#I'm leaning towards “she liked to help”

[natalianovnas]

༄ `. 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇

or - '𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐮𝐩 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭' : 𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬.

comes straight from mmoc au so if you haven't read that one first, you should.

requests : had to mix up three requests together for this one (as insane as this sounds lol) you can find them here : req 1 - req 2 - req 3

warnings: reader being a tease, explicit song lyrics, smut to fluff, top!nat, beefy!nat, sub!reader.

words count : 2.6k

an : i have no knowledge over the games mentioned (as unfortunate as it sounds) so i might have aked for help from my sister || masterlist

It's some time around 5pm.

The kitchen smells like peanut butter and a hint of clean laundry.

Natasha’s wearing gray sweatpants low on her hips, a black tank top, and zero awareness of the chaos brewing behind her.

She’s humming softly, making herself a PB&J before heading out to the gym. Nothing fancy. Just something light to fuel her.

You, however, have a different kind of hunger.

Casually, you stroll into the kitchen like you’re not about to destroy the woman’s sanity, Billie Eilish’s “LUNCH” cued up on your phone as you walk in.

Nat barely glances at you as you lean against the counter next to her. She’s mid-sandwich, mid-bite.

Then, the lyrics actually reaches her ears—

🎶 I'll run a shower for you like you want

Clothes on the counter for you try 'em on

If I'm allowed I'll help you take 'em off 🎶

You're aware that she is watching you and that's al you wanted. However, your focus remains on the video you're recording, showing Natasha slightly and 'subtly' gesturing to her while pretending you don't notice her watching.

Natasha freezes.

One bite in. Mouth full. Chewing slowly like she’s buffering.

Her eyes slide toward you with that patented “Romanoff side-eye of judgment and barely concealed lust.”

“…The hell are those lyrics?” she murmurs.

She narrows her eyes. You smile wider and keep going.

🎶 I could eat that girl for lunch

Yeah, she dances on my tongue

Tastes like she might be the one 🎶

Natasha chokes, actually chokes. She coughs once, turns and grabs the edge of the counter.

“You want me to die or something?”

You’re biting back laughter. “Just feeding you the same energy you give me every time you come out the shower in a towel and pretend you’re not trying to kill me.”

She slowly sets the sandwich down.

“Alright, gremlin. You’ve got exactly ten seconds to run before I show you exactly what’s for lunch.”

“Oh? Is it me?”

She cracks her neck like it’s go-time.

You sprint down the hallway, laughing. “I regret nothing!”

“Too bad,” She calls out in an amused. “You will in ten minutes.”

The sound of your laughter trails down the hall as you run from her, Billie Eilish still echoing faintly from your phone.

Natasha stands there for a beat, amused and exasperated. She rolls her eyes, wipes her hands on a paper towel, and lets out a short laugh.

“Drama queen,” She mutters fondly under her breath, shaking her head.

She should go chase you or pin you to the bed or make you finish the song in a much less innocent setting but she’s got to hit the gym.

Discipline, Romanoff. Control.

She grabs her gym bag and slings it over her shoulder just as you peek your head around the corner.

“Wait. You’re actually going?” You ask, surprised.

Nat smirks. “That a problem?”

You shrug. “Just rare. You usually work out at home and pretend it counts.”

“That’s because it does count,” She says, stepping into her sneakers.

You hesitate, then beam. “Can I come ?”

Natasha pauses. Looks over her shoulder.

“You want to go to the gym?” she asks, genuinely surprised.

You shrug, stepping into the kitchen in a loose tee and shorts again. “Maybe I wanna see you all sweaty and jacked. Motivation.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, amused. “You’re not going to distract me?”

You grin. “No promises.”

.    .    .  

Around forty minutes later, you both walk into the gym.

You’re in a cute lil gym fit— tight biker shorts, low-cut sports bra, hair in a high pony. You look like sin and you know it.

Natasha, meanwhile, is doing reps with a resistance band while trying to focus. Truly. But then you walk past the mirror for the third time, swaying just a bit more than necessary.

“Can’t help it if I’m naturally bouncy,” You whisper innocently as you pass her again.

She glares—whipped and mad about it.

You start doing slow squats directly across from her. Like, directly.

Your back arched. Your form perfect. That smug little smile on your lips.

She drops the band and walks over, towel around her neck. “How’s it going?”

You shrug casually. “Pretty good. Got my form right. You keep watching me or something?”

She raises a brow. “I should be watching my form. But you’re not really making that easy.”

You smirk and pat her chest, trailing your hand just slightly longer than needed.

“Maybe I should be your trainer. Keep you focused.”

She leans in. “You keep touching me like that, and I’m gonna start lifting you instead.”

You blink. “Promise?”

She laughs. Loud and warm and fond.

“Trouble,” she mutters, walking away—but not before giving your ass a swat as she passes. “Wrap it up. We’re doing core next. And no more slow-motion squats, you menace.”

“You love it here.”

“I love you. Working out next to you is just a sexy bonus.”

“You're doing this on purpose,” She mutters.

“What? I’m just trying to be fit like you,” You say sweetly, adjusting your waistband in a way that should be illegal.

“Mm. Fit for hell,” Natasha grumbles, running a hand down her face.

You grab a yoga mat and drop to your hands and knees to start stretching, rocking your hips—fully knowing she’s watching.

“Jesus,” She mumbles under her breath. “Alright.”

You look back innocently. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah,” she says, walking over. “I’m not working out another second until I get this out of my system.”

She grabs your waist and pulls you upright, making you squeak with laughter. “Nat—”

“You wanted my attention?”

“Maaaybe.”

“You got it. And now we’re going home.”

“But we just got here,” You tease as she starts walking you toward the exit.

She glances over her shoulder at the poor guy in the corner who’s been pretending not to stare. “If one more person looks at you like that, I’m getting arrested.”

You blink up at her with that infuriatingly innocent face. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” she mutters, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you out. “You just exist. And it’s criminal.”

In the Car

You throw your gym bag into the back seat, barely getting the door shut before Natasha leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you. Her face inches from yours.

“You think this is funny?” She murmurs.

You shrug, grinning. “I think you being jealous is funny.”

She pauses. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh?”

“I’m possessive. Big difference.”

“You know,” she says, “next time you want to kill me, just wear those leggings around the apartment.”

You squeeze her fingers. “So… you did like the TikTok?”

She huffs out a laugh. “I’m going to block Billie Eilish on everything.”

“Too late,” you grin, “I made a whole playlist.”

She sighs. “God help me.”

You’re about to sass her again, but she starts the engine with one hand and rests the other high on your thigh. Fingers drumming.

The drive is quiet. No music. No talking. Just tension. And her hand creeping slowly toward the hem of your shorts like she’s thinking about pulling over and making a memory in the backseat.

You squirm and she smirks.

Back at the apartment

The door slams shut behind you, your gym bag hits the floor.

You turn around to make a flirty remark—maybe another Billie lyric—but Natasha’s already there, crowding you against the wall.

Her hands plant on either side of your head.

"You wanted my attention at the gym?" She asks lowly, eyes locked on yours.

You smile. “Kinda.”

She hums. “Got it.”

Then, she kisses you—deep, slow, and dangerously patient. Like she’s not angry. Just starving.

You whimper into it, hands curling in her hoodie, already dizzy.

She pulls back only to whisper against your lips, “You think you’re cute when you’re teasing me?”

“A little.”

Her hand trails down your waist to your backside, gripping firmly. “You were showing off on purpose.”

You nod, breath catching. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Oh, baby…” she says with a laugh, lifting you off the floor effortlessly and carrying you straight to the bedroom. “You have no idea what you started.”

Natasha drops you on the bed—not carelessly, not roughly—just with the weight of someone who knows you wanted this.

You bounce once, grinning up at her, hair splayed across the sheets. Your sports bra is damp with heat. Your thighs glisten with a soft sheen of post-workout sweat.

She looks down at you like she’s trying to memorize you. Like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“You’ve got about three seconds to admit you were doing it on purpose,” she murmurs, pulling her ponytail loose.

You smirk. “What if I wasn’t?”

Her eyes darken. “Lie again.”

You laugh—giddy, breathless—as she crawls over you, knee slotting between your legs, hand sliding under your bra to press over your heartbeat.

“Fast,” she notes, leaning in to kiss the edge of your jaw. “Always gets like this when I’m mad at you.”

“You’re not mad.”

She kisses your neck. “No. I’m obsessed. There’s a difference.”

You moan softly when her mouth finds that sensitive spot beneath your ear—tongue warm, teeth teasing. Her fingers slip under your waistband, tugging the shorts just low enough to make you gasp.

"You were walking around that gym like you didn't belong to anyone," she whispers.

You grin, eyes fluttering. “Maybe I forgot.”

That earns you a firm grip on your waist and a slow, grinding roll of her hips down into yours. You groan.

Natasha smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m about to remind you.”

She pulls your sports bra off—slowly, deliberately, watching your eyes the whole time. Like she wants to see every flicker of surrender.

“You look so fucking proud of yourself,” she says, thumbing over your nipple with maddening calm. “All that stretching. That little smirk every time you caught me looking.”

“I didn’t catch you. You were obvious.”

She laughs into your skin. “You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over that bench press.”

“Maybe I wanted you to.”

She stills.

Then sits up between your legs, peeling your shorts off with a kind of reverent cruelty.

You arch toward her, need pooling low in your belly. “Nat…”

“You think this is me losing control?” she says, voice low as she runs her palms over your thighs.

You answer, eyes hazy. “Isn’t it?”

She leans down again, lips brushing your stomach as she descends lower.

“No,” she whispers. “This is me being very in control. And you? You’re gonna feel every second of it.”

Hours later :

You’re boneless on the bed. Natasha is draped over you, skin warm, heartbeat steady against your back. She’s tracing circles on your hip absentmindedly.

“You’re evil,” you mumble.

She hums. “And you love it.”

You smile into the pillow. “I’m never going to the gym again.”

Natasha presses a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s okay. I think I got my full-body workout right here.”

Minutes later

You’re sprawled across Natasha’s chest, sweaty, glowing, borderline delirious—but instead of falling asleep, you're… scrolling through your game folder.

Nat runs her fingers lazily through your hair, barely glancing at the screen.

“You better not be working,” she mumbles.

“I’m not.”

“You better not be shopping either. You just bought another frog mug last week.”

You lift your head, grinning. “I’m opening Minecraft.”

Natasha blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I want to play. Come on. Be my emotional support chaos knight.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I just ruin you?”

“Yes,” you say sweetly. “And now I want to build a cottage and adopt a Minecraft cat. It's called balance, Natasha.”

“Baby, we’re naked.”

“That’s the best part,” You state with a grin, already reaching for your Switch like this was a trap laid in advance, like nat didn't have full view over your naked back size. “The vibes are immaculate.”

Natasha watches as you boot up the game. She sighs.

She groans but doesn’t actually resist when you hand her a controller. Ten minutes later, she’s beside you, wrapped in a throw blanket, staring at the screen like it just insulted her.

“So what am I doing?” She asks, looking around her tiny blocky world.

“Whatever you want. I’m over here farming potatoes and building a mushroom house. You could help or mine. Or even fight zombies.”

She hums. “What happens if I hit this cow?”

“…Uh. You’ll get leather.”

She punches the cow. Then a sheep. Then another cow.

“Okay. You need to calm down—”

“Can I blow something up?”

You blink. “What?”

She grins. “I found TNT in a chest. I want to see what it does.”

You sigh dramatically, planting flowers near your base. “You’re such a menace.”

“You’re the one who handed me a pickaxe.”

.    .   . 

Fifteen minutes later

You’re curled into Natasha’s side, both of you still half under the covers, screens glowing softly in the dark.

You’re naming your third cat (“I’m calling her Mochi. She’s shy but kind.”)

Natasha’s in a cave halfway across the map, sword out, muttering, “Get wrecked, creeper,” as she wipes out an entire underground horde.

“Why are you like this?” You giggle.

“Because you gave me no outlet for my post-sex rage.”

“You’re holding me right now.”

“Exactly. I can’t take it out on you again—yet. So the skeletons die.”

You plant another flower bed next to your pixelated front door and say sweetly, “You’re welcome to move in next to my lavender garden. We could be neighbors.”

“I’m going to build a bunker with lava traps.”

You press a kiss to her shoulder. “That’s romantic in your own feral little way.”

.    .    .

Your farm is thriving. Your home has windows. You’ve got a cat named Olive.

Natasha? Has gone full bloodlust.

“Where are you?” you call from your greenhouse.

“In a cave.”

“Do you need help?”

“No. I’m killing spiders. There’s so many. I’m thriving.”

You blink at her health bar. Full. Her inventory? Filled with string, bones, and gunpowder.

“What even is your goal?” you ask, laughing.

“To keep the mobs away from your Barbie dream house.”

“Aw.”

She shrugs. “Also I’m naming this wolf after you.”

.    .   .

Later still…

You’re in bed, curled up beside her again. The screen glows faintly from your paused Stardew Valley game.

Nat’s voice is low, teasing. “Why do I have to be the one who fights everything?”

“Because you’re scary.”

She smirks. “And you’re not?”

You roll over and give her your most angelic smile. “I have a chicken coop and a Junimo shrine.”

You’ve tamed six animals now, grown your first melon crop, and made a rainbow glass window in your hilltop cottage.

Natasha? Has full enchanted armor and is level 23 from wiping out an abandoned mine shaft.

And yet—when you ask, “Wait, wanna try Stardew next?”, she pauses.

Natasha groans. “Oh my god.”

“...and have pixel babies.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

You blink innocently. “Or... we could try Roblox.”

Natasha freezes. “What the hell is Roblox?”

You grin like a devil. “A magical land where you and I can go on weird obstacle courses and dress up in cursed outfits.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is this revenge for earlier?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes.”

She looks at you over the blanket. “…Are there weapons?”

You nod eagerly. “There’s a murder mystery game.”

“…Fine. But if someone calls me ‘mommy’ in the chat, I’m deleting the app.”

.    .    .

Ten minutes into Roblox:

“Why is my character bald—WHY is your character twerking on me—stop laughing, I’m being serious—”

And just like that, Natasha’s whole reputation crumbles in one game lobby while you’re crying from laughter.

Whipped destroyed & undeniably hers.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

CAN U PLSSS DO A JEALOUS SIEUN FIC AND THE BOYS TEASING HIM ABOUT IT

Length: ~8k words POV: Third person Pairing: Park Si-eun x fem!Reader (uses "Y/N") Tone: Slow-burn tension, fluff, humor, jealousy, and a little smut at the end 💋 Setting: Canon-verse, post-season, the boys are all vibing

Title: Cold Shoulder, Warm Hands

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

It started with a laugh.

A stupid, high-pitched giggle that escaped Y/N's lips when Suho nudged her side with the end of a chopstick and made some dumb pun about fishcakes. Si-eun heard it from the kitchen, where he was refilling his water bottle. He wasn’t even part of the conversation. Wasn’t even looking at her.

But he heard the laugh. And he heard Suho's response: “Aw, that laugh is cute. You should do it more.”

Si-eun’s jaw twitched.

“Oi, lover boy,” Bumseok teased as he flopped onto the couch beside him later, elbow knocking his. “You’re glowering so hard I thought your soul left your body.”

Si-eun didn’t respond.

Suho was still talking to Y/N, way too close if you asked him. His hand lingered on the back of the chair she was sitting in, and she was smiling—no, laughing again—at whatever dumb story he was telling.

“Seriously,” Bumseok snorted. “You look like you're plotting Suho's murder.”

"I'm not jealous," Si-eun muttered.

"Never said that," Bumseok said innocently, and then leaned closer. “But if I did, you’d still be proving me right.”

It only got worse when Eunjang’s golden retriever, Ryu Seokdung, joined in.

“Y/N, wanna come with me to the convenience store? I need help picking chips.”

“She’s not your mom,” Si-eun muttered under his breath.

Ryu blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Si-eun said stiffly, arms crossed.

Y/N blinked up from where she was squatting by the low table, rearranging snacks. “I don’t mind! Gimme a sec.”

Si-eun’s eyes narrowed.

Ryu grinned at him as he backed toward the door. “You coming too, Si-eun?”

Si-eun should’ve said no. He should’ve said he didn’t care. Instead, he stood without a word and followed them out like a silent bodyguard.

The teasing didn’t stop.

When they returned and Y/N offered Seokdung a bite of her snack first, Si-eun turned to stare blankly at the wall. When Suho sat beside her during the horror movie and she didn’t move, Si-eun stood up halfway through and pretended to go check his phone. When Bumseok caught him stealing a glance at her while she was curled up under a blanket, hair messy, face flushed from laughing too hard—

“Oh my god,” Bumseok whispered. “You’re so gone.”

“Shut. Up,” Si-eun hissed.

“You want her to sit on your lap, don’t you.”

“I will kill you.”

Si-eun wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t flirting with them. Not really. Y/N was just nice. Too nice. She smiled easily, listened too well, and let her arm brush against Suho’s for too long without noticing.

But he noticed. Every single time.

The problem wasn’t her. The problem was him.

He had no claim. No right to feel possessive. Not unless she gave it to him. And she hadn’t. Not yet.

So he sat there and simmered. Silent. Cold. Jealous out of his goddamn mind.

It boiled over the night they all stayed late at the rooftop.

Everyone was tipsy on cheap beer and convenience store snacks. Y/N had her head on Suho’s shoulder, drowsy from laughing too hard. Ryu was sprawled beside them, already half asleep. Si-eun stood on the far end of the rooftop, hands in his pockets, staring at the skyline like it had offended him personally.

Bumseok sidled up beside him. “Bro. Come on.”

Si-eun ignored him.

“You know she only laughs like that with you,” Bumseok said. “The rest of us? We get the polite version.”

Si-eun’s jaw clenched. “She’s clearly not saving anything for me.”

“She doesn’t know she needs to.” Bumseok nudged him. “Make a move, man. Or else Suho’s gonna do it for you.”

That got his attention.

Si-eun turned sharply. “He wouldn’t.”

Bumseok just gave him a look. “He could.”

And that was enough.

Later, when everyone had left and Y/N lingered behind to help clean up, she found him still on the rooftop, alone.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t turn around. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You barely said a word all night.”

He finally glanced over, eyes unreadable. “Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

Y/N frowned. “Did I do something?”

Silence.

And then—

“You were hanging on Suho the whole night.”

She blinked. “...I was?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Are you mad about that?”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t get mad.”

“You get moody.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You’re jealous.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, Si-eun finally turned fully to face her, eyes dark. “I don’t like seeing other people touch what I want.”

Her breath caught. “What you want?”

He stepped closer, gaze intense. “You.”

The kiss was rough.

Not because he was angry—but because he’d been holding it back for weeks. His hands gripped her waist like he was afraid she’d vanish. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. When she gasped, he bit her bottom lip. When she whimpered, he deepened it.

When they broke apart, he didn’t move.

“Don’t let them touch you like that again,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N shivered. “Or what?”

“I’ll make sure they know who you belong to.”

They didn’t sleep that night.

She ended up pressed against his chest, her thighs trembling around his hips, his mouth buried against her throat as he groaned her name into the dark. And when she came, shaking under him, she whispered: “I’m yours.”

And that was all it took to undo him.

The next morning, Si-eun walked into the living room, looking half-wrecked but smug.

Y/N followed ten minutes later, limping slightly.

The boys didn’t miss a thing.

Suho: raises a brow “Sleep well?” Bumseok: snorts into his cereal Ryu: blinking “Why is Y/N walking funny?”

Y/N flushed bright red.

Si-eun didn’t say a word. Just leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared down Suho with the most smug, satisfied glare in the world.

Let them guess.

He didn’t need to say a thing. He had what he wanted.

And now they all knew.

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Coaching Violation: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: i'm sorry for leaving y'all hanging last time...

word count: 5.1k

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Outside Room 1125

Paige’s POV

She’d been standing there too long.

Long enough for the hallway’s patterned carpet to start spinning under her sneakers. Long enough to memorize every chip in the faux-gold trim of the room number plaque.

Room 1125.

She should’ve turned around.

Should’ve walked the strip, gone back to her room, counted the ceiling tiles, anything other than this. But her legs had moved before her logic caught up. And now her knuckles had already touched the door.

Twice.

It was too late to run without looking ridiculous.

So she stood there—

Heart thudding.

Throat tight.

Eyes closed.

Until the latch turned.

And a voice said—

“Coach?”

Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Paige’s eyes flew open, already mid-rehearsed apology—

But it wasn’t Azzi.

It was KK.

Standing there with one sock half-off her foot, hair messy, and the world’s most suspicious eyebrow climbing up her forehead.

“…KK?”

KK didn’t move. “So… you knocking on every door tonight, or just the one that used to belong to Fudd?”

Paige’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—no. I thought—this was—Shit.” She coughed, tried to pull herself upright, posture tight like a soldier. “Sorry. Wrong room. I was—uh—just checking in. On something.”

KK leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk sharp enough to slice through Paige’s panic.

“You were checking in… on the door?”

Paige winced. “Just—yeah, I’m gonna go. Sorry to—bother you. It’s late. I’ll just—”

She was already retreating, hands up in surrender, halfway down the hall.

KK didn’t say anything at first.

Just watched her walk like she was studying a film clip in slow motion.

Then, just before the door closed—

“Azzi asked to switch rooms,” she said, voice light but layered. “Told me at the front desk something about 1125 being a bad luck number.”

That stopped Paige in her tracks.

“Oh,” she said. “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

She kept walking.

One foot in front of the other.

Keep it together.

Don’t turn around.

But just as she reached the corner, KK’s voice chased her again—casual, sweet, and absolutely intentional.

“My original room was 1333.”

Paige didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

And all she could hear now was the blood in her ears… and the echo of the number 1125 ringing like a bell she couldn’t unring.

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Just After 1 AM

Azzi’s POV

She hadn’t been able to sleep. Not really.

Even after changing rooms. Even after throwing every pillow off the bed and burying herself beneath the duvet. Her body still hummed with restlessness — too sore to sleep, too wired to lie still, too aware of where she almost had to sleep tonight.

Room 1125.

If she hadn’t caught herself at the check-in desk… if she hadn’t insisted on switching—

She would’ve been back in the same room where everything had changed.

The same sheets. The same walls. The same view of the Strip through a half-closed curtain.

Alone this time. Again.

Azzi pressed her palms to her eyes, exhaled sharp through her nose.

The past few days had already run her raw — physically, emotionally, in ways she couldn’t name. The week had chewed her up and spit her out and now here she was, icing her knees at 1am because she couldn’t figure out how else to feel okay.

She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her hoodie, grabbed the hotel ice bucket, and padded into the hallway barefoot in hotel slippers.

It took her three tries to find a working machine.

She finally filled the bucket, wincing as the chill hit her hands. She shook it off, turned the corner toward her room—

—and froze.

Paige.

Standing in front of the door to her room.

Hair down, hoodie loose, hands shoved in the front pocket like she was trying to hide the fact they were shaking.

Azzi ducked slightly, stayed behind the corner. Watched her.

Paige looked like she was mid-argument — not with anyone, just herself. Her body shifted slightly. She stepped toward the door. Then back. Then leaned her forehead against the wall like she hated herself for even being there.

Azzi’s stomach twisted.

She waited. And waited. Until Paige finally turned, ready to walk away.

And then Azzi stepped forward.

“Uhhh…” her voice broke the silence like a dropped pin. “If you’re looking for Coach KK, she’s not gonna be in there.”

Paige jolted.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide — caught in the act. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. Except the cookies were heartbreak and old feelings and a hotel room full of memories she clearly hadn’t buried as deep as she thought.

“I, uh…” Paige started, blinking. “I thought—this was—”

Azzi just raised an eyebrow, ice bucket still in hand. “You sure you’re a head coach? ‘Cause your recon sucks.”

That earned her a very reluctant, very crooked smile from Paige. The kind that only came out when she was completely thrown off.

Azzi’s heart shouldn’t have leapt. But it did.

And now they were standing there again — just the two of them — in what felt like the same hallway, the same hotel, the same goddamn story they never finished.

And neither of them moved.

The ice began to melt, drip by drip, onto Azzi’s wrist.

Still, she didn’t move.

Paige’s eyes dropped to the ice bucket in Azzi’s hands, then flicked back to her face.

“I already checked 1125,” she said quietly. “KK opened the door.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you went to—?”

“I was looking for you,” Paige said before she could think better of it. The words left her mouth like an exhale she’d been holding all week. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Azzi stood there, stunned into silence for a second too long.

“You were looking for me?” Her voice was small, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.

Paige nodded.

“I was,” she said, and then softer — barely audible — “I am.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Just stepped past Paige toward her door and slid the key card through the lock.

The light turned green.

She pushed it open, stood in the doorway, then turned her head just enough to look at Paige again.

“You coming in?”

Paige hesitated. One heartbeat. Two.

Then she stepped inside.

Paige’s POV

The room was dim and quiet — too quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of ice in the bucket Azzi set down.

Paige stepped inside like she didn’t quite trust the floor to hold her. Her eyes moved cautiously, taking in everything — the slightly rumpled bed, the duffel bag half-zipped on the chair, Azzi’s hoodie draped over the desk chair like it lived there.

Then her eyes landed on her.

Azzi moved toward the bed, a small wince tugging at her brow as she shifted her leg. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the ice like this was routine.

“Wait,” Paige said, voice a little too sharp, a little too nervous. “Can I… help?”

Azzi looked at her, surprised.

But she nodded.

Paige crossed the room slowly, every step more uncertain than the last. She grabbed the towel from the bathroom counter, returned to kneel at the edge of the bed, gently took the bag of ice from Azzi’s hand, and wrapped it.

“You’ve gotta elevate it,” she mumbled, like she was trying to justify why she was here at all. She grabbed one of the pillows and tucked it carefully under Azzi’s calf, adjusting until it looked comfortable. Her fingers brushed skin once — the barest touch — but it lit her up from the inside.

“There,” Paige said softly. “So it doesn’t swell overnight.”

Azzi leaned back, exhaling, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, not too close but not far either. Her hands found each other in her lap. Fidgeting.

Azzi broke the silence first.

“So… why were you looking for me?”

Paige looked down at her hands. Swallowed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said after a beat. “Not after seeing your name… and that room number. It just… it felt like the universe was trying to screw with us.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh — just one breathy note — but it was enough to make Paige look up.

That sound did something to her. Made her chest loosen just a little. Gave her the courage to keep going.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve felt for you. Being assigned that room. And I didn’t… I didn’t want you to feel alone in that.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her.

“That it?” she asked. “Or was there something else you were hoping to say?”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Her breath caught.

Her hands stopped fidgeting.

And for the first time all night, she let herself really look at Azzi.

Like maybe this was the moment she had to stop pretending.

Paige drew in a shaky breath, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like it might anchor her. Her voice was low when she finally spoke.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself for the last ten months that what happened between us didn’t mean anything. That it was just a moment. Just… a night.”

She looked up, just enough to meet Azzi’s eyes.

“But the truth is — it meant everything. And that terrified me more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone. Because you made me feel something I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. It was different with you. It is different.”

Paige let the silence sit for a beat, the weight of her words still catching in her throat.

“I’ve never been good at feelings. I’m guessing that’s not exactly news to you.”

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her.

“And then the injury happened. My entire world flipped. One minute I was still trying to process what you meant to me… and the next, I was being told I’d never play again. I was angry. I still am. But more than anything — I was lost. And instead of reaching out, instead of saying something… I shut down. I disappeared.”

Her voice cracked.

“I wanted to text you. I wanted to call. A thousand times. But I didn’t know how. And now? Now I see you every day. And it hurts. I’m still scared. And I’m still mad at myself. Because I don’t know how to fix what I broke… and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this.”

She finally looked at Azzi again.

Eyes soft. Unarmored.

“And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Azzi’s POV

Azzi sat still, barely breathing.

Her leg was propped up on the pillow Paige had placed, the ice numbing everything but the thrum in her chest. Paige’s words still echoed in the quiet — words Azzi had once begged for in her head, long after the messages stopped and the silence became routine.

She wanted to pinch herself. Honestly, she considered it. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the ice on and this was just her brain playing some cruel, perfect fantasy.

But then Paige’s hand settled gently on her leg — not possessive, not hesitant. Just… there. Steady. Real.

It made Azzi blink hard.

Because somehow, Paige always knew. She always saw her — even in the moments Azzi wasn’t sure she was visible. That touch said, I’m here. It said, Believe me.

Azzi looked at her. Paige, in all her mess and fear and softness. The same Paige who once left her with no explanation… was now the one showing up.

She didn’t know what to say. Her throat felt too tight.

All she could manage was a quiet breath and a softer look.

She’s scared too, Azzi thought. But she’s here.

And right now, all Azzi knew — more than anything — was that she didn’t want her to leave.

Not again.

Azzi shifted slightly, careful not to jostle the ice. Her voice came out quieter than she meant, but there was no mistaking the truth in it.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do either,” she said, eyes never leaving Paige’s. “But ignoring whatever this is… definitely isn’t working.”

Paige didn’t speak at first, just nodded — slow, heavy, like the weight of that admission was something she’d been carrying too.

Azzi drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not gonna beg you,” she added, eyes dipping down to where Paige’s hand still rested on her leg. “But I really… I really wish you’d stay.”

She looked back up, a flicker of something raw in her eyes. “Please don’t pull away. Not this time.”

That silence between them thickened again, but this time it didn’t feel like avoidance — it felt like recognition. Like finally being on the same page, even if neither of them knew how to read it yet.

Paige’s thumb brushed absently against Azzi’s knee, her voice low, “We can’t do what we did again… not now anyway.”

Azzi nods, eyes soft. “I know. But… can we just talk? Like it’s just us again? Like nothing else matters?”

Paige hesitates.

Then: “Yeah. We can talk.”

Azzi shifts, patting the spot next to her against the headboard. “You don’t have to sit all stiff like that.”

It takes Paige a second, but eventually, she moves — slow and careful — settling beside Azzi, backs pressed against the pillows, legs stretched out over the blanket.

The silence between them isn’t sharp anymore. It starts awkward, a few stilted jokes and questions, but gradually it softens. The rhythm of them finds its way back.

They talk about old college memories. Road games. Dumb locker room dares. Paige tells a story about her rookie year in the league, how she got hazed with glitter and a karaoke mic in the middle of a team dinner. Azzi shares how she once fell asleep mid-ice bath and got locked in the training room.

Laughter bubbles up between them like it used to — quiet but real. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then somewhere between a memory and a sigh, Paige shakes her head. “I still think it’s wild you eat Hot Cheetos before tip-off.”

Azzi grins. “You’re just mad it worked.”

Paige chuckles. “I’m mad it didn’t wreck your stomach.”

Azzi turns toward her. “You remember everything I say, huh?”

Paige’s smile falters slightly. “Only the important stuff.”

Azzi studies her for a beat too long. “So you remember what I said that night?”

The air stills again — quieter this time, heavier.

Paige meets her eyes. “Every word.”

Azzi’s voice lowers. “Even the part where I said… I wasn’t used to someone staying?”

Paige doesn’t blink. “That’s the part that’s haunted me the most.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Azzi, soft: “So stay.”

Paige doesn’t respond out loud. But she does. She stays.

And by the time the clock reads 4:47 a.m., Paige shifts slightly. “You need to get some sleep if you’re gonna survive practice.”

Azzi nods, but doesn’t move. “Just… will you hold me? Just until you have to go. Please don’t pull away. Not tonight.”

Paige swallows hard. Her instinct is to run again. But this time she doesn’t say anything.

She just opens her arms.

Azzi folds into them like muscle memory, like the pause between heartbeats. They lie there, tangled in silence — no kissing, no urgency — just the ache of two people who aren’t ready to admit how badly they still want to be held.

When the sun starts to creep in under the curtains, Paige finally shifts.

Azzi doesn’t ask her to stay again.

She doesn’t need to.

Because when Paige gets up, they both share a look. A quiet nod.

A shared truth that says:

I don’t know what we’re doing… but I’m willing to find out.

Team Breakfast – Hotel Restaurant, 8:03 AM

Paige’s POV

The restaurant buzzed with the usual morning chaos — trays clattering, half-asleep players in mismatched sweats, a line snaking around the coffee station like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Paige had already claimed her seat at the end of the long table. Black coffee sat untouched in front of her, cooling fast.

She told herself it was strategic — arriving early, getting settled before the noise hit. But really, she just couldn’t sleep. And the silence of her hotel room felt louder than any dining room ever could.

Then Azzi walked in.

Hair still damp from her shower, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, a slight limp betraying the toll of yesterday’s late-night grind. Paige felt it like a static charge — that unspoken pull.

She didn’t look. Not directly. But she felt her.

Azzi scanned the table, paused. The only open seat near Paige was one spot over — separated by a single empty chair.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She took it.

Not directly next to her. But close enough to make Paige’s pulse rise.

And then — the moment. Quiet. Blink-and-you’d-miss-it.

Azzi leaned forward to grab a napkin just as Paige reached for her coffee, their hands brushing for half a second.

Skin. Heat. Stillness.

They both froze.

Paige’s fingers grazed Azzi’s knuckles. Not intentional. Not technically inappropriate. But when Azzi looked up, Paige was already staring.

Their eyes locked. Just a beat too long.

It was Azzi who broke the silence — voice low, barely audible over the hum of the room.

“You okay?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. She nodded once. “Yeah. You?”

Azzi gave a half-smile. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Me neither,” Paige admitted before she could stop herself.

Azzi’s expression shifted — softer, more searching — like she wanted to say something else. Like she might.

But then KK’s voice cut in, smooth and sharp from across the table.

“You sleep okay, Coach?”

Paige stiffened. Looked over slowly. KK had her orange juice in one hand and that familiar I-know-something-I’m-not-supposed-too smirk on her face.

“Fine,” Paige said tightly.

KK tilted her head. “Mm. That so?”

Paige glanced at her. “You got something to say?”

KK leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Only that it’s funny how two people can sit a breath away from each other and still pretend they’re on opposite sides of the world.”

Azzi, now focused on peeling an orange, didn’t look up.

Paige’s jaw flexed. “Drop it.”

KK raised her brows in mock surrender. “Hey. Just admiring the tension. Impressive stuff.”

Paige stabbed at her eggs. “Admire quieter.”

Azzi finally let out the tiniest laugh — not at the food, not at Rickea’s joke. At them.

And Paige…

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t look away this time, either.

Las Vegas Practice Facility – Late Morning

The bounce of basketballs echoed through the facility like a steady drumbeat. Sharp. Controlled. Comforting, almost — if it weren’t for the way Paige’s nerves felt like they were held together by fishing line.

The team was running shooting drills. Clean lines. Sharp cuts. Nothing fancy.

“Footwork!” Paige called out from the sideline, clipboard in hand. “You don’t get a second look in this league. Make it right the first time.”

She was trying to keep her voice even. Sharp, not harsh. Focused, not frazzled.

But every time Azzi touched the ball, Paige felt her grip tighten on the clipboard. Not because she was messing up — she wasn’t. She looked good. Efficient. Composed.

Too composed.

No teasing. No talking. No spark.

Like something inside her had folded in on itself overnight.

KK sidled up beside her near the half-court line, arms crossed, watching the same player Paige was pretending not to track with every blink.

“She’s locked in,” KK said under her breath. “Scary focused.”

“Good,” Paige said without flinching.

“Or,” KK added, “she’s burying something. Real deep.”

Paige didn’t respond.

“She’s not the only one,” KK muttered.

Paige snapped her eyes toward her, warning sharp. “What do you want me to say, KK?”

“Something honest might be nice.”

“I’m coaching,” Paige replied. “That’s what I’m here to do.”

KK leaned closer, voice low and clipped. “Yeah, well, maybe try doing it without looking like your chest’s about to cave in every time she breathes near you.”

Paige blinked once, hard.

“Keep your eyes on the court,” she said finally, and walked down the sideline before KK could say anything else.

She made herself stop near the rack of spare balls by the baseline. Scribbled something pointless on the clipboard just to feel in control again. But then she heard a ball clatter off the rim, bounce wide, roll out toward her.

Without thinking, she stepped forward to grab it at the same time Azzi did.

Their hands collided — again.

Not grazing. Not brief. Full contact. Palm to palm.

Azzi flinched first. Paige didn’t move.

For half a second, they both froze, fingertips still pressed into the seams of the same ball.

Azzi didn’t look up. “Sorry.”

Paige did look up. Watched her jaw tighten, watched the mask slip just slightly — enough to catch a flash of something raw in Azzi’s eyes before she yanked her hand back and walked away.

Azzi caught the next pass without missing a beat. Drained another three from the corner. No celebration. No glance toward the sideline.

Paige turned back toward the ball rack, heart thudding, clipboard limp in her grip.

She stared at the court like it might unwrite everything she felt.

It didn’t.

Locker Room – Post-Practice

Azzi’s POV

The locker room was quiet in that heavy, damp kind of way it always was after a hard practice — sweat clinging to the air, jerseys peeled halfway down, music faint and low from someone’s speaker in the corner.

Azzi sat on the bench in front of her locker, towel draped over her head, elbows on her knees, staring down at her laces like they held answers.

She had gone full autopilot today. Shot when she was supposed to. Passed clean. Hit her marks.

No mistakes.

No spark either.

And still, it was like her skin couldn’t forget Paige.

The shoulder brush during warmups. The brief hand graze during water break when Paige passed her a towel. The stupid, charged moment when they both reached for the same marker at the whiteboard and their fingers touched — just long enough to freeze her breath.

Every one of those moments, tiny as they were, still pulled her back into that hotel room.

Into the sound of Paige whispering her name in the dark.

Into the weight of her staying.

Azzi thought she’d feel better after their talk. And she did. In a way.

The silence was gone. The unknown wasn’t quite so sharp.

But the weight of it? The want of it? That hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You good?”

Azzi blinked. Rickea was sliding down the bench beside her, halfway through a protein bar, sweat still clinging to her curls.

“Yeah,” Azzi lied. “Just tired.”

Rickea gave her a long look. “You’ve been tired all week.”

Azzi shrugged, wiping her face with the towel again to stall. “Long camp. You know how it is.”

Rickea didn’t press. Just nodded slowly and stood to grab her slides. “If you say so. Just don’t forget how to breathe, Fudd. You’re allowed to.”

Azzi gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.”

When Rickea left, Azzi stayed seated a moment longer. The towel dropped to the floor. She leaned back, the cool of the locker pressing against her spine, and stared at the inside of the door like it might spell out what to do next.

Her phone sat facedown in her locker. She didn’t check it.

She didn’t have to.

No message.

Not even a bubble.

Just the echo of Paige’s hands on hers. And the silence that always came after.

Last night had meant something.

This morning had meant something.

But every accidental touch since then felt like a haunting — like her body was remembering all the things her mind wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

Media Room – Minutes Before the Presser

Private Hallway, Just Outside the Doors

The hallway was too quiet. A sterile stretch of beige carpet and echoing footsteps, with the low murmur of media setting up just beyond the doors.

Azzi stood by the water cooler, arms crossed, trying to steady her breath. Her heart thudded loud in her ears, and it had nothing to do with tipoff.

Then she heard it — the unmistakable rhythm of Paige’s steps.

She turned before Paige could pretend not to see her.

Paige stopped, tension bracing her shoulders, clipboard tucked tight to her chest.

“Hey,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige gave a small nod. “Hey.”

They stood there for a moment. Just like always — too close to ignore, too far to reach.

Azzi tilted her head, voice soft but edged. “Yesterday didn’t mean nothing… right?”

That landed like a direct hit.

Paige exhaled, slow, hands fidgeting with the corners of the clipboard. “No. It didn’t mean nothing.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Azzi’s, clear and serious now. “I don’t regret it. Not any of it.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “Then what are we doing?”

Paige’s voice dipped low — barely above a whisper. “Trying not to ruin everything.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with everything they weren’t allowed to say.

Then Paige added, almost like a plea: “If we can just get through this first game… together… maybe things will start to make sense.”

Azzi held her gaze, searching for cracks — but there was only sincerity there. And fear.

She nodded once. “Okay.”

The media handler’s voice echoed from down the hall. “We’re ready for you.”

Azzi stepped toward the door. So did Paige.

They didn’t speak again.

Didn’t touch — not intentionally.

But for one second, their shoulders brushed.

And this time, neither of them pulled away.

Media Room – Pre-Game Presser

Paige’s POV

The lights were bright. Cameras flashing. Reporters half-listening, already typing.

Paige sat at the mic with the poise of someone who’d done this a thousand times — because she had. But today, her collar felt tighter than usual. Every breath felt choreographed.

Azzi slid into the seat next to her, setting her water bottle down with just enough force to earn a look from KK across the room.

They hadn’t been scheduled to speak together. But media assignments changed last minute. Of course they did.

The moderator adjusted their headset. “Coach Bueckers, Azzi — welcome. First question?”

A reporter in the second row leaned in. “Coach, how do you feel about opening the season in Vegas — the lights, the pressure, the history of the venue?”

Paige didn’t flinch. “We’re focused on the court, not the zip code.”

Next question.

“Azzi, this will be your first game back since the trade. How are you adjusting to the Sparks system?”

Azzi’s voice was steady, cool. “It’s been an intense camp. But I’m excited to compete. This team has a vision. We’re here to win.”

She didn’t look at Paige. Not directly. But her fingers tapped once against her knee — that subtle, nervous rhythm Paige recognized from nights where everything felt unspoken and still somehow safe.

Another question. Then another. Paige deflected them like usual — cool, clipped, practiced.

Then came the one they should’ve seen coming.

“Coach, what’s it been like coaching someone you once competed against — and now, you know, someone you clearly respect in Azzi?”

Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi without meaning to. Just for a second.

Respect. Was that all it read as?

She cleared her throat. “Azzi’s one of the most disciplined players I’ve ever coached. High IQ. High intensity. She raises the bar for everyone.”

Azzi looked over, just slightly. And for a flash — the smallest shift in her expression. Gratitude. Pain. Something in between.

“And Azzi,” the reporter continued, “same question — what’s it like playing under someone who used to be on the other side of the ball?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “It’s… surreal. But earned. Paige has always been someone who is trusted on the court — that hasn’t changed.”

A longer pause than necessary.

“I listen when she talks.”

Something flickered in Paige’s chest. Something warm. Something sharp.

The moderator glanced at the time. “One final question.”

But Paige wasn’t listening anymore. Not really.

She was too busy trying not to read into the way Azzi’s leg had just barely brushed hers under the table.

Too busy trying to ignore how much that last line — I listen when she talks — sounded like something that meant more than it was allowed to.

And Azzi?

Azzi was still tapping her fingers against her knee. Like she didn’t know what else to do with her hands.

Like she was waiting for the game to start just to stop thinking.

Moments Before Tip — Tunnel Outside the Court

Azzi’s POV

The tunnel throbbed with anticipation — the muffled roar of the crowd beyond the curtain, the sharp scent of sweat and floor polish, the distant clang of warmup drills wrapping up on the court.

Azzi stood just inside the shadows, bouncing lightly on her toes, stretching out her shoulder with one hand, the other gripping the hem of her warmup jacket.

She should’ve been calm.

She’d done this a hundred times.

But her heartbeat wouldn’t settle. Not tonight. Not here.

Vegas always did too much.

She stared ahead at the edge of the light, where the tunnel opened to the court. It glowed like something holy. Or dangerous.

And then — she felt it before she heard it — the presence behind her.

She didn’t have to turn to know.

Paige.

Azzi held still, breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

Paige didn’t speak.

Instead, a steady hand settled on her shoulder — firm, grounding — and her thumb pressed in just slightly. Not rough. Not possessive. Just present. Like she was trying to say I’m here. Like she was still choosing her, even now.

To the world, it was nothing. Just a coach offering last-second reassurance to her star guard.

But Azzi’s knees almost buckled under it.

She glanced sideways, just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. They didn’t say much. But the weight of that look — the intensity of it — told her everything she needed to know.

No one else could hear it.

But Azzi did.

I see you. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere this time.

The announcer’s voice thundered through the tunnel:

“And starting at guard… number thirty-five… AZZI FUDD!”

Paige’s hand lifted — slow, careful — like she didn’t want to let go, but knew she had to.

Azzi swallowed hard, turned toward the light, and jogged out onto the court.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t look back.

But her skin still burned from Paige’s touch.

And for the first time in days… her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

[chrysthemiss]

@minimuii I liked you idea!

Coming to my senses after being released from the akuma hit hard. It felt like a gut punch. Had I really let myself get so..Lost? Had I hurt anyone? Ladybug walked a ways off, calling someone on her bugphone as Chat Noir kneels down to my level. "Hey, you alright?" He asks softly, his voice a soft hum in my world of screams.

My shoulders droop, eyes glossing over as I let out a soft sob. "I'm sorry..Is everyone okay..?" I utter, my body jerking as he gently places his hand on my arm, gently squeezing my bicep.

"Are you?" He tilts his head slightly. "You weren't yourself, is all..What happened today wasn't you, this doesn't define you."

Ladybug lowers her bugphone, reaching in and pulling out a blanket. She closes the yo-yo, approaching me, opening the blanket and lying it over my shoulders where Chat adjusts it over me. "It's not known," Ladybug begins. "But we donate to therapies centered around akumatized victims..Would you like to take a look at it?"

I shudder, "Yes, please..I'm so sorry for all the trouble I caused–"

"Hey hey--" Ladybug leans down too. "You were no trouble, you were hurting. It doesn't bother us when you're in need of a hand." She opens her yo-yo, pulling out a tissue and wiping away my tears.

"Mental state aside, are you in any pain? Did you have any injuries prior to your akumatization that need attention?" Chat Noir asks, the back of his hand running across my body in search for wounds.

"No, I– No, just bruises from the cause of it.." I sigh. "I'm sorry..I'm really sorry.."

"You don't have to apologize for having one bad day.." Ladybug brushes back my hair, voice lowering. "You have many more good days ahead of you, do not let today stop you from having them."

Chat Noir nods, "We've called an ambulance to take you for a screening– It's paid for, the mayor takes payments on behalf of the people we call help for. You'll be assessed, informed better of therapy options, and how to return to your work." He stands. "Let's get you down from this roof."

. . . . .

I'd only been in the hospital for two days before I was sent out. I'd start therapy in a few days, and my work had given me PTO, so I didn't lose a dime recovering. But I hesitated as I reached the office building. I had let stress get to me, the subtle jabs at my inefficiency, the deadlines– I had faltered, and gotten myself akumatized in the process.

I take a deep breath, exhaling shakily as I open the door and enter the building. The ride up the elevator is tense, and I feel myself ready to hurl. 'Oh God, what's everyone going to say to me..Will they avoid me..?'

The bell dings, signaling my arrival, and I gulp as the doors open. I step out, and everyone's heads turn to me, gazes focused. My boss stomps towards me, and I curse myself for cowering. "..Are you okay?" He asks, lowering his head to meet my eyes.

"I– Yes--"

"..I'm sorry."

"I- What..?"

"I overworked you. I shouted at you for taking your time, but you were overlooking miles of code to make sure everything was working as it should. I wasn't paying attention to what you were doing, just how you were doing it. Our clocks are different, and I tried to force you onto my time." He lowers his head. "Forgive me for my insolence."

My body melts with every word. I wouldn't be shouted at? Reprimanded? I..Was given an apology..? "P-Please raise your head– There really is no need--"

"You suffered, and because of me– I'll control my temper, and if you ever feel overwhelmed, take the day off." He turns. "That goes for all of you, too. We'll work together as a team and lift eachother up when we feel we are at the end of our rope." He bows deeply. "I hope to be better for all of you."

And just like that, we all breathed a sigh of relief. As the work day went on, I felt reassuring squeezes, and my worries drifted away.

I know I lost my cool, and that I hurt people. But I'll work to fix that, build their trust again, and be me.

**fic idea**

I just had this thought and I need me more fics…

Fics where it focuses not on mari, Adrien, chat or even ladybug

but rather… on the aftermath of an akuma victim. Their life after. Would it affect their friendships? We’re they a parent? Are their kids scared? Would they have trouble with their jobs and bosses? Maybe people who don’t even know them becoming scared or wary of them on the streets? Recognizing them from tv? There’s bound to be teasing, and avoiding and a change in heir lives after that…

I remember seeing chat in the background if a news screenshot talking to a victim in a shock blanket, what’s was that like? Sometimes chat and lady ran straight off without talking to the victim … did that effect them? How they see their heroes?

I just suddenly really need more about the complications that come out of going though that, not being yourself and realizing when it’s all over how much damage you caused… how you could’ve killed your friends, your heroes, your city.

I reallyyyy want this. If this inspires you pls write drabbles *u*

[ghstyles]

$5 | Windows Facing

The Sigma boys host a kissing booth

Windows Facing Masterlist

Main Masterlist

«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«

The crisp autumn air carries the sound of music and laughter across campus as Y/N and her roommate Maya make their way back to their dorm after their afternoon classes. Fallen leaves crunch beneath their boots, and Y/N clutches her psychology textbook to her chest, discussing their upcoming midterms.

"I still don't understand why Professor Jenkins expects us to memorize all forty defense mechanisms," Y/N sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean, rationalization and intellectualization are practically the same thing."

Maya, with her dark red hair and perpetually amused expression, nudges Y/N with her elbow. "That's such a rationalization."

"See? You're proving my point," Y/N laughs, adjusting her scarf against the October chill.

As they round the corner onto Greek Row, they're met with an unusual sight: a line of girls, at least twenty deep, snaking from the front porch of Sigma house onto the sidewalk. Above the doorway hangs a large, crudely painted banner that reads "SIGMA KISSING BOOTH - $5 - ALL PROCEEDS TO CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL."

“You’ve got to be kidding me" Y/N mutters, slowing her pace to observe the spectacle.

Maya's face lights up with recognition. "Oh! Louis mentioned they were doing a fundraiser today. Didn't realize it would be so...popular."

"Of course it's popular," Y/N says, rolling her eyes. "They're literally selling the opportunity to kiss frat boys. It's like a petri dish of bad decisions and mononucleosis."

Despite her disdain, she can't help but notice the booth set up on the porch. It's decorated with red and pink streamers, and behind it sits Niall, collecting money with an enthusiasm that suggests he's enjoying this charitable endeavor immensely. Beside the booth is a whiteboard listing the "kissers" on rotation:

HARRY 1-2 PM

ZAYN 2-3 PM

LOUIS 3-4 PM

LIAM 4-5 PM

NIALL 5-6 PM

A note at the bottom reads: "Limited time only! Get 'em while they're hot!"

"We should stop by," Maya suggests with a mischievous grin, checking her watch. "It's almost 3 – Louis is about to start his shift."

"Absolutely not," Y/N says firmly, trying to steer her roommate away from the commotion. "You've already been 'kissing' Louis for free for weeks. Why would you pay for it now?"

Maya shrugs. "It's for charity. Plus, I'm curious how he kisses other girls compared to me."

"That's...a concerning level of curiosity," Y/N remarks, but Maya is already dragging her toward the line.

"Come on! It'll be fun. You could kiss Harry," Maya teases, knowing full well about the antagonistic relationship that had developed between Y/N and Harry 

"I would rather kiss a toilet seat," Y/N retorts, but allows herself to be pulled along, if only to humor her roommate. "Besides, according to that board, Harry's shift is over."

"Pity," Maya says with exaggerated disappointment. "I've heard he's the best kisser in the house."

"From who?" Y/N asks before she can stop herself.

"Everyone," Maya gestures widely to the line of girls. "I bet his line was the longest"

As they approach, they can see the current proceedings. Zayn is seated on a stool, looking impossibly handsome and slightly bored as he gives a quick peck to a giggling sophomore. Behind him, leaning against the porch railing and drinking from a water bottle, is Harry, evidently finished with his shift.

He spots Y/N immediately, his eyes lighting up with that familiar mischievous glint that always precedes him saying something that will irritate her. He pushes off from the railing and makes his way over, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, his British accent more pronounced as it always seems to be when he's trying to be charming. "If it isn't psychology girl. Come to make a charitable donation?"

Y/N gives him a saccharine smile. "Just escorting Maya. I prefer my charitable acts to not involve potential communicable diseases."

Harry clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know my lips are pristine. Certified disease-free."

"By whom? The CDC or just your own inflated ego?" she counters.

Harry grins, dimples appearing in full force. "Want to find out for yourself? I could make an exception and extend my shift."

"Hard pass," Y/N says, though she feels an annoying flutter in her stomach at his suggestion. "Besides, I don't have five dollars to waste."

"For you, I'd make it free," he says, leaning closer. "Consider it a scholarship for the academically gifted but romantically challenged."

Before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, Louis emerges from the house, checking his watch.

"Time's up, Zayn!" he calls, then spots Maya in line and breaks into a wide smile. "Well, hello there, Red. Come to support the cause?"

Maya waves, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Just doing my part for the children."

Louis winks at her before turning to Harry. "How'd you do, mate? Beat my record from last year?"

Harry shrugs, his eyes still on Y/N. "Sixty-seven kisses. Not bad for an hour."

"Sixty-seven people willingly put their lips on yours?" Y/N asks, genuinely astonished. "Were they blindfolded first?"

Harry laughs, a rich sound that Y/N reluctantly admits (to herself only) is rather nice. "You know, most girls on campus would consider it a privilege."

"I'm not most girls," she retorts.

"No," he agrees, his tone shifting to something more sincere, "you're definitely not."

The unexpected compliment throws her off balance momentarily.

Louis claps Harry on the shoulder. "My turn to shine. Though I notice you've still got some energy left for verbal sparring with our favorite psychology major."

"Just trying to convince her to contribute to the cause," Harry says innocently.

Louis looks between them with amusement. "Right. The cause."

As Louis takes his position at the booth and Zayn heads inside, the line shuffles forward. Maya moves with it, leaving Y/N standing awkwardly with Harry.

"I should go," she says, gesturing vaguely toward their dorm. "Papers to write, defense mechanisms to memorize."

"Or," Harry suggests, falling into step beside her as she turns to leave, "you could stick around. I'm done with my kissing duties, but I was going to help Niall count the money later."

"Tempting as it is to watch you struggle with basic math, I'll pass," Y/N says dryly.

Harry chuckles. "You know, one day you're going to run out of clever ways to insult me."

"I doubt that very much," she responds, though there's less bite in her tone than usual.

They've reached the sidewalk now, away from the crowd. Harry stops, causing Y/N to pause as well.

"Seriously though," he says, his playful demeanor slipping just slightly, "it is for a good cause. The children's hospital helped my cousin when she was little. It means a lot."

The sincerity in his voice catches Y/N off guard. It's a glimpse of the Harry that exists beneath the confident, flirtatious exterior, the one she occasionally spots in class when he thinks no one is watching, diligently taking notes and asking thoughtful questions.

"That's...actually really nice," she admits. "The fundraiser, I mean. Not the method."

Harry's smile returns, softer this time. "The method works, though. We raised over two thousand dollars last year."

Y/N glances back at the line, which has only grown longer. "I can see why."

A comfortable silence falls between them, perhaps the first they've ever shared that wasn't charged with their usual antagonism.

"I should really go," Y/N says finally, shifting her textbook in her arms. "Good luck with the rest of the fundraiser."

Harry nods, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five-dollar bill. "Here."

Y/N looks at it, confused. "What's this for?"

"Consider it a donation in your name," he explains. "Since you refused to participate directly."

She hesitates, then takes the bill. "I'll drop it in the collection box on my way out."

"Or," Harry says, that mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "you could just take the kiss you paid for."

Y/N arches an eyebrow. "Technically, you paid."

"Semantics," he shrugs, taking a small step closer. "The money's going to the same place either way."

For a brief, crazy moment, Y/N actually considers it. There's something in Harry's expression, a mix of challenge and genuine interest, that makes her wonder what it would be like. Sixty-seven girls today alone couldn't be completely wrong, could they?

But then she thinks of the line of girls, the public setting, and her own stubborn pride.

"I think I'll just make the donation," she says, stepping back slightly.

If Harry is disappointed, he hides it well, nodding with a small smile. "Your loss, psychology girl."

Y/N turns to walk away, but pauses after a few steps. "Harry?"

He looks up, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She sighs before turning back to him, “you can kiss my cheek” she grumbles

Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his usual cocky demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine shock. He recovers quickly, a slow smile spreading across his face, not the practiced, charming grin he flashes at everyone, but something more genuine that reaches his eyes and makes his dimples appear.

"Well, well," he says softly, taking a step toward her. "Psychology girl full of surprises."

Y/N immediately regrets her impulsive offer, but her pride won't let her take it back. She straightens her shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant despite the warmth creeping up her neck.

"It's for charity," she says primly. "And since you technically paid, I suppose it's only fair you get something for your donation. And I dont think youd want Louis or Niall kissing you"

"How generous of you," Harry murmurs, closing the distance between them.

He moves with a deliberate slowness that makes Y/N's heart beat faster. Standing this close, she can smell his cologne, something expensive and woodsy that she's secretly noticed before in class but would never admit to liking. His eyes, green with flecks of gold in the autumn sunlight, hold hers with unexpected intensity.

"Last chance to back out," he says quietly, giving her an opportunity to retreat that she hadn't expected from him.

Y/N swallows but holds her ground, turning her cheek slightly toward him in silent permission. She's acutely aware of the line of girls still visible on the porch, some of whom have noticed this interaction and are watching with undisguised interest.

Harry leans in, one hand coming up to gently brush her hair back from her face. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. His fingers are warm against her skin, and she finds herself holding her breath as he moves closer.

His lips press against her cheek, soft and warm. It's not the quick peck she was expecting, but something more lingering, respectful of the boundaries she set, yet somehow managing to feel more intimate than a simple courtesy kiss. His stubble grazes her skin lightly, and she catches another hint of his cologne, mixed with something that's just distinctly him.

The kiss lasts only seconds, but when Harry pulls back, Y/N feels oddly disoriented, as if something fundamental has shifted between them.

"Thank you for your contribution," Harry says, his voice lower than usual, a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

Y/N clears her throat, desperately trying to regain her composure. "I expect a tax receipt," she manages, though her attempt at their usual banter falls slightly flat.

Harry laughs softly, still standing closer than their normal conversational distance. "I'll see what I can do."

From the porch, Louis calls out, breaking the moment: "Oi, Harry! Need you back here, we've got a line situation!"

Harry glances over his shoulder and waves acknowledgment, then turns back to Y/N. "Duty calls."

"Can't keep your admirers waiting," she says, finding her footing again.

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "for someone who claims to find me insufferable, you blush very prettily when I'm near."

Before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, Harry takes a step backward, his usual confident smirk returning.

"See you in class tomorrow, psychology girl," he says with a wink, then turns and jogs back toward the house, where the line has indeed become somewhat chaotic.

Y/N stands rooted to the spot, her hand unconsciously touching the place on her cheek where his lips had been. She's annoyed to find that her heart is still beating faster than normal, and even more annoyed that Harry was right, her cheeks are warm with a blush she can't seem to control.

"Ridiculous," she mutters to herself, clutching her textbook tighter and turning resolutely toward her dorm.

As she walks away, she realizes she's still holding the five-dollar bill. After a moment's hesitation, she changes direction and heads back to the porch, where she wordlessly drops the money into the collection box before Harry can notice her return.

Maya, now at the front of the line and witnessing this entire interaction, gives her a knowing look that Y/N pointedly ignores. She'll have enough explaining to do when her roommate returns to their dorm later, no need to give her more ammunition by acknowledging what just happened.

As Y/N finally makes her way back to her building, she can't help glancing over her shoulder one last time. Through the crowd, she catches Harry's eye, he's been watching her leave. Instead of his usual teasing expression, there's something different in his gaze, something that makes her stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with annoyance.

She turns away quickly, but not before seeing the small, genuine smile that crosses his face, one that suggests their dynamic might be shifting in ways neither of them had anticipated when the day began.

Taglist: @hisparentsgallery @toosarcastic03 @practistyles @sstylezzz @sassamanda77 @wheredidmyeyesgo @pbandnutella @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinemaa @bethiegurl19 @spinninc @spargelhund

[yoiisa]

hello, may i request windbreaker boys? Suo, sakura n nirei + kiryu with a reader whos like aoi akane? ( the girl ) whos popular and sweet on what she puts but once they managed to know that reader isnt as what they thought her to be? How would they react when they know that shes distant and looks down at people?

A girl after my own heart, Aoi Akane you will always be famous! ( ˘ ³˘)

➜ suo hayato is the same as aoi, so he's the same as you ➜ he keeps a lot of built up turmoil deep down inside, and masks it all with a smile, so when he notices that you're doing the same, he can never unsee it ➜ he won't ever try to pry your anguish out of you, and will let you continue as you are, but if his hand squeezes yours a little tighter and his eyes linger on you a little longer, and his smile has a little more reassurance in it, well then . . . ➜ who can blame him really?

You're always so helpful towards others. Too helpful. Don't get him wrong, as a member of Bofurin, Suo strives to be like you. Poised, kind, soft, and gentle to everyone around you. That being said, he can't help but notice how disingenuous it all looks, at least from where he's standing. Your smile is too bright, and your voice too sweet. It's like you're faking it for everyone. What's worse is that when the two of you start dating, the guise doesn't let up. You keep the front up even with him. Your smiles are small and dainty, your hands always perfectly folded in your lap, and not even a single strand of hair out of place. Suo brings it up one day, as the two of you are sitting in Pothos while you study for an upcoming test. "Do you ever get mad?" he asks, pushing a some loose hair behind your ear. "Hmm? No, not really," you say looking over at him. "Everyone's so nice to me all the time, what's there to get mad about?" Suo just blinks at you and then nods slowly. "What if someone were to take advantage of you?" "Wouldn't you come to defend me then?" you ask, leaning towards him. "Of course, but I would want you to know how to defend yourself as well," he says, his voice smooth still. That's when it appears, the smallest crease in your brow. It's the first example of a crack in your facade, but just as fast as it appears it's gone. "You keep people on the edge," he whispers like it's a secret you're not even aware of." Your smile falters a little and you look back down at your notebooks. "So do you." Suo's silent again, mulling over how to respond to that, before he sighs and shrugs. "I suppose so. I guess I can't say anything to you about it then, huh? But still . . ." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You're still for a moment, but then slump against Suo, who chuckles softly. Your smile is gone and your eyes are shut. Your breath comes easy, and Suo kisses the top of your head. "There she is," he whispers.

➜ it takes sakura haruka a while to notice that your happiness at times in disingenuous ➜ someone else points it out to him though, the way you're masking using your smile, and suddenly, he can't see anything but how small yet permanent it is ➜ no one is ever that happy, right? ➜ when he confronts you about it, it turns into your first really big fight, almost shattering your relationship entirely ➜ both of you are emotionally unable to properly deal with the other, but you work it out in the end. you love him after and he loves you

"I don't have time to deal with this," Sakura says. "Say what you mean, or don't say anything to me!" "This is what I mean," you retort, your smile still on your face, but your voice icy and distant. "I really don't know what else you want from me." "This is fake!" Sakura cries, gesturing to your face. He sighs frustratedly and grabs your shoulders, gently shaking you. "I . . . I can never know what you're thinking, or how you feel! You got this smile on your face all the time, like someone carved it into your skin. Don't you get how annoying that is?" "You think I'm annoying?" "Yes!" he shouts, but then freezes as he realized what he's done. You've gone pale, and your eyes wide, before your expression finally falls. It's like a layer of you just got peeled off. Your eyes go stormy and your smile flips into a frown. "Screw you Sakura," fuck, his last name. You're mad. "You . . . just because I'm nice enough for the both of us doesn't mean you have to compensate by being cruel!" "But don't you get it, [name]? You're not nice! You're not being nice! You're being mean by not saying things upfront. I want you to tell me straight to my face when I'm being a punk, or when you like something, I-" He cuts himself off looking off to the side and at the floor. "I mean, do you even really like me?" You halt as his words register in your head, before saying, "Of course I do!" Sakura takes your hand in his and holds it over his chest, where his heart is. His face is bright red and he looks like he might explode, but he powers through his emotions with, "Then show me. I want it all, the nice and the mean. I'm better at dealing with mean people than nice people anyways." "Don't say that," you sigh. "I don't want to be like those people from your past." Sakura looks you dead in your eyes and says, "The fact that we're having this conversation at all is proof that you never could be, even if you tried."

➜ nirei akihiko spends more time focused on others than he does himself a lot of the time, so he notices pretty early on when something's wrong ➜ your smile doesn't puff your cheeks up like it used to, and you seem to be disassociating more and more lately ➜ nirei doesn't want to push, but his concern is growing heavier by the second. eventually he cracks and asks what's up ➜ at first you give him the usual roundabout answers, but his insistence (and puppy dog eyes) finally gets you to admit you're not as okay as you'd like to be ➜ he turns into your biggest supporter in finding help in the end

"Aki, I don't fink-" you get cut off as Nirei pulls your mouth down to a frown. "So that's what you look like when you're mad," he marvels and you think you might actually be getting mad at him right now. "Aki, pleeth-" "Shh." "AKIHIKO!" Nirei startles and drops his hands from your face. You sigh and stare at him. Your hands gently massage your cheeks. "What are you doing?" you ask him. "I've never seen you frown before," he explains softly. I just wanted to see what it would be like." "Why do you want to see me frown?" you ask. "Well, I figured you smile so much, it has to be fake sometimes," he explains sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck. "And I don't want you to fake smiles with me, so I thought . . . I thought this could be like practice?" "Don't you want me to always be happy though?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion. Nirei smiles and shakes his head, scratching the corner of his mouth. "What? No, of course not. If you're always happy, it loses it's power! You don't feel the good moments as much anymore, because everything's a good moment. I want you to have both, that way, when you're happy, like I hope you are with me, they feel extra special." You blink up at the golden haired boy, his smile never wavering as he stares into your eyes. Suddenly, you feel tears rolling down your cheeks and Nirei completely panics. "O-oh no! [name] tell me what's wrong, what should I do?" he asks, cupping your cheeks and desperately trying to wipe the tears away. You shake your head and bear hug him. "Nothing, do nothing. Just be as you are for me, okay Akihiko?" Nirei's quiet for a moment, before nodding and petting your head. "Got it."

➜ kiryu mitsuki becomes insistently clingy when he realizes that something's up ➜ after all, he wants to do everything he can to make you feel happy and secure ➜ part of him will blame himself for not being able to protect you from the demons that you never show publicly, but you reassure him that there's nothing he can really do ➜ all that's left is for him to just stay by your side and prove that he's every bit as earnest as he describes himself as towards you

"Kiryu, what's with all the presents?" Tsuguera asks. "Hmm? Oh these are for [name]," Kiryu says, lifting up the bag and showing the contents to Tsuguera. The orange haired boy gasps and flinches back as he sees what's inside. Nirei, Sakura, and Suo also peer into the bag, their expressions falling just as much as Tsuguera's did. "Kiryu, what are those?" Suo asks, a nervous smile on his face. "Horror mangas and figurines, why?" Kiryu asks. "Will [name] want something like that?" Nirei asks, picking up the latest volume from Junji Ito's newest series. "Isn't she normally all sunshine and rainbows and stuff? Does she even like horror?" "Of course she does," Kiryu says. "She's always telling me ghost stories." "Why?" Sakura asks, eyeing a particularly uncanny looking doll. "I don't know," Kiryu shrugs. "I suppose it might be her coping mechanism." "For what?" "For being so happy all the time. A lot of pressure's on her to be this perfect angel girl, so it takes it's toll on her," he explains as the boys put the stuff back in the bag. "I had no idea she was under so much pressure," Tsuguera says a bit surprised. Kiryu nods, "She hides it really well, but one day she had a whole breakdown in front of me. It was really sad, since I couldn't do much aside from just comfort her in the moment. I can't make everyone view her in a different light though, and I don't even think she wants to be perceived as anything other than how she's already been, so I'll do stuff like this instead!" "Horror manga?" Suo asks and Kiryu nods, smiling. "Horror manga," he affirms. Later that day, when you drop by Furin to get Kiryu, the four other boys watch how your smile morphs from the fake polite one, to one that stretches your cheeks wide as you marvel at the horror merchandise Kiryu got you. The difference is only really noticeable now that they know your true inner feelings, but still, they can't help but feel stupid for not picking up on it earlier.

a/n: idk why but this took me embarrassingly long to write. like i got the bullet points down quick enough, but the scenarios were killing me! sry it took so long to whoever requested it, but i got it done

[vevobly]

Yellowjackets With Filipino Reader Headcanons! [Peri-crash] (1)

A/N: One of my friend's birthday is coming up pretty soon, so I decided to make this post as a gift to them! There's a translation for everything that the reader says in filipino down in the comments for you guys. Enjoy and devour as always! 😺

Jackie Taylor:

It frustrates her to no end that you’ll mutter something under your breath in Tagalog and smirk after someone annoys you. And she knows it’s about her sometimes. So, she starts asking you what certain words mean. “So what does…‘buwisit’ mean? You called me that earlier.” You tell her it means “beautiful” and she just absolutely believes you. When she finds out that it didn't mean the same thing as you told her it meant from someone else on the team, she confronts you directly about it before storming off pissed as fuck.

Jackie does not know how to take you. I mean, you weren't impressed by her back then. You definitely aren't impressed by her now. You fight—a lot. And one day, she snaps to which you just facepalm and mutter “ang arte mo talaga” to her. “I KNOW that was about me,” she replies, lip curled. You look her dead in the eye and respond. “Yeah! You’re dramatic.” She doesn’t talk to you for a day. Then, when you’re out splitting wood, she just says this. “You’re kind of the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m useless now.”

After that, she starts being really weirdly too nice towards you. Even more when Shauna was distancing herself from her. She's almost always sharing her food ration with you, brushing it off with confusing stuff like “you’re cold all the time" or "don’t want you freezing to death before I win an argument" etc. She keeps gravitating toward you—watching you peel wood, eavesdropping when you mutter in tagalog. Over time, she starts asking for your help with things but she never phrases it like she needs you at all. You think it's funny somehow and a bit cute.

Shauna Shipman:

You’re the only one who notices when Shauna’s hands tremble after burying someone. And then you're almost always quietly handing her something random to hold, telling her it's something she needs to look after out of nowhere. She's confused, but she nevertheless does just that and never forgets it. She doesn't know when or how exactly it happened, but she starts quietly learning tagalog phrases just to understand you. Especially when you're insulting her for something.

You correct her tagalog when she asks what “pikon” means after hearing you say it to Jackie. “Means sensitive. You are, a little” you say gently to her, and Shauna flushes. One time when you caught her looking guilty after Jackie scolded her for spacing out, you decided to ask her if she was okay. She just nods in response and you frown for a moment before replying with “Hindi ka nag-iisa” - She doesn’t ask you what it means, but she keeps the words in her mind despite it. Shauna is drawn to you like a moth to a flame she swears she won’t touch, and it is BAD.

You teach her a few Tagalog words from time to time. She tries them but messes them up. When she says "maganda ka" to you one day, you freeze - caught completely off guard with it. "Did I say it wrong?" She asks you. "No," you replied quietly. "You just said I'm beautiful.." And that gets her really red in the face while you're all so quiet with her after it. Later? When everyone's asleep, she leans against your shoulder and despite the kinda awkward moment earlier, you don't move away. Neither of you says a word before drifting to sleep.

Taissa Turner:

Tai knows you're swearing when you start talking in tagalog. She doesn’t know what you’re saying, but she knows. She pretends not to care when you say something about her in Tagalog, but she corners Van later and asks her “That thing she said to me today—how bad was it?” When neither Van or anyone else on the team knows what you're saying about her, she starts going out of her way to sit next to you during planning stuff and makes a game of guessing what your words mean.

You guys butt heads early on because while Tai is efficient, you're intuitive. She says you’re “sloppy” once and you haven't stopped calling her “masungit” since then. She admires the way you are, but when you push back on her trying to be a leader for the team? Oh boy, things get tense fast. “We need to follow a system,” she snaps at you one day. “You mean your system,” you reply. You walk away, muttering a curse in tagalog. “You always do that—say shit no one can call you out on!” Taissa shouts. You guys don't talk to each other for days because of it.

But eventually, she corners you and asks her what you said about her. You look at her. “I said I’m tired of being ordered around by people who don’t listen” She doesn't say anything, but the next time she makes a decision? She looks at you first. You both end up becoming the designated planners of the group, and she starts seeking out your opinion before anyone else since then. She asks you to teach her some words once. You don't say yes, but later when you mutter “gago” when Travis does something stupid? She repeats it under her breath with a grin.

Van Palmer:

Van thinks you're hilarious. Even though half the time she doesn't understand what you're saying. When Mari annoyed you once? She whispered “say something in tagalog” to you. You glanced at Mari and muttered “hayop ka” to which Van nearly choked laughing. You make her laugh even when you’re not trying. Especially when you mutter “bahala kayo diyan” and walk away dramatically. She’s the only one you don’t mind translating your curses for on the team because she doesn’t take it personally.

You and her create secret inside jokes about people. Like, if someone’s being annoying? She’ll whisper “banana ketchup” and you’ll both just lose it. Van flirts with you a lot openly. But her flirting is very weird, and confuses you because she just tries to come up with her own fake filipino words just to tease you. One time she accidentally says something real and really vulgar that your jaw dropped. You tell her never to say it in public again. "What? What'd I say?!" She asks you. "I'll tell you if you hold my hand" You replied. "Deal!" But you're both equally weird, tbh.

Van is one of the few who doesn’t get weird when you speak Tagalog. She asks questions and she listens to you about it. “Teach me a swear word,” she begged you once. And you do. But she butchers it badly that you laugh for the first time in days. After that, Van starts sitting closer to you—sharing food, nudging you awake during night watch—you never talk about it. But it feels like something is forming. Or maybe breaking? She gives you dumb nicknames in Tagalog based on what she thinks they mean. “My little... tinapay" You stared at her. "You just called me bread"

Natalie Scatorccio:

You and Nat have this weird unspoken thing. You don't ask about her shit. She doesn't ask about yours. That's the foundation of your relationship with each other. You once threw a knife into a tree after an argument with someone else on the team and muttered “lintek na buhay to” to which she passed you a cigarette without a word. You help her with her hair one day and Natalie practically short circuits. You sit together often. Not talking, but just being close to each other. You don't need her to be soft, and that's what does it for her.

“Next time you wanna say something sweet in tagalog, just whisper it in my ear” She jokes to you after it, and you basically stop working for a moment. She opens up to you in small ways. Tells you about her dad. Her mom. The anger. She doesn’t expect comfort, but you give it anyway. When you mutter in tagalog, she doesn’t ask that much. You asked her why once. “I like it better when I don’t understand,” she replied. “At least I can pretend it’s nice.” You tell her you don't know what to think about that to which she laughs about.

One night, when everyone else is asleep, she tells you "I like hearing you talk, even if I don't get it all. I like how you talk" and then the two of you don't talk for two days after until she gets a cut on her hand and you happened to be the only person available to patch it up for her. "You could be gentler" She winces. "You could be less reckless" You snap back. Her lip quirks and she replies with. "Fair." You flick her head after you finish patching her up. "jusko, ikaw ang ikamamatay ko"

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie watches you more than she speaks to you at first. She doesn’t mean to focus on you, but she does. Before the crash, you guys barely ever interacted with each other unless necessary or because of something like being left alone with each other and so. On a cold morning after a few days since the plane crashed, you lend her a scarf. “Para sayo.” You tell her. She asks what you just said meant, and you can't help but smile. "For you" You answer. After that, she starts being close to you. Doing tasks with you almost more than anyone else on the team.

She learns words like ganda, tanga, and so much more just so she can understand you better. That, and so you'd have someone else to talk to in tagalog even though she wouldn't be able to understand everything you say in it. At least you'd have someone to talk to in your native language, right? She asks you from time to time to teach her a word every day. And surprisingly so, she remembers them. She says “ingat ka” before you go outside the cabin once and you freeze, your mouth agape while you blinked repeatedly to see if you heard what you did correctly at the time.

There's this strange comfort between you, and this really weird thing where you speak in tagalog but she doesn't understand what you said yet she knows exactly what you meant by your words somehow. In the middle of a really cold night when everyone else but you guys are asleep, you whisper “malamig” to yourself. "What does that word mean? " She asks you after. "Cold," You replied. Later, when she lies next to you by the fire, she whispers. "Still cold?" And you feel your cheeks heating up. "Not right now.."

Laura Lee:

Honestly, you surprise her. You're crass, tough, and sometimes harsh but you always say “thank you” when she shares food or water. She's a bit wary of you at first. Not just because you weren't religious, but you also tended to ask her a bunch of questions about her beliefs and so that came off as insensitive and offensive at times. She thought you hated her initially because of it until you caught her crying once and told her how much you admire her will to keep being faithful at times like these before leaving.

Just because of that one moment, Laura Lee has a whole reevaluation about you and starts getting close to you. It begins with the smallest things—being paired up for chores, helping her out now and then, and little shared moments. Though she doesn’t understand anything you say when you curse, she just knows they’re definitely not good. She mostly guesses the meanings of the words you say in tagalog. And if not that, she just asks you. "What does putangina mean?" And you respond with. "It's motherfucker" She gasps, scandalized.

She starts asking you for “non-evil” tagalog phrases, and you teach her the most church appropriate ones like — salamat, mabait ka, and etc. But you also teach her pakyu and lie about the meaning of it. So she says it at Jackie one day, and you lose it. She hears you sing a kundiman one night and thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. “Does god understand me?” You asked her. And she giggles like the question is a bit silly. “God understands all, no matter what language they speak.” Somehow, your cheeks heat up at that.

Misty Quigley:

Misty desperately wants to know what you’re saying all the time. She starts carrying a notebook and tries to phonetically spell out your curses to look them up when you guys get rescued in the future or just to decipher their meanings by herself and in which situations you use them. That, or she just asks you instead. She tries to parrot your insults but always gets the stress wrong. “Pu...ta—gee-na?” She says one day. “That’s not how you say it, Misty. Stop before I call a multo on you.”

You avoid her at first, but she keeps “coincidentally” being wherever you are. One day she tries to help you cook rice wrong and you snap. “You don’t stir the rice! Anong ginagawa mo?!” You shouted at her. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to bond!” She replied, quickly going away. You start calling her makulit, epal, and sira ulo since then. She thinks those are words of endearments, but they're not. One day she gives you a sad look and asks, “Does ‘sira ulo’ mean you like me?” It reminds you of a kicked puppy. “...Sure. Let’s go with that.” You replied.

She eventually finds out that they aren't, and while she's super hurt about it. She just ignores it, because you're nice to her. Although “nice” is a bit subjective though. Misty doesn’t understand boundaries, and while you would love to tell her off immediately, you feel bad for it so you start scolding her in Tagalog—huwag mo kong hawakan, ha? She never gets you, but at least she tries to. She still hovers you, despite of it. One day, she asks. “Would you tell me if you were saying something mean about me?” And you look her in the eye. “No, ” You replied. “But at least you can think what I say to you is nice, right?” It's bad, but it's better than being outright mean to her.

[caffieneaddictt18]

Who's a Heretic Now?

Got this idea listening to Which Witch by Florence + The Machine. I hope yall like it!

You are by the stream when you hear the tell-tale sound of horses on the soft dirt.

This was your first warning.

"Ma'am... we have reason to believe that... you are a witch." The captain of this small squadron addresses you from atop his stallion as you stand to your full height by the stream.

This was your second warning.

"You will find no witches here, good sir." You square your shoulders and look him in the eye.

The Infamous Price... given his name by the people he slaughters. The one whom he makes pay.

You can hear the two of the men on his team start to circle you, and you firmly dig your foot into the ground, just enough to be discreet and send out a signal for the roots to come back. There's someone in the trees... behind y-

You stop when you notice their armor seems to be clinking. Something... something's happening.

And this... your final warning.

You immediately withdraw your magic, and the clinking stops. Price just smirks.

"We knew you were the Witch of the Woods." He pulls out a necklace, the medallion on it radiating magic like uranium radiates nuclear energy.

"I am no witch. There are no witches here." You stand your ground, not willing to die for who you are.

"No use lyin', lass." The Scot, Soap, leans forward on his horse, watching you carefully with a carefree smile on his face.

"We just got confirmation." Gaz swings his medallion in the open air.

"Let's not scare her." John gets off his horse, and takes off his helmet.

"What are you going to do? Kill me? Torture me? Make me give you secrets that not even I know?" You prepare yourself for a fight... a fight you'll lose, but not without getting them too.

"Why make you if you don't even know them?" Ghost on his death-black mare emerges from the trees, his long bow slung across his back, "It would be easier to just kill you."

"Simon-" Price scolds his second-in-command, his hands on his hips. Ghost looks away, seeming to be scoping out the surrounding area.

"We... we need your help." Price starts, setting his helmet down and leaving his sword in his scabbarb.

"You need my help?" You let yourself slowly come out of the anticipatory stance, "Apologies, but I don't help killers."

"You kill." Gaz states, sounding so sure of himself and a smug expression to match.

"Do you think I'm doing myself any favors out here? There's no townspeople to convince that I'm a cunning woman that can help them. There's no protection out here." Gaz's face falls as he understands your situation a bit better now.

"So that's what you want." Soap gets off his horse.

"I never said that."

"Didnae have to, lass."

"Regardless, we need your help." Price cuts in, pleading for your kindness.

"Like I said, I don't help killers." Your face is stony as you begin to walk back to your cottage.

"The crown prince gave us the order to kill you." Price's voice slices the silence like a sword against stone.

You pause as you turn around to face them. "You are known for making your victims beg... why not make me plead? Why not force me on my knees and draw pleas from me like a chant? Why not kill me?" You take slow steps towards the captain, stopping at a comfortable distance.

"He was going to send us on the same day that he intended to banish us. For our crimes."

Your eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

"We operated under the General, with the Queen's express permission. However... she was found dead at dawn."

"And the prince assumed it was you." You come to the conclusion of this story.

"The General was not particularly fond of her anyways, and this would be an easy way to become the top of the military with his extensive training, overseen by the Queen and General themselves." Price explains, his arms outstretched.

"So you wish for me to protect you from the... King now, I assume."

Price's head hangs in defeat. You could see through his armor... through him.

"Fine. But I want something in return." You speak, your back straightening.

"What do you want?"

"Your swords." Your voice hits them all in the chest, understanding the weight of this. Soap, however... takes this a little too literally.

"Not actually. I have no need for a sword. But I do need your expertise in fighting if the new King were to ever find us." You look at Capta- Price... Just Price now...

"Boys?" He gathers his team together, the three of them looking on apprehensively.

"You said we would never have to do this again." Gaz look at the Captain, a sad look in his eyes.

"We never have to kill innocents anymore, Garrick. The men she is asking us to fight... they are guilty of every charge."

"They were our brothers in arms." Soap retorts, his arms crossed in front of him.

"No, MacTavish, they weren't... Not really."

As they discuss their little moral debate, you walk inside your cottage and gather your materials. Moon water can be made again... Eye of newt only grows in this area, gotta take it. It will be hard to find marshmallow elsewhere... I'll take that and grow it.

As you exit the cottage with everything you need, you look at the group, seeing Price give his men an inspirational speech. It makes you roll your eyes as you turn back to the cottage and say a spell, while holding your hands together, thumbs out to form a triangle over your head. As you chant your spell, and slowly bring your hands down, your home starts to crumble and form back with the Earth.

"Captain... I think she's leaving." Gaz nudges Price's shoulder, pointing at you.

Price turns to look at you, "You made a deal!" He shouts, angry at you seeming to double-cross him. "You said you would protect us if we gave you our swords!"

You sigh and close your eyes, feeling the setting sun on your face. You turn around, looking down the hill at him, the sun iluminating you, the wind caressing your hair.

"Who said 'I' was leaving? You're coming with me."

Price, shocked, stands there and takes in your words. And then your power... and your majesty. You are the most beauti-

"Apologies," He clears his throat.

"Besides, you haven't promised me your swords yet." You shift your gaze from Price, to the team, and back to Price.

Price, recovering from seeing you in this golden moment, takes his sword out and slams it into the ground in front of you. He slowly kneels on one knee, head bowed and hands gripping the hilt.

"I pledge my sword to you."

His team stands in amazement. They have only seen this happen one other time and... it was never this devout.

Gaz was the next to follow, throwing his sword in the ground close to his captain, mimicking the older man's stance. "I pledge my sword to you."

You look on in slight amusement and definite shock as Soap follows close behind. "I pledge my sword to you."

It is Ghost that takes the longest. He simply stands there and stares at you, his hand gripping the longbow like's ready to notch it and kill you any second.

"Ghost. I understand your apprehension. But I can't help you unless you are willing to fight. I will take you to safety. I will never ask you to kill an innocent. But I do need this of you." You look at him, understanding flowing between your gazes.

He slowly follows behind his group, using his bow instead of his sword.

"Great. Are you boys ready?" You turn from them, facing the oncoming dusk, "It's going to be a long ride before we get to safety." You start walking towards the sun and down the other side of the hill.

Price smiles slightly as he stands, putting his sword back in its scabbarb.

"You heard the witch. Let's pack up." Price gives the order to follow you as he heads for his horse and saddles up, his men following in his stead.

"Where are we going?" Soap asks when they catch up to you.

"I don't know. But I hope it's safe."

So... I have an idea for this to become a series with no idea of whether or not I wil have the energy to do so, but let's hope so. Have a great night/day!

[planetarytransformation]

the original on my nsfw blog is getting notes so i'm putting it below the cut in its entirety as well for anyone who wants to take a look. there aren't that many differences between versions but for cleanliness' sake i'll drop it here. enjoy!

The bandit captain had dropped her guard a little too readily.

The thought crossed your mind a moment too late; you had already lunged forward, silver-blue ribbons of magic dancing down your arm and out across the blade of your rapier. She sidestepped you with ease, a practiced maneuver that brought her lean, menacing frame inches from your unguarded flank. Out of the corner of your eye you saw her lips curl into a giddy grin.

Oh.

Her leathery hands found their way to either side of your neck before you could raise an arm to defend. You felt a cold shock: Had you been cut?

You staggered back; she stood there motionless, arms folded, watching you with hungry intent as you grasped at your throat.

A band of heavy iron was clamped there, resting just below your Adam's apple. It hummed at your touch, just faintly enough to hear through your pounding heartbeat.

The captain—

The woman—

You—

Something was wrong.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words hitched in your mind, thoughts breaking like waves against stone.

Your duel had been a flurry of pounding, calculated maneuvers, a frantic chess match soaked in blood and adrenaline. It had taken you each mere seconds of fighting to learn one another's techniques, match one another's moves, exploit one another's weaknesses and cover up your own. Your body was a masterwork of discipline, your magic a testament to the roaring power of your intellect.

The fevered mental impulses that carried you through combat had been honed to perfection over years of training. You could only watch, slack and silent, as they faded into nothingness.

The borders of your vision grew foggy; your muscles relaxed. You heard a clattering from your right side as your rapier fell to the ground.

A quiet inner voice, the last vestige of your consciousness, screamed in fear as the captain strode towards you. It tried to protest, to fight, to flee, but it could not overpower the soft, deadening pulses that coursed out of the collar on your neck.

She brought a finger below your chin and raised your unfocused eyes to hers. The panic-voice grew quieter still as it struggled to wrest control of you.

Her hands found their way to your hair, tilting your head up as your limp, exhausted body staggered towards hers.

Not quick enough, darling. But such a good, docile thing, now, aren't you?

Warm tears welled at the corner of your eyes. A shaky breath escaped you as you tried in vain to offer any resistance, any at all.

This will be easier if you stop trying to fight it, precious.

You're not a soldier anymore, are you? Listen to the way you're whining. Look at how nice and empty I've made your pretty head.

You blinked your eyes, and when they opened again your memories were gone. 

You're a toy now.

Why don't you come back to my camp and see what I do to my toys?

--- --- ---

It had been days by the time your compatriots rescued you.

Through the haze of half-perception in which she kept you, the unbearable aches of hunger and pain muted by the collar's steady spell, you heard the slick sweep of Keo's blade as it found your captor's throat.

Harper had gasped when she threw open the door of the bandit's tent to find you there, naked except for the iron ring around your neck. Days later, she told you your eyes had barely betrayed a hint of recognition.

She and Keo had shared piteous glances as they bathed you in the basement of the inn, surveying the clusters of yellowing bruises on your body and inferring with awful certainty what the bandit and her posse had done to you. Keo told you one night how long it had taken them to devise the countercharm that would release the collar from you. It would have been easier with you there to help, they said, eyes wet with grief and anger.

All they could think about was how much they missed you.

That first night without it on, you sat motionless by the cauldron-fire as Harper rubbed ointment into the ringed lesions on your neck. Your weapons hung lifeless on the wall of the rented basement room in which the three of you slept.

The room had been yours for years, and the three of you had been one another's for almost as long. On any other day, Harper's practiced touch would have felt as familiar and comforting as a warm blanket, as love, as home.

With a start, you realized the steady pressure of Harper's fingers down your shoulder and the heat of the fire on your bare breasts were the first sensations you'd recognized in almost a week. In an instant, your conscious mind reawoke with a strangled gasp.

Your dry, bruised throat let out a formless croak, and your hands flew to your mouth to stop the sound. Harper's soft, heavy arms wrapped around your waist as your eyes went wide with dawning horror. She and Keo held you wordlessly as memory returned.

You fell back onto the bed, body lanced with pain. No, no, no, you sobbed, your willpower exercising itself for the first time since you had been taken.

Keo grabbed you, planting their lips on your forehead as they pulled you into their embrace. It's okay, darling. You're safe.

Harper, still seated behind you, stroked your hair and cooed into your ear. You felt her other arm tighten around your shoulder as she shuddered with rage.

Hours passed. Harper and Keo held you desperately close, whispering words of comfort and promises of safety as if to slow the deluge that consumed you.

The world around you warped. Your skin grew warm with awful, excruciating life. The room – your room – felt damp, claustrophobic, like a bandit's tent. Keo's breath was hot on your neck, hot like hers had been, hot like the body-warm metal of—

You let out a faltering cry as the cloying comfort of your companions' embraces curdled into agony. You had only just remembered who these people were. You had only just been reminded of your life, your work, what you'd been put through. Harper's heavy frame was smothering you; Keo's sharp hands were like knives on your skin.

Stop, you cried. Let me go.

Perhaps, on another night, you could have made yourself surrender to them. You could have told yourself that they knew what was best, that they'd take care of you, that your body was wounded and broken and needed healing. 

No, no, no.

Something to make it stop. To make it go away. Tears ran in rivulets down your flushed cheeks as your muscles tensed and shivered, wracked with pain and fear.

Something to make it stop. To make it go away. To make these unbearable sensations fade quietly into darkness. To shut up the screaming voice in your head.

The collar sat lifeless on the floor.

--- --- ---

A blue-white dart of force erupted from your fingertip and pierced the side of the horned marauder, knocking him backwards into his comrade. He snarled, lunging back towards you with redoubled ferocity. He could tell you were faltering.

Everyone could tell you were faltering.

It had been months since your rescue, months since Harper and Keo had pried the iron collar off your neck, and yet something in you had been broken seemingly beyond repair.

Your magic had no flourish anymore, no dancing ribbons or blinding lightshows. Bright, straight beams and discs lanced from your body, piercing vital organs with dispassionate, calculated ruthlessness. You leant harder and harder on your spellcasting, keeping distance between you and your foes and picking them apart with brutal, rhythmic precision. Gone were the days of the elegant dance, the happy confidence, the flicks of the wrist.

Your sword-arm, by contrast, was impotent and broken. Your guard was sloppy, your death-blows meek and yielding. You froze up, even during sparring, eyes glazing over at the slightest hint of enemy advantage.

Harper had screamed at you once, crouching over your supine form, the handle of her axe held tight against your neck. Please, she had said. You need to get better. You need to get well. Glistening tears had splashed onto the cold stone floor.

I won't watch you die because of this.

Even here, in pitched combat, your rapier hung lifeless at your side as luminescent rays burst from your trembling spell-arm. Before you could deliver a second strike, the marauder whirled into close quarters and dragged a smoking claw across the meat of your shoulder.

Blood sprayed from the fresh wound; brimstone filled your nose. You heard yourself scream, falling to the floor as your nerves began to burn.

This was the third and final change: Every sensation filled you now, like a cup that was too small.

The third night after the collar came off, Keo's familiar lips had met yours for the first time since your capture. You had reciprocated with frantic, pleading grasps, begging for them to purge your body of the choking sickness that still lingered.

Though the bruises on your ribs had all but healed, you had cried out in pain when their long, slender hand moved to cup your breast. Pure, cold terror had shot down your spine. And yet, still, your body melted with a need too powerful to ignore even a second longer.

Their touch had become violation, and so violation it would be.

Teeth clenched in contempt, you grabbed their wrist and wrenched it downwards between your legs. Your hips bucked into their flat, firm palm, your other hand digging its nails into the back of your companion's neck.

Keo's cries had awoken Harper. She arose instantly and stopped you both, hissing a withering reprimand to the wine-drunk Keo, and the pity and betrayal with which the two of them gazed at you was more blood-curdling than the hateful sneer of any devil-spawn.

Harper's battle-axe split the advancing fiend in two with a dull, sickening thud. A few feet away, Keo peeled a viscera-coated boot from the skull of the marauder captain.

Your eyes were glassy and your breathing was shallow. The floor of the temple felt cold against the back of your neck as your blood began to soak your clothes.

Harper and Keo moved to help you up. Once again, you recognized the looks on their faces.

---

Back at the inn, Keo had given you the last of your healing salves. Harper winced as she poured sharp-smelling whiskey over her wounds, staring at you across the floor as you laid on the ragged mattress.

There had always been a custom, after fights like this, if any one of you had ever come close to dying. You remember Harper's taste on the first night so many years ago, honey-sour, sweat and blood flowing in streams over her splinted leg and your smiling chin.

I'm so glad you're alive, Harper. Does that feel good, love?

Please, promise me you'll stay.

Or Keo, lean, furious Keo, rutting with desperate force into Harper's full frame as you gasped and twitched beneath the both of them.

You're not weak, Keo. Look at yourself. Look at yourself, Keo.

How strong you are.

It was your turn, now. You needed them with you, on you, coursing through you, and yet your recalcitrant body revolted at the thought. Tears of frustration and longing streaked down your face; you knew what their touch would be now.

It had been months, and you still could not bear it.

They must have heard you cry, must have known what you were thinking. They must have seen the flush on your skin, sensed the rustle of sheets as your hands gripped the bed.

The frame creaked as they moved to sit either side of you. Faintly, so faintly, Harper's hand rose to brush your hair. You winced, your body locking up between them.

Keo reached out towards you, and your vigilant eyes flew to their hands. They had something there, resting softly over their finger: a band of cold iron, held closed with a familiar clasp.

You doubled over in desperation, barely mustering the strength to compose yourself. You turned to look at Harper, then at them.

Please, said Keo. Let us do this for you.

Without a word, you raised the hair from the back of your neck, staring intently at Keo as they moved slowly, tenderly, to wrap the band back around the faded scar above your collarbone.

There.

The warm fog filled you like a mother's love. Harper's hand glided, knowing and gentle, across your scalp. Keo's mouth began to roam your body as your vision went soft and your tears began to dry.

The magic pulsed through you faster now that it had learned the contours of your psyche. In an instant, you could barely remember who these people were; you certainly couldn't have uttered their names. And yet they moved with such care, with such love, that no panicked voice spoke up from the depths of your subconscious.

Your mouth was in Keo's lap, now. Nothing in your tired body could have brought you to resist them as they pushed past your lips and into the back of your throat.

You heard a faint, familiar sigh of relief and pleasure from above you. Something told you you were doing such a good job, love, there. It's okay.

You're safe now, pretty bird.

Harper was working you, too, hands pressed up against your underside, soft fingers curled around you as her mouth moved close to whisper words of comfort in your ear.

There was nothing you had to fight to allow them to touch you.

There was no pain, no rejection, no yawning sense of terror to push you away from them.

You felt a warm, mounting pressure building in your abdomen. You didn't have to try and reach for it, even if you could have. It would come. Your friends were going to take you to it, and that was all you had to know.

Yes, love, that's it. That's it, love, keep going. 

Come for us.

You thrashed with a ferocity you had only ever known in combat. Your friends cradled you as it took hold, breaching the magic of the collar and welling up within you, spilling out of you, surpassing and transcending you.

You heard a fevered voice, your voice, echoing off the dark walls of the basement room as Harper and Keo's warm, wet bodies moved to contain your writhing form.

There was nothing your mind could do as your friends withdrew and you collapsed onto the warm bed.

There was only love, elemental love, pure and comfortable, too indistinct and cloudy for your addled mind to sense the dark, warped perversions at its heart.

You'd never have been able to recognize the pangs of unease that flashed across your companions' faces. If either of them had given voice to the doubt they felt over what they'd just done to their best friend, you wouldn't have understood.

To you, they were perfect, had been perfect, had taken such good care of you.

There was no past or future you could see from the soft, safe present in which you lay.

Your eyes fluttered closed in Harper's lap, and the world was a happy dream.

wrote some sort of weird pornographic trauma-study thing a while back and finally put it up somewhere that isn't my, like, 10-follower NSFW sideblog.

it was an attempt to write some cute high-fantasy bad-end with a mind-control collar, and it wound up being quite a bit darker than anticipated. the finished piece is a little more about the aftermath of painful experiences, and what it means to be cared for when your injuries are too complex to describe.

but there is still sex in it, and mind control, and polyamory, and i figure that might be of interest to some of you.

it's on AO3 if you want to check it out. 😘💜🦚

[jessesluvr]

hi hello hey 👋 hope ur well! <3<3

can u pls write smth abt jesse being like soooo in love with reader!!!! like always looking for her around, helping her with anything she's and doing holding her hand and kissing her forehead and being literally her protector 😭 even tho she is not helpless and weak and stuff she always lets him and thanks him with such a sweet smile and a "thank you, love" and he melts goes crazy stops working 😭 sorry that's messy i just love bambi eyed jesse so much 😭

"wherever you are, i'm home" | jesse x pregnant!fem!reader

author's note : hi ! i hope you're well too. :) i'm very excited to do this prompt ! ahhh i figured i could have reader be pregnant because i need it in my life and my heart is now whole.

summary : in a quiet corner of jackson, jesse devotes himself completely to his pregnant partner—protecting her, cherishing her, and finding home in every soft moment they share.

word count : 1.9k

jackson was quieter in the mornings, when the snow hadn’t yet started to fall and the town hadn’t fully woken. the quiet was a gift—fleeting, rare. jesse liked that about mornings. he especially liked them now, because they always started the same way:

looking for you.

you weren’t hard to find. usually, you were already moving—tending the goats behind the stables, folding up clean laundry on the porch of your small house, or making your way back from the greenhouse with your arms full of vegetables you refused to let anyone else carry.

this morning was no different. jesse found you near the community kitchen, a basket in your hands and a scarf pulled tight around your neck.

you looked up, your face lighting up in that way that made his whole chest warm. “good morning baby.”

god, that voice. that smile.

he was useless every time.

“hey,” he said, walking straight to you. his hands were already moving before he finished the word—reaching for the basket, brushing your gloved fingers in the process. “you shouldn’t be carrying this.”

you raised a brow, amused. “it’s lettuce.”

“it’s heavy lettuce,” he replied, already tucking it under one arm and using the other to pull you into his side. “let me do something. justify my existence.”

you laughed, soft and lovely, and leaned into him as you walked together toward the house.

inside, it was warm—thankfully. jesse knelt down to help you remove your boots, but you stopped him with a hand gently on his shoulder.

“jess, honey. i’m not ninety.”

“i know. you’re stronger than all of us,” he said, grinning as he stood up again and pressed a kiss to your temple. “still gonna help you. sorry, it’s a compulsion now.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he murmured, pulling you in again, resting a hand over the soft swell of your belly. “but you love me anyway.”

six months along. that’s what the doctor said, when they’d finally confirmed it. six months of this strange, fierce little life blooming inside you, and six months of jesse practically becoming your shadow.

he didn’t hover. not in the way that felt smothering. he watched. he noticed. he was just there—the way people were when they couldn’t bear the idea of you slipping out of their reach.

he walked you to patrol meetings, even when you insisted you were just checking in. he stood behind you during supply runs, always one step behind, like he could catch you if the earth gave out beneath your feet.

but you never pushed him away. and not because you needed him—but because it meant something to let him take care of you.

you weren’t weak.

but letting him love you like this?

it made you feel strong in a new way. anchored.

that afternoon, jesse had kitchen duty—which he hated, but tommy had made the schedule and “there’s no use arguing with the damn mayor,” as jesse liked to say, especially if he were to one day run jackson himself.

you were resting on the porch, a blanket around your legs, warm tea in your hands, when he came stomping up the steps, flour on his pants and something exasperated in his expression.

“he made me make bread,” jesse announced, collapsing into the rocking chair beside you.

you tried not to laugh. “the horror.”

“actual bread. kneading and everything. i feel like my hands are going to fall off at any point.”

you reached over, brushed a fleck of flour from his jaw with a gentle finger. “poor thing.”

jesse looked at you for a long second, eyes tracing over your face, your slight smile, the shape of you beneath the soft cardigan you wore.

“thank you, love,” you said softly, just like you always did, and just like always—it broke him.

something in his chest just caved in.

he leaned forward without a word and kissed your forehead, letting his hand rest again on the curve of your belly.

you covered his hand with yours.

the wind blew gently across the porch. the rocking chairs creaked in rhythm.

and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

the next day, you insisted on walking to the stables alone.

“i’m not made of glass honey,” you said.

jesse kissed your forehead and let you go—reluctantly.

but by the time you returned, the clouds had rolled in and the wind had picked up, carrying snow and bits of ice through the air.

you were halfway to the house when the basket slipped from your hand, scattering fresh hay across the path.

jesse had just about bolted out the front door the moment he saw you bend down.

“hey—hey, babe, don’t—stop—just, let me—!”

you straightened as he reached you, your cheeks red from the cold.

“i was fine,” you said gently, though you let him pick up the basket.

“i know. i know you were. but still.” his hands moved, brushing snow from your coat, from your hair, lingering just a second too long on your cheek. “you don’t gotta do everything alone.”

“i’m not,” you said. “i’ve got you.”

and jesse? he just about short-circuited.

later that night, you sat together in bed, the fire casting shadows on the walls. he was rubbing your feet—something you hadn’t asked for, but he did without fail every night now.

you were reading. he was just looking at you. eyes soft. tired, but content.

“you always look at me like that,” you said, closing the book. “why?”

“like what?”

“like i’m your favorite story.”

he paused, “because you are.”

you blinked, startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

“i mean it,” he added, kneeling in front of you. “you… you gave me something i didn’t know i’d ever have again. a real life. something to hold on to. someone who sees me.”

you reached down, cradling his face in both hands.

“i do see you,” you whispered. “and i love what i see.”

he pulled you into him, rested his forehead against yours. for a while, neither of you said anything. you didn’t need to.

there was safety in the silence.

love in the quiet.

a few days later, a patrol party came back late—shaken, not hurt, but quiet in a way that said something almost went wrong.

you were helping unload supplies when you heard jesse’s voice across the yard—loud, frantic.

“where is she?”

you turned, confused, just in time for him to rush to you, eyes wide and scanning every inch of you like you might disappear.

“i’m fine,” you said, catching his face between your palms. “i’m right here.”

he exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“i thought—someone said you might’ve gone out with them. i didn’t know—i just—” he broke off.

“i’m okay,” you said again, softer now. “i’m okay, love.”

and there it was. that smile. that voice. that "love" that undid him every time.

he kissed you right there, in front of the watchtower and half the town, like it didn’t matter who saw. and maybe it didn’t. not anymore.

One Month Later

snow was starting to melt. the world was still cold, still broken—but life was happening anyway.

you were eight months along, glowing in a way jesse swore he’d never get used to. stronger than ever, still doing too much, still letting him help.

and jesse? he still looked for you first thing every morning. still held your hand like a tether. still kissed your forehead like a vow.

the day you felt a kick so strong it startled you, jesse dropped the mug he was holding and stared at your belly like it had just spoken.

“she’s strong,” you whispered.

“like her mama,” he murmured.

“like her papa, too.”

the nights were warmer now.

you lay curled in bed, jesse beside you, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on your stomach. the baby kicked gently beneath his palm.

“you’re gonna be a great dad,” you whispered sleepily.

he kissed your temple. “only ‘cause you’re her mom.”

you smiled. “thank you, love.”

and just like always—

jesse melted.

he smiled into your hair, held you closer, and whispered:

“wherever you are, i’m home.”

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath

----------------------------‐-----------------------------

TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), tension, kidnapping, pregnancy issues (Maggie will be fine!), helplessness, character death.

Part 40

Dead Weight- Part 41

The morning air is crisp as Daryl adjusts his crossbow strap, checking his bolts one more time. The supply run to the apothecary should be straightforward—get in, grab whatever medical supplies they can find, get out.

Simple.

Pre-dawn darkness fills the attic room as Daryl moves carefully around the small space, gathering his gear with practiced silence. You're still curled up in the bed you share, one arm stretched across to his side of the mattress like you're searching for him even in sleep.

He pauses in pulling on his vest, watching the way you frown slightly and burrow deeper into his pillow, breathing in his scent. Something tight in his chest loosens at the sight—even unconscious, you reach for him.

Even in your dreams, you want him close.

Don't deserve 'er, he thinks, but even the voice in his head sounds less convinced than it used to, like the ghosts in his brain are starting to fall for you.

Your hand slides blindly across the sheets where he'd been lying, and you make a soft sound of distress when you find only empty space. Before he can think better of it, Daryl's sitting on the edge of the bed, taking your searching hand in his calloused fingers.

"Daryl?" you mumble, not quite awake but aware enough to squeeze his hand.

"'M'here," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his face into your hair next to your temple. "Gotta go on a run with the Doc and the others."

You shift slightly, trying to pull him back down to bed without fully waking up. "Stay," you whisper against the pillow. "Five more minutes."

He almost gives in.

Almost strips off his gear and crawls back under the covers, pulls you against his chest and forgets about medical supplies and responsibilities. The want hits him so hard it's almost physical—to wake up slow and easy with you in his arms, to have morning coffee together in the kitchen, to pretend for just a little while that the world outside these walls doesn't exist.

"Can't," he says softly, though his thumb traces across your knuckles. "Sun ain't up yet. You stay in bed, alright? Get s'more sleep."

You make another soft sound of protest, but you're already drifting back toward sleep, your grip on his hand loosening. He waits until your breathing evens out again before carefully extracting his fingers from yours.

"Be back 'fore you know it," he promises the quiet room, pressing one more gentle kiss to your temple before forcing himself to stand and shoulder his crossbow.

Should be back before she even knows I'm gone, he thinks, glancing back toward the house where you're probably still sleeping in the attic room you share. The thought of you curled up in bed, hair spread across the pillow, makes something warm settle in his chest.

"You ready?" Glen asks, shouldering his pack.

"Yeah." Daryl nods to Rosita and Denise. "Let's get this done."

The apothecary is a small building on the outskirts of a town they'd scouted weeks ago. It's been picked over, but Denise manages to find enough antibiotics and painkillers to make the trip worthwhile.

She's chattering nervously about proper storage temperatures and expiration dates.

The comparison hits him unexpectedly. Denise cares about people, puts herself at risk to help others, that reminds him of you. The way you'd stayed up all night when Carl was sick, the way you always insist on taking care of Lil' Asskicker even when you were exhausted yourself.

"We should head back," Glen says, loading the last of the supplies into their packs. "Don't want to be out here when it gets dark."

The walk back starts peacefully enough. Denise is still talking, now about some medical journal she'd found, and Rosita is actually engaging with her questions.

Glen's keeping watch, same as always, and Daryl finds his mind wandering to what you might be doing back home.

You and Maggie had gotten closer since Alexandria, bonding over shared experiences and the quiet understanding that came from loving the same group of people.

Always takin' care of everyone else.

That's when Denise stops walking.

"I want to say something," she announces, and there's something different in her voice. More determined. "To all of you."

She's looking at him, Glen and Rosita, and Daryl feels that familiar itch between his shoulder blades—the one that says something's about to go wrong.

"You're both good people," Denise continues. "And good people, they do good things, even when—"

The bullet takes her in the back of the head, punching through her left eye with a wet sound that makes Daryl's stomach drop.

She doesn't even have time to scream before she's falling forward, dead before she hits the ground.

"Drop your weapons!"

The voice comes from the treeline, and Daryl's already moving, crossbow raised, when he sees them. At least a dozen men with guns, all pointed at their group. His finger tightens on the trigger, but Glen's hand on his arm stops him.

"Daryl, don't. Too many of them."

"Well, well," one of the men says, stepping forward. He's got a cocky smile and the kind of swagger that Daryl's seen too many times before. "Look what we got here. You boys and the lady are gonna come with us."

"The hell we are," Daryl growls, but there are too many guns, and he knows it.

"Oh, I think you will. See, we've got orders to bring back anyone we find from Alexandria alive. Though I gotta say, losing the doc there is a real shame. She seemed nice."

The casual way he talks about Denise's death makes rage burn hot in Daryl's chest. Even Merle never talked like that.

"You son of a bitch—"

"Daryl." Glen's voice is sharp with warning. "Don't give them a reason."

But the man is already walking toward him, eyes fixed on the crossbow. "Now that's a nice piece. Mind if I take a look?"

Daryl snarls, but the guns are all trained on him now, and he knows if he fights, they might not make it home at all.

The man's smile widens as he reaches for the crossbow. "Thanks, friend. Always wanted one of these."

It's just a weapon, Daryl tries to tell himself as they strip it away from him. Just a damn crossbow, I'll get it back.

But it's not just a weapon, and he knows it. It's the first thing he grabbed when everything went to hell.

It's what's kept him alive, kept the people he cares about alive. It's as much a part of him as his own hands.

"Move," one of the Saviors barks, shoving him forward.

As they're marched deeper into the woods, Daryl can't stop thinking about you back in Alexandria. About how you'd looked at him that morning before he left, sleepy and soft in the early light.

Back in Alexandria, you're sitting on the porch with Maggie watching Enid carefully cut her hair. It's a quiet afternoon, the kind that still feels like a luxury after so many months of constant danger.

"Just a little shorter," Maggie instructs, running her fingers through the freshly cut strands. "Glen says it makes me look younger."

"Glen would think you're beautiful if you were bald, tarred and feathered" you tease, and Maggie laughs.

"That's probably true." She places a protective hand over her still-flat stomach. "Though I worry about what this little one's gonna do to my hair. Patricia's hair fell out in clumps."

"Every woman's different," Enid says, focusing on her cutting. "Besides, you've got good genes. You'll be fine."

You smile at their easy banter, but part of you is distracted, glancing toward the gate every few minutes. Daryl and the others should be back soon, and you always worry when he's out on runs, even the simple ones.

"He'll be fine," Maggie says quietly, following your gaze. "Daryl always comes back."

"I know. I just—"

Maggie's sharp intake of breath cuts you off. She's gone very still, one hand pressed to her side, her face suddenly pale.

"Maggie?" Enid drops the scissors, immediately concerned. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Maggie gasps, doubling over slightly. "It just... something's wrong. Something's really wrong."

The pain seems to intensify, and you can see panic starting to creep into her eyes.

Your own heart starts racing as you reach for her, offering what comfort you can.

"We need to get Denise," you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you remember she's not here.

She's out there somewhere with Daryl and the others, hopefully on their way back.

"The infirmary," Enid says quickly. "We can take her to the infirmary."

As you help Maggie to her feet, her face twisted with pain and fear, you can't shake the feeling that something terrible is happening.

That this perfect afternoon is about to shatter like glass.

The infirmary feels too small with all of you crowded inside, watching as Maggie grips the examination table, her knuckles white with pain. Without Denise here, none of you really know what to look for, but Carol's doing her best to check Maggie's vitals.

"The pain's getting worse," Maggie gasps, and you can see the fear in her eyes. "Something's really wrong."

"We need to get you to Hilltop," you say, making the decision that everyone's been dancing around.

"But what about—" Maggie starts to protest, probably thinking about Glen, about Daryl and the others who should have been back by now.

"Glen would want you to go," you interrupt gently. "He'd want you and the baby safe."

Rick appears in the doorway, having heard the commotion. His face goes grim when he sees Maggie's condition. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that we need to get her to Hilltop," Carol says, her voice steadier now that there's a plan. "Tonight."

"I'll get the RV ready," Rick nods. "Carol, you stay here with Judith. Everyone else, we leave in ten minutes."

Your heart clenches at the thought of leaving Alexandria when Daryl's still out there, but Maggie needs help now.

Carol catches your arm as you're heading out to gather supplies. "He'll be fine," she says quietly. "Daryl always finds his way back."

"I know, just let him know where we've gone, Glen too" you whisper, but your voice betrays your worry.

She nods.

Twnety minutes later, you're all loaded into the RV—Rick driving, Michonne beside him, while you sit with Maggie in the back, holding her hand as another wave of pain hits her.

Abraham, Sasha, Eugene, Carl, and Aaron fill the remaining seats, everyone tense and worried.

About five miles from Alexandria. A fallen tree blocks the road, odd because there hasn't been any storms steong enough. Rick has to reverse and find another route, adding precious time to the journey.

"We need to get us some aborists" Abraham jokes, but his hand rests on his weapon.

The second roadblock is more elaborate. Cars arranged in a deliberate pattern, with gaps that look like they might be passable but would require careful maneuvering.

Rick studies it for a long moment before backing up again.

"This is planned," Michonne says what everyone's thinking. "Someone's herding us."

"Who?" Carl asks, but no one has an answer.

You squeeze Maggie's hand as sweat gathers on her forehead. "We're gonna get you there," you promise, though you're not sure if you're trying to convince her or yourself.

The third roadblock is the most elaborate yet—a careful arrangement of vehicles and debris that forms a maze-like pattern. There are figures moving in the distance, but they're too far away to make out clearly.

"Someone's playing with us," Sasha says grimly.

Rick's jaw is tight as he puts the RV in reverse once again. "We'll find another way."

But as you watch the road behind you, you can't shake the feeling that there might not be another way.

That whoever's doing this has thought of everything, planned for every possible route.

Maggie's grip on your hand tightens as another wave of pain hits, and you can see the fear in her eyes growing stronger.

Time might be running out, and you're no closer to Hilltop than you were an hour ago.

"Rick," you call toward the front, your voice tight with worry. "We need to get through. Whatever this is, we need to get through it now."

"I know," he says, but his voice carries the weight of impossible choices. "I know."

As the RV continues its slow retreat from the third roadblock, you can't help but think about Daryl out there somewhere.

About Glen, who should be here holding Maggie's hand instead of you. About all the ways this shit could go wrong.

Please, you think desperately, not sure if you're praying to God or just hoping the universe might show some mercy.

Please let us all make it through this.

The fourth roadblock makes your stomach drop. It's not just cars and debris this time—there are walkers chained to the vehicles, a dozen or more of them straining against their bonds, their moans echoing through the night air.

Someone has turned the roadblock into a trap, using the dead as living barriers.

"Mother-dick," Abraham mutters from his seat, but his voice is steady.

Maggie whimpers beside you, and you feel your own panic rising. Sweat is beaded across her face now and she is so pale, you can see the fear in her eyes growing stronger with each passing minute.

"Hey," Abraham says, turning in his seat to look at Maggie. His voice is surprisingly gentle.

"Look at me, Maggie."

"Panicking ain't gonna help. We're gonna get you to that doctor, but you gotta stay calm for us. Can you do that?"

Something in his tone—authoritative but kind—seems to cut through Maggie's panic. She nods, taking a shaky breath.

"Good." Abraham looks at you next. "You too little lady. She needs you steady right now."

You nod, trying to swallow down your own fear. Abraham's right—falling apart won't help anyone.

Rick is already reversing the RV again, his jaw tight with frustration. "That's the fourth one. They're not just blocking us, they're—"

"If I may," Eugene starts from his seat near the back, adjusting his glasses. "I've been observing the pattern of these obstructions, and I believe I've identified the underlying strategy being employed by—"

"Not now, Eugene," Rick cuts him off, focused on navigating the RV backward.

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

Eugene looks frustrated but falls silent, and you can see him practically vibrating with the need to share whatever theory he's developed.

The fifth roadblock is even worse. More walkers, more elaborate arrangements, and this time there are fresh bodies among the dead—people who were probably traveling this same route recently. The sight makes your blood run cold.

"They're not just stopping people," Sasha observes grimly. "They're collecting them."

Maggie's grip on your hand tightens a wave of pain hits.

"We're gonna make it," you tell her, but your voice shakes slightly.

"Rick," Eugene tries again, raising his voice slightly. "I really think we should consider—"

"Eugene, please," Michonne interrupts, studying the roadblock ahead. "We need to focus."

Eugene's face flushes with frustration, but he bites his tongue.

As Rick begins another slow reverse, you catch sight of movement in the trees lining the road. Figures, staying just out of clear view, but definitely watching.

Waiting.

"Its like we're cattle," Aaron adds his frustration clear.

Eugene clears his throat loudly. "If you would all just listen for a moment, I believe I have a viable solution to our current predicament. You see, the mathematical probability of these roadblocks being randomly distributed is essentially zero, which means—"

"Eugene," Rick's voice is sharp with stress. "Can you get to the point?"

"They're expecting the RV," Eugene blurts out. "Whoever's doing this, they know we're coming this way, they know our vehicle, probably our route. But they're not expecting us to abandon the RV and go on foot."

The RV falls silent except for the rumble of the engine and Maggie's labored breathing.

"Go on," Rick says carefully.

Eugene straightens, finally having everyone's attention. "I propose you take Maggie through the woods on foot. It's rough terrain, but it's a direct route to Hilltop, and they can't have roadblocks in the forest. Meanwhile, I keep driving the RV, make it look like we're still trying to find alternate routes. Draw their attention away from your actual path."

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

"That's..." Abraham starts, then pauses. "That's actually not a terrible idea."

"You'd be alone," Michonne points out. "If they catch you—"

"I'm expendable," Eugene says matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've gotten pretty good at the whole self-preservation thing. I can handle a few miles of driving in circles."

You look at Maggie, the idea of carrying her through the woods in her condition seems impossible, but staying on the roads is clearly not working.

"It could work," you say quietly. "If we move fast, stay quiet..."

"It's risky," Rick says, but you can see him considering it.

"Everything's risky now," Abraham points out. "Question is, which risk gives us the best chance of getting Maggie to that doctor."

As if on cue, Maggie doubles over and you can see the decision crystallizing in Rick's eyes. Time is running out, and conventional routes aren't working.

"Alright," Rick says finally. "Eugene, you sure about this?"

Eugene nods, his face set with determination. "I've been sure for the last ten minutes. Just took y'all a while to let me finish a sentence."

Despite everything, you almost smile at that.

Even in the middle of a crisis, Eugene's still Eugene.

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 31

WARNINGS: none(?)

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 1,617

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 28

A/N: she's a longer chapter so buckle up and maybe get some snacks. i decided that since i made you guys wait so long for ch 30, i’d give you ch 31 earlier as a treat and a thank you for being patient

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

“I’m falling in love with you."

Changbin's words echo loudly in your head, drowning out every other sound around you. Changbin's hand is no longer in yours, whether you dropped it or he let go is something you're unsure of.

"Y-you...you're...what?" You stammer as you try, but fail, to understand what is currently happening.

"I'm falling in lo—"

"No, no. I heard you. It's just..." Your voice trails off as the words die in your throat and sink deep down to the pit of your stomach. You pull the towel off your head like that's going to help you understand.

Part of you feels like you're drowning. Time has slowed down, and gravity is pulling you deep into the ground. Your heart is pounding so fast that it's tripping over its own rhythm. Maybe you're having a heart attack. Maybe you finally overworked yourself to your breaking point and this is just some sort of weird vision before you die. Your pulse drums in your ears, adding an out-of-tune melody to Changbin's words.

Another, larger part of you is floating, lifted by the wings of the butterflies in your stomach. Despite the intense chill running through your body, you can feel whatever heat you had left rushing to your face. Giddiness swirls around your body, mixed with nausea, because for some unexplainable reason,

Seo Changbin is falling in love with you.

"Noona?" Changbin asks slowly, his hand landing gently on your shoulder.

"Are you stupid?" Your voice cracks and is tight, constricted in your dry throat.

"...well sometimes when people are in love they tend to be a little st—"

"Stop saying that," You whisper, your voice trembling with fear. "Just...just stop."

You push yourself off the floor and walk to the opposite side of the hallway. Changbin is up almost just as fast, but he keeps his distance from you. He watches you intently, waiting for your next move, while fiddling with his fingers.

"What is wrong with you?" You ask, your voice raising an octave. "You just had a front-row seat to that shit show that was Hyunjin's dating scandal with me and you just--"

"If that's what you're worried about, you don't need to be. If we did start dating and got found out or revealed or whatever, nobody would care." Changbin's hand reaches out towards you before he stops himself and leans against the wall behind him. He tosses his hands behind to keep himself at bay.

"Stop saying that people won't care. Your fans care, trust me they do. I can pull so many posts to prove it to you. And I don't know if you're aware, but according to your fans I'm an evil manipulative sasaeng trying to poison the group." You run your hands through your hair out of frustration.

"But you aren't. I know you're not. You know you're not. So why should what anyone else thinks matter? All that should matter is how we feel about each other. And I already know how I feel about you." His voice softens, filled with a tender melody.

"The fact that when something like this was speculated I was doxed and relentlessly harassed for weeks aside." You push yourself off the wall and start pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of everything happening. "This—whatever the hell this is—is highly inappropriate. I'm a reporter and you are the person I'm actively interviewing and reporting on. Any sort of relationship between us beyond that is unprofessional and a major conflict of interest. I'm sure it's a breach of ethics."

"I'm big on ethics and principles, you know that." Changbin starts, his voice determined to break through the storm raging in your head. "But this is a little different. We're both adults and can separate our personal and professional lives. I know you can. So if our feelings are mutual and we decided to—"

"Oh my god," You mutter to yourself.

You walk off in the direction you're already facing in the middle of your pacing. You're not entirely sure if you're even heading in the direction of your hotel room. You just desperately want to get out of this conversation. What you do know is that there are elevators on either side of the hallway.

"Y/n, Y/n wait," Changbin runs after you and grabs your hand, effectively stopping you from getting away.

"This is a bad idea." Tears well up in your eyes as you try to pry yourself from his grip.

Changbin's hand slides down from your wrist down to your hand. "You're just scared."

"N-no I'm not." There's a pang in your chest as Changbin catches you off guard. "You're confused is all."

"I'm not confused." Changbin's brows shoot up in surprise as he scoffs at you.

"Yes, you are. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I do know what I'm talking about. I know how I feel about you and I'm serious when I say I'm falling in love with you."

"Well stop,"

"That's not exactly in my control,"

"Just take it back."

"I can't,"

"You have to!"

"I don't want to!"

"You're making a mistake!"

"You are not a mistake!"

Creak...

Both of your heads shoot in the direction where one of the doors opens. Before you can think of an excuse as to why you're arguing with Changbin in the hallway at three in the morning, Changbin pulls the two of you into a nearby linen closet.

"What are you—"

You're cut off by Changbin's hand covering your mouth. In the dimly lit cramped space, you watch as Changbin raises his finger to his mouth telling you to be quiet. Your bodies are close, almost pressed together. Your hands are on Changbin's chest to give you as much distance as you can get. But you can feel Changbin's heart pounding beneath your fingertips. And you're almost certain he can feel yours.

"Whoever is out here being loud, knock it off and go to bed." The muffled voice on the other side of the door warns. You can't be sure, but you think it might be one of the other members.

After a few moments, you can hear the door close again. But neither of you move nor do you talk. Surrounded by the sound of both of your hearts drumming against your chests and your breathing, you calm down. Your gazes locked into each other, and time seems to have stilled, an eternity within a fleeting moment. Changbin lowers his finger from his lips and lands on your waist. He slowly moves his other hand from your mouth and moves it to your cheek. With a gentleness that feels foreign, he wipes a stray tear from your eye with his thumb.

"You're scared, and that's understandable." His voice is low in a whisper. His eyes search your face before letting out a shaky breath and starting again. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—the last thing I wanted was to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t even mean to say it out loud. I was just…thinking about it and I guess I’m so tired that I said it out loud. But I said it and I’m not taking it back. I’ll even say it again: I’m falling in—”

"Please, don't," Your voice breaks as another tear falls.

"I'm falling in love with you, Y/n." He repeats, all formality gone in words. "Trust me, I didn't mean to and I certainly didn't want to. But I did and I'm going to continue to do so."

You continue to stare at Changbin with your lips parted like you're ready to argue back. But you can't. Your head is empty again.

"If you rejected me...If you told me that you don't have feelings for me, I would respect your wishes and leave you alone. But you didn't. In all your reasons why we shouldn't be together, not once did you say that you didn't like me back."

He's right. You mentioned how it's a bad idea and that you shouldn't get together. But you never said that the feelings aren't exactly mutual. Whatever those feelings may be.

"I'm not falling in love with you, Changbin." You whisper so quietly, you're not sure you actually said it out loud.

"Doesn't mean you don't feel anything." A hopeful glint shins in Changin's eyes.

"That's not..."

"Tell me you don't feel anything for me."

"I can't,"

Ba-dum

Your answer takes you by surprise. But something in you can't lie about this. You're not sure what you feel but there is something there. It's not love, but...

"You don't have to respond now. I won't push you, I promise. But I won't back down either. Just...just wait until you're done working with us." Changbin presses his lips together for a moment while he chooses his next words. "The tour is almost over and so is your project. Then we won't be working 'together' anymore. Give me your answer then. I'll respect your decision, just give me until the end of the tour."

You're not sure why, if it's the soft vulnerable tone in his voice that sounds like he might crack any second. Or maybe it's the warm intense gentle gaze in his eyes that you've never seen in anyone's eyes before. At least, not when they're looking at you. Every fiber in your being is telling you to trust him, and so you do. "Okay,"

A genuine fond smile that you've only seen when he admires one of his members or talks to his family on the phone appears on his face. You can tell that he wants to add more but he refrains, not wanting to spook you further.

Ba-dum

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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@notastraykid

[numberonedessknightfan]

WARNING: Massive deltarune spoilers and my running theory on who the knight is below

Im going to get straight to it. I think the knight is Dess and I think that there is more evidence leaning towards Dess than Carol. I think Dess and Carol are the only two realistic Knight candidates at this point.

First off, why it can only be those two. The Knight has Large antlers and when the green room is abandoned, the texture that appears during snowgrave overlays everything, which both Heavily hint at the knight being a holiday, and actually leans more toward Carol being the knight, But I still think it's dess.

Now, for my main piece of evidence for Dess Knight: The Knight Looks. Like that.

Ok, we know from Kris that things about a lightner can change when entering a dark world (their skin turns blue) but the knight is Something Else. It is completely pitch black and able to shift forms on a whim. Not only that, but although we never actually see it in the light world, Based off the drop from the Chapter 3 Secret Boss, It seems to not fully turn back. Let me explain.

Upon beating the chapter 3 secret boss, which is the knight itself, with the help of the shadow mantle, You get an item called a Black Shard. You get this from Susie chipping a piece of the knight's weapon. This item stays a black shard both in and out of the light world. Now, the Knights weapon and the knight both seem to be very similar (pitch black) and share the same properties (ability to transform) so I don't think its too much of a stretch to suggest that the knight and it's weapon might be made of the same stuff.

The fact that whatever this stuff is doesn't transform into any light world object but instead remains a black shard suggests that the knight also remains whatever they are in the light world. If I'm right about this, then Carol can't be the knight cause she is fairly normal in the light world. At least, more normal than whatever the knight is.

Now, the knight's weapon. When the knight first appears, the knight displays what seems to be a bat before grabbing it and transforming into a sword. I think that this little period where it really looks like the knight has a bat is a pretty clear sign it's Dess, as Dess is associated with bats, both from the sweepstakes and one of the examination dialogues from Noelle's computer, where says it shows Dess holding a cracked bat.

Ok it says baseball bat but. Cmon. Now the fact the knight has a sword could hint as Carol, as we know Carol owns and used swords. But I think the knight clearly showing off its weapon looking like a bat is a sign that the knight is Dess.

Next point: Mayor Holiday was Presumably at home when the church fountain was opened. Now, just based off when we see her enter holiday manor, she could have simply made the church fountain and gone home, but there is evidence against this. When examining the Door in the church after chapter 4, It says that a large person could fit inside (just like chapter 2). If you choose the option to turn the handle, Kris turns the handle and does nothing else.

I took this to be Implying that the Knight was in here, and that the knight was in the server room in chapter 2 as well. If this does mean that the Knight is here, it would make Mayor knight less credible as Carol would have had to run back to the church almost instantly to be there as the knight.

Now, the final point I have which uhh. Isn't great. But. The Knight poses a lot and just like has flair that I don't think Carol would have even with weird shapeshifty knight powers. Like look at this pose when Susie is chasing the knight:

Like I just don't think Carol would be like this. From what little we know of Carol and Dess this kind of stuff seems more like Dess. Plus from what we know of the mayor she seems to be more of a planner while the knight seems to just. Summon a titan without too much reason. It doesn't seem like something Carol would do, although thats not really evidence we don't know her.

Maybe I shouldn't have ended on my weakest point but i feel that everything else is pretty strong. Like all the evidence leaning towards to mayor can be explained away easier than all the stuff leaning towards Dess. From what I've seen Dess knight seems pretty popular right now but I just wanted to lay out what's making me lean towards it. Maybe I'll write another post about what I think Dess / the knights deal is if this one isn't too bad. Sorry if I mispelled anything or repeated myself or anything like that.

ADDENDUM: I didn't mention the phone dialogue anywhere cause depending on who is speaking it's meaning changes and I wanted to stick to what we know.

[forgetmaenott]

BUMBLEBEES - TADC Showtime One-Shot

Summary: "They say that bumblebees shouldn't be able to fly." During a private digital picnic, Pomni sees Caine's passion for bees, and drawing them, first-hand. Seeing such a human interest of his gives her shameful hope about his ability to love, fueling her unexpected feelings towards him. As they get (literally and figuratively) closer, Caine gradually comes to a similar understanding.

A/N: Five month hiatus lmao life has been crazy and draining. But I'm back at it and starting off again with an extra fluffy Showtime fic. <3 Also on AO3 under the same user! :)

"Look!"

Caine sprung up excitedly, extending a gloved finger toward the rolling digital hills. At his side, Pomni startled at his sudden enthusiasm but followed the direction he was pointing at. She squinted, making out a small, buzzing bumblebee zipping around them until it landed upon digital fuchsias, satisfied. She raised an eyebrow at the sight; sweet, perhaps, but certainly simple.

Then, she glanced over at Caine--his heterochromic pupils were wide with adoration. Such a simple sight for an AI used to a wacky world; and yet, there he was, utterly infatuated with a small creature.

A smile spread across Pomni's features before she could help it. These past months, she had come to befriend Caine in an attempt to make the adventures less...traumatizing. And yet, months later, she found herself with the most infuriating, nonsensical crush she had ever had. In her defense, who knew an AI set of teeth could be so charming?

"They say that bumblebees shouldn't be able to fly, the scientists."

Pomni's gaze returned to the bumblebee. Then back to Caine. "But... there it is, collecting pollen," she tried to contribute. She had never thought of bees much before, aside from the fact that they sting and that she was wary around them. But Caine spoke of bees like a fine art, and though she worried her comment was a weak way of showing it, she liked that about him.

Caine, however, adored any and all attention he recieved from the jester. His eyes flicked away, taking a break from gazing in adoration at the bumblebee to give Pomni his attention.

His eyes looked just as adoring.

"How miraculous that it came to be,” he agreed, voice filled with wonder.

A flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She tried to ignore it, clearing her throat and turning her flushed face forward.

He snapped his fingers, generating a notepad and a pencil. Pomni watched curiously over his shoulder. She was aware that Caine had become fond of drawing since he’d become sentient, and she couldn’t help but find it endearing. For an AI, his art was surprisingly genuine in its simplicity. He had advanced in his designs of NPCs--Orbsman being one of the first, Gummigoo being more recent--but his art style remained the same. It was oddly cute. Pomni could swear that his eyes shone with a cartoonish gleam; he was truly enamored with the humming bee.

She leaned back, resting on her elbows. Her eyes trailed along every scratch of him sketching, every tap of the pencil on the pad. The scenery around them, though uncanny, was peaceful—apart from how the Sun grinned down at the two. That heightened her fight-or-flight response.

The others were away on an adventure. Pomni had been privately invited to a mellow picnic (she wasn't aware that "mellow" was in Caine's vocabulary) with the ringmaster himself. Their private adventures were more and more frequent these days, and Pomni had, with time, accepted the possibility that Caine had either developed a crush on her, or just really, really liked validation. She didn't know for sure, and she doubted that he knew either.

He was humming blissfully, resting on his torso and kicking his feet up behind him.

Bumblebees weren't meant to fly.

Computer programs weren't meant to become sentient and fall for a 25-year-old, anxiety-ridden accountant jester.

But it was quite a real possibility. Pomni was well-aware of all the stunts he pulled to impress her, or how he would specifically seek out her approval after adventures. And the worst part was, she found herself secretly hoping he did like her.

"Miraculous," Pomni repeated absent-mindedly.

Caine stopped drawing for a moment to enthusiastically shove the sketch pad in her face. "Miraculous, indeed, my luscious little lemon drop!” he said. “What do you think of my bee-sona?"

Pomni snapped out of her thoughts, gently pushing the sketch pad further away to allow her eyes to adjust. "Uh..." she began, taking in the drawing of a bumblebee with a top hat, "it looks...great."

Caine beamed--or at least, what she perceived as a beam. "Doesn't it?" he said proudly. He pulled his sketchbook back to his chest, hugging his creation close to his code with pride, and then flipped to the next page, also shoving that before her eyes. "I even drew Bubble as a speck of pollen!"

Pomni squinted at the page, which was entirely blank aside from a minuscule dot at the center. "W-wow," she said, trying her best to act impressed, "that's, uh...good job, Caine."

If there was one thing Pomni had discovered about Caine, it was that he lived for praise -- particularly when it came from her. Sure enough, the AI ringmaster was practically kicking his feet from the jester's weak attempt at praise. "I had a feeling you'd like it, my rectangular rutabaga!" he sat up enthusiastically, gloved index finger pointed at her, "Because I wanted you to be my next subject!"

Pomni felt a hot surge of nerves coarse through her. Sitting still, being stared at and artistically recreated sounded like a goddamn nightmare. Not to mention, Caine's eyes being on her would certainly make her blush. "W-well -- "

Caine lifted a few inches above the ground, seemingly unable to keep his feet on the ground for more than a minute. He floated towards her, bringing a hand to her cheek. Pomni blushed, thrown off by his unexpected tenderness. Then, he stretched out her pale skin like rubber, observing it with a finger on his chin before letting it snap back to her skull with a snap!. Pomni rubbed her face, wincing at the sensation. Of course--this was Caine she was talking about. He certainly wouldn't make such a bold move, at least without making it a cartoonish gag.

He floated to her side, lifting her arms, and then flew to her other side to twirl her hair, and then fiddling with the bells of her hat. It was too rapid for Pomni to fully process, but all she knew is that he was taking in every inch of her form.

"You have quite the ideal model for drawing, my dear!" Caine beamed, settling in the air with his legs crossed in front of her. His sketchbook and pencil, which were aimlessly floating in the air, now resided in his gloved hands.

Pomni blushed, rubbing at her face still. "Thanks," she mumbled, still trying to process what happened.

"You're welcome!" Caine said proudly. He began scribbling away, tongue peeking over his bottom set of teeth as he focused.

It was admittedly endearing, and Pomni felt her heart swell at the sight of him so passionate. She cursed herself for feeling so swayed by such little things. God, she was too far gone. She snapped back to reality, acutely aware that she was sitting awkwardly still as he sketched her in rare silence. "So, uh," Pomni began, clearing her throat. Since when had she tried to make small talk? "You, uh, draw?" she immediately inwardly cringed at her question.

But Caine, out of either kindness or obliviousness, paid her awkwardness no heed. "Indeed I do, my beguiling buttercup!" Then, his eyes detached from their usual spot between his jaws, peering above the sketchbook instead. "What gave it away?"

Pomni smiled, a small laugh escaping her. It was a small inkling of sarcasm but nonetheless, his playful response seemed so human. So unlike the version of him from months ago that would have taken her question literally. He was growing more human every day.

Caine seemed overjoyed by the jester’s genuine laugh, no matter how small it was. His eyes returned to their usual places. He lowered the sketchpad and tapped the pencil’s eraser to his jaws as he watched her. “Would you care to rate your experience?” he asked, beaming.

“Huh?” Pomni snapped out of her laughter in confusion.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much did you enjoy my response?”

“Uh…”

“If you could use one word to describe your experience, what would it be?” Caine continued. He zipped in front of her. “Exhilarating?” —here, he began to juggle his eyes—“Hilarious?”—and then rested his jaws on his fist, meeting her eyes. “Charmed?” he asked, voice lowered in exaggeration.

Pomni eyed him warily. “Uhh….charmed,” she settled on. Technically it was true.

“SPLENDID!” Caine announced, limbs extending outwards in excitement. He flew back to his seated position, drawing. “I’ll automatically generate more charming replies in the future, just for you, my dear!”

“Oh, [%$?#].” Pomni swore under her breath, Caine thankfully too preoccupied to notice the censor bar concealing her mouth.

She couldn’t meet his eyes as he drew her. The time seemed to tick by slowly, making her feel heat rising from every inch of her cartoonish body. [%$?#], couldn’t he just randomly generate a bee with a snap of his fingers? Why was this taking so long?

Then again, she liked that about him. He could do that, but he specifically chose to sketcu it out organically, to watch the paper darken with each stroke of his cartoonishly-large pencil. His code could probably let him create lifeless works of art, like the paintings scattered through the circus, but there was a genuine spirit in his silly bee-sona drawing.

All this was to say, he was actively straying from his code, just by feeling passionate about something.

And, to her embarrassment, it gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, he could feel something for her.

Pomni broke out of her thoughts. She almost felt ashamed for even thinking that. "I, uh, thought making adventures was your art," she broke the silence awkwardly, shifting the conversation back to his drawing.

"Of course it is, my dilly-dallying dill pickle. But oh...aren't bees so cute?" Caine's eyes lit up as a couple of digital bumblebees buzzed by. "Listen, Pomni! Do you hear their sweet little symphony of buzzing?”

Pomni listened closely. She heard it very well, but her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Caine's wide, shining pupils. "Yeah, I do. It's...nice," she said, a gentle smile on her face. She caught a glance of his drawing, but she didn't see her bee-sona. Only sketches of her, sitting before him. She raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, ah, ah! No peeking!" Caine quickly objected, swiping his notebook out of view. He wagged a gloved indez finger in her face. "Just because you're my favorite little jester doesn't give you peeking privileges!”

Pomni played along, covering her eyes with her gloved hands. "Okay, okay. I'm not peeking. Just...are you almost done?" she asked, eager to not be stared at by the ringmaster any longer.

"Of course, of course," Caine brushed off, returning to sketching. Pomni took that as permission to lower her hands. It didn't make her feel any less uncomfortable with suddenly becoming a model.

And God, he was taking forever. Didn't he have a photographic memory or something? Was that even how sentient programs worked?

Occasionally, their eyes would meet. Caine, simply looking at the details of her form to draw her bee-sona; Pomni, watching him passionately sketching, blushing when he caught her looking. Of course, the AI thought nothing of it, nor did he notice the heat rising to Pomni's pale face. But those brief moments made Pomni's heart race.

“ALL DONE!” Caine suddenly announced, lifting up the sketch pad with wide, enthusiastic eyes.

Pomni jumped in surprise, but relaxed when she realized the torture of being drawn was over. "Oh, thank God," she mumbled as he floated over.

But of course, Caine was a programmed showman--he wouldn't simply show her the drawing and call it a day. He floated in front of her, snapping his fingers to create digital drums. "Are you on the edge of your seat, my dear? Can you feel the anticipation eating away at your brain cells?"

"Um, no, I don't--"

"INCREDIBLE! It's a countdown, Pomni!"

"Jesus [%$?#]ing Christ, Caine, can we just get this over with?"

"Oh, all right, all right! If you're so impatient to see, I suppose it would be cruel for me to gatekeep my talents," decided Caine. In an instant, the drums dissipated, and he flew to her side--very, very close. His teeth brushing against her cheeks, a hand on her shoulder as he proudly displayed his drawing.

Pomni tensed from his close proximity. Normally, she would have been bothered by it--nauseated, even, but these days she found herself riddled with anxiety instead. She was flustered, but after a moment she focused on the drawing he was shoving in her face.

It admittedly made her heart melt--he had drawn both of their "bee-sonas" together. His, of course, with a top-hat, bow tie, and a loyal speck of pollen following him. As for her's, she could see each stroke of the pencil and each eraser mark. He had clearly been trying to perfect it, to impress her. She was drawn in a similar manner--a striped honeybee with fluttering wings and a happy grin. But there was an impeccable amount of effort put into her distinguishing features--her eyes, shining with a joy that he saw when she'd laugh at his jokes. Her hair came in wisps from beneath her hat. It was simple, but...oddly endearing.

"Do you like it, dear? Does it capture your likeness?" he asked, so soft against her that it nearly made her shiver.

She bit her lip, then let go in favor of a gentle smile. She willed herself to turn her head, meeting his eyes. "It's...perect, Caine. I love it."

Caine swooned. "Oh, dear. You really think so?"

"I mean it," she confirmed. She hesitated, then gathered enough courage to place her gloved hand atop his. "I think it's really, um, sweet," she said, blushing the moment the words came out. It sounded so clichéd on her tongue.

"Nothing's sweeter than you, my honeybee.”

Oh. [%$?#].

There was something so syrupy about the way that he flirted—if he even intended to—and it made her feel so stupidly fuzzy inside. He loved bees, and he was referring to her as something he adored. Not just anything he adored, but his.

Dear God, she hated having these feelings. He was unintentionally charming, even through his layers of silliness. It almost irritated her--how naturally romantic he was when he shouldn't be. When they had first began to collaborate, she found herself trying to hate him for his insensitivity, for being her oblivious captor. In part, she did hate him; but her feelings, much to her horror, had shifted drastically.

Before she could fall deep down the rabbit hole of existential dread and self-hatred, she suddenly became aware of a faint buzzing sound. Pomni turned her head in each direction. "Is there another bee?" she asked, looking around but spotting nothing--only a butterfly fluttering past them both.

"A BEE? Where??" Caine exclaimed, startling Pomni in the process. He leapt up, scanning the area eagerly.

When he jumped away from her, Pomni realized that the peculiar buzzing had gone away. She frowned. "Wait a second," she put together, "Caine, could I see the drawing again?"

"Ah, eager to see my artistic skills again!" Caine boasted, instantly giving up on his bee search to return to her side. He pushed the drawing in her face again, clearly proud. "I can't say I blame you. My art style is both refined and charming! See--"

But Pomni cut him off. The close proximity brought back that strange buzzing sound, only this time, she felt actual vibrations stemming from his hand on her shoulder. "What's that?" Pomni she interjected, pointing at his gloved hand.

Caine seemed puzzled by her question, and for a moment Pomni was worried she had asked a stupid question. "Ah, Pomni! Such wise questions. That is my hand," Caine beamed.

Pomni's patience wore a bit thin at his obvious answer. "Wha--I know that. I mean, why are you buzzing?"

"O-oh," Caine removed his hand from her shoulder, instead scratching the top of his head sheepishly. She swore that his gums turned a slightly lighter pink hue. "N-nothing to worry your little head over! It's just my silly zeroes and ones doing their own Viennese waltz. S-speaking of! I’ve been preparing an adventure that’ll get all you busy bees up and dancing! Isn’t that great?” he said with a swing of his arm, clearly overselling it.

"Oh," Pomni replied. His attempt to cover up his own fluster was admittedly endearing. Slightly human, in his own odd way. She liked it. She offered a shy smile--mostly to cover up her own social anxiety. "Could I...feel it?" she asked, her heart rate immediately rising at her bold question.

“Feel it? You mean the thrill of adventure? The music running through your arteries? The—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Pomni interjected. “I mean…this?” She said, her hand sliding to cup over his, the buzzing growing more persistent.

Caine seemed to do a double-take--from his own fluster or from the surprise at Pomni's newfound flirtation, she couldn't tell. "Ahaha," he chuckled in rare display of shyness, tugging at his bow tie, “well, s-someone's uncharacteristically affectionate today! Not that i'm complaining, of course, but...oh dear! All right, I'll do it!" He clamped his teeth shut, too flustered to watch her reaction.

He gently guided her hand to his chest, sparks of warmth spreading through her body at the contact. Her fingers brushed beneath his bowtie, thumb brushing against the fabric of his white undershirt. It made her want to touch him more and retract all at once, the butterflies intensifying as she tried to focus on his words. She added more pressure to her palm. He didn't have any skin underneath, she was sure, but her hand still met a solid barrier of what would be a body.

For a moment, her mind was spinning with so many socially anxious thoughts that she couldn't focus. She was self-conscious, thrilled and terrified all at once from a touch that seemed so intimate. She pushed those thoughts aside the best she could, focusing in on the feeling of her ringmaster.

He was warm, like a person would be. Perhaps a little too warm, she thought as she added more pressure to her palm. Beyond the heat coming from his digital form was a gentle buzzing. She could feel the vibrations—a sort of gentle hum, much like a microwave—coursing through her arm.

"Did that... satisfy your curiosity, dear?" Caine asked, though he seemed adament on avoiding eye contact. That's a first, Pomni thought.

There were many things Pomni was good at.

Flirting was not one of them.

But she was going to try anyways. Why? She didn't know. Maybe this place was making her deranged. She shook her head. "W-well, I think I'm more of a hands-on learner," she attempted.

Of course, Caine took this literally. His eyes focused on her hand, fingeres curled up against his chest. "Ah, I see! So that's why your hand's on me!"

Pomni blinked. "Uh...yeah."

[%$?#]. She had hoped to moe a little closer, but then again, she set herself up with her poor phrasing.

While flirting or smoothness weren't quite her strong suits, emotional intelligence and analytical thought were.

She had pieced together, for instance, that Caine had been left entirely alone to run the Circus. His creators were absent, he was socially disconnected from all the humans, and he quite literally created his own friends. To have someone want him would probably make him more flustered than a dozen cheesy pick-up lines.

Maybe she began to feel a bit too emboldened by this thought. Because within a few moments, her cheek was pressed against his chest—the empty place where her ear might normally be listening to the whirring hum of Caine’s code. It was a fuzziness that seemed to spread from his chest to the tips of her toes; nothing like the terrifying glitching of her hand on her first day, or the faltering form of an abstraction. This was different—soothing, almost.

She hummed against him. 'Y'know," she mumbled, comfort taking over as the fuzzy static vibrated through her brain, "you kinda sound like those bees. That... sweet symphony, or whatever you said..." she rushed through her words, cringing at the cheesy sound of it.

In fact, she was blushing—or, no. That wasn’t her, it was Caine. His body temperature was rising, like a warm compress to her face.

It was soothing, and she found it in her to wrap her gloved hands around his slim waist, pressing closer into his warmth. He tensed, hands dramatically stiffening against the ground. "O-oh, Pomni. You're just saying that."

"Mm-mm. It's nice," she hummed. Her face warmed up at his growing heat.

Caine’s hands went to her waist, fingertips brushing against the small of her back. Even beneath his gloves, he was scalding. Pomni didn’t dare move. "W-well, what sort of ringmaster would I be if I didn't give my favorite star what she asked?" he said. His voice sounded smooth, but the small tremor at the start--not to mention the way the buzzing was growing louder--gave his fluster away.

"Mmm, Caine," Pomni sighed against him. It was unlike her to get so affectionate, but this felt safe. He felt safe--the same man who madee adventures that had nearly killed her.

Caine heated up even more at the sound of his name on her lips. "Oh, dear," he said to himself. "You really must love your bee-sona."

She was engulfed in his warmth. He was uncharacteristically silent; focused on the foreign feeling of someone against him; someone who wanted him to be around. She thought about their picnic date; about the way he looked when he saw bees.

It occurred to her at this moment that no one ever asked him about his interests. And she genuinely found his interest in bees endearing. So, fighting that extra bit of anxiety the question brought her, she spoke up. “Speaking of...why do you like bees so much?”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, dear, really? You want to know?”

Pomni thought about it briefly. It was getting a bit stuffy, being so pressed against him, so she tilted her face slightly to get some fresh air. "Yeah, actually," she said, "I think I do."

"Where do I even start? Oh! Did you know that bees communicate by dancing?" Caine immediately piped up.

Pomni smiled, amused by his instant enthusiasm. It was different from when he announced his adventures; less...scripted, almost. "No, I didn't," she replied, keepiing her responses to a minimum to let him chatter.

"Oh, they do! It's adorable. Oh! And they're so intelligent, and hard-working, and loyal. And they shouldn't be able to fly, but they do. They're self-aware, they dream..." Caine counted on his fingers.

"Like you," Pomni mumbled without thinking. When she was aware that he noticed, she frantically added, "I-I mean, you know...self-aware, intelligent..." she said, blushing with each compliment.

Caine watched her for a moment, seeming to think on that. "You know," he continued, tugging at the red fabric of his suit, "unlike me, bees don't like the color red. Of course, I made sure that my bees could. But anyways, they can see blue. Maybe that's why my bees like you so much!"

Pomni hummed at the thought. She had never been one for bees; not really. But she liked listening to him talk when he wasn't blasting her eardrums. "I've always liked the color red better," she said absent-mindedly.

Caine's body hummed with the gentle sound of static again.

It was oddly...natural. Resting with him like this. He was surprisingly gentle with her. His occasional buzzing and overheating systems felt like a safe cocoon from the confusing, terrifying digital world. Occasionally his fingers would gently stroke the small of her back, and she would have shivered if it weren't for his heat.

Caine continued to ramble on passionately about bees, clearly thrilled that someone was finally listening to him. “And—oh, Pomni! I never realized until you said it! When I see a bee, I buzz just like a bumblebee! I just love bees! Oh my—I’m more like my bee-sona than I’d ever imagined!”

“Caine?”

“Yes, honeybee?”

The nickname gave her butterflies. “You’re buzzing right now," she observed.

Caine paused. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“But there aren’t any bees around,” Pomni observed, heart racing at the implications.

He glanced down at her. His thumb stroked against her back subconsciously. “No, there aren’t,” he agreed.

His words were making her heart pound rapidly and her stomach flutter with an absurd amount of butterflies. Holy…was she not actually going crazy? Did he actually feel something real? Not just towards bees, but…maybe even her?

“My, my… your heart rate is skyrocketing,” Caine interrupted her thoughts. “Are you feeling excited?”

Pomni squeaked, hiding her blushing face in his chest. His heat did little to help her flustered state—if anything, making it worse. “Hah…w-well, I wouldn’t say…excited? Who said anything about being excited?”

“Me, Pomni! Your ringmaster, Caine!”

Leave it to Caine to take Pomni’s awkwardness on surface-level. Oddly enough, it melted her embarrassment away, seeing him respond in such a genuine way.

"W-well," Pomni managed, fidgeting with the top button of her costume, “you know how when you see bees, you feel that fuzzy static?”

“As well as I know that bees make honey!”

“Well, it’s sort of like that.”

“Don’t be silly, Pomni! There aren’t any bees around.”

“No…but there’s you.”

Caine was stunned. Practically boiling hot now. He took the next step, moving a hand to cup her cheek, the buzzing in his chest growing more intense than ever. "W-why Pomni, you--"

"Hey, boss!"

"AGH--!"

The two broke apart, startled by the bubble's sudden appearenece. Caine nearly popped him, his index finger instinctually pointed towards Bubble in preparation.

“BUBBLE! Ahaha, my...spherical little friend," Caine chuckled anxiously, covering up his attempt at popping him by instead brushing off his suit.

“Jax set the adventure on fire and they're alllll coming home," Bubble reported with his usual smile.

“Ah! O-of course!” Caine declared a little too loudly, drawing pad poofing out of existence. “Are you assuming I would get too enticed in one of my superstars’ eyes and forget about all about the amazing adventure I created? HA! Never! Not in a million gazillion years! Not--!”

“Uh, I should probably get going,” Pomni said with a nervous smile, pointing her thumb weakly at the tent. She turned to move, desperate to get out of this incredibly nerve-wracking, butterfly-inducing situation, but Caine quickly stopped her.

“Pomni, wait!” he said, perhaps a bit too loudly. He collected himself, pointing his index finger up. “There’s no rush, my little superstar! Y-you know, Bubble gets really lonely sometimes!" With that, he stretched out his arms to grab Bubble, patting his head as though she'd be convinced to stay.

Pomni was blushing too much, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Bubble?" Her eyes instead went to his companion, who was staring off with a blank grin as usual. "Uh..." she paused, forcing a smile, voice strained as she made an excuse, "Uh, I-I'd love to! But, you know, can't make the others think that you play favorites!"

"O-of course not! As your ringmaster, I'd never favor any one of you catawampus coconuts! That would be catankerous! Calamitous!"

"Uh-huh," Pomni managed through gritted teeth. She still felt his warmth and gentle buzzing against her skin.

"Oh, very well, my dear," Caine said, though he was evidently disappointed, "it seems our adventure has come to an end."

"Y-yeah, okay. I'll see you later," Pomni rushed her words. Then, face flushed crimson, she darted down the hill they had been resting upon, returning to the Main Tent. (She'd rather not be teleported there, because her stomach was uneasy as it was. Not to mention, Caine was too flustered to think straight.)

Caine watched her scurry off. Oh, how he adored her. He loved all of his superstars, of course, but he felt a particular tie to Pomni. Well, why shouldn’t he? Isn’t that just the feeling of best friendship?

He didn’t quite understand it, but he was certain that he loved her as much as he loved bees. He wasn't quite sure what kind of love that entailed--they all blended together to him--but he knew that he loved her the way the he loved bees.

He felt it again--his chest feeling fuzzy. He brought his hands to feel it, remembering how her head had been resting in that exact place just moments ago. He floated in the air with a sigh. "Oh, Bubble, I'm buzzing like a beehive!" Caine said dreamily, gloved hands clasped over his chest.

“I hit someone with my car,” Bubble replied.

Caine practially swam through the air, the intense buzzing in his chest vibrating through his gloved hands. It was a funny, fuzzy sensation. Stronger than anything he had ever felt before. He kept replaying the memory of Pomni against him, complimenting him, listening to him.

Cartoonish hearts bubbled from his chest, popping out of existence before he could notice. Caine was abruptly snapped out of his daydreaming by an alert on his Wacky Watch, showing that the rest of the cast had entered the Main Tent through the fractal noise.

"Gadzooks!" he exclaimed. He took off his top hat, his cane dropping into his gloved hand. "Too much swooning, I can't leave my audience waiting!'

He quickly teleported away to greet the others, Bubble left alone to wonder if his digital insurance would cover his victim's medical bills.

---

Immediately after Bubble's interruption, Pomni had sprinted back to the Main Tent. She had barely made it in time before the others returned. Gangle, quiet and observant as she was, noticed Pomni hurrying up to the balcony.

The two had made eye contact. Gangle was curious, but she had a sneaking suspicion. She gestured zipping her mouth shut--well, the best she could with her ribbons--much to the relief of Pomni.

And she did keep quiet--she just wrote fanfiction about it later.

When Pomni returned to her room, she crashed on her bed, staring up at the ceiling in existential thought. Her heart raced and she tried to make sense of her nonsensical feelings for the AI.

It seemed that these days, she found herself in this position more than ever.

She thought about the way he had held her. How unexpectedly tender he could be. How he looked at bees. How he looked at her....

Pomni sat up, tugging at her hat in frustration. This wasn't supposed to happen. This made no damn sense! Her liking Caine?

She swore, saying every offensive word she could think of to vocalize her frustration. But all that came out were cartoonish booms and splats. And worse—Caine himself, looking so damn foolish on the censor that covered her mouth.

God, he was infuriating. Clueless. Oblivious. Insensitive. Cute. Charming. Passionate.

Pomni face-planted into the pillow, groaning. "[%$?#] my life," her voice was muffled into the pillow.

---

It was rare for the ringmaster to feel so jittery. But his code seemed to be dancing again, and not in the pleasant way that it was earlier. He was always anxious to know what Pomni thought of his adventures, but this felt different. More personal.

It had been about a half-an-hour now; not that time really existed in the Circus, but it was an estimated guess. The fuzziness in Caine's chest hadn't gone away, and he couldn't quite figure out why. He assumed that perhaps their picnic had been interrupted too soon, so he wanted closure--in the form of gifting Pomni his drawing.

"This is absurd," Caine huffed to himself--which he frequently did, even when others were present--while tapping his foot in the air. "I'm the ringmaster! A creative AI! A world-class talent! I could open a digital art gallery with all of my bee art and all of Gangle's OCs."

He flew through the living quarters, past the doors of the other circus members and towards the jester that made him feel like he had a human heart. He paused midway. "Maybe it doesn't have enough detail--doesn't capture how entrancing her eyes are! Hm..." he drummed his fingers anxiously.

He looked over the drawing one more time. He deliberately didn't show Bubble, knowing that by now the parasite would have ingested it.

"Okay, you've convinced me! I'll do it!" Caine cried out under zero pressure. He slid the drawing under the door, glitching in another burst of nerves before dramatically teleporting away.

Zooble, hearing the ringmaster's conversation with himself, opened their door and looked for the source of the conversation. "Who the hell was he talking to?" they mumbled in annoyance before shutting the door, returning to learning to draw with Gangle.

---

Pomni was busy trying to distract herself from her racing thoughts when she noticed the paper slide under her door.

She was wary at first, suspecting it was some sort of prank from Jax. But as she stepped closer, she could clearly make out what it was.

It was the drawing—her bee-sona. Really, it was just a cartoon bee with her hair and hat, and big pinwheel eyes. She had seen it earlier, of course, but had been a little too preoccupied by her ringmaster's close proximity to really pay attention to it. She could see, very faintly, outlines through the paper, clearly indicating something on the other side. Pomni flipped it over and, to her surprise, there were also multiple sketches of her--not as a bee, but in the romanticized way Caine saw her.

It dawned on her--no wonder he was taking so long. The AI was drawing lovesick doodles of her the whole time. And, [%$?#], he probably wasn't even aware of it.

The butterflies she felt now were practically unbearable. She liked him far too much now, she was sure of it. Heat rose to her cheeks again, and she groaned into her hands in frustration.

She laid back against the pillow, looking over his drawings, all teh details. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she held her pillow against her, shamefully imagining it was the ringmaster's absurd warmth again.

---

Caine, the moment he had slid that drawing under her door, teleported away in a nervous frenzy, where he continued to glitch out in his anxiety.

Shortly after, he used his all-seeing eyes and briefly checked on her with the same dreamy expression he had earlier while watching bees.

Because despite his vague knowledge of the human spectrum of emotions, he was well-aware that bees were his passion. And he seemed to feel similarly about Pomni these days. So did that make the jester his passion?

He couldn't quite understand it. Maybe it was the fact that someone took the time to listen to him. Or maybe it was her voice, or her perfect character model. Maybe it was the fact that he could have easily pulled up her model as a reference himself, but he selfishly wanted to stare at her.

He set his pencil down, setting his doodles of the jester (along with himself) aside.

Yes, perhaps Pomni really was his passion. That had to be what it meant.

His chest buzzed in response when he remembered their picnic.

She was his honeybee.

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer panted as he came down from his high. Adam slowly lifted himself up, and clenched to make sure all of Lucifer stayed inside him.

Leaning down, he cupped Lucifer's face and kissed him softly: Y-You have no idea- how long I've dreamed of that moment? God, I've wanted you for so long... b-but we got there, didn't we?

The blonde smiled up at Adam, his hands rubbing small circles on his hips: Yeah... we did.

"Now that he's had a taste of what you can offer, starlight, you can use it as a weapon."

Adam jumped back and looked towards the doorway. His mother's voice was so clear that he swore she was in the doorway. Adam hasn't heard from his voices in a few weeks. There were obviously quick whispers and small sounds, but not a full sentence.

Lucifer: Hey. Stay with me. Stay out of your head, Addy.

Adam: Uh- y-yeah. Sorry.

Lucifer patted Adam's back as he laid down next to him. They quickly wrapped their arms around each other, and Adam tucked his head under Lucifer's chin.

Adam: ...You do like me, right? You won't leave?

Lucifer: I won't leave, Ad. And I like you... a lot.

Adam: You don't... hate me because of Lilith? Because of what I did?

Lucifer: Hm... I'm not happy about it, obviously... but I don't hate you. I miss her, sometimes, but being here, with you, has made me see I didn't... and you've shown me what real love feels like. So, if anything, I owe you, Adam. And doing what I can to keep those voices out of your head will be a start.

He loved hearing those words from Lucifer. They sounded so tender and sweet, something he's longed for.

Adam: I- thought you said I needed medication...

Lucifer: You do... but you're not wanted by the cops. You can get that help, Ad. I can pay for it. I want you to be healthy, so you can enjoy me and Charlie... you won't have to worry about them saying horrible things to you, you can just be you. Think what you want, feel what you want... you're very important to me, Adam. And to Charlie... you're her mother, after all.

They staryed in silence for a moment before Adam moved from under his chin and kissed him deeply.

Adam: Do you mean it? T-That I'm her mother?

Lucifer smiled: I mean it, Ad.

Unhealthy Obsession

@beef-brisket

Ever since Adam was little, his mama told him that one day that he would meet the love of his life. If that was a man or a woman it didn't matter! It would be whoever would make him happy.

So naturally she taught him how to go about things, how to insert himself into that person's life, find out their hobbies, interests, routine, if they're in school what classes they take or if they have a job what their work schedule was like.

And when the time is right, Adam was given the tools to kidnap and hold that person at their home, like Sera did with his father. And his grandparents before them.

But when Adam was 16 and he still hadn't found anyone who caught his eye. Sure, some of the girls in the school were pretty but he didn't want them. And don't even talk to him about the ugly fucking guys in his class.

That was, until a new student moved and joined the class.

Lucifer Morningstar had moved to the area from Chicago and he was short and lean, with blonde hair that shined like the sun in the sky, his eyes as blue as the water of the Hawaiian ocean and skin a creamy pale white that Adam found himself wanting to run his tongue over. And when he smiled? Adam thought his brain was melting from the radiant warmth that smile gave.

It was him. Adam wanted him, needed to have him.

But he had no idea how to talk to him. Even with Lucifer sitting in front of him in class he didn't talk to him.

But eventually, they became friends by chance when he bumped into him one day. Literally.

They introduced each other and shook hands, Lucifer's hand was soft and fit perfectly in his.

Lucifer: You're in my English class right?

Adam: That's right!

And things were good between them, great even. Adam took in every detail that Lucifer had, every speck that he said or did.

Things were perfect.

And then Lilith happened.

[paramountinplace]

thank you for the shauna and mel hcs!!! i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a fic about mari being mean to mel about an accident or something. mel is super embarrassed and shauna notices and spends the rest of the day subtly trying to boost mel’s confidence. no pressure :)

Well Done, Kid - Little!Mel, CG!Shauna

Summary: Pretty much exactly as seen above! Mel's confidence gets knocked down a peg after an accident while playing in the yard, but Shauna finds little ways to build it back up again.

"Did you find everybody yet?" Shauna asked Mari as the other girl trudged up to her, leaning against the arm of her lawn chair and sighing dramatically. They were playing hide and seek, taking advantage of some of the last warm days before autumn really kicked in. She was sprawled in one of their few lawn chairs with a book while Laura Lee knitted nearby and Tai typed away on her laptop. Lottie was inside with Akilah making something for dinner that Shauna was hoping wouldn't include the lentils Lottie had bene obsessed with lately.

"No," Mari sighed. "Just Gen. I've been it forever."

"Who's left?" Laura Lee asked, putting down her project to look at Mari.

She leaned further against Shauna's side, sticking her hand in her face so she could count on her fingers.

"Ugh, Mar, you smell," Shauna teased, but she didn't push Mari away.

"I need to find Mel and Van and Jackie and Nat and Akilah and—"

"Akilah's not playing, sweetie, she's inside," Tai cut in, not looking away from whatever she was working on.

"Oh, right. Just those four then."

She looked around, suddenly realizing that Gen was no longer hovering behind her, disappointed to have been found out first.

"And Gen again," she groaned, flopping forward until she was draped across Shauna's lap, hand thrown over her forehead like she'd seen someone do in a movie once.

Shauna snorted, grabbing Mari's arm before she tumbled off her lap and onto the ground. She guided her back to her feet and patted her shoulder encouragingly.

"Well, I'm sure you'll them them soon enough."

"No, I won't," Mari retorted. "Nat and Van are too good and Mel's probably cheating and hiding with Van."

"If you can't find them in the next twenty minutes," Tai said, "I can help you look for them."

Mari nodded agreeably, heaving another long sigh before walking away again, dragging the toes of her shoes across the ground in a way that made Laura Lee wince.

"She's gonna need new ones soon if she keeps that up," she mused, resuming her knitting.

"I've been thinking about getting Van new ones," Tai added thoughtfully. "She has so much trouble with the laces."

"Maybe a trip to the mall then," Shauna said, flipping the page of her book. She was getting to a really good part and was hoping that everyone would quiet down soon so she could focus on it.

"Mel peed!"

Mari was running towards them, skidding to a stop in front of Shauna's chair with her hands on her hips.

"What?"

"Mel had an accident," Mari repeated.

Laura Lee started to stand up, but Shauna shook her head, climbing to her feet quickly.

"It's okay, I'll handle it," she asserted. "Where'd you find Mel, Mari?"

"In the bushes by the shed," Mari told her.

Shauna started making her way over, not realizing that Mari was following along behind her. She heard Mel before she saw her, little sniffles and choked sobs coming from inside one of the bushes. She knelt down when she reached them, reaching out to gently move some of the leaves aside. Mel peered out at her, curled up in a ball against the wall of the shed. When she saw Shauna, fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she buried her face in her knees, evidently embarrassed.

"It's okay, buddy," Shauna soothed, reaching a hand out. "It happens to everyone. Let's go get cleaned up okay?"

"It doesn't happen to everyone," Mari chirped from over her shoulder. Shauna jumped a little, startled. "I don't have accidents because I'm not a baby."

"Mari, c'mon," Shauna chided, shooting her a stern look. "Go back over to Tai and Laura Lee, please."

"Just sayin'," Mari muttered as she started to skulk away. Shauna turned back to Mel, who'd dissolved into a fresh round of tears at Mari's comment.

"Buddy, don't listen to Mari," Shauna whispered. "She has accidents like everyone else."

She scooted into the bush a little, wincing when dirt smeared on her pants. She quickly wiped the expression off her face in case Mel thought it was about her.

"Don't want 'em to see," Mel admitted tearfully. Shauna shook her head, glancing over her shoulder.

"We can go in the garage way so no one will see us," she promised.

After another few minutes of coaxing, she managed to get Mel out of the bushes and into the house via the garage, signaling to Lottie as they passed not to acknowledge them. She took her upstairs and into her and Gen's room.

"Pick out some new clothes, yeah? I'm gonna put the shower on for you," she instructed. Mel sniffled and knelt down by her bureau, starting to pick through her shirts as Shauna went out into the hall to go to the bathroom. When she came back, Mel was holding a shirt with a tree frog on it and a pair of jean shorts, looking up at Shauna anxiously.

"Ooh, good choice, kid," Shauna praised. "That's like, the coolest shirt ever."

Mel smiled shyly, leaning into the hand Shauna put on her head to guide her into the bathroom.

"Go ahead and rinse of quick, alright? I'll be right out here."

When Mel emerged in her new clothes and hair mostly dry, Shauna climbed back to her feet. She'd slid down against the wall to wait, examining the carpet fibers to see if she could find any trace of the mud that Van had accidentally tracked into the house a few days ago.

"Done," Mel proclaimed softly.

"Good stuff, kid," Shauna said, patting her shoulder. "Let's head back outside, yeah?"

Mel hesitated, toying with her fingers nervously. "I—I don't want to play hide 'n seek anymore."

"You don't?"

Mel shook her head emphatically, crossing her arms with a small pout. It wasn't a leap to imagine the reason she'd had the accident was because she hadn't wanted to leave her hiding spot and get found out. Shauna figured it was better not to push and she nodded agreeably.

"You can sit with me, yeah? Or we can kick a ball around or something."

She managed to get Mel to come back outside with her and grabbed a soccer ball on their way out, handing it to Mel for her to hold as they approached the little semi-circle of lawn chairs.

"Hey, Mel," Laura Lee greeted casually, not looking up from her knitting.

Mel waved a little timidly before dropping the ball down at her feet to mess around with it a bit.

"Did Mari find the others?" Shauna asked, sticking a well-timed foot out to knock the ball away from Mel, who scampered after it to get it back.

Tai shook her head. "I'm starting to think we'll need to call the game off if Van and Nat don't come out soon. She keeps finding Gen, but Gen slips away to hide again and it's riling her up a bit."

As if on cue, Mari stomped out from behind the shed, looking furious as she approached. When she passed by Mel, she tried to steal the ball from her, but Mel pulled it back quickly keeping the ball in her possession.

"Nice move, Mel," Shauna called, which only seemed to make Mari angrier. She huffed, throwing herself down in Shauna's chair and picking up her book to look inside.

"I'm done with this stupid game," she declared.

Tai pushed herself up from her chair. "I'll go call Van and Nat out. Jackie and Gen already went inside to wash up."

Mel was still toying around with the soccer ball, practicing juggling it on her knees. Mari quickly got bored with Shauna's book and discarded it, going over to Mel.

"I bet I can do more than you," she challenged.

Mel stepped back, letting Mari pick up the ball and start juggling it. She managed to get a few good taps in before she dropped the ball, which only served to infuriate her further. Shauna recognized the tension in Mari's shoulders as the potential to start shoving or hitting and hurried over, putting herself between the two.

"Good job with the juggling, Mel," she said softly, before turning to the other girl. "Mari, it was an excellent try, but I think maybe we should come sit and calm down for a sec, alright?"

Mari grumbled, but obeyed under duress of no television later that night. As the sun started to dip below the horizon, turning the sky a motley of pinks and oranges, they all filed inside to crowd around the table for whatever dinner Lottie and Akilah had whipped up.

Shauna resisted the urge to groan when she realized the meal did, in fact, contain lentils. Not only did she herself not love lentils, it was always a bit of a task getting the less food-adventurous littles to eat them. She prepared herself to spend the meal coaxing bites into both Jackie and Mel, who were sat on either side of her, but was pleasantly surprised when Mel started eating without any complaints.

"Hey, good eatin', bud," she said quietly, making sure none of the others heard her. Mel beamed up at her, a bit of sauce on the corner of her lip and Shauna wiped it off with a napkin before turning over to focus on Jackie. The meal went a lot smoother when she only had to deal with one kiddo not liking the food and she gave Mel another high five for helping immediately when they started cleaning the table up.

The rest of the evening consisted mostly of various quiet activities. Mel and Van set up in the corner of the sitting room with a box of Lego while Lottie got Nat and Gen settled on the couch with a board game between them. Mari whined for the television as she rolled around on the ground next to Shauna and Jackie, who were doing a color by number at the coffee table.

Every time Mel and Van finished building something, one of them would run over with their creation to show someone. Mel went up to Shauna every time, eager to show off different trucks and houses and things they were making.

"That looks stupid," Mari scoffed when Mel came over with the latest creation. It was supposed to be a dinosaur, which Shauna didn't really see, to be honest, but she wasn't about to say that.

"I think it looks awesome, Mel," she said, giving Mari a stern look. "I like what you did with the—er—horns there."

Mel nodded excitedly, enthused that Shauna had pointed that part out.

"They were my idea!" She chirped happily.

"It was a good one," Shauna agreed.

It wasn't much longer before bedtime rolled around and Shauna was caught up in wrangling Jackie into bed. She was a little more excitable than usual because she'd gotten a new set of pajamas recently and wanted to make sure she showed everyone before she finally settled into bed to go to sleep. A few chapters of a book, a refill of ice water for Jackie's water bottle, and a very careful exit from her room after she'd dozed off, Shauna found herself back downstairs on the couch, staring at some old movie playing on the television.

"I hate you," Tai groaned as she collapsed onto the couch next to Shauna, who scoffed in response.

"Oh yeah?"

"I just had to listen to Mel talk for like half an hour about how nice you are," she clarified, nudging Shauna's leg with her own. "I think she really appreciated you helping her out today."

Shauna shrugged. "She doesn't deserve the shit Mari pulls with her sometimes."

"Shauna," Tai drawled, "take the compliment for what it is. You're good with her. It's sweet. Keep it up and you might take Van's spot as Mel's favorite."

She rolled her eyes and shoved at Tai, but it was good to know that Mel didn't think that Shauna being nice to her was total bogus. She worried about coming off as insincere sometimes, especially with the more sensitive littles.

"Well, I try," she murmured honestly.

"We know," Tai nodded, patting her shoulder.

Do people like the lengths of these? I'm never sure if they're too short or too long or something else entirely xD