#trench coat thursday

[blvckentropy]

My late entry for Trench Coat Thursday💋🖤

[nerdwholikesnerdythings]

In the museum of flight and I saw like three people in tam/beige trenchcoats/overcoats one of them I kept on seeing, and it was that person who had the most Cas like trenchcoat.

It was so hard to not walk up to them and say "heya Cas!" They nailed the autism look too (I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but they had the blankest expression that I only see on autistic people.) I also wanted to ask them where they got their coat but I'm too socially awkward...

So, if you're a female looking person with dark hair and was in a museum of flight around noon and was wearing a trenchcoat/overcoat, heya Cas!

[lillies444lola]

5x03

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 6: Her emotions

Summary: Friday's therapy session turns into camping with you.. where accidents happen.

Warnings: DRUNK WEDNESDAY! Light Angst. EmotonallyConfusedWednesday!!!! Getting Drugged Accidentally

(Note: It is a veryyyy long chapter, Tell me how you guys liked it, or if drunk Wednesday seemed out of character, I won't mind)

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

Worklist

By the time Thursday rolled around, the pattern had solidified itself, like a storm cloud hanging persistently on the horizon. Every morning, you’d sit beside Wednesday in the quad, annoyingly persistent but never enough for her to feel justified in telling you to leave. You had a knack for toeing the line—just far enough to irk her but never enough to earn her outright rejection.

In class, the routine was much the same. You’d slip into the seat beside her as if it were your rightful place. The second you sat down, her entire world seemed to narrow, every sense heightened in your proximity. The faint rustle of your clothes, the soft sighs you made when the lecture got particularly dull, the slight tap of your fingers against your notebook—it all became a package of distractions.

She tried to make sense of it all. Why would you go through such efforts to get close to her? You are definitely working for someone. Perhaps Thornhill? Or worse—another follower of crackstone? Could you have been a spy? Sent to observe her? To get closer and learn her weaknesses?

"What are you really doing here?" Wednesday’s voice was low, more to herself than to you. Her eyes remained focused on the blackboard, but her thoughts were elsewhere—specifically on the constant, irritating sensation of your presence. You blinked in surprise, your pen pausing mid-word. "Uh… learning? Isn’t that why we’re all here?" "Don’t insult my intelligence." Her eyes narrowed, her voice growing colder, “Why are you always here? Sitting beside me, following me like a shadow. It’s pathetic.” You leaned in closer, your breath warm against her ear. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.” Wednesday's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Enjoy? You find my disdain enjoyable?” A shrug. “I find you enjoyable. Everything else is just part of the package.”

That caught her off guard. For a moment, she didn’t have a response and it took all her self-control to avoid showing how much that unsettled her. She hated that you always had the upper hand in conversations like this. She hated that your attention felt like a weight she couldn’t shake. Most of all, she hated that a part of her—however small and buried deep—wondered what it would be like to let you in.

Wednesday didn't particularly care for or against Fridays. They were simply another day in the endless monotony of her existence. But this Friday? It was different. It was another one of those irritating anger management sessions—a pointless exercise orchestrated by fools, for fools. And now, she had to endure it with you. As if her tolerance for idiocy wasn’t already at its breaking point.

She had barely gotten herself dressed when the inevitable, irritating sound of knocking echoed through her door. "Do you ever get tired of existing so obnoxiously?" she asked, her voice cold and flat. You smirked, unfazed. "Not if it means I get to hang out with you." "Ugh," Wednesday muttered under her breath, reaching for her black trench coat. Before you could say another word, Enid popped into the doorway. "Ooh, look at you!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she saw you. "That dress is so cute! It really suits you." You beamed. "Thanks, Enid! Thought I’d try something different." Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Different? You look like a walking garden. I half expect bees to swarm you the moment we step outside." You shrugged with a grin, clearly enjoying her jabs. "I’ll take that as a compliment." "It wasn’t," she deadpanned, slipping into her coat. "Let’s go. If we’re late, David will prolong the session for me."

As you two made your way out of the dorm, Enid waved goodbye cheerfully. "Have fun at therapy!" Wednesday shot her a glare that screamed ‘I’d rather die,’ "So, you excited for today?" you asked, the teasing lilt in your voice grating against her already thin patience. "Excited would imply I feel any sense of positive anticipation," Wednesday responded coolly. "No. Today is just another unfortunate event in a long string of unfortunate events." "Yeah, that sounds about right," you agreed with a chuckle. "Though, spending time with me can’t be that bad." Wednesday shot you a side glance. "Your self-delusion is truly remarkable." "Oh, I’m well aware of my delusions, but hey, they keep me going."

She sighed, trying to ignore the warmth of your presence next to her. It was irritating, how familiar the rhythm of walking beside you had become. You always matched her steps perfectly, never rushing, never falling behind.

Wednesday would've preferred the taxi ride to be as silent as it can get but of course, you filled the silence with light conversation, asking her the most mundane questions imaginable, while Wednesday sat stiffly beside you, arms crossed, staring out the window. "So, I was thinking," you began, pausing for dramatic effect, "do you think if I ordered a black coffee today, I’d be more like you?" "No," she answered immediately. "You didn’t even think about it." "Because I already know the answer. You could drink a gallon of black coffee, wear all black, and listen to Beethoven’s most haunting symphony, and you’d still be as painfully cheerful as you are now." You grinned, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I think there’s a part of you that secretly enjoys my company. You’d miss me if I stopped hanging around." "I’d miss you like I’d miss an infection," she said coldly, her eyes never leaving the window. But even as she said it, there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The truth was, your absence would be noticed. After all, you were always there. And when you weren’t, it left a strange, hollow space in her day. Not that she would ever admit it.

"Ah, there they are!" David called, his voice loud and cheerful, as if he had been waiting all day just for your arrival. He was wearing his usual obnoxiously bright scarf and smiling wide enough to make Wednesday wish she’d turned back sooner.

"Wonderful to see you both! We’re doing something a little different today!" he announced enthusiastically as you and Wednesday approached.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Different how?" she asked, already expecting the worst.

David motioned toward a minibus parked just outside the café. "Today, we’re going on a therapeutic field trip! Under the open skies, connecting with nature. It’s going to be great!"

Wednesday’s entire demeanor stiffened, and her gaze darkened. "I refuse," she said flatly. "I did not sign up for some kumbaya nonsense in the middle of a field. If you think—"

"If you refuse," David interrupted, holding up a finger, "I’ll have no choice but to report to Principal Weems that you’re not making progress. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?"

Wednesday’s expression turned venomous. She stood still, glaring at David with pure disdain. "You are a stain on humanity." "Not the first time I’ve heard that!" David replied, still grinning. "Now hop on the bus, both of you." Wednesday clenched her jaw, resisting every instinct to turn and leave. The bus was small and cramped, all those fools were already there. and Wednesday had already claimed the farthest seat in the back, as far away from everyone as possible. You slid in next to her, earning a sideways glare. "Don’t get comfortable," she said icily. "Too late," you replied, settling in with a smirk. As the bus rumbled to life and began its journey to the woods, Wednesday stared out the window, her mind racing. She hated every second of this. But more than that, she hated how… unsettled she felt with you next to her. She hated how she could feel your presence, how your every movement drew her attention. And she hated that she didn’t want you to leave. Maybe this session would offer more than just torturous fresh air—maybe it would give her the chance to figure out why you were really here. Because Wednesday knew one thing for certain: you were hiding something. And she was going to find out what it was, whether you liked it or not.

David, at the front of the bus, was chattering to the driver, too excited for whatever nonsense he had planned. "How much longer do you think this torture will last?" Wednesday muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed out the window, watching the trees blur by. You leaned closer, a smile tugging at your lips. "Not a fan of the great outdoors, Wednesday?" "No, I had my fair share in the woods. I prefer my environment to be hostile," she replied coolly The bus finally rolled to a stop at the edge of a dense forest. David hopped off first, "Alright, we’re heading to the lake! It’s about two hours walk, but don’t worry—we’ll take breaks if anyone needs it! Stretch those legs—we've got a nice hike ahead" Wednesday let out a sigh, muttering, “And thus, the descent into idiocy begins.” She glanced at you, fully expecting to see that infuriating grin of yours, and she was not disappointed. "Come on, Wends," you said, using the nickname you knew she despised. "It’ll be fun." "It will be insufferable," she corrected, stepping down from the bus with her usual grace. She was already too bored to correct you. “Man, I thought we were gonna talk about our feelings. Not… hike.” Alex complained. "Alex. It’s about the journey—learning to appreciate nature and each other." David answered from up ahead Wednesday stayed near the back as the group began to march forward, already regretting every moment of this cursed field trip. You, of course, kept pace beside her, walking with that irritating bounce in your step. "So," you said after a few moments of silence. "What do you think the lake looks like?" "Water," Wednesday deadpanned. Rick whistling low under his breath. “Can’t believe we’re actually doing this. You still got the shovel?” Ashley elbowed him in the ribs again, her voice a low hiss. “Shut up, Rick.” “So, like, do you think there are any wolves around here? Or, ooh, maybe bears! Wouldn’t that be so dramatic?” Brooked chipped. Mike looked like he was seriously considering abandoning her in the woods. “I… really don’t think there are bears, Brooke.” “Oh, but wouldn’t it be romantic? You saving me from a bear or something?” Mike just groaned Wednesday caught snippets of their conversation, her irritation growing with every inane comment. She muttered under her breath, “I would gladly throw her to a bear.” “Isn’t this just wonderful? The fresh air, the sound of birds, the gentle rustle of leaves! A perfect day for personal growth!” David cheered from the front. You were trying to stifle a laugh beside Wednesday, but it slipped out. “You gotta admit, he’s really into this.” “I have nothing to admit,” Wednesday muttered darkly. As they walked. Wednesday found herself paying far too much attention to your reactions—the slight smile on your face, the way you occasionally glanced at her when you thought she wasn’t looking. It was intriguing irritating.

Eventually, the trees began to thin out, the scent of water growing stronger as the lake came into view.

Mike was the first to notice it, squinting at the far side of the clearing. "Uh… guys? What’s with the tents?"

David clapped his hands together, that annoyingly chipper smile still plastered across his face. "Ah, yes! About that—"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed.

David gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oops! Did I forget to mention we’re staying the night?"

The entire group froze.

"What?" Alex’s voice dropped, his fists clenched. "Staying overnight?"

Rick stared at David like he’d just been sentenced to death. "Nah, no way. I’ve got plans. You can’t just spring this on us."

Ashley threw up her hands. "David, you didn’t say anything about camping! I didn’t even pack!"

Brooke, unsurprisingly, clapped her hands together. "This is amazing! We’re going to spend the night under the stars—just like in the movies!"

"Of course you’re excited," Mike grumbled. "This is a disaster."

Meanwhile, Wednesday stood there, silently seething. Her mind was racing with all the ways she could strangle David without leaving a trace. "You ambushed us," she said, her voice cold, each word clipped. "Do you have a death wish?"

David chuckled nervously. "Oh, come on, guys. It’ll be fun! A little nature retreat, some time away from distractions—" Wednesday interrupted, her tone venomous. "The only thing distracting me right now is the overwhelming desire to set this entire campsite ablaze." You, of course, were clearly enjoying this, "Well, this is unexpected, but kind of exciting, right? At least the lake is beautiful!" She stared at you with her deadpan expression, trying to comprehend how anyone could be happy about this situation. "I sincerely hope the lake swallows you whole." You only grinned wider. "Guess I’ll take that as an invitation for a swim later." "Ugh," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples as though she could ward off the headache brewing in her skull. David, trying desperately to salvage the situation, raised his hands. "It’s not that bad, I promise! The tents are already set up, and we’ve got food, water, and supplies. This will be a great opportunity to unwind and connect with nature." You nudged her lightly with your elbow. "Hey, at least you’ve got me here to keep you company." "You’re the worst part of this." "Aw, don’t be like that. I’ll make sure you have fun." Wednesday resisted the urge to shove you into the lake. Each person got their own tent, which was the one small mercy in this nightmare of an outing. Wednesday glanced at the others, some fumbling with their tents or laughing awkwardly, completely unaware of how insufferable they were. Of course, you were helping David get the campfire going, your face lit up with a soft smile as you fumbled with the firewood. Wednesday watched you from the corner of her eye, wondering how you could seem so content in this ridiculous situation. You didn't seem annoyed or put off like she was—you were just… happy to help. She couldn't understand it. She had been relegated to "supervision duty," which meant standing around doing absolutely nothing while everyone else bustled about with assigned tasks. Mike and Alex were handling the food, Brooke was talking to some random birds like they were her long-lost cousins, and Rick and Ashley were off near the lake, laughing about who knew what.

David, with his typical cheery disposition, waved everyone over. "Alright, everyone, gather around! The fire's going, and it's almost time for our session!" Great. The therapy session. The exact reason Wednesday wanted to bury herself in the woods and never return. But she had to stay—for now because she had to find out why you were everywhere. She watched as you placed a few more logs on the fire before stepping back and joining the group. She hated how naturally you fit into all this, while every second felt like torture for her.

As the sky darkened, the session began. Wednesday sat at the edge of the group, her fingers twitching toward her coat pocket where her knives were hidden. Five knives. She let her mind wander to the logistics of taking them all out. David was the priority. Strangling him would be more satisfying, but a quick knife to the throat would be efficient. She could— "Wednesday?" She blinked and glanced at you, irritated at being pulled back into reality. You looked at her expectantly, probably wondering why she was spacing out. David cleared his throat, obviously oblivious to her thoughts. "Okay, let's start! Today's session is still all about discussing our most recent challenges. How we handled them, what we learned… you know the drill." Wednesday's expression tightened. Oh, she knew the drill all too well. Each session was the same monotonous routine—listening to everyone talk about their mundane problems and pretend they were making progress. It was a miracle she hadn't stabbed someone by now.

Alex started first, talking about how he got into a fight with his dad over some trivial matter. "But I didn't punch a wall this time," he added proudly, and Milo gave him a sleepy nod of approval. "That's great, Alex!" David beamed. "You're learning to manage your anger better."

Next up was Brooke, who dramatically recounted some "epic argument" she'd had with her mom over her phone privileges. "But I didn't give in! I stood my ground, because self-care is important, right?" David nodded enthusiastically, clearly buying into Brooke's theatrics. "Absolutely, Brooke. Boundaries are important."

Wednesday's eyes flicked to the campfire. Maybe she could just throw herself into it. That would be preferable to listening to more of this.

Mike's was about some misunderstanding with his sister, while Rick rambled on about his mother. Wednesday could feel her patience thinning with each passing second.

And then... it was her turn. David looked at her expectantly. "Wednesday, how about you? Have you faced any challenges lately?" She stared at him, the burning firelight reflected in her dark eyes. The group was silent, waiting for her to share some deep revelation. Of course, David had to push a bit, flashing his annoyingly encouraging smile. "It helps to talk, you know. We're all in this together." That was it. That was the final straw.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed, and she felt something snap inside her. "You want to know about my challenges?" she began, her voice dangerously calm. "My challenge is sitting here, surrounded by imbeciles, pretending that anything you people say has any merit. I don't care about your 'self-care' or your 'boundaries' or how you didn't punch a wall for the first time in months, Alex." Everyone froze. The campfire crackled in the silence as Wednesday's words hung in the air. "And you," she turned to Brooke, "standing your ground with your mother over your phone privileges, are you serious? That's not a challenge. That's pathetic. The fact that any of you think you're achieving something meaningful by whining about your trivial lives is insufferable." Then she pointed to Rick "You keep whining about your mother but you are so dependent on her that you can't even move out. How about you fix that and then whine." David opened his mouth to speak, but Wednesday cut him off. "Don't. Just don't. I've had enough of this ridiculous charade." She stood abruptly, her black coat swirling as she turned on her heel and stormed away from the group. You sighed, David giving you a look. "Yeah I know I know, I am going to get her, but umm.. if I do not return, look for me in the lake, that's where she might throw my body." The water shimmered in the fading light as she reached the far side of the lake. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to calm the storm raging inside her.

But then, she heard footsteps behind her. Of course it was you.

"Wednesday," you said softly, your voice cautious as you approached. She didn’t respond at first, her eyes fixed on the shimmering water in front of her. For a moment, you wondered if she even heard you. But then, slowly, she turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto yours. There was a storm in those eyes—anger, frustration, something deeper that she was too proud to acknowledge.

"I don’t want to talk," she said flatly, "Go back to the group. I’m fine here."

You ignored her dismissal, walking closer until you were standing beside her, staring at the same water. "I’m not leaving you alone, Wednesday. Not when you’re this upset."

She let out a sharp breath through her nose, clearly irritated. "Upset? I’m not upset. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference."

"Right. Annoyed." You nodded, as if you were going along with her, but your voice remained soft, patient. "You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but... I just don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be."

Wednesday shot you a glare, her eyebrow arching in disdain. "Do you enjoy this?" she snapped. "Being part of David’s circus, listening to everyone complain about how tragic their lives are?"

You met her gaze, unfazed by her sharp tone. "It’s not about enjoying it, Wednesday. It’s about trying. Everyone has something going on, and sometimes, talking about it helps. Even if it seems pointless at first."

"Pointless is an understatement," she muttered, turning her eyes back to the lake. "All they do is whine. They don’t solve anything, they just sit around, waiting for someone else to fix their lives for them."

"Not everyone’s as good at handling things alone as you are," you replied gently. "But even you—sometimes you don’t have to handle everything by yourself. Opening up doesn’t make you weak."

She clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching slightly as if she was fighting the urge to argue. "Opening up is a waste of time. It accomplishes nothing. People think sharing their problems will magically solve them, but in the end, they’re still the ones who have to deal with it. Words don’t change that." You sighed softly, recognizing the walls she was building around herself. But you didn’t give up. You couldn’t. You had a mission.

"It’s not about solving everything in one conversation. It’s about letting go, even for a little while. It gives you room to breathe, to think clearly without all that pressure building up inside."

"I don’t need to breathe," she said finally, though her voice was quieter than before, less sharp. "I’m perfectly fine handling things on my own."

"I know you are," you said softly, turning to face her fully. "But that doesn’t mean you have to. You don’t always have to be so... closed off."

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flickered, something unreadable crossing her expression before she quickly masked it with her usual stoic demeanor. She sighed, clearly exasperated, but there was a hint of something softer in her voice when she finally spoke.

"Why do you even care?" she asked, her tone quieter now, almost vulnerable. "Why do you insist on dragging me into these... emotions?"

You smiled softly, knowing how hard it was for her to even ask that question. "Because I care about you, Wednesday. And I don’t want to see you carrying everything by yourself. I don't want to see you ending up alone. Even if you think you’re fine, it doesn’t hurt to let someone else in every once in a while."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes studying your face as if she were searching for some hidden motive. But all she found was sincerity. That seemed to bother her more than anything else.

"I’m not... good at this," she muttered, her voice almost too low to hear. "You don’t have to be," you replied.

For a long moment, Wednesday was silent, her expression unreadable as she stared at the lake. Then, with a resigned sigh, she turned on her heel and began walking back toward the campfire, clearly unwilling to admit that she was even considering your words.

You followed, relieved that she hadn’t completely shut down.

When the two of you returned to the camp, the group was still sitting around the fire, chatting quietly. To your surprise, no one seemed particularly upset about Wednesday’s earlier outburst. In fact, David greeted her with a bright smile, completely unfazed.

"Ah, Wednesday! Glad to have you back," he welcomed her cheerfully as if nothing had happened. Wednesday narrowed her eyes slightly. "Did you call Principal Weems to notify her about my "failure"? " David chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Of course not! Everyone needs to vent sometimes. It’s healthy." The others nodded in agreement. Rick smirked a little, but even he didn’t seem too bothered. "Honestly, I kind of expected you to blow up sooner. That was nothing compared to what I thought you’d do." Ashley gave Wednesday an exaggerated wink. "I like a girl who speaks her mind."

Wednesday blinked, clearly taken aback by their nonchalant reactions. She had expected them to be offended, maybe even hold a grudge. But they seemed... fine. Completely fine.

She sat down reluctantly, her posture stiff as ever, but there was a faint crack in her emotional armor. "I still think this is a waste of time," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual venom.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and winced. “I have to take this,” you muttered to Wednesday, who shot you an irritated look. You mouthed an apology and stepped away, leaving Wednesday sitting awkwardly with the group.

David gently steered the conversation back to her. “Wednesday, do you want to share? You don’t have to, of course, but we’re here if you want to talk.”

The urge to reject him outright surged within her, but something—perhaps your words, perhaps the nagging feeling in her chest—made her hesitate. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her coat, and she looked away from the group, staring at the flames instead.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “There’s someone... someone who’s been getting under my skin. Someone who I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

The words felt foreign on her tongue, uncomfortable and raw, but she couldn’t stop them. The group remained silent, waiting, not pushing her.

“This person,” she continued, her voice cold but wavering, “is... everywhere. They keep showing up in my life, in my thoughts. And I don’t want them to. But I can’t stop it. It’s... infuriating.”

David nodded, encouraging her gently. “And how does that make you feel?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” Wednesday snapped, her temper flaring. “Annoyed. Angry. It’s like they’ve invaded my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake them. I don’t like feeling out of control.”

David nods, his tone patient. “How would you feel if you could get rid of those thoughts? Push them out entirely?” Wednesday frowns, the question catching her off guard. She thinks for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considers it. She felt strange.. she thought she would feel better but she feels.. "Empty." The word tasted bitter on her tongue, foreign and unwelcome. She didn’t realize she had said it out loud until she saw the group’s reactions—or lack thereof. No judgment, no pity. Just quiet acceptance. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

David nods. “Sometimes, the things we resist the most are the things we need to hold on to. They can fill a part of us we didn’t even know was empty.”

Rick leaned forward with a grin on his face,

“So... is this 'someone' on the phone right now?”

Wednesday's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing into a deadly glare. "If you value your life, you'll stop talking."

Rick held up his hands in surrender, but the grin remained. Ashley quickly elbowed him, muttering, “Not the time, Rick.”

Alex groaned loudly, clutching his head in mock agony. "Ugh, All the emotional talk is making me sleepy, I need coffee, like, now. Someone, please, for the love of all that’s good in this world, make some coffee." David looked over at Rick and Ashley. "Alright, Rick, Ashley, why don't you two get the coffee started before Alex dies." Rick gave a half-hearted salute. "On it, boss." He turned to Ashley, who was lounging beside him. "Hey, go grab the sugar from my bag, will you? Ashley rolled her eyes but obliged, getting up with a huff to retrieve the 'sugar' from Rick's bag. Meanwhile, Rick turned to Wednesday, a sly grin on his face. "So, Addams, how do you take your coffee?" "Bitter," she replied finally, her voice flat. "Just like life." Rick snorted, shaking his head. "Of course. Should’ve guessed."

As Wednesday sat there waiting for the coffee to be made, she found herself growing restless. That hollow, gnawing emptiness she had tried so hard to ignore began to surface again, tightening in her chest. Where had you gone? You were always right there, standing beside her, but now you were out of reach well you weren't actually, you were just gone for a few moments and she hated it.

As the minutes ticked by, Wednesday’s thoughts drifted further. What did it mean?

The quiet chaos of her thoughts was interrupted when Rick handed her a cup of coffee. "Here you go, black as death itself."

She took the cup without a word, the warmth spreading through her hands as she stared into the dark liquid. She sipped it, expecting the usual bitterness. But this...this was different. It tasted...a bit weird but more than the coffee, it was her feelings for you that occupied her mind. How had she ended up here? Talking about her emotions, exposing herself in ways she never thought possible? She wasn’t the type to dwell on uncertainty. She preferred things to be direct, to have answers and solutions, but when it came to you—everything was blurred. Once these therapy sessions were over... where would you stand? Where would she stand?

She felt strange. The warmth of the coffee spread through her, loosening the tightness in her chest. The more she drank, the more that strange, comfortable haze settled in, drowning out her usual sharp clarity. She finished her cup without realizing it,

"More," she demanded, holding the cup out toward Rick.

"Whoa, didn’t take you for a coffee fiend," he teased, but he refilled her cup without hesitation.

What would happen once this was over? Once you both returned to your lives outside of these campfire confessions and group therapy? Would you drift apart, as people often do, or would you stay? And more importantly, did she want you to stay?

Everything felt off, but not unpleasantly so. The others were acting weird—dancing, laughing—but she didn’t care. She just wanted more of this feeling, more of the numbness that let her ignore the confusing emotions you always brought out in her. So, she drank more coffee. And more. And more.

Meanwhile, you wrapped up your call . “Yeah, Dad, YEAAAH, I GET IT. I’ll be careful. I already took them, okay? Yes, I’ll call tomorrow. Gotta go. Bye!” You sighed heavily, tucking your phone back into your pocket. That conversation had gone on way too long. You started heading back to the camp, but as you got closer, something felt... wrong. The group was acting strange. They weren’t just sitting and talking anymore—they were dancing. Not the casual, awkward dancing of people who barely knew each other, but wild, like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, scanning the group. Where was Wednesday? You searched for her, but she was nowhere near the fire.

“David,” you called out, hurrying over to him. “Where’s Wednesday?”

David looked at you, his eyes glazed over, a lazy grin on his face. “Wednesday? Today’s Friday... right?”

You blinked. “What? What does that have to do with—never mind.” You looked past him and saw Wednesday, walking by the lake with a... distinct wobble. Your heart skipped a beat. Wednesday Addams didn’t wobble. She is as steady and composed as a statue.

As you approached, you heard her voice—low, muttering, and oddly slurred. "You... why do you do this to me? Always... being there. Except when you're not, which is even worse. But then you're there again, and I hate it, but... I don’t hate it."

You blinked, utterly confused. "Wednesday?"

She turned, almost tripping over her own feet, and gave you a look that could only be described as... perplexed. But not the usual cold, calculated Wednesday-perplexed—this was more... tipsy.

"Ahh, it’s you," she said, squinting at you like you were a strange object she couldn’t quite figure out. "Why are you always... there?" She waved her hand in a vague circle. "Like... just there, making everything... feel... confusing."

You stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. Wednesday never talked like this. "Wednesday, what are you talking about?"

She pointed a finger at you, jabbing it in your direction with surprising force, but her balance was completely off. "You! You make everything so... so... confusing. I don’t like it. But also... I kind of like it. And I hate that I like it. You’re... annoying. But I get more annoyed when you’re not here."

"Okay, Wednesday..." you took a step closer, noticing how she swayed again, her expression shifting between annoyance and something else—something vulnerable. "What’s going on with you?"

"I don’t know!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air dramatically, completely out of character. "I never know with you. I think about you, and it’s like... ugh, why are you in my head?"

Realization slapped you harder than Will Smith's slap to Chris Rock.

“Wednesday, are you... drunk?”

She squinted at you as if your question was offensive. “I don’t get drunk,” she declared. “I’m above such mortal weaknesses. But you... you make everything so complicated. You and your... your stupid face.”

You grabbed her hand to steady her. Her skin was cool to the touch, but the moment you made contact, she froze, staring down at your hand in hers. “Why does this—this thing always feel weird?” she muttered, her voice lower now. “Your hand… it does this thing... makes me feel… something. I don’t like it. But I do. And that’s the problem.”

You ignored the way your heart raced at her words, focusing instead on what was clearly the problem. You glanced back at the camp, suspicion building. Rick. It had to be him. You reached into Wednesday’s coat, pulling out her knife, not paying attention to the fact that you felt several knives, and marched back toward Rick, who was still swaying around, laughing with no care in the world.

“Rick,” you growled, grabbing him by the collar and pressing the knife to his neck. “What the hell did you do?”

Rick blinked, eyes glazed, a goofy grin on his face. “Whaaat? Nothing! I just made the coffee... best coffee ever, man.”

Your eyes landed on the open box near the coffee pot. You picked it up, sniffing it. This wasn’t sugar. Your heart dropped. “Rick, you idiot,” you groaned. “You spiked the coffee!”

Rick just laughed, completely oblivious to the chaos he’d caused. Meanwhile, you glanced around at the others—dancing, laughing, totally out of their minds. Great. You were now in charge of nine drunk people,

And a high Wednesday Addams.

You sighed heavily. This is going to be a long night.

Next Chapter

[angeljeonjk97]

Body Work || Bell #4

Jungkook x reader

friends to lovers

18+ (fluff, smut)

warnings: mentions and descriptions of violence, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol

Jeon Jungkook is not the same 19-year-old boy you used to know. Fame has really matured him, in more ways than one.

“You already know how I like it baby”

A knock at the door makes your head shoot up from the ramyeon bowl you were lost in that sat on the small marble island in the middle of your small kitchen.

When you put your left eye up to the peephole, a blonde-haired, slim man and an excited Kiri stood there, beaming a huge smile, waiting for your face to appear from behind the door. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, wondering why two of your best friends are knocking on your door...you glance at the small, silver clock on the wall beside you... 9:24 pm.

You reach for the lock, turning it to open your door to the people who are standing on your doorstep looking like two frantic little, wide-eyed puppies.

"Hey?" you chuckle, confused as your eyebrows remain in the same furrowed expression, "why are you guys here?"

"Are we not allowed to visit our good friend to check on her?" Jimin acts offended.

Before you can respond, the two of them are already pushing their way past you. You sigh in defeat, clicking the door behind you as they both slide off their shoes and strip their coats from around their shoulders.

"You're both obviously not here just to see me" you chuckle, watching them both rush to hang their coats up, "you look like a pair of kids who've just been told they're going to Disneyland"

"Okay okay okay, come sit" Kiri spits out, a smile still plastered on her face, as she grabs your wrist pulling you to your sofa, Jimin following closely behind.

Once all three of you were sitting, Kiri and Jimin both facing you, sitting opposite you, Kiri takes both of your hands into hers. You stare intently at them, your face still in pure confusion.

"Guess who's back in town?" She asks almost too eagerly.

As soon as you heard those words, you already had a feeling where this conversation was about to go and who Kiri is talking about, but you give both of them the benefit of the doubt. They know that you're over that whole... situation, and don't plan on getting sucked back into it again. Your face relaxes a little, hesitant to even ask.

"Who?"

"Namjoon!" Jimin exclaims, unable to keep his excitement in any longer.

Kiri flicks her head around to Jimin, giving him a disapproving expression, not expecting him to be the one to say it.

Your expression practically falls off your face, as your stare flickers between the pair, expressionless.

Kim Namjoon is your older, kind of ex-boyfriend from two years ago. You two were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend but were dating each other and no one else. You weren't ready for a committed relationship at the time and didn't want to jump into something you weren't even sure you wanted yet. He's a lot older than you, 6 years older to be exact, very intelligent, very attractive, successful, understanding, gentle, and basically everything you'd possibly want in a man. 

You met when you had a holiday job at a cafe 15 minutes away from your apartment where you used to work with both Kiri and Jimin, who still have part-time jobs there. He was a regular there, so regular that you remembered his order off by heart in the 2 and a half months you worked there, you still remember the order even now, a medium white latte with almond milk and a warm blueberry croissant every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. 

You thought he was good-looking from the minute he walked through the glass, wooden framed, cafe door wearing a beige trench coat, black suit trousers complimented by dark brown loafers and a white button up that was hardly visible with his coat and thick plaid scarf that wrapped around his neck, and he thought the same for you. 

The attraction to each other became very obvious when you two would start talking at the desk and wouldn't realise you were holding up the line with your very flirty conversations and your co-workers would push you onto the till when they would see him come in. Eventually, on a Friday morning in early December, he asked for your phone number and everything flourished from there. He was perfect, everything you could ask for, but one day after a while of seeing each other, he just left the country, not telling you why or where to, just leaving you with an "I love you" text.

 You cried for weeks after it, even in front of Jungkook a few times, not understanding what went wrong, what you did wrong or why he didn't tell you why he was leaving. He was your first love, even though you never said it to his face, you loved him, and you know that he loved you too. You got over him and the whole thing eventually though, and don't plan on ever seeing him again. Or so you thought 

"Oh." is all you can let out, the name flashing you back into all the memories.

"He came to the cafe this morning, asking for you" Jimin declares, still with those wide ecstatic eyes, as he scans your face to read your emotions, "he misses you,"

You close your eyes, relaxing your shoulders a little, slipping your hands out of Kiri's," No. No. I told you, I'm done with all that"

"I thought you still loved him?" Kiri tilts her head slightly with a worried but confused expression.

"I told you, I'm over it"

"But y/n, he was perfect. It won't hurt to try again" Jimin shrugs, unsure as to what your response will be.

"But it will Jimin, just like last time," you get up off the sofa, about to walk to the kitchen," I'm not gonna be left behind with nothing like last time"

The other two follow closely behind, Kiri's voice projecting from behind you,

"You haven't dated since though, and I think this is a great opportunity"

"yeah you think it's a great opportunity, I don't. I don't want to see him ever again." you throw a cabinet open, pulling out a bottle of wine, along with a glass.

Kiri and Jimin stand in the doorway, looking at each other, regretting bringing him up.

"Is that all you guys came here to do? remind me of him?"

"No of course not, but he gave us his new number," a ripped-off corner of a piece of paper is pulled out of Kiri's pocket and put out in front of your face, "think about it. He misses you, a lot and wants to talk to you"

You sigh in defeat, practically ripping the piece of paper from between Kiri's fingers, seeing a flash of a set of numbers inscribed on it.

'Wow the ripped corner of a notebook really shows how much you care' You think to yourself quickly scanning the scrap piece.

Kiri spreads her arms out to wrap them around your frame, embracing you in a hug, "You don't have to, but think about it"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You play with the scrumpled-up paper in your fingers, observing the numbers written on it, contemplating everything. Lost in your own thoughts, you jump at the sudden thud on the black counter caused by a tattooed hand slamming down in front of you.

You look up, tucking the paper back into your jean pocket, "Jesus Kook. You could've just said hi or something" You smile at him, letting him know you're not being serious.

"You still would've jumped, considering how in your head you just were," Jungkook takes a seat on the stool opposite you. His bare forearms resting on the surface in front of you both, "You alright?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, thinking whether you should tell Jungkook about your kind of ex coming back or not.

It was very obvious Jungkook never liked Namjoon, despite never actually meeting him, even when you were both 'dating'. You know he'll just get annoyed, angry or throw the number away, which is probably the best thing to do but you have been genuinely considering talking to him again, and you need an unbiased opinion. At the same time though, you hate lying to JK or even being a little dishonest with him. It's not how trust is kept between you two, he can also read you really well, meaning you can never really hide your actual feelings about something or someone from him.

"Namjoon's back," You blurt out, exhaustedly, as if you hadn't slept a wink the previous night, well, because you hadn't.

Jungkook just stares at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape," Please don't tell me you're actually thinking about him right now," his head tilts to the side a little, like a puppy, his brow now slightly furrowed.

Your silence and lack of eye contact in return is enough for him to know the answer.

He throws his head back, his crown almost touching his shoulder blades, as he lets out a small groan.

"I know, I know, it's probably not the best thing for me to be thinking about right now, but-"

"No, it just isn't the best thing to be thinking about. No probably, it simply isn't. You can't be seriously thinking about talking to that asshole again after he left you for absolutely no reason." Jungkook cuts you off, a stern look now plastered over his face.

You squeeze your eyes shut in frustration but also regret, knowing that this would be his response, and you should've kept your mouth closed.

"Was that piece of paper something to do with it?"

"What piece of paper?" you reply defensively. You were hoping he didn't notice it or see you fiddling with it previously.

He gives you an expression full of disappointment and knowing, causing you to roll your eyes and give in, "It's his number new number"

"Oh, so he changed his number after leaving too? proves how much he wanted to keep in contact with you," the snarky remark doesn't phase you as you know it's just him trying to make a point to you. You hate that he's right.

"I know but Kiri said he wants to talk about it, I just want closure," you softly admit to him, a slight bit of guilt in your body language, even though you're telling the truth, and aren't actually thinking of seeing Namjoon romantically again, or even talking to him ever again after getting closure.

The doe-eyed man stares at you with a shocked expression before loudly exclaiming, "Kiri? How does Kiri know?"

You realise you fucked up again by mentioning Kiri unintentionally.

"He came by the cafe asking for me" the regret on your face grows continuously, "Please just let me think about this"

Jungkook sighs again in defeat, deciding to just trust you and your word, "Alright but if you meet with him, I'm taking you there and picking you up."

You almost go to argue with him, but know that really he's just doing this for your own safety, and because he cares about you. He knows if it goes wrong and you get upset you'll cry and run back to your place, and not come out for days, so if he's there to see you up afterwards, he knows you won't have to suffer alone. He just wants to be there for you. You know that, even though neither of you have verbally said to each other how much you care about one another, you both know that these little acts are out of care.

"What about your training though?" You query, thinking about his career before he even considered it as an obstacle 

"I'll take a rest day that day," he says it like it's nothing, giving you a little shrug. Like it won't probably take him a week to convince his trainer for a potential extra rest day.

After a few minutes of bickering back and forth, you give into Jungkook's stubbornness and his charms allowing him to come with you if you even meet Namjoon again. 

You truly have been thinking about it too much and don't actually know what you want. You're head knows that seeing him again probably isn't the best for your emotions considering it took you so long to get over him and seeing his dimples when he flashes sweet smiles at you, might just send you into a spiral again, but your emotions are basically screaming at you to get closure, and to just be in his presence again. Even though you've grown slight resentment for him, you can't bring yourself to fully hate him. Afterall, its not like you ended on bad terms, or good terms really. 

I mean getting closure won't hurt you. 

<-prev-index-next->

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

a/n: A late happy holidays to everyone, but I hope you all had a really good time with whatever you celebrate. I can't wait for what 2024 has in store for us all. CANT WAIT FOR JIN AND HOBI TO BE BACK IN 2024 TOO!!!! Anyways thank you again for reading, I hope you're enjoying the series so far. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope its received positively

Taglist: @yunki-yunki-yunki @hellbornsworld @tatamicc @idkijustlovebts @00frenchfries00 @yoonbicoolest @junecat18

[monvante]

persona non grata ╱ myg, 𝟏.

per·​so·​na non gra·​ta: unwelcome or unwanted. not popular or accepted by others.

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: suspense / noir / detective au

rating: mature | 18+

chapter word count: 3,067

content warings: crime, blackmail, missing person investigation, themes of violence and murder, 90's cult references, corrupt cops, mentions of physical fighting, cockroaches, depictions of dementia, substance abuse & addiction, reader is grieving a breakup;

next chapter | series navigation | masterlist

chapter i. goodbye, kanan.

Tuesday night, March 18th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Your hands don’t feel clean. They just never do. 

“It’s that same nightmare,” you rub them together, finding comfort in the heat.

Yoongi looks at you. He says nothing, because of course he doesn't. He already noticed the dark circles under your eyes this morning, how you looked at your cup of coffee with a bit more disgust than usual.

He admired your hatred, your devotion to your spiteful heart.

“Cockroaches.” Your sad chuckle is but self-mockery. Your gaze is crestfallen.

He’s left to calculate within the machinations of his mind whatever meaning there is in your nightmare. 

Yet, Yoongi finds none whatsoever.

“Have you eaten?” 

“Why?”

“Just asking,” he shrugs. “Take tomorrow off,” Yoongi hides his hands inside the pockets of his trench coat. His concern is disguised in his eyes, looking out the foggy windows of the department office. “You need it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Let it go.”

“He was eight years old! He was a child!”

The air tightens in your lungs and your throat thickens with silence. You didn’t mean to sound so exasperated, you didn’t mean to sound like anything, but you’ll have to be the first to face your emotional ties to the cold case of a young boy whose face is ingrained in the back of your mind.

Yoongi gulps ⎯  it’s the first thing he does when the truth’s engulfed in his stomach. You glare at him, but he doesn’t budge. Not for a few seconds at least, taking a few steps back as he still refuses to look you in the eye. All cops are cowards.

“You wanna know why we got this case?”

Your brows perk. 

“It’s not because we’re good,” he scoffs. “Last year... I confronted McKinnon about the money. He called me a snitch… I didn’t- I didn’t tell him you were in on it, but I figured he knew. That bastard just.. kept looking at me with those filthy eyes and I- I hit him, okay? I got him good. He deserved it.”

“Is that why you kept avoiding me all those months?”

“Kind of. He said we wouldn’t come out of it alive if the ACU so much as dreamt of it… So I kept quiet. He gave us a case full of dead ends and shit evidence to keep us busy… Said we deserved it.”

The Anti Corruption Unit had been onto the agents’ tail that month. Not that it matters. Nothing was found.

“Why– why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, slowing down his breath. In the same second, he fails himself and his fury comes out in full force.

“Fuck’s sake! And risk you being dead? Or worse?!” 

There are drops of sweat down his temple. You can see them because the yellow street lights glisten against his skin and you figure he’s telling you the truth. Even if he wasn’t, you’d be inclined to believe him. 

No one else in this godforsaken unit has a commitment to the truth like Yoongi. 

Thursday morning, March 20th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Agent Gerwig gives you a warm, tight-lipped smile when you pass her down the hallways. You hurry past the agents down the coffee machine, avoiding small talk and nearly tripping down the stairs on your way to Yoongi’s desk. 

The insides of your stomach are twisting and turning as you rush inside, uninvited and breathless, waiting for him to acknowledge you behind his incessant typing and the meaningless emails he reads everyday. 

Yoongi seems as still and lifeless as ever, which somehow comes as a comfort to you. 

“Days off are supposed to make you look better, not worse. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He types as fast as he comes up with witty remarks. 

“That’s because I have!” You spit back, fists closed tightly around the newspaper in your hands.

He quirks up one brow, enough for you to know you’ve got his attention.

“Here,” you toss it onto his desk. “Read it.”

November 27th, 1991. Solved case: Thanksgiving kidnappings linked to man apprehended by police.

“That’s Adam Bowen. He got arrested a night after Kanan went missing,” you huff, catching your breath. “They never considered him a suspect because… the timelines didn’t add up, apparently.” 

Yoongi looks up at you from the large frame of his glasses.

“And?”

“Police always suspected he worked with his brother… but they never found enough evidence to prove it. They never even found said brother, the guy disappeared out of thin air and Bowen never told them anything. Not a word.”

He leans back, stretching his arms. His gaze diverts away from you or the paper altogether and he’s staring into space, seemingly at a loss for words.

“They got one brother, huh? Looks like it was enough for them to settle it,” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Sloppy as all hell.”

In your heart, there’s some feeble hope, but most of it has been filled with despair and a fierce jealousy towards anyone who still maintained a sense of normalcy. Your last seven years have been haunted by nightmares, tainted by the faces of all the missing person reports hanging on your walls.

“We got a second half of the story to figure out.”

Yoongi nods. He closes off his laptop and puts his hands around his gun belt.

Friday night, March 21th @ Agent ___’s home.

Circe’s orange tail swirls around your leg before she’s meowing next to her empty bowl, with cute and threatening eyes glaring into your soul. You can barely catch your breath on the couch ⎯  you got shit to do. 

Her paws trail happily after you once you’re pouring the pack of Whiskas onto her tiny plate, making a mental note to throw nearly all the home decor away before Easter comes. The apartment is filled with portraits, vases and candles Yuri generously left you with. 

Such courtesy of your ex-fiancée to have abandoned all your memories and stories behind. 

You’re running out of coffee, hope and sugar.

Yuri was not a bad man. It’s what you told yourself, once. He wanted the kids and the white picket fence life, away from violent gangs and city lights, where he’d craft the perfect nuclear family, worthy of homemade apple pies and Sunday barbecues.

But you liked the urban loneliness, your shoebox apartment and the green subway lights on your way back home. You liked the comfort of knowing every neighborhood like the palm of your hand, the ins and outs of every highway and the thought of heartless strangers passing you by, not caring for your name.

You missed him. His warm body pressed against yours and his golden, brown skin; you missed him selfishly ⎯  your comfort zone walked away and resentment grew alongside the fondness. 

You hoped he was happy without you, but not too much.

When your co-workers asked you about him, a few days after he packed his bags, all you gave them was a shrug and a poor explanation, the kind that everyone does: we were incompatible, it wasn’t meant to be, I wasn’t ready. The list went on and on.

The only one to not probe was good old loyal Yoongi. He was indifferent enough to other people’s personal lives not to ask. When you told him, he patted you on the shoulder awkwardly and placed your coffee by your desk with extra whipped cream. 

Saturday afternoon, March 22nd @ Rosefell Nursing Home.

Violet Bowen was not, by any means, what you’d call a reliable witness. She seemed pale beyond human comprehension and her words mostly consisted of hummings or muttering. The moment you saw her, you felt a sting of empathy too strong to ask her of her missing, possibly outlaw brother.

She had no other relatives nor close visitors, except for a caring ex-neighbor who’d bring her flowers every Friday. With nails painted a deep shade of red, she looked to be around eighty, but you couldn’t quite tell. Violet was in poor condition, plagued by dementia and the loneliness of lost loved ones. 

Her caretaker is a vibrant, blonde nurse. A blonde Southern belle whose name tag read in big, uppercase letters.

CAROLYN R. NURSING ASSISTANT

It’s Yoongi who interrogates Violet, remaining unaffected by her lost gaze and brown eyes. He flashes her a picture of her brothers back in the 80’s, sporting what looks to be fluffy mullets. 

She smiles then and her shaky hands point at Adam, but nothing else comes out of her aside from a gleam of life in her eyes. Even if she knew where they were, she wouldn’t tell them a word. 

Carolyn’s smile grows disconcerted. Her hands lay on Violet’s forearm as she pulls a thick chunk of her blonde hair out of her face in typical Southern charm. 

“I think my girl’s had enough here, yes?” She forces a grin, glancing over at Violet. “If you’ll excuse us, it’s tea time.” 

Carolyn helps Violet out of her seat and into the cafeteria. You’re not sure if it’s bad timing or a deliberate attempt from the nursing assistant to end this conversation, but you’re leaning on the latter. Off they go, taking slow, mindful steps away from both of you.

You refuse to look at Violet’s way. Something about her made you want to cry your heart out; the thought of loneliness being an imminent threat to you, too. 

“It’s pointless, Yoongi,” you mutter in your seat, slouching your shoulders. “She’s not going to remember anything.”

He hates to agree. Yoongi tsks, fiddling with his watch.

“Did you check her records at the reception?” He glances over at you, mind brimming with some sort of nefarious idea.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean- I didn’t check if she had any funds… It looks like all her properties and money were confiscated by the government, but I should run a background check on her bank accounts, to be sure.”

Monday afternoon, March 24th @ Tech Unit, Information Management Division.

Jenny’s doodles lie by her desk, making the room feel like a high school classroom. You haven’t spoken to her since December; what was once a blossoming friendship wilted away thanks to your cowardice and the desire to protect her from Deputy McKinnon’s claws. If Jenny found out, she’d jump the gun. 

And she didn’t have the best aim.

Her Naruto sketches have improved greatly since you last saw them, a massive improvement for just a couple months. Both of you used to laugh at her poorly drawn stick figures, now it looks like she’s ready to take her comics career seriously. You’re happy for her ⎯  she’ll find a way out of this hellhole.

The air is thick and humid in the early Spring, but filled with an extra layer of awkwardness when she sees you from across the room. Jenny’s strides towards her desk are heavy with grief and resentment, but she holds her gaze your way.

“Have you had enough space from me after not picking up my calls?” She slides onto her chair, scribbling a few notes onto her monthly planner. “Long time no see, idiot.”

You don’t have much to say for yourself, even when your chest pangs with her affectionate, yet sarcastic use of the word idiot. 

“A lot happened, is all,” you gesture sheepishly, hands reaching for the insides of your pockets.

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny… I didn’t mean to-” 

She looks up at you, eyes drenched with irony and something.. something which you can’t name. If it’s hatred or love, you can’t tell.

“Wat’cha want?”

You swallow dry and uneasy, unfolding the paper on your hand with Violet Bowen’s name and address. It’s crumpled and a little thorn ⎯  you were ready to throw it away seconds before coming into the Tech Unit.

“I- I need a background check on someone,” you mutter, lowly. “Bank account activity… Credit cards… Anything you can find from the last… thirty years, maybe?” 

Your attempt at a chuckle fails, denouncing your regret. Jenny notices the furrow of your brows and how concerned you seem, ripping the paper away from your hands. 

“Sure.” 

The seconds fill with silence. You stand by her desk, waiting for a snide comment, a spiteful joke, anything. She looks at you like she knows you want to apologize again.

“Nice sketches!” You smile as a desperate invitation to make friendly conversation. 

Jenny doesn’t cave in.

“You’re dismissed,” she nods at the doorway and hops onto her laptop. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

Monday night, March 24th @ Agent ____’s home.

“Hey,” you mutter over the phone. “Just checking up on you and mom.”

“Finally!” Albeit sarcastic, your younger sister’s voice is nothing but chirpy, as it has always been. “We miss you, you idiot. You know that, right?”

Over the phone, you can hear your mom’s laugh and a few unintelligible words. It seems she’s adjusting to your dad’s absence. Somehow, you had stopped calling after the funeral. It’s not that you didn’t miss them back ⎯  you were sick of being flooded with memories every time you’d hear her voice. Like your dad was still there too, right beside her.

“Sorry, sweetcheeks. I’ve just been busy.” The explanations and apologies roll off your tongue.

“You know you can’t avoid us forever, right?” Her voice is so sober, it’s as if she’s older than you by a million years. 

When you gaze out the window, loneliness overcomes you. The years spent playing hide and seek in your childhood home are long gone, replaced by miles of distance between you and your family ⎯  how you became so caring and so bad at expressing it like your father. You hate how much of you is made of all the people you love. And miss.

“You there?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m sorry.” 

“I swear to God, you gotta stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” She pauses. “Acting like we don’t exist. Seriously. We miss you.”

A pang of guilt flashes through your chest. 

“I know.” Your voice is small through the phone again. In between the anxiety and the seconds, you fiddle with your bracelet. “I’m sorry.. It’s been hell.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell mom about your breakup, but she keeps asking me. It wouldn’t hurt if you opened up for once.” She sounds more hurt than angry, vindicating your mother after all the months you spent avoiding calls and texts under the pretense of your busy adult job.

Even in the softness of her voice, her words feel harsh. You gulp down a threatening tear, staying silent on the phone. She was still right, though.

“Listen, we love you, okay? I don’t know what kind of shit you’re going through because you won’t tell me everything.. but dude, please, seriously just come visit us sometime. I know you’ve got your job and all, but act human for once. Please?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try. I promise.”

“Good. I gotta go now. Mom wants to go grocery shopping for some french-whatever-pie and I promised her I’d help. Give Circe my love!”

You chuckle, sadly.

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s okay. I’ll see you guys soon.”

When the call ends, silence deepens. It’s your own doing, you know, but that doesn’t make it any less suffocating. Even when you crave solitude, you’re just plagued by loneliness. 

Wednesday morning, March 26th @ Java café.

Today, Yoongi thinks you look a little better. And by better, it means rested. Of course, your gaze is still very much zombie-like, with glimpses of terror in your eyes when you look away. 

But in this line of work, it ain’t all rainbows and sunshine.

It’s never rainbows and sunshine, he realizes.

“So,” you sigh.

“So.” Yoongi punctuates, giving you room to breathe.

Your eyes are distant, watching children play in the puddles from last night’s rainstorm. The weather has been cruel to this city, punishing sinners and saints alike with a dreadful fog in the mornings and plenty of humidity to drive your hair follicles to the brink of insanity.

“Bowen’s alive, Yoongi. There’s a big chance he just… got away with it.”

Your words aren’t met with so much enthusiasm. You suppose it’s the skepticism in this field ⎯ even the good news don’t feel like good news. Before his questioning and theorizing begins, Yoongi brings up a valid concern.

“Why didn’t his brother spill his whereabouts, though? It’s not like Adam had any reasons to protect his brother any longer.”

“Unless he did.” You counter-argue.

“Why, though? It doesn’t make sense. In ninety percent of the cases, you know what happens. So-called partners in crime turn against each other. It’s good ol’ politics.” Yoongi leans back in his chair, nodding at the waitress for more coffee.

“Maybe he had something to lose,” you purse your lips. The biting of your inner cheeks is such an instinctive habit of yours that it barely stings until you realize how much tension you’re holding in. “Or someone, you know?”

“Several someones.” Yoongi blinks. “Do you remember the Mormon Heritage cult?” His eyes narrow as he scrapes the top of his head.

Your back and forth is interrupted by the local waitress pouring hot black coffee onto Yoongi’s cup. He seems like he’s on a roll today ⎯  it’s his third cup. That you know of.

“Uhhh, kind of. They were a thing in the nineties, weren’t they?” 

“Yeah.. well… the Satanic panic might’ve contributed to that,” Yoongi nods, slipping his mobile out of his pocket. His fingers are hasty, typing up a Google search so he can word vomit every single fact possible. “But we know that the Jesus believers can somehow always be worse.”

He sounds so snarky, it earns a laugh out of you.

“The Bowens were around that time,” he says. “I mean ⎯  the connection seems unlikely, but with these people, you never know.”

You sigh. 

“McKinnon didn’t give us this case for nothing, huh?” Even with half a smile on your face, you can’t help but feel defeated.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I think we got a lead.” He smiles with his teeth for once in a lifetime, raising his eyes from his phone to meet yours. You know he is up to no good ⎯ and that can only be a good thing.

“Buttercup?”

monvante © 2021 - 2024. all rights reserved. do not copy, edit or redistribute my work.

[youaintnothinbuta]

OKAY SO I WAS THINKING JD X READER WHO HATES HIM AT FIRST BUT ENDS UP FALLING FOR HIM? I HOPE THAT MAKES SENSE LOVE YOUR WORK BTW💗

“I didn’t know how else to shut you up.”

Summary: you and Jd are partnered for a school project.

Pairing: reader x jd

Word count: 896

Warnings: fluff, probably spelling mistakes/typos

Request something here !

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“Get a load of this. I got paired with trench coat kid for our history assignment. Kill me now.” You ranted, joining your best friends in the hallway, walking to the cafeteria.

“Trench coat kid? Ouch.” Jd pretended to be insulted, accidentally bumping into you in the cafeteria. Your friends continued to your table, you glaring at them as they left you with Jd.

“God, why are you so weird?”

Jd flashed a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I prefer fascinating.” he retorted.

You rolled your eyes, "fascinating. How very.”

Undeterred by your dismissive attitude, Jd continued, “Look, I know you don't like me, but we're stuck together for this history project. Can you quit it with the Heather attitude just while we have to work together?”

You sighed, realizing he had a point. As much as you disliked the idea, you were a straight-A student, more or less, and this project wasn’t going to change that. Besides, at the very least, you’ll get to hang around some male company that isn’t Kurt or Ram for once. “Fine,” you grumbled, “but don't expect me to become your new best friend or anything.”

Jd grinned. “Fair enough. Let's meet up at the library after school, and we can start working on the project.”

You gave him one last look, before pushing passed to meet your friends at your table.

***

After the final bell rang, you made your way to the library. Jd was already waiting, sitting at a table near the back. He had his nose buried in a book, seemingly engrossed in its contents.

As you approached, Jd looked up and smiled warmly. “Glad you could make it,” he stood up, pulling out the chair beside him for you. You sat down beside him, slightly surprised by his chivalrous demeanor. “Yeah, well, I'm not one to back down from a challenge,” you replied, earning a small chuckle from Jd.

***

Two days ago you and Jd started your project together, in the library. You spent most of the time making snarky comments at him, however he stayed undiscouraged by your remarks, leaving you with a particular curiosity you’d not felt before. Anyway, the two of you agreed that it’d be better to continue working on it at your house, because you were constantly being shushed by the librarian.

“Where’s your parents?” Jd asked as you walked him though your house, upstairs to your room.

“It’s a Thursday. Their date night. But it’s more like a date afternoon because my mom likes to be in bed by nine thirty.”

“Nine thirty,” Jd, raised an eyebrow, laughing, “wild child.”

“Yeah, I get it from her, can’t you tell?” You joked.

Jd laughed, sitting on the floor, pulling his textbook out his backpack. You sat beside him, taking out the work you two started the other day. Just as you were about to get started, the phone on your bedside table began to ring. You inhaled deeply, waiting for it to ring out.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Jd asked.

“No. It’s either Heather, Heather, or Heather.”

Jd took a moment to think, “You’re not really one of them, are you?” The way we spoke was gentle. Usually every sentence he speaks contains at least one sarcastic punch, but he was tender with his words this time, something you’d not heard before.

“Well, my name isn’t Heather.”

“You don’t like them, do you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “I don’t.”

Jd stared at you for a while, you stared back at him, not in a competitive way, just trying to read the others gaze for a moment.

“Why do you do that to yourself? Involve yourself in them, I mean? Why?”

“Well, it’s just like they’re people I work with and our job is being popular and shit. I can’t exactly just say no.” You gave him a small smile, “but it’d be nice to have someone around that wasn’t a mythic bitch.”

Jd laughed softly, “what about McNamara? She seems tolera—“

“Ugh!” You shouted.

“Woah. Forget I said that, Christ.”

Once again, your telephone rang.

“I can’t stand this! Ho-how does someone end up in this situation- I shoved away my real friends for what?” You ranted, on and on, over the sound of the phone, “I use my grand IQ to decide what lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before—“

Jd shushed you with the first thing that came to mind. A kiss. As his lips gently connected to yours, you were momentarily taken aback. His unexpected gesture silenced your rambling, leaving you both in a state of quiet astonishment.

When he pulled away, you blinked, trying to process what had just happened. The room was filled with an unusual tension, and the air crackled with unspoken words. You looked at Jd, searching for an explanation in his eyes.

Jd's expression mirrored your confusion, but there was a newfound vulnerability there. “I... I didn’t know how else to shut you up,” he stammered. You stared at him, your mind racing. In that instant, you realized that Jd wasn't just your sarcastic and weird project partner anymore. There was something that had been building between you two. Perhaps it was the shared frustrations, the longing for genuine connections, or simply the way he had seen through the facade you put on for the world.

[watchoutforthefanfics]

My John || Eleventh Doctor x gn!Reader

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Summary: At the news of an unknown distress call from the Tardis, the Doctor must go undercover. With the trust of thousands of years, he places himself (both watch and being) into your hands. Enter Dr. John Smith (not really a medical doctor just has his doctorate) your new roommate.

Inspired by: The Transmission by @fabulouspotatosister + 'ceilings' - Lizzy McAlpine

[[A/N: This was majorly based on the lyrics: 'But it's not real, and you don't exist'. So angst warning. But it has a happy ending, I swear. ]]

"It won't be long."

You could remember the creases of his face as he said it to you, the smooth of the worry in his brow -just because he didn't want you to see it. Well, you felt it now, the ache of days and nights and the heaviness of the watch in your pocket -you couldn't let go of it or put it out of your sight.

"When the time comes, you'll know."

You'd asked more about that then, about the how and the what and the why, but he waved it all off. 'You're clever,' he spoke, and you couldn't help the flutter in your stomach, '-you'll know.' So, you had prepared yourself to the life you found eerie compared to the previous one. Seeing John was... a domestic look on the Doctor and you weren't sure if it was good or bad for you.

"Honey, I'm home," he loudly announced, sing-songy with a cheer you couldn't quite match.

You exhaled, shook your hands, and stood to your feet, peeking out your bedroom door to where the Doctor... John stood.

He dressed differently now, more casual sometimes with the early morning pajamas. Today, however, he was dressed with a white button up and slacks, familiar, but matched with a long brown coat that had the same vibe as a trench coat but not the same material. And on the tip of his nose sat a pair of glasses, that you'd seen on the Doctor, yes, but rarely.

"Oh, so we have pet names now, dear?" You teased, watching as the tips of his ears began to burn a bright red.

It was natural, whatever banter you'd acquired. It was rather flirty, sure, but natural. You didn't want to think about what that meant too much.

"Dear?" He shriveled up his nose, "-What are we, an old married couple? I'd at least like to be dearest."

You snorted, walking towards the kitchen -which was right across the entry way, where he slipped off his shoes and placed his coat on the hanger. You were surprised by his organization in this light, especially since seeing some of the TARDIS's rooms.

"Okay, John dearest," you spoke, nose upturned as if you were pompous, "-may I ask how your day went? Were the kids okay today?"

He was a librarian at the local school, and sometimes on Saturdays he'd have extra readings for town square -he was quite the hit. With the voices he'd put on and the enthusiasm of the stories he told, the kids were enraptured. They weren't the only one.

"Of course," he grinned, "-haven't I told you, Thursday class kids are the best! Always desperate to learn that lot."

"Right," you carefully mixed the food upon the stove top, it wasn't on anymore but it was still warm enough to heat it up, "-that's the one with Charlotte in it, yeah?"

"Oh, yes, lovely Charlotte," he smiled, "-she'll go places I tell you. Today, she was negotiating an escape plan during recess, had a route down to the times."

You laughed, before siphoning off two servings and continuing, "And the meeting afterward?"

His demeanor dropped, as he pouted with a groan, "Boring, you know I hate to sit still for too long. Plus, George was just spewing nonsense statistics the whole time -didn't grasp onto much."

"Naturally," you hummed, taking a seat across from him as you placed his plate in front of you. You were usually the one to cook, not for... John's lack of trying, but more for the whole apartment's safety.

"What about you?" He countered, eyes attentive on you, it was unusual for you -the Doctor was usually everywhere all at once but John was often just an observer, "How was yours?"

The attention was odd, sometimes, but you'd grown to like it -despite how flustered it could make you. Depending on the day, and if his hair was messy and collar fussed. Luckily, he seemed well-composed today -a perfect picture of John, not the Doctor.

"Boring," you answered, not finding anything of note in your day. It was quiet mostly here, and you couldn't often chance going out without knowing where the Doctor was or if the threat was even still active.

"Oh, come off it," he dragged, his tone playful, "-you can do better than that. Go on, tell me. Anything new?"

You shook your head with a smile, "Not much, I'm just in the early stages now jotting ideas down in whatever form I can. There's not... It's all drafts."

You stayed home, under the illusion of being a writer -waiting for their big break. You did write though, detailing your adventures with well... him. It helped you sometimes when you missed him, and worst case scenario, it reminded you of what you were doing this all for. Because John's familiar soft smile and gleaming eyes were something you knew you could get yourself lost in.

You wished you could keep this version of him somewhere within you (locked away tight, yours), but you could never wish the lack of the Doctor in the world. Or even with you for that matter.

"I imagine it's lovely," he spoke, tone soft and the blush on his cheeks rising high, "-anything you make will be."

And there it was. The suspicious, fond gaze you'd caught from him now. It was happening more often, between the shared hours of the day you and John were domestic -connected personally, even. And you knew it felt that way, with him coming home, and sharing the space so intricately.

Just looking around the kitchen, you could see John just about in every crevice. An apron there (that said kiss the cook), some themed salt and pepper shakers (they were shaped like little animals), and the book he kept by the counter -he often sat there as you cooked, and you well enjoyed the company.

And everywhere else, you'd find him too. Little trinkets on bookshelves he just "couldn't live without", a few snowglobes from different cities (you found he was invested in traveling), and notepads just about everywhere. He always had something new to remember afterall.

"Well, thank you," you hummed, cursing yourself for the flush that went up your own cheeks. This isn't him, and he's not even himself.

How is that fair.

"But," you continued, playfully, "-I doubt you're an unbiased critic."

He made a big dramatic gesture with his hands to himself before speaking in a high-pitched tone, "Me? What? Never."

"John," you hummed, "-you're really not a good liar."

"Not to you," He smiled, his eyes carrying a whimsical shine that made your stomach swirl with familiarity, "You see right through me. I'll have you know, some of my classes think I'm a trainer of wild lions over the summer."

"You remember you teach children, right? They're fairly gullible."

"Pish-posh," he tsked, scooping some of the food into his mouth with a grace you found mostly unknown to the Doctor -other than tactful speeches and addressing an enemy, "-children are rather smart, just don't know how to use it yet."

"Yes, right," you countered, "-and this is an unbiased look, coming from a children's teacher, then?"

He rolled his eyes, a playfulness giving him away on his face, "Alright, you win. I'm shelving this argument for now."

"Just shelving it?"

"Yes," he confirmed, smiling up at you from his plate, and you felt your heart do a little twist in its place, "-anyway, I meant to ask you something."

You pursed your eyebrows at the sudden topic change, but pressed further on, "Yes?"

"Well, there's a-" he fidgetted with his fork, eyes now looking anywhere but you, "-a work thing Saturday. A big party, music and food. It's a celebration for getting halfway through the year, I suppose. Anyway, I just... well-"

"John?" You interrupted, clear, and concise but a touch concerned -had he seen something? Was it time?

"I'd like for you to come," he spit out, quicker than what was previously said but you still caught it (a symptom of the Doctor’s long-winded rants you supposed), "-with me. If you're not... busy."

"John," you hummed, with a grin, "-as if I'm ever too busy for you."

John smiled, the kind of smile the Doctor got when you were 'bloody brilliant' or so he'd put it. It made you feel special, all of your limbs felt like they were fizzing. The difference was now... you hadn't done anything. He looked at you like the stars were merely rocks, just because you'd said you'd go to a work party with him.

The Doctor wouldn't have done that. And that fact made your stomach twist in guilt, this wasn't really him. John wasn't really a person, just a shell of who he was meant to be and you were the only person so close to him.

And here you were, feeling things that you shouldn't with a man who only had you within this world.

Sure, he was giving you signals. Signals that made your head spin because you had always wanted them from that face, but it wasn't him. It's not fair.

"Brilliant," he grinned in response, before taking the two of your plates away with the same enthusiasm. He wouldn't wash them, he never did directly after dinner. Always said he didn't want to waste a moment.

And maybe you didn't want to either.

The next few days were busy for you, more than usual, you'd been trying to trace who had been after him for the past year. It had been a year. You were getting nowhere, mostly because he hadn't told you anything -'he' being the Doctor.

So, you weren't exactly ready when Saturday crawled up on you. John had practically been bouncing off the walls, fidgeting with his tie. He hadn't looked at you once as he navigated the space, grabbing things he'd strewn about -he looked so natural here. Fit here, with you.

It'd been familiar. You missed him.

Every day you did.

The Doctor jumping around the space, eager to tell you about the hills that stars grew on, or the alien race that communicated through smell.

"Isn't it brilliant?" He'd always be grinning so bright it could blind you, and he'd twirl around the controls for good measure. Eyes looking to you for your reaction, beautiful green twinkling with wonder you thought you'd lost when you were six. You had lost when you were six, but he... he brought it back.

"Y/N?" he spoke, well not him... but him, "Everything alright?"

John was in your space, a few steps away -maybe afraid to bridge the gap, he extended a hand. You'd realized then you were crying, the tears silent against your cheeks -you didn't even realize...

"If you're not-" he started, his fingers clenching in the air between the two of you like he'd wanted to touch you but wasn't sure, "If you don't want to go, we can stay."

We, he'd always said something like that -a package deal. Maybe you could live in your delusions for a bit, you could be selfish once.

With a breath, you closed the gap -connecting your hands and intertwining your fingers with his. His hand moved naturally... like it was meant for this... like his hand was meant to be in yours. It was intimate, something about you not being in direct danger and still holding him close.

You were safe, in your apartment; the two of you dressed dashingly, all for a party you were now bound to be late to.

"Wish I could," clearing your throat of the tears, you swung your hand and his between the two of you with the smallest of smiles, "-but my date is pretty handsome, couldn't bare to let him down."

John chuckled, you could still see the smear of concern in the pull of his brows but he could never really help it with you, "Handsome, really? This date seems very lucky then. From where I'm looking-"

You snorted, shaking your head and letting go of his hand -heading towards the apartment door, "We're going to be late, John."

"You started it," he pouted, before spinning around in a circle -eyes darting, "-wait, where's my coat?"

"John, darling," you hummed, pointing to the coat that was draped right across the back of the couch.

"Right, yes," he responded, grabbing it before freezing in place like your words had just now processed, "-did you say... darling?"

"Good observation."

"That's new, isn't it?" he asked, eyes intent on you for a moment -like you were a mystery he couldn't solve, "-I like it."

"Oh hush you," you snickered, not lingering on the slip any longer than you wanted to, "-we are so late."

John grinned bright and you saw him then -adventurous and wonderful, as he approached you -almost giddy, "I wouldn't have it any other way, darling."

The party was fuller than you'd expected, really. It wasn't just in some breakroom with dollar streamers and cupcakes with the kind of icing that stained your mouth. There were lights, music, and it was catered. With a mouthwatering buffet, mind you.

"John," you hush whispered, "-you didn't tell me it was fancy."

"How was I supposed to know?" he whispered back, defensive, "-This is my first one too!"

At that moment, two men walked up -each in a more dashing suit than the other, groomed to the nines. You truly doubted these guys were teachers, but based on the man that stood by your side... maybe it was true.

"Oh my," the taller one, who if you had to guess was the gym teacher spoke, eyes caught on you, "-John, is this the infamous Y/N?"

The other man straightened, eyes landing on yours, "No way!"

"Infamous?" You turned to John with a questioning brow, now this was interesting.

"It's not-"

"I'm Joseph," the taller one extended his hand to shake, before motioning to the man beside him, "-and this is my husband, Elliot."

"Not that I need to tell you," you smiled towards John, "-but I'm Y/N. It's wonderful to meet you."

"Gosh," Joseph began with a teasing smile toward John, who seemed like a branch in the wind, "-I feel like I know you already. John here's told me so much-"

"Alright," John erupted, the tips of his ears burning bright red -avoiding his eyes to yours, "-that's enough."

You added with a smile, playful, "Dearest, I'm not so sure. I'm quite interested in-"

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the quirk on his lips, "Yeah, yeah. You've had your fun. Now dance with me."

"What?"

"You promised me a dance, silly," he reiterated, pulling you away from the two to a space with less people -the music soft and echoing across the space, "-don't you remember?"

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the pull, "I certainly did not."

"Okay, well, then..." he paused, thinking and still holding your hand between the two of you -loosely, "-I'm asking you now. Will you dance with me?"

You stared at him, his face dancing in the lighting of the space and that strand of his hair falling in front of his eyes like it always did -god, you'd gotten used to him. There was an urge to brush it away, to hold his face -his precious, precious face.

Instead, you squeezed his hand, "Of course."

He smiled, and pulled you to the floor -eyes intent and focused, the music was slow, melodic. You assumed it was requested, based on the nature of the tones, didn't feel quite party to you.

"John," you confessed, "-I really don't know how to dance to this."

He laughed to himself, before gently guiding you the rest of the way to floor, "Don't worry, follow my lead."

John moved your hand to his shoulder, placed his hand on your back, and intertwined your free hands together without a second thought. It felt personal, really to be a breath away from him -for his hands to holding you close. Not in a hug, where you couldn't see his eyes.

But now you could.

"See, watch," he hummed, moving to step in a square -you knew this part, "-you're a natural!"

"You're just saying that," you echoed with a smile, unused to the flattery so close. So tantalizingly close that you could feel the breath of it on your lips. This had never happened.

"Y/N," he spoke, hushed, just for you to hear, "-did you ever think... you could... we could, really-"

"Yes?" you asked, eyes caught in his as you desperately tried to not step on his toes.

"Well, if you-" he began, before frowning, "-if you wanted we could maybe-"

A scream interrupted his sentence, loud and brash, and something within you snapped. You tried to get eyes on the obstruction, but the crowds running just dragged your eyes elsewhere. '... you'll know.'

"We know he's here," a voice slithered, yes slithered, through the crowd -the tone, unnatural, "-give him to us. NOW."

"When the time comes, you'll know."

Your eyes darted to John's who were frantically looking to you, almost checking you over, "John, we have to go."

He seemed speechless, "O-Okay."

You'd kept the watch on you, you could hardly leave it out of your sight -so the cold tingle against your side was quite comforting now. The clothes you were wearing didn't have much pocket space, but it had... something, after all.

Where to, you stared out at the intricate hallways, where to?

"WHERE IS HE?!"

There was a door down the way, space looked small, but it would have to work. You didn't have many options.

Pulling him into the space (a janitor's closet by the looks of it), you shut the door behind you two -making sure it wasn't an automatic lock. The darkness was all encompassing before you found the switch as you brushed your fingers along the wall.

"When you said out, I assumed you meant, well-" he spoke, tone shaky and it was moments like this where the difference was stark, "-out."

"John," you spoke, directly looking into his eyes, "-do you trust me?"

"What, yes-" he sputtered out, eyes lost and it would've been cute had you not been in the situation you were.

"Good," you spoke, before sticking your hand into his coat's pocket -the side he never used, and fished out what you were looking for. The sleek metal in your hand was unusual sure, but not... unwelcome, really.

John stared at it, eyes wide and breaths hollowing, "What... is that? I've never even seen that before! Was that in there the whole-"

"John, this is hard to explain," you exhaled, digging into your own pocket to pull out the watch -it was warm in your hands, "-but you are not John Smith."

"What?!"

"This," you pulled his hand over the watch in yours, you could almost feel it react, "-is you."

"Y/N," he echoed, "-I think you hit your head. You're acting-"

"Crazy," you finished, "-I know."

You could almost see the spandrels of gold connecting with his fingertips, twisting through the air to meet his skin. They were small though, delicate, easily cleared if he wanted them to be.

"Your name is the Doctor, you are an alien-"

"An alien?!"

"-the last one of your kind, Timelord," you continued, gently turning the watch to be in his hand, "-and the world needs you."

"This is-" he began, backing away -trying to push the watch back into your hands, "-ridiculous. My name is John Smith, I'm a librarian at Dexington Primary School. I have been for a year-"

"John-" you began -desperate.

"I got my degree, I met you on campus-" his tone was still fond somehow, "-you spilled your coffee on me, and wanted me to apologize-"

"John-" you interrupted, you couldn't hear this. Not now. Not when you were about to lose him.

"And I should've been mad. I should've been, but your smile was brilliant and I couldn't even think straight-"

"John, please." You echoed, tone gentle, soft.

"I thought you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen," he looked up at you, eyes red and watery, "...How can that not be real?"

"Oh John," you hummed, tears of your own gathering -your hand coming to rest on his cheek, idly tracing the skin there, "-my darling John. It was."

John leaned into your palm, tears floating down his cheeks, and you wiped them away.

"This," you whispered, a bit breathless from the tears of your own and pointed between the two of you, "-was real. I know that."

"Then, why-" he began, eyes fluttering all over your face.

"You're-" you sighed, shakily and hesitant to let him go, "-you're not you, John. Not really."

"I want to be-" he started, reflecting his hand on your face -wiping at your tears, "-I just want to be your John. Why can't I?"

"Because you're the Doctor," you hummed, your heart breaking in your chest, "-and I can't take that away from the world."

He seemed to understand then, looking down at the watch with purpose -trying to see it for it was, you thought. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were heavy with a feeling you'd seen before in them, in the Doctor's eyes.

"I..." he whispered, looking back up into your eyes, "-I love you. Truly, I- I do. You have to know that, before I... Before I go."

"My John," you were crying now, the twist in your chest strong - an ache, a yearning, "-I love you too."

Without a second thought, you pushed forward, placing your other hand on his face -connecting your lips to his. You could be selfish twice, you decided, as you held his precious, precious face between your fingers.

It was bittersweet, the salt of your tears soiling your lips, but you really honestly couldn't change a thing. You wouldn't.

It was an ending you wouldn't forget.

With a breath, you pulled apart but let your fingers stay for a moment -eyes dancing around his face, to remember this. To remember John.

Because this... wasn't the Doctor, no matter how hard you wished it to be. It would be gone so very soon.

"You were lovely," you hummed, brushing his hair back and letting your fingers linger on his skin, "-I'll miss you."

With that, you stepped back.

"I'll miss you too."

He stared at you, green eyes so open, so vulnerable, he was hesitant -toying around with the watch in his fingers. You exhaled, shakily, and nodded.

John smiled, a brief one that you tried to commit to your brain, so fond... so loving. He didn't need to say anything else, so he flicked open the watch, and golden light burst into the room. It was so bright, you had to hide your eyes in the crook of your arm -the warmth biting up against your skin. It felt like a harsher version of the sun, searing across your skin, but it wasn't necessarily hurting.

And then, it stopped.

You looked up from behind your arm, and-

"Bloody hell," he spoke, gruff to himself, as he seemed to try to get something out of his ear, "-that was a rough one."

The joy you felt in your heart was immeasurable, but you still felt quite... broken open, splayed out like a puddle on the floor, and he was not.

He wiped at his eyes, noticing the tears -most likely, "What was I even-"

His eyes caught onto you, the eyes that you had missed -the extra heaviness, the extra wonder, and the infinite knowledge in that brain of his.

He lit up into a smile so bright that warmed you, "Y/N! Thank the stars, you look terrific."

The Doctor leaned forward, brushing a hand through your hair -it was longer now, "How long has it been?"

You paused, "About a year."

"Oh," he hummed, eyes everywhere but your face -thoughts quick and unraveling, "-that was a bit of miscalculation on my part... My bad. I didn’t think-"

His eyes finally landed on you, and he faltered. Moving quickly toward you, his hands unwittingly went to your face, wiping at the tears that had fled there. Your face was no doubt a wreck, sniffling nose and eyes scrubbed red.

"Have you been-" the Doctor paused, speaking softer, "Have you been crying?"

"I..." you began, but couldn't finish it.

"I was crying, too," he continued, "-well, not me but... me. What, so we were crying together that's-"

He fell silent, looking at you again -almost analyzing. There was a gleam, a shine of understanding, and you knew.

"You loved him," he concluded. The silence echoing loud after the words, bouncing around your head like a pinball machine, "-didn't you?"

You couldn't do this now, you really couldn't do this now, "Doctor, now is not the time."

Before he could say another word, you dug the screwdriver out of your pocket -it was shoved there when you... it didn't matter. Not now.

He narrowed his eyes at you, saying something you recognized to be 'we'll talk later', before accepting the tool with a grin, "Right then, duty calls, doesn't it?"

"As always," you quipped. He rewarded you with a grin that send your stomach into knots, one you'd missed so dearly.

The aliens who had come to him were fairly easy to handle, they were a bit too overconfident in their planning. The Doctor had simply slipped right in, and they hadn't been prepared for it. Hardly worth a year.

They underestimated him, you could tell. He was pouting about it. Had been for the last 10 minutes.

"What, they really thought I would fall for that?" He muttered to himself, as you both roamed the area -checking up on the masses, keeping an eye out for any injury that needed to be urgently dealt with.

And then you saw them, the men: Joseph and Elliot. They sat huddled together, comforting each other with what looked like some other teachers -their eyes widened in relief at the sight of the two of you, you assumed.

"Y/N, John!" Joseph exclaimed, the pull of his eyebrows lessening, "Thank god, you two are alright, are you hurt anywhere?"

He briefly scanned the two of you, seeming to come up with nothing, "-good."

"Joseph, right?" The Doctor asked, you knew he retained partial memories, so it made sense, "-Is everyone okay over here?"

"Yeah," Joseph answered, eyes flickering down the line, "-George sprained an ankle, but that seems to be the worst thing so far."

He was confused, you could tell by this new dynamic and the shift in... John. Your weren't sure how to even start in an explanation though, and the Doctor didn't seem too worried so you just waved it off.

"You're..." Elliot began, observing, "... different, John. You sure you okay?"

The Doctor chuckled, "I'm quite alright, never been better really. I'm just... not quite John."

"If I hadn't seen snake people about 10 minutes ago," Joseph responded, "-I'd say that's weird... but now? Do you just... You're not John?"

"No, well yes," the Doctor scrambled, "-John is like a piece of me. Just a part of my whole self, really. I... felt all the things John felt, saw what he saw. It just wasn't fully me."

They nodded, and he took it as means to continue.

"The rest of me was locked away, kind of," he spoke, face trying to track what he'd say, "-does that make sense?"

"The most I've heard today," Joseph quipped, "-which is not very much."

"Well," he grinned -wide and bright, the knowledge of worlds blooming behind his eyes, "-that's all I can ask, really."

"Are you two okay?" You asked, eyeing the two with a sensitive eye.

"Yes," they smiled at you, both of them had such kind eyes, "-we came up unscathed, luckily."

You sighed in relief, "Okay, good."

"Right then," he hummed, eyeing you with an eye you found familiar, questioning concern, "-off we pop, keep in touch, will you?"

"Don't you know it... uh-"

"The Doctor," you clarified, "-world-saving alien."

"Doctor, okay," he laughed -despite looking quite in shock, it was almost just adding to the pile rather than well... being a new type of weird, "-try and stay safe, will you? I may not... know you, but I know John. I rather cared for that bloke."

"We will," you answered, your smile a little bittersweet -you couldn't think about it too much now. Later.

The plan originally had been to go to the Tardis, but this outfit had been one of your best -you wouldn't let it be lost deep in the hallways. You'd already lost at least 3 hoodies in there -limited edition ones, too. And the Doctor was like a lost puppy, so he'd be sure to follow behind.

John had been the same in that sense, showing you things, gravitating towards the same room, and practically pouting for entertainment when you sat still for too long.

The trip up the stairwell was unusually silent, you'd felt odd in the presence of the Doctor and well... silence. It felt like he was always talking, and if by some chance he wasn't, he was everywhere. Big motions filling up a space, he'd almost always have a spotlight shining on him -attention on him anywhere he went.

It was the curse of the companion to fall in love with the wonder, one you knew well.

But this part of the Doctor was rarely there, this part was the kind where he'd stay silent for days -thinking about something in particular. An anniversary of an event, he wouldn't say what; the only way you could tell was he wouldn't be jumping to go elsewhere. He'd stay right there.

You felt that same part here, following you to the apartment that you... that you used to share. Kind of. You weren't quite sure where his memories were, what he remembered about the year (or even the past few hours for that matter).

The door swung open, and the silence only intensified. Large and unmoveable, you were sure how to even approach it. Or if he even wanted you too.

"It's... blurry," he spoke, dusting his fingers along a snowglobe (one of his, technically) -you held back the twinge in your heart. John was everywhere in here.

"What is?" You questioned, absentmindedly playing the ends of one of the coats that hung there -it wasn't yours, but you thought you might keep it.

"The line between me and him," he answered, eyes scattering to different things littering across the space.

Looking at it, it looked very domestic.

The pairs of shoes by the door, the mugs paired by the stove -ready for tea, the pair of pillows decorating the couch -you'd both chosen one. It felt so... stuck together, you could barely breathe.

"There's things I know I..."

"Doctor," you shook your head, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat -you were grieving... over someone right in front of you, "-you don't have to do this..."

He pursed his lips at you, furrowing his brow, "Do what?"

"This," you motioned to him, holding the snowglobe -close to his chest, "-I know John isn't you. You don't have to... I know."

"Y/N," he began, now placing the trinket back on the shelf, "-what are you talking about?"

"Doctor, it's embarrassing enough as it is."

"What is-" He questioned, roaming closer, "Y/N, you're making no sense."

"Stop," you rolled your eyes, walking further into the room, and of course he only followed you. What were you going to do with all this?

"Look at me," he held your biceps, guiding your eyes to his, "-does it look like I'm lying to you?"

You squinted at his, trying to closely analyze his face -you knew it, his tells, his existence was painted in the skull of your brain. Both Timelord and human now, you supposed.

"No," you decided -still not quite over the lump of emotion in your throat, would you ever be?

"Right then," he cleared his throat awkwardly and let go of your arms, "-good."

This was something starkly different, the Doctor fluttering away from affection so easily -stepping out of the space and not being aware anymore. John... He felt like he was looking at you, always looking at you. Maybe because he had nothing else to look at, but you liked to think it was because he wanted to. You hoped he did.

"Stop-" the Doctor interjected, the silence of the room breaking like glass -harsh and loud, "Stop thinking so loud."

You rolled your eyes, not wishing to deal with this side of him now -not when you felt like you were digging a grave for someone standing right in front of you. It was odd, the twisted feeling of watching what you knew to be the Doctor around the room. (The only real difference being the godforsaken bowtie. He'd stolen it at the party, the janitor -an older man with a kind smile, had easily given it away.)

He belonged here, you knew that. Hell, even before the last year, the Doctor would pop in for visits -movie nights, just to try something human he'd heard about, or his impatience on waiting for you. He had a spot then, sat on one of your wider windowsills -staring down at the streets below, or the lit up city, you weren't sure. The man just couldn't sit in a regular chair.

John hadn't done that. Sure, he'd made himself cozy in every space possible that he could, including the kitchen cabinets once (hell of a day), but never... never the windowsill. He hadn't wondered about what was outside, his whole world was right...

"Here," you hummed to yourself, tracing the tips of books on the shelves.

You saw that now, John had no need for adventure, no spark to see something new. He'd been content. Happy with just you.

The Doctor couldn't be like that, you knew that. He never could.

You weren't sure you'd ask him to.

"I wish I could," the Doctor spoke, a chuckle lost in the whisper of his words.

"What?"

He seemed to pause, thinking about his next words -the Doctor thinking never really meant anything good. But, you still found you waited.

"Your John," he finished, "-I wish I could be him."

You froze in your place, your breath hitching in your lungs -so, he had remembered, "We really don't have to-"

He seemed to continue, as if your words hadn't even been spoke, "You have to understand, Y/N, John is a part of me. Sure, without the extra bits, but still me. Me in my most basic form, human."

You didn't know what to say.

"Well," the Doctor corrected, "-human...ish. Not really an exact science, just kind of takes the regeneration energy and-"

"Doctor," you exhaled, tired, "-what is this all about?"

"You don't," he began, face furrowed into one of curious concern, "-You don't know?"

"Know what?"

He seemed to falter to a pause, like he was planning his next move. Or thinking of his next words again. You wondered what he had to be so careful about -you misinterpreting?

In a blink, he was in front of you -digging around through his pocket before he found what he was looking for -the watch, "Did I ever tell you how this works? The Chameleon Arch?"

"You mean the watch?" you questioned.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he started, fingers mindlessly tracing the Gallifreyan on the front, "-the technical part of it is called a Chameleon Arch, Gallifreyan tech. Original duty is to change an individual's species. Technically, it changes your biology -a very painful process, really, I'd know."

"Right," you flinched, remembering the brief moment he'd experienced it before, "-I... remember."

He frowned at you, seeming to not remember that you had seen that, "It's connected to the Tardis, gives me the backstory, but... it's never been an exact science."

You paused, looking at the Doctor with eyes of curiousity -he seemed to have a point to this ramble. He never had a point to his rambles.

"It takes bits and pieces from me," he hummed, demostrating with the air in front of his hands, "-the person it creates isn't entirely from the Tardis, not really."

"What do you mean?"

"Like a motivation," he hummed, debating on whether or not finish it -eyes looking your direction but not at you, "-or a hobby, or a..."

The Doctor froze in his place, eyes focused on his hands in front of him -slowly, his eyes rose up to meet yours, "A... feeling."

You were confused for a moment, watching him. He'd frozen in place, yet his eyes stayed trained on yours. You couldn't quite grasp it, what he was trying to convey to you. Until...

Until you truly looked at him.

There was something erry about him, something on his face that felt off, but at the same time, ever so natural. So right, yet so wrong.

And then it hit you, there it was. The suspicious, fond gaze.

"Doctor," you spoke, disbelieving.

"Y/N, you have to know," he continued, despite your plea, "-you really truly have to-"

"Doctor, please," you hadn't wanted to go through this again -the hope of loving the Doctor could only hurt you, "-you aren't thinking straight. Th-That's John, not you-"

He was confused, twisting memories together, you couldn't... you couldn't chance it.

"Y/N," he was getting closer to you now, voice steady and distinct, "-it started with me."

You froze in place, blinking as if he'd vanish right in front of your eyes. It was almost like a hallucination for a second, because he (the Doctor, not John) could not mean what you thought he meant.

"It took the bit of me that was..." he corrected, watching you as if you could break with slightest of touches, "-is in love with you."

"You do?" you began, sputtering -you weren't sure what to say, "...N-Not John?"

"Well, technically both," he grinned and you felt your stomach twist into a pretzel. God, what were you going to do with him?

"Oh, shut it," you huffed out.

You could definitely be selfish a third time afterall.

In a blink, you pulled his face towards yours -the steps towards him quick and brash but the way you touched his face was different. Gentle, you trailed your finger along his cheekbone for a second.

Your breath mixed with his, he was just looking at you. Like there was nothing else to look at.

Like he was... happy with just you.

God had he been hiding that look the whole time? -peeking over books as you read them, staring at you as you walked around the Tardis fitting in just like a missing puzzle piece.

"It was all me," he whispered, distracted, sure, but still answering you. Stupid Timelord telepathy and stupid handsome aliens.

And maybe you were a little stupid too, but he didn't need the ego boost, truly.

"Hey-" he pouted out, and the jut of his lip almost made your heart flatline -sure you were almost there but you hadn't worked up to it yet.

The Doctor paused, noticing your stiffening in place, the way your eyes darted to his mouth for a second -a split second, and he grinned.

And for a second you thought he might pull back, and make up some excuse, but instead, his hand came up to the side of your face. Surprisingly smooth fingertips detailing the dips and pulls of your face, you could barely breathe at the closeness.

"Wonderful," he spoke, so quiet you could barely hear him -made you wonder if was even for you to hear. Or if it was just... for him, "-You're wonderful."

"Doctor," you almost cried, the movement so soft, so careful. Like he never wanted to forget the face. You held his face close, a breath away from you and this burst of fondness flooding your chest you just couldn't even describe really.

So, you held his face, trailing your fingers along his jaw -showing it the only truest way you knew how, "My Doctor, my darling Doctor."

And you kissed him.

[discokicks]

BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.

word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)

chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)

author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.

While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.

She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.

“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.

You blink at her. “Hi.”

She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”

Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.

Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”

The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”

Well, okay. “Then why—”

Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”

You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.

“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”

“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”

As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.

Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”

Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”

“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”

“Mastered it?”

You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”

Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”

“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.

And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.

You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”

“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”

She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.

“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”

You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”

You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”

Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”

A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.

Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”

That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.

(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)

A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”

Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.

An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.

Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.

“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”

“But?” Rebecca questions.

The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”

It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”

Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”

You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”

Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.

“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.

When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.

But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.

“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”

You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”

“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”

It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”

The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.

You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.

She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.

You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.

“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”

This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”

The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”

A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”

Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”

“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”

The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.

So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”

There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.

“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”

Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.

“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”

Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”

Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”

The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”

“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.

“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”

“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”

“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”

“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”

“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”

The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.

Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”

“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”

“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”

Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.

But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.

Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.

Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.

Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.

“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”

Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”

But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.

“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”

All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”

Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”

Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.

(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)

He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”

That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”

That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.

Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.

Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.

So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.

“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”

Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”

Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”

He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”

“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”

Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.

“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”

(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)

Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”

His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”

Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”

“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”

And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.

This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.

And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.

With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.

And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”

Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”

As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.

Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”

Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.

However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”

“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”

You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”

Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”

You push harder on the door.

Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”

While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…

The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”

It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.

“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.

Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.

The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.

He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.

(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)

The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.

However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.

Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.

So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.

Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”

Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”

Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”

When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.

A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”

You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”

“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”

You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”

“And how long did you coach?”

He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”

That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”

Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”

“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”

Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”

“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”

As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.

So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.

Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”

The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.

A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”

“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.

You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.

But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.

(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)

You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”

Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.

“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”

This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.

“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”

Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”

You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.

However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.

That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”

For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.

He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."

You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.

But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.

“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”

Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”

You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”

His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.

“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”

He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.

You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”

If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”

Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.

That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”

Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.

“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”

The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.

You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.

But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.

And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.

You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.

You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”

Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”

“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”

Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.

You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”

That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.

Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”

Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”

He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.

This fucking week, man.

You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.

You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.

You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.

You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.

[xanadontit]

Oh dear god and all the angels.

As previously mentioned, I work for a small business (as in 5 people plus Insane Owner - and I guess her husband too? including her son and daughter-in-law who is married to her other son) owned by someone best described as Miranda Priestly meets Lucille Bluth meets 3 personality disorders in a trench coat. She's finished renovations on her Newport Beach beach house (not to be confused with her Newport Beach family residence) and would like to have a company retreat and host us at the beach. Fine. I kinda wanna see this joint even though the idea of being held captive there makes me twitch.

The issue is scheduling since she wants us there Thursday-Saturday. We all have lives outside of work and weekends are precious. She's arguing with me about people leaving Friday night ("it will conflict with dinner") and telling me to tell them they must stay through Saturday morning.

And. Um. WHAT?

Lady, we can have a big team dinner on Thursday. Also have fun telling people they can't leave lol.

Anyway, there's been lots of back-and-forth and I won't bore you with the details but it's a true case study in "you cannot reason with the unreasonable." And my patience for that shit is paper thin, my friends.

One of my coworkers said working for her for years prepared her for parenting toddlers and lol I believe it.

[moondal514]

I loved reading your twins fics! Do you have any Aaron fic recs? Andrew ones welcome too but Ive seen more of them so Aaron is who I’m really looking for hahaha

Do I have Aaron fic recs??? BOY do I have Aaron fic recs:

blood everywhere by timeloops/ @billdenbrough

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I’m going to throw this at you,” Aaron threatens, brandishing his textbook at Neil and his offending fingers.

Neil just scoffs. “I’m faster than you,” he says dismissively.

It’s funny, the things that can spark a memory. Neil says I’m faster than you, and it’s true, except for the time it isn’t. Neil says I’m faster than you, and Aaron is leaping forward, swinging. Blood everywhere.

-

There is no risk-free way to crash a car, and other things Aaron Minyard knows.

—it's a casual saturday afternoon, neil has a hypothesis, and the monsters have a bet to settle / aaron, on trauma, mirrors and memories

I’ve called this fic before a bunch of character and relationship analyses stacked in a trench-coat disguised as a fic, but this fic truly is some of the most insightful Aaron character analysis I’ve ever read and it was a major influence on my own Aaron fic

Dialing Numbers Till I Get It Wrong by sambutwithbooks

Aaron knows in his bones that Neil wouldn't have his number in any other circumstance. Their current forms of communication involve pointed silence, cursing, and exy terminology only- if they ever willingly started up a textual conversation the world might literally fold in on itself.

This is why, when his phone buzzes with a text from Neil on Thursday afternoon, Aaron's first response is annoyance at Neil for breaking the status quo. They’ve got a vibe going and this is harshing it, thanks.

--------

Aaron gets a confusing text from Neil one afternoon and proceeds to have a crisis about it.

This is one of the funniest fics I’ve read in the fandom and it’s a great look at Aaron and Neil’s relationship

in my life i have seen people walk into the sea, just to find memories plagued by constant misery by errantgods

Aaron hates this; he’s supposed to be the one with the shitty fucking coping mechanisms. This particular shortcoming isn’t supposed to be another thing that points towards the constant neon sign "Twins" between them.

It’s almost a miracle that they met at all. There are a million scenarios where Andrew and Aaron didn’t make it even this far. And the idea that Andrew maybe doesn’t, even in some small way, want to be alive, is almost too much.

One of my favorite versions of a post-canon twinyard reconciliation I’ve read in the fandom

eight seconds left in overtime by ilgaksu/ @ilgaksu

Katelyn tells him that her friends bet her a six-pack that she wouldn't talk to him. She’s there in her cheerleader skirt and he says, “Well, now you have.”

He tells himself he doesn’t notice how the skirt cuts across her thighs. The feeling in his chest, he tells himself, is not disappointment

“Yeah,” she says, and bites her lip.

The fic that turned me into an Aaron Minyard fan

It’s in the Jeans by Paradoxolotl/ @paradoxolotl

As a man of science, Aaron knows exactly how to solve his current problem. Crisis. Ground shaking, sky shattering, panic inducing crisis.

But it’s fine, he’s fine, everything is fine.

He just needs Neil to kiss him. For science.

Another one of the funniest fics I’ve read in the fandom

genesis' wane by kairospy/ @kairospy

“Why were you in the car with mom, Andrew?”

“You know why,” he answered. But that was simply not good enough.

:*:*:

Or, the twinyards’ backstory and most pivotal moments of their relationship but using fancy words

This fic is like the twinyard Bible to me; I can’t emphasize enough what an impact and influence it has had over how I interpret Aaron and Andrew’s pre-canon relationship

-

I hope you enjoy these fics! And thank you for the compliment to my own twinyard fics <3

[thebirdarts]

Wip Thursday!

Hopefully by the end of this i will have ~18 year old Celia drawn in her trench coat, but for now she makes a very fun dress up doll! a casual home outfit and her cosplaying as her largest hair inspo, Juri [Though Celia can brag that her long term lesbian pining worked out a lot better]

Edit: forgot to mention but this is my Celia/Muro redesign! More drawings of it to be posted soon, but I'm leaning into her being Egyptian & so have finally nailed down her features and changed her skintone! It's a bit weird to change things like that almost a year after the charecter was created but it's my oc I do what I want<333 I'm really happy so far, it's so good to draw him matching how he looks in my head

[getitfrenchship]

Meet the Currently Unnamed S/I for P 3

eh fuck it might as well make it a post since he’s on my mind now. Right now my idea of a name is Malcolm but eh.

Self insert or OC? OC but he gives me incredible gender envy

Appearance:

With credit to this Picrew

My idea is that he wears a long trench coat but business casual for a shirt and pant combo, but the tie does work wonders. (Maybe in the winter he wears a black and white striped scarf instead?) Maybe combat boots if I really wanna go the fashion disaster uncle route. For his hair, I wanted to show long and messy with some of it in a ponytail.

Basic Info:

Birthday: October 29th

Likes: rainy days that aren’t too windy or thunderstorm-y, mystery novels, paintings via art history

Dislikes: putting in unnecessary effort

Arcana: Hermit (alternative for Maya)

Pers onas: First summoned is either Hades or Charon. If I pick Hades, I feel his skills would be too similar to Kor//omaru’s. Charon would be neat for dark and ice magic (to represent water). Ultimate is Odysseys. There I could see an inverse where he becomes a light or wind user.

Character relationship dynamics:

Potential romantic: Theodore

Protector of: S E E S

Reluctant mentor up to a certain point: Ikut//suki

Background, Personality & Relevance in Story That Aren’t Necessarily Changes in the Narrative but Y’Know:

Background: He’s a French novelist that first traveled to Japan 10 years prior to the story & was an unknowing witness to Death’s escape/birth of the Dark Hour. He returns to Japan since he remembered enjoying a trip there before and thought he could clear his mind from current events in his life.

Personality: Before the story, some say he’s cool and standoff-ish. It’s only through his Social Link that you find out he’s more standoff-ish than usual. Not in an annoyed way, but in a clearly depressed way. Y’see, his mother that he had an estranged relationship passed away and he has no idea if he should grieve or be relieved she’s gone. His childhood was good until his family went into debt, and his mother became distant as a result. Out of that, he’s got a very dry sense of humor that makes him surprisingly hilarious. Fortunately he’s learned not to make depressing jokes, but they sometimes slip by

Relevance in Story That Aren’t Necessarily Changes in the Narrative but Y’Know: In the Internet cafe where you can buy Internet tips, you can also run into him and start the Hermit SL there. Think he’s free Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays in the evenings. During outings with Theo, he can actually see the other and become amused by the naivety Theo has.

And story spoilers time!

He’s also a reluctant second in command for Ikut//suki prior to the plot twist reveal due to his potential & age. The school hires him as a janitor to keep an eye on S E E S at first, but I think he’d make it up to school staff/TA (despite being 32…). After Ikut//suki’s betrayal, he steps up to be the S E E S dorm counselor. I think he starts to get out of his depressive state after Shin//ji’s death because of the anger he felt in having a child die under his watch. But his Ultimate awakening is stepping up after Ikut//suki’s betrayal.

He also helps publish the Pink Alligator since he wanted to help a fellow author :,)

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-10-28

Back in the saddle

Listening: Went to a show at DNA Lounge, the nightclub run by James Zawinski of Netscape and Firefox and Xscreensaver fame. Small show, thursday night deal, but pretty good. Main event was I Speak Machine.

Good show! Lots of screechy unnerving sounds, and a really well choreographed stage performance that pairs with replays of the music videos very precisely that was impressive to watch.

Reading: About halfway through The city and the city which is extremely funny in a very dark way. What do you do about border control when two cities exist in the same space, do you simply give up and allow people to mix freely? No, that's insane, you enforce rigid customs and laws to prevent the mixing of two spatially colocated populations from different countries. Duh. I should read more Mieville.

Watching: Watched Solo: A Star Wars Story on the plane mostly to pad out the front half of a flight until my scheduled sleep time. It's not a good movie! Every other line feels like a pick-up mandated by an anxious marketing team who were worried someone might not understand what's going on. Near constantly explaining the blatantly obvious.

Look. Okay. Han Solo can be an interesting guy. He is a scoundrel with a heart of gold which is a great archetype to play. They decide to play this bizarrely.

I cut the weird style some slack. Much like Rogue One, they were trying to see what happens if you make a movie that isn't a samurai movie in the Star Wars universe, in this case this is a sort of war refugee/insurgency/espionage deal. I think that's interesting. The imperial trench warfare raises patently unanswerable questions about the state of the imperial military. Making Han an ex-Imperial soldier could be more interesting if they played into it at all but they don't. Which is stupid. They have Qi'ra taking up with Crimson Dawn which is a great parallel! It writes itself!

In a great example of not trusting the audience the final-ish scene features Qi'ra talking to Darth Maul, the most recognizable motherfucker in the Star Wars Universe and they have him deploy his lightsaber for no fucking reason JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T GET IT IT'S DARTH MAUL YOU KNOW THE GUY FROM PHANTOM MENACE? WITH THE DUAL LIGHTSABER? IT'S THAT GUY. They should have saved some time by providing ushers in the theaters with physical copies of the script so that they could individually beat moviegoers over the head with them.

Playing: Gave my partner a brief tour of the games library while they were hanging out which ended in us playing Drink More Glurp together, which is a fantastic party game, gotta organize that with my friends sometime. If you haven't played Glurp, it's a QWOP-like party game where you play various chopped-and-screwed sports events as aliens with two huge arms and a freespinning body where each stick on a controller controls one arm. Watch this LRR stream to see it in action.

Making: Busy with some printing designs but they are not yet realized. Also I have other things to do including Diwali foods. Technically the timeline is really tight but no one else knows when Diwali is so I can do whatever I want.

Tools and Equipment: A coat with a lot of pockets plus a window seat on a plane means you can use the coat hook on the seat in front of you to stash a large number of readily accessible items in a convenient way without really inconveniencing anyone if you plan this out correctly.

[ay-chuu]

Boy's a Liar

Pairing: Skater boy!Jamil viper x Fem!Reader

A/N: Got the idea from @fukashiin thanks a lot, really liked your Jamil and a gift to @senpaiofotome my dear, love you <3 I probably have lots of grammar mistake, please remember that english is not my first language

Word count: 2.5k / Fluff + Kinda angst.

You were still nervously sewing a trench coat when the digital clock showed 03:47 AM. Normally, you'd never stay in the sewing workshop until that hour, but that night you really needed to get over your anger at life, so you got permission from the boss to sew something for the whole night. She was surprised, but she didn't refuse, she just gave the key and shrugged. While you continued to sew nervously, no ordinary events happened.

Until you got a needle stuck in your hand, swearing and sucking the blood from your finger, you didn't even realize that you were starting to cry. Your mood should have been too bad to handle any other small bad detail. You're not surprised. It's been a shitty week. You didn't even know where to start. You were late for school on Monday and got scolded by the professor. On Tuesday, you failed the test that you worked on for 3 solid mornings and nights. You sprained your right arm on Wednesday. You had a fight with Riddle because you forgot about the club activity on Thursday. And today, because of your dear siblings excellent troubles, you lost the chance to buy a computer that you have been waiting with the campaign for 3 weeks because your mother made it clear that you should stay in the school dormitory for the weekend. But the worst thing is that you got into a fight with Jamil, whom you've been seeing and in love with since the beginning of high school.

Oh… Jamil… He's the hardworking quiet boy who quietly comes to class with his skateboard and everyone admires. Even the people he hangs out with rarely show up, it wasn't your fault to not to get caught up in his mysterious aura. He used to cross his arms together and listen to the lesson with furrowed brows, and even where he sat, he looked like an art painting. Long bun hair, pale and attractive skin, gray and slanted eyes… it shouldn't be surprising that he was popular. But Jamil either wasn't aware of his popularity or didn't care at all, because he usually hung out on his own and walked through the aisles with stern looks. Jamil was also someone who touched and saw the soul of a person. You can say this with sincerity since the day you met him. Maybe that's why you fell in love with that idiot. In the first history lesson you attended together and since Crewel made you sit next to each other, you were overstretched because Jamil's facial features gave such cold expressions that even just someone sitting next to him involuntarily stretched.

But that's the trouble, appearances… they're just like the bitter peel of a fruit. It never introduces a its taste to person. If you can peel that peel, then you can only enjoy that beautiful taste in fruit.

Jamil was that strong taste, in fruit…

When you were doing group homework with your benchmate friend in history class, you noticed that his mood was extremely tense and terrible, you saw that his skateboard was broken. Just like that, you said a help sentence between words while investigating the work.

“In the back streets there is a 2nd hand shop selling skateboards, roller skates and bicycles. I can show you where it is if you want.” You said that by surprising Jamil. When he looked up and looked at you with confused eyes, you shook your hands with a little tension and whispered the sentence “never mind. anyway…” and then continued doing the homework.

There was a very strange silence in between, and when you thought you had completely ruined your chances with the guy you liked, Jamil's conversation surprised you even more. “Actually, I would love to… I don't think I can afford a new skateboard.” He said, looking at you strangely, rubbing the back of his neck. You shook your head quickly while reciting a prayer to God to regulate your heartbeat. “Sure… whenever you're available.” said, trying to be calm. And then you swore that you had seen the most beautiful smile in the world.

You couldn't do anything but admire Jamil while his long hair was waving at the edge of his face and he was smiling while his slanted eyes were getting more slanted.

Ah.. the best bonds were always random but quick.

“Then how does it sound after school?”

“I didn't know you liked knitting.” Jamil said, looking at the knitting needles in your hand.

You were startled by his sudden voice. You couldn't tell if your heart was beating from nerves or excitement. Because with Jamil's voice, the peaceful atmosphere inside the library, your calm mood and your enjoyment of the quiet moment turned into stress and excitement very quickly. However, you calmed down when you realized the question Jamil was asking. He was right, you liked knitting. But maybe you didn't care so much anymore because being in the sewing workshop became a job for you.

“Oh… you're right, yes. Still, knitting feels like a routine now.” You said with a shrug. But Jamil seemed to be upset by what you said.

“That's bad.” He said, looking at you with eyes as if reflecting his disappointment. When he realized that you were staring him, you thought or imagined that you saw a slight sign of redness on your cheek.

“Well, I mean for you to make unhappy something you enjoy in life. This doesn't suit you.” while he speaks to you nervously. But when this sentence only made you more curious and excited, you couldn't stop the sentence coming out of your mouth.

“What do you mean, it doesn't suit you?” you said it quickly and in a voice that could not hide its excitement.

Until now, all you've been doing with Jamil has been working on lessons you don't understand and missing classes in the library or in a pergola in the garden. You were so sure that he saw you only as a working friend all this time that a comment on your character, a special comment that showed how aware he was of you, increased your accelerating heart as if it would come out of your chest now.

“You are… a passionate person. Even in the little work you do, you are someone who focuses a lot and does it with the peace of mind that comes from loving it… just like the other day you fed each of the stray cats equally and fairly. The essence of someone is hidden in their details. You were… a very concise person, and- anyway, it's not my place to make this comment after I really didn't spend time with you outside of class and didn't talk about the specifics about you… I'm sorry.”

And my god. You were really sure that your heart was separated from your soul that day and get put back. Even though you cursed from the bottom of your heart that Jamil's flushed face, furrowed eyebrows and beautiful stares had caught you off guard so much, you couldn't feel anything but a feeling that you couldn't make sense of with the name that the comment gave you.

"… We can spend time together whenever you want, you know.” You said in a low voice.

Jamil smiled brightly

“Are you free after this study session?”

You'd think the only weird feeling you couldn't name was anxiety mixed with fear. Because only that feeling would make your heart beat so strangely.

"You know, maybe I can teach you how to skateboard too," Jamil said as he ate the ice cream in his hand and looked at the rainy weather. Turning your head to him and raising one eyebrow, you replied sarcastically "In this weather? You seem to want my death…” “Well- I mean, logically, rainy weather is more slippery, you know.” "Yes, but I've never ridden a skateboard before, and if you don't know, this is a risk for me to hurt myself somewhere," you said, laughing calmly. But Jamil wasn't laughing at all. He didn't even realize that he had dropped his ice cream while taking one of your hands seriously in his both hands.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” He said with a calm tone of voice and a deep look that looked all the way into your eyes.

But it's a feeling in love that you can't name. Because you won't understand until you live it.

That day, on the 7th date of you two, you realized that you were in love with him. You knew that you had only known the person you were talking about for 3 months, but how right was it to postpone feeling love to a person who was serious enough to say such words to you in just 3 months?

You got angry. You're SO angry. You couldn't even make sense of why you were so angry. Maybe it's the indifferent attitude and rude answers of your first love, but haven't you already experienced this with people you love and trust before? Well, the peoples used to trust… Perhaps that was the reason. After all these months and dates, after dedicating your heart to Jamil, you didn't want your trust to be broken again. No matter how small the reason for the fight was, you didn't want someone to make you feel that disgusting feeling again.

“I don't understand, I've been meeting you for 6 months, and not once in all that time have you made a joint project decision without my permission. You know how bad I am about polynomials, Jamil! I can't understand why you chose this because this is what you're best at, you've never seemed like a selfish person.” You said, raising your voice slowly. You were just trying to figure out why he did it and all you got were side-eye stares and cold sentences. However, you got a different reaction this time because the selfish word should have made that jamil angry.

“Don't you dare call me selfish.” “Then instead of giving me evasive answers, explain to me how to describe this action you have made.” “You are the irresponsible one. You stayed up late for class that day, falling asleep.” “Because some of us were studying for literature tests instead of sleeping, Mr. very knowledgeable.” “Then it's none of my business that some of us are impassive and retarded in some matters.” jamil said, shouting.

Idiot? Is that… is that what he thought about you?

You wanted to be able to get back the thoughts you were just thinking. Because you'd rather have your trust broken right now. Yes, because the breaking of your heart was definitely thirty times worse than the breaking of trust. You felt your breathing slow down, your tears filling up. Was love such a disgusting feeling? Why was it so changeable? You didn't know, but you hated how you felt. Your sudden silence must have brought Jamil to himself because suddenly his eyes returned to normal and he realized what he was saying. Just when he was reaching forward and trying to hold your hand, you took your backpack and left the classroom.

When you left the door, you ran to the toilet, sat on the toilet seat and locked the door, started sobbing quietly. If love makes you feel so shitty in your bad moments, you didn't want to feel it.

When the memory of the fight came back to your mind, your tears accelerated and began to fall into the palm of your hand. It made you realize that you were crying more. Still, you felt relieved inside, because the only thing that could make it easier for so many things to overlap was crying. That's why you just cupped your face and sobbed and let all the emotions flow through you. After a while, when you felt the vibration in your bag, you reluctantly pulled your hand away from your face and reached for the bag.

*Jamil &lt;3, 3 missed decals*

While your hand was shaking, you blinked at the phone like an idiot. Nevertheless, you took a deep breath and continued knitting the coat, not breaking your pride and putting music in your ears. He didn't care. After making you feel perfect for months, you weren't going to give what you wanted by responding to a person that would break your heart with a racial sentence. You put the phone on silent mode and all you heard was music. However, it would be a lie to say that you could get Jamil out of your head “Thay boy's a liar.” You thought. This time the phone started to vibrate with the sounds of lots of messages. You nervously reached for the phone and tried to grasp what you were reading while opening the lock screen.

“I know you're awake.” " If you hadn't been awake by now, you would have woken up and picked up the phone without realizing who I was and started cursing when you heard my voice. " " Where are you?” "are you at home?” " Please answer, I want to talk.”

While you were trying not to break the phone, you unlocked it to answer. Where was he after that fight? Because you've never seen him? And now again, he is again pulling "no one who knows you better than me" ? Fuck you, Jamil. Fuck you.

“Leave me alone." You locked the phone again after typing, but after the vibration session that came back, you grabbed it with a grip while trying to not getting worse mood.

Jamil: If you meet me at the park and just give me half an hour, I'll do it. You: No. If you don't want me to block you, stop texting. Jamil: Then I will call Najma and tell her to disturb you. If you block her, I'll call that Kamil bastard. If you block him, someone else. I'm not giving up. You: Fuck you. Jamil: You are not in the dormitory, there is no light in your room. Stay in the studio, I'm coming.

And so about half an hour later you heard a hard knock on the studio door 3 times and you started yelling at Jamil while jumping out of fear and opening the door in anger.

“I'M ALREADY HERE, WHAT THE FUCK.” you shout while Jamil was embarrassed at the entrance of the door by awkwardly putting his hand on his neck. “Oh… sorry.” He said when he saw your angry exit for the first time. You noticed the skateboard and the IPOD next to him. He looked at you as he nervously put his hands in his pockets. "Well, this isn't the best place to talk-“ “Oh i think it is” You said with crossed arms. Jamil pulled his arm from his neck apart with a sigh and grabbed your hands, while you tried to pull his hand away but when he hugged you, you couldn't understand what he was doing and you exhaled in surprise. “Look, I know you're angry. You're so right, but at least let me explain honestly. Please…”

And you knew deep down that you couldn't say no to him when he was cursing at yourself. “Fuck love. Fuck that kind of feeling.” You clenched your jaw while you were thinking. He left you and put one hand in your hand while he took his skateboard with the other hand. While he slowly took your jacket and put it on you, he pulled you out of the studio. He was holding your hand, your heart accelerated so much that your face started to blush, and you quickly pulled your hand away from him and made the excuse that you should lock up the studio before the situation got worse. Jamil seemed disappointed. You didn't care. That bastard deserved that.

You were both quiet the whole walk. You were just looking at the road and not looking at Jamil. Jamil, on the other hand, was plugging in his iPod, changing the music every once in a while and looking at you sometimes. His hand touched yours again several times, but you thought he pulled it off assuming he was scared. Finally, when you came to the park, you just sat on the bench and again did not talk about anything between you.

It was Jamil who broke the silence. “Well, how's it going, then?” he said, trying to deconstruct the strange mood between you, but when he got “are you serious?” stare, he was tense on the spot. “Okay, you want to get straight to the point, I get it.” He said as he took a deep breath. And damn, he fell silent again later.

As the anger inside you grew, you noticed that you were cold. Just when you were getting up in anger and planning to come back, Jamil grabbed your face and made you lift your face and look into his eyes. “No matter what I say, no matter what excuses I offer, my behavior on that day was never acceptable. I'm so sorry… I was just… I was just having a shitty week and, and-“ Jamil swallowed. "And I was so nervous when the plans of what I was planning to do that day were disrupted, which, God, it seems so stupid when I think about what I'm going to do… I, I just want us to make up. Please. I am so sorry.” He spoke so fast that for a moment you tried to grasp what he was saying. But obviously Jamil misunderstood this, and when you saw that his hands were starting to shake in your hands, you couldn't help but pity him. Like that, you've just forgived him, you were in love with this stupid skateboarding idiot, and you couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to experience anything else shitty this week. You wanted to feel good things.

Quietly, you took his hands and took them to your lips and kissed them “Well. I forgive you. But… I need you to explain that day to me.” you said it quietly. Jamil looked into your eyes while shocked at the gesture you made. “Did you… did you cry?” he said in an anxious voice. He spoke quietly as you looked at him in shock, surprised at how he understood. “It's just... when you cry that your nose gets red and eye bags.”

For a moment you couldn't understand what he was saying, but then you giggled slowly and snorted. "You know a lot about me, Jamil…" you said, looking at your hands united in embarrassment. There was an awkward silence Decked out in between. Jamil was looking at you admiringly, while you were just looking at your hands with your head tilted down. Until Jamil pulled one of his hands away and put it under your chin.

“Yes, it is, but do you know why?” he said, looking into your eyes. You felt your heart beating in your chest. It was very difficult to breathe at that moment. You began to tremble too much to form a sentence, and you said a single word, trying not to shake your voice. “W-why?”

And from that moment on, you swore that time was slowing down. “Let me explain myself, what I planned to do that day was to confess to you, but all the photos on the broken skateboard that I was going to give you as a gift were thrown away with it, by stupid kalim bastard. thinking it was 'garbage.' " Jamil said sadly, "The tension of the week and the disruption of the plan have driven me crazy. I blamed my feelings for you on this issue because I would never let such stupid things be made to me, but god, it's so hard when I'm with you. That's why I took my anger out on you… But the only thing I wanted to do that day was not to take my anger out, but my love out of me. I'm so sorry, jamali…" Jamil said while stroking your jawline with his hands.. He slowly leaned forward and brought his mouth closer to your lips. “ But I can't keep it to myself any longer. I can never bear to be without you. Because I'm in love with you. A lot indeed.”

You didn't know why you were shocked when you just stared him and suddenly grabbed Jamil's face and gently pulled him to your own lips.

His lips gave you the taste of that beautiful peeled fruit. When you put your hand gently on his cheek and bowed your head, you swore that you had entered heaven. You slowly returned to the real world, hearing the feeling disappear and leaning his forehead against yours, sarcastically asking you questions.

“I take that as a yes?” "Idiot… I love you too. Now shut it and kiss me.” You said while chuckling. The short and sweet kisses continued until Jamil cut it and stood up while held out his hand.

“It's 5 AM and I want nothing more then to show universe that I have opened up to you while shout out my happiness. Come with me.” and after that, since you put one of his airpods in your ear, you don't even remember how the time passed, all you know is that the sunlight slowly hit your face at sunrise, Jamil was trying to teach you skateboarding, you were screaming slowly, and he was laughing. The music in your ear, the warming air, Jamil's face and the smell of pine trees. You swore that you would remember these things for the rest of your life.

At one point, while you were riding the skateboard and giggling, Jamil stopped you and made his face serious “Hey, you didn't tell me why you were crying. Who has upset you? Me?” he said anxiously. “I don't know, I've already forgotten. " you said, chuckling happily even tought you knew the answer. You just didn't want to ruin the moment since it was in the past. Jamil repeatedly asked you about the same question in a different ways, while you just kept trying to ride the skateboard and giggling. He realized that no matter what he said, he would not get an answer. So he just grabbed your face and gently touched with his lips to yours, maybe for 20st time he said sorry with body language and calmed you down.

Maybe you were right. Jamil, that boy was a liar. But he's a sweet liar who lies enough to make you feel that there's no other important being but you.

And love at its worst was a disgusting taste that made your mouth bleed with pain. And strangely, that beautiful smell and taste that could take away that taste with itself again...

whew dude..i hate dumblr

[lightyaoigami]

hello monica can i ask you to rank the top 10 clothing items you would provide to our special boy light yagami?

TEN yes absolutely let's do this.

an acquascutum trench coat in navy blue like this

jeans that a self-respecting adult man would wear. like something dark wash selvedge maybe. i don't know why his pants infuriate me so.

a nice pair of tennis shoes like the veja campo

or onitsuka tiger mexico 66

a bomber jacket like this one from vince (he kind of has this but i think he should have a nicer one)

a fisherman's sweater

a nice watch. people say that if you like watches and have disposable income you should just get a rolex because they hold their resale value and this is true, but i feel like he might want something a little more...delicate? like a panthere de cartier yeah yeah it's usually a ~women's~ watch gender is made up and i don't care

i don't know maybe this is canada au creeping into my bones but i think he should wear a nice flannel and i think black watch plaid would look nice on him

let me begin by saying that i actively detest thursday boot company. i think they sell shitty boots that will not last most people more than 12-18 months. light would 1000% get suckered into buying these from a tiktok ad.

a crisp off-white oxford shirt i know this is so boring but bear with me i think that people with golden skin look great in off-white and i think his should be in a thick fabric not necessarily a drapey silky fabric like i want it to look more masc than that i am truly not conveying what is in my mind's eye but like. ll bean, not jil sander. that means nothing to most people sjdfksdjfskks ok bye bye

bonus round: wrap around earmuffs

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