#and I was trying to figure out if she actually did or not and no one was any help

[eowynstwin]

anatidae - conception, i.

After several happy years together, Ghost and Soap finally convince you to have their child. - ghoap x reader. audhd reader. reader has a nickname. established relationship. polyamory. baby fever. manipulative Soap. smut. breeding kink. anal sex. top Soap. bottom Ghost. sex as manipulation. - Masterlist. Ao3

Eventually, they convince you.

It is impossible to tell who your daughter’s father is for two reasons:

One, when she opens her tiny eyes, one is blue, and one is brown. Complete heterochromia, unlikely to change.

And two—with every passing day, she looks more and more like you.

Four years old; roly-poly with baby fat, little legs and arms she doesn’t quite know what to do with yet. She fills the spaces in your plural household that you did not know were empty until she found them, with her curiosity, her laughter, her boundless appetite for each minute of every day.

She’s smart. Very smart, quick not only to learn but to apply her lessons to new contexts. She sleeps through the night almost every night since the three of you brought her home, turns her nose up at nothing you offer her to eat, never wanders far from you or her fathers at the park or the store.

She’s perfect—even though she has not yet uttered a single word.

Your baby. Your Lizzie.

And actually, it’s Soap’s idea.

His eldest sister’s middle child is turning six, so the three of you pile into his car on a warm Saturday morning to make the drive to the suburbs. The MacTavish-Donnelly household overflows with children in party hats and benevolently bored parents when Ghost pulls the old Jeep up to the curb, boxing some unfortunate van in the driveway, and your trepidation is visible the moment your shoes hit the pavement.

Being your partner has uncovered a new layer of perception for Soap and Ghost; they see and hear things they previously would have ignored, because with the way you move through the world you can ignore nothing.

You described it once having a live wire for every nerve ending; everything, everywhere, screams at you all the time.

So when you pause on the sidewalk when you see a trike in the front yard, and a few adults holding punch cups on the stoop chatting, Soap knows why he hears the wrapping paper around the present in your hands crinkle, your grip tightening.

He throws an arm around your shoulder and brings his lips to your ear. “You got your wee earplugs, aye, Ducky?”

“Yes,” you whisper nervously.

You sway into him at his touch—it’s grounding, you’ve explained. It keeps you from floating away, expanding outward to try to figure out everything happening around you. Nothing beyond the sphere he and Ghost make matters so much.

He kisses the soft spot of your jaw. Ghost comes up to your other side and pulls your hand up into the crook of his arm. “We can set the place on fire, if need be.”

“Don’t burn my sister’s house down, please, LT.”

“Sink fire. Set off the alarms, that’s all.”

You give a little sniff of laughter, and, thus fortified, the three of you advance.

There’s Twister in the living room next to a table piled high with a rainbow of gifts, children tumbling around each other on the mat and laughing while music plays on the telly. Pastel streamers and balloons festoon everything (the middle child being celebrated should grow up without any proverbial complexes, Soap thinks), and confetti is abundant on the carpeted floor like a piñata molted on its way through.

There are the usual stares as they walk through the house. Soap is used to it—likes to flaunt it even, sometimes—and Ghost has never given a shit what anyone thinks. But you seem to shrink even further between them as you feel watched, curious eyes wondering if the mousy little thing between them really arrived with two men.

Luckily, they find Mary in the kitchen, and even despite how obviously harried she is, wisps of hair flying around a lopsided ponytail, Soap’s sister brightens when she sees them.

“Johnny!” she exclaims, swooping him into a hug he’ll never get too big to fall into. “And Simon and Duck! Thank goodness, we’re about to cut the cake and we might need crowd control.”

“Mary,” grunts Ghost.

“Hello Mary,” you say.

Mary releases Soap and smiles very kindly at you. Out of all his siblings, she’s been the most fond of you from the start—probably, he thinks, because she sees something to nurture in you.

At that moment, two of Mary’s children and three of Soap’s nieces and nephews, including the birthday boy, rush in to glom around Soap’s legs, and after the choruses of “Uncle Johnny!” collide with him, they backwash toward Ghost, who always has candy in the many pockets of his utility pants for them to scavenge.

Soap’s family has accommodated you well, though—they flow around you like water, barely touching, and you take the opportunity to give Mary your own hug.

“We’re doing crafts in the backyard, Duck, I thought you might like that,” his sister says, patting your back.

You pull away and give her a smile. It’s one of Soap’s favorites; small and mysterious, and completely genuine. The one that means you’re very pleased, and you don’t feel pressured to show it.

“Yes,” you say, and you vanish outside to sit with the quiet ones.

Ghost allows himself to be dragged off by the rowdier kids, leaving Soap to lean against the kitchen counter and smile at his sister; when when she lifts a cup to sip at some punch, he taps her belly with two fingers.

He’d felt it when she hugged him. A little firmness, hidden by the weight she’s never managed to lose after three pregnancies, and the loose shirt she’s likely wearing to hide the growing bump.

“Number four,” he murmurs.

Jealousy, a thin, sharp garrote, tightens in a spool around his stomach, but it’s an old feeling—one he’s learned how to ignore, until it stops aching.

(Compromise—sacrifice. It’s how a relationship between three people sustains itself. Everyone in his plurality has given something up, or learned to live with something else, or adopted new practices they might otherwise have never picked up. It’s a solid, even foundation, and the last thing Soap wants to do is take a hammer to it.)

His sister’s face softens with warmth. The glow of it suffuses the stiff lines of her posture, gentling the anxiety that has fizzed in the way she stands.

“Our last one,” she says quietly. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Planned?”

“No. God! Could you imagine? Mum and Dad are crazy enough.”

Soap smiles. “We turned out alright.”

Mary runs her hand over her stomach, quick but loving. “Yeah, we did. Remember me though? Swore I’d never become her, and look at me now.”

A house full of toys shoved into every corner; sippy cups in a wire drain basket by the sink. The long hem of her tunic shirt creased by tugging hands. The jamb of one door anointed with three different colors of sharpie, hatch marks measuring years of rapid growth.

Light, and warmth, and color.

“You’re happy, though,” he says.

“I am.” She aims a little grin into her cup—an expression he’s seen her make more often with every consecutive pregnancy.

A secretive curve of her lips. Tranquil, with the familiarity of some hidden insight, as if Mary can see facets of happiness that—to Johnny—remain a mystery.

“I always thought this would be you, you know,” she says. “If you married a girl, I mean. Then you and Simon got together, and I figured not, but…”

Soap settles his crossed arms lightly on his chest, sucking one cheek between his teeth. He sets his gaze on the rainbow of letter magnets on her fridge, spelling out the names of her children. “You know her. It wouldnae—wouldnae be a good idea.”

Mary nods. “And she doesn’t want any?”

“No. Neither of ‘em do.”

He feels his sister’s eyes on him. Probing, in only the way a mother of three’s can be—though even before having children, she’s always been able to see through him in a way no one else ever has.

“I dunno abou’ that,” she says eventually.

When he looks up at her, her gaze is angled elsewhere—toward the sliding glass of the back door, where a table piled high with cheap craft paints and canvas board and grubby jars of water are attended by the clan introverts. You’re the only adult sitting with them, happy not to be bothered—

But a little one comes shyly up to you, a messy painting clutched between two paint-smeared hands.

It’s Mary’s youngest, Angus—and her shyest. He comes to stand beside you with his shoulders hunched, eyes big and trepidatious as he waits for you to catch sight of him.

Soap watches you greet the lad when you notice him. The expression on your face doesn’t change; you always speak to the children the same way you speak to adults, no exaggeration, no upward pitch. Angus stretches his arms out to present his creation.

You look at the canvas when it’s offered to you, and then in a smooth motion you slide out of your chair to crouch down to the boy’s level. As Soap watches, you cross you legs and invite him to sit in your lap, and then, with as serious an expression as you might have at a gallery showing, you begin pointing at different places on the painting. One arm is wrapped loosely around little Angus’ belly, holding the child to you like a stuffed toy.

One side of the canvas is in Angus’ hand; the other is in yours.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, as he watches your mouth move, but Angus positively glows with the obvious praise you’re giving him. When he turns to look up at you, you give him your mysterious little smile—

Something hot blooms in Soap’s chest.

Then there’s a shriek of laughter in the living room, and when Soap turns to look, he sees Ghost on the Twister mat, huge body set in an arch, feet on green, hands on red.

He’s going to bitch later about his back or his knees, Soap can already hear it ringing in his ears—but right now Ghost holds position as kids crawl underneath him or do their best to clamber over him like climbing a mountain. Then, suddenly, Ghost collapses with one of their nephews worming over his belly, throwing his arms around the kid and hauling him over his shoulder.

“Bloody mountain goats, I look like a jungle gym to you?” he barks, baring his teeth in a mock-snarl. Though at home he’ll have it on as often as not, he never wears his mask around the children.

Ghost surges up to spin the boy around, and the other kids crow with laughter and demands for a turn of their own.

“Watch the lamps!” Mary cries out, undercutting her warning with a laugh. “You’re as bad as the wee ones, Simon!”

The heat in his chest billows. St. Elmo’s fire catches in his alveoli, flash-burns the lining of his lungs inward to cloak his heart in a white blaze. Heat sears his neck upward to flood across his face.

He thinks of you, belly round, breasts heavy. Ghost with a baby in his arms, a tiny thing made tinier by the bulk of his huge frame. A toddler clinging to your leg, face tipped up to look at you with adoring eyes, or napping at midday, thumb in mouth, on Soap’s chest.

It takes his breath away. The kitchen sways around him, the earth’s center of gravity shifting. A fissure crack the casket of his want.

Mary catches his eye with a knowing grin.

He starts with Ghost.

You’re going to be the harder sell. Early in the relationship, the three of you had sat down to discuss this, and you had been unequivocal—no kids. You did not want children, and you did not want to be pregnant.

It was a sensory nightmare, you’d explained. The thought of sticky hands reaching out constantly to touch you, and shrill, high voices shouting and screaming, with no knob to turn down the volume, made you shudder with fear. Piles of toys to trip over, when your balance is medium on a good day, and no moment to sit down in silence without the risk of it being interrupted by some little goblin’s insatiable demands.

Put that way, Soap could see your point. He remembers his parents’ most exhausted days, dealing with no less than five children in the house and seven for birthdays and holidays. That kind of exhaustion would weigh on anyone, but for you, it would be a different beast entirely.

And Ghost was in accord—both for your sake, and his own. By then, he had told you and Soap about the Sonoran desert, Sparks and Washington, burning down his own house with four bodies still warm inside it—one smaller than the pool of blood it lay in.

He did not want to bring something into the world so easily taken out of it.

Soap could see that too. Certain moments in the field live permanently now in the folds of his brain, bloody and ugly and grisly in the way most people only encounter through fiction. Too real to him now not to look at his nieces and nephews sometimes with dread tearing up his gut.

Soap was outvoted. Moreover, he was convinced. So he kept his desires to himself.

But that evening after the party, he can’t stop thinking about it. A little bundle with his eyes, and your mouth, and Simon’s nose. Little hands curling around his fingers. A high chair at their dinner table, right next to his place. Bedtime stories. Halloween costumes. Friday night movies, like his Dad used to set up for him and his brother and sisters, popcorn fights during action scenes and falling asleep in piles on the floor.

Soap has always wanted children. Always. He thought he could give that up, being with you and Ghost—what’s between the three of you is rare, precious, more than worth having even by itself. He loves the life he has with his little family, and he wouldn’t change it.

But expansion isn’t exactly change, is it?

The more he thinks about it, the more right it feels. The more he can already feel the weight of his child in his arms. And he knows it would make the two of you happy, even despite the trepidation you and Ghost share. Neither he nor you grew up in happy homes overflowing with love—it’s natural that neither of you can see the potential of it.

But Soap did. Soap can.

He doesn’t mind being the visionary. He’s more than willing to lead the charge. He can do the work of opening his partners’ eyes—

And he’s not above fighting dirty to do it.

It starts with getting Ghost on his back. You’re out one night teaching an evening class (bento dinner in hand, an extra square of chocolate Soap snuck in at the last moment), so the next few hours are just for them, and Soap takes possession of every minute.

It’s always a sight. Ghost is the biggest man Soap has ever been with—and to have that huge body below him, fatty muscle red and quivering, hips rolling with a needy cant as Soap slowly drags his cock in and out of him, is something that never fails to take his breath away.

He massages his hands up and down Ghost’s chest, cupping his heavy pecs and thumbing his nipples as the big man’s eyes sink closed and his bitten mouth drops open. Between them, his cock, blustery red and standing straight up, twitches every time Soap pushes in, dripping clear and messy all over his stomach.

Ghost’s hands are vice-tight on Soap’s hips, but he doesn’t urge him to speed up, doesn’t snarl at him to get on with it, like he usually might. No—Soap set the mood just right, backing Ghost into the bedroom with soft kisses up his neck and softer hands wandering up his shirt. It’s honey-sweet and slow as dripping molasses, with Ghost hot and tight around him, their groaning breaths mingling as they hang there together in the moment.

Watching Ghost’s belly jump with pleasure, Soap says—breathlessly, as if letting it slip out—“I wanna get her pregnant, Simon.”

It’s only supposed to test the waters. Take Ghost’s temperature, see where his head’s at. Soap is ready for anything—for Simon to freeze, to glare at him, even to shove him away.

But instead—

“Fffffuck,” Ghost growls, chest expanding, stomach going concave as he heaves a deep breath in.

His brows screw together, upper lip curling, and he draws so tight around Soap that he has the delirious notion that Ghost is going to pull his cock clean off. If Ghost had been blushing before, he’s positively blazing now, red blooming bright across his face and chest and all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Soap knows immediately what’s happening—Ghost is on the razor’s edge of coming.

And all it took were those six little words.

“Yeah?” he presses, blending the long thrusts he’s kept steady until now into a few short, quick ones. “Yeah? You like that idea? Her all big with our baby, Si, something we put in her? Us?”

Ghost pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, throwing his head back. “Fuck—Johnny—” he snarls.

“Did y’see her with the wee ones?” Johnny croons, pressing the heels of his hands into Ghost’s stomach. “She’d be so good with a baby, Ghost, I know it. Our baby.”

Ghost starts panting, hard, grunting like an animal with every exhale. He’s never especially talkative during sex, unless it’s to give instruction or bark an order, but now it seems that language has completely abandoned him, as he tries to get Johnny to fuck him faster with the roll of his hips, trying to thrust his cock into the open air.

As if you’re already there, already taking him, and Ghost is trying to get himself as deep inside you as he can.

Johnny wraps one hand around it, sliding his fist loosely up and down. He can practically feel Ghost’s heartbeat plunging through every raised vein. If Johnny had the flexibility, he’d bend down right now just to get it in his mouth, but as it is he contents himself with getting Ghost’s precum all over his palm and licking it off with his tongue.

“Probably take a few tries,” says Soap, closing his hand back around Ghost’s cock. “Though with two of us, probably not long. Not if we go one right after the other, every time we can, aye?”

He pauses to spit on the red, exposed crown, circled round by thumb and fingers, so he can lube up his grip. Ghost’s dense, heavy thighs shake around his hips, as Soap thrusts his cock as deep as he can and slides his hand down to Ghost’s base. He mimics the squeeze of Ghost’s ass around him—the tightness of your cunt swallowing him up—as he jacks him off, up and down at the same time he pulls in and out.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathes, “Johnny, you—Johnny—”

“Sounds good, doesnae?” Soap says. “Gettin’ her between us, not stoppin’ ‘til somethin’ takes.”

“Fuck!” Ghost shouts, and then he’s gone, balls drawing up, a stream of white jetting out so hard it lands on his chest, right in the valley of his swelling pecs. Soap fucks him through it with his hand, and slams his hips hard against Ghost’s as as he chases his own end—

“Just—like—this,” Soap growls, tether snapping, and he empties himself as deep as he can into Ghost, cock pulsing as ecstasy pours up and down his stomach. He swears he can feel every drop of cum leaving him, and worries wildly that there won’t be enough left for you later, as the intensity of his orgasm seems to empty his balls of every last reserve.

He holds himself still for a moment after, still buried in his partner, nerves alight with an ecstasy so bright and so fervent that it’s sharp enough to cut him to the bone.

He feels very present. Anchored and secure in this place and time. At home, Soap struggles often with the feeling of being tugged in a hundred different directions, all at once, myriad urges to see, do, and act all clamoring at him for attention. It’s something that keeps him alive in the field—that keeps him thriving on deployment, really—but constantly on his toes when he’s home, all safe and sound.

Always searching, it feels like. Always looking for something he needs, and almost never finding it. The feeling quietens when Ghost curls his hand around the back of his neck, or you lean your head in close to his to kiss him or to speak.

Now—it’s silent.

A father. He’s going to be a father.

Panting heavily, Ghost finds his voice—at least, enough of it to start laughing.

“Spoiled brat, you are,” he chuckles in his steel-edged tenor. “You know that? Spoiled.”

Soap grins at him, caressing one thigh. “Your fault.”

“Mm,” Ghost hums, having long known that he’ll give Soap whatever he wants. The hard cut of his mouth is pulled into a wry smile. “She ain’t gonna fold so easy, Johnny.”

Soap pulls out of his partner, and crawls up to lay next to him. “I know. S’what I like abou’ her, after all.”

Ghost hums again. He lifts one arm to wrap around Soap’s shoulders, drawing him close, idly tapping his fingers on his tricep.

“You’re gonna have to get a desk job,” he says.

His tone is thoughtful, but Soap knows the words to be absolute.

Once you’d agreed to be theirs, Ghost had retired. It had surprised Soap and you both, but Ghost treated it as the most natural thing in the world. And it didn’t take very long, after the dust settled, for Soap to see why—you needed care, more than Soap had realized, and for Ghost, that need superseded any of his desire to remain in the field.

And Ghost was good at caring for you. It seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing: remembering what you liked to eat, helping you with your stretches, using the special brushes you had to wake your nerves up every morning. Putting together a schedule and keeping you on it, making sure you got to work on time and bringing you home at the end of every day.

And as you began to flourish in receiving his care, so too did Ghost flourish in giving it.

The hard edges of him softened. The sharp tones of his voice blunted. Soap saw Ghost become a steadier version of himself than he’d ever seen before—and he saw you blossom with a happiness that, at the inception of their odd relationship, had only begun to bud.

“Lookin’ after her is one thing,” continues Ghost. “I’m alright bein’ the hardass, ‘cause you make up for where I’m shit. But a kid’s different, Johnny. You don’t get to come and go as you like with a kid. It’s all, or nothin.’”

And Soap has to be honest with himself—a corner of his stomach clenches. There is a clarity in the smell of oil and gun smoke that he’s failed to find anywhere else.

But it does not dim the sunlight shining in his chest.

He knew it would happen someday, to old age if not a bullet. So to a baby?

Better than he really could have hoped.

He swings one leg over Ghost’s hips, and pushes himself up to straddle his partner. Ghost smirks beneath him, hands rounding the curves of his waist, sliding backward to palm Soap’s ass before traveling further down to squeeze his thighs.

“Gonna be fun, LT,” Soap agrees, grinning. “I hear pregnancy makes you horny as hell.”

“Bloody fucking hell, Soap,” Ghost snorts, lifting up to one elbow and dragging him down by the neck for a kiss.

next chapter early access

author's notes: y'all wore me down. I'm writing baby fic. What has the world come to

[sirfrogsworth]

So Elon has decided to skip the imminent disaster of global climate change and just move on to a calamity 5 billion years in the future.

If you ever need to understand Elon's motivations, it's all this.

Okay and a little bit the woke mind virus.

But mostly this.

He wants to get to Mars more than anything. It's why the only thing he can speak intelligently about is his rockets. He has put in the time and effort to learn about them because this is his singular passion.

A lovely Youtube physicist did a video about SpaceX and she said half of the rockets blow up and Elon just wants more money. And it was disappointing to hear her say that because she is a scientist and both things are inaccurate.

SpaceX would be an amazing company without Elon. His leadership is the only thing really holding it back. They have put lots of cool shit into space. Their Falcon program is the most productive and cheapest rocket program in history. They put more stuff into space than everyone else combined.

They had to blow up part of the graph just so you could see the competition. Half of the SpaceX rockets are *not* blowing up.

Starship is a specific prototype. It has nothing to do with their main rocket business. Starship is Elon wanting to go to Mars. It is basically him trying to send a 3 story building into space. And he keeps blowing it up because that is the fastest way to develop a rocket. He's wasting a lot of money by trying to speedrun a trip to Mars in his lifetime. And these tests are bit more like crash test data than expecting the rocket and Starship to actually function properly. It's a process and they have goals for each launch, and for the most part, they reach those goals. Any success after those goals is gravy to them. But they are pretty certain it is going to end in fireworks at this stage of development.

I don't know if they will get it to work. It would be nice because a functional spaceship that size could do a lot of cool science. But Elon's goals and NASA's goals are going to conflict in a major way at some point in the future. And I'm worried that may damage space exploration.

Starship is very different than their Falcon program. It's a science experiment. Falcons rarely blow up. They get shit to space like the James Webb telescope.

And as far as Elon just wanting more money... sort of.

His personal wealth has not been a huge concern of his for a while. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Tesla fall apart like it has. The wealth he is actually concerned about is not his own. Going to Mars is a trillion-dollar-plus endeavor. Even the richest man in the world cannot raise that much money.

Only a government could fund that.

Elon knows this. He figured it out a while ago. And when he saw an opportunity to get his hands on the government purse strings, he jumped at the chance.

He jumped in the shape of an X like a giant loser.

I'm *positive* Elon thought, "If I could save the government a trillion dollars, they'll give it to me so I can go to Mars."

But it is probably breaking his brain right now after learning he isn't this super genius who can figure out government bureaucracy in a weekend with a bunch of coding dorks.

He got depressed and realized his cool plan to get to Mars was falling apart.

Whoops.

Elon will say anything to get to Mars. He will lie about anything to get to Mars. He will consort with anyone to get to Mars. If you are ever unsure why Elon is doing something, it's to get to Mars. His moral calculus is based on this. In his delusional mind, everything is justifiable to save the human race.

He does have side quests. He wants to repopulate the Earth with his seed. And he uses IVF because you can drastically increase the odds of getting a boy if you pay extra. And he is angry at his trans daughter because he wants boys to continue his mission to spread Musk seed. He spends $50,000 extra to make sure he gets boys and she is messing with the plan.

Oh, and he really really wants people to think he is good at video games. And he wants people to like him. And he wants to kill the woke mind virus because he didn't get the boy he paid for.

But Mars is *almost* all he cares about.

Elon thinks Earth is doomed and he wants immortality from being the man who saved human civilization. He truly believes our existence is dependent on being "multiplanetary." It might be the only thing he believes.

Saving the human race is supposed to be his legacy.

And it is killing us.

[starvrse]

THRESHOLD

pairing : daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary : girl she’s ur baby daddy and yall argue then yall have sex 🥀

warnings : cursing, g!p daniela, baby trapping mention again…, smut ofc, dani sells drugs but it’s barely mentioned, she’s lowkey a deadbeat, probably more but i forgot

unnecessary bs : 4.9k words, i actually love bd dani

you slip the spoon into your daughter’s mouth just as the doorbell rings. your eyes flick to the door before you let out a tired sigh, pulling the spoon away and reaching for her bib.

“hm, i wonder who that could be.” you mutter, wiping the corner of her mouth. the doorbell rings again, then again, each press faster, louder, more obnoxious.

you roll your eyes. “jesus christ.” and then it hits and you groan. “fucking daniela.”

only she rings your doorbell like she’s trying to piss you off on purpose. like this is some kind of game and she always plays to win.

you storm over to the door and yank it open—and there she is. daniela avanzini, in all her smug, infuriating glory.

leaning against the frame like she owns the place. like she didn’t walk out three months ago after calling you “emotionally constipated” and slamming the door hard enough to rattle your dishes.

“hey, pretty.”

you deadpan. “stop ringing my damn doorbell like a child with impulse issues.”

she grins. “wow. not even a hi? missed you too.”

“what do you want?”

“i came to see my baby.”

your eyes narrow. you know she means danielle, but her eyes drag slow and deliberate from your face to your legs like she’s testing you, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“well, she just ate. you can come back when you learn how to act right.”

“cute. except you don’t make the rules around here.”

you scoff, stepping aside because arguing in front of danielle never ends well. not that daniela cares, she’s already sauntering past you like this is her home. like she didn’t give up custody time for a week straight because she was “figuring shit out.”

“you don’t live here anymore,” you snap.

“mm,” she hums, crouching beside danielle and lifting her into her arms like it’s second nature. she says something soft in spanish, probably about you, voice low and familiar like a secret she’s passing between them.

you slam the door shut behind you. “maybe she should know the truth about how you disappeared for two days and blamed it on your phone dying.”

“oh my god, are we seriously doing this again?”

“you show up, unannounced, ringing my doorbell like you’ve got no damn home training—what did you expect?”

“a kiss, maybe. a little gratitude for blessing your doorstep.”

“you’re not cute.”

she spins slowly with danielle in her arms, making her laugh. then casually, like it means nothing: “your mom texted me, by the way.”

you blink. “what?”

“she wanted to know if we were ‘working things out.’ i told her you were still mean as hell, so… probably not.”

your jaw clenches. “stop talking to my mom.”

“tell her to stop texting me then. she likes me more than you do.”

you grab one of danielle’s toys off the floor and throw it at her. she catches it one handed, grinning.

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re still letting me in.”

and when she walks to your fridge like it’s still hers, opens it, and says, “you got anything that isn’t expired this time or are we ordering again?”

you don’t say anything. just brush past her, straight into the kitchen with your jaw clenched and shoulders tight.

she walks back into the living room like she didn’t show up out of nowhere and hijack your evening. you don’t even look at her—you’re too busy slamming the cabinet door while pulling out a pan, too busy chopping vegetables like the cutting board personally wronged you.

“you cooking?” she asks, settling onto the floor with danielle still latched to her like a koala.

you slam the fridge shut. “shut up.”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t. she’s sitting cross legged on the floor now, danielle crawling into her lap with her little stuffed bunny in hand.

“look at this, she still loves me. she doesn’t even know what a deadbeat is.”

you whip around. “say that again and i’ll throw this knife at your head.”

she laughs. like she thinks you’re kidding.

“god, you’re always angry,” she says, tilting her head as danielle babbles in her lap. “you ever try not being so fucking bitter all the time?”

“i’m not bitter,” you snap. “i’m tired. tired of having to do everything by myself while you show up when it’s convenient and act like that makes you some saint.”

she goes quiet at that, just for a second.

but then she shrugs. “yet here you are. still cooking dinner like we’re a happy little family.”

“i’m not cooking for you,” you snap. “i’m making something for danielle.”

“she’s a baby.”

“she’ll have to eat real food eventually.”

“but not tonight.”

you whip around. “do you want me to throw this knife at you or what?”

daniela just smirks, leaning back on one arm while danielle plays with her hoodie string.

“you always get like this when i show up. it’s cute.”

“you think everything’s cute. you think breaking promises is cute. showing up three days late? cute. ignoring my calls? adorable. you think you can just walk back in like you’re supposed to be here—”

“i am supposed to be here.”

your hand freezes mid chop.

“don’t.”

she shrugs, unbothered, like she didn’t just throw a match on a gas leak.

“just saying. i’m her mom too.”

“yeah? then act like it.”

you toss the chopped vegetables into the pan harder than you need to and flick the stove on. the oil sizzles loud, and daniela flinches like she thought you were going to throw the whole pot at her. and honestly, so did you.

“you think i like doing this alone?” you mutter. “you think i get some kick out of waking up at 3am, warming bottles, dealing with teething and crying and you—”

“you never asked for help.”

“because every time i do, you disappear.”

daniela goes quiet for a second, lips pressed tight. danielle is babbling now, half to herself, half to her bunny, completely unaware of the tension thick in the air like smoke.

you stir the pan a little too aggressively and daniela finally stands up, brushing off her jeans and gently placing danielle in her little play mat nearby.

“i’m here now.”

you don’t look up.

“for how long?”

she doesn’t answer.

you keep cooking. you keep your eyes on the pan. you pretend you’re not already thinking about the moment she walks out again. pretend you don’t already have a backup bottle ready for when the food goes untouched. pretend you don’t care.

because someone has to keep the house running. someone has to make sure the baby eats, even if she’s only on purées. someone has to show up every day.

and it’s never daniela.

you finish cooking with your lips pressed into a tight line, throwing the kitchen towel over your shoulder like you’re running a restaurant and not dealing with your emotionally exhausting ex. you don’t bother plating it fancy—just toss the food on, grab a fork, and head to the dining table where daniela is already sitting like she’s waited all day for this.

danielle’s in her lap, happy as ever, gnawing on the corner of her bib like it’s the most delicious thing in the world. daniela’s got one arm around her and the other lazily scrolling through her phone until you set the plate down in front of her with a clink.

she looks up, smile already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “thank you, baby.”

you blink and stare at her. “yeah. you’re welcome.”

she grins. “i don’t get a kiss anymore?”

you scoff—not even a full laugh, just that sharp little sound people make when they’re done with the bullshit. like tch but from the soul “you’re lucky you got a plate.”

she smirks, pokes at her food. “you say that every time and still feed me like you love me.”

“because i love the baby. and she deserves a mom with energy, which i can’t have if i get arrested for murder.”

daniela hums like it’s sweet.

you grab your own plate and sit across from her, not bothering to make eye contact. danielle is squirming now, so daniela shifts her a little and keeps eating with one hand like it’s second nature.

you both eat in tense silence for a minute, only the clinking of forks and the occasional babble from danielle filling the room.

then daniela, mouth half full, “do you think she’s gonna be left handed like me or right handed like you?”

you pause mid bite and look at her like she’s actually lost her mind. “she’s barely even holding things right now.”

“yeah, but i read it’s genetic or whatever.”

you just shake your head. “do you have a real job yet?”

daniela glances up with zero shame. “define real.”

you put your fork down. “one that doesn’t involve getting arrested if you text the wrong number.”

“damn,” she says, biting into her food again. “so judgemental for someone who used to ride with me while i did drop offs.”

“yeah. and then i grew up.”

daniela raises an eyebrow, still chewing. “you say that like i’m out here selling kilos in the back of a church van.”

“i don’t know what you’re selling anymore, daniela. could be weed, could be someone’s soul, could be baby formula—”

“okay wow, relax. it’s not that serious.”

“no, you don’t take it seriously. which is the problem. you have a whole daughter now, and you’re still out here treating your life like a gta mission.”

daniela chuckles, leaning back in the chair, arm wrapped lazily around danielle like she’s unfazed. “you always talk like i’m some wanted criminal. i’m just doing what i know.”

“yeah? well what you know is gonna get you locked up. and then who’s left picking up the pieces? oh wait—me. again.”

“you’re so dramatic.”

“no, you’re just stupid.”

daniela laughs at that, like it’s cute, like you’re flirting. “you called me stupid but still cooked for me. which one of us is really down bad?”

you slam your fork on the table, and danielle flinches in her lap. you immediately soften your voice but your words are still sharp.

“i didn’t cook for you, daniela. i cooked so our daughter doesn’t grow up watching me lose my mind because her other mom thinks slinging weed is a personality trait.”

daniela looks at you for a moment, finally not laughing, just watching.

“i’m doing what i can,” she says. “it’s not like people are lining up to hand me a nine to five with my record.”

you cross your arms. “so that’s it? just give up? keep doing shit that puts you at risk and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll be out in time for her kindergarten graduation?”

“at least i’m trying.”

“trying would be showing up on time. trying would be calling when you can’t make it. trying would be putting her first for once and not whatever hustle you’ve got going on that week.”

daniela presses her lips together, and you can tell she’s about to say something mean. something that’ll cross the line. she shifts danielle in her lap instead, brushing crumbs off her little onesie.

you stand up and grab your plate.

“you think being here now makes up for everything? it doesn’t. you don’t get points for showing up late and calling it love.”

daniela mutters, “you sound like your mom.”

you freeze. just for a second, then you nod slowly. “good. because someone in this house has to act like a grown up.”

daniela exhales a laugh, mean and quiet. “right. now you’re better than me ‘cause you microwave baby food and follow a bedtime schedule?”

you narrow your eyes. “i’m better than you because i show up.”

“nah,” she says, sitting back in the chair like she’s getting real comfortable. “you’re just mad the lifestyle stopped benefitting you.”

you squint. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“don’t act brand new, yn. you weren’t complaining when my ‘gta missions’ were paying your rent. your groceries. that ‘push present’ you pretend came from your savings—yeah, okay.”

your blood boils.

“you think this is about money?”

“no, i think it’s about the fact that you were perfectly fine with it when you were comfortable. now that i’m not handing you wads of cash and showing up with takeout in the middle of the night, suddenly you’re holier than thou.”

you’re already walking away. grabbing the plates, scooping up danielle gently from her lap, not even looking at her.

“yn,” daniela calls out like she didn’t just say the most out of pocket shit.

you stop in the hallway. danielle’s head is on your shoulder, eyes fluttering. bedtime.

daniela walks up behind you like she forgot who she’s talking to. like everything can just be smoothed over with a joke and a smile.

“don’t touch me.”

you don’t raise your voice. you just say it low and calm, sharper than anything else you’ve said tonight.

daniela freezes with her hand halfway out, fingers curling back slowly.“yn—”

“you really stood in my house, in front of our daughter, and tried to flex about doing illegal shit like it makes you some kind of provider. like that’s love.”

daniela’s quiet.

you glance over your shoulder, just once.

“you don’t get to touch me. not after that.”

you don’t even look at her again. just shift danielle higher in your arms and head straight to her room, your breath tight the whole walk down the hall.

her room is quiet, soft. the nightlight glows pale purple in the corner, and everything smells like lavender and baby lotion. you hum a little as you set her down, not a lullaby or anything sweet, just something low to keep yourself from spiraling.

she stares up at you with heavy eyes, her fingers curling in the sleeve of your sweater like she doesn’t want you to go yet.

“it’s okay,” you whisper, brushing her hair back. “i’m right outside.”

she yawns, and your chest twists. because none of this is her fault. none of it.

you wait until she fully drifts off before slipping out of the room and shutting the door with that soft click you’ve perfected by now. then you head straight to the kitchen.

you don’t even sit. just start rinsing off plates and stacking them in the sink, sleeves rolled up, sponge in hand, water too hot.

you’re halfway through scrubbing when you hear her behind you.

you don’t acknowledge her. you don’t have to.

her hands are on your waist before you even feel her move.

arms sliding around you, slow and familiar, like they never forgot the shape of you. her chest is pressed up against your back, arms curling slow and deliberate around your waist like she’s got any right.

“dani,” you say, jaw tight. “don’t.”

she doesn’t move. she just shifts closer, one hand sliding up beneath the hem of your sweater like it’s second nature. her hips roll forward, and you feel her, heavy and shameless.

“i missed you…” she mumbles, lips brushing just behind your ear.

“and i miss when you knew boundaries.” you stop scrubbing the plate in your hand, but you don’t move. “get off me.”

she doesn’t.

just keeps rubbing against you, slow, teasing. hard, bold, like she’s always been.

daniela chuckles, low and smug. “you say that, but you still made sure i ate. still looked out.”

you rinse the plate off, set it down in the rack.

“i wish you would stop saying that. i cooked for danielle.”

“she’s on baby formula, yn.”

you grab another plate. keep scrubbing. “then i guess i just felt generous. don’t read too deep.”

she leans in again, a little closer. “nah. you don’t do anything unless you feel something.”

you slam the last plate into the rack with a clatter. four dishes. four chances to calm down, yet none of them worked.

you stare at her. curly hair, faded hoodie, chain still glinting under the kitchen light like she’s some kind of walking temptation. like your worst mistake wrapped in silk and bad decisions.

and yet—your body still remembers her. still reacts like muscle memory. you toss the sponge into the sink. “go home, daniela.”

she tilts her head. “this is home.”

you finish drying your hands and toss the towel on the counter. daniela’s still standing behind you, arms crossed now, quiet for once.

you don’t even glance at her as you walk off. “if you’re staying, don’t hover.”

“wasn’t hovering.” she mutters, following anyway.

the living room light’s off when you pass through. you don’t stop. just keep walking toward your bedroom like your mind’s already decided for you and your body’s catching up.

you hear her steps behind you, slow, confident, and annoying.

“so this where we pretend we’re not mad at each other?” she says, leaning against your doorframe.

“no,” you say, pulling off your sweater. “this is where i pretend you’re not stupid, for the sake of my sanity.”

daniela whistles low. “you say that with your whole back out.”

you shoot her a look over your shoulder. “close the door.”

she does. with a smirk.

you crawl into bed, not looking at her, not inviting her in either. just scrolling through your phone, blanket pulled up, pretending you’re chill.

daniela doesn’t ask permission. she never does. she just drops her hoodie too, like she owns the space, then slips off her jeans and slides in on the other side of the bed.

the mattress dips, and the air shifts. you don’t say anything. she shifts closer behind you, not touching yet, but there. “you really hate me, huh?” she asks, voice low in the dark.

you shrug, still not looking. “not enough, apparently.”

“you still looked out,” she says, quieter. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”

you sigh, and it’s heavier than you want it to be.

“don’t make this sweet. you’re not sorry. you’re just horny and bored.”

she laughs into your neck, bold enough to kiss your shoulder. “can’t it be both?”

you roll your eyes, but don’t move away.

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so warm.” she says, wrapping an arm around your waist. she presses closer, hips flush against your ass now, and you feel her—hard, steady, smug.

you suck in a sharp breath. “don’t start.”

“you already did,” she says, voice low, mouth against your skin. “soon as you let me in here.”

you close your eyes, clenching your jaw.

daniela’s not even dressed for the night. she’s dressed for this. oversized tee clinging to her shoulders, boxers riding low on her hips, thighs warm against the back of yours as she closes the space between you like it’s nothing. like it’s always been this easy.

you feel her hand trail up under your shirt, slow fingers dragging along your stomach like she’s relearning you.

“i said don’t start.” you whisper, breath catching.

she kisses the back of your neck, lips soft but her hips anything but. she rolls against you once, slow enough to make your eyes flutter.

“but you never mean that…” she murmurs.

you clench your thighs together, already annoyed at how your body’s responding, how it always responds to her.

“dani…”

“hm?”

“i’m still pissed at you.”

she hums like she likes that. like that’s part of the thrill. “then be pissed. i won’t stop you.”

her hand slips lower, brushing the hem of your shorts, teasing the waistband, knuckles grazing skin.

“you’re so full of shit.” you whisper, voice shaking.

she presses a kiss to your jaw now, slow and soft. “and you’re so wet for someone who hates me.”

you gasp, turning to glare at her, but the moment your faces meet, she leans in and kisses you.

it’s not sweet, it’s desperate. teeth clashing, lips hot, like she’s trying to remind you of every reason you ever forgave her.

and god, it’s working.

you tug at her shirt, dragging her closer without thinking, nails digging into her side.

she groans against your mouth. “fuck. missed you.”

you bite her lip. “shut up.”

her boxers are pressing into you now, nothing between you but flimsy fabric and bad decisions.

“then shut me up.” she says.

you don’t answer her, you just pull her in harder.

the kiss turns hungrier, sloppier. your fingers slip under her shirt, dragging up over warm skin, feeling every flex of muscle as she shifts above you. her hand finally slips into your shorts, and you hiss at the contact.

“fuck—” you whisper, half a warning, half a plea.

daniela just smirks into your mouth, fingers sliding through your folds like she owns you. like she’s been waiting for this exact moment since the last time she left your bed.

“you’re always talkin’,” she murmurs, breath hot against your lips. “but your pussy never lies.”

you moan, sharp and helpless, as she circles your clit slow, teasing like she’s got all night.

“shut up.” you pant, hips rocking into her hand.

“make me.”

so you do.

you pull her shirt up and over her head, tossing it somewhere behind you, dragging your nails down her chest as she groans and leans in again. her boxers are straining, pressed firm against your thigh, and you grind up into her without shame now, every ounce of anger melting into heat.

“take ‘em off,” you whisper, tugging at the waistband.

“say please.”

you glare. “i’d rather die.”

she grins, cocky and flushed, and kicks them off anyway, letting them hit the floor as she shifts between your thighs.

and god—you feel her.

she pulls your shorts off and slides her cock against you, slow and heavy, teasing your entrance with that unbearable smugness she always wears when she’s right.

“missed this pussy,” she murmurs, dragging it up your slit, coating herself in you. “you still grip like you need me.”

you wrap your legs around her waist.

“less talking, more proving.”

she doesn’t waste another second.

she pushes in slow—too slow—and your back arches off the bed, the stretch making your breath catch in your throat.

“mm—fuck,” you whisper, legs already tightening around her waist.

daniela groans, head dropping into the crook of your neck as she bottoms out, hips pressed flush.

“tight as ever,” she mutters, hand gripping your thigh as she pulls back just enough to drag herself through you again. “like your pussy missed me.”

you grab her jaw and tilt her face up, eyes burning into hers. “shut the fuck up.”

“can’t,” she grins, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate strokes. “you always fuck me better when i talk too much.”

you hate that she’s right.

you’re trying to stay quiet—stoic, unreadable—but she knows your body like scripture. every stroke deeper than the last, her pace measured, like she wants to draw the words out of you.

and then she says it.

voice low. dirty. cruel.

“you want another baby, huh?”

your eyes snap open.

“w-what?”

she grinds deeper, cock sliding all the way in, her pelvis flush with yours. she doesn’t pull out right away. just stays there, buried inside, pressing her weight into you.

“that’s what this is, right?” she whispers against your jaw. “you keep letting me in. keep letting me fuck you raw. you tryna trap me again?”

your stomach flips. your nails dig into her back.

“you’re disgusting.” you breathe, even as your hips buck up into her.

“but your cunt is so greedy,” she says, finally starting to move again, slow and filthy. “gripping like it wants it. like you want it.”

you bite your lip so hard it stings, trying not to give her the satisfaction of the moan building in your throat.

“say it,” she growls, pace picking up. “you want me to fill you up again, huh? get you all swollen and pretty with my kid—”

you whimper, legs locking tighter around her waist.

“shut up, daniela.”

she grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“then tell me to stop.”

but you don’t.

you can’t.

you just stare at her, flushed and breathing heavy, hating how much you love her like this.

“shit.” you whisper.

daniela smirks, rolling her hips faster now, her cock dragging along that spot that makes your legs shake. “that’s what i thought.”

daniela’s strokes get deeper—more deliberate. not rushed. just ruthless. she’s taking her time now, fucking you like she’s trying to build something unbearable. and you’re barely holding it together.

your hand flies to your mouth, teeth digging into your knuckles as your body jerks beneath her.

“shhh,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “you gonna wake our baby.”

and it’s the way she says our that makes your stomach flip again. like she’s still clinging to the idea of family. like she wants to.

you don’t respond, not with words. you just claw at her back, trying to pull her deeper, grind against her harder, chase the high that keeps slipping just out of reach.

daniela moves one hand between you, thumb pressing against your clit in tight, slow circles that make your toes curl.

you let out a sharp, guttural sound before you slap your hand back over your mouth.

she laughs, breathless and smug. “you’re so fuckin’ loud.”

“shut up.” you hiss, your voice trembling.

“nah. you gotta learn how to whisper please, baby.”

your thighs start shaking, whole body tensing as her cock pounds into you, her pace not frantic but intentional—like she knows exactly how close you are and wants to keep you right there, strung out on the edge.

you turn your face into the pillow, biting down hard, but a moan still rips out of you, quiet and wrecked.

daniela groans, hips stuttering. “shit—you always this wet when you hate me?”

“you’re a piece of shit.” you whisper, broken and breathless.

“oh yeah, i love when you call me that.”

you grab her hair and yank her down, kissing her like it’ll shut her up, like it’ll make this whole thing less filthy, less real. but it just makes it worse.

she ruts into you harder, losing her rhythm for a second, groaning into your mouth like she’s starting to lose her edge too.

you feel it building again—tight, hot, impossible to ignore.

her thumb’s still working your clit, her thrusts hitting perfectly now, your legs wrapped around her, bodies locked so close it’s like you’re trying to disappear into her.

your breath catches and your eyes flutter.

“daniela—” you gasp, barely able to get it out.

she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your mouth again, sloppy and deep.

“i got you,” she whispers. “cum for me.“

and that’s it.

your body locks up, hips jerking, walls clenching around her so tight she groans out loud and slams into you one last time, staying buried deep as you fall apart underneath her.

it’s messy. breathless. muffled by your hand and her mouth and the sheer desperation of trying not to cry out.

daniela bites your shoulder, whole body trembling as she finally lets go too, spilling inside you with a choked-out moan that she tries—and fails—to keep quiet.

you both stay there, clinging. breathing heavy. drenched in sweat and bad decisions.

the baby monitor in the corner stays mercifully silent, for now.

you’re still catching your breath, head pressed to her shoulder, heart thudding way too loud in your chest.

daniela shifts just enough to look at you, her hand still lazily tracing shapes into your thigh like she didn’t just rearrange your guts.

you don’t speak right away. neither does she.

you glance at her chest rising and falling. sweaty. flushed.

you hate how pretty she looks like this. how soft her eyes get right after.

“you okay?” she whispers finally, voice hoarse.

you roll your eyes, but it’s weak. “you askin’ now?”

“yeah,” she says, smirking a little. “just making sure i didn’t break you.”

“please.” you scoff. “you wish.”

she chuckles low and leans in to kiss your cheek. just a soft little press of her lips that makes your chest tighten before you can stop it.

you don’t pull away, but you don’t lean in either.

“i missed this.” she says, after a beat.

you exhale through your nose. “you missed fucking me.”

“no.” her voice is quieter now. “i mean, yeah. but also…us.”

you stare at the ceiling.

“you think fucking me erases all the shit you’ve done?”

she goes quiet for a second.

“no. but i think it means you still care.”

you look at her finally, eyes half lidded, mouth tugged down.

“if i didn’t care,” you murmur, “i wouldn’t still be this mad.”

she nods, fingers gently brushing your side, like she’s calming herself more than you.

“i’m trying,” she says softly. “i know i fuck up. i’m not gonna lie and say i’m perfect. but i’m still here, aren’t i?”

“barely,” you say under your breath. but you don’t really mean it.

she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a little closer, her nose brushing your temple.

“she’s beautiful,” she whispers. “our daughter.”

you feel your chest tighten all over again.

“yeah,” you say, just as soft. “she is.”

and then you both go quiet again, listening to the faint hum of the baby monitor, the sound of her soft, even breathing from the next room.

daniela kisses your hair, and you close your eyes. for now, the fight can wait.

take a shot every time yn says “shut up” like damn, also the header is so bunz bc i didn’t feel like looking for pictures 💔

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey! I know you’ve been writing a lot of Bob and Void stuff, but do you write for Walker? I don’t k ow why, and maybe I’m a little odd for thinking this, but I would like him as my big brother figure. Prehaps I could request platonic hcs of him where he and reader act like siblings? Reader is chaotic sunshine and they get on each other’s nerves, but they do truly care for each other!! Bonus points for bits of Bob x reader x void hehe

I love Wyatt Russell (hate Walker tho) so I’ll make an exception for you anon. this might have more bob x reader x void then necessary. I think Walker would be an okay sibling at best.

Major PSA for idiots and dipshits: Also if you don’t wanna read the John and reader sibling dynamic, just skip to the Bob x reader x void section do the headcannons or don’t bother reading this, I’m not holding your hand when most of you are grown adults who are responsible for what you read. (Though I question that level of responsibility everyday the more I hear you moan about fuck all since you’ve got nothing else to do) so don’t blame me for what you consume. Grow up or continue to show your ass like you typically do.

you didn't like walker and you typically liked everyone and will always let it be known as whenever you were working on your aim, you'd intentionally aim for him much to Walker's annoyance.

'Can you stop shooting for me, for five mintues!' he exclaims as he looks at you as you only smiled innocently back at him.

'i don't know what your talking about.' you tell him 'i'm trying to shoot for you but you keep moving like an annoying cockroach that refuses to die.' you added as Yelena, who was stood next to you this entire time, tried to hold back a laugh but failed.

'i'm really feeling the love here team.' walker says sarcastically, lightly swatting your bicep in a repremending act, only to get a smack to his bicep in return.

'we love you too john!' you called after him as you looked back at Yelena as she looked at you with a knowing smile. 'what?' you asked her.

'you might not be family but you and john act like you could've been siblings in another life.' yelena says and you couldn't help but make a face. You were well aware that your relationship with US Agent was an odd one, you acted like you hated each other but the way it came across was more like siblings flipping each other off from the doorways of your own rooms.

which is something you both actually did do on the odd occasion, walking by the doorway of eachothers rooms within the Watchtower and flip each other off wordlessly, it didn't matter if you had company either, you'd still flip each other off regardless. much to the amuesment of the other Thunderbolts.

you both often get asked if you two were in fsct siblings, only for you and john to look at each other as though it was an insult as you both replied simultaneously with a ‘no.’ even if there were times where John did make sure you ate, drink and took proper care of yourself when he thought that you were neglecting yourself more then you should.

He’s even drag you out of the room if he felt that you were isolating yourself in there for his liking. I’m talking busting down your door and dragging you out by your legs as you kick and scream at him to let go, all the while he’s telling you to get out and socialise with the rest of the team instead of being a hermit/ bedroom gremlin. ‘Fuck off!’ You scream at John, ‘what if I want to stay in bed and do nothing.’

‘No can do, now go out with Yelena, Ava or Alexi and socialise and get some fresh air instead of suffocating in the stuffy air of your room for god sake.’ John replied as he shoved you towards Ava and Yelena as you shot him a look over your shoulder as you followed your favourite teammates. ‘Have fun!’ He sarcastically waves at you while you only show him your middle finger. ‘Kids.’ He mutters under his breath as Alexi pats him on the shoulder ‘you’re a good older brother.’ He tells John as the dirty blonde waves it off.

He didn’t think he was fit to be an older brother figure, but you brought that side out of him with how easily it was to annoy one another, he still remembered when you took his helmet and gun and painted them a glittery pick mess. He couldn’t complain at the time as the mission was integral, but he did indeed give you a mouthful afterwards about touching his stuff and fucking with them.

John swears you give him a headache almost on the daily but he’s certain that he does your head in too. So the feeling was mutual as far as he was aware.

Yet you do have moments where the care you had for one another comes through on missions as you two were usually paired up together and the protectiveness came out when the other was in close proximity to danger. You’d shove John out the line of fire, he would shove you behind him when he saw someone aiming for you, shielding you both when they open fired on you both.

Your care for each other was silent but it was there in the small acts you do for one another in a rare moment of reminding that while you acted like you couldn’t stand each other, you were there for one another regardless of the shit you’ve both done.

BOB X READER X VOID

Now when you met Bob, you found him to be cute, slightly clumsy and awkward but in an endearing way that made you want to know him more, his puppy dog eyes didn’t help make matters better as you as you were quick to find yourself spending more time with Bob and ultimately catching feelings for him.

He was meek and barely meet your eyes half of the time when you talked to him, but yet he seemed to stay with you in comparison to the rest of the group, always shoulder to shoulder to you and sharing smiles with you from across the room as butterflies fluttered within your stomach.

‘What’s your name.’ You asked.

‘Bob.’ Bob replies with a small smile, a cute smile you’d determine as you noted how small he tried to make himself look despite his tall and strong stature. There was more to him then you could see clearly, you could tell that this man was of great importance that you assumed that even Bob himself wasn’t aware of just yet.

‘We’ll get along just fine Bob.’ You tell him as he made a face similar to that of a confused puppy, a handsome cute man that you could already tell you’d get dangerously attached towards within embarrassingly short time. ‘How’d you know that?’ He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. ‘Call it a hunch but I just think we’ll work well together.’

‘I’ll trust your hunch then.’ Bob says with a smile and you knew immediately that you were fucked, he was even pretty when he smiled too with how his eyes shined and how his poetically radiated warmth and comfort that you wanted to bask yourself in forever.

Bob would find himself trusting himself within your presence more than others on the team, even going so far as you reach out and grab your hand in his and audible sigh at the touch, having gone without it for longer then he could remember. So needless to say you had become his primary person to look out for him, or just be there for him when the others went on missions and needed someone to be there with Bob until they get back.

You didn’t care as it meant you got to spend all the time possible with him as you made sure that when you were cooped up in the watch tower you would make sure that you and Bob were having fun however you could. Whether that be trying -and failing- to get into baking some cookies or watch tv together where characters make questionable decisions and Bob got to be highly amused by how annoyed you’d get when someone does something stupid.

Sometimes it got so bad to the point where he’d have to stop you from doing something rash as you ate half burnt cookies in a rather aggressive manner as you scowled at the television. It was a highlight for Bob as he got to be with you and experience all of you in your entirety. Only to end up finding himself falling more and more for you yet still being hesitant in calling the deep feelings he had for you as love or like.

So Bob takes his time with you and learns just as much about himself as he does learn about you in the process the longer he got to know and like every single part of you the more quality time you both shared without the rest of the Thunderbolts ruining it with their loud selves.

Void was equally intruded by you as much as Bob was and while he didn’t come out as often, he still was there within Bob as he got to go out with you on small trips together, or simply spending moments together in the watchtower.

He’s aware of all the moments shared between you and Bob and decided that he wanted that too, and to be selfish and more forward then meek, awkward Bob was about his own feelings that were now fully developed. Void understood what it was that he felt towards you and didn’t need anymore time to dissect and digest it, for whatever he wanted he would get sooner or later.

So don’t be surprised when you thought you were sharing a moment with Bob, only to be met with the pinprick eyes of Void as the entity merely chuckles at your look of surprise as he walks through your room as though he’s done it many times before.

‘Don’t look so surprise little bird.’ He tells you, his voice more confident and fuller then bob’s second guessing one, as though he wasn’t confident in using his own voice never less recognise it as if own, whereas void was fully aware of who he was and didn’t need to second guess himself when everything he did was absolute and precise.

‘You shouldn’t wear that face with me, when you look at Bob as though your moments away from grabbing him and kissing him at least.’ Void adds as you looked at him as he admired the photos you’ve took of yourself and fellow thunderbolt teammates and Bob.

Now with void you were a little more conflicted on how you felt towards the shadowy entity who could make people into shadows with a wave of his hand, a powerful being whom you’ve came across on occasions but he never did anything for you to detest him, only ever caress your cheeks and standing rather close to you for whatever talk to be considered casual.

He was bolder than Bob in what he wanted as void had kissed the back of your hand, drawn you close to him and even held you on rare occasions that you still think about at night, occupying your thoughts as you were conflicted on how to feel about void after what Bob had told you about feeling this endless darkness within him. One that only got worse when you were near him, as though it wanted to greet you personally.

Yet you couldn’t help but find Void charismatic and intriguing as the more you got to see him, which was mainly when you and Bob was alone or when everyone was asleep at night. He was dangerous and you knew that well enough to be cautious towards him but yet at the same time you couldn’t help but be drawn to Void whenever you do get to talk to him.

‘Where’s my kiss little bird? Am I not deserving of one unlike your precious Bob? Hmm?’ Void asks as he stepped close to you, his pinprick eyes looking deep into your own as your forced to admit that they were beautiful in their own right, in their own unique and unsettlingly way but beautiful nonetheless.

You would respond but you didn’t get the chance to becuase as soon as you blinked Bob was back in front of you, leaving you to process what had just happened just moments prior while Bob only looked at you in concern.

‘Are you okay? He didn’t do anything to you did he?��� He’d ask as he placed his hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eyes for anything that could give away to him if void did anything or not.

‘No, he didn’t.’ You replied to calm his nerves as he pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back as you gripped him tight, not truly grasping what you had gotten yourself into.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Prompt: Oops I’m a King Now

So, I absolutely love Ghost King Danny fics. The way the zone just kinda points at this kid like “that’s him officer! That the one who now where’s the crown!” With Danny unwillingly becoming king and either being really good at it or the ultimate gremlin. Simply Magnificent.

But what if Danny accidentally became the king of ghost without becoming the High King Of Ghost, successor of Pariah Dark?

It started off real simple. Danny started to (somewhat) civilize his rouges gallery, getting them to almost behave while in the human realm. Just enough for him to be able to live his half life and not spend the other half shoving them into a "Cylindrical Container Of Doom". Desiree could grant all the wishes she wanted so long as she did so in a way that could be passed off as luck, usually good but with the Phantom seal of approval when it came to monkey pawing the wishes of people who are due for some karma. Lunch Lady getting the chance to cook for people in need so long as she didn't go full Murderous Mystery Meat on them for having dietary restrictions. Getting to try and beat the stuffing out of him at regularly scheduled intervals that don't just so happen to fall on the days he needs to study and take important test and the like. That sort of thing.

This all resulted in him spending more time in the Infinite Realms then ever before. Learning about culture and society in the zone, making friends and figuring out how to do the whole Be A Ghost thing. Most of that was done in a small community not to far from where the Fenton Portal opened up in the Realms. They weren't the most important society, they didn't have some valuable export, no advanced industries like the Far Frozen's technology, no exceptionally strong ruler or ally like Necropilis had with Pandora. But what they did have in spades was kindness. They taught him what they knew, shared what they had and treated his wounds the best they could when he wasn't in a good enough condition to make the long trek to the Far Frozen. They were some of his first actual ghost friends, rather then just being people that kept trying to beat him to half death but occasionally helped him out, usually for the sake of their own self interest.

So when he found out that a small gang of ghost(small by Danny "Guardian of the Dead, Protector of the Living" Phantom's standards, so not small at all) had been launching periodic attacks on the community, he just couldn't sit back and do nothing. But even with time in the Realms passing around seven times faster then it did in the Living Realm he straight up didn't have the time to sit around and wait who knows how long to defend the town the next time the gang attacked and, hopefully, take them all down in one fell swoop. Even if he did, What good would it do? He couldn't just End every last one of them, and they would know it would only be a matter of time before he was need back in Amity. Fighting them off himself would be a stop gap measure at best.

So, plan B it was. If he can't protect them himself he would make sure they could protect themselves. Run some drill, teach some tactics, set a patrol schedule, that sorta thing. Nice and simple. In theory. In practice, it was anything but simple. His friends were a simple and very small subsistence farming community. They grew what they needed and not a single grain more, and they all worked together to do it. it was a group effort because it had to be, with them only having what by modern standards would be considered incredibly primitive farming technology, tools and knowledge. If someone put down their plow and pitchfork to pick up a spear, someone else would starve. Ghost naturally filter feed ectoplasm from the air in the zone, which provides them energy and a small amount of some simple nutrients so starvation isn't as fast and serious a threat to them as it is to humans. But their bodies, cores especially, need proper food and water to function and being deprived of food for to long can and will bring about their End. Slowing food production to train a militia and protect the town would, once again, be a stop gap measure at best. A stop gap measure that required torturing his friends via starvation in every way that mattered to Danny.

Plan B won't work, but Danny doesn't have a Plan C so he'll just have to figure out how to make it so Plan B can work. The village can't spare any farmers because they can barely produce enough to feed them all as is with their less advanced farming technology. The answer to this conundrum, like most issues the modern teenager faces, is the smartphone. Or rather, is modern technology. Danny spends days at a time in the village pouring over every textbook he can find on agriculture, its history, the technology, modern practices, bribes Ghost Writer into letting him browse his library for long forgotten and not yet written human texts and tomes of food-bidden ghost knowledge on crops and agricultural sciences in the Infinite Realms. Spends a day or two getting his parents to consider Ghost Trees an imminent enough threat to make a purpose built gadget in the form of an overgrown stake with an egg shaped head that when pounded into the ground would evenly spread anti-ghost herbicide across a large area and deep into the soil but with a little modification could easily be used to spread fertilizer and plant seeds at record speeds.(and promptly Gasslit, Gatekeept, Ghostbossed them into thinking they dreamed making the device and it was a bad idea after removing all evidence and saving the blueprints.)

The whole nine yards, and not an inch less for his first true friends on the other side. When he was finally ready he brought it all before people of the village, by the end of the night he had them all agreeing to give this fancy shmancy "Techmogy" a try, and by the end of the week, Living Time, is well on his way to revolutionizing the villages agriculture. They can not only afford to start training and maintaining a small(again, small by Danny's standards) defense force but also export extra produce and begin to develop other specialized, though still low tech, industries. When they've finished dealing with the raiding issue the village starts regularly just kinda handing over a small percentage of their harvest, and at first Danny's super confused cuz like Why??? but then just convinces himself "Oh, they just want me to keep maintaining the militia. Yeah that checks out."("How much taxes did Mister Phantom say we're supposed to pay for all this?" "He just kinda... Didn't? I don't think he expects us to?" "Thats unicorncrap and you know it. And we are not taking advantage of his kindness. Sherral had to give him that 'I'm not Mad, Just Disappointed' look for twenty minutes yesterday to get him to stop working long enough to eat." "You know what, fair. He's gonna be properly compensated whether he likes it or not.")

Danny uses the extra to have a few of his Friends in The Militia keep an eye on the Fenton Portals opening in the Realms, keeping the non-sentient ghost from wandering into the human world and keep track of who passes though/keeping people on the no go list from going and kicking up a fuss.(A Neverborn who has never been to the Living Realm: The Fucks a Passport? What do you mean you have to search me for contraband? Why are you putting on a rubber glove? What's a cavity sear-*High Pitch Traumatized Screaming.*)

As it turns out the reason they had to deal with all the raids in the first place was because the two larger communities to the northwest(well, the "Northwest" as Danny calls it, he just kinda considers towards the Far Frozen to be north) are in the middle of a minor war that initially started due to food scarcity issues, with all the fighting destroying farmlands and bringing laborers away from the fields and into the battlefields only worsening the problem. The so called "Dangerous Bandits" were just starving people fleeing the war and bloodshed that had consumed the only home the Neverborns had ever known and Last Wills had known sense all that they had ever been and knew was ripped away from them. Upon hearing that all this trouble is a result of a famine that's been going on for the last few years Danny just lights up like "Starvation? Food scarcity? Those things that I just spent ages figuring out how to help? I can Help Them? I'm Going To Help Them!" and promptly goes frolicking through an active warzone trying to befriend the locals and share his new found knowledge and technology. Full on golden retriever mode. He makes lots of friends! As the help he provides begins to show results word of him spreads and his reputation grows, more and more people of both waring communities begin searching him out.

It's not long before the oligarchy that rules over one and the queen that rules over the other start hearing about how much good this "Sir Phantom" has done for the people they rule over, hear that good being compared to they good they have done. Then they start hear whispers about people being being jealous of the first friends that Danny helped, jealous of their freedom, technology, lower taxes, safety and prosperity. They start hearing the peasants first whisper and then shout that they might just be better off under Phantom protection and guidance then theirs.

The next three times Danny wanders into the area to try and provide what is essentially humanitarian aid to the locals he is attacked. The time after that it's a full blown assassination attempt, poison coated blades and arrows seeking out his core. When he next meets up with all his ghost friends he complains about it because he's like 73% positive that that one book he read on ghost etiquette said that trying to destroy someone's core was a Big No No. All of a sudden a whole bunch of his "Friends in the militia"(His soldiers. He doesn't know they're his soldiers but they are. They will metaphorically and if necessary literally march along side him into the depths of hell, even if he doesn't actually know he's their leader. Yet.) are coming out of nowhere talking and absolutely refusing to let him head back out there without some sort of escort.

So he and a, by his standards, small escort start going into those territories. They eventually start establishing small outpost from which to distribute aid and leave militia men to protect the civilians. And they start giving him what food they can afford too, they’re so nice!

Word spreads about the Oligarchy and Queen signing some sort of temporary true to handle “A grave threat to their people’s future” and Danny’s so excited for them. Finally, they’re starting to put aside their differences and work towards giving their people a better future!

His good mood is unfortunately cut short when hears about a group marching on his friends community. He rush’s back and finds said group between his community and the warzone, coming to the conclusion that they are more bandits fleeing the conflict. They are also probably the most well put together and organized bandit group he’s ever seen. They’ve got uniforms, supply carriages, banners and even start getting into a battle formation when they see him watching. The people that seem to be leading them have him a little confused though. A lady that could be considered the personification of the term “overdressed” and a bunch of old dudes who a clearly from the wealthier side of society. Half the reason he noticed them at all was because of how shiny all their jewelry is and even from a distance he’s like, 90% positive that’s all worth enough to feed like half the villages he’s been providing aid to for months. So he’s not to sure why they’re leading a raid against his friends for food, but he guesses it doesn’t really matter in the end.

Danny figures that facing an organized force would be a good training experience for the militia and good practice leading for him so he gathers up the militia and leads them to battle. Dispute being out numbered by a pretty significant margin it goes pretty well. As expected of bandits fleeing a famine, most of the enemy is half starved and their morale is in the mud so despite being pretty disciplined they can’t really put up much of a fight.

Once the militia gets a hang of fighting against enemies in proper formation and seems to have learned all they can from the battle Danny calls them back and moves in to sweep up. Most of the “bandits” are captured and he sends the rich weirdos packing. Or rather, sends them flying at high speeds one at a time. Spends some time making sure all the captured “bandits” get some food and medical care. Works on the logistics of getting them brought into the militia at the suggestion of the commander he left to lead it.

By the time Danny gets back to the war zone it’s, apparently, no longer a war zone. Everyone’s partying and celebrating, as while he was off fighting those bandits a brave and mighty hero had freed the people from the rule of Wicked Queen and Oligarchy. He goes on a tour of the territories, just to do one final check for issues and stamp out the last of the fighting and such. But nearly every village and town he stops in are pretty worried about the future of their nations, what with most of their governments being metaphorically and literally kicked out of the country and what’s left actively collapsing. So he decided to stick around a bit longer, grows the militia to better keep the peace, spreads some more modern tech to boost the economy. “Man y’all’s infrastructure is falling apart. Ah don’t worry about it, I’ll get some people working on it.”

This process just kinda repeats. Slowly but surly Danny finds more and more people in need of help. So he helps them. Makes friends. Gathers allies. Princess Dorothea was for some reason worried that being his friend would come at the cost of her crown but once she finds out that’s not the case she was more than happy to work with him. Gave Walker a new rule book to enforce when it comes to those under his protection. Pandora was pretty happy with the technological advancements he brought to Necropolis.

Getting the Far Frozen under his protection is probably the easiest of them all, and he even gets a really cool helmet out of it. Or well, he calls it a helmet but it’s not really all that helmet-y, as it’s mostly just a ring with a bunch of spikes poking out he top but it’s a really cool ring with spikes.

Made from the rarest and most valuable form of Eternal Frost within the Far Frozen the Nihil Glacias, it normally reflects and gives off absolutely no light. But as his power flows through and fills the ice microscopic imperfections and impurities within it become places where his energy gathers and collapses in on itself, creating brief beacons of light winking in and out of existence like stars in the night sky. When Danny first gets it he spends three hours in front of a mirror learning how to control it so he can make specific constellations appear and in the process learns that if he pours enough energy into it the excess power will begin branching out in ribbons of light, wrapping around him and flowing out like an aurora borealis. The fact that is multiplies his power a few times over and greatly accelerates the rate at which he grows stronger too is cool and all, but it’s his favorite accessory because of the stars. Apparently Frostbite got it for him so that his people would always be able to identify him, which makes sense. He wants them to know they can always come to him when they need help, and having a nice identifying feature so they can pick him out in a crowd or find him in an emergency will go a long way in ensuring they can.

Apparently Pandora’s something of a competitive gift giver as not long after word about how much Danny liked his new helmet got around she presented him with an enchanted ring, forged from a piece of the hope that resides within her box. Allowing him to not only sense the emotions of his people and always know when they are in danger but also draw power from the hope and faith they have in him, it very quickly rises to the position of second most prized possession. Just behind his fancy helmet because ✨Stars✨(and because it was a gift from Frostbite, the first adult in his life to ever actually Adult Properly for him and be there to support him. But Danny’s not gonna admit that part.)

Eventually Danny

Creates rules and laws

Funds and organizes a force to enforce the laws

Manages the economy to ensure continued growth and stability

Funds the construction and maintenance of public works and infrastructure

Raises and trains army’s to protect his people from outside threats

Appoints officials to act in his name and carry out a number of jobs

Danny, wearing a crown, sitting on a thrown, in the royal palace: Pft, no. I’m not a king or anything lame like that. I just help out around these parts, make sure everyone’s okay and all that. They’re all my friends!

What Danny Says: You guys wanna be my Friends?

What people hear: I’m annexing you. Accept my rule quietly or End Screaming.

Pandora does wind up a competitive gift giver. At first the ring she gave Danny was a calculated political move, meant to ensure her and Necropolis remained in his good graces and that the Far Frozen wouldn’t wind up with to much of The Kings favor. But then she finds out that her ring, which she spent weeks crafting by hand, put her heart and soul into, forged from a piece of Her Hope, was only the second favorite gift not because of any practical or even political reason. But instead Because ✨Stars✨. Alright Frostbite you fuzzy bastard, this just got Personal. She Will be the best and She Will be Danny’s favorite. Frostbite is more than happy to compete if it means Danny gets more cool stuff that makes him happy and safer and starts actively making the best gifts he can. This eventually results in Pandora becoming the other Adult in Danny’s life who Actually Adults and Supports Him. One day when she was trying to get Danny away from his paperwork and in bed she heard him call her Mom in his sleep and she most certainly Did Not cry happy tears. Anyone who says otherwise Will taste the steel of her blade.

[paxaz535]

The Space Between Us (1)

paige bueckers x black!oc

synopsis :

Best friends since childhood, Kamiya and Paige always thought their bond was unbreakable. But when they reunite at the family cabin after years apart, the line between friendship and something more begins to blur. As the tension between them builds, they must face what they’ve always known deep down: they’ve been more than close all along.

(this contains smut [in next chapter] !)

—————

Kamiya and Paige had always been close—ever since they were five years old, playing together in the sandbox in Paige’s backyard.

Their fathers, Bob (Paige’s dad) and Jonathan (Kamiya’s dad), had been best friends since high school. They bonded over their shared love of basketball and had been inseparable ever since.

That love for the game carried on to Paige, who practically grew up with a ball in her hands. Kamiya, not so much. She was always more into volleyball than anything else. Bob and Jonathan tried getting her into basketball, but it just never stuck.

Still, Jonathan supported his daughter through it all—especially after Kamiya’s mom walked out on them one random Thursday night.

Ever since that night, things had changed. Kamiya didn’t talk about her mom much—not because she didn’t care, but because she had learned not to expect answers. Jonathan picked up the pieces the best he could, and Paige’s family helped fill in the gaps.

Sleepovers became more frequent. Paige’s step mom would braid Kamiya’s hair and pack her snacks for school when Jonathan had to work late. To Kamiya, the Bueckers’ house started to feel like a second home.

By the time middle school came around, Kamiya and Paige were more like sisters than friends. They did everything together—sat next to each other in every class, FaceTimed every night even when they had just seen each other, and had inside jokes that nobody else understood.

People used to say they were attached at the hip. And for a long time, they were.

But then high school happened.

-

At first, not much changed. They still walked to school together, still sat next to each other at lunch, still sent each other outfit pics every morning to coordinate. But little things started to creep in—new friends, different classes, separate teams.

Paige made varsity basketball her freshman year. It was a big deal. Suddenly, she was surrounded by older teammates, practices every afternoon, and the buzz of school recognition. Kamiya was proud of her—she really was—but it stung a little to see less of her.

Kamiya had joined the volleyball team, and while she loved it, it didn’t get nearly as much attention. Her games were barely half full, and no one was writing about her in the school newsletter. Paige always said, “You’re killing it out there,” but sometimes it felt like she was just being nice.

They were still close. Still best friends. But there were moments—between texts left on read, and the “sorry I can’t, I have practice”—where Kamiya wondered if Paige was outgrowing her.

And then came the real test: boys.

Or at least, that’s what everyone thought. Paige had never really shown much interest. Sure, she’d play along when the other girls gushed about whoever was “so fine” in third period, but Kamiya always noticed how quiet she got when the conversation got too deep.

Kamiya, on the other hand, was trying to figure it all out. She’d dated a guy in freshman year for about two weeks—Derrick, from biology—but it felt more like checking a box than actually liking someone. She laughed at his jokes, let him hold her hand in the hallway, but when he kissed her outside the gym after practice, all she could think was, Is that it?

Meanwhile, Paige seemed perfectly content not dating at all. When Kamiya brought it up once—just teasing, like: “So, when are you finally gonna get yourself a boyfriend?”—Paige had only shrugged, looking away.

“I don’t really like boys like that.”

Kamiya had blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.” She tried to play it cool, but her mind spun.

She’d never thought about it before. Not really. But that night, lying in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not about Paige specifically—at least, not yet—but about how she’d felt when this girl from the volleyball team had called her pretty the other day. How her stomach flipped in a way it never did with Derrick.

Something was shifting.

And even though Kamiya didn’t have the words for it yet, a small part of her—buried deep and quiet—was starting to stir.

It started with the little things.

The way Paige would laugh so hard she’d throw her head back, eyes squeezed shut. The way she always remembered to bring Kamiya extra sour gummy worms on game days, even though she hated the smell of them. The way she always seemed to know when something was off, even when Kamiya hadn’t said a word.

One Friday night, they were at Paige’s house watching a movie. It was some cheesy rom-com they’d seen a million times, but Paige insisted it was tradition. They sat close—closer than usual—legs tangled under the blanket they always shared.

Halfway through the movie, Paige fell asleep. Her head rested on Kamiya’s shoulder, her breathing soft and even. Kamiya didn’t move. She just sat there, completely still, heart thudding in her chest.

She looked down at Paige, her face relaxed in sleep, and for the first time, she realized something terrifying.

She didn’t just love Paige.

She liked her.

Not in a best friend kind of way. Not in the way everyone joked about when they called them “a married couple.”

In the way that made her heart ache a little. In the way that made her scared to say it out loud.

She stared at the TV, not really seeing it anymore. Her throat felt tight.

Because what if this was just her?

What if Paige didn’t feel the same way?

What if it ruined everything?

Kamiya gently leaned her head on Paige’s, trying to quiet the storm in her chest.

She didn’t have the answers yet.

But she knew one thing for sure:

Something had changed.

The next morning, Kamiya acted like nothing had happened.

She cracked jokes, scrolled through TikTok with Paige like usual, and even teased her for drooling in her sleep. But inside, she was spiraling.

She kept replaying the night in her head—the weight of Paige’s head on her shoulder, the soft warmth of her breath, the way her heart had nearly exploded just sitting there.

And it only got worse from there.

At school, Paige was all smiles, greeting people in the hallway, dapping up her teammates, laughing with that same effortless energy that made everyone gravitate toward her. But Kamiya couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop feeling everything.

It was torture.

Especially when Paige hugged her from behind in the cafeteria like she always did—only now Kamiya felt her entire body freeze. Her brain screamed, Act normal.

She didn’t.

Paige noticed. “You good?” she asked later, brows furrowed as they sat outside during free period.

“Yeah,” Kamiya lied, eyes on her water bottle. “Just tired.”

Paige nudged her. “You’ve been weird all day.”

Kamiya shrugged. “You’re weird every day. Guess it’s contagious.”

Paige rolled her eyes, laughing. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The thing was, Kamiya didn’t know how to say what she was feeling. Didn’t know how to ask Paige if maybe—just maybe—there was something there between them too.

Because if she was wrong, it could ruin everything.

And for the first time in years, she felt like the distance between them was growing—and she didn’t know how to close it.

-

It happened at a party.

One of Paige’s teammates—Jas—was throwing a huge end-of-season thing. Kamiya didn’t even want to go, but Paige had begged her to come. “Please? Just for a little bit. I’ll even buy you your weird kombucha.”

So she went. Regretted it the second they walked in.

The music was loud. The lights were dim. And Paige? She lit up the second they walked through the door, dapping up her team, laughing, moving through the room like she belonged there.

Then there was her.

Nia. A sophomore who played soccer and looked like she belonged in a Nike ad. She and Paige had a class together—or so Kamiya had heard.

She watched from across the room as Nia leaned in, too close, whispering something into Paige’s ear. Paige laughed, hand brushing Nia’s arm.

Kamiya looked away fast, pretending not to care. Pretending she didn’t feel like someone had lit a match in her chest.

“I’m getting some air,” she mumbled to no one in particular, slipping out the back door.

She stayed out there for a while, letting the cold bite at her skin. Letting herself breathe.

Paige came out eventually, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kamiya said, a little too fast. “Just needed some space.”

Paige nodded, but didn’t push. That almost made it worse.

-

“I got accepted!” Kamiya screamed, practically launching off the couch as the email loaded on her phone.

Jonathan, Bob, Paige, Drew, and Moe all erupted into cheers from around the living room. Jonathan pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground, his face split into the proudest grin she’d ever seen.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Knew you had it in you.”

Paige was the next to hug her—tight, warm, familiar.

“I told you!” Paige beamed. “I knew they’d want you.”

Kamiya laughed, still in shock. “Guess I’m college material now, huh?”

Paige nudged her. “You’ve always been.”

Kamiya’s acceptance came just a day after Paige found out she was headed to UConn on a partial basketball scholarship. Everyone had celebrated her news too—Jonathan and Bob had cracked open a bottle of champagne, and Moe had baked cupcakes with “UConn” spelled out in blue frosting.

Kamiya had been genuinely happy for her. Paige was going to a school that fit her. She’d be playing the sport she loved, living in a place where she could finally shine. It was perfect.

But there was a part of Kamiya—a quiet, insecure part—that wondered what it would mean for them.

They wouldn’t be at the same school. They wouldn’t walk the same hallways or eat lunch under the same tree anymore. It wouldn’t be FaceTime at midnight after a bad practice—it’d be maybe catching each other’s texts between classes or team meetings.

And what made it worse was… they still hadn’t talked about that night. The party. The way Kamiya had walked off. The way Paige had looked at her, confused, maybe even hurt.

So Kamiya smiled and celebrated like nothing was bothering her.

But deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious was slipping through her fingers.

-

Kamiya’s three years of college had been everything she hoped for. She made new friends, joined a cultural org that felt like family, traveled for tournaments with her volleyball team, and even landed a sweet internship sophomore year. She was proud of the woman she was becoming—confident, steady, doing things for her.

But this time of year always pulled her back.

It was May now. Finals were almost over. Her junior year was closing out, and soon she’d be stepping into her final year of undergrad. A part of her was thrilled—excited for what was ahead. But another part, quieter and heavier, kept tugging her back to something… someone.

Paige.

She hadn’t seen her in person since last summer. She’d heard about the injury—a torn ligament, maybe? Something that benched her for most of the season. Kamiya found out through Instagram before she heard it from Paige directly. That stung a little.

They still texted sometimes. Liked each other’s posts. Sent the occasional meme. But it wasn’t like before. Not even close.

And maybe that was okay. People grow apart.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

What haunted Kamiya most wasn’t the distance. It was the fact that she never told Paige how she felt. Not really. Not in a way that counted.

She could’ve said it a hundred times. At that party. Before they left for college. At the lake last summer by the fire, when Paige looked at her like she knew.

But she hadn’t. And now, she didn’t know if that window had already closed.

Still… something about this summer felt different.

It was just a feeling—an ache in her gut, a whisper in the back of her mind—but Kamiya knew.

Something was going to happen.

She just didn’t know if it would heal her…

Or break her completely.

-

Kamiya sat on the edge of her bed, her suitcase open but barely touched. Clothes were piled on the floor around her—sweatshirts she might need if it got chilly, the swimsuit Paige once joked she looked hot in, and an old T-shirt Paige had left behind years ago that Kamiya never returned.

She stared at it now, fingers brushing over the faded cotton.

There were a thousand things she wished she could say. She wanted to tell Paige she missed her. That she was proud of her. That the distance hadn’t changed how she felt—not really.

But those words had stayed stuck in her throat for three years.

Now she was going to see her again.

And it scared her.

Not just because of what she might feel—but because of what she might not feel. What if too much time had passed? What if Paige didn’t even think about her like that anymore—if she ever did?

Still, she packed the shirt. Just in case.

The driveway crunched under the tires as she pulled up, late afternoon sun dripping through the trees. Her chest was tight.

As she stepped out, the smell of pine and lake water hit her like a memory. She heard voices from the porch—laughter, low conversation, the familiar warmth of family that hadn’t changed.

Then she saw her.

Paige.

Sitting on the porch steps, wearing an oversized hoodie, her joggers hanging low on her waist. Her hair was longer now, tied in a messy bun. But her smile—when she looked up and saw Kamiya—was still the same.

Kamiya froze for half a second, unsure what to do with everything crashing through her.

Then Paige stood—slowly, carefully—and walked over.

“Three years and you still pack like you’re moving across the country,” she teased, eyeing Kamiya’s giant duffel.

Kamiya grinned, nerves tangled in her chest. “Some things never change.”

Paige’s eyes held hers for just a moment longer than they needed to. “Some things do.”

Kamiya’s heart skipped.

The words weren’t loud.

But the meaning behind them?

Louder than ever.

-

Kamiya was woken up by a huge splash of water. She shot up, gasping as the freezing cold soaked through her shirt and bonnet.

Laughter and hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Go! G—go!”

She didn’t need to see them to know who it was—Drew and Paige.

Kamiya sat there for a moment, stunned, water dripping down her face. She knew they didn’t mean any harm by it—but come on. Waking her up with water? When she hadn’t asked to get wet? It pissed her off.

She jumped up with a loud scream, startling Bob and Jonathan, who were casually watching a random Lakers game on the living room couch.

Her bonnet clung to her head, soaked through. Her hair—freshly washed the night before—was completely drenched again.

“Paige! Drew!” she yelled, stomping down the stairs.

The two culprits were lounging on the couch chairs, feigning innocence.

“Why are you screaming?” Jonathan asked, turning his head, clearly confused.

“They poured water on me!” Kamiya snapped.

Paige and Drew exchanged a look. “No we didn’t—” Drew started.

“Don’t lie to me, Drew,” Kamiya cut in sharply.

That’s when she realized what she was wearing.

She looked down and groaned. The white sleep shirt she had on was now see-through, clinging to her like a second skin. Her red bra was very visible, and the soaked fabric hugged her curves like a compression top.

Moe was the first to notice, letting out a soft giggle as she covered her mouth. “Sweetie, you might want to go change.”

Kamiya closed her eyes and sighed, this whole morning already going to shit.

Paige looked up at her—and instantly turned pink.

Her eyes darted away too quickly, like she’d seen too much and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Moe, you possibly couldn’t have brought weave.. could you?” Moe, already knowing just laughed.

“I have it, sweetie. We can start on your braids when you get changed.”

Kamiya didn’t say another word. She just spun around and stormed back upstairs, muttering curses under her breath.

-

Upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, Kamiya sat cross-legged on a stool while Moe stood behind her, parting her hair with practiced fingers.

The soft pull of the comb, the gentle tap of Moe’s rings brushing her scalp—it all slowly started to calm her down.

“I swear,” Kamiya muttered, wincing as Moe gripped a stubborn section, “they think they’re so funny.”

“They’re just trying to get under your skin,” Moe said, amused. “That means they missed you.”

Kamiya rolled her eyes, even though a tiny part of her knew Moe was probably right. Still—water?

As Moe started the first braid, the smell of bacon and toast drifted up through the cracked bedroom door. Kamiya’s stomach growled on instinct.

Moe smirked. “Smells like guilt.”

Downstairs, Paige flipped another pancake, trying to act cool while internally panicking. “Is this too much syrup?” she asked, holding the bottle over a plate.

Drew looked at her, unimpressed. “You’ve poured it like five times already.”

“I just—she’s mad, Drew.”

“She should be! You soaked her like she was in a car wash,” he said, smacking her hand away from the syrup. “Just focus on the eggs.”

“I’m trying, okay?” Paige muttered, cheeks still flushed.

Back upstairs, Moe’s fingers moved quickly through Kamiya’s hair.

“You know,” she said gently, “there’s always a moment during braids where you gotta sit still and let yourself breathe. Might as well use the time to figure out what’s really bothering you.”

Kamiya didn’t respond at first. She stared out the window, watching the lake shimmer in the distance.

“I’m just tired,” she finally said. “And maybe… a little annoyed she looked at me like that.”

Moe raised a brow. “Like what?”

Kamiya hesitated, then sighed. “Like she saw something she wasn’t ready to see.”

Moe smiled to herself, fingers still moving. “Or maybe she saw something she’s just now realizing she likes seeing.”

Downstairs, Paige carefully placed a plate with pancakes, eggs, and turkey bacon on a tray. Drew added a glass of orange juice.

“She’s gonna throw this at us,” he whispered.

“She won’t,” Paige said, unsure.

They started up the stairs, holding the tray like it was a peace offering made of gold.

Upstairs, Kamiya sat quietly while Moe worked through her hair, parting and braiding each section with care. The gentle pull of the comb and the quiet hum of Moe’s voice were grounding—but her mind was still spinning.

She wasn’t even that mad anymore. Just… embarrassed. Caught off guard.

The soft creak of the door broke the silence.

“Uh… Kamiya?” Paige’s voice came gently, almost unsure.

Kamiya glanced over her shoulder. Paige stood in the doorway holding a tray, and Drew lingered behind her, both of them looking a little too nervous for comfort.

“We made you breakfast,” Paige said, her tone lighter now. “Kind of an apology-slash-peace-offering.”

Drew held up a mug like it was a trophy. “And coffee.”

Kamiya looked at them for a second, then at the tray. Pancakes, eggs, turkey bacon. Her stomach growled at the sight—and Paige heard it, a flicker of a smile pulling at her lips.

Moe gave Kamiya’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Smells good. You should eat before I finish the back.”

Kamiya exhaled, her walls softening. “I wasn’t that mad,” she said quietly, eyes shifting between them. “Just… surprised. I had just washed my hair.”

Paige nodded, her face full of guilt. “I know. I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry, Kami.”

Drew nodded too. “Same here. It was supposed to be funny, but we messed up.”

Kamiya gave a small shrug and glanced at the tray. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she mumbled, reaching slowly for the fork.

“We wanted to,” Paige said, her voice soft. “Especially me.”

Their eyes met—just for a second. It held longer than either expected.

Kamiya looked away first, trying to hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, okay,” she said, finally taking a bite. “This is good.”

Paige visibly relaxed, laughing a little. “Thank God. I was one burnt pancake away from giving up.”

Moe chuckled behind them. “And that’s why I stay in my lane.”

Kamiya giggled softly, chewing her food, her mood lighter now. “You’re lucky this is good,” she said, pointing her fork at Drew and Paige. “Next time y’all do something dumb, I’m pouring water back.”

“Fair,” Drew said with a grin.

Paige smiled. But hers lingered a bit longer, watching Kamiya with something more in her eyes. Something gentle. Unspoken.

And for once, Kamiya didn’t look away too fast.

-

The sun had started to dip behind the trees, casting a golden hue across the lake. The water shimmered, rippling softly from the occasional breeze. It was peaceful—so much calmer than the chaos of this morning.

Kamiya sat on the dock with her feet dangling just above the surface, her braids freshly done and pulled back in a loose ponytail. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the quiet settle around her.

Footsteps approached, slow and unsure.

She didn’t need to look up to know it was Paige.

“You mind if I sit?” Paige asked softly.

Kamiya shrugged. “It’s your dock too.”

Paige eased down beside her, careful not to get too close. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the sound of birds in the distance, water lapping against the wood, and the hush of trees swaying in the wind.

“I really am sorry,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “Not just about the water. About… everything.”

Kamiya turned to look at her. “What do you mean, everything?”

“I mean… I know we’ve drifted. And I didn’t try hard enough to stop it. I thought maybe I was giving you space, but maybe I was just scared you didn’t want to be that close anymore.”

Kamiya blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“I never wanted to not be close,” she said. “But we were growing up. I figured you were just busy. And I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” Paige said quickly, her eyes locking with Kamiya’s. “Never.”

The air grew still for a moment. Their gazes held, longer this time. Kamiya’s chest tightened, heart starting to beat a little faster.

“I missed you,” Kamiya admitted, the words barely a whisper.

Paige swallowed. “I missed you too.”

There was something hanging in the air between them now—something unspoken but deeply felt.

Paige hesitated, then added, “Earlier… when your shirt was—uh, see-through…” She trailed off, cheeks already turning pink. “It wasn’t just the water that threw me off.”

Kamiya blinked. Her heart jumped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Paige paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve always liked girls. You know that. But with you… I didn’t let myself think about it. Not really. Until today.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was electric.

Kamiya looked out over the lake again, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know what I like yet,” she said honestly. “But when you looked at me like that… it didn’t feel wrong.”

Paige turned toward her, eyes searching hers. “It didn’t?”

Kamiya shook her head. “No. It felt… different. But not wrong.”

A smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “So… maybe this summer’s gonna be different.”

Kamiya finally smiled too, soft but real. “Maybe it will.”

And for a moment, they just sat there—side by side—letting the possibility hang between them, warm and bright like the sunset behind the trees.

[existence-is-a-pain87]

Do you have any self aware Rodger as yet? Plz ? 🥺

I did have a piece that Tumblr deleted by accident, but I can definitely make a new one!

Also, just a quick note: To ANYONE who wants to make fanart or fanpieces based off the things I make, DO IT. DO IT AND SEND ME WHATEVER YOU MAKE!

I WANNA SEE THE ART AND THINGS YOU MAKE!! ESPECIALLY IF I INSPIRED YOU!

PLEASE I BEG OF YOU ALL!!!

Detective's Work

Yandere!Self-Aware!Rodger x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors, swearing

--☆☆☆☆☆--

Rodger was interested in you.

A player they can hear? My, how interesting!

Did that mean he liked you? No.

You were not necessarily someone he veiwed himself as liking. You were just... too excited, strangely loving, and...

Rash. Far too rash.

You blurted out whatever came to mind, endlessly spoke to those you played with in the chat, would ignore Twisteds charging at you in order to grab items.

He was interested in you, yes, but he wasn't like Goob.

He didn't like you immediately.

He actually believed you could be a danger. Perhaps you'd be cruel and only put upon a façade of gentleness. Perhaps this was you in an especially good mood.

He didn't think he would ever 'like you', per say. He would look into you, view you with hesitation and skepticism, but not like.

He swore to himself he'd never truely liked you.

He didn't realize he was lying to himself.

--☆☆☆--

He didn't like that you swore.

It didn't happen constantly, but occasionally, a cuss would fly from your mouth in fits of frustration. Especially when a Twisted came out of seemingly nowhere for you and damaged you.

Once you did that to Toodles.

For a moment, he hated you.

Then, almost instantly, you talked about how you couldn't swear to a child and immediately apologized.

Rodger liked that you took ownership of your actions and apologized when you realized you did wrong.

He started to believe perhaps you were no threat.

Perhaps you were someone he could like, if even slightly.

He kept his eye closely trained on you, which he found much easier when you played him far more than any other Toon.

You adored research as much as he did and would run around collecting it, thrilled to get more research for Toons.

He didn't admit that he liked how much you played him.

--☆☆☆--

He was the first to tweak the game.

He was the first Toon to realize they were in a game and to find the code, so is it hard to figure he was the first to learn how to tweak the game?

It was simple anyways, something no one would notice.

He made it exponentially more likely for Main Twisteds to spawn when you played him, or for Twisteds who research you wanted.

It was simple work, something barely anyone noticed.

In fact, when someone did notice, they weren't even angry, just happy to see you more.

He even went as far as forcing a Twisted Dandy to spawn when you desperately wanted to fufill the Astro requirement.

Dandy was pissed, but Rodger didn't care much.

It was simple detectives work, after all.

Anyways, Toodles really liked you. She thought you were really cool and really wanted to meet your cat.

He told himself him warming up to you was only because Toodles liked you.

He was lying to himself.

--☆☆☆--

Rodger was filling notebooks with information he gathered about you.

He's filled twelve to the brim with tiny words, and drained a number of pens.

All to contain information about you, every single piece of information unique or expanding upon pieces of information he already gathered.

He's constantly writing more based off all the information he's been able to gather about you from what you said to them or people around you when you were playing.

A while ago, Rodger learnt of Vee seeming to know significantly more about you than he did.

She didn't crack when he kept trying to interview her and learn what she knew of you that he didn't.

It frustrated him, but he didn't dare share this with everyone.

He just resumed gathering whatever information about you he could.

Then he found the microphone.

--☆☆☆--

Scraps had to stop lending Rodger pens with the amount of them he drained empty.

He wasn't too fazed. He just used your note app and transferred all his notes about you to there and hid it from you.

Rodger had stopped lying to himself about liking you at this point.

No, he loved you. Loved you to the point of obsession.

He knew it was wrong. That he was setting a bad example for Toodles. He didn't care.

To their creators and their gods, he fucking LOVED you.

Wow, now you even had him swearing when Toodles wasn't around.

To him, you were the other parent Toodles needed in her life. Supportive, gentle, and able to be much more excited and playful than he could.

He didn't even need to think long over if you'd like to play with Toodles or not.

You were not the perfect person for children, and several times you had stated you didn't want children.

But he knew he could change your mind.

Oh, even with all he knew of you, he desperately wanted to sit you down and interview you for hours. Desperately wanted to learn how you ticked, to see your little quirks face to face.

He wanted to tie you up and never let you free.

He wanted to resent you for this obsession. For you making him obsessed.

But he knew better. He knew you never meant to do this to him, you never meant for anyone to be obsessed with you.

He couldn't resent you.

He never could.

He wasn't even frustrated he never learnt why it was you they heard, and only you.

No, he was pleased.

You frustrated him occasionally, yes.

But god, he wanted to do so many things to you.

He could now admit to himself he adored you utterly and completely.

It was merely an effect of his detectives' work, after all. And he couldn't be more pleased by the mystery of you being solved.

[madaqueue]

about to go into work and trying to figure out why i feel so tired before remembering i got my blood stolen today >:/ give it back!!!!!!

[lcriedlastnight]

a stain on the kitchen floor

○ lando norris x sportstherapist!reader

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : w/c 1.7k. this was so fun to write actually. i'm shit at pacing that's why i haven't written a multi-part story yet so if it's bad don't tell me. also i’m too lazy to proofread these days.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"i know it's totally normal in the world on formula one, but to me? i think it's crazy. i wouldn't be able to switch up my emotions and feelings like that with some of my closest friends." lando looks over at her from his chair, eyes awfully bright for what was what she considered one of their more heavier sessions.

lando didn't know how he had gotten himself into this situation... well he did, he was just so embarrassed about it! it's not like he would know that her pretty eyes and soothing voice would be just the thing he need to see and hear first thing on a monday morning - especially after a race weekend. it didn't even need to be a bad weekend for him to want to see her and talk you through the weekend from his point of view. when lando realised that, he realised that he fancied her.

forcing himself to zone back in, (he felt bad for always zoning out during sessions. she thought that his mind must've been a battle field but in reality he just couldn't concentrate with her around him, caring words flying around his head and making himself believe that she wasn't asking because it was her job but because her genuinely cared about his mental well-being.) his eyes jump back onto her figure sitting on the chair across from him.

"it's like you said, i'm used to it. we all are." lando shrugs, something he felt like he did a lot in these short ten minute sessions. it has her sighing again before jotting something down again in her little pink notebook.

"lando, i've told you before, you need to stop shugging things like this off. i can tell it bothers you so just tell me how it makes you feel." she tells the boy, a little annoyed but in a second any trace of it is gone and she's back to her usual upbeat self. lando's heart stutters at her words. simp.

"it is a little hard sometimes, but it comes with the job. you gotta be mentally strong to do this too." lando explains like to her like they haven't already had the exact same conversation a few sessions ago. all she does is nod her head, appreciating that he was trying to open up and let her in. before she could dig any deeper though, her timer went off, signalling that their ten minutes were up. lando groans. loudly.

"why're you annoyed? you hate talking about your feelings." she points out and it has the driver turning red and stuttering out some bullshit answer. if she hadn't noticed his little crush by now then lando thinks he might have to tell zak to find someone a little better.

★・・・・・・★

much to zak and oscar’s surprise lando had been attending the sessions weekly, arriving earlier than he ever had in his entire career at mclaren. this didn’t make much sense to them but who were they to judge? at least lando was finally talking about his feelings, regularly, to someone who could help him process them correctly.

oscar always went second every monday. he would watch as lando skipped out of the room, gracing him with one of those cheesy smiles that he was famous for. sometimes oscar forgot about lando’s hesitance the first day because there was no way she was this good to make him switch from being therapy’s number one hater to its biggest fan. she hadn’t even been here a month yet!

oscar was seeing the same girl and he, in the nicest way possible, did not think she was anything special. she was just a girl who tried to get to cold at steel drivers to talk about their emotions. easy enough right? oscar was starting to think that she had maybe coaxed this good attitude towards therapy out of him some way but his mind was quickly changed just before their third ever session with her. it was the most put together oscar had even seen lando on a monday morning, ever! it was like he was doing a paddock walk. that’s when oscar realised that maybe lando’s excitement towards these sessions wasn’t getting to talk about his feelings but maybe because he was talking to her. not to blow smoke up his own arse but oscar wasn’t stupid.

★・・・・・・★

the session after jeddah was particularly difficult for her. in her entire time with lando it hadn’t been too difficult to get him to speak out about how the previous race had gone but as they got further into the season, she noticed every time how it was a little bit harder each time to get him to open up to her.

“lando?” she says softly. they had been sitting in silence for half the session. this had been their worst one yet. she had no idea why this was hurting her so much, maybe she was just too empathetic and felt whatever pain lando had felt.

lando stays silent but looks up at her with so much hurt in his eyes it makes her avoid his gaze as for the first time with lando, she felt a little uncomfortable. it was literally her job to comfort people when they were struggling so why was this time so fucking difficult?

“the session is nearly finished.” is all she can say.

“right.” lando nods.

“i know this was a harder session today but i’m proud of you, you didn’t even need to show up and you did which shows so much progress from our first one.” her words were filled with a sincerity lando hadn’t heard in a long while.

“can i ask you for something?” lando asks. the most he’s spoken this session, she jumps at the opportunity to help him feel even the slightest bit better.

“of course, that’s what i’m here for.”

lando hesitates for. few beats before he’s standing up from his chair and walking towards hers.

“can i have a hug?”

she’s taken aback but she doesn’t let it show as she opens her arms without hesitation. this may be a little unprofessional but that was the last thing she was thinking of right now. if this what was going to make him feel better then she would hug him until her arms went numb. that’s not unprofessional though! it’s just because she wants to help all of her patients. she would do the same for oscar…

lando lets himself relax for the first time since saturday. he lets himself breathe in her perfume and what he thinks is some kind of flowery shampoo. the mix of the two makes him lightheaded in the best way possible.

“i’m sorry for not saying anything.” lando breaks the silence first.

“you don’t have to apologise. i’m here for you no matter what you want to do. i’ve already told you that we don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” she comforts, hand now running up and down his back in a soft trail of warmth.

“i do want to. it’s just.. hard to break habit i guess. and now we don’t have any time to.” lando confesses, her heart simultaneously bursting with pride and hurt.

“i’m sure oscar wouldn’t mind if we push his session back for this week.” she offers.

lando moves his head from on top of hers in surprise.

“really? you would do that for me?”

she doesn’t answer, instead heading to the door to ask the aussie sitting outside waiting for her. this is professional, all she wants is for lando to get his feelings out.

once lando rants and gets out every single thought and feeling he had over the weekend and she offers her best advice, she tells him something that she hopes sticks with him for the rest of the season.

“we both know that you are capable of this. you are a world class driver in an amazing car that we know you can drive i just don’t want your downfall to be your mind. it’s amazing but you let it hurt you too much. don't let your mind make you feel like you aren't worthy of this. you aren't just a stain on someone's kitchen floor, okay?"

lando only nods in understanding before standing from the chair again, you rise again to stand beside him. instead if asking this time, he just pulls you into another hug, this one feels tighter than the last but you don’t complain. no, you smile into it and weirdly repress the urge to press a kiss on his shoulder. okay, that’s not at all professional.

★・・・・・・★

later on, before the workday for her ends, she finds herself reaching for her notebook. she didn't write down everything he said, she would be there all day with the way he spoke to her these days. it was just things that she felt she would want to circle back on in later sessions, she did it with every client she has, oscar's notes sat a little emptier a divider away. but there was something different about lando's notes that she didn't even realise that she had done until she was reviewing after that session.

she flicks to the divider with his name on it and gets to today's notes.

likes to unwind after race by watching an adam sandler film.

okay, that's still on the professional side. nothing too wrong with that, it's good to have fun and easy ways to decompress, especially as an f1 driver, she tells herself.

doesn't like sushi.

that's... not professional but not weird to write down? she questions herself in her head. she remembers the conversation in her head and can't help the smile that creeps up onto her face at the memory. she should not be smiling right now but that small smile turns into a full on beaming grin as what she had wrote next.

smells like that one cologne from armani.

she can't even remember writing that. her smile drops in seconds, thinking that this was getting creepy. why had she written that? she was going to have to start paying more attention to what she was writing in her sessions with lando. she seemed like a fucking stalker.

she snaps the book shut and shoves it back in it's drawer. it's like this was the push she needed to get moving and get home. she gathers her stuff from her 'temporary' office and throws on her coat, it was getting warmer woking but not warm enough to forgo a jacket of some sort. as she was walking out to the car park she passed by the trophy cabinet and about a million pictures of lando smiling.

she had to get a grip.

[sirxlla]

The Difference Between Red & Blue

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

Warnings: 🌸 fluff

Prompt: accidentally overhearing him gush about you to the 118 (requested by @scorpiobabino )

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said, it's all under the cut-

Finally, a day off...you had been working overtime at the dispatch center after a massive earthquake hit the city. Several call centers had gone down, and calls were redirected to you. Limited computers, traffic, several collapsed buildings, power issues, and all meant they had tried to get people in to cover the spots of the current dispatchers, but it took almost fifty hours straight until they finally did.

Fifty hours doesn't sound like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it's so much worse when you're awake the entire time. People needed help, and just like your golden retriever boyfriend, you had the need to help people regardless of how tired you were.

Thankfully, since you were in the call center so long, they had had time to clean up the streets a bit, and traffic was a lot more normal. It had been a hot minute since you'd eaten, so you decided to pull into a fast food place for some food. Evan was on the way back to your apartment at the station, probably wishing he could also go home like you. You bought some food and coffee for the guys and gal at the department.

You were about to shout out to them about the food and coffee in the arms until you heard Buck speaking.

"No, she's just perfect. I really do feel bad for her, they still haven't got other dispatchers in. They're all slammed."

"Yeah, Maddie said it's awful, they just let her go home, though. Thankfully, Jee's sitter is just the neighbour." Chimney replies to Buck as he sits down, the entire group of them look exhausted, but that spark of happiness still shines in Buck's eyes when he speaks about you.

"Actually, I've been meaning to ask you if you knew any places to get a really unique ring. Like something that says 'I love you and get you completely.' I really love her, and I want something that looks more like it came out of an ancient, abandoned elven cave or like something Smaug would hoard."

"Is that Game Of Thrones?"

"Lord of the Rings!"

"There's a difference?" Chimney asks as he's almost falling asleep, his palm pressed against his face, his elbow agaisnt the table.

"There's a difference?" Buck asks as if Chimney's mixing up the colors red and blue, his nerdy side coming out quite a bit.

"That's like asking if Star Wars and Marvel are the same. Come on! My girlfriend and I watch this stuff together all the time, and I just want her to have something no one else has, but I'm looking for an affordable ring."

"I don't know, man, try that Etsy website Maddie keeps buying things from, I think I saw some rings on there-" Chimney immediately stops talking, which prompts Buck to turn around. He sees you and he's happy to see you, of course, but now you know he's planning to propose.

"Hey!" He tries to play it cool, like he wasn't talking about engagement rings, as he sees you enter the room with your arms full of drink carriers and your backpack full of sausage biscuits. "Please tell me you didn't hear all that."

"You don't have to go to the mines of Mordor for me, Baby." You teased as you heard it, he figured, but was hoping you didn't. You place all the coffees down as well as the food, which prompts the rest of the 118 to scramble for it, mainly the coffee, they all shout thank yous and terms of appreciation.

"I want it to be perfect, you're gonna have it forever, and all your other jewelry and clothes and everything is so unique, and your ring needs to be too. Almost as perfect as you. Not generic like most other people." He smiles and pulls you closer. "I didn't even know you were off work....You look exhausted."

"Yeah, I forgot to text. I'm sorry, I'm awful especially when Im tired."

"Stay here, you're much too tired to drive. The couch is pretty comfy, and you can borrow my headphones to block out the sound." He rubs your hips and hugs you gently. He's happy you're safe and that you don't seem too upset about the idea of being married to him. Evan smiles to himself and sways you both back and forth for a while, just being in the moment with his now soon-to-be fiancée.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

[ssivinee]

「 Sweet Treat 」

l. bada x f reader ✎𓂃 Bada's leading the National Korean Women's soccer team, and their newbie, Nakyoung, has two famous sisters. One Bada has a tiny crush on.

word count ! 2.5 k

author's note ! I know, I know. IT'S BEEN SO LONG. I honestly posted this one on a whim after finishing it tonight. I HAVE LIKE TWO WEEKS LEFT OF SCHOOL and I swear im gonna write more bc I have so many fic planned out and started. BUT how about a small fic for the og wife 🤭. ALSO don't mind the blog and aesthetic changes ok-

The large soccer field practically shimmered beneath the harsh afternoon sun, the kind of weather the players had long grown used to. From a distance, Bada stood sipping from her water bottle, eyes tracking the ball as it was kicked between teammates.

“They’ve been working real hard these past few days,” came a voice from her right. She glanced over to see the coach, arms crossed, watching them as well.

“Well, you were a little harder on them last week,” Bada pointed out with a half-smile, hoping to earn a laugh. “They’ve been coming in extra sore ever since.”

The coach just scoffed, still disappointed in the team after last week. “Maybe if they didn’t spend every other night partying.”

“C’mon, Coach. Cut them some slack. We finished one of our toughest matches not long ago,” Bada tried again, her voice easy, but the older woman just gave her a look.

“You did. But I didn’t hear anything about you going out after. So at least someone still has their priorities straight.”

A frustrated sigh followed. “At least the new girl wasn’t as bad,” the coach muttered under her breath.

Bada set her bottle down and jogged back toward the field, calling over her shoulder, “She’s not one to give in to peer pressure!”

The coach’s laugh was low and amused behind her.

“Was she complaining about us again?” Lusher asked between heavy breaths, collapsing beside you as practice eased up for a moment.

“Yeah. Nothing new,” Bada replied with a shrug.

“I don’t get why she acts like we party every night,” Tatter chimed in, trying to steady her breathing as she stepped beside them.

“Because you were,” Bada said flatly, earning synchronized eye-rolls from her best friends.

“We stopped, though!” they both shouted at the same time, their matching tones causing Bada to snort—and the coach to shoot them a glare from across the field.

“Fifteen-minute break, everyone! I’ve got a phone call,” the coach shouted before jogging off the turf.

The team quickly scattered, many plopping down on the grass with heavy sighs, a few even lying flat on their backs. Bada made her way to her bag, unwrapping a piece of candy and popping it into her mouth. The sugar melted quickly on her tongue, and she hummed at the sweet flavor. She had a soft spot for sweets—it was her favorite little way to calm down.

But as she turned to rejoin the group, her eyes landed on someone unfamiliar approaching the field.

A smaller figure walked across the grass, face mostly hidden behind sunglasses, a black mask, and a cap pulled low. It was suspicious enough to make Bada squint.

“Uh… can I help you?”

“You actually can,” you replied, voice a bit muffled by the mask. “I’m trying to give this to my sister—she left it at home this morning.”

You raised the large water bottle like a peace offering. Bada blinked, trying to piece together the situation while glancing around for context.

“Who’s your sister?”

“Nakyoung.”

Bada’s expression changed in an instant. “Oh.” She turned around and yelled, “Kyoung-ie! Your sister brought your water bottle!”

Nakyoung perked up at once, leaping to her feet. “Unnie!” she called out, practically skipping over to you.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here just to bring this,” she panted, taking the bottle from you with both hands.

“I couldn’t let my dear baby sister pass out from thirst, could I?” you teased, pulling down your mask and sliding your sunglasses to the top of your hat.

Bada froze.

Her eyes widened like she’d just seen a ghost. Or more accurately, a celebrity she never expected to find at a soccer field in Seoul.

Was that—was that Kim Y/n?

Not that it was rare to spot an idol in the city, but you had made such a name for yourself overseas that people barely expected you to still be in Korea, let alone casually show up like this.

“Wait—you’re her sister?!?” Bada practically yelled, voice pitching with disbelief.

“Uhm, yeah?” you said, a little amused by her expression. “You didn’t tell them?” you asked your sister, giving her a look like she’d lost her mind.

Before Nakyoung could respond, Xinyu came barreling toward you, eyes wide with excitement. “Wait! I’m a huge fan!” she gasped, grabbing your hand and shaking it furiously. “Can I get an autograph?”

As Bada watched the interaction, her brain started connecting dots she hadn’t even known existed.

She looked from Nakyoung… to you… then back again.

“Hold on. BIBI is your sister too?!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, her shock way too genuine not to find funny.

Nakyoung grinned proudly. “I have the coolest sisters ever!”

“That she does,” came a new voice. You turned your head to see Lusher and Tatter walking over. Tatter reached out, gently patting your sister on the head, a soft smile on her face. “You’re so lucky.”

You glance at the time on your phone and sigh, tugging Nakyoung gently by the sleeve. “Alright, little one, I’ve gotta bounce. This pit stop was just lucky timing—I have a shoot in Gangnam in, like, an hour.”

Nakyoung’s face drops a little. “Already?” She pouts, clutching her water bottle like it were her emotional support plushie. “But wait—wait! You should come to my game this weekend!”

You raise a brow. “Game?”

“It’s a home game! Coach said it’s important, and you’re always working, but… it would be really cool if you could come,” Nakyoung says with a hopeful smile. “Hyungseo-unnie can come too!”

Now that makes you pause.

You tilt your head, pretending to think, though the sight of your youngest sister looking that excited already has you caving. “Alright,” you smirk, “I’ll clear the day. I’ll even drag her out of the studio. You know how she is, always keeping herself busy these days.”

Nakyoung cheers, throwing her arms around your waist in a quick hug. As you're hugging her back, your gaze lifts and meets Bada’s again. She’s still standing there, awkwardly polite, still lowkey starstruck, and you can’t help but smile.

“Thanks, by the way,” you say, addressing the taller girl directly. “For looking out for her. I know she’s a pain sometimes, but she really talks about you a lot. Said you helped her with training the other day?”

Bada’s caught off guard—again. She straightens up a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “Oh—uh, yeah. Just some footwork drills. She’s a fast learner.”

“She better be,” you chuckle. “But really… thanks. Let’s me know she’s in good hands.” You shoot her a sincere smile before turning to Nakyoung and ruffling her hair. “Alright, I’m off. Don’t slack off just because you saw my pretty face today, yeah?”

You throw a wave to the rest of the girls nearby and walk off with a casual coolness, your mask pulled back up and sunglasses sliding into place. The moment you're gone, Bada’s still frozen in place, staring at the spot where you’d just been like she’d seen a ghost—or, more accurately, a goddess.

“Dude…” Lusher walks over, blinking at her. “Did you short-circuit?”

“She definitely short-circuited,” Tatter joins in, nudging Bada’s side with a knowing grin.

“I’m fine,” Bada mutters, but she doesn’t sound too convincing. Her ears are red, and she’s still gripping the wrapping of her candy like it were a stress ball.

“You sure?” Lusher singsongs. “Because it kinda looked like you were about to faint when she thanked you. Should we call the medic?”

“I said I’m fine,” Bada repeats, shaking herself out of the daze before letting out a small breath. “I just… I wanna win this weekend.”

That earns a pause from both Lusher and Tatter. Then the teasing practically writes itself.

“Win in front of her,” Tatter repeats, eyebrows raised high. “Or win her over?”

“Ohhh, that’s what it is,” Lusher snaps her fingers. “You’re trying to score off the field, too.”

“Would you two shut up?” Bada groans, shoving them lightly, but she’s smiling—helplessly, hopelessly smiling. “She’s a gorgeous human, okay? Might as well show off a little.”

Tatter grins. “So you admit it?”

“I’m not saying anything else,” Bada mutters, but her friends are already giggling, and she doesn’t even try to stop them. Not this time.

After all, you weren’t standing in front of her anymore, so admitting it out loud didn’t feel that terrifying.

Well, maybe Bada spoke too soon. Games like this always felt a little terrifying, AND it’s in front of you? 

She almost wanted to curse herself for jinxing the feeling from a few days ago.

The game had already started by the time you and Bibi arrived. Both of you had your masks on, hoods up, hats low—though yours still let a few strands of hair slip out, letting people guess if they stared long enough. But no one was really looking. All eyes were on the field.

Bibi leaned back against the stadium bleachers, legs crossed, arms folded under her hoodie. “You think she’s nervous?”

“Nakyoung? Probably more focused than nervous,” you said with a small grin, scanning the field until you found the familiar headband she always wore during games. “This is her thing.”

And it was. Nakyoung was quick on her feet—literally. It was already the third quarter, and the score was 4-1, her team holding the lead, but not without a fight. The opposing team was hungry, intense, and nearly caught up during the second quarter. Every play felt faster than the last.

But it was Nakyoung’s next move that got the crowd to hold their breath.

She had intercepted a risky pass near midfield, and in one clean, confident motion, she turned, dribbled past two defenders, and launched the ball forward with a low, sharp cross—right into Tatter’s path. Tatter didn’t even hesitate. One touch, bottom right corner.

Goal.

The crowd roared. Tatter’s fist pumped toward the sky, and Nakyoung threw her arms around her teammate in celebration. Her face lit up with a wide, blinding grin as she turned toward the stands—and spotted you.

She waved with both arms, full body rocking side to side like a kindergartener on sugar. You laughed under your mask, nudging Bibi. “God, she’s such a dork.”

“She’s our dork,” Bibi murmured, barely looking up. “She’s grown, though. That pass? Clean.”

“She’s been practicing with Bada,” you said. “It shows.”

And as if summoned, Bada’s gaze flicked to the bleachers too, searching—until it landed on you. You waved, subtle but enough for her to know you saw her. Her eyes widened for a second, then softened.

Back on the field, the energy had changed, and the game was quickly picking up its pace. The other team was pushing harder now, forcing Bada’s team to play smart. No mistakes were allowed.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of the third quarter, the players jogged off to the sidelines. Water bottles were passed around, and coaches spoke in clipped, sharp tones.

But Bada? Bada was quiet, towel slung over her shoulders, one knee up on the bench as she stared out at the field like she was solving an equation.

Lusher nudged her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Bada said, almost in a daze. “I’ve got something.”

The coach raised a brow when Bada slid into the huddle with a plan, scribbling something quick on the whiteboard. No one questioned her. She was the star player and their captain for a reason.

So then it marked the final quarter, and the fans were on edge. The opposing team got more physical, more aggressive. It was a miracle they didn’t get a card for that slide tackle. But Bada stayed calm and waited for her moment.

Then it came. A slight misstep from the other team, and Bada took the chance.

She stole the ball just past midfield and sprinted, weaving past defenders like they were cones. One fake after another, then following up with a spin that left the last girl reaching for nothing but air. And then—

From what looked like an impossible angle just outside the box, she shot.

It curved, kissed the top crossbar, and dipped straight into the back of the net. The whistle shrieked, with the crowd exploding at the insane goal.

Bada just stood there for a moment, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her jawline. Her teammates swarmed her, but her eyes drifted to the stands again.

You were already on your feet, clapping like crazy.

Bibi didn’t show much emotion, but even she looked mildly impressed. “Okay. That was sick.”

“She’s showing off,” you murmured under your breath, the edge of your mask twitching into a grin.

The players hit the locker rooms after, the field slowly clearing out. You leaned against the chain-link fence with Bibi beside you, both of you waiting.

“I thought we were meeting her at the front,” Bibi said, glancing at her phone.

“She asked me to meet her here,” you replied, eyes still scanning. “She’ll come out the back with her team.”

You didn’t have to wait long, but Bibi said she’d rather wait in the car instead.

Bada was the first one out, hair damp and messy from the quick shower, jersey traded out for a plain oversized hoodie. What caught your eye wasn’t even the clothes—it was the lollipop she was sucking on.

She slowed when she saw you, hand slipping the candy from her mouth as she approached.

“Are you out here waiting for me?” she asked, teasing, though her tone was soft.

“Not you,” you deadpanned, nodding behind her. “Nakyoung. But hey, congrats on the game. That last goal was disgusting.”

Bada laughed, the nervous kind that edged on shy. “Disgusting in a good way, right?”

“The best way,” you said, eyes catching on the lollipop in her hand. “Is that… is that lemon-mint?”

Her brows raised. “Yeah—how’d you know?”

“It’s my favorite.”

Bada blinked like she was processing that you were a real person with things like preferences. Then she held the candy in her mouth and dug into her duffle bag without a word, giving you a fresh, unopened lollipop. “Take it.”

You caught it easily, smiling behind your mask. “Bribing me with candy?”

“Maybe,” she said, then hesitated—just for a second. Then she added, “Actually…”

She stepped a little closer, close enough that you could smell the scent of her freshly sprayed perfume, even with the strong peppermint scent of the lollipop she wasn’t currently eating.

“I know you’re busy. And probably surrounded by people all the time. But…” Bada shifted the lollipop to the other hand. “Do you wanna go out sometime?”

Your heart definitely stuttered at that.

You blinked, caught off guard, not by the question itself, but the way she asked it—so chill, but you could tell it took a lot to say it out loud. There was no cockiness behind it, just quiet hope.

You pulled your mask down slightly so she could see your smile. “That was smooth. You rehearsed that?”

“Only, like… for the past few days,” she admitted with a breathy laugh.

“Well…” You glanced down at the lollipop in your hand, twirling it once between your fingers before looking back up at her. “Guess I kinda have to say yes. Would be rude not to after getting free candy.”

Bada’s face lit up like she just scored again.

“I’ll text Nakyoung,” you added. “She’ll probably scream.”

“Honestly,” Bada said, popping the lollipop back in her mouth and grinning around it, “I would too.”

[salmsilly]

Van der Linde Gang 🍃 Headcanons

This is with modern era in mind btw

Arthur

Did it when he was younger but grew to prefer alcohol and only really does that.

John

Either the plug or leeches off of other people.

Like he just never has his own stuff, he's only smoking if someone will invite him.

He's cool enough that people don't mind but sometimes if no one has invited him he will "very stubly" try to suggest a session.

That's the only time people will get annoyed, they know damn well he's not bringing shit

He's always watching some show high too. Smiling Friends, Midnight Gospel, or Gumball

Javier

The plug, 100%

Super generous with his stuff, it's his way of bonding

Gets so excited to find out someone wants to smoke for the first time

"Oh, I got you! I'm off this weekend, you gotta smoke with me."

Has a bong collection too, it's pretty cool and he loves it.

Charles

He'll do it occasionally, like once in a blue moon really.

Does it more with Arthur if anything.

Great for a chill smoke, or if someone's freaking out and they need someone just there, they're always with Charles.

Charles will let it happen, even if they're a little noisy because he's been there unfortunately.

Mary-Beth

Did edibles once but she took wayyy more than she should've and greened out the fuck out

Figured, a bit later, a bong might be better and easier to measure so she asked to hit one of Javier's bongs.

Greened out after one hit. (This is me projecting) Decided that was wraps and she's never done anything since.

Swanson

God, everyone just wants him to switch to weed like everyone but it's been unsuccessful

It's because his tolerance is very high and they don't know why

Dutch tried to get him shrooms after reading about them but it ended in a very very heavy hospital bill and trouble with the police

Lenny

His guilty pleasures are reading a fuck ton of stories and experiences about DMT and other kinds of drugs, he's so deep into subreddits and forums.

He never actually takes them too seriously though nor has been tempted to try them.

He doesn't smoke weed too often either, maybe to focus on something.

Sean

God, when is he not stoned.

His car smells so bad.

It's gotten to the point where he'll forget full interactions with people because he was so far gone but has had enough practice to look sober.

So when they bring something up, he'll look at them all funny asking "When was that??"

Dutch wondered if it was amnesia or something until he found the drawer of empty carts. Like, it was a graveyard.

People struggle to tell if he's high or not at times but eventually they figured always.

Tilly

Never does it, has not done it, and with absolutely no interest.

John's offered a couple of times when they were younger but it was always an immediate and stern no.

It isn't that she minds it really, she just doesn't want to.

She has no problem hanging out with the others if they're smoking.

But for the love of God, please do not bring that stench into the house, it will creep up to her room and she won't be able to sleep.

Uncle

He'll try to peer pressure people to do it but, he's so corny about it

He sounds like he belongs in an 80's infomercial against drugs.

"C'monnn, everyone here does it!" and Tilly responds with the nastiest side eye.

He's so much more funnier high though? He gets genuine chuckles and laughs out of people, it might be because they're stoned too.

Goes to his ego a bit though and he tries to be funny again sober but it falls flat so badly it's a bit embarrassing.

But it's Uncle so he's not embarrassed.

Karen

Obviously prefers alcohol way more, its effects last way longer.

She hates having to do constant hits.

She does have her own cart though where she's hitting blinkers that cannot be good for her at out.

Her PR is 30 seconds while making a bet with Sean once. (Yes she threw up.)

Sean is also always asking for a hit of her cart.

Dutch

Opposite of Lenny. Hears stories about trips and thinks it's the most profound, eye opening thing of all time.

If he catches the kids smoking, he'll start babbling on about them and the deeper meaning behind these trips or whatever. Not a single soul cares at all expect for Bill.

Molly will try to listen but she really doesn't gaf.

His big secret though is he tried shrooms himself too but it was a horrendous experience.

He was too far deep into his pro-shroom trips that could never be wrong to take it back and admit not everything was right that he gaslit himself into believing it never happened and it worked.

Hosea is the only one that knows this, he lets Dutch live his delusions.

Hosea

Also, a great person to be with for a first time.

He obviously cannot be smoking anymore so he mainly watches over everyone else and observe whatever they do because they're always doing something

Though, if anyone pisses him off he will make them believe there's things that aren't actually there. Sean is the biggest victim of this.

"Hey, was that your friend you were with just now?" "What friend?" "The one behind you earlier. Tall feller, you must've not seen them."

Abigail

After having Jack, she stopped but she was starting to hate the smell and taste anyways. Blunts are the word offenders in her opinion.

If John tries to kiss her after any sesh she immediately slaps him and tells him to brush his teeth.

She'll take an edible with the girls though, after a lot of convincing and Jack put to sleep for the night.

Pearson

The best cook only when fried, it's a little jarring seeing the difference between his sober dishes.

He's like that "so booommmm tiktok" guy

Always so creative with his stuff and it comes out really good.

Everyone cheers when he decides to smoke a bit

Made edibles as gifts before, more than likely to Sean or Javier.

Sadie

Everyone thinks it'll calm her down from being so aggressive. It does not.

She might be worse actually.

But she's so incredible fun to be around, like every activity the gang decides to do was her idea.

Hosea doesn't do his tricks on her but she never pisses him off anyways.

Kieran

The only one actually doing it medically.

He'll smoke with the rest of the gang too, one of the few times he's comfortable chilling around them. He's just really quiet and never talks.

Anyone else not mentioned I js didn't have anything for them sorry </3

[tanobatcher]

heyyyy!! looking for a hurt/comfort + angst + soft!Hunter fic where the f!reader starts to notice how overstimulated he gets sometimes. how he winces at loud noises, flinches under bright lights, or rubs his temples when he gets overstimulated. she gently asks about it one day, but he brushes it off like it’s nothing. but later she finds him alone in his quarters, trying to quietly ride out a brutal headache caused by sensory overload. this time, she doesn’t ask any questions. she just helps him. maybe she dims the lights, speaks softly, massages his scalp, sits beside him in silence. something intimate but comforting like that. would love if he eventually lets his guard down, maybe whispers something like “you don’t have to do this,” and she responds, “you don’t have to deal with it alone.” just all the soft, quiet vulnerability stuff. thank you <3

waves

hunter x fem reader

summary: basically what the request says lolz sorry writing summaries is actually my worst nightmare so i will take advantage of the detailed-ness (??) above <33

warnings: none

a/n: i decided to make this more pabu civilian brainrot because post tbb finale life is all i think about tbh. also sorry for the delay on this, im wrapping up finals season 🥲

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

You haven’t seen Hunter in a while. A little over one day, to be exact, but that feels like a long time when his presence is usually so noticeable across this tightly acquainted island. It’s unfair to say that he and his brothers stick out like sore thumbs in any crowd, and yet, it’s also true. There must be a different reason why your eyes always search for his specifically, though, lighting up when you’re successful. For this same reason, a pestering observation has caught your attention during moments he believes go largely unnoticed or ignored.

He’s oddly sensitive, not just to the weather but also to sounds that often fall into background noise for you and anyone else. He doesn’t like being in the sun for too long, only holding out for Omega when she spends her afternoons at the beach. “Did you sleep well?” You frequently ask him whenever he’s near enough for a conversation. And to this, he often shrugs before answering, “Better than what we’re used to.”

“It’s quiet here,” you would say back, thinking that makes this place the easiest in the galaxy, “Is it quiet for you, too?”

But again, it’s only quieter than what he’s used to. He doesn’t bother explaining that it’s almost too quiet, for he can hear skittering footsteps and the brush of wind against walls much better than the average person. He doesn’t bother telling you that he’s far from normal in that way, simply dealing with the noise as he always does. His discomfort extends beyond little irritations that he’s lived with his entire life, though. Sometimes, you find yourself craning your neck to look for him when he disappears like he needs a break from…everything. The last time you followed to ask if he was okay was the last time you tried to talk to him.

And now, according to “intel” you extracted from word of mouth, he’s holed up in his room on an exceptionally bright and hot summer day. There’s no response when you knock on his door, but you know he’s inside. The silence is worrisome, just like his sporadic absences, so you gently twist the knob while saying, “Hunter? It’s me.”

The room isn’t dark enough for you to miss the shape of his figure lying on the floor with his arm draped over his face. You’re unsure if he’s aware that you’re even here, standing under the dim light as all your questions about why he’s not outside like everyone else drain away. These curiosities are only replaced with more concern. He’s so still and calm, but he looks like he’s in pain. You frown, not knowing what to say, so you don’t say anything at all. Kneeling before him, you reach forward to touch his cheek, stopping when he catches your wrist in his other hand.

His eyes are still closed, and his voice is hoarse when he tells you, “Leave. Please.”

You ignore the way your stomach hollows out at this, wiggling yourself free from his grip to touch the back of your hand to his forehead. His temperature isn’t particularly alarming. Touching him might have been a mistake, though, because you can’t bring yourself to pull away anymore. You’re hesitant as you sit on the floor with him, gently pulling his head into your lap before swiping some of his messy hair out of his face. His eyebrows twitch in reaction, but he doesn’t fight you off like you expected. He lets you run your fingers through his hair, silent other than the sigh he exhales when you begin rubbing circles along his temples.

Some sunshine casting across the floor draws your attention away from his face to his window. The curtains are slightly strewn apart, letting this sliver of light paint a long line through the hardwood. You’re about to get up to close it more tightly when he notices your hands have slowed down and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

You relax your posture again, shifting him even closer as you whisper back, “I just want to close the window.”

He opens his eyes and looks up at you. “It’s fine.”

His stare makes you squirm, so you turn away from him a bit and sweep your gaze across his room. It’s emptier than you thought, with most of his belongings packed away in boxes and left to your imagination. Perhaps he still isn’t fully settled in yet. Your thoughts are startled when his fingers brush against your jaw, lingering until you glance at him in surprise. He meets your eyes with a certain heaviness behind his own before closing them, sinking into your touch despite his instinct to push you away before. It doesn’t seem like he’s fully processed this moment, maybe treating it like a dream as he simply breathes at the pace of your touch. Slow and patient, waiting for nothing in particular except for more.

“What happened?” You ask quietly, “Why are you down here?”

“Just dizzy.”

“You didn’t fall over, did you?” You slip your hands into his hair again, feeling for any signs of collision.

“No,” he nearly smiles, “But that feels good.”

Your cheeks warm, and the room is silent once again from your lack of response. You’re unsure how to carry this conversation forward until you look at him again and decide you don’t need to. He appears to be more at peace than just a few moments ago, as the lines across his face loosen like the rest of him. You feel that you can watch him this closely forever. Minutes pass into the double digits from the time you lose track of until you notice that his breathing is now a little quieter and shallower. Maybe he’s close to falling asleep, so you try to figure that out for yourself without disturbing him. Leaning downward, your heart seizes in your chest when your mouth positions itself to be hovering over his. He looks even prettier up close, where you can see the dark coloring of his tattoo absorbed into his tan skin. There are some creased indentations here and there, too, and you imagine him laughing loudly with his family—people he might have less trouble opening up to, at least. You’d like to be one of those people, one day.

Your next decision surprises even you as you press your lips to his forehead so lightly that you don’t think he feels it. Not until you pull back a bit and find his eyes open, heavy-lidded but still staring at you. Your faces are still close as you murmur, “Let’s get you back in bed.”

He doesn’t protest as you sit him up slowly. You pause before guiding him toward his bed, realizing that he’s far from weightless. Still, you manage, and he rolls onto his side with a slight groan. You assume he’s not watching you cross the room to close his curtains, but his eyes follow your movements despite pulling against his fatigue. They’re sealed shut when you return to his bedside, sitting at the edge of the mattress while wondering if you’re taking up too much space already. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you trail a gentle caress down the side of his face and look at him closely.

“Does this happen often?” You murmur.

He adjusts his position so that he’s lying on his back now, which forces your hand to fall toward his chest. Blowing out a breath, he answers, “More or less.”

A frown tugs at your lips at this. “How do you deal with it?”

“I just wait it out. It comes and goes.”

“I see.”

Pressing his head back into his pillow, he sighs and says, “I’m fine now. You don’t have to stick around.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you reply.

He opens his mouth to respond, wincing sharply instead of saying whatever he had in mind. Startled, you shift forward and cup his face with both hands, swiping your thumbs back and forth to soothe him out of whatever is bothering him at the moment. He’s breathing a little heavier now, staring at you as he calms the rise and fall of his chest. You don’t say anything as you lean over him and begin rubbing his temples again, occasionally stroking his hair since he seems to like that. The silence must feel better for him, too, since he finds the energy to rasp, “You don’t have to do this.”

You steal a touch to the tip of his nose while reassuring him, “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

He closes his eyes and releases a halfhearted chuckle. “It’s nice outside.”

“It’s nice in here, too. I…like what you’ve done with the place.”

“You can skip the flattery,” he mutters under his breath.

“No,” you stifle your laugh, “No, I mean it. Truly.”

“Uh-huh.”

You let him have the last word, smiling to yourself as the lines on his face relax more and more from the passing time. Any twitches of discomfort don’t slip under your radar, to which you respond with a soft whisper that reminds him you’re here. At one point, you find yourself curled up beside him while brushing your hand across his cheek and skimming the wilder parts of his hair. There’s enough space between your bodies for you to know he’s probably not planning on touching you in return—maybe he isn’t even thinking about it. Or so you believe when you pause, believing he’s sound asleep and safe from his pain. Just when you’re about to retreat, he reaches quickly and laces your fingers together before placing your joined hands in front of his lips. You feel the ghost of a kiss against your knuckles, but it spreads flaming goosebumps through your skin as if it’s something more.

You think you’re quiet enough when your breath hitches, but he hears and opens his eyes. He sees you so clearly despite the hazy darkness. Your vision hasn’t fully adjusted to capture the dark pupils staring right at you, seemingly telling you something you’re not sure you understand beyond this moment. Nonetheless, you feel his observation—his desire to keep you close. And he feels you, skin to skin, with only your palms and pulses. He feels your heartbeat quicken and leap, somehow controlling what he doesn’t know he has full access to. He feels your body like it's his own, vaguely hearing the ocean below pulling and crashing in the distance. In waves that collide before subsiding, like the way he imagines you. So near, and yet so far from the distance he tries to create himself. You would cross any island to prove him wrong, though. And you’d stay right there with him.

[inkbidding]

"When Emma Falls Inlove" inspired K.B oneshot

Synopsis: Just 1k+ words of Bakugo and You noticing little things about each other, your friends noticing that there is something going on, and just Katsuki slowly but surely going soft for you.

Tags: Fluff, Bakugo x reader, mutual (oblivious) pining

Credit: @cafekitsune for the dividers!

It took Katsuki Bakugo 3 weeks of continuous sessions of sparring to realize that the relentless beating of his heart whenever you smiled at him, wasn't just adrenaline. It took being kidnapped by the League of Villains for him to see how much you truly cared for him, and it took exactly 1 year to admit to himself that he did indeed, feel something for you.

On the other side of the coin, you were quite the opposite. You knew and accepted the rush and flush that Bakugo gave you. The moment you saw him, you accepted your fate.

"So you do like Bakugo!" Exclaimed Mina as she let a wide grin spread across her face. She has been pretty persistent in figuring out what exactly was going on between you and Bakugo, being entirely convinced that there was even something at all. Meanwhile, you did your best to remain vague, seemingly uninterested but if Mina wants to know something, she will force it out of anyone. Literally anyone. In defeat, you caved and told her of your small (in denial) crush on the hotheaded man.

You hoped she wouldn't make a fuss about it, a part of you was already skeptical about having such feelings for Bakugo, you didn't need everyone else knowing about it. Yet, Mina practically squeaked with joy as she took your shoulders in her rather firm grip and shook her excitement into you. "Would you be quiet?!" A panic rose in your voice as you and Mina were getting stares from other people in the common room. A hand of yours quickly covers her mouth, and she grins as if she just won the lottery.

After a few beats of muffling against your hand, she yanked it away and seemed to have calmed down, but that cheeky grin was still there. "When will you tell him?" She teases, her hands gripping yours, almost hostage-like. "Never, it will just go away and I seriously doubt he has an interest in me, in anyone really" You retorted. It was true, you didn't believe that Bakugo would ever really be anything more than a crush, he just wasn't the type of guy you could envision having a future with. Well, that's a lie. There were times you saw his potential in...certain areas.

He was a great cook, you have the pleasure of tasting his cooking every once in a while when Kirishima or Kaminari convinces (pesters him really) him to cook for the dorm. Other than that, he cleans, like a lot. He might not look it, but he likes things organized and in order. Hot, right? At times you'd imagine what it would be like to wake up next to him, he would probably be wearing something suitable for a workout or running, and he gets up early to do that. How do you know that? Well, your dorm room's window overlooks the pathway near the entrance of the building, and you often see him jogging out for a quick run or even working out near the grass.

But yeah, he's not someone you imagine having a future with, definitely not...

Bakugo would be damned if he said that he didn't find you attractive. He did, actually he did say that, in a rather loud and dramatic way when Kirishima questioned him casually one day. But it was a lie because every time you would look at him, tilt your pretty little head, and smile, he felt like he could have the world in his hands.

The way you would talk back at him whenever he would try to be snarky to you, was like electricity flowing through his veins. Especially when the two of you would spar, and somehow you'd end up beneath him, all tough, the smirk that graces his face for a few seconds (which has your cheeks flushing) was enough to get you to tap out in defeat couple of times.

Safe to say, Katsuki Bakugo was whipped. Slowly and slowly he was becoming softer in your presence, but even he can't even admit it to himself.

"Katsuki." The soft melody of your voice snapped the man out of his thoughts, he doesn't remember when he even gave you permission to call him by his first name, but he does not mind at all. Bakugo found himself responding with a small huff of acknowledgment, he didn't curse you out or avoid you with a scoff, which was the treatment others often got. But you were different.

You place your elbow onto the kitchen counter, your chin leaning against it. "Denki was wondering if we could hang in your dorm room tonight, it's movie night-" Your words were quickly interrupted by a grunt from the man, it seemed as if he was saying no, but from experience, you know that's a yes. To which you retorted, not wanting to prove Mina right since she was so convinced that Bakugo would say yes to anything if you asked. "Uhm, and Mina wants to drink those sticky sour energy drinks, you don't mind? You know those things could, well, stick everywhere if it spilled." You chuckle and he looks at you and shrugs. He shrugged and looked you straight in the eye and didn't care.

'Bakugo will let anything go past him if it's you. We've all seen it.' Mina's words ring in your ears while they also turn a bit red. The thought of Bakugo doing anything just because of you was flattering, in a way. As he continues to go about his task, you turn and see Mina and Denki giving you a cheeky thumbs up, the sigh you let out is so loud that it makes the man next to you look.

"What stupid movie are we watching?" He asks gruffly. His gaze was on you, but it was firm, yes, but it was also eager. As if he wanted to speak with you.

"Don't know...they didn't tell me." You say, resisting the urge to look away. "You won't leave again like last time, right?" He had a habit of agreeing to hang out with people and then leaving when he got bored.

Bakugo paused, scoffed then walked past you. He mumbles something under his breath, whether he meant it or not doesn't matter, it still has your heart racing.

"Tch-, As long as you're there." Bakugo surprises even himself, the edge of his ears burn and he tries to casually walk up the stairs, half-desperate to get as far away from you, because only you would ever make him say something so freaking stupid.

[calynn-ghoul]

Her back ached. It really did. Band practice was alright but she forgot how quickly her social battery just drains. It sucked having to come back and learn everything all over again and learn new people, but feeling like she was replacing a member? Yeah no- totally didn't give her some inferiority issues.

She was standing outside on the patio with a vape in her hand, fidgeting with the buttons and hearing it click. Everything was just too much lately. Struggling to figure out how to talk to Luna and/or Bodach (if Luna even allows her to try to form a bond with their kid), talking with Bryce now and again and learning that basically everyone forgot she existed.

"Old news? Hmph..." She mumbled, her silver mask set aside on the patio railing so she can breathe easier. Not even the mask fit on her face properly or comfortably. She hadn't even talked to Apostle, but she knows Apostle has tried reaching out for her. Supportive even if she abandoned his daughter, who was pregnant with Cowbell's kid at the time. "Such a fucking joke, eh..." She dryly laughed, the veil to her costume sort of muffling her hearing so she wasn't able to hear a certain ghoul come out for a smoke break as well.

@cowbelle-ghoulette

*Calynn trudged outside with his pouch of tobacco and a pack of rolling paper, sitting down on the stone step next to her. He didn't realise who it was but Cowbell definitely recognised him*

Mind if I have a few puffs of that? What flavour is it. Can't be bothered rolling a cigarette up actually.

[xjulixred45x]

About yuu!parent and Crowley, I can't stop my mind about some sounds from tiktok (from epic the musical)

And... It fit so much lol, let me just

Crowley: Did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me, though who's (Husband/wife name)?

Yuu!parent (without thinking answering) : she's/he's my wife/husband

Then silence before crowley becomes crowley again and pretend didn't hear it. Meanwhile the first year and all yuus laughing on back, especially the yuu knowing their parents would never choose anyone else expect their partner even in different dimension

HAHAHAHAHA IT'S LITERALLY THEM

That's exactly what I was thinking when I wrote about how Yuu!Parent has Odysseus-level loyalty to their partner. No matter how hard the bird-head tries, they'll always prefer their beloved husband/wife.

The Yuus are quite protective of their mother/father for this very reason as well. They trust Yuu, but they don't particularly trust anyone at this school, especially Crowley, who seems to have taken a special interest in them since Yuu!Parent arrived. Occasionally, they see him trying to talk casually with Yuu in the hallways, or he uses one of the Yuus as an excuse when he actually ends up talking about something completely different, etc. And the Yuus DO NOT LIKE HIM AT ALL.

But they let their father/mother deal with Crowley (Yuu probably had to tell them not to do anything to avoid trouble). After all, they know Yuu!Parent, hell will freeze over before they cheat.

That audio sounds especially good after Book 2, when Yuu!Parent ends up in the infirmary with a blow to the head, and while their friends try to talk to them first, WILD CROWLEY APPEARS and tries to act confident and everything. But he just points out the sleep-talking, and everyone prepares for the funniest thing of the school year.

-"they're my partner, I'm married."

Total silence from Crowley, nonstop laughter from the first-years.

The first-years know this, the whole school knows it, except Crowley. And they act as a sort of squad to protect Yuu!Parent, both from people who want to take advantage of Yuu's non-Magical status or try to "interfere in their marriage," as the boys call it. Let's just say that since the boys see Yuu!Parent as a father/mother figure, they have a lot of respect for their partner, along with a similar esteem ("Dad should only be with Mom," sort of thing).

Jack is the most respectful in this regard and wants to know more about Yuu!Parent and their partner's relationship, as he sincerely finds it very worthy that Yuu!Parent is faithful to their partner despite not knowing if they'll return to their world, that they speaks of them with such affection and so directly rejects any advances (wolves are monogamous, so Jack fully understands why couples are so important).

Epel is the kind of guy who will go straight to the person bothering Yuu!Parent (Crowley), take Yuu's hand, and shove the other person's wedding ring in their face, without saying a single word about it. Epel LOVES Yuu!Parent because they lets him do everything Vil can't, hides him when Vil looks for him, and generally lets him be himself. Therefore, Epel doesn't tolerate anyone messing with Yuu!Parent or their partner (even if he dosen't know them either, they sound nice, SO HAVE MORE RESPECT, BIRDMAN!).

Ace is honestly the only one who doesn't understand at first why Yuu!Parent is so determined to be faithful to their partner, let's be honest. Especially when Crowley seems to put off their return home on purpose. But the more time he spends with Yuu!Parent and the more he sees the signs, the longing, the nostalgia, the good memories Yuu has with their partner, the more he understands. He definitely gets very creeped out whenever someone tries to flirt with Yuu, and he resorts to pretending Yuu is his dad/mom to scare the other person away. If that doesn't work, he'll just tell them straight up that they're talking to a VERY cute and VERY married person.

Deuce takes this VERY seriously, too seriously. Yuu!parent is like the father he never had, and the idea that Yuu's partner is waiting for them in their world (and they're also waiting to see them again) and that someone might try to take advantage of that angers him greatly, but he tries not to resort to violence. At least not physical violence. Deuce simply stands between the person and Yuu!parent, aggressively waving his arms while shouting that Yuu is happily married, not interested in being a cheating pig, among other things. He has spirit.

Sebek is like Deuce, but slightly worse and better. Sebek has definitely learned to be more tolerant of Yuu!Parent and absolutely LOVES it when they gives him typical parental compliments. You could say he respects them, and that respect extends to their partner and marriage in general. When someone tries to talk to Yuu!Parent romantically, Sebek will be all, "THEY'RE TOO OLD FOR YOU! AND THEY'RE MARRIED! GET AWAY FROM THE PARENT! THEY'RE MARRIED! THEY'RE TAKEN!" without taking a breath.

When Ortho joins, he expected different treatment for everything he did when Idia suffered His overblown, but he's so happy when Yuu!Parent treats him with the same parental affection! For this reason, Ortho isn't above threatening the birdman with violence if he continues to inconvenience the prefect with his attempts at courtship (if it were anyone else, Ortho would simply make annoying electronic noises or set off a fake alarm to make them go away).

Protecting the prefect is a team effort after all.

_______

(ESPAÑOL)

JAJAJAJAJA ES LITERALMENTE ELLOS

Justo era lo que pensaba cuando escribi el hecho de que Yuu!Parent tiene una fidelidad nivel Odiseo por su pareja, no importa cuanto lo intente el cabeza de pájaro, ellos siempre preferirán a su amado esposo/esposa.

Los Yuus son bastante protectores de su madre/padre por esto mismo tambien, ellos confían en Yuu, pero no confían particularmente en nadie en esta escuela, especialmente Crowley, que parece haber tomado un interés especial en ellos desde que Yuu!Parent llego a la escuela. De vez en cuando lo ven tratando de hablar casualmente con Yuu en los pasillos, o usa de excusa alguno de los Yuus cuando en realidad solo termina hablando de algo completamente diferente, etc. Y los Yuus NO LES GUSTA PARA NADA.

Pero dejan que su padre/madre lidie con Crowley (probablemente Yuu les tuvo que decir que no hicieran nada para evitar problemas). Después de todo, conocen a Yuu!Parent, el infierno se congelara antes de que ellos sean infieles.

Ese audio suena especialmente bien después del libro 2, cuando Yuu!Parent termina en la enfermería por un golpe en la cabeza, y si bien sus amigos/hijos tratan de hablarle primero, CROWLEY SALVAJE APARECE y trata de aparentar confianza y todo. Pero justamente señala lo de hablar dormido, y todos se preparan para lo mas gracioso del año escolar.

-“es mi pareja, estoy casado”-

Silencio total por parte de Crowley, risas sin parar por parte de los de primer año.

Los de primer año saben esto, toda la escuela lo sabe, excepto Crowley. Y actúan como una especie de escuadrón para proteger a Yuu!Parent, tanto de la gente que quiere aprovecharse de su estado no Mágico o tratar de “meterse en su matrimonio” como los chicos le dicen. Digamos que como los chicos ven a Yuu!Parent como una figura paterna/materna, entonces le tienen mucho respeto a su pareja junto a un estima similar(“papá solo debe estar con mamá” tipo de cosa).

Jack es el más respetuoso al respecto y quiere saber más sobre la relación de Yuu!parent y su pareja, ya que sinceramente encuentra muy digno que Yuu!Parent le sea fiel a su pareja pese a que no sabe si volverá a su mundo, que hable de ellos con tanto cariño y rechace tan directamente cualquier avance (los lobos son monógamos, por lo que Jack entiende perfectamente el porqué las parejas son tan importantes).

Epel es el tipo de chico que directamente ira a la persona que esta molestando a Yuu!Parent (Crowley), toma la mano de Yuu y le restriega en la cara el anillo de bodas a la otra persona, sin decir una sola palabra en todo esto. Epel ADORA a Yuu!Parent porque le permite hacer todo lo que Vil no, lo esconde cuando Vil lo busca, y en general le permite ser el mismo. Por lo que, Epel no tolera que se metan con Yuu!Parent o su pareja (aun si no los conoce, suenan agradables, ASI QUE TEN MAS RESPETO PAJARACO!).

Ace sinceramente es el único que al principio no entiende porque Yuu!Parent esta tan decidido en serle fiel a su pareja, seamos honestos. Mas cuando Crowley parece dejar de lado su regreso a casa apropósito. Pero mientras mas tiempo pasa con Yuu!Parent y mas ve las señales, el anehlo, la nostalgia, los buenos recuerdos que tiene Yuu con su pareja, mas lo entiende. Definitivamente tiene mucho cringe cada que alguien trata de coquetear con Yuu, y aplica la de fingir que Yuu es su papa/mama para espantar a la otra persona. Si eso no funciona, les dira directamente que están hablando con una persona MUY linda y MUY casada.

Deuce se lo toma MUY en serio, demasiado. Yuu!parent es como el padre que nunca tuvo, y la idea de que la pareja de Yuu lo esta esperando en su mundo (y el tambien espera volver a verles) y que alguien trate de aprovecharse de eso le enoja mucho, pero el trata de no recurrir a la violencia. Al menos no física. Deuce simplemente se pone entre la persona y Yuu!Parent, agitando agresivamente los brazos mientras grita que Yuu es alguien felizmente casado, que no esta interesado en ser un cerdo infiel, entre otras cosas. Tiene espíritu.

Sebek es como Deuce, pero ligeramente peor y mejor. Definitivamente Sebek aprendió a ser más tolerante con Yuu!Parent y absolutamente GOZA cuando le da cumplidos típicos de los padres, podrías decir que le respeta, y dicho respeto también se dirige a su pareja y matrimonio en general. Cuando alguien intenta hablarle a Yuu!Parent en plan romántico, Sebek se pondrá tipo “ES MUY MAYOR PARA TI! Y ESTA CASADO! ALEJATE DEL PADRE! ESTA CASADO! ESTA TOMADO!” todo sin respirar.

Cuando Ortho se une, el esperaba un trato diferente por todo lo que hizo cuando Idia sufrio su overblot, pero es tan feliz cuando Yuu!Parent lo trata con el mismo afecto parental! Por lo mismo, Ortho no está por encima de amenazar al hombre pájaro con violencia si este sigue incomodando al prefecto con sus intentos de cortejo (si fuera cualquier otra persona, Ortho simplemente hace ruidos electrónicos molestos o hace sonar una alarma falsa para que se vayan).

Proteger al prefecto es un trabajo en equipo después de todo.

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