drink so much that sometimes it feels like you’re swimming in it. “Hydration helps with healing,” he says every time, even though you already know; he says it just to counter your playful glaring at him every time he hands you the flask. 

“Sun rose not that long ago,” he cranes his neck to gaze up at the sky, “if you’re feeling up to it, we can probably travel today.” 

You manage to sit up, but the minute you do, pain shoots down from the wound on your calf and into your ankle. It circles there around the joint and throbs. “Have we got any more ice packs?” 

“One more,” Mando answers as he heads right over to his medpack and gets it out. 

“We should ration it,” you hold out your hand to stop him activating it. “For when we’re travelling. I’ll probably need it.” 

He looks down at the pack, hesitates. Then nods and puts it away. “Do you think you’ll be okay to travel today? If so, we should move soon, make the most of the daylight.”

Shifting a little, you try to get a gage on your body, how it feels. A grimace makes its way onto your face without your consent. Everything hurts. Literally everything. Muscles you didn’t even know you had are strained and stiff. 

But you’ve been here for two days. He’s been stranded here for four. 

“If the answer is anything but yes,” his voice cuts through your rapidly declining thoughts, “then my answer is no.” 

Relieved, you smile. But you protest, “Mando, you’ve stayed with me so long now. I can make my own way back.” 

“No,” he says definitively. “We move when you’re ready.” 

You relax, settling back against the wall. You’re too sore to argue. 

“The kid’s enjoying the vacation, anyway,” Mando says, the lilt of a smile in his voice. 

As if summoned, Grogu steps forward from his little bed at the back of the cave. He yawns, his tiny mouth opening as wide as it can go, his eyes screwing shut. 

Oh, Maker, he is adorable. 

“You take time off a lot?” You ask with a wry smile as Mando scoops the kid up into his arms. 

The huff of a laugh comes through his helmet. “Not really.” 

“Why am I not surprised?”

Mando tickles Grogu’s cheek, earning a little giggle. 

You watch them. There’s that warmth again, creeping its way between your ribs, around your heart. 

You have to look away. 

All three of you are starting to get a little stir crazy by the time the night comes around. 

You’re feeling better, though. Mando’s hydration obsession is working to help loosen out your stiff muscles. It doesn’t help, though, that you have to keep getting up every hour to pee. Especially because you have to tell Mando every time nature calls, which is, admittedly, rather humiliating—it shouldn’t be, it’s fucking natural, but he’s Mando and he’s been making you feel a certain way, and you don’t want to have to admit to this terrifying yet comforting man that you have to piss. It’s even worse that he has to help you hobble outside, then walk away while you do your business, and come back and pretend to not notice the puddle sinking into the ground. 

It’s demoralising. Your cheeks are tired from flushing red all the time. 

But he insists on you drinking enough, even when you protest. 

“I don’t mind doing this, you know,” he says as the sun sets, an arm around you as you hobble to the designated Nature Area. 

“Yes, you do,” you grumble, kind of just wanting the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t,” he insists. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s good to move a little.” 

“A little? Mando, it’s every hour, on the hour, at this point.” 

The unfamiliar sound of a soft laugh comes through his helmet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it sounded fond. But you’ve never heard a laugh like that. So. “It’s good. Just call me back when you’re ready.” 

He never comes back until you call, no matter how long it takes you.

It isn’t lost on you, either, that you never would have been able to do this on your own. You’d have had to piss where you sat. Which seems like a worse concept than just ruining your leg, and subsequent mobility, forever by forcing yourself to walk home. 

As darkness approaches, Mando takes his flashlight—yours is long dead by now—and puts it in the far end of the cave. He stays over there, rustling in his pack for something. Curious, you watch, wondering what he’s doing; he angles the light strangely, propping it up with a few stray rocks on the ground, and then fishes out a small piece of canvas, pulled from what remained of your tent. He puts it over the flashlight, folds it once. 

Then, the light is softer. Diffused around the cave. 

Grogu, who is sitting against the wall playing with a little silver ball, looks up at the newly-lit cave walls and laughs in glee. 

“You like it, kid?” Mando asks him. 

The kid claps his hands together, gazing around. Mando laughs softly and sits back down beside the kid, watching him. 

You’re watching Mando. It’s impossible not to, with the soft light reflecting from his armour in a new way, casting new highlights and shadows across every curve and edge. You wonder what places he’s been, how he’d look in all kinds of light. Harsh, bright, sunshine of a bright summer’s day, the dark ashy colour beneath rain clouds. 

“Mando?” You find yourself saying. 

He looks up at you, one hand holding the kid. 

“Tell me about somewhere else you’ve been,” you request. “Please?” 

“Where do you want to hear about?” 

“Anywhere. First place that comes to mind.” 

For a second, he’s quiet, just looking at you. Considering. When he speaks, he doesn’t say what you expected him to, and his voice is softer than it should be. “You really want to travel, don’t you?” 

And, okay. 

That hits a nerve. 

You look away, blinking. It’s clear that you’ve tensed, that something has made you uncomfortable; and you expect him to backtrack, to apologise, but he just waits. So patient, like he wouldn’t mind if you didn’t say anything, or even if you just told him to fuck right off. You wish you could see his face, decipher his expression. Match it to the soft curiosity of his lovely voice. 

“Yeah,” you manage on a shaky breath, imagining yourself up there, in the vastness of space, free to explore the Galaxy. “Yeah, I do.” 

Quiet again. He’s giving you space. 

You take it, let it sink in. 

Then, his voice is there again, “So why don’t you?”

And if that isn’t a question and a half. “It’s, uh,” you clear your throat. You’re about to say it’s complicated. But that doesn’t even cover the half of it. Instead, feeling a cold, familiar dread slowly creeping through your veins, you say, “I like it here.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you still, some kind of unexplainable patience coming from his dark visor. 

It’s unclear if he can hear the omission of the truth.

You don’t want to lie to him. 

You’re sitting here, in a cave that he so beautifully lit as best he can, on top of a bed that he made just for you to be comfortable, after he’s helped you pee about twelve times a day for the last two days. He’s been nothing but kind. 

And it’s not that you feel like you owe him answers because of that. Nor, in fact, that you think he feels you owe him answers. His quiet, unassuming patience in the dim intimacy of this cave is proof enough of that. 

No, it’s not that. 

It’s that you’ve been alone for so long. You’ve never said this to anyone.

And after all this, once you’re back at your hut and you’ve fixed his ship together, he’s going to leave. And you’re never going to see him again, anyway. 

So. 

“Truthfully,” you say, “as much as I like it here, it’s not where I’d choose to be. If I had another choice.” 

Instead of staying still and silent, he starts to nod. His gaze is unwavering, solid and stable, weaving its way into the tension and uncertainty beneath your skin, soothing it.

Grogu gets up and waddles over to you. He climbs clumsily into your lap.

Then, with a quick look to Grogu, Mando says, “I understand.”

And that, those simple words, make something release in your chest.

The weight of your confession doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expected. In fact, it feels like something has lifted in the air between the three of you. Like even the kid understands. 

Well.

This is new. 

-

As the third morning in the cave rolls around, you wake up feeling much better. 

Once you’ve relieved your always-full bladder, you tell Mando as much, staggering back into the cave and to your bed. “You can stop over-watering me now,” you tease as he lets you back against the wall, gentle. Your hands are on the backs of his arms, and slide all the way down them as he moves away. You wish you could linger there, and the way he moves so slowly, his visor gazing down into your sleepy eyes, makes you think that he wishes that, too. 

As your palms brush against his wrists, he seems to catch himself. He pulls away quickly and turns to distract himself with the kid.

“So, you’re ready to travel?” He asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, staring at him from behind. He has a nice behind. (And you need to stop. Immediately.)

“You can lean on me. We’ll take it slow, I promise.” 

Kriff, say that again… “I’ll be alright. You’ve got enough to carry.” 

He looks at you again. “I’m leaving the parts here,” he says, like that should be obvious. 

“What?” You frown. “But your ship…” 

“Once we find our way back, and you’re safe, I’ll come back for them.” 

“Mando, I can manage. Seriously, we should take the parts. You’ve been here long enough.” 

The helmet tilts. “You trying to get rid of me?” It would concern you, if the teasing in his tone wasn’t arousingly obvious.

You just about manage to recover from the stirring in your belly, and you laugh, “Totally. Sick of you already.” 

The kid, standing beside him, looks at you and makes a sad noise. His ears turn down towards the ground. 

Kriff. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” you assure him with a smile. As a peace offering, you reach your hands out to him, and he relaxes in an instant, immediately plodding over to you and climbing into your lap. You hold him, give him a quick hug, then just let him sit there. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually gonna miss you,” you whisper into his ear. He coos happily, tugging at a loose thread on your coat.

When you look up, Mando is, of course, staring at you. This time, you know for sure that it’s at both you and the kid.

“What?” You ask. 

“Nothing,” he answers after a moment of hesitation. “I’m going to pack up. Then we can move. You okay to sit with the kid?” 

“You know I am,” you smile, and watch as Mando nods and heads outside.

That pang in your chest is back. Well, you’re not sure when it turned from a slow warmth into a pang. 

But it’s there. Too obvious to ignore. 

For a few miles, you manage pretty well. It took some convincing, but you got Mando to agree to taking the parts along with him in the end. You do lean on him, but only when moving over particularly rough terrain, fallen logs, or exposed tree roots. 

“How we doing?” Mando asks at around noon. 

“Fine,” you say, feeling a little breathless. 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure. We can stop soon for a break.” 

Another hour passes, your ankle is starting to throb, and you’re really fucking glad that you saved that ice pack for this exact moment. 

Mando sits you down on a fallen log, keeping his arm around you until you’re properly seated, lingering just a little too long for you to tame the way it makes your heart beat wildly. To feel the heat of him through his flight suit, your hands and arms pressed to parts of him not covered by armour, just the soft parts; it’s a lot. When you first saw him, this wall of metal, you never thought you’d see any further than that. Kriff, you never even thought he’d get closer to your hut than he was when you had your blaster pointed at him. 

Maybe that would have been best. Because if he’d just left, if there was another way for him to get the help he needed, you wouldn’t be thinking about him the way you are right now. 

The softness of the crook of his elbow, the curve of his waist and hip. The warmth of his skin that you have yet to see an inch of. All of the weapons strapped to him, so close to you, close enough that if it were anyone else, you’d be scared. 

But it’s Mando. 

This might be the least scared you’ve been in a lifetime. 

He cracks the ice pack to activate it, then kneels down in front of you. Reaching out to grab a smaller log, he places it under your ankle, elevates your leg slightly. Then his gloved fingers tug at the hem of your trousers. “Can I?” He asks. 

Kriff. You nod, unable to form words. 

The rough-yet-smoothness of the gloves is all you feel at first, brushing delicately against your skin as he lifts your trousers, then unlaces your boots, gently pulling them off, followed by your socks. Your ankle is more swollen than it had been this morning, but you’d expected that. 

And, besides, that is not what you’re thinking about right now. 

Instead your mind can only focus on the softness of his hold under your foot, the gentle way he places the ice pack on top of it. The heat of his hand starts to come through. You wish it was his bare skin. Wish you knew what his skin is like. Is it calloused, or soft from always protecting them? Does he have scars? Is the hair on his arms dark, light, a thin covering or thicker, perfect to run your fingers through—

His hands are gone before you realise it. It takes your glitching mind a second to catch up.

You chase him with your eyes, silently wishing for him to come back. 

But then. 

Then. 

As he turns away, he reaches for the flask in his satchel. You watch his hands lift to his helmet, take a gentle hold of the base of it. At first you panic, thinking he’s about to remove his helmet, no you don’t have to do that it’s okay—

But he just lifts it the tiniest bit, such a small movement that you only know it has been lifted because he puts the rim of his flask to his lips and takes a sip. 

You can’t see his skin, not a hint of it. But you can hear him drinking, hear the water against his lips, the gentle gulps as he swallows. 

And the way it entrances you, takes you away from the forest and the pain of your ankle and the fact that this is so not appropriate for you to be thinking—yeah, it’s probably for the best that he can’t ever show his face to you.

You look away before he even lowers the helmet again. 

-

Maybe the worst part about all this is that you’re starting to dread Mando and the kid leaving. 

That’s not how this was supposed to go, not how any of this was supposed to play out. You helped him because it was the right thing to do, because it’s exactly what They would tell you not to do, because your life has been the same every single fucking day since you got here. 

But that’s been fine. It’s been safe. 

“Pass me that wrench?” Mando asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

You pass him it, noting the tilt of his helmet in a wordless ‘thanks’ before he turns back to his job. He’s up on a ladder, leaning against the ship’s exterior wall with one of the panels fully off, fixing something to do with the foundation for the body. 

His ship is bigger than you’d expected. He tells you that it’s bigger than his old ship, the Razor Crest, but only by a little. “It’s a similar shape,” he’d said, “but it has two bunks and more space. For the kid.” He has a star fighter too, apparently, docked at some other base off-world with a friend of his. It’s funny to imagine him with friends, though you’re not sure why. Especially because, since getting to know him the last few days, you know how generous he is. How kind, helpful. Gentle, despite everything. 

Why wouldn’t he have friends?

Beneath him, you sit on a crate and lean against the ship, waiting for him to give you more instructions. The engine has been mostly fixed now, as much as it’s ever going to be out here in the middle of nowhere using scrounged-up parts. He’s just getting the last of the body work done, enough to make sure it’s aerodynamically sound. 

It’s interesting, watching him work. You ask a lot of questions, and every time you do, you expect a frustrated sigh or an exasperated response. But he answers every question thoroughly, and it doesn’t even distract him from his work. 

The sun is warm against your face. The afternoon of Mando’s fifth day on this planet is drawing to a close, fading into the evening. As the sky turns to duller shades of blue, tinted with oranges and pinks, you can’t help but admire the way he looks beneath the light. His armour is always the same, always so distinctive, yet it reflects different lights in different ways. Sometimes it makes the beskar appear darker, like a gun metal grey. Other times it’s a bright silver. Then there are times like this, when it goes with the colour of the sky, reflects the beauty of everything surrounding him. 

You think back to the light in the cave, how that looked different still. The urge to see the Galaxy comes over you again, though this time it’s not staring at his ship and dreaming about taking off in it that does it; this time, it’s wondering what he looks like in even more places, more environments. Does the metal get hot in the sunshine? Or is it always as cool as it’s been when you’ve had the chance to feel it before? 

The kid is sitting on the ground in front of you. There’s a beetle scuttling around in the mud, and Grogu is toying with it, blocking it off when it runs one way, then doing the same when it runs the other. You wonder if he’s going to eat it, or if he’s just having fun by being cruel to the little six-legged creature. 

“Don’t play with your food,” Mando says to him, answering your silent question. 

Grogu looks up at him. His ears turn downwards, sulking. Mando ignores his obvious pleas to change his mind, turning back to his work. When Grogu looks back at the beetle, he only just catches it before it runs off, and instead of toying with it anymore, he just shoves it in his mouth with a loud crunch. 

You find yourself smiling at him. He smiles back, ears lifting again. 

“Alright,” Mando starts to step down from the ladder. You reach out and hold one of the ladder’s legs, knowing he probably doesn’t need you to, but still not wanting to risk it. Ladders make you nervous. “Think that’s the best we’re going to get.” 

You look up to the ship. He’s fixed the panel back on again. Now all that remains is the burnt metal from his “interesting landing”, with some bends in it, exposing little sections of the framework beneath. It’s definitely a patchwork job. But it looks better than it did when you got here this morning. So.

“How’s your leg?” He asks as he folds up the ladder. 

“Good,” you answer. It’s stretched out in front of you, propped on another crate. “Ship looks good.” 

With a resigned sigh, he puts his hand on his hips, and tilts his helmet to look up at his handiwork. “No, she doesn’t. But she’ll do.” Then he looks back to you, “I couldn’t have fixed it without your help. Thank you.” 

You shift under his gaze, unable to help it. Every time he looks at you it feels like his eyes can see right through you, and the part that makes you uncomfortable is that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Self-conscious and disgustingly aware of your own inappropriate, lustful thoughts? Yes. Uncomfortable? No. You don’t think it ever could. 

“Of course,” you say eventually. “And, hey, I’ve got a scar to remember our little adventure by, huh?” 

He laughs softly. You see the shake of his chest as the chuckle comes through his modulator. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” 

“Hm, no. But there’s no gift shop around here. So.” 

He shakes his head, and you imagine, hope, that he’s smiling under all that beskar. He certainly looks casual, a hand on one hip, one leg relaxed while his weight rests on the other. 

“Do you always stare so much?” You find yourself asking with a teasing, daring quirk of your brow. 

“Yes.”

“At everyone, or just me?”

He pauses. Your heart rate spikes briefly as you wait for his response to your terrible excuse for flirting. “At everyone,” he answers eventually, and disappointment starts to set in before he says, “But it’s harder to look away from you.” 

Oh. 

The disappointment quickly shifts to nervousness, heart beating fast again as you clench your hands in your lap. He just stands there, staring despite the awkward and loaded silence between you, and stares. As if he’s making his point by offering an example. 

You look away. Suddenly, your cheeks are hot. “You hungry?” You find yourself asking. 

He pauses again, then nods. “Yes.” 

“I’ll make us some dinner. You just come back to the hut whenever you’re ready.” It’s only as you stand to hobble back home that you realise he might not want that. You swivel back around to face him, backtrack, “I mean, unless you want to eat out here. Your ship’s fixed now, I guess you can—you can stay in that? You don’t have to come back with me. I’ll be okay.” 

Again, getting more and more infuriating with each silence he lets stretch out, he just stares. Kriffing hells, does he ever stop!? 

“Would you let me cook for you?” He asks, finally.

You weren’t expecting that. 

Shifting weight to your good leg, you raise your eyebrows. “You want to cook me dinner?” 

He nods once. “Yes. To thank you for all your help. And as a farewell.” 

You’ve been trying your hardest not to think about that part. It sits in your stomach, cold and dreadful and confusing, too far down for you to swallow it. “Alright,” you agree with a soft smile. “I can’t promise I’ve got any decent ingredients, though. You might have to perform a miracle.” 

“I’m up to the challenge,” he says, hooking his thumb over the belt around his hips. You’re distracted by it, finding your eyes sliding down to his middle before you catch yourself and look back up. The tilt of his helmet suggests he might have seen your gaze shift. “I’ll walk back with you. Just give me a minute.” 

You can’t find a reason to refuse. 

♡ updates posted Mondays and Thursdays ♡

notes: thank you for reading! all interactions are appreciated as always, but comments and reblogs especially fuel my need for validation ❤️ as always, the title and lyrics at the start are from taylor swift's "daylight"

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 @iwantjoelmillertoultraviolenceme

if you wanna be on the taglist, let me know! (pls specify if just the taglist for this fic, or the list for all my future fics ❤️)

[starsstuddedsky]

Chapter 4 - The Benefits of Being Stuck in an Enclosed Space (Again)

reader x jihoon

chapter 3 | masterlist | Chapter 5

summary: when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt

or, a serial dater and a pessimist fake a relationship in the vain hope that nothing will go wrong

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, lawyer au, coworkers to lovers??? friends to lovers???? fake dating!!!!!

warnings: cursing? osha violations

wc: 2.6k

a/n: this is the last of the shorter chapters! everything after this is kinda madness... sorry (not sorry) enjoy!!!!!

taglist: open! send an ask or comment!

Jihoon spends Sunday the same as always. He follows his usual schedule (wake up, eat, gym, work), but for some reason he keeps thinking about you. He blames it on his friends spamming him with messages, most with varying degrees of approval, because apparently that matters. The only one he bothers to answer is Seungcheol, because he checks with Jihoon to make sure he’s coming to the birthday party next week for Mingyu’s friend of a friend. 

Jihoon: as long as nothing comes up I’ll be there 

Seungcheol: that’s not a yes but okay I’ll get you on the list 

Jihoon: add yn too 

Seungcheol: are you sure you want to bring them 

Jihoon: if I’m coming they’re coming 

Jihoon watches the text bubbles pop up a few times but they disappear without another message. Jihoon figures that means he added you to the list. Probably. 

.

.

On Monday morning, Jihoon is late. Technically he was on time the entire morning, waking up before his alarm and getting dressed, reading a couple news articles before leaving. 

An accident on the way made him arrive later than his usual time (technically early). He would have at least been on time, but somebody parked in his spot in the garage, so he was forced to find a visitor spot and make sure he doesn’t get towed for someone else’s mistake. 

Jihoon finds himself jogging in from the first floor instead of the basement, yelling at the closing elevator doors to stay open. The person inside is kind enough to stick their hand through the door, and Jihoon at least makes it to the elevator. He shouldn’t be surprised when you smile at him and say, “Good morning!” 

“Hi,” he says. There’s a couple other people in the elevator, thankfully no one else from their office. Jihoon has heard more than enough rumors of what went down in the closet to ever want to be seen with you again. 

The elevator stops a couple times to let them off and when the doors close on the seventh floor, Jihoon is alone with you. He studies his loafers, realizing he accidentally wore the older, more scuffed pair. Should he start a conversation with you? He tries to think of the least awkward thing to say, but all he can think of mentioning is that Joshua stalked your Instagram and said the beach pics from two years ago were “hot.” Considering he can’t even think about the pictures without feeling his ears tinge red, he decides against it. 

“For the record, I'm not normally late,” you say. “There was a series of unfortunate events, it was completely out of my control.” 

Jihoon nods, wondering if it’s worth paying to get the shoes professionally cleaned. Because he’s staring at them, he realizes something is wrong just before the elevator jolts. It tilts, just for a second, and Jihoon watches his feet tip forward. 

Then they’re falling. 

It’s only a moment, but Jihoon feels his stomach drop, followed by his heart and then every other organ. His body is next, the weight crashing down. He might have been able to save himself from falling completely, but he sees you out of the corner of his eye, falling literally head over heels. 

He decides it’s instinct that throws his flailing arms out, trying to catch yours, except you seem to have the same idea. Your left arm smacks into his right shoulder, and Jihoon thinks he might have accidentally smacked you in the stomach. Instead of either of you maintaining your balance or catching the other, you’re both sent toppling to the floor, limbs tangled together. 

“Ow,” you say, voice muffled since your face is pressed into his shirt. You’re half laying on top of him, face pressed into his shoulder, arm wrapped tight around his waist. He landed on his right side, which he feels in every throbbing joint. He’s a little worried that his leg has somehow hooked around your waist, but he decides if he can’t see it then it hasn’t happened. 

“Are you okay?” Jihoon asks since it would be too rude, even for him, to shove you off without at least asking. 

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you say. You let go of his waist and he unhooks his leg, moving slowly because his right hip feels a little numb. Jihoon sits up, rubbing his elbow. 

“You know, when I said I would snuggle your arms again, I didn’t think it would be so soon,” you say. “Though I think they saved me from a concussion, so I guess I should say thank you.” 

Jihoon snorts. “You’re welcome.” 

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your arms.” 

Jihoon glances at his biceps, which he supposes are somewhat impressive. You don’t even pretend to be embarrassed when he looks up and catches you staring at them. Fact 11: you are obsessed with arms? 

The elevator is definitely not moving, but the doors stay shut. Jihoon stands very carefully, but the floor feels deceptively steady now. You stand a little slower, even though Jihoon is pretty sure he broke most of your fall. 

“This isn’t a nightmare, right?” You ask. 

“I can pinch you,” Jihoon offers. You jump back, the swift movement causing him to flinch, but apparently the elevator has decided it’s stable. 

Unfortunately, the doors remain shut. 

The LED sign reads floor 5, but they were nearly to the 16th floor when it gave out, and Jihoon doesn’t think they dropped 12 floors in the short fall. He figures they’re somewhere in between. 

“I guess we can press the emergency call?” You say. Jihoon shrugs, gripping the hand railing as you step forward and press the button. The change in weight doesn’t knock anything off balance and send him hurtling to his death, so Jihoon cautiously decides that it’s safe, at least for now. 

After a minute of silence, you press the button again. And again. Still nothing. 

“We shouldn’t panic, right?” You say, a considerable amount of panic creeping into your voice. 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon says, even though he thinks that at the very least the elevator shouldn’t randomly drop its occupants and stop moving. He pulls out his phone. “I’ll just call 911.” 

“Okay,” you say. “Smart. No panic.” 

“No panic,” Jihoon repeats, deciding that he can manage to hold it together so that at least one person in this elevator is sane. You must hear something in his voice, because you meet his eyes and hold his gaze for a long moment. Jihoon knows he needs to call so that help will actually be on the way, but he waits for you to break away first. You finally close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Jihoon dials the number quickly. 

At least someone answers, but the operator almost sounds bored, as if they were expecting something more exciting from a broken elevator with a malfunctioning emergency button. 

“Help is on the way,” the voice says. “The most important thing to do is stay calm and wait.” Jihoon hangs up not long after because the voice sort of reminds him of a history professor’s lecture he always fell asleep during. 

“So, we just have to wait?” You say. 

“I think we’re going to be more than a little late,” Jihoon says. 

You blink at him, then smile. Then you’re laughing, and even Jihoon is smiling because he made a joke and it made you laugh, and maybe made you forget that at any moment you could be sent hurtling to your death. Maybe the joke was a little bit for him too. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to make them come any faster?” You say when you’ve finally stopped laughing. 

“The operator just said to be patient,” he says. 

“Was it just me, or…” 

“They were kind of bored?” 

“Right!” You say. “Like, we’re literally stuck in an elevator, why are you mad at us!” 

“Maybe they had a bad day,” Jihoon says. You seem to deflate a little at this, so he adds, “Or maybe there was a whole line of people stuck in elevators today.” 

“I bet it’s super common, and the firefighters probably get tired of rescuing another pair of people who work a 9-to-5 and they take their time and make it last as long as possible.” 

“I wonder how many people die from this,” Jihoon says. Belatedly, he realizes it was definitely a thought he should have kept to himself, because you gasp and smack his arm. 

“Do you just always think, ‘hm, I wonder how I can make every situation worse?’” You say. 

“It was a genuine question,” Jihoon grumbles. Why should he get punished for having a relevant thought? It’s not his fault he is slightly better at managing his panic. 

“Well, maybe you should work on that, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but any time we’re together, things go wrong.” Jihoon is pretty sure you would have flopped down if you didn’t think it would snap whatever cord was holding you up and send you to your death. So you sit down carefully instead, using the handrail to support the slow squat. 

“Saturday went well,” Jihoon says. He doesn’t know why it bothers him that you don’t think it did. “My friends liked you.” And I thought we were getting along. 

“They did?” 

“There’s a party next week that you should come to.” He doesn’t add that he is the one insisting you be invited. 

“Oh.” 

Jihoon sits down just as carefully as you did, crossing his legs and leaning back against the metal wall. The floor is even dirtier up close, specked with dirt and all sorts of trash that frequently get stuck on shoes. He doesn’t want to know what the sticky spot in the corner is. 

“You did good,” he says. “I don’t know how you’re so good at faking it. You said the right things and made the right jokes, both at my expense and at theirs, and you looked attractive, there’s no reason they wouldn’t like you.” 

“Attractive?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jihoon says. “It’s an objective fact.” You raise your eyebrows at this. “Shut up,” Jihoon says. “I didn’t mean… I’m just saying that…” 

“You think I’m good looking? Pretty? Handsome? Beautiful? Stunning? Breathtaking?” 

“I didn’t say any of that!” Jihoon says. “All I meant to say is that you played the part of a doting lover perfectly.” 

“Oh, I’m a lover now?” You gasp. “I’m honored.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“You might be right about that one,” you say. Jihoon has never been the best at reading emotions, but he thinks the way your eyes stop dancing with the light of humor and the way you shift just the tiniest bit away from him might mean that the teasing has stopped. 

“I’m proud of it,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I might be ridiculous but at least I’m making 90k a year with incredible benefits and even a parking spot in the underground lot. I’m not pretending to be an existentialist author working at a coffee shop because no one buys my awful books” 

“That was… specific,” Jihoon says. 

“My ex,” you say. “That I definitely should be over. And I wouldn’t ever tell you about, but technically we could die at any second so right now I’m just gonna talk because at least it passes the time faster.” 

“Right,” Jihoon says. “So he broke up with you because you are ridiculous?” 

“His words,” you say, “and I was over it. Am over it. But every once in a while I think about it because I really don’t think I’m that ridiculous.” 

“Up until last year you had, like, a different boyfriend every week.” 

“That means I know a lot of people, not that I’m ridiculous,” you snap. “But you wonder how I’m so good at faking things? That’s where I get my talent. Years of practice loving people that don’t ever love me back.” 

You’re staring at your feet. Glaring, actually. Jihoon wonders what it would feel like, giving your all to someone that never gives it back to you. How terrifying it must be, to open your heart and get rejected, over and over again. He thinks maybe that’s worse than never feeling it at all. 

“Do you want to know how I met Seungkwan?” Jihoon asks. 

You finally look away from your shoes, frowning at him. “What?” 

“You’re not curious?” 

“I mean, I am, but…” 

“I figured you deserve it since I didn’t tell you about him.” He doesn’t know how to say you looked so pitiful he wanted to at least remind you that you aren’t alone. You blink and nod for him to continue. 

“I guess I have to start with Seungcheol. I met him freshman year of college. He has this habit of befriending people that don’t particularly want to be friends. Between me and Seungkwan, I really don’t know how he did it, but that’s a whole other story. Anyways, being friends with Seungcheol meant being friends with all of his friends, whether I liked it or not. He dragged me everywhere, and back then I wasn’t nearly as good at coming up with excuses, so I was there the day he met Seungkwan. 

“He was 16 then,” Jihoon says, thinking about the kid, so different from the man he is now. “I’m actually not legally allowed to go into detail about the stuff that went down back then, but Seungcheol is the reason Seungkwan is alive today. And because of Seungkwan, I learned more about contract law than I even knew existed. That’s why I’m even here now, because of what I learned back then trying to help Seungkwan. 

“Seungkwan is the reason I agreed to this in the first place,” he says. It’s nice to admit it out loud. There’s a sense of certainty in hearing a voice speak things into existence, even if it’s your own. “And he’s the only reason I’ll keep it going.” 

You’re quiet for a long moment. Finally, you say, “Technically you didn’t really tell me how you met.” 

“I signed an NDA,” he says.  

“Oh, come on, who would I tell?” You say, smiling. 

Jihoon rolls his eyes but smiles back. “Anyways, as long as Seungkwan’s convinced, we’re fine.” 

“He won an Oscar,” you say. 

“Wouldn’t it be ridiculous to lie straight to the face of an Oscar-award winning actor and get away with it?” 

You grin and Jihoon decides this fake relationship isn’t completely selfish. 

.

.

It took two hours to be rescued. The firefighters showed up halfway through the fourth episode of One Piece, but it took another half hour for them to pry the doors open and get you and Jihoon out. 

Jihoon later hears (from Wonwoo) that there were multiple safety violations in the elevator, which he feels like is pretty obvious, but Wonwoo stressed was a very important factor. He also has to answer a rather long interrogation from Wonwoo about every detail that went down in the elevator. Jihoon skips the conversation and just tells Wonwoo that you watched anime with him for two hours, and subsequently got smacked for “having no game.” At least you and him got to go home early since apparently getting stuck in an elevator together with the possibility of death is traumatizing enough for an afternoon off. He gets a text from you later that you finished the episode you started with him and have watched One Piece the rest of the day. For some reason it makes him smile.

[abbonation]

Lost Apprentice, Chapter I: Get Clean

Admitting you have a problem is the hardest part.

Explicit, 18+ content ~1.9k words

A/N: Welcome one, welcome all to the first full length fic of mine that isn't only smut! Blame it on the anti-depressants, blame it on the times but a bitch is needing some story goddamnit. Something with some bite to it. Which is something I've honestly never written before; that being said- feedback is welcomed and encouraged! This first chapter is shorter but I have the next few started and will hopefully update a couple times a week as I have time between work and school :)

CWs: accidental voyeurism; like 1 (one) horny thought?? It's light asf this chapter but let me know if you notice other necessary warnings I didn't include!!

Chapter I: Get Clean

A loud sight of relief escapes you upon stepping over the threshold of the combination bar and inn located— where the fuck are we? Eriadu? Ahh right, a small town on Eriadu. The jungle planet known only for its proximity to both the Hydian Way and Rimma trade route.

It had been nineteen, yes, nineteen full day cycles since your last shower, and technically you didn’t start feeling really nasty until about the seventh cycle mark, seeing as the first three were spent in hyperspace, but still. Over two full galactic weeks. No shower. And of course the Crest didn’t have even a sonic shower, yet Mando wondered why you seemed to be feeling stressed. Certainly it had nothing to do with the utter stink that was surely wafting off your body at this point, knowing full well he had the credits to install a complete fresher on the ship.

But, you were here now, a few warn down buildings, most covered in moss, but civilization nonetheless, where Mando had said We’ll refuel and rest up- then I’ll take you home.

He approached the bar where a Trandoshan man stands, wiping the counter. 

“Are your bathing stalls private?” Mando asks, hands on his utility belt. 

“Well, there are no bath stalls, but we have a bath house; it’s 5 credits a person, you get an hour. It’s public but there ain’ been a soul in there all day, so it’s all yours.” He smiles and you nod in thanks.

Mando turns to you, you can almost see the raised eyebrows on his face through the visor.

“I don’t mind sharing, I mean, if you’re okay with it.” you throw your hands up, honestly you’d wash in a mud puddle at this point if it meant feeling any less dirty than you are right now. 

He turns back to the bartender, passing him 10 credits and walking where he points, they’re just down the stairs and behind the double doors. Enjoy. You glare at his smirk.

—

“I don’t, uh, want to make you wait so you can go first,” Mando stumbles out, holding his towels. 

“Nah, it’s okay, you are the captain and all,” you respond- even if what you’d like to say is ‘Sounds great, if I have to smell like hot garbage for even one more minute I may implode.” 

“No really, I insist, it’s my fault we’re late getting back anyway.” He looks down at the tiled floor.

You think about how he insisted you stay by the treeline as the group of criminals passed by. There was no bounty catching or murdering scheduled for this trip, you were just supposed to be helping him find a pre-galactic war era ruin that was rumored to be in the jungle on this planet. Yet, there they were, and there he went. You had ended up intervening, shouting some shit like, “Oh no Mando! I’m so scared!” Trying to distract the attackers. Four armed men looked like they should’ve been a struggle, but he handled it no problem, especially with your distraction. They turned and two began running towards you, and Mando had to duck and weave between the other two to reach them. You had your dagger out and at the ready, slicing at one of them when he got you up against a tree. When he lunged towards your neck, you dropped your weight, stabbing the dagger into the meat of his thigh and pulling up, slicing through his flesh. He shrieked and fell in pain, blood dripping down your arms. You quickly removed the dagger, turning to run from him, when you looked back to see Mando stomping on his face. You swallow and stare at the boot shaped hole he was making, growling in effort, the other three men lay surrounding Mando. You hold the knife out again when he turns towards you, an unintentional move following what you just bared witness to. 

He stepped forward, “Why did you do that?” He’s angry. 

“I-I’m sorry I was trying-” you sound weak, and you hate it.

“I don’t care about ‘trying to help’. You could’ve been killed. Or worse, and you know it.” He’s closer now, still angry, but less yelling in your face.

“I thought I could help.” You say to the ground. 

He releases a breath and turns, resuming the trek back out of the forest towards the Crest. 

—

And after the small amount of back and forth, here you are. Sharing the deep stone bath, overflowing with steamy lavender and salt scented water, the stained glass inlaid in the ceiling casts a spectacular light on the room and a thin divider made of spindly, vine-like woven reed material separates you and Mando. 

You’re sure he won’t take the helmet off, that’s his prerogative, though. For now you let the hot water loosen your tight muscles and bones, cramped from the lack of moving room on the ship. There’s a tense silence between you, save for the trickling water and distant sounds of the bar beyond the doors.

“Listen, uh, about the jungle,” You hear his voice, and confirm that he still has the helmet on from the tune of his vocoder, and peek over to your right to see his blurred outline through the divider. 

“It’s.. nothing. Let’s not mention it.” You don’t want to think anymore about his over-protection despite your barely being what you might consider ‘friends’. Or the fact that you liked watching him kill the person who meant to hurt you.

“I just- don’t want to be the reason you get killed. That’s all.”

The water splashes when he puts his arms back down.

“Why did you ask me to come if you didn’t want all the help I can offer, Mando?”

“You know I didn’t ask you to come to be my bodyguard. You’re better at the, y’know, the smart stuff. And I’m better at the.. Killing stuff. They weren’t going to get the chance to mug us.”  You laugh at him then, he’s right. 

Silence overtakes you both again and you can’t seem to keep the anger at his actions at surface level when the water feels this good and he doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

You brush your fingertips over your scalp and down the front of your chest, brushing over your nipples and shivering when the chilly air hardens them. Too risky for now, though you are keyed up from the last couple weeks. You sink down until just your nose and the top of your head rests above the water, and blow bubbles on the surface.

“What’s that?” His voice turns towards you.

“Blowin’ some bubbles,” you hope he hears your smile, this really is a luxurious place, even if it came after a lot of suffering. “So, where to after this?”

You start to shampoo your hair, working the suds over your head.

“Like I said, I’m taking you back to Obroa-Skai.” 

“No pit stops this time, Mando?”

You’re rinsing your hair and smoothing in the conditioner now. 

“Well- I actually did calculate in a stop on Nevarro for some bounties, if that’s okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s on our way right? I don’t mind, nothing to do back at home except examine more rocks,” you laugh and lean towards the divider to grab the bar of soap when you inadvertently get a glimpse to his side of the bath through the divider.

His bare thighs with wet hair slicked to them stick out of the water, he’s leaned back on the same wall you were. His sun kissed stomach slopes down to a delicious happy trail, and you breathe out, blinking hard to snap out of your trance. “Sorry what?” 

“I asked if you like your job.”

“Yeah, um, I mean, as much as anyone likes their job, I guess. It’s nice to enjoy what you do even just a little bit.” You lather the bar against the sponge and begin washing your feet and legs, up towards your thighs.

“Why haven’t you been bounty hunting recently?” You knew there had to be a reason he needed your help on this trip, he hadn’t divulged it yet. 

The water sloshes on his side, he’s washing himself now too.

“Remember the uh, the kid I had with me last time we stopped on your planet?” 

“Sure, the green baby? That was a bounty though, right?” 

“Yeah, he was, he sort of became more than that though. I ended up.. keeping him.” 

Your scrubbing comes to a halt and you turn to the divider, “Wait, you what?”

“I kept him. He’s my ad’ika, my son.” 

Your eyes close and you shake your head, trying to make sense of things. “So you just kept this child? And whoever put the bounty out let you?”

“Not exactly, it’s a long story. I’ll explain eventually, but I asked because you helped me a lot- finding this remnant, it would be nice to have your help more readily available in the future… and I’m looking for him, I need to know he’s safe.” 

“So someone took him?” 

“No, just.. Okay. He’s a Jedi and he’s training with his master. I gave him over willingly, but I don’t know where he is now.”

“Mando you’re fucking crazy.” You have to laugh at the situation. 

“Excuse me?” He sounds wounded almost.

“I mean, not to be mean but we don’t talk, or see each other for like what? A year and a half? And you’ve had this crazy life changing journey, a child, new armor, new everything! It’s just.. wild. How do I know it’s even you under there? And now you want me to do what? Quit my job and surf the stars with you?” 

He’s quiet. 

“You’re- you’re right. It’s foolish of me.” 

You hear him start to get out of the water, splashing as he covers up in a towel. 

Fuck. That’s not what was supposed to happen. You stand up too, quickly reach to wrap up in your towel, and run-walk as quick as possible to meet him where he’s headed for the doors back to the changing room.

“Wait, Mando, that’s, that’s not what I meant.” You stop, and place your hand on his bare shoulder to turn him to face you. The T of his visor tilts down to look at your face, and where your hand rests on his skin. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your search for your son. It’s just crazy how much has changed since we last saw each other, y’know?” 

You look up at him and notice his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and nods. 

“I didn’t say no. Or that I don’t want to, it's just.. insane, but that doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.” You smile and look down at his chest. 

The gentle trickle of the water spouts is the only sound, and the steamy heat of the room must be getting to your head when you move your hand down his clavicle to skate just your fingertips over the hair on his chest. He shivers. “I think I might want to. Just lemme think about it.” You move just your eyes up to meet the helmet and he clears his throat before he answers, nodding “Okay.”

[ohyespotatous]

Weekly study reflection (June 1-7) 💗🧠

Goals: Study at least 7 hours or revise 4 chapters a day Goals achieved: 3/7 (June 1, 3, 5) 

💌 - When I told you I'm a potato, I meant it, guys. My biggest blunder this semester? Being lazy for an entire month in April, which left me binge-studying 23 days before exams. I ambitiously aimed for 7-10 hours of daily study and promptly burned out in the first week, lol. Well, it's embarrassing. It's okay guys… Feel free to use me as a bad example. That way I won't be that useless. Haha, just kidding! We either win or learn :) Now that I made the decision to not fail this semester, I’ll make the most of my time, even if it's not perfect. So… here's my evaluation of the first exams prep week :v

Goals & objective 🎯

🧐>

The goals I set could be more attainable and specific.

Studying for 7 hours doesn’t mean I am effectively learning something. I could learn more or less in the same amount of time.

Revising based on the chapters isn’t practical for exam preparations. I don’t need to relearn everything, and it gets boring for my rebellious mind.

💡>

I need to set different goals for each subject & topic.

Outcome-based objectives rather than time-based ones.

Time, energy, and focus management ⚡

🧐>

Boring study schedule. As I set my goals based on study duration, I made a fixed study schedule with a fixed study interval. I got knocked out really fast. 

I tend to get burnt out every other day when I study for more than 5 hours.

Long sessions lead to diminishing returns. My study time keeps decreasing throughout the week.

I’m not too fond of Pomodoro because it breaks my flow. Still, it is helpful when I have difficulty focusing or don’t feel like studying.

Coffee doesn’t necessarily enhance my focus. Drinking enough water works just as well. Morning coffee causes me anxiety during noon study sessions.

My brain works best in predawn hours until early morning.

💡>

Add a big buffer to the study time, so you can start when you’re physically & mentally ready and don’t feel guilty when you start late.

Break the study time into shorter intervals with breaks.

Use a variable-interval/variable-ratio reinforcement schedule. Stop when you’ve learned/done enough or are tired. Give yourself a little reward.

Optimize study environment and various learning methods for sustained focus. Keep it interesting!

Adjust caffeine intake and timing. Drink enough water.

Learning Techniques 🧠

🧐>

Since I have only studied Statistics and Economics until now, my biggest challenge is the numbers 💀 My biggest weakness. The only way out is to practice and practice more.

I think the theory part went pretty well. 

Unless the book is ‘poorly written’ or hard to understand, I don’t really need pretty notes. Scribbling the book and writing side notes work better for me. 

Flash cards for key concepts and terminologies.

I use the Feynman method and mindmaps to review my understanding of the information. I usually explain the concepts to the walls or my cats, lol.

I still need to make time for the practice tests.

💡>

Make card decks for Statistics and Economics equations.

Convert charts and diagrams into your own words.

Schedule a time for the practice tests.

╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

[daphnechantandshant]

Ice

Teru Minamoto x Fem! Reader

  Authors Note: This story has been a something that has been on my mind for a year now. It is a Demon Slayer x Toilet Bound Hanako Kun fanfiction, and is set in the time that TBHK is (so modern version of Demon Slayer). My schedule will be very off, because of finals and my other fanfiction that I am currently writing. This first chapter was rushed, because I wanted to get it out there. Thank you so much for reading.

        p.s. this won't be the last fic i'll be making. i'm currently working on fanfics for Maze Runner (Minho x Reader), School for Good and Evil (Tedros x Reader), and the Orange manga (Suwa x Reader). I have many more ideas for a wide span of movies, books, and shows (ex. Gossip Girl, Crave(?), and MANY more Demon Slayer), but those three are the only fics that I have an actual cover and chapter name for. 

        TWs: cussing, drug and alcohol abuse, gore, depression, suicidal ideations and attempts, frequent topics of self harm, minor sexual situations, weapons, and I'm sure others that I missed. This fic covers some pretty heavy stuff that (Name) and people close to her are feeling (most of my fics do) 

You jerked awake, the sound of your alarm clock blaring right next to your ear. You shut it off quickly so that you wouldn't smash it into a wall. You bit your lip, feeling the agonizing burn of broken stitches on your torso.

"Jesus..." You muttered as you looked down to see a red blotch forming on your comforter. You got up, even though you wish you didn't have to. Your feet made a soft padding noise as you walked to the bathroom, where you lifted your shirt to inspect the wound that stretched from your waist to your collarbone.

A couple of the stitches had come undone while you were asleep. You sighed, looking into your own tired eyes through the mirror.

What a wonderful start to the day.

As you threaded the wound back up, you practiced breathing exercises that Obanai had taught you two years ago. In for four, still for four, out for four, repeat.

"Total Concentration Breathing." He had said. "It doesn't just help with fighting too. It helps with anything."

Your second alarm went off.

You burst.

You snatched the tiny machine and threw it at the wall. It smashed with a satisfying noise that you would normally only hear in the movies.

You took a sharp breath in. Your entire body ached with wounds and exhaustion. You still had gauze up your arm, your entire torso drowning in bandages and stitches. It hurt to move any of your muscles, and you were just so tired.

You let out tears in gasping breaths, gripping the sink tightly and watching your tears fall into the drain. 

But you couldn't be tired, because you were the new girl. You had moved to Tokyo a week ago, and now you had to start attending a school. Kamome Academy.

They say it's a hub for all supernatural activity. That's why you were going there.

There had been a disappearance just two weeks ago, while you were still healing from the Great War.

The Great War was a term that demon slayers used to address the war between the demon slayers and Muzan. The public thinks that it was just a tragic earthquake that took the lives of a couple of people, but really, it was so much more than that. A lot of people died that day, and a lot of people died leading up to that event. Hundreds of people. Thousands. Maybe even millions.

That was the only reason you weren't tipping yourself off the ledge of a building right now. Because if you weren't here, millions more might die. You were one of the only people who could do this job, so you miserably stuck around. 

You changed the bandages, sewed any loose stitches back up, and threw on your new uniform. Sadly, it wouldn't cover the bandages that lined your arms, but it would be okay. It would have to be okay.

Authors Note: this chapter was short, but I’m going to come out with another shorter one in Teru’s pov in a while. 

[fettuccinealfred0]

Update

Okay, so fun little update on my plans now that Til Death Do Us Part is finished!

I'm very excited to announce the next fic I'm working on is and Astarion Wild West/Bonnie and Clyde AU!!!

It's gonna be shorter and a whole lot less serious than Til Death Do Us Part, but I think it's gonna be fun!

As for when I'm going to post it...? I honestly have no idea? I've only written little snippets here and there and I know how I want the first two chapters to go but past that... I still gotta figure out all my ideas. I write very non-linearly, so I didn't even start posting Til Death Do Us Part until I already had like 50k words written, and right now this new AU is just little snippets that I still need to weave together.

So, ideal world, I'd love to have the first chapter ready to go around the middle of March and then do like a 2-3 week posting schedule instead of every week since my semester is getting busier.

I'll keep you guys updated on my timeline and probably post some sneak peaks along the way!!! Also, always feel free to come talk to me about your ideas lol I never know when inspiration is gonna strike. And usually when it does, I black out and somehow there's a 15 pages of words in front of me.

Kisses, love you all!!!!

[victimeyez]

HELLO I am alive (mostly) and wanted to provide a little update on life and story progress.

Okay, uh, to try to summarize a whole lot of shit, I have been insanely busy. Partner and I were hunting for a new place, got new place, all the stress of moving one place in-state and another across state lines. New place was NOT what was promised on every account and has revealed itself to be a miserable little death trap. 

Now we are living out of suitcases and boxes while voraciously hunting for a new place so we can move AGAIN. I work 45 hours + 30 min commute each way, so I have about 4 hours a day to house hunt, view houses, clean, run errands, rest, food prep, socialize, and write. I have weekends off, but I have timed obligations every day of the week. 

Because of all the craziness, writing has had to take a back seat to make way for “trying to plug a sinking ship while on it” emergency procedures. This has slowed my writing progress significantly, and I’m continuously disappointed by my progress. However, I look back on my time spent, and find none wasted. I’ve just been overwhelmed. 

I am hoping we will have the new place secured + initial move complete within the next week or two, and then we’ll be able to unpack at a more relaxed pace. I am eager to get my life back. 

As for the actual writing, I have struggled with keeping a consistent schedule due to additional factors. I lost a beta reader who contributed a lot due to an unfortunate disagreement, and my writing goes much smoother when I have a few people I can bounce ideas off of.

I also will be writing, think “oh I’m almost done”, and then get additional ideas of what I want to do and what needs to be described. At the end of the week, I usually find myself at an impasse. Do I hurry up and close the scene so I can post the chapter on time, or do I take the additional time to really write this the way I want? I want to be timely with my updates, and setting a posting schedule for myself has really helped to keep me going. It’s important to me. It is also important to me that I write a story that I enjoy writing, and a story that does not compromise on any qualities that people enjoy. If people are reading for the pain, then I want to provide indulgent scenes of pain. Would the story still be worth reading if I cut half of my ideas just so I could publish on time? I don’t know. I would hate to skip out on any qualities of the story that people enjoy reading, because that’s the whole point!

I don’t really know what to do. I don’t want to dissolve my deadlines because they have really helped keep me driven, but I also don’t want to produce rougher and shorter pieces just to try to maintain the pace. I consider all of this story to be a rough draft, and hope to better refine it later on, but I still want to show writing that has gone through significant edits and thought. 

I value the opinions of other writers and readers. I’m thinking about what I want to do to make this work better. Maybe I could do more polls and things with different ideas I have so those who would like to vote can have a say, but I don’t want to spam folks on my taglist or reveal potential spoilers to anyone who does not want them. 

Anyways, this is just to try to explain myself a little bit I guess. Comments, thoughts, messages, replies, smoke signals, and carrier pigeons are all appreciated if anyone has suggestions. Thank you, thank you so much to the people that read my little stories and put up with my erratic schedule. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it, it really means the world to me. 

TLDR;