#but now we rally again for the next drop

[sefynarose]

i pulled 50 times for his card but im not too upset cause i had 47 tickets saved up and i wanted the laurel + new pose

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

Hope you enjoyed this! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[rainsiide]

BUT I’M A CHEERLEADER .ᐟ.ᐟ

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི now playing Diet Mountain Dew - Lana Del Rey 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

“you’re no good for me, but baby I want you.”

sophia laforteza x reader ⋮ you’re a cheerleader, you don’t like girls. especially not that oddity of a football player sophia.

warning you! ⋆ slight internalized homophobia, i went to most my football games and i still have no clue abt it

“i want this to be sharper girls!” your coach yelled, for about the tenth time. the homecoming prep rally was coming up soon and your coach would not take good for a end result. she wanted perfect. she was going over routines for touchdowns, fumbles, & a down. and also the half time performance

soon after you found yourself in the bleachers, in the middle cheering for the girls. cheers erupted from your mouth and stomps shook the bleachers. you were apart of the tumblers who did tricks on the track that surrounded the football field. perfecting your skills everyday from practice, you flawlessly hits stunts, jumps and flips. you had been facing away from the field when you felt a rush of a air, a yell, a scream, and then you felt the track ground. someone had fell into you.

“holy shit! i am so sorry, i didn’t think i was running that far to catch it!” a girls voice said. you touched your head, the headache hitting hard and pain in your foot made you struggle. she took off her helmet, a sweaty face and dark hair cascading down her neck. she kneeled down grabbing your hand and pulling you up gently.

“i- are you okay?” she had asked as she helped you stand up, one of your feet slightly hovering above the track. you looked up at her clueless. no words came up, and why not? because her face was so distracting. no— no it wasn’t, you just got caught off guard, that was all.

“do you have a concussion, can you hear me?” she look concerned that you were just staring at her.

“sorry— um my foot, i don’t think i can walk on it.” you responded to her. the nurse then came over to you and helped you up onto a bed on the side. for some reason sophia trailed right behind her. she looked like a kicked puppy. she probably felt like one too.

“i am so so so sorry! i know your performing in the halftime and i feel really bad!” she started to ramble on to you. “look its okay um—” “sophia.” “sophia, it’s fine, you didn’t mean it, we shouldn’t had been turned around aways..” you said. it was kinda stupid to be looking at the crowd instead of the players.

“you’re gonna need to stay off this foot for awhile, there’s no signs of a concussion so you should be fine in time for the halftime performance.” the nurse said as she placed a ice pack on your foot and told you to rest there for awhile. you watched the game from the sidelines, or rather sophia from the sidelines. it was only because she was only player you could recognize, no other reason.

the next day at school you found yourself with a cast on your foot and you walked weakly around the hallways. then you unlocked your locker to place some books you didn’t need for next period. then closing your locker you found a tall dark hair football player on the other side of the door. practically scaring you and you always fell again.

“woah, didn’t mean to make you drop.” she said with a laugh. “well you almost did, funny job sophia.” you said rolling your eyes. “sorry. look i just came over here to give you this. i asked your friend. the one with the blonde curly hair? she said you liked these.” she referred to your friend daniela, passing you candy bar that you loved since the dawn of times.

“it’s an apology candy. you know, for what happened last night.” she said sheepishly. she smiled at her and thanked her for it “you really didn’t have to, but i appreciate sophia.” she smiled and left to her class.

about a hour later you went to the lunchroom. sitting with your friends daniela & harvey. they had their lunches, eating and chatting. they greeted you and you joined in on the talking. you disengaged from the conversation for a minute to take out the candy bar that was in your pocket. mindlessly eating it.

“no way you went to the store without us?” harvey said, often times you guys went off campus to get snacks during lunchtime. but today wasn’t a day you planned to. “no, it’s uh— from that football player, as a apology.” you said.

“hm, that’s why she asked me about your favorite candy.” daniela said, biting down on the sub sandwich. “huh, cute.” harvey said. you paid harvey no mind as you finished it. the lunch period was over and they threw their lunch away. all of three of you started to walk to class. one by one dropping each other off. harvey dropped you off and left to her own class.

two weeks past and you were now fully healed in time for the homecoming game. you and sophia and grown closer but you paid it no mind. that she was just being friendly. after school you and daniela were at practice. practicing stunts on the sidelines and routine. the coach gave the girls a break and daniela and you sat down as you watched the football player(s) practice. tonight was a big rivalry and they just had to beat them. you could recognize a certain football player anywhere. many times cheer practice overlapped with football practice. so you’d see sophia more often then you thought.

then the players came off the field for a break and she slid herself right next to you. her head resting on your shoulder. mindlessly you played with her hair. it had been something you got used to, every time you saw her at practice during breaks you would hang out together and talk together.

later on you were in the changing room, putting on your uniform for the halftime show. and so was sophia. you were sitting lacing up your shoes, not really paying attention to whoever was next to you. until you felt somebody slide over and wrap a arm around your shoulders. “hey y/n” sophia smiled. you giggled and said hey back. then turning your head, not realizing how close her face was. so close you could feel her breath. so close you could see how perfect her eyelashes were, and how perfect those lips were. so perfect you could just kiss them. and you did.

her lips against yours felt so familiar for something new but then. you woke up. your eyes opened and you realized what you were doing. you pulled away from her at what went through your mind, you touched your lips, looked at her and moved back.

“i don’t— um- im supposed to be on the sidelines. i have to go.” and at that you got up without looking behind you. speed walking out room and running to the field. your mind was spiraling. why’d you kiss sophia? you don’t like her, you don’t like girls. your a cheerleader. you thought. you didn’t say anything and as the game started minutes later. that football player caught your eye again, and you didnt know if these were good reasons or bad reasons.

you watched them play back and forth, fumbles, flags, touchdowns and all. then it was time for the halftime show. first the band with the dancers took over the field. baritones, trumpets, drums played loud as ever. you watched intently as they played. your mind running through your own performance. cheers erupted from the bleachers. as well as the players on the sideline. then it was time for the cheerleaders.

your heart was not in its normal place, it was ten times deeper. and you could feel it every time you moved. locking into your starting position, you counted over and over in your head as danced to the music. you hoped that you wouldn’t mess up any stunts. hoping you wouldn’t drop any flips. while you were in position for a move you caught the eye of sophia. you didn’t know if it was a face of “i’m proud of you” or if it’s ���please talk to me again” and if you knew any better it was probably the second thought. after the performance was over yo posed for the ending. and then moved. cheers also erupted for you.

after that the players were back on the field and hustling. this was a rival team they could let put them out in their field. seconds on the clock, sophia ran down the field, ball in a hand, going to the end, getting a touchdown last second. the bleachers were loud, they gladly put the rival team to shame. then. they held the players up cheering and clapping for everybody.

you were sat on the bleachers waiting for you and daniela’s ride. her mom always picked you both up. you had been on the sidelines packing up some things you’d left over there.

“hey.”

you felt your heart stop. sophia. you got up and turned around to face her.

“i’m sorry about the kiss i—“ she said, everything moved in slow motion. and without thinking you pulled her into a hug. your arms tightly around her neck. you had came to the conclusion that if there was anybody to kiss it was to be her. you liked girls, you liked sophia, even if you were a cheerleader.

you moved from her embrace and held her face in your palms.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t think i liked her girls. i didn’t think i liked you, im a cheerleader, you know? ‘m supposed to be the the top football player jock. but i think i want you. i like this football player more than any one.” you said, pointing to her.

she smiled to you, her hands on your waist. “so can i kiss you?” she smiled as she questioned you. you nodded as she pressed a chaste kiss on your lips.

“i like you sophia.”

“i like you too, cheerleader.”

[qqueenofhades]

I think the Aaron Sorkin fic people are writing about the convention to be extremely silly. It's going to be Biden. And if Biden's health takes a downturn and he feels the need to step down its going tk be Harris. This fantasy where we skip over her to whip up two random white guys(or like maaaybe Witmer) and somehow cruise to victory instead of fragmenting the party months before the election is simply not going to happen.

Look, I'm just saying, I got an email from the Biden campaign this morning where they seemed pretty darn happy with the actual (i.e. not-bloviating media) results of the debate: $38 million raised in 4 days ($30 million from individual small-dollar donors), 10K new volunteers in a week, 3x surge in campaign volunteers for battleground states, essentially no change or even a modest boost in the polls. So I think at this point, we can cautiously conclude the following things:

The debate looked bad for Biden, perhaps, but doesn't seem to have hurt him nearly as much the incredibly bad-faith BIDEN NEEDS TO STEP DOWN NOW takes being pumped out by the NYT and its other compatriots would suggest. Especially when these same media outlets have been gleefully sabotaging Biden at every turn for years already and whose fake-sanctimonious hand-wringing "for the good of the nation" pieces honestly should get them dropped into Superhell for Bad Journalists;

Biden went to Raleigh NC right after the debate and gave a fiery rally speech that was very well received. Now, I don't know why we didn't have that Biden at the debate, but it was the same night and there clearly was not any "cOgnItiVe dEcLinE" happening there (also Biden has a stutter and has for literally his entire life, and had a cold on debate night, so it was just an unfortunate confluence of factors)

There are very few actually undecided voters in this election (once again: HOW???) and those who tuned into the debate were largely already convinced of which candidate they were voting for and this didn't do much to change their minds. Just like, you know, pretty much every other debate in the history of presidential elections.

Ordinary voters, and not mainstream media outlets with BIDEN IZ BAD goggles clamped over their eyes, were able to see Trump's insane Gish gallops, lies, and full-blown dementia; this isn't going to get any better for him when he's already lost 20%-25% of GOP voters in every state primary and still is going to be sentenced in his criminal trial;

The D.C. political elite screaming about how Biden should step down (FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE ELECTION) and leave the Democrats to start from scratch with some Star Chamber-selected candidate with no money and no incumbency record and no organization apparatus and a divided party are either fucking weapons grade morons or working secretly for Trump, because that IS in fact the best way to lose the election;

Such speculation seems to fall chiefly on Gavin Newsom, who (to his credit) has shut down any and all suggestion that he should try to step in and take the place of an incumbent who has won every state primary with 90% or more, because he's remotely sane and understands that this year is too important to fuck around with;

I've somehow never seen any suggestion that Biden should step aside for the duly elected (brown, female) Vice President, because everyone seems to think some Young Miraculous White Guy is coming and/or should step in;

All this while SCOTUS is clearly so confident of Trump getting back in that it's willing to grant him Absolute God King status pre- and post-emptively;

Yes, Biden needs to up his game before the next debate (though that's on Fox News iirc, blargh), but I think it's far enough post-debate that we can say it was bad but did not sink him, and if anything, reinforced the fact to many ordinary, non-brainwormed voters that Biden is old (which has been the number one chief theme of news coverage for four years and is no surprise to anyone) but is a decent and principled man doing a good job, while Trump is an absolute gibbering insane orange shitmonger fascist. I don't think he did himself any favors in that regard.

....anyway. The point is, do not be fucking insane people, Biden is not going to step down and frankly shouldn't, don't read the NYT (as noted, they've openly admitted to sabotaging him for personal ego reasons so I don't know why the hell anyone would listen to what they have to say about him), this is still an eminently winnable election, and let's go get those motherfucking fascists. I want Trump in jail and all of SCOTUS and the MAGAGOP fucking crying over it because they fucking suck. Let's go.

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 8

AN: Happy Game Day to all those who watch!! Here’s the next part to the series. This part is a little longer than usual because I had to add some detail but I hope everyone enjoys. Leave a comment or live reaction if you can!

TW: Harassment, sexual content

Word count: 5.7k

After weeks of settling into their new relationship, Paige and Azzi were in a great place. Their teammates had eased up on the teasing, and the pair had grown even closer, both on and off the court. Their chemistry was undeniable, leading to dominant performances in games. Everything seemed to be falling into place—except for one persistent thorn in their side.

A particular reporter had been dogging them for weeks. He always seemed to be present at press events, laser-focused on Paige and Azzi, his questions often bordering on personal. Azzi, who already disliked interviews, found his attention especially unnerving. Paige, ever protective, did her best to shield her, but his presence loomed larger with each encounter.

The reporter had been a constant, unwelcome presence. It wasn’t just at games or press conferences—he seemed to show up everywhere. During a team charity event, he had lingered in the background, snapping photos of Paige and Azzi as they worked side by side at a donation table. At a campus rally for school spirit, there he was again, camera in hand, zoomed in on every shared glance or laugh. Even at a casual team dinner, he had been spotted across the street, pretending to scroll on his phone while clearly observing them. It was unsettling, especially for Azzi, who hated unnecessary attention outside of basketball.

Paige had noticed how the man’s presence affected Azzi. Each time he appeared, she would tense up, her usual easy going demeanor replaced with quiet discomfort. Paige tried to keep things light, cracking jokes or steering conversations away from him, but the tension always lingered.

Tonight was no different. After a dominant home game where UConn crushed their competition, Paige and Azzi sat side by side in the post-game press conference, still riding the high of their combined 58-point performance. The atmosphere in the room was lively, reporters eager to dissect the game.

The questions began as expected—strategies, standout plays, and what they attributed to their continued success.

Then, as if on cue, his hand shot up.

"Paige, Azzi," he began, his tone oozing with false sincerity, "there’s been a lot of speculation recently. Can you confirm if the two of you are in a romantic relationship?"

The room fell silent. The once-buzzing energy evaporated, replaced by a heavy, awkward tension at a reporter asking such an inappropriate question. Azzi’s posture stiffened, her hands clenching slightly in her lap. Paige, already anticipating Azzi’s discomfort, placed a reassuring hand on her knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"That’s not an appropriate question," Paige said, her voice steady but edged with a quiet authority. "We’re here to talk about basketball, not our personal lives."

But the reporter wasn’t deterred. He leaned forward slightly, his pen poised as if ready to capture some earth-shattering revelation. "But don’t you think it’s relevant? If you’re in a relationship, it could affect the team’s dynamics and performance. Shouldn’t the public know if that’s the case,” he says, seemingly directing his question to Azzi.

Azzi’s gaze dropped to the table, her discomfort now plain for anyone to see as she slightly glances towards Paige. “Um–”

Paige’s protective instincts flared. She straightened in her seat, cutting in before Azzi could respond.

"No," Paige said firmly, her tone now sharp. "That’s not relevant at all. What’s relevant is how Azzi and I put up 58 points tonight. What’s relevant is Jana’s season-high six blocks and how our team continues to dominate. Our personal lives have no bearing on how we perform as a team, and frankly, it’s none of your business."

The other reporters shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging uneasy glances. A few lowered their hands, clearly wanting to distance themselves from the invasive line of questioning. Even the moderator looked flustered, hastily wrapping up the session to end the growing awkwardness.

As they exited the room, Paige and Azzi kept their composure, but as soon as they were out of earshot, Paige let out an exasperated sigh. "That guy is unbelievable. He’s been lurking around us for weeks, and now he thinks he can just ask something like that?"

Azzi nodded, her expression a mix of frustration and lingering unease. "It felt so calculated, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to corner us."

"I know," Paige said, her voice softening as she reached for Azzi’s hand. "But next time, if there is one, I’ll shut it down even faster. He doesn’t get to make you feel like that."

Azzi’s lips curled into a small, grateful smile. "Thanks for stepping in. You always know what to say."

Paige squeezed her hand, her protective resolve evident in her eyes. "Always.”

Azzi leaned into her, feeling the weight of the encounter begin to lift. Together, they walked down the hall, their connection unshaken despite the challenges.

…

However, the reporter didn’t stop there. He was still present at every event, every game, and every press conference. His relentless focus on Paige and Azzi became even more unsettling as time went on. Azzi, who already disliked being in the spotlight off the court, grew visibly more uncomfortable with each encounter. Her usual composed demeanor would crumble the moment she spotted him. She’d fidget, avoid eye contact, and often fall silent in the middle of conversations. Paige noticed every small shift, and it drove her crazy.

The final straw came when Azzi, already drained after a tough practice, caught sight of him lurking by the gym entrance, camera in hand. She froze, her hands tightening around her water bottle until her knuckles turned white. Paige, standing beside her, felt a wave of protective anger surge through her.

“That’s it,” Paige muttered under her breath, her voice taut with frustration. She stormed off to find CD, determined to put an end to this once and for all.

After explaining the situation, CD listened carefully but, after making some inquiries, came back with disappointing news. “I get it, Paige,” she said, her tone sympathetic but resigned. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do. He’s got equal press access, and if we want media coverage for our events, that includes giving him a seat.”

Paige clenched her fists, her jaw tight. “So, he just gets to keep harassing us?”

CD sighed, her eyes soft with understanding. “I wish it were different, but as long as he’s not breaking any direct rules, our hands are tied. You know Geno and I are going to try our best to get this figured out.” But that was easier said than done considering Paige and Azzi were the star players of the team and the media always wanted to hear from them.

Paige left the office seething. She hated feeling powerless, especially when Azzi was clearly struggling. The situation only worsened as the reporter ramped up his efforts. His Twitter feed became a relentless stream of posts about Paige and Azzi, filled with photos and captions that dripped with insinuation. Every shot seemed designed to fan the flames of speculation. At events, he strategically positioned himself to capture candid moments between the two, turning their private connection into public fodder.

Azzi’s discomfort escalated into quiet dread. She avoided looking in his direction, but her posture betrayed her unease—shoulders hunched, head down, her usually confident stride reduced to hesitant steps. Paige, on the other hand, was boiling with rage. Each time she caught him with his camera raised, her protective instincts flared, and it took everything in her to hold back from confronting him directly.

The rest of the team noticed, too. KK and Ice quickly took it upon themselves to act as buffers, blocking his view whenever possible. During a charity event, Jana and Ayanna, the tallest members of the team, made a game out of disrupting his angles, moving just enough to keep his shots blurry or off-center.

Despite the support, Paige could see how much it was wearing on Azzi. One night, after a particularly invasive post went viral of Paige and Azzi in the car talking, Paige found Azzi in her dorm room, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at her phone. Without a word, Paige sat beside her, gently taking the phone out of her hands and placing it face down on the nightstand.

“He doesn’t get to do this to you,” Paige said, her voice low but firm. “He doesn’t get to make you feel like this.”

Azzi leaned into her, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hate it. I hate how he makes everything feel so... exposed. I can’t even talk to you in public without him posting about it.”

Paige wrapped an arm around her, her resolve hardening. “I’ll figure something out. I don’t care what CD says—he won’t keep getting away with this.”

Azzi nodded, her trust in Paige unwavering. Paige’s fierce protectiveness and Azzi’s quiet strength held them steady, even as the world around them tried to pry them apart.

…

The team was on a road trip and the tension in the arena was palpable as the Uconn Huskies faced off against Tennessee. With both teams ranked in the top 5, the matchup had drawn a massive crowd, filling every seat and lining the walls with media crews. The roar of the fans seemed to vibrate through the very air, a relentless wave of energy that even the players on the bench could feel.

Uconn held a solid 14-point lead late in the third quarter, but for Azzi Fudd, things weren’t going smoothly. Despite the scoreboard favoring her team, her shot just wasn’t falling today.

She sat on the bench next to Paige, her face tight with concentration. Adjusting her knee pad, she let out a sharp breath, her gaze fixed on the hardwood. Paige, sitting beside her, noticed immediately.

Paige shifted slightly, her knee nudging Azzi’s. “Hey,” she said quietly, her voice just loud enough to cut through the noise of the arena. “What’s going on?”

Azzi hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one else was paying attention. “I don’t know,” she finally muttered, her tone a mix of frustration and self-doubt. “I can’t find my footing. My knee is bothering me and I can’t seem to buy a shot. It’s like–” She stopped, shaking her head.

“Like what?” Paige pressed gently.

Azzi sighed, running a hand over her face. “Like I’m useless out there. Every time I miss, I feel like I’m letting the team down. You guys are carrying the game, and I’m just…there.”

Paige brow furrowed, and she leaned in a little closer. “Azzi, you’re not useless. Come on, you know better than that.”

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, her eyes drifting to the scoreboard again. “It just feels like no matter what I do, it’s not enough,” she admitted quietly. “Everyone’s watching–fans, media–and I’m not showing up the way I should. I’m sure the reporter is going to have a field day.”

Paige let her words hang in the air for a moment, understanding the weight behind them as soon as Azzi mentioned the reporter. She reached over and tapped the assistant coach on the shoulder. “Can I get the stat sheet?”

The coach handed it over, and Paige quickly scanned the numbers. She turned it toward Azzi, pointing to the relevant stats.

“Look,” Paige said, her tone firm but encouraging. “You’ve got five assists, three steals, and seven rebounds. You’re affecting the game in ways that don’t show up in the points column.”

Azzi glanced at the sheet, her frown softening just slightly. “Yeah, but..”

“But nothing,” Paige interrupted. “You’re a big reason we’re up right now. Steals, rebounds, moving the ball–you’re doing all the little things that matter. Scoring isn’t the only way to make an impact.”

Azzi shook her head, though her expression had begun to shift. “I don’t know P. People expect me to put up points. If I’m not scoring, what am I even doing?”

Paige reached out, her hand briefly resting on Azzi’s thigh, squeezing softly but aware that there are cameras all over the gym. “You’re doing your job baby. And guess what? We don’t win games by ourselves. Basketball’s a team sport. We’ve got each other’s backs, remember? If your shot isn’t falling, you find other ways to contribute–and you’ve done that today.”

Azzi exhaled, Paige’s soft touch easing her like always, her shoulders dropping a little as the tension began to ease. “I guess,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I just hate feeling like I’m not doing enough. I also hate that I always have to worry about that damn reporter.”

Pige offered a small, confident smile. “You’re doing more than enough. Trust me. Shots will fall eventually, but until then, focus on what you can control, You’ve got this baby, you always do. And don’t worry about that reporter, I promise I’ll handle him.”

Azzi let those words sink in, her expression softening further, Paige’s unwavering confidence in her was a steady anchor in the storm of self-doubts swirling in her mind.

After a few moments, Geno called their names, signaling it was time to check back in. Paige gave Azzi one last encouraging nudge, “Let’s finish this strong.”

Azzi nodded, a flicker of determination returning to her brown eyes. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Back on the court the energy shifted. While Azzi didn’t suddenly explode with points, her confidence was growing with every play. Paige patting her back in encouragement. Azzi was facilitating the offense, setting up Paige for perfect shots, she grabbed crucial rebounds, and played tight defense. The Huskies kept their lead, eventually closing out the game with a 17-point victory.

As the final buzzer sounded, the Uconn fan section erupted, and the players on the court came together patting each other on the backs. The Huskies had solidified their spot as the number one team in the AP rankings, and despite her earlier struggles, Azzi knew she had played a crucial role in the win.

Paige jogged over, clapping Azzi on the back. “See? You crushed it.”

Azzi grinned, her earlier frustration now a distant memory. “Thanks P. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Azzi and Paige both shared a knowing look, their unspoken connection stronger than words. In that moment, all they wanted was the comfort of each other’s arms, but they knew better. Somewhere in the arena, the reporter was undoubtedly lurking, camera ready, waiting for any slip in their carefully guarded composure to the public.

Paige’s jaw clenches, her frustration palpable as her gaze swept the arena, searching for any sign of the reporter. Azzi noticed the tension building, and without a word, quickly but discreetly reached for Paige’s hand. Her fingers curled around Paige’s, a brief but firm squeeze grounding them both.

Before Paige could react, Azzi gave a gentle tug, leading her toward the locker room. They slipped through the crowd unnoticed, weaving past teammates and staff, the noise of the arena fading as they stepped in the corridor.

Once inside the locker room, Azzi released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She turned to face Paige, her eyes soft but tinged with concern. “You were about to explode out there,” she said quietly, her voice steady but laced with a hint of worry.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I just hate how he’s always there. Watching. Waiting for something to twist into a headline.”

Azzi nodded, leaning against a locker. “Me too. It’s like we can’t even breathe without him trying to turn it into a story.”

Paige stepped closer, her protective instincts flaring once more as she gently cupped Azzi’s face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, I’m sorry. I hate seeing you uncomfortable.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she placed her hands over Paige’s, leaning into the touch. “I know. But I have you and that’s all that matters to me.”

For a moment, the world outside the locker room didn’t exist. They stood there, finding solace in each other’s presence, the noise and pressure of the arena feeling miles away. This was their space, a brief reprieve from the relentless scrutiny.

Paige let out a heavy sigh, pulling her hands back but keeping close to Azzi. “You know he’s probably going to be in the interview room later,” she said, her voice edged with frustration.

Azzi winced slightly at the thought, leaning her head back against the locker with a thud. “Yeah, I know,” she muttered, her brows furrowing. “He always is.”

Paige crossed her arms, her protective instincts kicking in once again. “I swear, he’s just waiting for one of us to slip up, to give him something to write about.”

Azzi glanced at her, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “And we both know his questions won’t be about the game.”

Paige clenched her fists, her jaw tightening again. “He doesn’t care about the game, Azzi. He’s just there to dig into our personal lives, to turn us into his next headline.”

Azzi sighed, her discomfort clear. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted softly. “Every time he’s there, I feel like I can’t focus, like I have to watch every little thing I say or do.”

Paige’s eyes softened as she reached out, placing a comforting hand on Azzi’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re not in this alone. If he tries anything, I’ll shut him down. Again.”

Azzi offered a small, grateful smile, her tension easing slightly under Paige’s reassurance. “You always do.”

Azzi straightened up, ready to follow Paige’s lead. Together, they walked out of the locker room, towards the media room.

Once they entered the media room, Paige confidently took her seat beside Azzi, her protective resolve clear. She offered a reassuring smile, her hand brushing against Azzi’s briefly under the table. If anything went south, she was ready to handle it.

The questions started off light, focusing on the game. Azzi and Paige eased into the flow, their responses laced with humor and camaraderie. They even traded playful jabs, drawing laughter from the other reporters in the room. For a while, it felt like any other post-game interview—relaxed, even enjoyable.

But as the atmosphere lightened, a familiar hand shot up from the corner. Paige’s smile faltered ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing. She felt Azzi shift beside her, and without looking, Azzi reached under the table, her fingers curling around Paige’s hand. The silent gesture said it all: Be ready.

The moderator hesitated for a beat before nodding toward him. “You have a question?”

He stood, adjusting his notepad with an air of faux professionalism. “Azzi,” he began, his tone loaded, “tonight’s game was another example where your scoring didn’t seem to match your usual output earlier in the season. Do you think your performance—or lack thereof—has negatively impacted the team?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Azzi’s grip on Paige’s hand tightened for a moment before she released it, sitting up straighter. Her expression was calm, composed. “Basketball is a team sport,” Azzi said evenly, her voice steady. “Even when my shots aren’t falling, I focus on contributing in other ways—whether it’s defense, rebounding, or leading on the court. We win and lose as a team, and tonight was no different.”

Paige’s lips curled into a proud smile, her earlier tension easing as she watched Azzi handle the question with poise. But the reporter wasn’t done.

He turned toward Paige, his smile thin and calculated. “Paige,” he said, his voice now tinged with provocation, “do you find it challenging having to pick up the slack when your teammates, Azzi in particular, who's supposed to be your co-star, aren’t delivering? Does it ever feel like you’re carrying the team by yourself?”

Paige’s smile vanished, replaced by a steely glare as a storm in her blue eyes was present. Her jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists under the table. Before she could respond, Azzi subtly pressed her leg against Paige’s and shot her a warning look, her eyes silently pleading: Don’t let him get to you.

“Not at all,” Paige said, her voice laced with deliberate sweetness and clear sarcasm. “I mean, it was exhausting last week scoring 30 points while Azzi only put up 28. It’s really tough having such a lazy teammate.” She leaned back, her smile sharp. “Thank goodness the rest of the team stepped up, right?”

A ripple of nervous laughter spread through the room, but the reporter wasn’t deterred. “But don’t you think that disparity could lead to tension? I mean, as leaders, how do you handle it when one of you isn’t performing up to par?”

Paige leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “If by ‘disparity’ you mean our team’s ability to drop 90 points on our opponents, I’d say we’re handling it just fine. And as for tension? The only tension here is when people ask ridiculous questions instead of focusing on the game.”

The reporter pressed on, undeterred by Paige’s growing irritation. “Sure, but wouldn’t you agree that transparency is important? Fans have the right to know if off-court dynamics could be affecting performance.”

Paige’s smile turned icy. “Transparency is great. So let’s be transparent: Azzi and I work hard every single day, and our team’s success speaks for itself. What doesn’t affect our performance is whatever personal narrative you’ve been trying to push.”

Azzi watched Paige carefully, her lips pressed into a thin line. She could see Paige teetering on the edge of losing her cool entirely. Leaning slightly toward the microphone, her hand squeezing Paige’s knee under the table, Azzi added calmly, “We’re here to talk about basketball. That’s what the fans care about, and that’s what we care about. So it would be great if you stopped whatever it is you’ve been relentlessly trying to accomplish.”

The reporter opened his mouth to retort, but the moderator swiftly interjected. “Alright, let’s move on. Next question.”

The tension in the room lingered even as the questions shifted back to game-related topics. Paige stayed silent, her eyes still burning with frustration.

As the session wrapped up, Paige stood abruptly, waiting just long enough for Azzi to join her before they made a beeline for the exit. As they reached the quiet hallway leading to the locker room, Paige’s jaw remained tight, her steps brisk with pent-up energy. Azzi tugged gently on her arm, stopping her just outside the door.

“Paige, don’t,” Azzi said softly, concern etched across her face. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Paige let out a sharp breath, her fists still clenched. “I’m not going to show him he got under my skin,” she said, her voice low but resolute. “I’m just coming for answers.”

Azzi frowned, her grip on Paige’s arm tightening slightly. “Answers? P, he’s not going to tell you anything useful. He’s just going to twist whatever you say or do into some story.”

Paige met Azzi’s gaze, her eyes blazing with determination. “Then he can try,” she said firmly. “But I’m not letting him keep doing this to you—to us—without knowing why. I just want to understand what his deal is.”

Azzi hesitated, then sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want this blowing up into something bigger.”

Paige gave a small nod, her expression softening. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “But I’m done letting him lurk around and make you feel like this.”

Azzi managed a faint smile, appreciating Paige’s fierce loyalty even as her worry lingered. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But I’m holding you to that.”

Paige smirked, leaning in briefly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

…

Once the team was changed and ready, they piled onto the bus for the short ride back to the hotel. The atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and triumph, their earlier win still buzzing in their minds. Azzi and Paige sat beside each other, their hands brushing occasionally but otherwise silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

As the team filed into the hotel, the familiar figure of the reporter stood by the entrance, his head bent over his phone. Paige’s eyes locked onto him immediately, her jaw tightening. She didn’t slow her stride, her steps growing more purposeful as she veered from the team.

Azzi, though reluctant, stayed back, settling into one of the lobby chairs with some teammates. Her eyes never left Paige, ready to step in if things got out of hand.

As Paige approached, the reporter looked up, momentarily startled before he composed himself. She stopped a foot away and couldn’t help but scoff. She towered over him by at least six inches, her presence alone enough to make him shift nervously.

“Evening,” Paige said, her tone deceptively polite.

The reporter blinked up at her, trying to match her composure. “Ms. Bueckers, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her tone unrelenting. “Cut the crap. You’ve been tailing us for weeks, lurking at every event, every game, like some wannabe detective. What’s your deal?”

The reporter shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “I’m just doing my job. You and Azzi are two of the biggest names in college basketball. People are curious about your lives.”

Paige took a step closer, her height casting a literal shadow over him. The intimidation was deliberate, and it worked. He swallowed hard, his bravado wavering.

“Curious?” Paige repeated, her voice dropping. “This isn’t curiosity. This is harassment. You’ve been hounding us, taking pictures without permission, and asking invasive questions. I want to know why.”

“I’m—uh—just reporting,” he stammered, his confidence crumbling under her intense gaze. “It’s not personal.”

Paige leaned in slightly, her eyes piercing. “Not personal? You’ve singled us out Azzi specifically, and you’ve been pushing boundaries every chance you get. So, I’ll ask again: why?”

The reporter glanced around nervously, clearly searching for an exit. When he realized he was cornered, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay, fine,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I have a cousin at UConn... Jess.”

The name hit Paige like a slap. Her jaw clenched, and her stomach twisted. Jess.

The reporter didn’t notice her reaction, continuing, “She told me some things. Said you and Azzi weren’t as nice as you seem. She suggested if I could expose something, it’d be my big break.”

Paige’s fists curled at her sides, her mind racing. Jess. The same Jess she had broken up with not long ago. The pieces clicked into place. Jess’s bitterness had apparently driven her to set this whole mess in motion.

“And you just went along with it?” Paige asked, her voice deadly calm. “You didn’t think for a second that maybe you were being used? Or that dragging someone’s name through the mud for your ‘big break’ might make you the problem?”

He looked genuinely uneasy now, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “Look, I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I thought maybe there was something there—”

“There isn’t,” Paige cut in sharply. “You’ve been harassing us based on some bitter ex’s lies. And now you’re standing here, expecting me to just accept your half-baked apology?”

He opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it, clearly unsure what to say. Paige stepped even closer, forcing him to look up at her, his discomfort now painfully obvious.

“You think this is how you make a name for yourself?” she continued, her tone laced with disdain. “By tearing other people down? Grow up. Real journalists earn respect by telling the truth, not by manufacturing drama.”

The reporter’s face flushed, and he looked down, muttering, “I’m sorry.”

Paige scoffed, her anger flaring again. “You don’t get to say sorry and walk away like nothing happened. You’ve been trying to make Azzi and me feel small for weeks, and now you’re sorry? No. Save it.”

Without waiting for a response, Paige turned on her heel and walked back toward the lobby. Her heart was pounding, but she kept her stride steady, her expression unreadable.

Paige returned to the lobby, her face still unreadable as she walked straight to Azzi. Without a word, she picked up Azzi’s duffel bag from where it rested beside the team’s.

“Come on,” Paige said softly, her voice steady but leaving no room for argument.

Azzi stood, her brows knitting in concern, but she didn’t question her. She followed Paige to the elevators, exchanging quick glances with a couple of their teammates, who looked equally curious but knew better than to intervene.

Once they reached their room, Paige dropped her bag near the door and exhaled deeply. She turned to face Azzi, her expression softening slightly.

“It was Jess,” Paige said finally, her voice low but steady. “She’s the reason that reporter’s been on us.”

Azzi blinked, her lips parting in a small, unsurprised sigh. “Jess? Of course it was,” she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I knew she was upset, but this…?”

Paige nodded, pacing the room briefly before leaning against the dresser. “She fed him lies about us, told him we weren’t as ‘nice’ as we seem. Said if he got under our skin, it’d be his big break.” She shook her head, her jaw clenching. “It’s disgusting.”

Azzi’s face twisted in frustration. “She really couldn’t let it go, huh?”

Paige crossed the room, kneeling in front of Azzi and taking her hands gently. “No,” she said, her tone softening, “but it doesn’t matter now. He admitted it. He knows he was wrong, and he’s backing off.”

Azzi searched Paige’s eyes, her own filled with a mixture of relief and lingering unease. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Paige offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I’m just sorry you had to deal with this.”

Azzi squeezed her hands. “We handled it together.”

After taking turns in the shower, the two of them settled into one of the beds, their bodies naturally gravitating toward each other under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The tension of the evening had mostly melted away, but a different kind of tension now hummed between them—one that neither seemed in a hurry to dispel.

Paige lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, her other hand gently tracing idle circles on Azzi’s arm. “You know,” she teased, her voice low and smooth, “for someone who hates interviews, you were pretty impressive today.”

Azzi chuckled softly, her eyes flicking toward Paige. “I’ve had a good teacher,” she replied, her voice equally soft. “You always know how to handle the heat.”

Paige smirked, leaning in to brush a kiss along Azzi’s temple. “Maybe,” she murmured, her lips trailing lower to Azzi’s cheek. “But you held your own. You were incredible.”

The kisses grew slower, more deliberate. Azzi turned slightly, meeting Paige’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When they pulled apart, her hand slid to Paige’s waist, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “It’s been a while," she said, her voice soft but full of intent.

Paige raised an eyebrow, meeting Azzi’s gaze. "A while, huh?" she murmured, her lips barely grazing Azzi’s ear. "And what exactly are you asking for?"

Azzi smirked, her hand moving with more purpose, her fingers curling at the waistband of Paige's shorts. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know exactly what I’m asking for."

Paige’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. Her hand slid up Azzi’s body and in an instant, her hand was around Azzi’s neck–not too tight, but firm enough to send a jolt of heat through both of them, Azzi gasps softly, her smirk faltering as her eyes darken.

Azzi’s eyes met Paige’s, a daring gleam in them that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine. That silent challenge—Have your way with me—drove Paige crazy. Her grip continued to tighten slightly, her fingers pressing just enough for Azzi to feel the weight of her control. Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed, her smirk deepening even as her breath quickened.

"You love this, don’t you?" Paige’s voice was a low, throaty whisper.

Azzi’s lips parted slightly, her voice barely audible. "Maybe." Her tone was laced with defiance, but her body betrayed her as she leaned into Paige’s touch, her fingers tightening on Paige’s hips.

Paige tilted Azzi’s head up slightly, her lips ghosting over her jawline. "You’re so intoxicating," she murmured before capturing Azzi’s lips again. This kiss was deeper, more intense, as Paige poured every ounce of her frustration and desire into it. Azzi responded with equal fervor, her hands roaming under Paige’s shirt, nails scraping against her back.

Paige let out a soft groan at the contact, her body pressing Azzi further into the bed. The weight of her was grounding yet electrifying, every touch, every kiss pulling them deeper into each other. Azzi’s hand moved up, tugging at the fabric of Paige’s shirt, her intentions clear. With a little help from one another both of their shirts are discarded quickly.

Azzi leaned forward, immediately capturing Paige’s lips in a kiss again that was anything but innocent. It was deep, hungry, filled with the unspoken connection they shared. Paige responded instantly, her hand tightening around Azzi’s neck, the gentle pressure guiding her in ways words couldn’t describe.

Azzi shivered as the kiss deepened, her body pressed against Paige’s, the heat between them only growing. Without breaking the kiss, Paige slipped fully under the covers, pulling Azzi along with her. The movement was fluid, natural, both of them silently acknowledging the weight of the moment.

Azzi’s hand found its way to Paige’s shoulder, pulling her even closer. Their bodies were aligned, breaths shallow as they shared soft kisses between heated moments. Paige pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Azzi’s, a silent question hanging in the air; the older blonde always ensuring Azzi was comfortable.

Azzi gave her a look that was both playful and serious, her voice a husky whisper. “You really gonna make me wait?”

Paige’s lips curved into a smug smile as she slipped fully under the covers, her hands finding their way back to Azzi’s body, her intentions clear. “Not anymore,” she whispered, her voice low and certain.

With that, the night erupted in a chaotic display of fevered kisses, ragged breaths, and unrestrained passion. Every touch, every movement, was charged with a raw, almost desperate energy as they pushed each other past every limit they thought possible, neither holding back. Their frustration, their longing, passion for one another, everything they’d kept bottled up, spilled over in a relentless cascade. By the time they were done, the room bore the evidence of their fervor—pillows strewn across the floor, shirts discarded haphazardly, and marks they’d both have to explain in the morning.

[themultifanshipper]

You hadn’t seen Oscar in years. Not since the two of you broke up back in 2018. Now it was 2027 and he was holding his hand out to you expectantly, as half the MTC stared at the two of you.

Warnings: Zak Brown, driver!reader, reader is friends with Carlos Sainz², jealous Oscar, Oscar is a real prick in this one, hate sex, rough sex, ROUGH sex, I’m not kidding with this one guys it’s angry rough bordering on noncon painful hate sex, like choking almost to the point of passing out, having no regard for the other person’s comfort/safety, overstimulation, pure unbridled animalistic rage in this one guys, beware, also not a happy ending

Ngl, I wrote the first half of this months ago and it was supposed to be super light-hearted, then the angst overtook my brain last night at 3am so… just beware

He was moving to formula Renault, you were bored of single seaters.

You wanted to explore rallying, he wanted to explore his teammates.

You know, the usual things 17 year olds want to do.

The breakup was mutual, sure, but what it lacked was closure. The two of you drifted apart and eventually called it all off, via skype. But you had never looked back, and neither had he. You hadn’t even really thought about him in years.  

Since then, you had made a name for yourself in rallying, nascar, even hanging out in WEC for a season, before going back. When you got a call out of the blue from the one and only Zak Brown, who had apparently been following your career with interest, you could only accept to meet him. He took you around the MTC and even made you do some tests in the sim, then asked if you would be up for testing the car during the season.

“You are being considered to fill one of our seats next year. One of my drivers is having talks with RedBull and I’m covering my bases.” He explained.

You never registered that Oscar was the other McLaren driver. For the next year, you never saw him, and when anyone mentioned his name, your brain apparently blocked it out.

 After extensive individual testing and sim work to make sure you were ready, the thought that you would even have a teammate had completely slipped your mind.

So, there you were, staring into those brown eyes, a month before the beginning of the season, as Oscar waited for you to shake his hand. You realised you’d been staring at him silently for what must have been well over thirty seconds, as the staff around you shuffled around awkwardly.

Zak, who had just ‘introduced’ you, was just looking back and forth between you two, wondering why the hell nobody was speaking.

“You guys need a minute?...”

Still no answer, so he sighed and backed away from you, grumbling “What have I done?... I miss Lando already.”

Once Zak had disappeared from view, Oscar finally dropped his hand and scowled.

“I thought we were going to be civil about this, but if that’s how you want to play it in front of Zak, then that’s fine.” He started to walk away but you cut him off.

“No, wait! I’m sorry!” you rushed out “I just- forgot you were going to be here”

He scoffed. “Here? At my place of work for the past 4 years?”

“No! I mean- I guess my brain hadn’t really assimilated the fact that we… we’re teammates again…”

Something softened in his features for a split second before his face became blank once again. “Yeah? Well, I’m not the same person I was back then, so try not to get distracted. We’re aiming for a constructor’s championship this season, which won’t happen if you’re too busy mooning over me.”

You were speechless as he walked away smoothly, saying hello to a few engineers on the way. What the fuck was his problem? He had become a right arsehole in the 9 years since you’d last spoken. 2027 Oscar was a dick.

He’d also become the broadest, sluttiest proportioned man you’d ever seen as your eyes roamed over his large shoulders and tiny waist before coming to rest on his full, round behind.

Wow.

Zak Brown finally came back, with a rather large coffee cup in his hands. “Ah good, that’s over! Now why don’t we go into my office and we can go over the rest of the formalities for the new-“     Needless to say you didn’t listen to a word that was said in that office.

The thing about having special dispensation to drive in formula 1, is that there was a lot more scrutiny on you than the other drivers. Never mind the fact you were a woman on top of that. Luckily for you though, you had enough talent to go around.

You were fifth in the championship by the time the summer break rolled around, and you couldn’t be happier. Not that you weren’t enjoying the season so far, but the championship battle was intense. Between Redbull having Charles and Lando, You and Oscar in arguably the fastest car, Ollie and Lewis having as much fun in a Ferrari as expected, and even Kimi and George, who managed to grab a fair few podiums with a shitbox of a Mercedes, the margins separating all of you were extremely small, only forty two points between you and Charles in P1.

And although you hadn’t won a race yet, which was pretty normal given that you were a rookie going against the likes of these guys, the commentators and journalists had nothing but praise for you. And you basked in the glory with unbridled satisfaction.

You were on a yacht during summer break, a two day expedition (more like a two day free cruise) and Carlos Sainz Jr (former F1 driver, and your old rally teammate) was on the sun lounger next to you. His father was on one of the lower decks, no doubt hassling the maids for sandwiches.

“Do not worry muñequita, the season will go fine. Oscar just needs time to adjust to having you back in his life basically 24/7”

He pulled you into his lap and started kissing over your chest. Hands roaming over your body as he grumbled “Just like I need to adjust to not having you around all the time…” His mouth wasted no time travelling downwards, your bikini bottoms soon tossed aside, as he made the most of the temporary absence of his father.

You weren’t together really, but your relationship had grown close ever since his dad had helped you get into rallying and you two had subsequently become teammates when he retired from F1 when Williams didn't pan out. Carlos was an amazing lover, and as a woman in motorsports you couldn’t afford any bad PR being viewed as a slut, you needed convenience and discretion, so the arrangement was perfect.

Unfortunately, the next day paparazzi showed up and got some pictures of the two of you. Nothing explicit of course, but it was enough to fuel a few rumours and spice up silly season until the end of the summer break.

During the week leading up to the first race, Oscar was a real sour puss (more than usual anyway) and he kept giving you dirty looks. And he was distracted to the point where his sim runs were just getting worse and worse.

Then there were the snarky remarks. Like when you’d spilled a water jug in the cafeteria and he’d said something like “Messy in all aspects of life, then?”. Or when your car got scratched while parked in the MTC parking lot. He walked past, saw the scratch, snorted derisively and said “Karma’s a bitch, ay” before getting into his own car and driving off.

You had no idea what had gotten into him, but this had to stop, one way or another.

You cornered him in his driver’s room on Sunday morning before the race.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped, storming into his room without even bothering to knock.

He looked up from where he was sitting on the sofa, scrolling on his phone, but he didn't look phased in the slightest.

“I don't know what you're talking about”

“Oh fuck off! Ever since I joined McLaren you've been a complete dick to me and since we came back from break it's been getting even worse!”

He shrugged and looked back at his phone, which enraged you.

So you did the rational thing and walked over to him, ripped his phone out of his hands to see what could possibly be more interesting than-

You froze upon seeing his screen.

It was one of the more… interesting shots of you and Carlos on the yacht from a few weeks ago.

He stood up and grabbed his phone back, but the damage was done.

Not only was it a picture of you and Carlos, but it wasn't on social media, it was in his camera roll.

He'd saved it onto his phone.

The cogs started turning in your head.

‘Messy in all aspects of life’ he’d said.

This was what he was referencing.

You looked into his eyes and they were filled with thinly veiled rage.

“Is this why? Are you fucking jealous?”

He scoffed and pushed past you.

“I most certainly am not. I hope you and Carlos are very happy together.”

He took his shirt off as aggressively as he could and started putting on his fireproofs.

“Me and Carlos aren't together you prick.”

“Really? So what's the deal then? Does he just get to fuck you?”

“What's it to you? You scared of playing second fiddle to Carlos Sainz?”

That made him halt his movements.

“What?” his hands balled into fists.

“You fucking heard me” you spat.

He turned around slowly, his shoulders tense and his nostrils flared.

“You'd better not be suggesting that he's better than me”

You crossed your arms in defiance. “We were 17 and inexperienced, Oscar, it's not hard to do better than that.”

Something animalistic flashed in his eyes. “I guess I need to change your perception of me if you're going to compare me to that fucking loser”

You laughed in his face, but under the surface you were uneasy at the implications.

“Good luck with that one mate”

“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow as he prowled towards you menacingly. “Is he that unbelievable? Does he make you come? Does he fuck you like he means it? Does he make you tremble with need underneath him? Does he make you scream his name?”

He towered over you, only a few inches separating your faces.

“Because I guarantee, once you get a taste of me you won't be going back to him.”

“Do your worst” you whispered, fully turned on by this angry side of Oscar.

“Oh I’m going to” he smirked, “but right now I have a race to win”

And with that he backed off, leaving you unconsciously gripping the edge of the table you’d been cornered against.

As you crossed the threshold of his doorway on your way out, you muttered “coward”, fully intending for him to hear it.

And thank God Oscar didn’t, because if he had, you wouldn’t have been able to get in a car after he’d had his way with you.

You were distracted the whole race. Nerves ran down your spine as you took each corner, not wrong enough to hit a wall, but wrong enough to slow you down.

“Concentrate, please. Leclerc is closing the gap, we don’t want to endanger Oscar’s chances” your engineer muttered over the radio.

“Fuck Oscar” you said, which was entirely unhelpful, and if aired was going to attract quite a bit of backlash.

Fortunately for you, Oscar seemed to be having similar difficulties. He’d dipped his rear tyres into the gravel a couple of times, and with 39 lap old mediums, that meant he was becoming significantly slower than you, being on slightly fresher ones.

You eventually caught up to him, and Charles caught up to you.

You should have been let past. You were faster, you could guarantee a McLaren win. Oscar should have listened to team orders. You shouldn’t have forced him wide to get past when he refused to listen to reason. He shouldn’t have hit you while defending his inside line. You shouldn’t have ended up beached in the gravel trap, Oscar’s car spinning alongside yours. Charles shouldn’t have won that race.

You and Oscar shouldn’t have started brawling on the edge of the track.

Alas...

The loud slam of your driver’s room door against the wall startled you, as if you weren’t expecting it. As if you hadn’t been waiting for him.

As if Oscar hadn’t spat ‘you won’t be able to walk tomorrow’ at you as the marshalls dragged you apart.

As if you weren’t already dripping at the thought of Oscar taking his anger out on you and making you pay for what happened.

His hand was around your throat before you could think too much about it. You were pinned down on the table, nails scratching at the arm that held you down against the cool wood.

The fact that you were soaked was evident as soon as he forced his other hand into your underwear and felt how slick your folds were, and he immediately used his fingers to make you fall apart at the seams as he found the spot that made you weak and abused it repeatedly, his thumb pressing rough circles onto your poor clit.

Only when you’d come twice from his fingers alone was he satisfied.

He’d changed into sweatpants at some point, making it easier for him to pull his hard cock out while still holding you down.

You were used and oversensitive, and the sight of his thickness made you squirm and attempt to tell him to stop, but you didn’t get the chance.

The fingers around your throat were barely letting you breathe, much less get words out, not to mention that you were getting so lightheaded you doubted if your words would even be comprehensible if you did manage to utter them.

When his tip breached you, you tensed, waiting for him to go all the way, but he didn’t.

He waited until you relaxed before he slammed into you, probably bruising your cervix and making sure he made good on his trackside promise.

If you’d been able to make a sound, you would have probably been heard all the way across the paddock. The aching pain just served to add to the fog that was slowly invading your mind as he wasted no time pulling out and thrusting back in with even more force.

It was brutal, uncaring and relentless.

This wasn’t for your pleasure, nor even for his. This was a painful reminder for you both, that you were at the mercy of the sport you dedicated your lives to. You were puppets, made to compete in the most expensive dog fight in the world and you couldn’t do anything to change that. You just had to take it, until you triumphed, or drowned in the condolent applause of failure.

These were the sort of wild thoughts a person could have after being deprived of air for long enough.

Oscar hadn’t even noticed the state you were in until your grip on his arm weakened, and he panicked slightly and quickly loosened his grip, allowing you to heave in the first proper breath you’d had in minutes.

The reprieve didn’t last long though, because he leaned over you and kissed you, more teeth and tongue than a real kiss, but it was all either of you could manage, being so close to the brink of extasy you hadn’t even noticed you’d been nearing. Your body rocked against the table with the powerful movement of his hips slapping yours, the combined sweat of your bodies making the surface slippery.

Your throat was sore, and all you could manage was a pitiful whine as you were tossed over the edge of the precipice, and Oscar jumped with you, both of you panting and moaning into each other’s mouths as he filled you to the brim.

He didn’t stop though. He kept fucking you through it, overstimulating you and himself, both of you crying out into the stale air of your driver’s room.

His anger and desperation could be felt in his unrelenting pace, frenzied thrusts pushing you further and further up the table each time.

Your shared tears mingled with your sweat, clouding your visions as you just kept going.

 It hurt, but that didn’t matter when it was just the two of you, together, bodies colliding, unspoken words hanging between you.

It hurt, but it felt good.

The pain grounded you, making sure you stayed locked in even when you couldn't breathe.

He filled you up again and again, until he physically couldn’t anymore. He pulled out without care and pulled his sweats back up.

He took in your appearance: skin flushed, glistening with sweat and tears, bruises forming around your neck, puffy cunt leaking onto the table… pathetic.

He made his way to the door but stopped just as his hand touched the handle.

“Don’t try that shit ever again” and the next thing you heard was the door slam behind him.

You both knew you would do it again. And he would do it as soon as he got the chance, probably leading to another crash.

And you would probably end up right back here, used and spent, unable to move.

Tears sprang to your eyes, anyone could walk in and see you like this, utterly destroyed physically and mentally by your teammate.

It took you several minutes to gather the energy to move, and when you did the pain flashed across your body once again.

He'd used you, made you take it until he had nothing left to give. Until you lay there, broken like a discarded toy.

But God, you both knew you craved it.

[azzibuckets]

now that we don’t talk [part 2 | paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige reunite, but in the worst way possible

a/n: i wrote this part like a month ago but i never posted it. im not sure about continuing this series because i dont have a vision for how i want it to go

word count: 3.4k

prev | next | masterlist

You shut your eyes, exhaling. The breath that came out was shaky, and you hated it. You hated feeling this weak and unstable before a game, when usually you were all collected and confident.

Your brain was a battle of emotions. Your school, USC, was facing off against UConn in a pre-season match today, and since it was the first game of October, the administration on both teams had agreed to dedicate this game to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

In a kind gesture that had left you at a loss for words, your head coach Gottlieb had organized custom pink shirts for the entire team to wear during warmup, with a painting of your grandma’s face in the front and one of her quotes on the back - “Strength is not the absence of fear, but the courage to confront it.” Your grandma had been a force in the basketball world, being one of the founders and fighters of the WNBA, and you knowed that part of the reason why both USC and UConn were rallying so hard for breast awareness was because both coaches knew of your relationship with your grandma.

After taking a few more deep breaths, you felt calm enough to rejoin your team as they warmed up their shooting. Looking around, you laid eyes on Paige, who was silently stretching in the corner. You took her in - her blonde hair was up in her typical game day do, with her braids in the front and the rest of her hair collected into a tight ponytail. She looked good, her cheeks slightly rosy, her eyes concentrated. You felt your heatt flutter as you examined her, but your heart suddenly dropped when you realized what she was wearing.

You knew this was bad idea, but you couldn’t help yourself. You found your legs pacing towards Paige, carrying you with a level of authority you didn’t know you had.

“What the fuck is this?”

Paige turned around, her resistance band now hanging limp in her hand. She did a double take once she realized who’d just spoken to her, her eyes carefully and unashamedly taking you in. “What?”

You gestured aggressively at her ahirt. “Take it off.”

Paige’s eyes hardened as she leaned back from you. “Excuse me?”

“I said, take it off.” Your voice was icy and unfamiliar to your own ears. In your peripheral vision, you saw heads starting to turn, as girls from both teams watched with curiosity as you stepped closer to Paige, anger drawn on both of your faces.

“Where did you even get it from?” Your voice trembled as you studied Paige’s shirt again. It was familiar to you, because you had the exact same one, just in different colors, hanging up in your room. It was your grandma’s jersey, from her high school team in the 1960s. As far as you knew, she only had a few, and she’d given one to you, one that you’d viligantly taken care of since you’d received it.

Paige raised her chin defiantly. “She gave it to me.”

Those words knocked you off your feet, and you stumbled even though you’d been standing still. “No, she didn’t.” Paige only gritted her teeth without responding. Desperate for a reaction, for anything than just silence, you continued, “She wasn’t even your grandma.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. Over the course of your friendship and then relationship, Paige had gotten almost as close to your grandma as you were. They had adored each other, and back then you had loved the way they loved each other. But now, you couldn’t seem to hate anything more.

You were spiraling, a destructive disarray of grief and bitterness and jealousy. When your grandma had died two months ago, you’d wished that Paige would’ve done more then send a couple of DMs on Twitter. But she didn’t, hadn’t reached out after that, which you couldn’t exactly blame her for because she owed no obligation to comfort you. You guys weren’t even dating anymore. But you’d hopelessly wanted Paige to do more, to show up on your doorstep and take you into her arms.

Paige, seemingly unaffected by your desperate words, regarded you coolly. “How would you know?” she asked menacingly, the hostility in her tone sending shivers down your spine. “You weren’t even there for her in the last few months.” She paused before landing her final blow. “But guess who was?” Her eyebrows cocked as she brushed past you and went back to her team on the court.

It felt like Paige had physically hit you, the way your heart stuttered and your mind reeled. You clenched your first, wishing you’d never came over here in the first place.

“Hey.” A gentle hand brushed your shoulder. Familiar perfume filled your nostrils, and you turned around to see Caroline.

Holding back a sob, she opened her arms and you fell into them. This was too much. Your nasty exchange with Paige, combined with the loss of your grandma still achingly fresh in your mind, along with the guilt of seeing the team that you’d left without so much as a goodbye. You’d been avoiding their looks the entire warmup. Nika had tried to talk to you earlier, but you’d brushed her off. And now, Caroline was standing in front of you, with the softest smile on her face as if you hadn’t ghosted her for the last year.

Caroline, one of your closest friends from your two years at UConn, comfortingly rubbed your back as you embraced her. When you pulled back, you almost couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasped, looking down.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” The kindness in her tone almost sent you into another fit.

“But I do.” You bit your bottom lip. “I transferred to USC without telling any of you guys. And when I left, I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. All I did was send a stupid text.” You kicked the ground, chastising yourself for how you’d treated your closest friends.

“You were hurting.” Caroline squeezed your arms. “We all understand. None of us are mad, alright? We all just miss you.” When you didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed with guilt, she nudged you. “You wanna make it up to us?”

You nodded quickly. Anything.

“Come hang with us after. At my place. No bar, nothing public. Just you and us. We can catch up, you can tell us all about USC and we’ll give you all the latest drama here.”

Thoughts of Pauge flashed through your mind before you shut it down. It was time to stop putting your feelings over Paige before your friends. You had to rebuild the gap, for the sake of the girls that you loved. “I’ll be there,” you responded, and Caroline’s eyes lit up with a grin.

“Great,” she beamed. “And about your grandma. I’m so sorry, babe. She was a really good person.”

You nodded. “Thank you. She really was.” Caroline gave you one last hug before you both parted ways to finish warming up before the game.

———————————-

Sweat dripped off your temples. You blinked roughly, trying to stave off the fogginess creeping in at the edge of your vision. Your muscles ached, screaming for oxygen and a break from the constant back-and-forth of the game. Whenever you opened your mouth, your throat burned from all the screaming you’d done over the past hour to attempt to communicate as well as UConn was doing.

It was no use. You’d been part of the UConn system before, and the drills that Geno had spent hours on, making sure you guys talked through every play, calling out unders or overs on screens, back door cuts, and picks, made the defensive coordination of UConn the best in the nation. Your team was starting to loosen at the seams and fall behind, and you could sense it.

The entire game had been intense, a battle of aggression between the two teams seemingly fueled by the personal vendettas between you and Paige, each captains of your respective teams. She was relentless, having scored 30 points with 2 minutes left in the last quarter. You’d yet to defend her, which was a relief. You didn’t know if you could bear all the aggressive contact, the tensions, the overflow of emotions that would occur once you started to guard her.

After Aaliyah posted up to score another latup, Gottlieb signaled for a time out. “Alright,” she declared, focusing her eyes on you. “You’re taking Paige. I want you to press her hard. Keep your weight off your heels and don’t cross your feet.”

You squirted water into your mouth, nodding. You guys were down by 5 points, and shutting down Paige was the main priority right now. USC broke, but Juju grabbed your arm. “Hey,” she said lowly. “Keep your emotions out of this, alright? Focus on the game.”

You clenched your jaw, avoiding eye contact with your best friend. “I got it. I want to win just as much as you do.”

“Okay.” Juju clearly didn’t believe you, but she released your arm and jogged back to her spot. You rolled back your shoulders. Right now was not the time to think about how Paige was looking at you, or how her girlfriend was sitting court-side, just a few feet from your assigned spot. You wiped the bottom of your shoes, trying to get rid of the sweat in your palms and add some traction to your feet. Leslie eyed you the entire time, smacking her gum loudly. “Come on, Paige!” she cheered with an obnoxious grin as soon as she made eye contact with you. You clenched your jaw, feeling Juju give you a warning look from across the court.

One of your teammates unbounded the ball, and you took off across the court. Rayah stepped out to set a screen, but you drove baseline away from it. You received the ball as you reached the post, and you passed it to Juju, who was waiting at the 3. The play ran beautifully, but as the ball arched towards Juju, a hand reached up and knocked it down.

Paige grabbed the ball and passed it down the court to Nika. You sprinted to defense, heart pumping, fueled by the humiliation of getting a pass intercepted, and by Paige of all people. You reached Nika, lunging for the ball in a desperate last second attempt, but she side stepped you for the layup, sending you flying across the floor.

You heard the oohs of the crowds as you landed hard on your butt, your ankle twisted underneath you. Biting your lip to muffle your shout of pain, you clenched your jersey to try and assuage the throbbing in your tailbone and leg.

You heard a commotion around you, and suddenly there was Paige, standing above you, concern etched into her eyebrow. She held out a hand, but Juju quickly appeared, bending down to touch your elbow and offering her own hand. Ignoring Paige, you wrapped both of your hands around Juju’s as she heaved you up.

Paige stepped back, her mouth in an unforgiving line. “You okay?” she asked, tone haughty and neutral.

“She’s fine,” Juju snapped, stepping protectively between the two of you. “Give her some space, will you?”

Paige held her hands up in surrender and took a couple steps back. Her gaze on you stayed with unwavering intensity, though. But you avoided it, like you’d done the entire game, and let the trainer examine you.

“You good?” Nika ran up to you, chest heaving. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah.” You smiled in reassurance at her. “Not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

Nika nodded as the trainer helped you up and led you off the court. Paige’s gaze burned into your back, but when you turned around, she quickly averted her eyes.

You hadn’t injured yourself, only taken a rough fall, but you still sat on the bench for the remaining minute of the game. Unfortunately, with your dominating presence out, USC couldn’t catch up, and your team lost by a single heartbreaking point.

You walked slowly as USC and UConn formed lines to wish each other a good game. You’d been nervous beforehand, thinking about what to say to the girls, but Caroline had told the truth. None of them seemed to have anything against you, all pulling you in for a tight hug and telling you how good you played and how much they missed you. So although you were exhausted and your ankle was starting to throb again, you knew that you had to go to Caroline’s hangout.

—————————-

“Oh my god, come in!” You chuckled as Azzi opened the door and practically started jumping on her heels from excitement. You grabbed Juju’s hand and led her in from behind you. She was there for backup, a familiar face in a sea of once familiar faces. When you’d asked the Uconn girls if she could come, they’d all happily agreed, saying that they’d been wanting to meet the freshman phenom that had taken the basketball world by storm.

The girls were scattered around Caroline’s apartment. Some of them were sprawled on the couch, watching an NBA game as if they hadn’t had enough basketball for the night. Others were drinking wine in the kitchen and picking at a charcuterie board. Thankfully, you didn’t see any sign of a blonde when you scanned the room, and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Hey guys, this is Juju.” Juju waved her hand shyly, and everyone clambered up to meet her. You smiled at the scene. Despite rivalries on the court and the vigor that UConn played with, you knew they left behind all of that once the shot clock buzzed for the final time. These girls were the nicest you’d ever met, welcoming everyone as their own.

You and Juju found a spot on the couch. You were almost getting comfortable before the door swung open and a familiar laugh filled the room. You didn’t bother to look up, trying to play it cool, but when Juju laid a hand on your arm in warning the same time an unfamiliar voice resonated, you realized that a certain brunette had came too.

Masking your face with indifference, you congratulated yourself for having the power to control your facial expression once Paige and Leslie tumbled into the family room, Leslie’s hands attached to Paige’s waist as they both laughed, obviously already having put some drinks into their system before coming here. You ignored the silence that had fallen over the rest of the team as they realized the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’m so sorry,” Caroline mouthed from her spot on the armchair. “I didn’t know she was gonna be here.”

You only shrugged, your eyes focused on your lap as you tried to maintain your facade of apathy. Juju shifted closer to you in support, and you’d never loved her more.

“Okay!” Caroline said brightly, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “Who wants a margarita?” All the girls cheered, and the ambience in the apartment returned as conversations resumed.

This is only awkward if you let it be awkward, you thought. You and Paige had broken up over a year ago. You could be civil. You were so over her. But you knew you were lying from the way your insides jolted when Leslie leaned in to press a loud kiss on Paige’s cheek.

Soon, some of the girls started recording Tiktoks and doing silly dances. You turned down their offers to make a cameo in their videos, content with just watching. As you observed rhem, it dawned on you how much you’d missed them. Their silliness made you laugh in a way you hadn’t laughed at in a long time. Throughout the entire night, you tried to pretend as if Paige and Leslie didn’t exist, although it was hard with the exuberant amount of PDA they were showing. They were sitting on each other’s laps, their hands wandering, and they weren’t making out but you almost wish they were so that you wouldn’t have to see either of their faces.

“Paige! Did you come here to celebrate or eye fuck your girlfriend the entire time?” KK yelled, waving a Nintendo controller. “Come play Smash Bros.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she caught the controller that KK threw at her. She wrapped around Leslie, who was still on top her lap, and started to press buttons on the controller as she chose her chatacter. You stiffened at the memory of Paige doing the exact same thing with you, all those late nights she’d played Fortnite with the team, you falling asleep with your head in the crook of her neck as she gamed. It’d always ended with her carrying you to bed, tucking you in and wrapping her arms around yours.

“Watch out KK,” Leslie joked. “P is a beast at Smash Bros.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at smashing,” Paige teased, her words dripping with sexual undertones. Everyone groaned, and Leslie giggled, a high pitched and screeching noise that you thought could be used as torture for prisoners if put on replay.

Leslie reached for her margarita, but her movements were sluggish from her tipsy state, causing the alcohol to slosh over the side of the cocktail glass. Immediately, Paige jumped up, hurriedly removing Leslie from her lap as she examined herself. It was only then that you realized that Paige had taken off the sweater she’d arrived with and was now in your grandma’s jersey, a jersey that now sported a large wet stain.

“Leslie, oh my god.” She yelled, her voice panicked. “I told you to be careful.”

“Oh shit, my bad.” Leslie set down her drink and reached for Paige, who stepped backwards and away from her touch.

“You fucker.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew it, and all eyes in the room turned to you. Juju kicked you nervously, but you ignored her. “How could you?” You rushed over to Paige, looking closely at the jersey now reeking with alcohol. You held back tears as you saw the print already starting to fade. The jersey was 60 years old, already fragile and old, and you knew that it was now as good as ruined.

Paige turned to Leslie. “I thought I told you not to fucking drink while you were around me. You know how important this jersey is to me.”

Leslie stood rigid, her expression now calculated. “You guys are being so dramatic. Let me have the jersey. I’ll go wash it and bring it back good as new.”

“Don’t you dare fucking touch it.” You turned from Leslie, gently touching the frayed ends with shaky fingers. “You can’t just wash it. It’ll fall apart. Oh my god, you just ruined one of the only things my grandma left us.” Your voice was choked now, tears forming at your eyes. “Shit!” You slammed your first into the ground in anger.

The team exchanged hesitant looks, worry clear in their eyes. Juju came up from behind you. “Come on, babe,” she whispered. “I’m sure we can do something about it. Let me take a look, hmm?”

You moved aside, but from the look on Juju’s face as the faded patches and stressed seams became visible as she studied it, you knew there was no use. The tears started falling then, an uncontrollable stream that left you feeling broken. “Excuse me,” you whimpered, and you ran into the bathroom, locking yourself inside.

You heard murmurs of the team outside. You heard the front door slam. Soon, someone knocked softly on the door. “It’s Juju,” your friend called, and you resignedly unlocked the door and let her inside before shutting it again.

You slumped down on the ground, you face in your hands. “Oh,” Juju whispered, and she knelt down next to you as you started to sob.

Another knock came in, followed by a tentative voice calling your name. You exchanged looks with Juju, who got up and slipped outside.

“Are you serious right now?” Juju’s voice was muffled, but you could still hear the fury radiating from her words. “You know you’re the reason she’s crying right now?”

“I know.” A pause. “I need to apologize.”

“She doesn’t wanna see you right now.”

You heard Paige‘s sharp intake of breath. “Juju, please.”

You could practically feel Juju’s hesitance, but she must‘ve relented, because when the door opened, it was Paige who stepped in.

[aftaylorglow]

i want so badly for taylor swift to speak out against israel and the genocide this apartheid state is committing in palestine. im so proud of her and everything she has achieved this year, starting from the eras tour to her successful rerecords. it’s not a surprise she’s on top of many year-end most influential/best of the best lists.

but what then? what use is her ever-growing influence? it’s ridiculous to say but she’s the only one who has enough of a sway to make people actually pay attention to something. just look at how the voter registration in the US spiked again when she posted about it a few months ago. how the NFL had boosted views for the simple fact that she was attending the games. can you imagine how much the tides would change if she denounced israel’s atrocities? if she rallied for support for palestinians? the legions of swifties would actually listen and pay attention. because right now only a very small fraction of us care, truly care, about what’s happening. the rest are too busy fishing for a taylor nation notice.

yes, taylor swift cannot end wars. no, it’s not taylor swift’s job to make life better for an oppressed population. but she has the platform, the momentum, and the voice to bring all these issues to light.

this is not to mention how the apartheid state has been using her pictures, her lyrics, even the friendship bracelets to further their propaganda. did taylor not fervently oppose the n@zis who were calling her an aryan goddess a few years ago? even if this is all she does now, ask them not to use her for their propaganda, it would already do so much.

instead she’s silent. when her influence is needed the most, she’s not there.

the sad thing is, we all know she’ll live and thrive if she chooses to stay silent. hell, i have tickets to see her next year. she’ll continue to be successful and she will put out more albums and she’ll earn more money and she’ll be safe and happy. palestinians have none of any of this. some of them are dying under the rubble after their house is hit with b0mbs that israel is dropping as im typing this.

but if she uses her influence? if she puts pressure on the government, on joe biden whom she proudly endorsed, there’s a chance that she could tip the scales. and even if it doesn’t work, isn’t it better to have at least tried? even selfishly, will your conscience not feel lighter knowing you did something instead of nothing?

taylor, you have a ton of resources at your disposal. i hope you use them, and i hope you use your influence to help the palestinian people.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Singapore GP

Masterlist

It had only been a few days since my outburst after the Azerbaijan GP, but it felt like an eternity. The media was ravenous, tearing apart every word I’d said and dissecting it for all it was worth. Some outlets offered sympathy, sending condolences to my family and dismissing the biases against me. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like maybe—just maybe—things would finally start to shift in my favor.

But, as always, there were others. The kind who clung to outdated ideas and used my grief-fueled reaction as ammunition. A woman can’t handle the pressure of Formula 1, they claimed. She’s too emotional, too volatile, too fragile. Never mind that nearly every driver on the grid had snapped at the media at some point. Those moments were chalked up to “passion” or “fierce determination,” but mine? Mine was treated like a personal weakness—a reason to question my very right to be here.

The hypocrisy stung more than I wanted to admit. I thought about Max’s defense in the media pen, about the way Franco, Charles, and Lewis had all rallied around me afterward. Their support had meant the world, but it didn’t erase the sting of those words or the way they lingered in the paddock air, just waiting to suffocate me all over again.

I clenched my jaw as I scrolled through headlines that morning, each one angrier than the last. I wasn’t mad at myself for standing up or for revealing the truth about my mom—I knew she would’ve wanted me to fight for myself—but I was mad that this sport, the one I’d worked so hard to be a part of, could still be so ruthless. How many battles did I have to win off-track before people would focus on what I was doing on it?

I set my phone down with a sharp exhale, staring out the window of my hotel room. The next race was just days away, and I couldn’t afford to let the noise distract me. I needed to perform again—to show them all why I deserve this seat.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the quiet of my room. Startled, I crossed the floor quickly, not even bothering to check the peephole. When I swung the door open, I froze. Standing there was Franco, his usual easygoing smile in place, and beside him—looking more like he’d rather be anywhere else—was Lando.

Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Hermosa, you’ve been hiding away too long. Thought I’d come check on you,” he said lightly. Then he gestured toward Lando. “And I brought company.”

Lando shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he avoided my gaze for a moment before finally looking up, his expression uncertain. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.

I blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all people, Lando was the last person I expected to show up at my door. “Uh, hey,” I said hesitantly, my grip tightening slightly on the door handle. “What’s going on?”

Franco gave me a knowing look, his grin widening. “Don’t look at me. This one asked to come along.”

Lando shot him a glare but quickly turned back to me, clearing his throat. “Can we talk? I—uh—I owe you an apology.”

I raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering in my chest. “You’re here to apologize?”

He nodded, his gaze earnest now. “Yeah. I’ve... I’ve been an ass. And I shouldn’t have been. Can we come in? Please?”

I hesitated, my instincts screaming to keep the door firmly shut. But then I glanced at Franco, whose encouraging nod gave me just enough of a push. With a reluctant sigh, I stepped aside, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms as I closed the door behind them. “You’ve got five minutes. Make it count.”

Lando stepped into the room cautiously, his eyes darting around as if he were stepping into enemy territory. Franco, on the other hand, strolled in like he owned the place, dropping into the chair by the desk with an easy smile.

Lando hesitated in the middle of the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. So, uh...” He glanced at Franco, clearly hoping for a lifeline. When none came, he sighed, finally meeting my gaze. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For... well, everything.”

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, leaning against the wall. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Norris. What exactly are you sorry for?” My tone wasn’t harsh, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for him either.

Lando’s cheeks flushed, and he shifted on his feet, looking down for a moment before forcing himself to hold my gaze. “For believing the rumors. For judging you before I even knew you. For being a... jerk.”

Franco snorted from his spot, earning a glare from Lando. “That’s putting it mildly,” Franco muttered, his grin never faltering.

“Franco,” I warned, though I couldn’t help the small twitch of amusement that pulled at my lips. Turning my attention back to Lando, I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Lando sighed, clearly uncomfortable but determined to get through this. “Look, I’m not proud of how I acted. I was an idiot. I listened to all the crap people were saying, and I let it cloud my judgment. I didn’t even give you a chance, and that’s on me.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “But after what you said in Azerbaijan... and everything that came out... I realized how wrong I was.”

I stared at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. His expression was open, genuine, and there was a nervous energy about him that told me this wasn’t easy for him to admit. Still, I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, my voice calm but sharp. “You only realized you were wrong because the truth came out? Not because you actually got to know me or thought for yourself?”

Lando flinched, and I could see the guilt flash in his eyes. “No, that’s not... I mean, maybe at first, yeah. But it’s not just that.” He took a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “It’s... I realized I’ve been a hypocrite. People judged me when I first got into F1, you know? Said I didn’t deserve to be here, that I was just a spoiled kid who got lucky. I hated it. And yet, I turned around and did the same thing to you.”

His words hit a nerve, and I felt my stance soften slightly, though I kept my guard up. “So, what changed?” I asked quietly.

Lando hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I saw how strong you were. How you handled everything, even when the media was tearing you apart. I realized... I was wrong about you. And I hate that I contributed to making things harder for you. You didn’t deserve that.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words settling between us. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his expression. He wasn’t just saying this to save face—he meant it.

Franco, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “You know, Hermosa, not everyone has the guts to admit when they’ve screwed up. Especially not this guy.” He gestured toward Lando with a smirk. “Maybe you should cut him a little slack.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “You’re not off the hook, Norris,” I said, my tone lighter now. “But... I appreciate the apology.”

Lando’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he gave me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll do better. I want to make things right.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of closure I hadn’t expected. “Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure Franco here never lets you live it down.”

Franco laughed, throwing an arm around Lando’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll keep him in line.”

As the tension in the room eased, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe things wouldn’t change overnight, but this was a start. And for now, that was enough.

Franco stretched his arms behind his head, breaking the momentary silence with a loud sigh. “Well, now that we’ve handled all this heavy emotional stuff, how about we grab some food? I’m starving.” He patted his stomach for dramatic effect. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Lando owes us lunch after all that.”

Lando’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “What? How do I owe—”

“You just do,” Franco interrupted with a grin. “Consider it part of your apology tour.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at their antics. “Fine. But if you’re buying, Norris, we’re not going to settle for some cheap takeaway.”

“Of course not,” Franco added, already halfway out the door. “I’ve got my heart set on something fancy. Maybe a steakhouse.”

“Steakhouse?” Lando groaned, following us reluctantly. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Franco threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him down the hallway. “Too late, mate. You’re stuck with us now.”

We ended up at a quaint little restaurant just outside the hotel. It wasn’t a steakhouse, but it had a cozy charm that none of us could resist. The smell of fresh bread and soup filled the air as we slid into a booth by the window.

Franco didn’t waste any time grabbing the menu and announcing, “Okay, I’m ordering at least three appetizers. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m definitely judging you,” I said, smirking as I grabbed my own menu.

Lando leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, a playful glint in his eye. “You can judge him all you want, but I’m judging you both for making me pay.”

“Oh, stop whining,” Franco shot back. “You’re the one trying to redeem yourself. This is part of the process.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at their bickering. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a sense of normalcy, like I could just be myself without the weight of the rumors or the pressure of the media hanging over me.

As we waited for our food, Franco leaned in with a mischievous grin. “So, Hermosa, since we’re celebrating your P6, what’s the first thing you’re going to do with your newfound fame?”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t win, Franco. It’s just P6.”

“Still better than my finish,” Franco said with a grin, pointing a finger at himself. “P8 feels like crumbs compared to what you pulled off. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

Lando smirked, tossing a napkin at him. “Careful, Franco. Keep talking like that, and I might ‘accidentally’ forget my wallet.”

“Then I guess you’ll be washing dishes,” I quipped, earning a laugh from both of them.

For the next hour, the three of us talked and laughed like old friends. The heavy conversation from earlier felt like a distant memory, replaced by lighthearted jokes and stories. It wasn’t lost on me how much I needed this—a moment to just breathe, to forget about the noise and the chaos of the paddock, and to remember why I loved being here in the first place.

As we left the café, Franco threw an arm around my shoulders, his grin as wide as ever. “See? This is why you need me around, Hermosa. I make everything better—even if you did outdo me on track today.”

Lando shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” I said, laughing as we walked back toward the paddock. For the first time in days, I felt lighter, like maybe—just maybe—I was finally turning a corner.

The next day was media day for the Singapore GP, and Marcus had picked me up from the hotel. The drive to the track was quiet, save for the faint hum of the car’s engine. I stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past, but my mind was elsewhere.

I could already imagine the chaos waiting for me at the paddock—journalists with their microphones shoved forward, their voices louder and more relentless than ever. Some of them would be asking invasive questions, spinning my story to fit their own narratives. Others would act like they cared, offering empty condolences just to lure me into saying something headline-worthy.

And then there were the fans. Half of them were incredible—supportive, holding signs with messages of encouragement, and calling out words of solidarity. But the other half? They were the ones who believed the rumors, who thought I didn’t belong here, who shouted things I didn’t want to hear. The mixture of love and hatred was overwhelming, and it left me feeling pulled in every direction at once.

Marcus glanced over at me, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

I hesitated, not wanting to dump everything I was feeling onto him, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah. Just… thinking about what today’s going to be like.”

He didn’t press further, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Don’t let them get to you. You’ve got a job to do, and you’re damn good at it. That’s what matters.”

His words were kind, but they didn’t stop the knot in my stomach from tightening as we approached the track. The car rolled to a stop near the paddock entrance, and I could already hear the buzz of activity. The moment I stepped out, it hit me like a tidal wave.

Cameras flashed, voices shouted over one another, and I couldn’t even make out what was being said. It was a cacophony of opinions, questions, and judgments—some supportive, others downright cruel. I kept my head down, walking briskly as Marcus stayed close, acting as a barrier between me and the frenzy.

“Keep moving,” he murmured. “You don’t owe anyone anything right now.”

I nodded, focusing on my steps. But the weight of it all pressed down on me—the rumors, the expectations, the opinions of people who didn’t even know me. It was exhausting. Yet, somewhere in the chaos, I spotted a fan holding up a sign that read, “You’re stronger than the hate—keep fighting!”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. It was a reminder that not everyone was against me, but the noise around it made it hard to hold onto that thought for long.

By the time we reached the safety of the garage, I felt like I’d run a marathon. Taking a deep breath, I tried to push it all aside. Today was about racing. That’s what mattered. I had to remind myself why I was here—why I fought so hard to stay. 

After a quick debrief with Marcus, I made my way toward the press area, my steps steady but my heart beating just a little faster than I’d like. I knew the routine by now—smile, stay composed, and avoid giving too much away. Especially about my family.

The first round of interviews started with a smaller group of journalists. They fired off the usual questions: plans for FP1, my goals for the weekend, how I was handling the increased scrutiny. I kept my answers light but confident, redirecting whenever someone tried to veer too close to personal territory.

“Your performance in Azerbaijan was phenomenal,” one reporter said, their voice tinged with surprise, as if they hadn’t expected me to do well. “Do you think P6 is a sign of what’s to come?”

I smiled, holding back a sharp retort. “Absolutely. It felt great to show what I’m capable of. I’ve been working hard with my team, and we’re making steady progress. My focus is on consistency—building on each race and aiming higher every time.”

Another journalist chimed in, less subtle. “You’ve been in the headlines a lot lately, and not just for your racing. How are you dealing with the pressure, especially considering the personal challenges you’ve alluded to?”

I kept my smile in place, even as I felt the familiar pang in my chest. “Racing has always been my focus. It’s what I love, and it’s what I’m here to do. Pressure comes with the territory in Formula 1, and I’m learning to handle it like any other driver. At the end of the day, it’s about what happens on track.”

The questions kept coming, some more probing than others, but I managed to steer the conversation back to my racing. I highlighted my achievements—my steady climb through the junior categories, the challenges I’d overcome to earn my seat, and my determination to keep improving.

“I know I still have a lot to prove,” I said, meeting the gaze of the reporters. “But I’m not afraid of hard work. Every race is a chance to learn and grow, and that’s what I’m focusing on. I want to be a driver that earns respect on track, not just for what people say off it.”

One reporter pressed further, his tone almost condescending. “Do you think the recent attention is overshadowing your talent? Some might say it’s hard to separate the drama from the driver.”

I held his gaze, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I think my results speak for themselves. P6 in Baku, qualifying consistently in the top ten, and building strong relationships with my team—that’s what I care about. The rest? It’s just noise.”

By the time I moved on to the next group, I felt a mix of exhaustion and pride. I had kept my composure, redirecting every attempt to pry into my personal life back toward my career. It wasn’t easy, but I reminded myself why I was here.

As I finished the last interview of the day, I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. I’d made it through without faltering, holding my head high even when they tried to bring me down. And in the back of my mind, I knew that this, too, was part of the fight—to prove that I belonged here, not just as a driver, but as a force to be reckoned with.

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

Hey look! New stuff that isn’t a rewrite!

A thanks to Yandy for inspiring me! It was fun adding something super goofy to Mafia Au!

Teeechnically there’s nothing Yandere or mafia in this but, it’s in the Au so it counts! Consider this a filler!

(The named OCs (minus the Dean of course.)that are connected to (y/n) belong to Yandy so if you got questions about them, ask thaaat lovely lass.)

Anywho, enjooooy!

———

————-

———

It’s a warm afternoon, the sun lazily stretching its rays across the bustling college campus. Students crowd the quad, gathered around a hastily assembled stage.

A buzz thrums through the air, fueled by the promise of an announcement that has everyone on edge. (Y/n) stands with her back against one of the quad’s large trees, arms crossed, looking relaxed yet curious.

Beside her, Tess lounges on the grass, her knees pulled up.

Nic leans against the tree trunk beside her, arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd.

“It’s a shame Jack’s still helping out mom and dad,” (Y/n) muses, glancing at the chaotic crowd. “She’d love this, but she won’t be back in time.”

Tess chuckles, “Lucky for us you mean. She’d probably destroy all of us in whatever madness they’re cooking up.”

(Y/n) smiles, nodding. “True. It’s probably for the best.”

The day seemed too calm, almost as if the entire campus was waiting for something to happen. Tess tilts her head towards (Y/n), her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Think it’s going to be good?” she asks, barely containing a grin.

(Y/n) shrugs, trying to stay casual but the tension is starting to crawl into her posture.

“Depends on the prize. If it’s another pizza party, I’m not losing a limb over it.”

Nic, who’d been pretending not to care, finally speaks up.

“If they’re gathering this many people, it’s not gonna be a pizza party. You don’t rally the entire campus for cheap cardboard and cheese.”

The trio falls into a watchful silence as the Dean finally steps up to the microphone, looking far too pleased with himself.

The guy had the aura of someone who believed he’d found the next viral college stunt, like this one genius idea was going to get him written into school legend.

The Dean, in a suit just a little too tight, beams at the students, raising his hands like a conquering hero.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming! Today we have an announcement that will change the next two weeks for ALL of you!” He pauses for effect, and it’s clear he’s basking in the suspense.

Tess, with a casual smirk, mutters, “Hope he’s wearing something waterproof. This crowd’s gonna riot if he says ‘raffle tickets’.”

Dean Farrow clears his throat and grins like a man about to drop a bombshell.

“As you all know, it’s time for our annual campus-wide paintball tournament!”

There’s a faint murmur of excitement, but it’s restrained. Paintball was a yearly thing, fun, but nothing that would send the campus into a frenzy.

(Y/n) raises an eyebrow. “Paintball? Again? That’s it?”

“As you all know, last year’s paintball tournament was canceled due to the campus renovations.”

Disgruntled murmurs were heard throughout the crowd. (Y/n) could relate. No one had been happy last year.

The Dean cleared his throat. “But this year… it’s back!”

The murmurs grew louder, anticipation rising. Nic raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. Tess was already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The Dean continued, oblivious to the rising storm in front of him. “Now, let’s talk prizes! For the runner up, an all expenses paid spa weekend!”

A few cheers and claps sounded, but nothing too enthusiastic.

“Better than a pizza party!” Tess chirped.

But the Dean wasn’t finished.

“This year, though, we’ve decided to up the stakes. The grand prize for the last person standing—” He pauses again for dramatic effect. “Will be priority registration for next semester and the option to skip one final exam!”

For a second, the world seems to stop. Everyone in the quad freezes. The trio looks stunned. It’s the kind of silence so intense you could hear a pin drop on grass.

“Now students, the tournament will begin—”

A single scream tears through the air as some random student, no doubt acting on pure instinct, whips out a hidden paintball pistol and shoots his friend square in the chest. Bright yellow paint splatters across his shirt as he stumbles back, but the action sets off a chain reaction.

Hell breaks loose.

Students dive for cover, pull paintball guns from their bags, jackets, and God knows where else. Some bolt for the bushes. Others start forming alliances on the fly. The crowd disperses like wildfire, everyone scrambling to avoid being the first casualty as the Dean attempts to control the sudden chaos he unleashed.

“S-Students wait! The tournament won’t be for another-!!” He ducks as several paintballs were shot at him.

Tess, cackling like a madwoman, is already on her feet, using her bag to knock down a student that tried to sneak up on them.

“Now that is a prize worth fighting for!”

Nic, already frowning but with a glint of anticipation in his eyes, pulls a small paintball gun from his satchel.

(Y/n) blinks. “Why do you—”

“I’m not flunking a final because I have to memorize another 400 pages of economics.”

Just as Nic grabs Tess and (Y/n) by their arms, dragging them toward the nearest set of bushes, Tess glances at (Y/n) and says, “Actually, it’s a good thing Jack’s not here. She’d win this in a heartbeat, and we’d all be toast.”

(Y/n) nods, ducking as a paintball whizzes past them. “Yeah, she’d mop the floor with us.”

Nic, who was now crouched behind the dense greenery, adds with a smirk, “You’re not wrong. We’d all be out before we even got started.”

As the chaos erupts around them, (Y/n) peeks over the top of the bench, watching the pandemonium unfold in the quad. Paintballs fly in every direction, splattering students left and right.

A couple of nerds are already hiding under the admin building’s steps, shouting something about regrouping.

“What the hell is happening right now??” (Y/n) gasps, trying to catch her breath.

“Natural selection,” Nic answers, crouched beside them, his eyes darting around like a man possessed. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

Tess grins. “The plan is: we win.”

Nic, already firing at a group of art students rushing them, gives Tess a look. “That’s not a plan.”

“It’s all I need,” Tess retorts, shooting at two students passing by.

Nic rolls his eyes. “The real plan is: we find a safe place, avoid the jocks, they’ll be in full attack mode, and stay clear of the chess club. Those guys play dirty. Trust me.”

“The chess club?” Tess asks, raising an eyebrow.

Nic nods gravely. “They’re organized, strategic, and ruthless. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Shut up.”

(Y/n) groaned, leaning back against the bush. "Nic, we don’t even have enough paintball guns!"

Tess grinned, pulling a paintball gun from seemingly nowhere and handing it to (Y/n). "Here, you’re gonna need this."

(Y/n) blinked at her in shock. "Where did you—"

Tess jabbed her thumb in the direction of a guy lying on the ground a few feet away, struggling to get back up. “Borrowed it.”

Nic smirked. "Nice work, Tess."

“Alright,” he continued, his voice lowering as he glanced over the quad. “We need to move. Now.”

Just then, Nic froze, his eyes narrowing. “Crap. Chess club. Twelve o’clock.”

They all whipped their heads in the direction Nic was looking and sure enough, several members of the chess club were efficiently taking people out with precise shots, their strategy impeccable.

“RUN!” Nic shouted, and the three of them bolted from their hiding spot, sprinting across the quad, ducking behind anything they could find.

——

——

——

The manor was unusually quiet, save for the idle hum of conversation among the Chain. The air was thick with the smell of wood polish and the faint echo of footsteps across the hardwood floors.

Warriors leaned back in his chair, wiping a stray smear of blood off his gauntlet while Sky whittle away at a small block of wood , the room basked in the rare moments of calm they were afforded between missions.

“Ugh,” Warriors groaned, tossing the rag onto the table. “I swear, grinding bones after severing limbs is such a hassle. I’ve said it a hundred times, it’s way easier to just grind the body as a whole. Saves time.”

Wind, lounging nearby with a playful smirk, chimed in, “Or, you know, you could just feed the whole bodies to pigs. That’d solve your problem in no time. Pigs’ll eat everything.”

Time, who had been writing a report across from Sky, didn’t even look as he calmly spoke to Wind, his voice measured and even. “Wind is not allowed to assist with body disposal for a month.”

“What?!” Wind protested, sitting up straight. “Again?!? Come on! I’m being punished just for making suggestions now? It's a good idea! The pigs back home could-“

Twilight chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re weird about the pigs, Wind. You use them like you use those seagulls, way too much enthusiasm for… clean-up.”

“That’s different!” Wind huffed, crossing his arms. “Pigs are just… practical.”

"Uh-huh," Four muttered sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as he turned the page of his book.

Meanwhile, Hyrule sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a vague smile, half-listening to the chatter around him. Time, however, was only pretending to read the report in front of him. His blank expression hid the mental whirlwind after he decided to check on how (Y/n)’s paintball game was going on his phone.

The screen in front of him showed what could only be described as a literal war zone on campus, students running, screaming, and paintballs flying in every direction like some kind of apocalyptic battle.

Time’s eyebrows rose. How had it devolved into this so quickly? He knew about the prize, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of chaos from a bunch of college students. He forced himself to remain outwardly calm, though his blank expression became more strained with each passing second.

Just then, Hyrule’s phone buzzed. He blinked and frowned slightly at the unknown number, hesitating before answering. “Hello?”

There was a brief moment of silence, then (Y/n)’s frantic, breathless voice exploded through the phone.

“SEND DUDES! AND NOT TIME, CAUSE I DON’T TRUST HIS DEPTH PERCEPTION!”

Time’s eye twitched sharply at her comment, and for a brief second, the other Links swore they saw a vein pop on his forehead. He grunted quietly in annoyance but remained silent, though his expression was growing more strained by the second. He was still distracted by the chaos unfolding on his screen-paintballs flying everywhere, students diving behind cover, and… was that someone wearing a trash can as armor?

“What-” Hyrule started to say, but before he could get a full sentence out, there was another crash on (Y/n)’s end of the line.

“NIC, BEHIND YOU! NO, NOT THAT WAY-“

(Y/n)’s voice came back, still chaotic but trying to sound cheery. “Anyway, gotta go, good luck! See you soon!” And with that, the call abruptly ended.

The room was silent for a beat, everyone waiting for Hyrule to explain. Time didn’t seem to notice the stares, his eyes still glued to his screen, watching the unfolding mayhem with thinly veiled fascination and horror.

“What was that about?” Four asked, leaning forward, his face a mixture of concern and confusion.

Hyrule pocketed his phone and glanced around the room. “Uh… (Y/n) needs help. She said they’re in the middle of something, and-” he paused, glancing awkwardly at Time, ��-she, uh… doesn’t want you to come. Something about your depth perception?”

Time’s eye twitched again. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he stayed silent, though the tension radiating off him was palpable.

Warriors snorted. “She’s never gonna let you live that down.”

Time’s expression remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched as though he were imagining the penal he’d perform on her. He forced himself to exhale through his nose slowly, pretending to look calm.

Twilight, chuckling, grabbed his bag. “We should head out. Sounds like she’s in the middle of some chaos.”

Wind slung his bag over his shoulder with a grin. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a tournament, right?”

Four rolled his eyes as he followed Wind. “Yeah, because ‘just a tournament’ always ends in a disaster with us.”

Twilight laughed and nodded in agreement.

As the Chain started heading toward the door, Time remained seated, his expression still unreadable. The others gave him a curious glance, but he waved them off. “I’ve got other matters to handle.”

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Time let out a long, slow exhale, his carefully constructed calm mask slipping. His eyebrow twitched one last time before he muttered under his breath, “I’ve got half a mind to go down there myself and put a paintball between her eyes…my depth perception is fine.”

He stared at the screen.

. . .

Chaos continued.

. . .

He sighed.

——

. . . . . . . . . .

——

The group arrived at the college, their boots barely making a sound on the eerily quiet campus.

The air was unusually still, lacking the lively hum of students that Hyrule had described. Warriors narrowed his eyes as they walked further in, his instincts kicking in immediately, scanning the area for any sign of trouble.

“This is… strange,” Four commented, his gaze sweeping across the empty grounds. “Shouldn’t there be more…people around?”

“Yeah,” Hyrule agreed, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting (Y/n) to pop out from behind a tree. “Way too quiet.”

As they ventured further down the pathway, their pace slowed when they began to notice the state of the campus.

Banners hung torn and ragged, some barely fluttering in the faint breeze. Tables and chairs were scattered across the walkways, overturned with legs bent at odd angles. Posters were ripped apart, their remnants littering the ground like confetti after a storm.

“Looks like something went down here,” Wind muttered, eyes narrowing as he nudged aside a crumpled banner with his foot.

Warriors crouched near an overturned chair, his expression unreadable. “Stay on guard.”

They moved toward the heart of the campus, the atmosphere tense. The quad, once vibrant and bustling with students, now resembled a battlefield. Tables and chairs were toppled over, barricades had been hastily thrown together, and the occasional smear of paint marked various surfaces.

“I’ve seen war zones cleaner than this,” Four remarked, both baffled and somewhat impressed as he took in the chaotic scene.

“Where are all the students?” Twilight’s voice was tight, his eyes scanning every corner of the quad.

Warriors’ eyes flicked to the closed doors of the cafeteria on the far side. “We’ll find out.”

The group approached the doors cautiously, the silence growing heavier with each step. Warriors reached out to open the door, his hand mere inches from the handle when-

BAM!

The doors flew open, and a student tumbled out, barely managing to roll to their feet. More students followed, sprinting out after them, eyes wide with panic. They ducked behind cover as a barrage of paintballs zipped through the air from inside the cafeteria.

The heroes barely dodged as a few stray paintballs whizzed past, hitting the walls behind them.

“What the-” Wind exclaimed, jumping aside to avoid being hit.

They all exchanged glances before cautiously peeking into the cafeteria. What they saw inside was chaos in its purest form.

Students were ducking behind upturned tables and hastily constructed barricades, some scrambling for cover while others fired paintball guns from behind makeshift shields.

However, the level of paint on each participant varied, those with more splatters were lingering on the outskirts of the room, making their way to designated “out” zones where they waited with mild frustration. Others, still largely untouched, remained deep in the fray, determined to emerge victorious.

Hyrule, crouching behind the door frame , stared at the scene in disbelief. “Is this… is this what school is like now?”

Four, beside him and inspecting a large splatter of paint on the wall, furrowed his brow. “It’s like a battle… but with paint? Why are they taking it so seriously?”

Warriors squinted, scanning the room for any familiar face. “This has to be the tournament (Y/n) mentioned… and it looks like she’s in the middle of it.”

Wind, eyeing the students who had just bolted outside, grinned. “Well, I guess we’re jumping in.”

“Let’s find (Y/n) and get her out of this,” Four added, already strategizing their next move.

With determined expressions, they pushed into the cafeteria, weaving through the mayhem while dodging the constant splatter of paintballs. Whatever mess (Y/n) had found herself in, the Chain was about to find out.

——

——

—

Warriors, Twilight, Hyrule, Four, and Wind ducked low as they weaved through the chaos of the college campus. Paintballs whizzed past them, splattering on walls, floors, and the occasional student who didn’t move fast enough.

The paintball guns they had snagged from fallen participants were a welcome relief, helping them fend off incoming attacks and maintain some semblance of control in the ongoing mayhem.

The campus felt like a war zone, desks and chairs overturned, students screaming and shouting as they dove behind cover. Paint splattered walls lined their path, but the group pressed forward, dodging fire and returning shots when necessary.

“How do they even have this much ammo?” Four muttered, pausing to reload his paintball gun as they moved deeper into the school.

“I don’t know, but I’m running low,” Wind grumbled, shaking his gun and checking the chamber. “Why do I always end up in these situations?”

Warriors chuckled, eyes gleaming as he fired a few shots in return. “It’s not so bad. Good practice, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but no one’s actually dying,” Hyrule muttered, sounding a little uneasy as he ducked behind an overturned desk for cover.

Twilight fired off a few quick shots, covering their retreat as they dashed into another hallway. “Stay sharp. We still don’t know who’s controlling this madness, and we haven’t found (Y/n) yet.”

The echoes of paintball guns firing filled the corridor as they navigated through the chaos.

The action was intense, but it wasn’t long before things took a turn. Wind and Four, distracted by the onslaught, suddenly found themselves separated from the others, their backs pressed against a wall as two paint-splattered club members (mountain climbing club by the logo on their shirts) approached with fresh guns at the ready.

“Wind! out of ammo?” Four asked, quickly assessing the situation as the two club members drew closer.

“Yeah, I’m tapped,” Wind muttered, glancing nervously at the pair stalking toward them. “And these two look like they mean business.”

The club members raised their paintball guns, smirking as they prepared to fire.

Just as things looked bleak, a rapid series of shots rang out, and both club members were hit from behind, neon paint splattering across their backs. They yelped in surprise, stumbling forward before dramatically collapsing onto the ground, “defeated.”

Wind and Four blinked in surprise, staring at the paint-covered students for a moment before turning to see Tess standing a few feet away, her own paintball gun held confidently in hand. Her combat getup, though splattered with paint, gave her an air of authority.

“Come with me if you want to live!” Tess shouted dramatically.

One of the downed students groaned weakly from the ground, raising a hand. “No one’s actually dying…”

Tess immediately shot them again, causing the student to flinch and scramble for cover. “Shut it!” she barked, not missing a beat.

Wind and Four exchanged glances before quickly deciding to follow her. They dashed forward, Tess leading them through the chaos with expert precision. Her eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, ever vigilant.

“Good timing!” Wind called out as they caught up.

Tess glanced over her shoulder. “You’re the guys who know those other two! The one with the scars and the other with the pink streak in his hair. What were their names again?”

“That’s Wild and Legend,” Wind replied.

“Weird names,” Tess commented with a grin. “I love it.”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Four asked, narrowly dodging a stray paintball as they rounded a corner.

“She’s with our friend Nic,” Tess answered, never breaking stride. “I’m Tess, by the way. But listen, this paintball tournament has gone way past fun.” She paused for a moment, “Ok not really, but it’s turned into a full-blown warzone! The clubs are taking this way too seriously. Especially the book and bird-watching clubs. You guys ready for a real fight?”

At that moment, Warriors, Twilight, and Hyrule rejoined the group, their paintball guns still at the ready as they surveyed the situation.

Wind glanced around, assessing the chaos with a smirk. “This is more like it.”

Twilight shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Lead the way, Miss. We’re ready.”

And with that, they charged deeper into the fray, ready to rescue (Y/n) and see just what kind of madness she had gotten herself into this time.

———

——

—

Tess led the group through the chaotic halls, her hazel eyes scanning the area with the precision only someone used to leading tactical maneuvers during a paintball battle could have. The sounds of paintball fire echoed off the walls, students darting between cover in a frenzied battle for supremacy. Warriors, Twilight, Hyrule, Four, and Wind followed closely, keeping low and exchanging quick shots with other competitors to keep them at bay.

As they rounded a corner, Tess abruptly stopped and raised her hand, eyes widening. “Get down!” she hissed, diving behind a set of overturned benches. Without hesitation, the Chain followed her lead, crouching down just as a group of paint-covered students sprinted past, panic clear on their faces as they were still being shot at despite their clear disqualification.

One student, a guy with a brightly colored scarf, slowed down just long enough to shake his fist at them. “You think you’re so clever, huh? Wait until we unleash the library cart rampage on you! You won’t stand a chance!”

Another student, lagging behind, called out, “Yeah! And I’ll bring the staplers next time!”

Before Tess could respond, a barrage of paintball grenades was lobbed in their direction. “Move!” she barked, grabbing Wind by the back of his shirt and pulling him aside just before the grenades exploded in bursts of color. The group narrowly dodged the splatter, the paint hitting the ground where they had just been standing.

Once the danger passed, Tess motioned them forward, leading them toward a nearby building. She pulled open a door, and the heroes rushed inside, eager for some semblance of safety.

Tess let out a sharp, and practiced birdcall as they entered.

After a moment, another bird call was heard as Nic popped out from a teacher’s closet, looking alert but mercifully paint-free. “Thought you were goner for a sec,” he said, smirking at Tess.

Then, with a loud thunk, (Y/n) pushed the lid off a trash can and emerged, blinking as a crumpled piece of paper slid off her head. “Tactical hiding,” she said with a grin, though she was trying (and failing) to shake off some lingering bits of trash.

Warriors raised an eyebrow, taking in the scene. “Really?”

(Y/n) shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Twilight chuckled as Four shook his head, clearly amused by the unorthodox tactics.

“Nice timing,” Nic said, still standing by the closet door. “You’re the cavalry, right?”

Warriors nodded, already assessing the situation. “Something like that.”

Tess handed out extra ammo, moving with the calm efficiency of someone who had done this many times before. “Alright, listen up. We’ve been holding out here, but things are escalating. Some of the clubs are pulling out their weirder strategies.”

Four, catching his breath, glanced at (Y/n). “You okay?”

(Y/n) nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nic’s been keeping me out of trouble.”

Tess gave Nic a nod. “You can thank him later. But for now, we’ve got a tournament to win.”

Before anyone could respond, (Y/n)’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and froze. “Uh, one second…” She quickly answered, her voice suddenly a bit tense. “Hey, Jack! Hi! What’s up?”

On the other end, Jack’s voice was sharp, cold. “What the hell is going on?”

(Y/n) fumbled for an answer, glancing nervously at Nic and Tess, both of whom had gone pale. “Oh, uh, it’s really nothing- qjust, you know, a paintball tournament! Totally normal college stuff, no big deal!”

There was a long pause. In the background, they could faintly hear Jack speaking to someone. “Tell me exactly what’s happening,” she demanded, her voice firm and commanding. A student’s voice, trembling and intimidated, responded, “It’s the prize, ma’am’ first priority registration and to skip out on one final! That’s why everyone’s going crazy.”

The line went dead. (Y/n) stared at her phone in disbelief, “She hung up on me.” As the others in the room exchanged horrified looks.

Tess groaned, her face paling even further. “Oh no. This is bad. Really, really bad.”

Nic ran a hand through his hair, clearly panicking now. “Jack is on a warpath. We are so dead.”

Warriors furrowed his brow. “Who’s Jack?”

(Y/n) let out a small sigh, trying to hide her amusement at the whole situation. “My baby sister,” she said casually, though there was no missing the tension that had gripped the room.

“You remember she’s a year younger than you right?”

“Still my baby sister.”

Hyrule blinked in confusion. “Why is everyone so scared?”

(Y/n) shook her head with a grin, clearly unaffected by the dread that had spread among the others. “Because Jack’s… well, Jack. She’s a force of nature when she gets involved in something like this. But don’t worry,” she added, her tone light and teasing. “She’s terrifying, but she’s family.”

Tess let out a nervous laugh, clearly still shaken. “Yeah, ‘terrifying’ is an understatement.”

Nic looked between Tess and (Y/n), his expression grim. “We’ve faced some tough competition, but if Jack’s on the move now, we’re in for the fight of our lives.”

Wind, bouncing on his feet, cracked a grin. “Sounds fun! I’m ready for anything!”

Twilight crossed his arms, his lips twitching in amusement. “I think we’ll manage.”

“Yeah,” Warriors said, his voice calm and resolute. “We’ve handled worse. Let’s just make sure we’re ready.”

With Jack now in the mix, the stakes had been raised to an entirely new level.

But despite the panic in Tess and Nic’s eyes, (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile.

Warriors suddenly frowned, glancing around the small hideout. “Wait a second, have any of you seen Legend or Wild? I’ve no doubt they’d be involved.”

At his question, (Y/n), Nic, and Tess exchanged uneasy looks.

Warriors narrowed his eyes. “…What are those looks for?”

“Weeell…” Tess started, scratching the back of her head, “they were helping us for a while.”

“Yeah,” Nic added, “they joined up with us earlier. Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) completely demolished the competition.”

Tess nodded, a grin creeping onto her face. “Took out the cheerleaders too!”

“Absolutely wiped the floor with them,” (Y/n) said, her pride evident. But then she hesitated. “At least… until things got a little complicated?”

Twilight raised a brow. “Complicated? What do you mean?”

Tess sighed, shooting (Y/n) a look who smiled sheepishly before answering. “Let’s just say their, uh… desire for the prize kicked in.”

The heroes stared at her in disbelief. Four folded his arms. “There’s no way they turned on you for something as ridiculous as—”

Suddenly, a paintball whizzed by (Y/n)’s head, splattering bright pink paint across the wall behind her. She quickly ducked behind cover with Nic and Tess, all of them trying to avoid the shots being fired in their direction.

Out the window, Wild crouched a short distance away, peering over the edge of a table as he adjusted his aim. “Sorry, (Y/n)! But I’m not dealing with that physics final!”

(Y/n) peeked out from behind the barricade, glaring at him through the window. “Seriously?!”

Before Wild could shoot again, Legend appeared, leaping down from a nearby shelf with a paintball pistol in each hand. He pointed one at Wild and the other at (Y/n)’s group. “Only person who’s gonna win is ME!”

Wild glanced at him, his eyes narrowed in a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’ve got, like, two classes! You don’t even need priority registration, you damn hoarder!”

“And YOU need to be more dedicated to your studies! Ever heard of ‘testing out’ early?”

Wild rolled his eyes, ducking down as he dodged a few incoming paintballs. “Oh, come on! Skipping any final sounds good to anyone, okay?”

Twilight, still crouched behind a barricade, finally spoke up, unable to believe what he was seeing. “You two need to stand down! This is ridiculous!”

Wild shot back, “You don’t understand how bad exams are!”

One of the non-student heroes chimed in, shaking his head. “It’s just a stupid prize!”

At that, every student in the area turned to him as if he’d just proclaimed the most foolish thing imaginable.

As the standoff continued, chaos erupted. A random student, spotting the madness, shouted out to their teammates. “Hey! Look! They’re at it again!”

With the distraction, everyone began shooting and dodging, paintballs flying everywhere as (Y/n) sprinted out of the room with Nic and Tess hot on her heels, the rest of the group following closely behind.

Warriors, Twilight, Four, Hyrule, and Wind quickly regrouped with them, ducking and weaving between overturned tables and makeshift cover.

The next hour was a whirlwind of action. Every time (Y/n)’s group thought they’d gained the upper hand, Wild and Legend would pop up, guns blazing, trying to take down (Y/n) and each other with relentless determination.

“We’ve got to take them down!” (Y/n) huffed, crouching behind a row of tipped-over chairs. “They’re too good at this!”

Twilight popped his head up to fire off a few paintballs, only to duck again as Legend’s retaliatory shots whizzed past his head. “That’s easier said than done! These two are treating this like a battlefield!”

Warriors snorted from his position behind a tree. “Typical. We’re stuck in a ridiculous tournament, and they’re acting like it’s a warzone.”

Wind, who had joined the fray with glee, shouted, “I can’t believe they’re going all out over this! I love it!”

As they weaved through the chaos, (Y/n) caught a glimpse of the aftermath of the art club’s paintball rampage. Warriors commented on the terrifying efficiency of it all. “Look at the way the paintballs hit those students! They’re making it look like an art installation gone wrong.”

“That’s probably Jackie’s doing, probably took out the art club afterwards” (Y/n) said, with a grin. “Come on guys! Even if we hate it, if we don’t join forces, we won’t stand a chance against her!”

“She’s right and I hate it!” Tess chirped.

“Tess, I love you, but the shut t he FU-“

“I found more enemies!”

“Crap! The photography club! RUN.”

“Avoid the camera flashes!”

——

————

——

The paintball tournament was reaching its intense final showdown, and the field was nothing short of chaos. (Y/n), Wild, and Legend stood at opposite ends of the battlefield, their eyes narrowing as they sized each other up.

“(Y/n), just give it up,” Wild said, holding his paintball gun at the ready. “We’re not backing down, not when we’re this close.”

Legend gave a cocky smirk. “You think you can cute your way out of this?”

Before (Y/n) could even answer, Tess, who was covered head to toe in splattered paint and grinning like a madwoman, shouted from her hiding spot, “Don’t listen to them! Keep pushing! You’ve got this!”

Wind, equally paint-splattered and grinning like it was the best day of his life, chimed in. “Yeah! No standing down! This is war!”

Nic groaned from where he lay on the ground, covered in paint and utterly defeated. “Can someone please just finish this? I’ve been out for ten minutes…”

Meanwhile, Four leaned against a wall, his face twisted in frustration as he wiped paint off his cheek. “I swear, when we get back, I’m throwing an axe at Time for letting us walk into this mess.”

Twilight, looking equally as worn, nodded in agreement as he dusted himself off. “Seconded. And I’m helping you.”

Nearby, Warriors was struggling to free himself from the netting that had somehow been shot at him by the taxidermy club. “A little help here? I’m not going down like this, ugh, this is embarrassing.”

(Y/n), sensing the tension and not wanting to be the one to lose, decided to try one last tactic. She pouted, puffing out her cheeks and widening her eyes as she stepped forward, putting on her most innocent expression. “C’mon, guys… do we really have to do this? I mean, you could just let me win. I promise I won’t rub it in or anything. Pretty please?”

Wild and Legend exchanged a look, completely unconvinced. Wild raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to pull that on us?”

Legend rolled his eyes, loading another paintball into his pistol. “Come on, (Y/n). We know you better than that.”

(Y/n)’s pout quickly turned into a smirk, her eyes glinting mischievously as she dropped the act. “Oh, please. Like I’d waste real charm on the two of you. I just thought you’d appreciate a challenge before I mop the floor with your sorry asses.”

Wild and Legend both aimed their paintball guns at her, ready for the standoff. But before anyone could pull the trigger, a shadow loomed over them.

Suddenly, there was a loud clink as a paint grenade was tossed right into their midst. The entire group barely had time to react before a massive explosion of colorful paint detonated around them, splattering the entire field. (Y/n), Wild, and Legend were instantly covered in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens.

Stunned, they looked up to see none other than (Y/n)’s sister, Jack, standing in front of a window on the second floor with her perpetually deadpan expression. She was still wearing her paintball gear, yet somehow looked spotless compared to the absolute mess everyone else was in.

Nic groaned, wiping paint from his face. “Great. Her.”

(Y/n) shook her head, squinting up at her sister. “Jack! How the hell did you even find us?”

Jack, her face unchanging, pointed her paintball gun at a tall student standing at her side, who was visibly trembling. His wide eyes darted nervously between the group and Jack, whose sharp, unyielding will practically radiated from her as she stared him down.

“He told me,” Jack said flatly.

The poor student, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment, seemed to shrink under the weight of her expression. He looked like he was about to pass out.

(Y/n) sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jack, if I have to pay for someone’s therapy because of you, I’m telling Mom to take your phone.”

Jack’s usual deadpan expression broke for a second, her brows knitting slightly. “What did you want me to do? You weren’t telling me anything. I had no clue where you were!”

(Y/n) threw her arms up. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d show up and cause chaos—like you always do!”

“I had to cause chaos! How else was I supposed to find you?” Jack shot back, still not showing much emotion, but the sibling bickering undertone clear.

The poor student, caught in the middle of this sibling spat, looked like he was about to collapse from stress. Jack’s gaze flickered briefly to him before (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“Jack, if this kid needs therapy because of you, I’m telling Mom, and I’ll make sure she takes your phone for a month.”

“Wouldn’t stop me,” Jack shrugged again.

Warriors, still trying to free himself from the netting, snorted. “Sounds like sibling love at its finest.”

Jack glanced at him briefly before shooting a few more paintballs at the retreating student, who yelped and darted into a nearby building.

“Yeah, he’s gonna need a lot of therapy,” Tess chirped up, her expression cheerful now that she defeated.

(Y/n) groaned again, glancing at the paint-covered battlefield. “Well, great. Now that she’s here, we’re definitely screwed.”

Jack blinked, her paintball gun lazily resting on her shoulder. “You’re already screwed.”

(Y/n), Wild, and Legend exchanged glances, all three of them covered in paint from the grenades.

She was right.

It was clear as day.

They lost.

…

The trio sighed in defeat.

——

———

——

The paintball tournament had finally reached its conclusion, and the aftermath was nothing short of apocalyptic. The once clean field was now littered with paint splattered walls, overturned barricades, and exhausted students. The Dean stood near the podium, nervously adjusting his tie as he surveyed the carnage with wide, horrified eyes.

In the center of the chaos stood Jack, spotless as ever, calmly accepting her victory. The Dean, still clearly shaken, stepped forward to shake her hand.

“Uh… congratulations,” he said weakly, his voice barely carrying over the nervous murmurs of the audience. He glanced around at the mess, his face pale, clearly unable to hide his dismay. “W-Well played…”

The crowd clapped politely, though the sound was uneven. Many of the students who had been taken down by Jack’s unrelenting assault looked terrified, their eyes wide as they cast anxious glances in her direction, as if half-expecting her to take them out again.

In contrast, those who hadn’t had the misfortune of crossing paths with Jack wore expressions of annoyance or irritation. Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) stood off to the side, sulking with arms crossed, paint still dripping from their clothes.

Tess and Wind, on the other hand, looked like they’d just experienced the best day of their lives. Tess was still beaming, chatting excitedly with Wind about their earlier antics. “I told you! Absolute chaos, just like I said!”

Wind laughed, wiping paint from his hair. “Yeah, that was insane! I wanna come here when I’m of age.”

As the rest of the defeated students began to shuffle out of the arena, the Dean stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat nervously. “A-And now, before we conclude this… uh… event, I’d like to announce the runner-ups, who will receive the spa weekend prize…”

Just as he was about to continue, he leaned a bit too close to the microphone and muttered under his breath, “This wasn’t even supposed to happen for another two weeks…”

The microphone, unfortunately for him, picked up every word, and the arena went dead silent for a split second before one confused student in the crowd stood up and yelled, “Wait, does that mean the prize is doubled?!”

The Dean froze, his eyes wide with panic as he waved his hands frantically. “No, no! That’s not— I didn’t mean—”

Before he could fully explain, another student shouted from the back, “So there’s still a chance for victory?!”

The tension in the air shifted immediately. Students began to stir, eyes lighting up as they processed what had just been said. In unison, almost like they had rehearsed it, the crowd roared to life, pulling out their paintball guns with renewed energy.

“Wait! No! Stop!” The Dean pleaded desperately, stepping back from the podium as students began to scream and charge across the battlefield once more, paintballs flying in every direction.

Pandemonium erupted. Paint splattered across the field as the chaos reignited, louder and more out of control than ever. The Dean tried to shout orders, but his voice was drowned out by the roars of students launching into the fray.

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in alarm as she ducked behind the nearest barricade. “Everyone, hide!” she screamed, motioning frantically for the others.

“Run!”

Hyrule dove behind a crate as paintballs zipped past his head. “Not again!”

Four, still drenched in paint from earlier, groaned as he took cover beside (Y/n). “I swear, if I get hit one more time…”

Warriors looked panicked as he dodged another net that had been shot in his direction. “I JUST GOT FREED FROM THE FIRST ONE!”

Twilight ducked from a few paint filled water ballon’s.

As paintballs flew through the air and the field descended into complete anarchy, (Y/n) peeked over the barricade just in time to see the Dean running for cover, shouting into his microphone, “Please! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

But no one listened.

She quickly caught sight of Jack, still pristine and untouched by a single drop of paint. That deadpan expression only made (Y/n)’s paint-covered form itch for some petty revenge.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, (Y/n) stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting over the noise, “How about a kiss from your big sister as a second prize?!”

Jack, who had been calmly observing the mayhem with her usual unreadable expression, blinked in surprise. Her gaze locked onto (Y/n) just as her older sister started sprinting toward her, arms outstretched with paint-covered hands, ready for vengeance.

“Come here, Jack!” (Y/n) yelled, grinning wildly. “You can’t escape my love!”

For the first time that day, Jack’s expression faltered ever so slightly. She narrowed her eyes and immediately turned on her heel, sprinting away from (Y/n) at full speed, her paintball gun still bouncing on her shoulder.

“Get back here!” (Y/n) cackled, chasing her sister through the battlefield.

“Welp there she goes.” Tess comments.

“And leaves us here.” Nic adds.

“…”

“…”

Hyrule looks at the nervously. “Guuuys..?”

The two pull out their reloaded paintball guns.

“Guuuuuys…!”

Without another word, the two ran off to follow their cackling friend.

Warriors groaned, having had a third shot at him.

“Gods damnit, AFTER THEM!”

And so the chaos continued.

———

———

Time had been seated at his desk when everyone returned home, he hadn’t so much as looked up from the paperwork in front of him as he greeted them. “Welcome back.”

Time then tilted his head to the side, just as a throwing axe embedded itself into the wall right where his head had been. His only reaction was a faint sigh.

Four stood across the room, hand still raised from the throw, glaring daggers at him. “You knew. You knew about the paintball tournament, didn’t you?”

Hyrule, Twilight, and Warriors joined in with exasperated complaints, all looking equally disheveled and covered in remnants of paint. “Seriously?” Hyrule groaned. “You couldn’t give us a heads-up?”

Warriors crossed his arms, his normally immaculate hair and outfit still splattered with streaks of paint. “Worst prank you’ve ever done to date,” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration.

Twilight, still wiping paint from his hair, grumbled under his breath. “I had to crawl through two miles of paint-covered mud, Time. Two miles.”

Time, still unfazed, leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking up to meet theirs. “You didn’t ask,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Meanwhile, Legend and Wild slunk into the room, sulking miserably. Both of them had clearly taken their defeat in the tournament hard. Legend scowled as he dropped into a chair, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe we lost.”

Wild, equally as sour, nodded in agreement. “It was rigged. I swear, Tess and Jack must’ve had inside information.”

Sky, who had been noticeably absent from the tournament, offered them a sympathetic look as he sat down nearby. “At least you got to spend time with (Y/n),” he said gently, his voice full of good-natured empathy.

For a moment, the room went quiet, the rest of the group collectively turning their attention to Sky with a suspicious squint. They exchanged a glance, each silently wondering why Sky hadn’t joined them in the chaos.

Noticing the stares, Time finally broke the silence. “Sky didn’t know about the tournament. He volunteered to handle everyone’s duties while you were gone,” he explained, his tone entirely matter of fact.

Then, with a slight pause, he added, “And regardless, I would’ve forbidden him from going. We all know he wouldn’t have stayed calm if he saw (Y/n) getting shot at. Paintballs or not.”

The others blinked, as if suddenly imagining the apocalyptic expression Sky would’ve worn had he seen (Y/n) in the line of fire.

The thought alone was enough to make them collectively shudder.

Sky pouted in response, his lips twitching in mild protest, but he remained quiet, clearly knowing that Time had a point.

As the conversation continued, Wild’s Sheikah Slate buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, his eyes scanning the screen for a moment before his lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Oy, Legend,” he muttered, nudging his fellow hero. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Legend, still sulking, glanced over at the screen, and his own pout immediately transformed into a smile. The two exchanged a knowing look, their earlier misery now replaced with something else.

Though no one noticed as they continued to complain to Time.

——

—————

——

The school had been closed all week, the aftermath of the chaotic paintball tournament still lingering like an unspoken legend amongst students and faculty alike. It was now the weekend, and the Chain had enjoyed the peace and quiet, until the sound of shuffling feet broke the serenity.

Legend and Wild were at the door, both looking rather pleased with themselves as they pulled on jackets and shouldered small bags, ready to head out. The rest of the group, scattered around the living room, looked up curiously.

“Where are you two going?” Twilight asked, leaning back in his chair.

“We’re cashing in on that runner up prize from the tournament,” Legend answered smugly, adjusting his bag strap.

Wild grinned. “Yep. Spa weekend, here we come.”

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed the information. Time, sitting at his desk nearby, glanced up with an annoyed but resigned expression. His face wore the look of a man who knew the full details but, for once, was powerless to stop it. He sighed and waved them off. “Just… don’t cause any trouble.”

Legend smirked as he opened the door, Wild close behind. “No promises.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving the rest of the group in a confused silence.

An hour passed in relative peace, until Hyrule, who had been absentmindedly flipping through a book, paused and frowned. “Wait a second,” he muttered, “Wasn’t (Y/n) also a runner up? She got taken out at the same time as Wild and Legend…”

The room froze.

Twilight and Four slowly exchanged glances, Warriors straightened in his seat, and Hyrule’s eyes went wide as realization set in.

The only sound in the room was Time’s heavy sigh as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, and Sky let out a pitiful, resigned noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sad groan.

Within seconds, chaos erupted.

“Those bastards!” Wind growled, reaching for his phone.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Warriors shouted, already typing furiously.

“They took her with them?!” Four’s voice cracked as he sent out his own frantic text.

Phones buzzed and pinged as the Chain began bombarding Wild and Legend with messages. Some sent text after text, while others left scathing voice messages, each more demanding than the last.

Twilight’s voice was barely coherent as he left his message: “Explain yourselves. Now.”

Warriors was no better, his tone sharp: “You’ve got five minutes to respond, or we’re coming after you.”

Sky, looking utterly heartbroken, didn’t even bother typing, he just stared at his phone screen, looking like someone had kicked a puppy.

Meanwhile, Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) were lounging comfortably on cushioned chairs in an upscale spa.

A warm breeze carried the scent of flowers and fresh water, and the trio were perfectly relaxed. (Y/n) sat between Legend and Wild, the three of them surrounded by refreshments and snacks on a small table between their chairs.

Legend stretched with a contented sigh, taking a sip from his drink. “See? This is exactly what we needed after all that.”

Wild grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Best prize. No distractions, no one nagging us… just peace and quiet.”

(Y/n), her eyes closed as she relaxed, hummed in agreement. “We should do spas more often.”

Legend chuckled softly, his arm casually resting along the back of her chair. “Well, I won’t complain about that idea.”

Wild’s phone buzzed on the table, but he didn’t even glance at it.

The buzzing continued, both of their phones lighting up and vibrating with increasing frequency as message after message poured in.

Still, neither Wild nor Legend made any move to check them. The grin on Wild’s face only grew as the sound became more insistent.

“Think they’ve figured it out by now?” (Y/n) asked with a smirk, eyes still closed.

Legend gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, definitely. But we earned this.”

Wild snorted, popping a snack into his mouth. “Let ’em suffer.”

And with that, they ignored the incessant buzzing, eventually muting it, soaking up every second of their hard won spa weekend, leaving the rest of their companions in a frenzy of unanswered questions.

[manheeiim]

chapter one: my last cheer

-- a ghostly love masterlist

September, 2003

I groaned as I shut my locker and adjusted my backpack. I was in no mood to go to cheer practice but really, I had no choice. I mean, I could skip, but my mom would definitely find out and she hated me missing practice so I already knew all the trouble I’d get into if I did that. I had no choice. So, despite how much I didn’t want to go, I trudged my way to the girl’s locker room.

I got out of my school clothes, into my cheer uniform and stuffed my bag into my locker, before shutting it and heading over to a mirror in front of one of the sinks to check how I looked. I attempted to put my hair into a ponytail but I just ended up failing miserably due to how distracted I was. I tried three times but it just wasn’t working out. I let out a groan, the other girl’s who were getting ready as well looking over at me as I aggressively took my hair tie off and put it on my wrist, once again, trudging out of the locker room annoyed.

I made my way into the gym where a bunch of mats were set up on the floor and a bunch of other people on the cheer squad were already here, stretching and warming up. I made my way over and started stretching, haphazardly. I had no energy to be here today, not that I ever really did, it was just especially bad today.

After ten more minutes, when everyone finally arrived, the cheer coach started talking. “Okay, guys! We’re going to start off with some tumbling. Get in three lines and I want the first people in the lines to do some cartwheels and so on.” The coach instructed us and so we all went to do as she said.

As I was standing in the front of the line, waiting for my turn, a girl on the team, Chloe, one of my close friends, tapped on my shoulder. I looked over at the girl who stood behind me in line. She was around 5 '4, she had straight medium-length blonde hair, fair skin that always seemed to glow, and dark blue eyes. She was so perfect. I was nowhere near as perfect as she was. I was 5 '7, had wavy or maybe even curly-ish dark brown almost black hair, my skin wasn’t as fair as hers, I had some acne, and dark brown dull eyes. I hated everything and anything about the way I looked. Guys at my school though, they seemed to disagree. They were always all over me and I could never understand it. I really couldn’t.

“You okay, Lucia?” Chloe asked with a small smile.

I wanted to smile back, I did, but I had no energy to do that. “Yep.” I lied as I turned forward, watching as the girls in front of me stepped off the mats, meaning it was my row's turn to go.

“Are you sure?” I heard Chloe say behind me but I just went and did the cartwheels down the mat, having no desire to talk about how I was feeling, especially not right now.

After tumbling and conditioning, we had to practice a bit for the spring pep rally that was tomorrow. I was one of the flyers tomorrow so I was a bit nervous, but honestly, I knew that I’d be fine as I had a lot of experience, thanks to my mom, and well, my teammates had never dropped me before.

When I flew and did a twist in the air, I didn’t exactly do it correctly which messed me up a little but still, as expected, my teammates caught me. I apologized as I never usually messed up. The coach yelled my name and motioned for me to go over to her.

“Lucia! What are you doing? You have to pay attention or you could get yourself seriously hurt!” She sternly told me.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry coach, I just have been-” I’m cut off.

“Uh-uh, no excuses. Get your head in the game and go up and do it again.” My coach says. I just look at her for a moment, “Go!” She then yelled and I ran to my teammates and went to practice again.

<3

The next afternoon, it was time for the pep rally. All the teams had to run across the field while the people in the bleachers cheered so, obviously, so did the cheer squad. The football team went before and us and everyone in the bleachers were screaming for them, stomping their feet, and just acting a fool. It was nice though, it meant they were having fun. I wasn’t.

“And now, give it up, for the Split River High cheer team!” The principal yelled over the stadium's loudspeakers. We ran out into the field, smiling and waving at the crowd and everyone was going crazy on the bleachers. We got to the center of the field and waved some more before running to the track to sit, watch the other teams go out, and get ready to perform for everyone.

We watched and waited for a little while before it was time for us to go out on the field and perform. Music being played from a CD started playing over the loudspeakers and we started our performance.

Things were going well, they really were. That was until I saw my mom, standing next to my coach, waving at me. Why was she even here? I didn’t want her to be here. 

After I took notice of my mom, I was distracted. I tried my best to not let it get to me though as I was literally performing in front of everyone and I had to go in the air in a few moments. I keep a fake smile on my face as I step onto my teammates hands. They lift me up and I go flying in the air. Once again, I did the twist incorrectly but instead of being caught, I fell on the floor in a bad position and everything went dark.

[probablyreadinsmut]

How you doin' daddy?

Summary: In this Reader is Dieter Bravos PA, you've been working for him for around 4 years, cleaning up his messes, making appointments for him, going on coffee runs etc. Dieter is Dieter, we know him, we love him, reader mostly tolerates his bullshit. He's not a bad guy, he just has his demons. Alot of them.

But when he's forced to deal with the repercussions of his past, reader is dragged along for the ride.

///

Reader is afab, has breasts and a vagina. No mention of height, weight or skin colour. Reader has hair, no mention of texture type, style, length or colour. Readers nickname is Star.

Tags for this fic: Eventual Smut, Accidental parenthood(?), fluff, angst, pregnancy.

Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of Post Natal Depression. Dieter being a bit of a man child.

Word Count: 3.5k.

Fic Masterlist here

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Chapter 2 - Suck it, DiCaprio

"Okay" You start, rubbing at your temples feeling a headache already forming "What do you mean this is your baby?"

"I... I mean this is my baby... Svetlana she um... Well she showed up early this morning... Refused to leave until I would let her through the gates so-"

"You're telling me. That you knocked her up and she turned up this morning dropping your bastard child off at the door?" He hates the way your tone is full of disapproval right now, he knows he fucked up and right now he's not even sure why you were the first person he called, he panicked and you were the last person on his call list, that's gotta be it.

"Yes?" his expression contorts uncomfortably, waiting for the inevitable blow up, waiting to hear how irresponsible he was, how he can barely even take care of himself, how is he supposed to take care of a child? All the things he already knows about himself, but to his surprise it doesn't come...

"Okay... Okay.." You pace lightly back and forth, sighing into your hands. "Here's what we do" You stop, turning to face him "We arrange for a DNA test, just to be sure. I'm not saying she's lying but you need to be certain" It surprises him how calm you're being a right now, nodding along dumbly as you speak "Then we need to rally the troops, have the assistants do a target run for supplies, baby clothes, bottles, diapers, wipes, milk-"

"Milk? I-I have milk in the fridge, soya, almond-"

"No Dieter... Baby milk. Formula?" The blank, confused stare back at you pulls a sigh from you "The baby can't drink the milk you have in your fridge, formula or breastmilk and since you're not exactly lactating..."

"Oh! Y-yeah duh! Totally knew that" the way his cheeks redden with embarrassment suggests other wise. He really does know nothing about babies, he is a baby. Just one that's trapped in the abused body of a 48 year old man.

Another soft whine sounds from the car seat, material rustling as the baby starts to stir.

"Oh no..." Dieter moves to hide behind you like a child hiding behind it's mother from a terrifying monster.

"Dieter c'mon what the hell are you doing?"

"What? It's crying again! What does it want?"

"It?" You glare at him over your shoulder.

"Y-yeah the baby... It's crying again. Last time it took Gretchen nearly a whole hour to get it to stop"

"Dieter for the love of christ..." In a few short strides you're at the car seat, crouching down to unbuckle the baby from it.

"Hey little one, c'mere..." it's a soft coo from you as you lift the baby out, the newborn scrunch mid air tells you all you need to know about just how young this baby is, tiny mewls turning to a soft whimper as you cradle them in your arms, supporting the head as you sway back and forth. "That's it sweetpea it's okay" 

Behind you, Dieters eyes widen with surprise, watching as like a duck taking to water, you calm the crying infant. "What are you, a fucking baby whisperer?" 

You turn to face him with a roll of your eyes "No Dieter, but I have basic fucking knowledge of how to care for an infant at least." Your gaze flicks down to the baby in your arms, tiny, new to the world, little face scrunched up as they've fallen back to sleep. You try to search for the similarities to Dieter but at this age most babies are still too wrinkly for that. There's the dark, thick mop of hair of course and maybe the little pouty bottom lip? You sigh as you raise your gaze back to Dieter, biting the skin around his nails again. 

"What exactly happened when Svetlana came by?" 

"W-well... She demanded Andy let her in.. S-said she wasn't going anywhere until he did, I got a call from him s-saying there was some lady at the gate and should he call the cops, then I asked who it was and he told me she said her name was Svetlana and I thought 'Fuck yeah she's back for another round!' Even if it's like 5am at this point I am too horny to care!" The grin on his face fades at the look you throw him for that."Hey don't judge me, okay! W-well... Don't judge me more than you already are at least."

"Dieter." You prompt flatly, still gently swaying the sleeping babe in your arms. 

"Okay, okay! Getting to the point.. So Svetlana drives up to the house and by this point I'm sprinting downstairs to meet her at the door, yknow? Barely remembered to put on pants, not that I thought I needed 'em anyways" That stupid lopsided grin, dimple included, makes an appearance, your own lips twitch but you hold back, forcing your expression to stay neutral. The way you always want to smile back when that dimple comes out is ridiculous, unable to figure out why it makes you so happy to see it. "But then I get to the door a-and she's getting out of her car and fuck me she looks hot.. b-but then... Well then she went into the back seat a-and... Well she just kind of said she's yours, set the car seat down a-and then got back in her car." She. Dieter has a daughter. God help this child. 

Okay. Now you're mad, now you don't have to force yourself not to smile because right now your jaw is so tense with the way you're gritting your teeth you're sure you could chip one. You knew Svetlana was a bitch but abandoning it your child? A new low. 

"She just left!?" little arms raise in the air at your outburst and you immediately feel bad for startling the only one that's innocent in all this, dropping your gaze back to her as you hush and rock her back into relaxation. 

After giving yourself a moment to breathe, taking in the squishy little face below, you speak again in a softer tone. "She just left? Without any other explanation?" 

He nods shallowly, back to chewing the skin around his nails again, his manicurist is going to have a fucking field day with him at this rate. 

"Here's what I need you to do, go get Gretchen back in here, have her call around, all hands on deck for this one, no one speaks to the press, if they get wind of this it'll be a media circus out there before we've even figured out if this kid is actually yours or not." it's methodical, straight to the point, like you always are with your work and honestly, it's what Dieter needs right now, he needs someone to take charge, the scolding you want to give him can wait for another time.

"Mhmm." He nods dumbly, blankly staring at you like he needs more step by step instructions. 

"Well? Don't just stand there Dieter. Go!" And like the Racoon who hangs around in the back yard that you often compare him to, he scurries away, leaving you alone with what could be Dieter Bravo 2.0. 

It's when you turn around, aimlessly swaying, praying she stays asleep long enough until the calvary arrives with supplies, that you see it, paper poking out between the padding of the car seat. Carefully shifting her into one arm you crouch down to pick it up. It's an envelope with Dieters name on it. 

///

'Dieter,

Take care of her please. 

She was born on July 20th and I've tried, but I can't, I feel nothing when I look at her. 

I am sorry that I didn't tell you about the pregnancy, I found out when it was too late to abort and my agent had me shipped off to Switzerland away from the press to carry on the pregnancy in private. 

No one else knows other than my Agent, I'd appreciate it if you would keep it that way.

Be the father she deserves, because I can't be the mother she needs. 

-S.'

Okay, now you feel bad for thinking she was a bitch. Sure, Svetlana wasn't pleasant during your brief encounter with her at the Halloween party but as you read the letter, you can feel the regret radiating off the page, thinking back to the post natal depression your sister in law suffered after their eldest was born and how she struggled to bond, the words 'I feel nothing when I look at her' resonating as you remember the nights you'd sit up with her just so she had some company while your nephew fed. You'd stayed and helped for 3 months while she received the therapy she needed.

Svetlana however, was scared and alone. Shipped off like her being pregnant was bad for her image.  Could this have been done a better way? Absolutely, but it happened. 

"Star?" Dieters voice startles you out of your thoughts, unable to hide the slightly somber expression on your features as you turn to face him. 

"I um, I'm sorry I opened it but... You need to read this." 

He senses the tone in your voice, the judgement from before long gone, replaced by this empathetic one. "Okay?" Gingerly, he takes the letter from you and starts to read, you watch the expression on his face take a million twists and turns in the short time it takes to finish it, eventually mirroring your own. 

Its silent for a moment before he's the one to break it. 

"Fuck."

"Yeah, Fuck."

///

Gretchen really came through, like she always does, getting everyone on the staff to go to separate stores around the city for various baby-related items, by the time everyone had merged at Dieters Sherman Oaks home, the little one had everything she could possibly need and more. You'd managed to find a company online that could overnight a genetics test that you could send away for the results, though as you fed her a  bottle for the first time, she opened her eyes, staring right up at you with those same puppy dog eyes as Dieter and right then, you knew for certain, without needing to see the results printed on a piece of paper. 

The first night was proving to be hell. Holy shit. The nights you'd stayed awake with your nephew were nothing like this, or maybe it's been so long you can't even remember how bad it really was but my god this kid had a pair of lungs on her. 

You'd agreed to stay for Dieters sake, well actually it was more for the sake of the little girl. Both of you sleeping on opposite ends of the u-shaped couch in the living room with the bassinet in the middle. 

There was no way you could leave Dieter alone with her, he'd never even held a real baby before, the times he had to be on set with one in an movie he'd done early in his career called 'Fly us home for Christmas', a shitty hallmark straight-to-dvd production, he'd insisted on the child being replaced with a doll if he had to hold it. 

"How many more times is she gonna wake uuuuupppppp tonight?" His whinging didn't help at all, it was like dealing with two babies at once. 

"Dieter, can you hand me the wipes please?" You ask it as you're setting the little one down on the changing mat, the once cute little pastel floral print onesie she has on, now stained with what can only be described as a 'swamp green shit patch' on her butt.

"She was just awake an hour agooooo for food and now she's up again, I'm soooo tiiiired." The obnoxious whine in his tone is making your eye twitch and her high pitched cries of discomfort are cutting right through your already exhausted brain. 

"Dieter-" 

"Soooo tired" 

"Dieter-" 

"Why do people do this to themselves? This is hell? Who would even choose this--" 

"Dieter will you just hand me the fucking wipes please!?" 

That shut him up, hastily getting off his ass to bring them to you. 

"Oh god that reeks" He covers his nose with the collar of his shirt as you snatch the wipes out of his hand. 

"Yeah? I'm sure your shit doesn't smell like roses either." You carefully start to extract the onesie off her tiny body "Okay baby girl let's get you all cleaned up and fresh as a daisy again huh?" The way you gently coo over her seems to come naturally, even if she's screaming her head off and her shit smells like day old roadkill. 

Once she's all cleaned up, it's like a switch has been flipped, already beginning to calm, the cries turning to soft whines as you're buttoning up the new onesie. "Dieter, need you to take her for a sec" 

"Wait, what?!" He stares down at you with a face like you'd just threatened to shoot him. 

One, two, three, breathe in and out slowly. You remind yourself that he's scared and inexperienced but it's been nearly a whole 24 hours since this kid came into his life and he still hasn't held her. 

Cradling her head against your chest, you slowly rise from the floor "I said I need you to take her, I have to get rid of the poopy diaper and scrub out that stain before it sets, unless you plan on scrubbing the shit off yourself?" That'll be the day, this is the same man who cries when he pukes. 

"F-fine.." Then he outstretches his arms, straight out, palms facing upwards like he's about to take in a package. 

"No Dieter, not like that" You're trying really hard not to sound too condescending right now, even if your face says it all. "See the way I'm doing it? Support her head in the crook of your elbow, support her butt with your hand, other arm underneath if you're not confident using just the one." He studies the way you're doing it and changes his stance, looking stiff as a board as he does it, but hey, it's an improvement. 

"Okay here you go, easy sweetpea, it's alright, shh..." You soothe as you carefully transfer her into his arms. "Got her?" 

"Y-yeah think so. Am I doing it right? Is she okay? I feel like I'm gonna drop her. Oh god, why is she making that noise?" 

"Dieter... Calma. Inhalar. Exhalar, sí?(Calm. Inhale. Exhale. Yes?) She's okay, you won't drop her, if you're that worried, sit down on the couch with her."

He doesn't hesitate to do just that, sitting back on the couch with with her in his arms,  rigid in posture, completely out of his comfort zone. Confident that he wont drop her, you take the opportunity to go do what you need to do. 

"Be right back!" 

He's a bag of nerves, never has he ever felt like this, even the night he'd won his Oscar he wasn't like this, granted that night he'd been doing a cocktail of drugs and tonight you'd flat out refused to even let him smoke a joint, much to his dismay. 

His first mistake is when he looks down at her, big bright eyes stare right back at him, long dark eyelashes framing them. It melts him a little. "H-hi?" He doesn't know what he's expecting, for her to answer back? She can't even hold her own head up unaided but he's heard you talking to her and she is maybe, kind of cute? 

"I'm Dieter. Dieter Bravo. I'm what's called an 'Actor'.  Actually, I'm an award winning actor, not to brag or anything but I have an Oscar." Is he really bragging to a baby right now? Yes. Yes he is. She's entranced by him  and if there's one thing Dieter loves, it's a captive audience. 

"You know I actually swept the nominations with that one? Oh yeah, pulled the rug right out from under Leo's feet. Poor guy thought he was really about to win his first Oscar too. Suck it, DiCaprio." Then comes his second mistake, idly rubbing her tiny hand with his finger, he doesn't expect her to grip it. Little fingers wrapped right around it unwilling to let go. 

"You are kinda cute actually. The crying is just horrible, I won't lie to you, ear drum piercing in fact, but overall-" His lips curve into a soft smile as he gazes down at her "-Cute. Well of course you are, you won the fucking genetic lottery here, I'm handsome as sin and your mom..." That's a touchy subject. Svetlana was gorgeous, a runway model for high end fashion brands, featuring in commercials all over the world. "Okay, yeah you're fucking adorable, happy now?" 

///

It's another 5 minutes or so before you're heading back to the living room, hearing Dieters voice, sounded animated about something. Is he- is he talking to the baby? 

Stopping in the arch way unnoticed, you listen in. 

" Oh! I almost forgot about this one. So, Star, that's the lady from before, the one that changed your stinky ass, She once said I look like Burt Reynolds. That's another actor, he was in one of my favourite movies of all fucking time, Smokey and The Bandit! Maybe when you're a little older I can show you it? Sorry, it's not exactly baby friendly and you'd probably just fall asleep anyways"

You don't even realise how hard you're grinning until your cheeks start to hurt. Aside from the swearing, it's a wholesome scene seeing Dieter like this, he's just speaking to her like he would with anyone else as if she would respond to him. 

Though you don't recall it being you that had told him the Burt Reynolds thing. 

Pushing off the doorframe you make yourself known with a gentle clearing of your throat. "Hey, I tossed all her dirty onesies in the laundry, can't believe the small pile that had already built up, she's not even been here a whole day" A light chuckle leaves you as you sit down on the couch beside him, eyes flickering over her peaceful expression, her hand still wrapped around his finger. "I think you've got a new fan here, D."

"Sure seems that way doesn't it?" He sounds almost happy about it, unable to take his eyes off her. 

"Dieter?" 

"Hm?" 

"If the DNA results come back that she is yours, I hope you know you're going to have to get your shit together. For good this time. You're all she has and I know what Svetlana did was shitty, leaving her like this, but you need to step up and be a real dad to her. You know that, right?"

And he does know that, of course he does. He knows that his life has changed forever now, he doesn't need the results of the test to tell him that. 

" I know." His gaze lifts to meet yours, genuine emotion swirling in the rich coffee brown depths of them." And I want to do that, I... I'm just scared shitless honestly, Star." 

"That's normal, even for parents that have had the whole 9 months to wrap their head around the idea of a baby coming into their lives, you've had this sprung on you when the baby is already very much here" Your hand comes to gently rest on his shoulder, a reassuring touch as you speak. "You're not alone, D. My mom always used to say 'It takes a village to raise a child' and I never knew what that really meant until I helped my brother and his wife with their eldest. And luckily for you, you have the best fucking village a guy  could ask for!" He flashes that smile at you again, the same one that always ellicits an unexplainable reaction from you inside. "We're all here to help, okay? We'll rally, we'll all pitch in. If you wanna hire a nanny, hire a fucking nanny, just don't fuck the nanny" It's lighthearted, for the first time since the situation all started, you're cracking jokes and fuck, if he doesn't love your sense of humour, a small chuckle leaving him. 

"Hey, I have a strict policy about fucking my staff I'll have you know.... But I've also seen too many pornos that start off with a hot nanny so maybe we hire one that's like, really old?" Now you're both laughing, not even noticing that the baby has drifted back off to sleep in his arms. 

"Oh Dieter, look..." Your laughter dissolves into a soft 'awwh' as you guide his attention back to her. 

Dieter is doomed already, so gone for this little girl, he couldn't even stop it if he tried. "Hey, Star? I'm thinking of naming her Isabel. After mi abuela (my grandmother). What do you think?" 

"I think" You start, gently stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of your knuckle "It's perfect, just like her."

///

[something-tofightfor]

Liminality: Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 9,755

Rating: R - the general themes and tones of the previous chapters carry over, but there's no outright violence or sex.

Summary: There's no denying it anymore - something has to be done to stop the Florida Chaos wolf. Who it is only makes things more difficult, but you're surprised as just how completely Frankie's friends rally to help him ... and you.

And they all know the cost.

Author’s note:

This story is actually beginning to wind down, believe it or not. I've got the remaining parts outlined, and they just need to be written ... I'm thinking maybe two more + an epilogue after this one? We'll see.

Thank you for being patient, and for sticking around. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Wanna talk about Wolf Frankie or his friends? My inbox is always open.

Masterlist (for the journal entries and all of the other 'extras' + previous chapters)

Will got to Frankie’s less than thirty minutes later, the sound of his bike audible well before he came into view. 

Frankie was pacing around the living room, one hand rubbing at the side of his head and tugging his hair into further disarray by the moment. You were curled up on his couch with a blanket wrapped around you, eyes unfocused and staring across the room at the wall next to his TV. 

Neither of you had spoken much after his declaration in the truck, and you knew that you were both trying to process the revelation that Tom was, in fact, the Chaos wolf. That means he was bitten after Colombia. That means that he somehow found someone in the Chaos line. That means - 

“It’s just me.” Will’s voice came from the kitchen, and both you and Frankie turned in that direction, even though he didn’t stop moving his feet. “Bike’s in the garage, just in case.” He stepped into the room, his eyes moving between you and his friend, and then lingering on Frankie. “You alright?”

Frankie finally stopped moving, spinning to face Will and lashing out with one arm, pointing directly at you. “No, I am not fucking alright. We’ve been giving him insider fucking information for weeks now, and because I didn’t figure it out, he almost fucking killed my -”

“Frankie.” You leaned forward, putting both feet onto the floor. “This isn’t your fault.” You knew it would take more than your words to get through to him, but you still needed to try. “You didn’t ask for any of this, and you didn’t know, so you can’t blame yourself.” 

Will crossed his arms, taking a deep breath as he leaned against the doorframe and watched the two of you as Frankie started again. “If I hadn’t been bitten in South America, he wouldn’t even have known the fucking wolves existed. And he wouldn’t have been looking for another one, which means that he wouldn’t have -”

“How do you know that one of them didn’t just find him?” Will cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes. “His bite could have been just as accidental as yours was, ‘Fish.” You understood his reasoning. Will was trying to explain what had happened in a way that didn’t put all the blame on Tom. And they’ve known each other for so long and been through so much together, it makes sense. I’d do the same thing for someone I thought I knew. “Think about all those trips he took with Molly and Tessa. Could have been on any one of them.” He turned his attention to you. “You said the Chaos line has been a problem for a long time, right? Are they only in the States, or are there more of ‘em in other places?”

“They’re all over.” You rubbed the space between your brows with two fingertips. “And my family’s research confirms that it’s been that way for as far as they’ve been able to go back.” Will nodded, breathing slowly. “How long… you said Tom stopped coming out with you for the moon about a year ago, right?” They both nodded. “So whatever happened to him, happened recently.” 

“We didn’t notice anything.” Will stepped closer and then dropped down into the armchair, running a hand over his beard. “We were all so fucking busy with our own shit that we didn’t notice a change in him, and that’s…. Fuck. That’s on all of us.”

“You might not have.” Readjusting the blanket, you bit your lip and shook your head. “Is Frankie much different, aside from that period right around the moon?” Both of them said no, and so you went on. “So it makes sense if Tom had someone helping him learn everything. The Chaos line is only visible when they’re at their worst. They’ve mastered blending in because it’s a survival technique for them. If Tom had the help of one or more of them, then … you wouldn’t have noticed anything because you shouldn’t have.” 

“You called it.” Frankie stepped closer to you and then sat down on the cushion to your right. “At the bar that night when he winced? But I said you were wong. And then he fucking … I should have listened. I should have believed you.” 

It wasn’t worth trying to convince him that you weren’t mad - or that he shouldn’t have been upset with himself. But I appreciate him admitting that. 

“What are the odds, though?” Reaching over, you took his hand. “Frankie, if he got bitten a year ago, and these attacks have been going on for months, then he started attacking people pretty much right away. And that means that he knew what to do and how to manage it. And if he knew how to manage it, then he knew how to hide it. You weren’t supposed to notice anything.”  

“So you don’t think that it was an accidental bite.” 

“No.” You looked away and at Will, unblinking. “I don’t.” His jaw twitched, eyes going hard. “Because if it was an accidental bite, he’d be in the same boat as Frankie and know nothing. You guys already have a routine in place to handle one transformation, so adding another wolf into the mix every month wouldn’t have changed much, especially if he told you that he got bitten while looking for answers.” You finally looked at Frankie, holding his gaze. “He deliberately kept it from you. He’s deliberately hurting people. I don’t know him the way you do, so I have no idea why. Based on what I do know, though? He’s … what they’d want. I’ve been looking for this fucking line of wolves for years. It fits their pattern.” 

“But what can he give them?” Will leaned closer, head tilted. “Molly’s not having another kid. He’s working alone. And none of the people that he’s attacked and bitten have survived, so it’s not like he’s furthering the line.”

“No one survived that we know of.” Frankie lowered his head, covering his face with both hands. “They found bodies of people that didn’t, and Alec made it to the hospital but wasn’t bitten. If he’s bitten anyone and they’ve lived? He might have pointed ‘em in the direction of whoever he answers to so they could get help.” He was right, and that was something that you’d never thought of. And I should have. “And Tom’s fucking loaded, Ironhead. We all are. He can offer them money.” 

You gasped in surprise,  but as soon as he said it, you knew Frankie was right about that, too. Even a line of wolves that went back hundreds of years would have been motivated by money - especially in the amount that Tom could have offered. “I need a drink.” You pushed to your feet, heading for the kitchen. “Either of you want anything?” 

They both said no, and so you entered the room alone, immediately going for Frankie’s liquor cabinet. 

It would have been easy for you to spiral - to stand there and dwell on the fact that in the span of only a few months, you’d met and fallen for a wolf and found a separate link to the line of wolves your family had been after for years. Adding in the fact that the second wolf had actually attacked you - purposely - was another concern. But it’s not that separate. 

Grabbing a bottle at random and then a glass, you poured yourself a strong drink and then knocked it back in two swallows, wincing at the burn. It wouldn’t solve your problems - nor would it change the way you felt, but it would calm you. And then I can try to calm him. 

Frankie and Will were talking quietly, but both of them turned their attention to you when you walked back into the room. Frankie’s eyes brightened briefly, and Will gave you a single nod. “Better?” 

“Not better, but … I needed that.” You dropped back down onto the couch but instead of letting you sit next to him, Frankie yanked you closer, both arms wrapping around you. “Frankie, what -”

“He was alone with you twice tonight. After he did what he did. He was alone with you, and he was questioning you, and I just … fuck, it makes me mad.” Frankie laughed, the sound bitter. “He did it right under my fucking nose. All of this. And he had the goddamn balls to tease you with that wine. It wasn’t just about me, he was telling you that he’s a wolf, too.” You replayed the conversations, thinking hard about Tom’s demeanor. He’s good at hiding shit, I’ll give him that. 

“He’s getting bolder.” You turned your head and kissed Frankie’s cheek. “He attacked me even though he knew Will was there and that I’d have access to a gun with silver bullets. He invited us over. He’s actively planning things with you guys, and -”

“He’s going out to clean up the RV site.” Will swore, lowering his head as he whipped it back and forth. “I already did it, but he’s going to make sure there’s no fucking trace of himself there, at least in wolf form. And he’ll know which way he went in the woods to get rid of that trail, too.” Oh shit, that’s true. “And we fucking just … let him walk right in and do it.” Wait a minute. 

“Will.” You swallowed hard and then bit your lip. “How did you and Frankie come up with the idea to try and get him to bleed tonight?” That question actually got Will to smile, the blonde sitting back down on the chair and angling his body toward yours. “Something tipped you off. Why tonight? What was it?” 

“It was you.” He grinned, gesturing with one hand. “When you showed that video and I watched it again, I noticed something.” What? What could possibly have made you consider this? “The other night, when you and ‘Fish were in that clearing, and you saw him for the first time?” He paused, sticking his tongue unto his cheek. “You pointed out his tattoo in the pattern of his fur. The tattoo on his hand’s still there when he changes, but the one on his arm isn’t.” 

“And when you showed us the video, Will noticed something on the wolf.” Frankie mumbled your name, and then leaned down to kiss the top of your shoulder. “Something on his shoulder.” Seriously? 

“I recognized the shape of it. And it was just too convenient. So when ‘Fish and I went inside to get beers, I told him what I thought I saw, and we decided to do somethin’ about it.” He paused, looking down at the ground and taking a deep breath. “We didn’t know if I’d be able to do it tonight, but we figured it was good to try because of his sense of smell.” It was a good call - his heightened senses would have allowed Frankie to smell the wolf in Tom’s blood, which might not have been the case even a few days later. “But then you guys left, and I thought we were fucked, but -”

“But I had to take a leak.” Frankie laughed again, rolling his eyes. “And so it all worked out.” 

Tom hadn’t seemed like he knew what was happening while he was attempting to clean his hand off, but there was no way to be sure. “You’re going to have to act normal for the next few weeks with him.” You closed your eyes. “And I’m going to, too.” 

“You’re not going fucking near him for the next few weeks.” Frankie’s voice was little more than a growl, and Will agreed moments later. “In fact, I don’t want you to stay in that house you’re renting, either. He knows you’re there. He might have keys. And if he’s suspicious, he -”

“He might get more suspicious if she’s suddenly here all the time instead of there, too.” Will wet his lips, his eyes moving between the two of you. “It’s too quick.” 

“I don’t fucking care.” Frankie stood again, crossing his arms and beginning to pace between the couch and Will’s chair. “And we told everyone she’s staying in Florida because we’re together, so why wouldn’t she move in?”

“Because she hasn’t even met your kid yet. ‘Fish.” Frankie stopped moving and you straightened up, your mouth falling open. He’s right. “And if there’s one thing Tom knows about you, it’s that your daughter’s the most important person in your life. You wouldn’t move a woman in after a couple months without having her meet Carmen and Becca first.” 

“He’s right, Frankie.” You looked up at him, defeated. “Me moving in now would look bad. And I don’t want to live with you because we’re scared, I want it to be because you want me here.” 

“I want you here.” He turned to face you, letting his arms drop to his side. “You think I don’t? After wh -”

“No. But I want you to ask me to move in when we’re not dealing with this anymore.” You held your hand out to him and he took it, his fingers sliding between yours. “We’ve already skipped a boatload of steps in this relationship, I don’t want something so important to be another.” 

It was a conversation you didn’t want to have in front of Will, but at least beginning it was necessary. Because we can’t get ahead of ourselves. We have to be smart about this. We have to be smarter than him. “It’s gotta be business as usual, ‘Fish. For all of us. And we’ve got a leg up, because he doesn’t know she’s looking for wolves, and because he doesn’t know we know he is one.” 

“We need to tell Benny and Pope.” Frankie let go of your hand, turning back to look at Will. “We need to let them know what we’re up against.” 

“We’ve gotta do this the right way, Frankie.” Will leaned forward, glancing at you before he looked up at his friend. “Otherwise he’s going to know something’s up. We have weeks until the moon, and it’s not like he can change between the -”

“About that.” Frankie’s hand was moving back and forth, fingers loosely curled. “He might be able to. I can, and if he’s been learning from people that know what the fuck they’re doing, we’ve got to assume he can, too.” 

“Fuck.” You used one hand to cover your mouth, fear starting to creep back in. If he can change at will, he could get into my apartment and … there’d be nothing to tie him to it. Just animal fur. You leaned back against the corner of the couch, drawing your uninjured leg up toward your chest. “He was fishing tonight. He was asking me questions and it felt … I don’t know. It felt different. He’s always kind of smug, but tonight felt like he wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“He gets like that when he feels like he’s winning.” Will dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head back and forth. “Cocky. But he makes mistakes, like he did in South America.”

“He made a lot of fucking mistakes in South America.” Frankie laughed, and it was the first time that night that it sounded almost genuine. “We all did. But you’re right. Because when Tom thinks he’s untouchable, it makes him real fucking reckless.”

“This is gonna kill my brother.” Will stood, his sigh audible. “He idolizes Tom. And there’s no real way to prove it’s the truth until we can catch him on a full moon, so -”

“Is there really a realtor conference in Orlando next month?” You mumbled the question, reaching into your pocket for your phone. “Because if there is, that might be how he met the Chaos wolf in the first place. But if it’s over a full moon, that means he’s going to turn in Orlando, and I know nothing about that city to even begin to....” You did a Google search, eyes on your screen. Well, he wasn’t lying about that. “There is one.” You nodded, scanning the text. “And it’s the right dates.” 

“Might just be cover,” Will moved away from his chair and toward the doorway, pausing and turning his head back to look over his shoulder. “To give him a reason to be gone for a few days. Molly won’t ask questions if he says he’s doing something for work.” He reached up, resting his hand on the doorframe. “One of us should follow him there. And since I was with you this last time, ‘Fish, it should be me.” 

Part of you understood that reasoning. It was logical. It wouldn’t raise suspicions if Will bowed out of going with you and Frankie, since he’d done his part the previous month. But another part of you felt terror at the thought that Will wouldn’t be there with you. He saved me once. I trust him. I trust him with my life. “That’s a good idea.” Frankie nodded, watching his friend closely. “But we’ll need to figure this shit out with Benny and Pope, too.” 

Will agreed, eyes moving between you and Frankie before he closed them, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t going to end well for Tom, is it.” 

“No.” Frankie stood, shaking his head slowly. “It isn’t.” Will’s response wasn’t audible, but you did see his jaw lock, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he let out a slow breath. “There’s no way it can.” He and Frankie shared another look, and you saw the resignation in his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling in slow motion. I get it. It’s got to be so hard for them to think about that.

Will turned his attention back to you, lips turning upward into a sad smile. “I hope you get some sleep tonight. Both of you.” 

“You too, Will.” You set your phone down, leaning back. “Get home safe, alright?” He assured you he would, and then he and Frankie left the room, heading for the front door. You could hear them talking, but before too long, Frankie reappeared in the doorway, his posture much looser than it had been. “We need to go to sleep, Frankie. You have to be up to fly tomorrow.”

“I do.” He walked back over to where you sat, sitting down on the table in front of you and then leaning in. “I need you to look at me.” You did, lifting your chin enough that you could meet his eyes. Frankie reached up, sliding his fingers along the column of your neck so that he could curl them gently around the nape. “What happens to Tom isn’t just because of what he did to you. It’s not going to be your fault, that I take care of this. It’s his own.” 

“I know.” You moved your thumb over his stubbled cheek, nodding. “He made his choices.” Frankie agreed, leaning into your touch. “We need to talk about what happened right before Will left, but it’s not a good -”

“After we deal with Tom, I want you to meet Becca and Carmen.” He stiffened slightly, and you could see fear in his eyes. “Will’s right. I can’t ask you to come live here before that happens, but …” He sighed, closing his eyes. “We’re going to go back and forth between your place and this one for the next couple weeks. Spend as much time as you can with one of us or at Ironhead’s or even at Pope’s with Yova. And if Tom -”

“I know, ‘Fish.” You closed the distance between you, pressing your forehead to his. “And I know that you do want me here. I just want to make sure that you’ll still want that when this is over.” And you’ve had to kill someone you thought you could trust. “I don’t doubt your feelings for me, but this isn’t a normal situation.”

“It’s not.” He squared his shoulders, nodding. “But we both … we both felt this before we knew anything else was going on, so that has to mean something.” You agreed, and it made you feel better, but only marginally. “First time I met you, remember?” You smiled, eyes dropping as your cheeks heated. Yeah, I remember. He stood up, holding both hands out to you. “Now come to bed with me so that I can wake up and fly tourists over the Bay tomorrow.” 

That made you laugh, and he squeezed your hands tightly when you took them, helping you to your feet. “I was one of those tourists when I first got here.” 

“You were.” You headed down the hallway, Frankie walking backwards so he didn’t have to look away. “And I looked forward to every flight with you.” Arching a brow, you watched as he grinned. “Still do, if you ever want to go back up.” I do. I really do. 

The two of you got ready for bed quickly, and when you stood by the side of his bed, Frankie stopped you before you could grab the bottom hem of your shirt. Instead of letting you remove it, he did it for you, tossing it to the side and then reaching to unhook your bra. Once that was gone, Frankie’s hands skimmed over your skin, his eyes following the movement. 

“Bed, Francisco.” You spoke quietly, reaching out to press a hand against his abdomen. “It’s late and we’re both exhausted.” He didn’t fight it, instead nodding as you climbed into bed and waited for him to follow. 

He held you close after you both got comfortable, but you could tell that he was still tense. I am too, though. This is …  more complicated than I thought. 

Tom actually being the Chaos wolf was something that you hadn’t expected - and you knew that none of the other guys had, either. It complicated things, but more importantly it forced their hand in a way that you knew would be difficult for them to handle emotionally. And it has to be done soon, which makes it worse. 

Tom would fight back, that much was certain, based on the way he’d acted in the previous months. The real question was whether or not Frankie and the others having an advantage of knowing would be enough for them to win. It has to be. Because I can’t lose him. I won’t.

— 

It took a few days to get everyone together in the same room, but that was only because it had to be done in a way that Tom was invited - but couldn’t make it. 

Will handled that, sending out a group message asking when the guys wanted to meet for drinks at the bar. When Tom said he had no time that week because of late showings and plans with Molly, it became easier to choose a day and a location. 

That turned out to be Pope’s place, which meant Yovanna would be there. But she knows. So maybe this is the right time for her to tell everyone. You were nervous as you and Frankie drove there after he’d finished his flights, but despite the conversation that awaited you both, he kept it together. 

Will’s truck was parked in front of the house when you pulled up, and when you walked around the house and into the back yard, you saw that Benny was there, too, both of them sitting in chairs and holding drinks as they talked to Pope and Yovanna. 

You caught the look she gave you as you headed to where they were, her eyes dropping to your leg and then rising - first back to meet your eyes and then drifting to Frankie’s face, her lips twisting into a frown. You shook your head, mouthing the word no, and her eyes widened before she reached over, taking Pope’s hand and squeezing it. 

The two of you joined the group, sliding into open seats and saying hello as Benny slid drinks across the tabletop to you. Frankie took his and opened it, downing a long swig before turning his attention to Will. You watched as they shared a look, the blonde’s throat working as he swallowed and then gave Frankie a nod. 

“Hey.” Will closed his eyes, and then let out a deep breath. “There’s something we need to talk about, but I don’t know if Yova’s going to want to hear it.” You weren’t surprised that he’d called the woman out directly - that was just how Will was - but you were surprised when she pulled her hand free from Pope’s and moved to sit next to you, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I want to hear it.” She nodded, looking between the other men and then finally at Pope, who was watching her with a look of amusement on his face. “Especially if it has to do with the wolves.” 

“You knew?” Benny leaned in, his eyes widening. “This whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I did not want to.” She shrugged, scoffing. “What would it have helped? Me telling you stories? I have never met one before Francisco. But I knew there were others. I knew another one was here and it was hurting people.” She leaned forward and looked past you at Frankie. “And I knew it could not be you because you are not that kind of man.” 

There was trust in her eyes - her voice strong and even as she spoke. “Last thing I want to do is hurt people.” Frankie cleared his throat. “But yeah, that is … what this is about.” Pope sat down, too, joining the rest of you at the table. 

It was silent for long seconds, and you didn’t know who was going to speak first. But it should be me. “I’ve been lying to all of you.” Frankie stiffened next to you, but you ignored it. “I didn’t come here to write about Tampa. I came here looking for werewolves.” It helped that only Benny and Yovanna had been in the dark about it, but you were thankful that everyone at the table stayed quiet and let you go on. “Frankie figured it out because my research wasn’t hidden when he showed up at my apartment one morning. I told Will after I got attacked last week.”

“You were looking for ‘Fish?” Benny leaned in, eyes narrowed. “How’d you know it was him?” 

“No, I didn’t know it was him. That all just … it’s a weird fucking coincidence. And even before he told me what he is, I still didn’t think it was him that I was looking for. But as soon as he did, I realized that there were two wolves. And the other one was the one I’ve been trying to find.” 

“Why are you looking for wolves?” Pope cut in, scratching at the back of his neck. He’s going along with it. “What do you want from them?” 

That started your story, and you repeated it for what you hoped was the last time. Everyone listened to you without interrupting, and Frankie’s hand rested on your thigh the entire time, reminding you that he was there. Like I could forget.

“And since my cousin’s out of this for good now, I’ve got … I’ve got to finish this. Even if it’s the last thing I do with hunting, taking care of this wolf?” You looked between them, locking your gaze on Benny’s face. “I’ll make it right for Alec. And I think … I think that’ll be enough for me.” 

“Will it, though?” Pope swallowed, taking his lower lip between his teeth. “You had no plans to stop before, so why would this be enough now? It’s one wolf. You’re not going to eliminate the whole line. You never were.”

“No.” Laughing, you rubbed at the space between your eyes. “I wasn’t. But this is what I knew. It was what I thought I had to do to be considered a contributing member of my family. Even if I never found anything, at least I tried.” 

“But you did find something.” Yovanna reached over, taking your hand and linking her fingers with yours. “You found Francisco and you found all of us. You found out that it is possible to be with a wolf and not need to … hunt it.” She took a breath. “But you also found the other one. And it …” Her gaze dropped and then rose, her eyes wide. “You know who it is. You know who the other wolf is and that’s why we’re here tonight.” 

“Yes.” Your heart was pounding, but you knew that if you looked at Frankie, you’d break down - and so you didn’t. You looked at Pope first, and then at Benny before finally meeting Will’s eyes. He nodded slowly, raising the tips of his fingers from where they rested against the tabletop to tell you to relax. “We do know who it is.” 

“Tom should be here for this.” Pope leaned in, eyeing you. “He’s part of this, and he was there when ‘Fish got bitten.”

“There’s a reason he’s not here, Pope.” Frankie’s voice was low, and when you finally turned your head to look at him, you saw that his shoulders were straight, eyes bright. “There’s a reason it’s just us, and -”

“Bullshit.” Benny cut in, making a fist and knocking it against the table. “Will asked him to be here. I saw the fucking texts. Why -”

“We picked tonight because Tom couldn’t make it.” Will crossed his arms again and leaned back in his chair. “Tom is the other wolf, Benny. ‘Fish and I tested it the other night, and it’s him. He’s been attacking people for the last couple months. He attacked her cousin. He attacked her. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, and he’s been lying to us for a fucking year.” 

No one replied right away, and as Will’s voice trailed off, you risked a look over at Benny, watching as his face contorted between emotions. He’s hurt. He’s hurt and sad and… “How?” He licked his lips and then stood up from the table, pushing his chair back. “How did it happen? How do you know?” 

“I smelled his blood the other night, and it was the same as what was all over the clearing.” Frankie sniffed. “I have no idea how he found someone to bite him, but I’m sure as fuck going to ask next month.” 

“How? He’s got that conference. He won’t be -”

“I think it’s a cover.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “There is a conference, but I think that just got him out of having to come and stay with Frankie next moon. I think … I think he’s going to come back to the clearing and try to finish what he started because he knows Frankie will be miles away and I’ll be there.”

“That’s dumb as shit, though.” Pope’s eyes were narrow. “He knows there’s always someone there with Frankie. He knows that we wouldn’t dream of letting you go there by yourself next month. He has to know that ‘Fish wouldn’t go far, especially if he thought there was a chance the other wolf would come back.” 

“He’s too cocky.” Will spoke up, frowning as he shook his head. “He’ll think that -”

“He is an asshole.” Yovanna spat the words out, standing up and shoving her chair backwards before slapping her hand down on the table. “I have never liked him, not even meeting him that first time. And since I have come here?” She snarled, waving her hand. “He is mean and nasty and I have never trusted him, but I put up with him because he was your friend.” She pointed at Benny. “Your own brother is telling you this is the truth and you don’t believe him? Why would he lie? Why would Francisco lie when that lie means Tom has to go?” 

The rest of you were silent as her words sunk in, and for a few moments, you were in awe of the woman. She barely knew you, and had no real reason to stand up for you in the way she was. But she loves Pope. And if Tom is willing to do this to someone Frankie cares about, she’s in just as much danger. 

“Are you sure?” Benny’s eyes were narrowed as he stared at you and then at Frankie. “I mean positive, ‘Fish? Because if what you’re saying is true, then we have to -” Will groaned, covering his face with both hands.

“Watch the video, man. The spot on the wolf’s shoulder is in the same damn place as Tom’s tattoo. ‘Fish smelled the blood. Tom’s been real fuckin’ shady about helping out for a long time now. It fits. We didn’t see it because we didn’t want to, but c’mon, Benny.” 

“I’m sure, Benjamin.” Frankie’s head moved from side to side, and you heard the fatigue in his voice. “I don’t want it to be true, but it is.” It was your turn to support him then, and you reached over to settle your hand on his forearm, fingers closing around it. I know you don’t want it to be true. I don’t either. “And I’m not asking for your help with this. I understand if you don’t want to be involved with what’s got to happen, but I need you to at least … not give anything away for the next couple weeks.” 

“How the fuck are we supposed to -” Pope rubbed at his eyes. “‘Fish, man. C’mon. He’s not stupid. He’s going to know something’s up the second one of us talks to him.” 

“No he won’t.” Benny sniffed, dropping back into his seat and hanging his head. “Because this is the shit we were trained to do. We’ve got to put our emotions to the side and treat this like any of the fucking bullshit missions we went on.” You felt relief - despite his closeness to Frankie, and the friendliness Benny had shown you while you were together, you figured that he would have been more difficult to convince. “This isn’t Tom. This is fucking Lorea all over again. He’s dangerous and he’s hurting people, and we need to stop him.” 

“So we’re just going to kill him?” Pope laughed, his expression incredulous. “Just kill our friend without giving him a chance to explain? How does that make us any better than any of the people we went after in uniform? How does it make us any better than him?” 

“This is what he’s done to people, Pope.” You pulled out your phone and navigated to the hidden folder of photos that contained your research on the Florida Chaos wolf. “This is what he’s done to the people he’s killed. This is what he did to Alec. This is what he did to me.” You slid the phone over the table at him and then pushed your chair back, lifting your leg and swinging it upward and onto the table before ripping the bandage off of it. 

You heard Benny’s gasp and Yovanna’s reaction - something muttered in Spanish that was muffled by the way her hand covered her mouth. You saw Will’s wince, even though he’d seen the fresh wound. It was beginning to heal, and though it looked better than it had days earlier, it was still red and swollen and somewhat raw around the edges, the scabbing thick. 

“She’s going to have that reminder for the rest of her fucking life, Pope. You saw the video. You watched him attack her. He didn’t flinch. There was no hesitation.” Frankie’s hand moved to touch your ankle, the tips of his fingers gliding up your leg, though he avoided the wound. “We aren’t going to do anything. I won’t ask you to be a part of this, but I need you to know why I’m going to -”

“Frankie.” Pope darkened the screen of your phone and then pushed it back toward you. “There’s no fucking way you’re doing this yourself.” Your breath left you in a whoosh of relief, and as you put your foot back on the ground and closed your eyes, shoulders slumping. “It’s just a lot to take in, y’know?” 

“I know.” He cleared his throat, reaching up to take his hat off and toss it onto the table. “But we can’t let him keep going, and you all know it. He’s not going to stop. So I have to stop him, because I’m the only one who can.” 

“And what if you can’t?” It wasn’t unkind, and it was the first time Will had questioned Frankie - which surprised you. “He’s bigger than you as a wolf. He’s mean. You’ve tried real hard to hide that part of yourself during the moon, and he hasn’t.” 

“That’s my advantage. He’s never seen me as a wolf protecting someone I love.” Frankie paused and said your name, waiting for you to look over at him before he continued. When he spoke again, you heard an edge to his voice that had never been there before - and it chilled you to the bone. “But that’ll be the last thing he ever sees.” 

— 

Over the next few days, everything changed - and at the same time, nothing changed. 

You and Frankie continued your routine of spending nights together, alternating between your apartment and his house. While he was at work, you kept up with your research, using what you already knew about the wolves and adding information about Tom straight from Frankie’s photo albums and anything that the others told you - or that you could find on social media. 

You were determined to find the same link that Tom had to the other wolves, because that would mean more of an understanding about the way the Chaos wolves worked - and recruited. But what am I going to do with that? After this, I’m… I’m done. 

That was another thing that you’d thought long and hard about, both while Frankie was beside you and when you were apart. You’d told him that you’d consider ending your search for the Chaos wolves after Florida, but the truth was that you’d known for a long time that what you were doing was a fool’s errand. I just had no real reason to stop. 

But Frankie was a reason. Will and Benny and Pope and Yovanna were reasons. Carmen was a reason. You’d never be able to eliminate the Chaos line in its entirety, but removing Tom from the equation would balance the scales for your family somewhat by getting payback for causing Alec’s injury - and for yours. 

It probably wasn’t the route that prior generations of your family had imagined, but it would be enough. Enough for me, anyway. Enough to keep us safe.

Though the assumption was likely foolish, you had no doubts that Frankie would handle Tom - with or without the help of his friends. You trusted that he would do whatever was necessary to keep his daughter safe, which meant tapping into a part of himself that he’d never allowed to the surface before. But it’s not just for Carmen, it’s … to protect me, too. 

You kept up your routine and so did Frankie, his scheduled flights going off without a hitch until two forecasted rainy days in a row thanks to a tropical storm grounded everything. It was during those days that he decided to drive up to see Carmen and Becca, which took a little convincing on your end. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with his daughter, but Frankie was very against leaving you alone for such a long period of time. 

He’d only agreed after you promised to find some way to keep yourself occupied for the time he was gone that didn’t involve you staying in Tampa. It seemed like overkill, but when you saw the look in Frankie’s eyes as he made the request, you realized that it was nonnegotiable. 

So the night before he was set to leave, and you were scheduled to check into a bed and breakfast in Punta Gorda, the two of you headed to Ironhead’s just to keep up appearances. 

It was busier than usual, since thanks to the rain, sitting on most of the outdoor patios was out of the question. But you still managed to find an open booth, both of you sliding into it as you lowered the hoods on the jackets you wore. 

There were drinks placed in front of you moments later, and when you looked up, you found Benny’s smiling face, the blonde nodding at you before he turned his head to look at Frankie. “Hey, you two.” 

“Benjamin.” Frankie reached for his drink, lifting the glass. “Busy in here tonight.” 

“Sure as fuck is. It always gets like this when it rains, but that forecast’s got a lot of the tourists worried, so…” He shrugged. “I’m not gonna complain and neither are my bartenders.” You laughed, settling back against the cushion as he said goodbye and headed back for the bar. 

“You excited, Francisco?” You sipped your drink, locking eyes with him. “Two days with Carmen?” 

“I always am.” The look in his eyes softened, something that hadn’t happened often in the previous few days. “She wants to go to the park, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to because of the rain.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” He nodded, his gaze leaving your face and sweeping over the busy bar. “Should I be worried about storm surge or anything down there? I don’t want to get stuck because of flooding, or -”

“Nah.” He sipped his drink again, shaking his head. “Storm’s tracking north. You might get a little flooding and some wind, but you’ll be alright.” He met your eyes again and winked, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You can trust me, I’m a pilot. I know weather.” 

You laughed at that, lowering your head. For a few seconds, it was like things were normal between you, and that night at the bar was just a night out with Frankie. Maybe it will be soon. Maybe we can have … When you looked up, your laughter stopped as you saw who was standing in the crowd beside the bar. Oh, shit. 

You leaned forward, reaching over the table to take his hands. “Frankie.” He stiffened, shoulders going rigid. “You have to stay calm, alright? Molly and Tom are here, and -”

“That fuck can’t just -”

“He can.” You squeezed his hands, wetting your lips and trying to stay calm yourself. “We know nothing, Frankie. We have to make him believe it.” It was a pep talk for him as much as it was one for you - and you were uncertain that you could make your own words reality. “There are too many people here. Too many innocent people, and …” You trailed off when he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before he let go and reached for his drink again, downing the remainder in one long swig. 

“I’m good.” He nodded, shoulders relaxing. “I’m fucking peachy.” 

You wondered if maybe, with the crowd, Tom wouldn’t see where the two of you were sitting. A few seconds later, you understood that that wouldn’t be the case. He caught your eye, his brows rising before he leaned over to speak into Molly’s ear, one hand lifting to point in your direction. “They’re coming over, Frankie. It -” 

“Hey, you two.” Your blood went cold at the friendly tone of his voice, but you forced yourself to look up at where they stood, eyeing Tom as he slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Busy in here tonight, isn’t it?” 

“We were going to have dinner on a patio, but with the rain, everything’s closed and …” Molly rolled her eyes, drawing your attention. “We ended up here, which isn’t bad, but …” 

“D… do you want to sit?” You forced the words out, surprised to hear that your voice was steady, even though your heart was racing. “Frankie can scoot over here, and you can sit on that side.” Tom looked stunned at the offer, and so did Frankie, but before you could say anything else, he slid to the end of the booth and then stood, moving to where you sat. 

He got as close to you as he could, his arm draped over your shoulders, and as Tom and Molly took seats across from you, you realized that Frankie’s arm was positioned so that his scar was visible. It’s like he’s reminding Tom what he is but in a way that seems … oh, Francisco. You reached over, laying your hand on his thigh and squeezing. 

“So.” Tom sipped his drink, his eyes on you. “You get to be here for a tropical storm. You gonna ride it out at ‘Fish’s place, or -”

“Actually.” Frankie cocked his head to the side. “Actually, I’m going to see Carmen for a couple days. Can’t fly with the wind and rain, so it seemed like a good time.” Tom’s eyes widened, and as Molly interjected, telling Frankie how great it was that he’d get to spend time with his daughter, he stared at you. You wondered if, like Frankie, Tom’s eyes flashed a different color when he was emotional, and then wondered if that other color was the reddish that you’d seen while he was a wolf. 

“He’s leaving you alone here?” Tom chewed on his lower lip, eyes narrowing. “That’s a surprise.” What are you planning? 

“No, I’m going out of town, too.” You reached for your drink, willing your hand not to shake. “Planned it before the weather went to shit, and I’m still going to go. It’ll be good research, and I’m not really interested in trying to cancel reservations.” 

“Where you headed?” Coming from anyone else, it would have been an innocuous question, but you could almost feel the edge to Tom’s ask, and you knew Frankie did, too. 

“South. Cape Coral. Frankie promised me that the majority of the storm would skip there, so…” You shrugged, hoping that it hid your discomfort - and the lie. “I guess we’ll see.” 

Tom didn’t speak right away, but Molly did, waving her hand back and forth and rolling her eyes as she told you that you’d get a little rain and some wind. It was easier for you to speak to her, and so you did, answering with a laugh that was only half-forced as you took another drink. 

Your hand tightened on Frankie’s leg as Tom joined in the conversation, talking about one of the many storms that they’d ridden out during their time in Tampa. And his arm shifted slightly to pull you closer, his head turning so that he could press a kiss to the space behind your ear when Tom laughed about sandbags exploding, Frankie’s quiet I’m right here, I love you making you shiver. 

You had no idea how he was keeping so calm, because you were wound tighter than you could ever remember being before, and were almost desperate to get away from the table - and Tom. 

It wasn’t that you were afraid he’d try anything that night. In fact, you were convinced of the opposite, because you knew that Frankie wouldn’t hesitate to fight back. You also knew that Benny and Will kept a gun behind the counter, a stash of silver bullets in a small bowl beside it. And if you knew that, then Tom did, too. 

But you were afraid of him, afraid of how little he seemed to care about antagonizing you and Frankie. You were fearful of his cockiness, because it meant that he was overconfident, and if he was overconfident as a man, you knew it would carry over the closer it got to the full moon. And that makes him more dangerous. 

“Anyone need a refill?” Benny appeared almost out of nowhere, his arms swinging loosely by his sides. “Tom, Molly, there’s a table that just opened if you guys wanted to have some privacy. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it with Tessa at college.” It was subtle but pointed, and you felt a surge of affection for the younger Miller, your mouth turning upward into a smile at his offer. “Closer to the bar, too.”

Tom didn’t want to get up - you could see the hesitation in his eyes, but when Molly reached over to take his hand, nodding excitedly, you let out another small sigh of relief. “Yes, please. We should leave these two alone so they can enjoy their date. And I’m starving, so the sooner we order food, the better.” 

“We can order while we sit here, Mol. I’m sure ‘Fish and -”

“Actually,” Frankie cut in, his fingertips tapping on the tabletop. “We were trying to have a date before I leave, so we’d appreciate the privacy, too.” It happened then, and you were almost positive that Tom wasn’t even aware of it - but his eyes did flash, changing color briefly in the fluorescent bar lighting as his jaw tightened. He doesn’t like Frankie challenging him. He’s angry. But that confirms it. He’s … it’s… “It was really good to see you, Mol. Hope you’re holding up well with an empty house.” 

“It’s weird, but …” She pushed on Tom’s arm, urging him to stand. “We’re enjoying it.” You laughed, watching as they stood and took a step away from the table “Right, Tom?”

“Right.” He stood stiffly, his eyes moving between you and Frankie. “You two be careful driving tomorrow.” Frankie grunted and you nodded, thanking him and telling him you would. You watched as he put his hand against Molly’s lower back, turning her in the direction Benny had indicated. 

“Be right back with a refill, ‘Fish,” the blonde called back at you. “No need to get up.” 

Molly giggled at his words and you managed a small smile, but Frankie didn’t react until they were out of earshot. “You need to take everything you have on the Chaos line with you when you leave. He knows you won’t be there for a couple days. He…” He sighed. “He might decide to take a look around.” 

You agreed, and told him as much. “I won’t go back in there until you’re back, either.” He nodded. “Did you see it, his eyes, they -”

“Mine do that too?” Turning his head to look at you, you saw concern in the depths of his, though there was nothing unusual about them that night - they were his usual deep brown. “You said you’ve seen it.”

“They do. But not red. Yours are …” Reaching up, you swept your thumb over his stubbled cheek. “They’re gold. Warm. It sort of looks like your eyes under a really bright light.” He leaned into your touch, and you felt him relax slightly. Good. 

“Break it up, you two. This is a public place.” Benny put two new drinks in front of you and then stopped next to the table, flipping a towel over one shoulder. “You guys alright?” 

“No, but it could have been worse.” He gave you a sympathetic smile and looked to Frankie, taking a long breath. 

“We cant ask ‘em to leave, and I’m sorry about that, ‘Fish.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Frankie slid away from you on the seat and your hand dropped. “As long as he doesn’t come back over here, we’re all good.” He stood up and Benny stepped back, watching as Frankie moved to the other side of the table and sat again. “We might not stay long, though. Maybe finish this round and head out.” 

Benny nodded and then tapped his hand on the table, telling you that if either of you needed anything else, you knew where to find him. And when he was gone, you turned your attention back to Frankie. “After this is over…” You reached out, putting your hand flat on the table between you. “We should go on a trip somewhere.” 

“What? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” The abrupt change in subject did the trick, and you watched his posture change, Frankie’s brows shooting up as he leaned in. “A vacation?” 

“Yeah, why not.” You shrugged. “It’s going to be winter soon. And I know you’ve spent almost your whole life in this humid hellscape they call Florida, but…” That made him laugh, and the sound warmed you from the inside out. Good. Good, that’s what I want to hear. “But there are places where it actually gets cold. Places where there are snow and mountains and different kinds of forests for you to run through during the full moon.” 

“But I’ve never … aside from Colombia, I’ve never ….” He frowned. “What if something happens?” 

“It won’t.” He took your hand, sliding his fingers between yours and pressing your palms flat against each other. “But a change in scenery, even only for a little while might be a good thing.” 

“I can’t miss a holiday with Carmen. I won’t.” 

“Ashley’s not due until the end of December anyway. So we can’t go out there til early next year.” You grinned, tilting your head. “And there are places out West where it snows until May and June, so we have time.” He was quiet for almost a minute, eyes locked on your face. What are you thinking, Francisco? 

“You’re already thinking that far ahead?” He wet his lips and then bit the lower one. “About next summer?” 

“Yes.” You swallowed, still staring at him and watching as the look in his eyes changed, heat filling them. But that’s not the wolf. “I hope that’s alright.” 

“It’s more than alright.” He reached for his drink and drained half of it in one long gulp, eyes half closed as he tipped his head back. “In fact,” he continued when he’d set the glass down, creating a new ring of condensation on the table. “I think we should leave and I’ll show you just how alright it is.” 

Your stomach flipped, and you shivered. Oh, Frankie. But you nodded at the same time, picking up your drink and taking a smaller - but still healthy - sip. “What are we waiting for, ‘Fish?” He squeezed your hand and then let go, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and drop a few bills on the table. 

“Nothing anymore.” He stood again and waited until you did, too. Because the bar was so crowded, he had to walk behind you, but he stayed close, one hand on your lower back until you were outside in the parking lot again. 

It reminded you of the first night you’d met, and when you turned to tell him that, he was waiting. “I wanted you to kiss me in the parking lot the first night we met.” You blinked a few times, watching as the water began to dampen his hair and shirt. “I understand why you didn’t, but … I wanted you to.” He stepped closer, staying quiet. 

You believed that Frankie would handle Tom. You believed you’d get answers. You believed that after, you’d go to Texas and then to somewhere snowy. You believed that you’d meet Carmen and Becca and be able to take the next steps toward a future with him. But just in case… if it doesn’t happen? I don’t want anything unsaid. “I wanted to, too.” 

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love you, Francisco, so much. And yes, I’m thinking about next year and next summer and all of the nexts because I don’t want to -” 

“How ‘bout I kiss you now?” He slid one hand up the center of your back, fingers splayed. “Better late than never, right?” You nodded, closing the distance, and when your lips met, you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. 

You’d kissed him probably hundreds of times in the few months you’d known him, but that one felt different. 

It had little to do with the rain and the breeze, and everything to do with what it signaled - the breaking of the tension that had grown with Tom and Molly appearing in the bar, processing of the conversation that you’d been forced to have with them, the realizations that had come after. But most importantly, it was an indication that you were still on the same page, and that it wasn’t just about immediate satisfaction or the fact that you’d found each other temporarily. 

He bit softly on your lower lip and you parted them for him, the tip of your tongue poking though and meeting his. It escalated quickly from there, one of your hands rising to tangle in the damp curls at the back of his neck, Frankie’s fingers twisting the material of your shirt between them as he backed you toward the corner of the building and where he’d parked his truck. 

Your back hit the cool exterior wall of the bar, and he kept kissing you, his body pressed against yours as the rain continued to fall. A flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder broke you apart, and you groaned, still holding onto him. “We’re getting soaked, Frankie.” 

“And?” His lips moved over yours before they strayed to your cheek and then back toward your ear. “It’s just water.” 

“We’re going to ruin the interior of your truck.” Reluctantly, you pushed him away and then took his face between both hands. “But the sooner we get home, the sooner you can help me out of these clothes.” 

That was the right thing to say, because Frankie backed off on his own then, jerking his chin toward the parking lot and then reaching up to take your hand.

Distracting each other wouldn’t solve your problems, and you could only continue to do it for so long before the next full moon came. And we need to worry about now before we can even think about next.

But when Frankie’s hand found yours and lifted it so that he could kiss your knuckles, it was hard not to think so far ahead… and even harder to imagine that there might not  be a future for the two of you. 

—

[chronicsyd]

so I WAS going to post another long winded rant about Disney's Wish (I'll post that later) but Arcane decided to post another 30 second Teaser for us; and announcing the Trailer (yes, FULL Trailer AHHH! *ahem* sorry) is going to be releasing on September 5th! But let's get into what they showed us in this little teaser shall we? (go check out the teaser first it's only like 30 seconds and as usual, leaks will be blocked and deleted)

With this one frame they've already showed us several things. they've confirmed everything that was talked about Vi at the Annecy festival (some people were kinda skeptical if this was something that was legitimate for a while, myself included), and they've confirmed for me that Vi and Caitlyn are going their own ways at the beginning of the season (for a little while, at least). Vi tries to figure herself out in Zaun while Caitlyn's still an Enforcer up in Piltover. They also seem to be confirming the idea that there's some kind of time skip happening in s2 (not as large as s1 but there's something). And why I believe this is because Jinx is being painted in the same light as Vander, as someone that's respected in Zaun. People have already started rallying behind her at this point in the story.

Now, the bigger meat of the teaser:

I put Caitlyn and Jinx side by side for a couple reasons. Not only are these two taking on more of a leadership role this season, they're enforcing the idea that these two are the two sides of the same coin they hinted at in season 1 (they just both seem to be heading in the opposite direction the other was in season 1, if that makes sense), but they both have a figure explaining to them what they need to do for the better of Zaun/Piltover: Ambessa and Sevika. However, each of these characters are being told different things. Ambessa is a War general, she believes that in restoring peace Caitlyn needs to declare Martial Law aka military government and it seems that Caitlyn not only does this but she allies herself with Ambessa and Noxus in order to do this. On the other hand, Sevika's explaining to Jinx that she's the one that can rally Zaun together (and it seems that Ekko might actually be joining her on this). Because under both Vander and Silco there were still people opposed to how the Undercity was run (Under Vander, he was playing it safe with Piltover but Piltover was treating the Undercity badly but under Silco he was a kingpin and several people were still suffering under the effects of Shimmer and the only reason the Enforcers weren't as hostile because of Silco's allyship with Marcus, until Jinx steals the gemstone and Piltover retaliates). But with Zaun actually being at war with Piltover now, Jinx needs to be seen as a symbol for Zaun for people to rally behind, because to them Topside is the bigger enemy.

(I just had to add this pic of Sevika because like God Damn she looks so attractive here like step on me! *ahem* sorry, had a bit of gay panic there...moving on...)

Now, I'm going to hold off on giving my overall thoughts until the full trailer drops in a couple of days. just so that I can gather some more thoughts about where season 2 is going as a whole and when I'm given some more information to glean from, granted I'm SURE that the trailer won't give us any clear cut information because Arcane is great at that.

Oh one last thing:

Jinx's poster in for S2 has her being strangled by Vi's gauntlet, and Jinx is faced upsidown (with the caption "Time to turn things upsidedown") which i presume is just how different everyone/everything is going to be different compared to the last season. but i do wonder What Happens between Vi and Jinx that gets them like this? Because there Has to be a scene between the two that ends badly (probably before we see Vi with her black hair and leather, because in the earlier pic i showed Vi's already seeing Jinx pained alongside Vander)

ok NOW I'm done.

Anyways, I'll post again in the next couple of days when the trailer comes out. Bye!

[ze-land-fill]

Multifandom December Prompts 2024

Day 1. "Under the Weather"

Fandom: The Dragon Prince

Word Count: 692

Summary: Ez is sick, Callum brings soup, chaos ensues.

~ * ~

Callum knocked on the door, and then proceeded to let himself in. Ezran lay on his side, clutching at his pillow. Zym lay curled next to him, pushing his snout into Ezrans face. Bait grumbled beside them, on his pillow. 

Callum placed the bowl of stew on the small table, then turned to the bed and placed his hands on his hips. “Zym! What did we say about bothering his royal highness during nap-time!” 

Zym yipped concernedly in response, but retreated his snout from poking the king. 

Said king, on the other hand, grumbled in response, and reached an arm out,at a pillow. Only to lazily throw it behind him at his dearest older brother. Callum catches it easily, and exaggerates a look of betrayal. Sure, Ez has his back to him. But it doesn’t hurt to try and draw out a laugh. 

“I can’t believe you would do something like this! And to your own brother! Attack me- Me! You’ve rallied your feathered fiends and attacked me. Death by feather! Why would you do this?! Whyyy, Oh Whyyyy-” He drops to the floor dramatically, holding the pillow tightly to his chest. 

At that moment, the door opens again, and Rayla comes in, holding something behind her back. She stops after only a few steps though, and confusion twists itself into her features. 

“...Do I want to know?” 

Ezran sits up, his hair a complete mess, and faces Rayla, with as much of a smile as he can manage. “Callum called me “royal highness” again, so I unleashed my ‘feathery fiends’ and now he's dead on my bedroom floor. Can you help me clean up the evidence?”

Rayla blinks once, before she bursts out laughing. Callum laughs heartily from the floor. He picks himself up and sits on the bed, next to Zym’s curled up figure. Rayla walks around and sits on the other side of the bed. Petting Bait on the back as she sits down. 

Ezran leans back and sighs. “How much longer until I can get back to my duties?” A muffled laugh sounds from outside the doors. “See! Oh, c’mon Corvus, it’s a little funny. Doodie! No- wait- Come back! Corvus-” 

Rayla meets his eyes, “Does that answer your question?” Her mouth quirks up in a mischievous smile. Ezran lets out a tired sigh. 

The fireplace is crackling, it's dark out, and soft snowflakes fall outside of the warm room. 

Rayla’s smile softens, and she pulls her hand from behind her back. In it, she’s holding a plate, piled with jelly tarts. Ezrans eyes light up. He reaches for a jelly tart and bites into it hastily. He gets a dreamy look in his eyes as he sighs with contentment. “Thanks Rayla! This is exactly what I needed!” He finishes the pastry, and is about to reach for another one, when he suddenly sneezes. 

Zym jumps at the sound, and Stella ruffles in her sleep, from where she is situated in her own little makeshift bed. 

“Okay!” Callum exclaims. Standing up and clapping his hands. “Back to bed with you…” 

And an evil grin flashes across his face.

“...Your royal highness.” He bows deeply at the foot of the bed. 

This time, he’s not fast enough. And when he straightens himself up, he’s met with a pillow, hitting him square in the face. 

“I command you leave my quarters at once…Step-prince” Ezran retorts. 

Rayla lets out an audible gasp. “You’ve really done it now, Callum”

Callum starts making his way to the door, but he faces the king as he confidently walks backwards. “As you command, Your royal sassness.”

Another pillow comes flying at him. Which he catches easily. “Where do you keep getting these from?!” But he doesn’t get an answer, instead he’s met with another pillow. This one being thrown by none other than Rayla herself. 

Callum, unfortunately, does not catch that one, and instead trips and falls again. His fall is broken by the pillows. But the absurdity of the situation makes him laugh loudly. And Ezran joins in. And soon enough all three of them are laughing. 

Laughter, overflowing with love and affection.

~ * ~ Thank you for Reading!!!

~ Remzy

[cazzyf1]

Mike Hawthorn's Last Interview

From a magazine called 'Sports Car Wheel' published in August 1959

Mike Hawthorn picks the next champion - by Michael Priestley

A few hours before Britain's newly acclaimed Grand Prix Champion was killed in his green 3.4 Jaguar on the Guildford bypass, Surrey, England, our London correspondent Mike Priestley dropped in on our behalf to chat with his old friend. The two 'Mikes' discussed the future of the sport. We print this interview with respectful homage to a great driver and a nice guy who decorated the sport with his shining achievements and warm personality.

"Mike!" I asked as I pulled up outside the Farnham garage which bears the proud name 'Mike Hawthorn, Tourist Garage Ltd'. "What's the idea of retiring under 30?"

Mike Hawthorn gave me the familiar boyish grin I knew so well, a grin he often used to mask a hurt, and he had so many during his dazzling career.

"I don't know the real reason," he said, "I had to make up my mind whether to carry on racing or give up and run a business. I had reached the top, which is good for business, but after a while I would get worse, and people would soon forget."

"This business is growing. There is more and more work to do. We have had the new showroom for 15 or 18 months, but we still want new workshops."

At his garage, Mike sold Ferraris, Jaguars, Standards and Triumphs. His father, Leslie Hawthorn, owned the garage until he was killed in a road crash a few years ago. Hawthorn's mother and a family friend ran it together so that young Mike could carry on racing.

Some people said Hawthorn left the track to get married. Mike gave me a stock answer. "You'll get nothing out of me on that. It's definitely 'No comment'"

Surrounded by paintings of himself in action, Hawthorn confirmed that he would never race again on any track. But he was toying with the idea of doing the odd speed trial and rally now and again.

"I am obviously going to miss racing," he said, "Particularly when I go to a meet and see the Grand Prix cars on the grid."

Other racing, he said, didn't have the same attraction for him. Unlike Stirling Moss, he was never very interested in sports cars, although he drove plenty of them with great success.

"Frankly, I raced for the fun of the game," said Hawthorn. "I have to admit I never took it seriously like Stirling. I'd say I was lucky to get the championship by a single point."

What he most enjoyed was a battle royal with the masters of the sport. A wheel-to-wheel "dice" with Fangio meant more to him than all the fame and fortune he earned. "I made no elaborate plans to win the championship," he said, modestly. "I wanted to win, of course, but I'm afraid I never gave it much thought until the newspapers started building it up."

Although his success have been varied and numerous, Hawthorn won only three Grandes Epreuves. Even in his championship year, he scored only one outright win. Circumstances were often against him. When Mercedes swept the board, he was with Ferrari. When the Italians had regained supremacy, he had moved to B.R.M. In 1957, he rejoined Ferrari, only to find himself outpaced by the Maseratis and Vanwalls.

Hawthorn's memories of the past eight years must have been bitter-sweet indeed. He lived through high success and bleak failure, good health and bad, friendly publicity and cruel vendettas.

The press was wildly enthusiastic about Hawthorn in the early days, but later he was to learn that there is another side to publicity. In 1955, newspapers branded him as a draft dodger - for the thinly-veiled reason that National Service was in the news at the time - and the whole subject turned into a party squabble in Parliament.

Although the charges were later proved unfounded, the shameful attacks continued abated. One newspaper even started off again when Hawthorn returned home to attend his father's funeral.

Outside in the showroom, I saw two very interesting old cars. One was the Riley tuned by his father and driven by Hawthorn at the outset of his dazzling career. It was being completely rebuilt. The other was the sports Alfa-Romeo which won the 1934 Le Mans.

A notable absentee was Hawthorn's championship Ferrari, which he wanted to keep at Farnham. However, for reasons that must be more Latin than logical, Ferrari refused to let him have it, and the car will probably end its days in bits and pieces.

With the weight of the business on his broad young shoulders, Hawthorn admitted to finding time too short. He seemed preoccupied as he talked The biggest problem of his new life, he said, was the prospect of buckling down to it. He liked the gay life surrounding the sport, and his autobiography "Challenge me the race" contains several references to "Fantastic parties" "monumental hangovers" and other high jinks.

"I do like the idea of leading a quiet life," he admitted, not very convincingly. "But it looks as if it'll be difficult at the moment."

The conversation turned to the qualities desirable in a race track driver. "Let's get it clear from the start," Mike explained. I'm not the fearless type. I've been scared white on the track more often than I can remember, but what really scares me is being a passenger. When I'm being driven, I get really scared. At 40 or 50 mph, I suppose I'm all right, but after that, I go to pieces."

"Judgement and good reflexes are, I suppose, the first essential of a racing driver," he went on, "and I suppose you have to have IT. What's IT? Well it's a blend of good judgment and good reflexes - kind of fifth sense that comes into operation on the track. You could be the bravest man alive, and not get anywhere in racing without IT."

Hawthorn has another thing in common with most other racing drivers. He is superstitious, but not unusually so. He has never liked number One, and since his great friends Peter Collins and Luigi Musso were killed in cars bearing number Two, he had dodged that number also. Hawthorn refused the number Two at Morocco. Gendebien said he was not superstitious and took it. He was nearly killed in a serious crash.

"I like anything with a five in it," said Hawthorn, "I call that a comfortable number," He has never carried a "lucky" charm for fear of losing it.

The Hawthorn family originally lived in Yorkshire, but Leslie Hawthorn decided to move to Farnham to be near the Brookland circuit. It was there that young Mike saw his first race and the die was cast.

Right from the time when he "drove" an old Jowett on the starter motor - he was only eight at the time - he dreamed of racing. He had one priceless asset; his father, who knew the game inside out, both as driver, an engineer, and helped him all the way.

Mike Hawthorn, tinkered about with old motorbikes and modest motor cars, until his father acquired a couple of Rileys. Father and son entered for the 1950 Brighton Speed Trials. Leslie came second in the 1500 c.c. class. Mike won the 1100 c.c. class.

His real break came when a family friend, Bob Chase, brought a new Cooper-Bristol and let Hawthorn race it on condition that his father looked after it.

Hawthorn's debut at the Easter meeting at Goodwood in 1952 was fantastic. He beat such British experts as Abecassis, Wharton, Poore and Hamilton. Then he relentlessly trounced Fangio himself, when the master was also driving a Cooper-Bristol. After that, Mike never looked back, although bad luck was often to harry him.

After getting a fourth place in the Belgian Grand Prix at Spain, in 1952, Hawthorn went to Modena, Italy, to be tested by Ferrari. Unfortunately, he crashed his Cooper there, and, although he was not badly hurt, he felt groggy and unfit to race for a long time.

Ferrari signed him up for 1953. This was the year that Hawthorn drove his finest race, becoming the first Britisher to win the classic French Grand Prix since Sir Henry Segrave triumphed there in 1923.

As a first-year boy in the Ferrari team, he thus beat the great Fangio after a marathon duel, and soundly defeated Farina and Ascari.

Observers thought it was one of the most thrilling races ever, to see Fangio, the "Grand Old Man" of motor-racing, and then audacious "new boy" battling it out, using every clean trick in the book, for 150 miles - Hawthorn finally winning by a second.

Although he won the Sebring 12-Hours and the Le Mans 24 Hours and several other races, 1954 and 1955 were ill-fated years for Hawthorn.

Firstly, there were the disgraceful attacks on him over his Military Service commitments, which finally ended only when he was later rejected as medically unfit because of his kidney trouble and burns.

In 1955 there was more bad publicity when he was involved in the ghastly crash at Le Mans which killed over 80 people. No one was officially blamed after a long investigation, but some people tried to make the mud stick on Hawthorn.

To complete two dreadful years, Hawthorn's beloved father, Leslie, was killed in a road crash in England while Mike was in Italy In 1954.

In 1956, Ferrari decided that Hawthorn couldn't drive for him and Jaguar at the same time, so Mike bade him farewell for the time being and became a 'freelancer'.

It was in the fast but unreliable B.R.M that Hawthorn had his most fantastic racing car crash and escaped with an injured ankle. The car got out of control at 100 m.p.h at Goodwood, cartwheeled several times end over end, and finished upside down with a front wheel torn off. Hawthorn was back with Ferrari, with whom he stayed until his retirement.

The Vanwall won the Manufactures' World Championship this year, and because the British car was, by large and large, superior to the Ferrari, Hawthorn;s championship win was all the more admirable.

He didn't exactly 'nurse' his Ferrari, as had been suggested, but he showed a high degree of 'Mechanical sympathy' and this probably won him the world laurels, informing for a moment his supreme skill and fire.

In spite of the death of Peter Collins and Luigi Musso in Grand Prix racing last year, Hawthorn insisted that it is the safest form of racing there is. That is why he was against the new Formula One, which says that GP cars must conform to set standards of minimum weight and maximum power.

"It means putting a less powerful engine in the same weight chassis. With power you can get out of trouble by putting on throttle. If you reduce the power, nothing is going to happen when you put your foot down to regain control," he told me.

Outside of racing, Hawthorn's interests were limited, both by time and inclination. He sometimes reads thrillers, war books and historical works, but he has no enthusiasm for the Arts or politics. However he had a passion for flying. In 1957 he brought a lightweight Vega Gull which he piloted "quite a lot".

He often used it to get from track to track in Europe. At Hamburg, when Peter Collins and his American wife were on board, the engine failed just after take-off. Mike pulled off the impossible. He made a forced landing on the main runway, down-wind.

Afterwards he found out that a Convair liner had landed at the same time, on the same runway- from the opposite direction. "I didn't see it at all," reminisced Hawthorn. "Guess I was born lucky that way,"

He hoped to do some air racing one day, he said, but he didn't know anything about it at the time. The idea just appealed to him. Motor racing was always the consuming passion of his life, because his childhood was filled with race track impressions; his father being an automotive engineer and racing driver in the golden days of Brooklands.

Hawthorn's private transport was a Jaguar 2.3 which he has "modded" up to series production racing standards. "I can't think of any other car which can meet my needs as well," he explained. "It is good value for money it goes extremely fast. It corners quite well, and there is plenty of room, what more could you want?"

Discussing who would be the next world champion, Hawthorn tipped Phil Hill "Stirling moss is the best driver racing today," he said, "but I think a combination of Phil Hill and Ferrari will do it,"

As I prepared to leave, Mike apologised for being so busy, shook hands, flashed a cheerful grin and dashed away to a business appointment. He was still wearing a sports jacket.

As a nod to the business career ahead of him however, the wonder boy of the track had relinquished his characteristic bowtie for a more conservative and business-like neck-wear. This I took to be the first sign of Mike's "knuckling down" to the job ahead.