#but the FEELINGS are something entirely different

[starmocha]

I've got this doubt that I can't shake off: if MC's pregnancy, for some reason, is a very tough and risky one (both might die or something), which one of the guys would have the saddest breakdown at some point (just ugly crying into MC's arms after months of keeping it together for her sake) and which would have the angriest (trashing entire offices, taking their anger out on their enemies or both)?

(I had intended to respond earlier, but man…that trailer…) Gosh, you guys know how to prod at that special part of my brain with these asks lately… 🥺 I may or may not have...started writing...little...snippets, really... 😔

Zayne would go into “doctor-mode.” He is going to utilize his medical knowledge and resources to give you the best care possible for both you and the baby, and while it seems you have nothing to worry about, you will feel the emotional-withdrawal from him as everything will feel so methodical and clinical and he forgets completely his role as a husband until you break down crying.

You had tried to keep your emotions in check these last few months, rationalizing that Zayne was never an expressive person, but his feelings and actions were always sincere. He was pacing across the bedroom reviewing with you about your recent prenatal checkup and what it meant for both you and this baby. It had been like this for several months now, and with your weak heart and the risk it posed for both you and the baby, Zayne had been extra attentive about your prenatal care.

As you sat on your bed, heavy with his child and close to your due date, listening to him rattle off different medical terms and speaking to you less as a wife but more as if you were his patient, you could feel your emotions peaking. You couldn’t remember the last time he was affectionate with you or actually asked how you were personally feeling throughout this whole pregnancy. He was by your side more, but you had never felt as lonesome as now, needing him back as your husband and not a doctor. You could feel the tears brimming, but it was getting harder each day to suppress your feelings.

Everything Zayne was saying sounded like muffled gibberish to you. You could barely focus on the present, barely acknowledging even the faint movements of the baby you were carrying, feeling more lost in your loneliness. You finally let your emotions and hormones collide and broke down crying in front of him, startling him immediately. Within seconds, he was on his knees before you, grasping your arms as he asked worriedly, “What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?”

It took you a minute to gather yourself before you felt calm enough to speak, finally revealing to him how you hated who he had become during this time. At first, Zayne looked shocked, not quite comprehending what you had just said to him, but the more he pondered your hurt words, the more he realized there was a lot of truth in what you had said.

He kissed your belly, surprising you. Then, he got up and sat down next to you on the bed, pulling you into his embrace as he kissed your forehead, his apologies immediate and sincere.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, holding you a little tighter, “I just…don’t want anything to happen to you. Either of you.”

You leaned into his embrace, and sighed softly, “I know…I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

Zayne looked down, noticing how your words gradually stopped and you were withdrawing again. He lifted your chin, making you look at him as he coaxed you gently, “Just what?”

“I just miss you,” you said, voice breaking again and fresh tears brimmed your eyes. As he brushed your tears away, you cried harder, “And I’m scared…and I can’t stop thinking about all of the things that could go wrong…and then I realize stressing over this is also hurting the baby and…and…”

Zayne looked guilty as he realized that while he was too focused on your physical health, he had neglected your mental and emotional state, realizing how you had been suppressing your feelings for his sake.

He sat back against the headboard and pulled you back to rest against him. He apologized again for his neglect, and for the rest of that night, he listened and comforted you through your anxieties. There was that familiar warmth in his embrace that you missed, and the softness in his eyes returned as he listened to you earnestly. While your anxieties were still there, they seemed more manageable now that you realized the man by your side in this moment was not Doctor Zayne but your Zaynie, your beloved husband.

Rafayel is angry and emotional and will lash out and say things he doesn’t mean, such as he would rather lose the baby than you.

It had been like walking on eggshells these past few months. You had tried to keep your spirits up in spite of the situation, but eventually everything that had been quieted was going to surface, reaching an ugly peak.

You just had never expected him to say such words to you.

“You…don’t want…the baby?” You felt like you were choking as you uttered those words back to Rafayel.

He looked conflicted, his face twisted in pain and frustration. “I…I didn’t mean it,” he finally said, seeming to struggling with not just his words, but also his feelings.

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. “You said it! What could you have possibly meant to say if not that!”

“I don’t want to lose you!” he finally yelled back, frustrated that his words were being used against him by you of all people.

A strained silence filled the space, creating a rift between the two of you as you stared at one another in shock. In the distant, there was the cries of seagulls flying outside the studio, the sound of waves crashing on the shore a peculiar reminder that time was still moving forward even as you two stood frozen, locked in this seemingly unbreakable tension.

After several beats, Rafayel dropped to his knees, his head buried into his hands as he apologized, though it seemed more like he was apologizing for hurting you and not because of what he had said.

You walked closer to him, surprised when his arms wrapped around your waist, and his face pressed against your rounded stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. He didn’t look up at you, but his words were heard clear: “I just can’t lose you again.”

You stared down at his head of hair, unsure of what you could say in this moment. He looked so broken and helpless, and while you understood his sentiments, it still did nothing to alleviate the hurt you felt at his earlier words. Shakily, you let your hand rest on the back of his head, as you said softly, “My fishie…I won’t leave you…”

You said that to comfort him, but even you had doubts about whether you could hold true to your words. It was so bright and sunny outside in Linkon today, so why did your future look so gray and uncertain? This was to be a joyous time in both of your lives, but even as you both felt the baby kicked and moved, that cloud of doubt remained.

Xavier is stunned and feels helpless.

It had been an awkward couple of weeks. Xavier was quieter than usual, but he still answered you whenever you spoke. You didn’t think he was upset at you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sudden distance between the two of you.

“Captain Jenna had put me on desk duty for the remainder of my pregnancy,” you told him over dinner one night.

He didn’t answer you, appearing distracted as he was grilling some beef slices on an electric griddle.

“Xavier?”

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “Oh, sorry, I had something on my mind. What did you say?”

“I…I said Captain Jenna is putting me on desk duty,” you repeated hesitantly.

“That’s good,” he answered and picked a slice of beef off the griddle to place in your bowl. “You should have some more meat for protein.”

“…thank you,” you said, noticing the way his eyes kept averting with yours. You placed your bowl on the table, upset now. “Xavier, did I do something wrong?”

He looked taken aback by the sudden question. He immediately shook his head. “Wrong? Why would you even think that?”

You frowned. “You’ve barely spoken with me lately,” you said, “It’s been nothing but ‘yeah,’ ‘okay,’ ‘alright’ from you lately.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked at you with remorse etched on his face. He sighed as he turned the griddle off before he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I…I just have something on my mind.”

“You keep saying that,” you retorted, mildly irked now, “What could be on your mind that is more important than being here with me?”

“You.”

Your irritation disappeared in that moment, his solemn gaze resting on you. Slowly, you found your voice, your words stuttering a little in confusion, “Wha…what do…you mean?”

“You and the baby,” he clarified. “Ever since the doctor said this was a high-risk pregnancy, I just…can’t stop thinking about…everything that could go wrong.”

“Xavier…”

“I don’t know how to make this easier for you,” he continued, suddenly unable to hide his anxiety any longer, “And even if we do everything right, what if things go wrong at the last minute? What if—no, just…no…”

You gasped when he suddenly came to you, his arms wrapped around you immediately in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of your head and apologized again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Xavier…it will be alright,” you reassured him.

He was silent.

“We’ll both be alright,” you continued.

“Right…” he answered, but you noticed he still didn’t want to let you go. You also didn’t want him to part, so you both remained in this moment a while longer.

Sylus has all of the money and connections in the world. He is going to ensure that both you and the baby will be alright throughout the pregnancy until birth. On the surface, he seems calm and confident, but to keener eyes, such as yours, you will pick up on his anxiety through little tics or behavioral changes.

The moment you had told Sylus you were pregnant with his baby, he lavished you with even more luxuries than before. You received the best care possible, especially when it came to light that this pregnancy was not going to be easy for you and there was concern about the health of the baby. Sylus made sure the most qualified doctors were monitoring you and he had ordered the personal chefs to prepare only nutritional dishes for you and the baby.

He was adamant that you received only the best of the best, and to strangers, Sylus appeared to be so level-headed and grounded, not a trace of worry could be seen on his face.

You, however, noticed how he seemed to drum his fingers on hard surfaces more often. He would also pull out his coin to flip at the most peculiar time, and his visits to the boxing ring also seemed to have increased. There were so many odd tics that you couldn’t ignore, but you suspected you knew the reason why.

One evening, you slipped into bed earlier while Sylus was still sleeping. It would almost be time for him to wake up from his slumber, so you waited. When you noticed the fluttering of his eyes, you leaned in closer, smiling as your face was the first thing he saw once he awoken.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a mischievous smile, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Mm…morning,” he answered back in amusement, still a little groggy and bleary-eyed. He yawned. “What did I do to deserve seeing such a sweet sight first thing after waking up?”

“I wanted to talk.”

His mirth disappeared in that instance upon hearing your stern tone. He shifted in bed, sitting up with his back to the headboard. “Is something the matter?”

“You tell me.”

Sylus shook his head in confusion. “Sweetie, you are going to have to elaborate more,” he responded with a frown. “What are we talking about?”

“Are you…worried?”

“Worry?”

You rested a hand over your belly, his gaze instantly following your movement. “About the pregnancy,” you clarified.

“Of course I worry,” he answered back in that same even tone.

“You…seemed so assured, but lately, I’ve noticed these little…tics,” you explained, elaborating to him more in details as he listened patiently. When you finished, Sylus gently pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his. His arm wrapped around you, his hand resting on your belly to rub gentle little circles.

“I will always worry about you,” he said, “but panicking over things will not achieve anything, so I just redirected my worries elsewhere. Is that a problem?”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, I was just…wondering if you wanted to talk about them with me.”

He laughed and bent down to peck your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What if I want to?”

He smiled in amusement and kissed you again. “Then who am I to argue with my pregnant wife?”

“What would you do?”

“Do what?”

“If…I don’t ma—”

“You will be fine,” he immediately cut you off, his demeanor shifting entirely. “You will both be fine.”

“But—”

He lay back down in bed, pulling you closer to him in a tighter embrace. “Lull me to sleep,” he said instead.

“But isn’t it time for you to wake—” You clammed up when he shot you a pointed look. You could sense his unease, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh a little more. He was upset, deeply troubled, and you hated how he carried that burden alone on his shoulders.

“Alright,” you answered, snuggling into his embrace. You sang a song, a lullaby you had learned recently that you hoped to sing to your baby in a few months. As you sang, Sylus quietly hummed along, and it wasn’t long before you both fell asleep together, your worries left behind as you dreamed of the upcoming months when a new bundle of joy would arrive at Onychinus’ base.

Caleb is nervous, but he pours himself into taking care of you, because that is all he has ever known. He’s never liked seeing you ill or hurt, so he is going to do everything possible to make sure you receive the best care ever. He will do a lot of research and ask as many questions as he could to gain insight on what can be done to minimize the risk so both you and the baby will make through the pregnancy as safely as possible. He does not even want to consider the possibility of losing you.

You didn’t have any autonomy over yourself anymore. Whatever you wanted to do, Caleb did it for you first. Whatever you were craving, he would negate it half the time, citing it was better for you to eat a healthier alternative.

Even though you wanted to be mad at him, you knew he was doing this out of worry after the reveal that there were some concerns about this pregnancy. The moment that you had heard the word “risky,” everything afterwards suddenly sounded muffled as you were frozen in shock, a sudden anxiety creeping in as you stared down at your belly. Meanwhile, Caleb was already proactive, asking what needed to be done, what you both needed to be aware of, and so on and so forth. As if he could sense your worries, his hands immediately rested on your shoulders as he stood behind you while he continued to converse with the doctor.

He was your pillar and your protector. He always was, and he always will be.

Even if sometimes you found him to be overbearing.

You had missed many of his more indulgent dishes ever since he had put you on a clean-diet, and each time, you made a point of letting him know just how upset you were as you sulked when he finished setting the table with steamed fish and green veggies with bamboo shoots.

“It’s only temporary,” he reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you picked at the fish half-heartedly.

“Most women get to enjoy their cravings while pregnant,” you said sullenly, taking a small bite of the fish.

He nodded in agreement as he sat down opposite of you. “If this was a normal pregnancy, then of course you should be able to indulge on your cravings—”

You looked at him hopefully.

“But your cholesterol level is higher than normal, and we also need to be cautious about the risk of developing gestational diabetes—”

You sulked again. “You are killing my appetite again.”

Caleb laughed softly as he set his chopsticks down. He cocked his head to the side, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned forward on the table. “What are you craving, pipsqueak?”

“What does it matter? You won’t let me have anything…” You bit into your bamboo shoot, not making eye contact with him.

“Pretend I will,” he answered in the same tone.

You shrugged. “…Pasta.”

“Pasta? Okay,” he answered thoughtfully, “What else?”

“Hmm…pizza…cheesecake…dumplings…”

Caleb covered his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched you list each food longingly, practically lost in your own world and not even paying attention to him anymore. When it seemed you had finished listing, he questioned you again, “That’s all?”

You sighed and shook your head.

“What else is there? You’ve practically listed all of the food available on takeout menus,” he teased.

“…Braised chicken wings…”

Caleb looked surprised. “What?”

“Your braised chicken wings,” you clarified and looked up to meet his surprised gaze.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll make some braised chicken wings tomorrow for dinner.”

You perked up. “R-really?” You eyed him suspiciously. “What about my clean diet?”

“In moderation would be fine,” he answered, smiling, “Besides, having the mother of my child miserable the whole time is also not good for the baby.”

You huffed at him, annoyed. “I’m miserable because of you.”

He blinked, not expecting you to suddenly be mad at him again. “I’m only—”

“I can’t enjoy the food I like, I’m tired all of the time, I can’t even see my feet anymore, my back hurts, my feet are swollen—how am I fat when I’m not even eating anything yummy?!”

“…are you having a mood swing?”

“Yes!” you cried out hysterically, nearly sobbing, “It’s your fault, too, I can’t control my hormones right now!”

Caleb laughed helplessly as he stood from his seat and crossed over to your side. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried against his stomach as you continued to cry and list your grievances with him.

“Alright, alright, it is my fault I gotten you pregnant,” he agreed. He peered down at the top of your head, smiling when you sniffled against his shirt while he rubbed the back of your head soothingly.

“…dummy…”

“Yes, yes, I’m a dummy,” he continued in a very pacifying tone.

“…A big dummy…”

“Mmhmm…”

“The biggest…”

“Right, right…”

You looked up, suspicious again when he continued to be very agreeable. You yelped in surprise when he immediately grabbed your face and leaned down to steal your lips with his. It took you a few seconds to register that he was kissing you before you gave in, feeling a warmth in your chest at his sudden display of affections.

“What else?” he asked softly when he pulled back a few centimeters, still close enough that his breath brushed against your trembling lips while his eyes locked with yours. You could feel his thumb brushing away the tears that were still on your cheeks.

“…you…”

“Me?”

“Uh huh…”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just you…”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he said, “You have me. I am all yours. Forever.”

You guided his hand down to your pregnant belly, smiling when that same look of surprise crossed his face again when he felt the baby kicked. Your smile widened as you answered him, “You’re ours.”

He knelt down on one knee, his large hand still resting over your belly as he smiled back before his eyes drifted down to your stomach. “Yeah,” he said, sighing almost as if in disbelief by this current life he was living, “Both of yours. Forever.”

[servicpop]

short n' sweet ♡ valentines day special　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　adrien ( delinquent oc ) x student president m reader

ⓘ　fluff fluff fluff ! jealous adrien , reader gets confessed to by a girl

A day where cupid strings his bow and aims his arrow at couples is the day you spend the most time stringing up heart decorations around the school. Its only a few small splashes of pink ribbons and red hearts since Valentines isn't a huge thing—some people simply don't enjoy it as much as Christmas or others—but it's a nice opportunity to liven up the school with some fun flare.

For the most part, you can see cheesy couples receive bouquets neatly arranged into something pretty for their partner or love letters being handed out the old-fashioned way. You weren't a big celebrator seeing as you didn't have a romantic partner. Of course the occasional chocolates being given to friends was a tradition you practised when nobody bothered to give you a flower or a sweet confession.

But this year was different.

After finishing the decorations, you took the time to wander the grounds before returning to your councillor room. It was early enough for the walk to be rather peaceful with the occasional wave to people you knew when they walked by. Reaching the room you, place your hand on the doorknob, twisting it until it makes that click before a hand plants on your shoulder.

“Been awhile.”

You turn your head to see him in the flesh. Adrien, with that shit-eating grin. It was completely out of character for him to show up so early—or show up at all. That fact alone sent shivers down your spine. A coincidence that he shows up bright and early on valentines day?

“Bit late but,” Adrien takes a moment to exhale before his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be my valentines?”

You stand there, blankly staring at him. No flowers, no chocolates and certainly no handwritten love letter stamped with a wax seal as you were wishing for. He couldn't have been this unromantic. For all you knew, Adrien was just some ill-mannered guy who weaseled his way into your life thinking he had you wrapped around his finger just because you two 'hooked up' underneath the staircase.

“No.” Short and sharp; unintentional or not. Sure you liked him, a little more than you'd ever wanted to admit, but Valentines was meant to be unrealistically romantic, a day where you can feel like you're living in those old romance films.

“What?” You could hear the confusion in Adrien's voice as he watches you brush past him and slam the door infront of his face, drowning out his complaints through the door.

That whole ordeal in the morning definitely wilted your mood. The entire morning session of classes felt like a drag as if time was purposefully going slower each time you glanced at the clock.

You were probably the first person to leave the classroom when you were dismissed, rushing out to your locker to reunite with your friends in hopes of charging your social battery.

“Hey— prez? I have, um, something for you.” The nickname felt like deja vu, like you've been called it countless times by a certain someone. But it wasn't him; it was a girl around your age or even younger. In her hands was a square, pink box with 'milk chocolate' printed in a cursive font. Her face was flushed pink and it looked as though if she met eyes with you, she'd melt under your gaze. On top of the chocolates was a pretty letter with equally pretty handwriting.

It undoubtedly made you smile even if it was just a little.

You accepted her gift, making sure you flashed a polite smile at her before watching her scurry off like it had been the hardest thing of her life to come up to you like that. It was charming in a way. You skimmed the letter which was mainly just her stating her appreciation for you and how she wanted to get to know you better with her name signed at the bottom with a small heart next to it.

A few of your friends who had just made it out of class had witnessed the whole scene, patting your back and pawing at the chocolates like hyenas. It wouldn't hurt to share the love, especially when your friends seemed like they'd die without sugar.

You let them all take one before sealing the box and placing it in your locker for later, you pocketed the note just so you didn't accidentally lose it or have it slip out.

Come to think of it, the more the day went by, the more you noticed a lack of Adrien. Usually he'd make an appearance by now, whether that was to stare at you with a smirk while you walked by eachother or to 'accidentally' brush your arm on any opportunity he got.

You made nothing of it though, it was probably because he thought today was boring—given all the couples would boast their affection towards eachother in the hallways—and decided to skip. It was typical of him to do so. But it still weighed in your mind all the way until the home bell rung.

Your locker was the last stop before you could go home, opening the metal door to see that your box of chocolates were gone; replaced.

Godiva chocolates in the shape of a heart, a letter sealed in an envelope, and a bouquet of flowers that look strangely like the ones from the school garden was neatly arranged in your locker.

“Do you like it?” You practically jump out your skin as your turn to see the man you haven't seen the while day.

“You put this here?” You ask, looking back at the gifts stuffed in your locker.

“Who else would— nevermind don't answer that.” You could tell from the furrowed set of his eyebrows that he was pissed off about something, like it bothered him enough to replace the chocolates you were given.

“I thought that maybe you didn't like how forward I was this morning.” It was one of those rare occasions where Adrien wouldn't have that cocky look on his face or that teasing lilt to his tone. He wore an almost shy expression, like he wasn't used to giving gifts this romantic.

“Seeing as you liked that girl's gift so much.” You could hear the venom roll off his tongue when he said that.

You glance down at what Adrien gave you. Godiva wasn't a cheap brand and those flowers would probably have taken Adrien awhile to personally pick and choose the ones you liked to plant in the gardens. Your heart flutters at the thought that maybe Adrien was gone the whole day because he was trying to pick up gifts for you, all cause he felt a little guilty.

“I know its over the top but—” “I like it.”

He pauses and stares down at you like its the most baffling thing in the world to hear you say 'I like it.' You look up at him, and you can't hold your smile back—this time, you smile wholeheartedly.

“Thanks, Adrien,” You look both ways to see if anyone was watching and you lean up to kiss just shy of his lips on the corners of his mouth. It was a quick peck as you almost instantly pulled back to pack up your things and walk past him.

He stands there, frozen in place before his own fingers touch his face, grazing over the spot you kissed him at.

There's a sharp bang of his fist against the neighbouring lockers as he internally crumbles, holding his face like he needed to shield what was left of your fleeting kiss.

A victory perhaps?

a / n ; dividers made by anitalenia , and the gift graphics are made by my dearest anby !

[scribes-of-valar]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑦

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

A/N: I watched maybe two seasons of this show last year and kind of moved past it. I randomly got a Clark Kent fic on my feed last night and suddenly I have a demon in my brain telling me to write. Anyway, there is a horrendous lack of full fledged, non-smut fics for this man, so, here you go.

Summary: Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

“Have any plans?” You pull your English book from your locker, fingers stilling as you wait for Clark to respond. Silence stretches between you, long enough to make your brows furrow in confusion. Peering around the edge of your locker door with narrowed eyes, you let out a sigh. 

You should have seen this coming. As always, Clark is staring at Lana from across the hall, looking like he walked straight out of a sappy romance movie. 

She’s close, so close, but entirely out of his reach. She laughs, tucking a perfect, shiny strand of hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way Clark pines for her. Always pining. Always looking at her like she’s the only girl in the world. 

You could gag. 

Slamming your locker shut, perhaps harder than necessary, you break Clark out of his trance as he flinches away from the noise. His head snaps toward you, blue eyes narrowed on the irritated scrunch of your face. You smile, forcing the snark out of your expression. 

“Did you say something?” His voice is kind, expression open, as though he’s finally ready to listen. But the bell rings, cutting into the moment. You only have a minute to sprint to the other side of school. 

“No,” you sigh, forcing the stilted smile to stay on your face, “I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers, falling into step beside you. “That way you can tell me what you actually said,” he teases, giving you that familiar boyish grin that never fails to make you unravel. 

You bite your tongue for a moment, mind unraveling as you struggle with telling him the truth or not. This is stupid. He’s Clark, your best friend. Your stupid, oblivious, beautiful best friend. But the way he looks at you, soft and warm as he slows his stride so he can walk together a little longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

No. It will definitely still hurt. 

“Would you want to do something this weekend?” You rush it all out at once and immediately look away from him, terrified by what you might see on his face. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Clark laughs, light and easy. Your stomach twists and your head shoots up, a disbelieving glare on your face. You’d known it would be unlikely that he’d return your feelings, but laughing seems below him. 

“Why’re you being so weird?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “We’ll just do a movie night like always.” He squeezes your shoulder, casual, friendly, a wholly innocent gesture. Nothing more and nothing different. It’s completely platonic to him, as it always is. It takes you a moment to realize that he took what you were saying the wrong way. Or, maybe this is just the gentlest way he knows how to let you down. 

“Right,” you struggle to keep your voice even but it doesn’t matter, the dejection slips through your tone. His smile falters slightly and he looks like he wants to say something when the shrill ring of the bell interrupts you both.

“I’ll see you later,” he offers but he sounds uncertain. Most of your plans have fallen through lately. Either because he was busy with Lana or off disappearing somewhere. You’re not sure, but you know the divide is growing larger between you both and you’re getting scared you’re going to lose him. 

“Sure,” you give him a flat smile and he hovers beside you for a moment, like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how. 

“You’re going to be late,” you startle slightly and glance over your shoulder. Blake, a boy you share your English class with offers you a shy smile as he hovers by the door, holding it open for you to walk through.  

“Thanks,” you walk past them both and into class, not wanting to look at Clark any longer. You miss the sharp look Blake shoots Clark and the way your friend lingers by the door for a minute before rushing off to his own class. 

You slide into your seat, lucky to have gotten in before Mrs. Brown, lord knows she would love to make a spectacle of anyone being tardy. Blake follows not far behind you, slipping into the seat beside you as always. He’s nice enough, quiet, unassuming. You’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but right now all of his attention seems to be on you. 

He whispers your name and you give him a brief glance and smile, mind still wrapped up in Clark. “Um, I was going to ask,” he stutters over his words for a moment, swallowing thickly before finally meeting your eye. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you answer absentmindedly. “I have plans with Clark,” you tell him shortly as Mrs. Brown walks in. You don’t have time to explain that you’ll probably just end up waiting around your house all weekend. Just to get a brief and incomprehensible explanation of why you were all alone on Monday. 

He sinks back in his seat with a sigh just as the teacher begins writing the assignment on the board. You shoot him a slightly concerned look before brushing the interaction off as nothing.

Standing in the line at The Talon has become almost a hobby for you. Not just because Clark drags you here constantly, but because he distracts Lana from actually taking any orders. The wait time seems to triple every time he walks into the shop. You hear people grumbling behind you and finally move toward Clark, breaking the unspoken rule of leaving him and Lana alone. 

“There’s a line, Clark,” you sing-song, warning him. The both of them flush, breaking their hushed conversation and shooting you a sheepish look. 

“I’m sorry,” Lana apologizes and you wave her off. “Do you want anything?” 

You’d been considering getting a muffin, but when you look over and see the lovesick smile Clark is giving her, you find your appetite has disappeared. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

Clark turns toward you with a soft frown and he nearly makes you forget just how much you resent him for dragging you along to see this. “I thought you were hungry.”

You glance back at Lana and find her eyes already on him. God, what’s the point of a breakup if you’re still obsessed with each other? “No, it’s alright.”

You move away from the counter to step outside, expecting him to stay there and continue flirting despite the angry customers behind them. You’re surprised when you hear his voice immediately beside you. 

“Hey,” he moves away from the door, a grin on his face. Face wrinkling in confusion, you nod your head in greeting even though you’d just seen him. Your eyes narrow in on the leather of his jacket and your head tilts in confusion. You swear he was wearing a zip up a moment ago. “What’re you doing?” He asks, tone light as he stands beside you closer than he normally would. 

“Uh,” you’re tempted to glance over your shoulder and make sure he isn’t still standing in The Talon. “Did you hit your head?” He flushes slightly and you laugh. “Just our usual friday endeavors, you moon over Lana and I hold back the mob of angry customers who just want a coffee.” Laughing to ease some of your own tension, it trails off when you see the smile drop from his face. 

His eyes narrow and he glances toward the shop, “Idiot,” he mutters. You shoot him an affronted look and he blanches, quickly correcting himself. “Me, not you.” You want to question him further but he slings an arm over your shoulder and redirects you away from the shop. Mind a blank slate, you feel your brain break slightly at the simple touch. 

When you were younger, before Lana, before either of you even knew what crushes were, something like this would mean nothing to you. As it is, though, your friendship seems to have dwindled to nothing but compulsory hangouts and the occasional conversation in the hallway. Something as simple as his arm around you has turned into everything for you. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” 

“Movies at your place, like usual,” you remind him. He must have slipped and hit his head on the way out of The Talon.  Either that, or he already forgot the plans you made just this morning. Neither would surprise you. 

His face screws up and he shakes his head, “God, that’s lame.” You scoff, shooting him an odd look, not bothering to remind him that it was his idea. “I mean what’s he-” 

Clark cuts himself off, glancing down at you before letting out a short laugh. “How ‘bout the fair?”

You reach up and press the back of your hand to his forehead. He gives you a bewildered laugh, taking your hand in his and grinning. “What are you doing?”

You lean back slightly, breathless at the awestruck way he’s looking at you. You’ve only ever seen him look at…

Lana, you’ve only ever seen a look like this directed at Lana. But now, those deep blue eyes are pulling you in and you feel helpless to fight them. You swallow hard, blinking while you try to remember what you were even going to say. 

“Uh,” licking your lips you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement. “I was seeing if you had a fever. Since when do you want to go out?” 

He laces your fingers together and tugs you forward, “Since now.” 

Usually, you’re not so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. Months, you’ve been praying he treats you with even a semblance of care he throws toward Lana. Now, you finally get it and you can’t help the sick tightening feeling in your stomach telling you this is all wrong.

The fair is less crowded than you had expected. Though, it is nearly the last day it’s in town, you suppose everyone’s already had their fill of it. You have been trying to get Clark to come with you for nearly a week, maybe this is why he had waited so long to join you. Some of the rides you actually got all to yourself. 

“You know these things are rigged,” you tease, watching as he tries and fails at the bottle toss for the third time. The bored teenage girl behind the booth briefly glances up from her book to glare at you both. You shoot her a sardonic smile and she turns to Clark. 

“You can just buy the stuffed animal, ya know?” She drawls. 

“That’s cheating-”

“Where’s the fun in that-”

You and Clark share a grin as you speak over each other. The girl pales at your joined voices and returns quickly to her book, muttering something about annoying couples. 

Your stomach flutters at the idea of you and Clark as a couple but you push it down. “Alright,” Clark chuckles and holds his arm out for you, “let’s get out of here.”

You slip your arm through his easily, smiling up at him. You’ve long since stopped questioning just how touchy he is. Clearly, he’s in a generous mood tonight and you feel like taking advantage of that as much as possible.

“Where to next?” He asks and your eyes crawl across the fairground, struggling to find something you haven’t already done. 

You toss what must be your third lemonade in the closest bin and shoot him a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom before we do any more rides.”

He’s slow to let you go, hand drifting down to hold yours as he steps back. “I’ll wait by the ferris wheel,” he tells you lowly. 

Your cheeks flush, eyes widening slightly as you slip away from him. The ferris wheel is notorious among Smallville students as the place to make a move. Everyone knows it’s just couples that ride up in those rickety old cars. Still, Clark is slightly oblivious to stuff like that. You don’t want to get your hopes up just for it to ultimately be nothing more than a friendly outing. 

Rushing toward the sad group of Port-a-potties you let out an annoyed sigh when you see the long line awaiting you. Your foot bounces against the dirt impatiently as you peer around the girl in front of you just to see there has to be, at least, ten people before you. 

There’s a vibration in your pocket before you hear the shrill ringing of your Nokia. Digging it out of your jeans you answer without checking the contact. “Hello?” The girl in front of you shoots you a dirty look and you take a step back from her. 

“Hey, where’re you?” You frown at the sound of Clark’s voice, glancing around like you might be able to spot him in the crowd. You’d told him where you were going, why would he be calling?

“You know where I am,” you tell him, chuckling. 

There’s a slight huff on the other end and you frown, he almost sounds disappointed. “What are you talking about? We were supposed to watch movies tonight.”

“Okay, Clark, I’m officially concerned. You’ve been acting weird all day. We’re at the fair,” you say slowly, over-enunciating your words like he’s slow. “You said movies were going to be lame.”

There’s a long pause and he utters your name in a concerningly serious tone. “The person you’re with-”

“Alright, do you mind?” The girl in front of you whips around and snaps at you. Blanching, you lower the phone from your ear and she shoots you an incredibly dirty look. 

“Clark, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you whisper into the phone. 

“Wait-” 

You cut him off, hanging up and shoving your phone in your back pocket. She turns back around and rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take long for your Nokia to start ringing again but you figure you’ll just meet Clark by the ferris wheel like he said. 

Low groaning drifts through the noises of the crowd and makes you pause. Tilting your head around the corner of a trailer, the sounds only grow louder. Everything inside you says not to investigate, but the person sounds like they’re genuinely in pain. You can’t just walk away. 

“Hey,” you call out softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you take a hesitant step closer. A scuffed white converse slips from behind the back of the trailer and it looks worryingly similar to Clark’s. “Clark?” You call out, creeping a little further into the dark. 

It’s like a cocoon of silence back here, as though the shadows swallow the voices and loud cheering sounds of the games beyond you. “No,” the small voice croaks out. You see a hand in the dirt and they begin dragging themselves forward. You jump back a step, heart picking up as you watch them get to their feet. 

This was a stupid idea, walking toward a stranger in the dark. Even in Smallville you couldn’t trust everyone. They finally turn and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Blake, hey.”

He gives you a weak grimace, clutching his stomach like he’s in pain. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, taking a step closer to him, trying to get a better look. 

“Fine, fine,” he stutters out, shifting just enough to keep his face half-hidden in the shadows.  Even knowing the person lurking within the shadows, you still feel slightly on edge. Something about the way he moves unsettles you. It’s not as though you know him well, he’s just a classmate. Someone quiet and harmless. Or, you hope he’s harmless, right now there’s something about him that feels wrong.

“Alright, um, if you’re sure,” you take a careful step backward. Your foot’s barely back on the ground when he lunges forward. His hands stretch toward you like he’s about to snatch you into the shadows with him. You’re stuck deciding whether you’re going to scream or bite him when he jerks back like a puppet being yanked on a string.  

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, breathless. “Clark walked by. He- he told me to tell you he was leaving.”

Your stomach twists with panic. Right now you care more about not getting your throat slit in a dark alley than you do about Clark ditching you. Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and run out from between the trailers. You swear you hear footsteps, quick and light, following your path to the cars. 

Sliding into your car, you lock your doors and peel out of the lot. You leave the fair, and whatever just happened, behind, not looking back. The phone in your pocket vibrates again but you ignore it, too freaked out by what just happened to bother answering.  

Someone calls your name and you peer around the edge of your locker door, grimacing when you see Blake walking toward you. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s been fussing with it all morning, and his thick glasses, normally perched precariously on his nose, are nowhere to be seen. His normal polished clothes look like they’re three sizes too big and you frown.  

“Hey,” you drag the word out, trying to sound polite even if his outburst last night left you feeling incredibly unsettled. “Feeling any better?” You hesitate to meet his eyes, and when you do, your annoyance only deepens. 

He’s watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything?” You ask, voice trailing off as you close your locker and take two deliberate steps back. 

Blake’s brows furrow and he almost looks hurt before his expression smooths over into something startling unreadable. “Um, no, I’m sorry,” his gaze drifts past you. The color drains from his face and you barely have a second to process the oddity of this conversation before he turns on his heel and goes barrelling down the hall.

“Hey,” Clark’s familiar voice cuts through your confusion, and you turn to see him striding toward you. Gone is the easy, playful grin he wore last night. He looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, intent on something. “We need to talk,” he tells you, tone grave. 

“I know,” you snipe, not bothering to hide your irritation at just leaving you alone at the fair last night. You aren’t surprised, he’s been doing that for weeks now. What stings is that, for a little while, you had felt like you were actually friends again, only for him to ruin it. 

His brow furrows and he glances around the empty hallway with a frown. “Look, we can’t talk here, but-”

The warning bell rings, cutting him off. “Shit,” you mutter, shoving your books into your bag and turning away from Clark. He calls your name but you wave him off. “Later, Clark, I can’t be late again.” He watches you go with a frown, running a hand through his hair before turning toward his own class. 

Not even ten minutes later you spot him walking past Mrs. Brown’s room. Though, you swear he was wearing a red shirt not a green one. You could be wrong, it’s not as if you had long to take in his outfit.

You figure he’s just passing by and go back to taking your notes. There’s a light hiss from the door and you frown, looking up to see him hovering in the doorway and waving you forward. You glare toward Mrs. Brown’s back and shake your head. No way, you mouth. 

Clark gives you a pleading look, frowning and motioning you forward again. You know that look, you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years now. He’s clearly not going to let go of whatever  he was badgering you about this morning. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You call out, not bothering raising your hand. The old bat’s half-blind, you doubt she’d see it anyway. 

She answers without even bothering to turn around and face you. “If you need to use the restroom, you do so before my class,” her shaky voice calls out with a huff. 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, stuffing your books in it as she turns back to the board. There’s no point in arguing with her, she’s never going to give in. You wait until she drops her eraser. The second she bends over to grab it, you’re bolting toward the door. Clark grabs your arm, dragging you behind him.

He makes a break for the end of the hall, blowing past the geometry class he’s meant to be in. He busts through the school doors and leads you quickly through the courtyard. “Clark,” you hiss, trying to hold back a laugh at the stupid grin on his face. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes alight with mischief, “Come on, you can’t tell me you actually want to listen to her rambling on about Shakespeare for an hour.”

You can’t argue with that, but he hasn’t done a jail bust for you in a while. Especially not during one of the few classes he shares with Lana. “No, I didn’t,” you pause as you realize he’s leading you to your car and not his truck. “Am I driving?”

“Truck didn’t start this morning,” he tells you shortly, not bothering with any further explanation. You swear you saw him drive in this morning but you could be wrong. It’s not like he’s the only kid driving his dad’s old busted truck in this town. “I’ll drive, though, you won’t know where we’re going.”

“Ominous,” you snark as he takes your hand in his, directing you toward the passenger door. Gentle hands push you up against the side of the car and he ducks down, leaning into your space. You crane your neck up, flushing slightly at the proximity. Any closer and you could kiss him. 

“Well?” He questions softly, lips curling up in a half-smile that makes you want to melt. You blink, forgetting what you were doing before you notice his outstretched, open, palm. Swallowing thickly you take your keys out of your bag and place them in his hand. “Thanks,” he ducks down, soft lips pressed against your cheek before rounding the front of the car. 

Your hand drifts toward your cheek, a bewildered smile on your face as you try and regulate your breathing. “What the hell?” You mutter, shaking your head slightly. Turning around, you open the car door and slip into the passenger seat. 

Clark greets you with a grin, scooping your hand up in his as he pulls out of the school parking lot. You don’t want to think about the trouble you’re going to be in tomorrow, all you can focus on is how good Clark’s hand feels in yours. 

“I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting kidnapped,” you joke, head tilting to look out the window. The golden fields stretch endlessly, rolling past in waves as the car gets further from town. Houses become scarce, replaced by sprawling farmland and grazing cattle. The further you go, the more isolated you feel. 

Clark chuckles, but there’s something off about the sound, a slight wheeze, a strain where there wasn’t before. His face crumples and he turns away from you, his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel from his tight grip. 

“Are you okay?” You reach instinctively toward him but he jerks his hand back. You gasp, jumping back when you catch a glimpse of his face. It ripples, the skin shifting unnaturally, as if something beneath it is struggling to break free. 

“Oh no,” Clark groans, voice strained. His entire body spasms and his hands slip from the wheel. The car lurches violently to the side, tires screeching against the pavement. Panic surges through you, hands bracing against the door as you shout his name. 

He curls into himself, muscles seizing, leaving the car veering out of control. The telephone pole ahead rushes toward you, growing larger by the second. You throw yourself forward, grasping at the wheel, desperately trying to steer, but Clark’s foot slams against the gas instead of the brake. 

Everything happens too fast. A blur flashes in front of the windshield. Then, a sudden stop. Your body flies forward, arms bracing against the dashboard as your head whips forward and back, pain rattling through your spine. 

You whine in discomfort, slowly sitting up and trying to take in your surroundings. The passenger door is ripped open. You flinch, recoiling instinctively and sending a shock of pain down your body. Your breath stutters as someone ducks their head inside, a startling familiar pair of blue eyes find yours.  

“Clark?” You whisper, gaze flicking to the seat beside you where Clark still sits, doubled over, his breathing ragged. 

The Clark outside the car reaches in and gently pulls you out. Warm, calloused hands skate carefully over your arms and shoulders. He cups the back of your neck, tilting your head up, thumbs gently smoothing over your jaw as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice is soft, thick with concern. His eyes briefly leave yours to double check you for any injuries he might have missed. 

Your heart pounds. This isn’t possible. You must be concussed. You blink rapidly still struggling to wrap your head around the whole two Clark’s thing when the second one stumbles out of the car. 

He steps are uneven as he rounds the fender, his entire body shaking. Your rescuer moves swiftly, placing himself between you and the other Clark. He shields you, broad shoulders tense, protective to a fault. Must be the real one. Right? You rub your aching head and frown. 

“What were you going to do with her?” The one in front of you barks the question out, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.

“I just,” the other one keels over, cutting himself off with a pained groan and shaking his head. “Wanted to get away,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself straight again. 

“And you had to take her with you?”

“What’s going on?” You jut in, stepping back from both of them. Facing them, you see the same wounded expression reflected on both faces. Whichever is the fake, he’s certainly mastered the puppy dog look. 

Your rescuer tries to take a step forward but you throw your hand up, keeping them both at bay until you know what’s going on. He sighs and glances over at his shoulder at the other one.  “How long have you been able to do this?” 

It's like they start a conversation in the middle and you’re completely lost.  “Last year, I never saw a use for it and it was too much of a pain. But then I realized,” he looks at you, face contorting. “You would never go for a guy like me. You couldn’t. You were too wrapped up in him,” he spits the word out with venom, nodding toward the Clark you know has to be the real one. 

“You love him and that stupid all-American smile.” He chuckles, but it breaks off into a groan as he doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach. He drops to his knees and moans through clenched teeth, clutching at his face as he folds over. The longer black hair shrinks to a dull brown, broad shoulders slimming as the clothes he wears hang loose on him.

The illusion shatters, “Oh, God, Blake?” You gasp out, taking one step toward him. He shakes his head and you stop as Clark grabs your elbow. You glance up at him but he just shoots you a soft look that has you rooted to the spot. 

“I’ve been in love with you since freshman year,” Blake chuckles, still sounding like every word hurts. “If only I figured it out earlier, it’s always going to be him. I never had a chance, did I?” His gaze flickers toward Clark before he collapses to the pavement. 

You both go running toward Blake. Pressing your trembling fingers to his neck, you let out a sigh of relief when you feel his faint heartbeat. 

“We need to get him to a hospital, fast.” You lean back from Blake, looking around for Clark’s truck, confused when you don’t see it. “Dammit, Clark, where's the truck?”

He flushes, shaking his head, “I didn’t bring it.”

You frown, “What’re you talking about?” 

He glances toward Blake, the rise and fall of his chest steadily slowing. When he looks back at you his expression is unreadable, an intensity to it that you’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.”

“Always,” you tell him without missing a beat. He gives you a small smile but it lacks the usual warmth. 

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You glare at him but he just shakes his head. 

“Please,” he looks close to begging and the pulse under your grip is getting weaker. Swallowing down your confusion you close your eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I’ll be back.”

You frown, feeling a rough breeze blow back your hair as your eyes shoot open. But the spot in front of you is empty and the body under your hand has disappeared. Getting to your feet, you spin in one slow circle. There’s nothing out here except golden fields, your totaled car, and you. All alone. 

Clark eventually came back for you. His truck rolling into view after being on your own for half an hour. You hadn’t talked to him the whole ride back to town, too shocked by everything that had happened. 

He carried the conversation for the both of you, offering a brief explanation that only confused you more. Blake had apparently been one of the meteor freaks, somehow being exposed to it when it had left a crater in your town. 

But Clark didn’t tell you how he made it across the highway and to the hospital in under five minutes with no car. He didn’t tell you anything that actually mattered. So, you told him to drop you off at home and you haven’t seen him in a week. 

Chloe had called you once during your self-induced isolation, just to tell you that she’d driven by Blake’s house. Apparently the entire place looked like it had been cleaned out. No sign of him or his parents anywhere. You wish you could say you care, but you don’t. You’re almost grateful he’s gone. Not only did he reveal your long held secret infatuation to Clark, he’d clearly had ill intentions as he tried to take you out of town. 

Your Nokia nearly buzzes itself off your nightstand as you set your book to the side and look at the all-too familiar contact.

Clarkie

The stupid nickname you’d given him in middle school lights up the small screen and you let out a rough sigh, watching as it rings and rings before finally quieting. The screen goes dark before lighting up once more as his ringtone fills the silence of your room. He doesn’t give up easily, you have to give him that. 

You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face him. Not now that he knows about your feelings for him. There’s no hiding what Blake so plainly laid out for him. You sink into the comforts of the pillows on your bed and wonder if you could just live here forever. 

Something knocks against your window and you ignore it as nothing more than a branch from the tree. It’s not much longer before it happens again and you rip your hands off your face and are forced to sit up. Your phone rings once more and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that you know exactly who waits outside your window. 

“You can’t hide forever,” comes an annoying cheerful voice from outside. You force yourself off your bed and slink toward your window. Sure enough, Clark waits below it, a boyish grin poised on his face as he looks up at you. As much as you’re avoiding him, it’s plain cruel to just leave him outside. 

Reluctantly, you open your window and he’s quick to climb your tree. You back up as he slots his broad frame through and into your room. He lets out a short huff of breath and straightens up, giving you a sheepish smile. 

Taking a seat on your bed, you find it a tad difficult to look at him. Clark sucks in a deep breath and grabs your desk chair. He straddles it, resting on the back of it and staring at you until you feel like he’s going to burn holes into the side of your face. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You hum and shrug, tucking a loose wave behind your ear. “I’ve been sick,” you lie, briefly looking up. The intense way he’s looking at you leaves you breathless and you have to take in a slow breath so your heart doesn’t kick up too much.  

“I want to tell you something.” Your head shoots up, concern lacing through you at the grave tone of his words. He looks away from you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I want to ask you something first. Is, uh,” he chuckles a little and licks his lips, a nervous tick he’s never been able to kick. “Is all that stuff that Blake said true?”

Your stomach drops, burying your face in your hands, you let out a low groan. “Oh, god,” you suck in a sharp breath, unable to look at him as heat flushes through you. 

Lying is always an option. It’s a poor option, but it’s there. Maybe, if you just lied straight through your teeth he would drop it and leave you alone. But you’ve been hiding this for so long, tucked so tightly to your chest, it would be a relief to finally be unburdened of the truth. 

“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to face the truth of his rejection. Clark has been your best friend since you could walk, losing him over this stupid crush would destroy you. 

The silence drags on for too long and you feel the anxiety calling its way around you. Warmth envelops your hands and calloused palms draw them away from your face. 

You peek one eye open to find Clark kneeling before you, a soft smile on his face. “You better not be laughing at me, Kent.”

A small chuckle slips through his lips and you slap at his shoulder. He catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not, I promise. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why? So I could ruin our friendship faster?” You snark. 

“No, so I could do this,” he darts forward, soft lips capturing yours. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

There’s a brief moment of shock where you’re completely frozen. But then you feel the way his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. And you find yourself melting into the feeling of his embrace, eyes closing as you slowly open up to him. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the soft waves of his hair. 

The kiss itself is gentle, chaste almost. But it warms you from the inside out, makes you feel like you’re going to be nothing but a puddle of goo the longer he holds you. When he pulls back, he drags it out, lips lingering as long as they can. 

You’re slow to recover, eyes glazed over as you stare at him. He seems just as shocked, like he hadn’t expected to do that. Of course, you say the first thing that comes to mind instead of just shutting up and enjoying the moment. “What about Lana?” You blurt out, wincing the second it leaves your mouth. 

He frowns at you and shrugs, “What about her?”

“You’ve been blowing me off for months for her. We go to her shop every day just so you can stare at her. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly discovered feelings for me. I won’t be your backup, Clark.”

He shakes his head vehemently, looking almost offended by the idea. “What? No. Of course you’re not,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you before sinking back on his heels with a huff. “Look, I wasn’t ditching you for her, I can explain all that,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “later.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and he reaches up, taking your hands in his. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. But the most important thing is that I am completely over Lana.”

“Really?” You question, tone harsh but bordering almost on teasing. “You look at all your friends like that?”

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “just you,” he adds with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking away from him. “Whatever you thought you saw between us, it was only on her end. I swear, it’s been you for a long time.”  

You look away, but he’s not accepting that, tilting your chin to face him once more. “It’s always been you,” he murmurs, voice steady, certain.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe this is real. Maybe it’s been you that’s been the oblivious idiot. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then prove it.”

His smile is slow, confident, and this time when he leans in you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[amaltheafan]

From the artist’s instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/lace_in_the_moon/p/DFd4D9YxJzF/

lace_in_the_moon i crocheted an entire computer room! Can I Please Eat In The Computer Room Tonight is now on display at The Delaware Contemporary Museum for their winter/spring Diner Table exhibition. it is composed of four vintage, yes vintage, hand crocheted computer game screens (sims2, solitaire win screen, minesweeper, and neopets marketplace) and a working computer from 1987.

can i please eat in the computer room tonight explores the positive and transformative view of tech from a preteens perspective growing up in the early aughts. this installation is a memorial to this fever dream of a time period where you could only access the internet in a specifically designated computer room, often decorated in brown hues and overstuffed with knickknacks and office supplies. this space, an escape to another part of your life, often felt like an oasis to explore who you were becoming for the first time without the microscope and confinements of adults and societal expectations. swapping sandboxes for CD-ROM games and mixed tapes. inside jokes with friends in chat rooms and staying up until way too late messaging your crush in your own secret language. taking selfies on the front facing camera and looking at yourself in a slightly different way for the first time. learning about yourself and the world all from the glow of a little square box in the middle of a little square room.

i hope it makes you feel something! PS come celebrate the opening february 7th 5-8!! it’s free. special thanks to chase dougherty and @decontemporary

#sims2 #neopets #solitaire #minesweeper #crochet #knit #computerroom #tech #installation #fiberart #crocheting #art #crochetersofinstagram #installationart #microsoft #windows #technology #nostalgia #y2k

Can I Please Eat In The Computer Room Tonight? by Nicole Nikolich (2025)

[mapis-putellas]

𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Warnings: Blood. Knives. Gun. Proceed with caution <3

Alexia had always been hard to read. She wasn’t one for unnecessary words, nor did she indulge in showing emotions if she could help it. But even without her saying a word, you could feel the ice between you both. It had been over a week since she started ignoring you, a week of silence so thick it wrapped around your throat like a vice making it hard to breathe.

You didn’t understand what you had done wrong. One day, everything was fine, and the next, Alexia wouldn’t even look at you. She barely acknowledged your presence, refused to share a bed with you, and made it painfully clear that whatever you had done, she wasn’t going to forgive you anytime soon.

And the worst part? The entire team was on her side.

No one had said anything directly, but the change was obvious. Conversations stopped when you entered the room. Looks were exchanged behind your back. Training was tense, filled with empty spaces where laughter used to be. Whatever Alexia had told them -whatever she thought you did- they believed her.

So you stopped trying.

Stopped trying to ask her what was wrong. Stopped trying to get the team to talk to you. Stopped trying to fight for something when it felt like no one wanted you there anymore. You slept on the couch now. Ate alone. Drove to training separately. Existed separately.

And tonight was no different.

You were starving, but the fridge was empty, and the thought of sitting in silence while Alexia occupied the same space made your stomach turn. So you pushed aside your pride and tried, one last time, to reach her.

“Baby,” you called gently, standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom -no, her bedroom now. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone, her expression unreadable. “I’m going out to grab something to eat. Do you want to come?”

She didn’t even look up. “No.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and nodded. “Okay.”

The air between you was suffocating, but you turned and left without another word.

The night air was crisp as you walked to the nearest convenience store, shoving your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket to keep them warm. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional passing car or couple walking hand in hand. You ignored the pang in your chest at the sight.

The store was small, barely occupied except for a family near the back. A mother, father, and two young children, their voices soft and giggly as they picked out snacks. You smiled faintly, watching them for a moment, imagining-

Could that be you and Alexia one day? Would she even want that with you anymore?

Before you could sink further into your thoughts, a loud scream shattered the air. Your body tensed instantly as two men stormed into the store, one wielding a gun, the other a knife.

“Everyone down!” the man with the gun shouted.

The parents instantly shielded their children, dropping to their knees, their faces pale with pure terror. You did the same, your heart hammering against your ribs, every muscle in your body screaming at you to stay still.

The cashier fumbled with the register, hands shaking violently as the man with the knife stepped closer. “Hurry up!”

You forced yourself to breathe. Stay calm. Don’t make any sudden movements.

But then,

“¡Cállate!” the man with the gun snapped, turning on the children as one of them let our a sob. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll-“

The barrel of the gun shifted, pointing directly at the small boy, and you didn’t think. You moved, throwing yourself over the child and shielding him with your body just as the gun went off. The pain was instant, searing through your lower back. You barely had time to react before another shot rang out. Then another. White-hot agony ripped through you as you collapsed with a scream, your body hitting the cold tile floor with a sickening thud.

Screams filled the air. The mother was crying. Someone was pressing their hands to your wounds. The floor beneath you felt wet -warm and wet- your ears ringing as the edges of your vision blurred.

“Stay with us!” the father pleaded, his hands, covered in blood, shaking as he applied pressure to the bullet wounds. “Please, just hold on -help is coming!”

You tried to focus on his face, but everything was slipping. The pain was overwhelming, drowning you with its intensity.

Alexia.

You wanted her.

You wanted her to know-

Your body jerked violently as darkness took you under.

*

Alexia stirred beneath the sheets, her body stretching slightly as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. She turned toward the other side of the bed, the side that had been empty for far too many nights now, and for a brief second, she expected to see you there.

But, as it had been for days, the space remained untouched.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face as she sat up. Even though she had been the one to push you away, it still felt…wrong not seeing you first thing in the morning. Normally, she would wake to the sound of you moving about, making coffee, humming whatever song was in your head under your breath. But today, there was nothing.

Maybe you had already left for training.

That thought settled uncomfortably in her chest as she got up, moving through the house. It wasn’t uncommon for you to leave early, but something about the silence felt off. Even when you were distant, even when you weren’t speaking to each other, she could still feel your presence.

But now, the house felt empty.

She pushed the feeling aside, convincing herself she was just imagining things, and got ready for the day. Once she made it to the stadium and changed into her training kit, Alexia made her way out onto the pitch, water bottle in hand. She glanced around, expecting to see you already warming up.

But you weren’t there.

She frowned, jogging over Patri and Mapi. “¿Dónde está?” she asked, her voice tight. “Where is she?”

They exchanged glances, then shrugged.

“No la hemos visto,” Patri said, adjusting the tape on her wrist. “Maybe she skipped?”

Alexia frowned deeper. That wasn’t like you. Even with everything going on, you wouldn’t miss training. It was just last month you’d ended up passing out because you’d insisted on going to training whilst sick, resulting in one very unhappy Alexia having to carry you out to the car because you were adamant on still staying even after the fact. She couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t here.

She tried to focus, to push the unease aside, but it clung to her, sitting heavy in her chest. During the break, she sat on the bench, sipping at her water when she heard murmured voices from a group of teammates gathered around a phone.

“Qué locura…” one of them muttered.

“She was shot three times,” another said, voice tinged with horror.

Alexia’s ears perked up at that. She got up, moving toward them. “¿Qué pasa?”

Irene turned the phone toward her.

The news broadcast showed flashing red and blue lights, a cordoned-off convenience store, and the chaotic aftermath of a robbery clearly gone wrong. The reporter’s voice played over the images.

“A woman in her late twenties was critically injured last night after intervening during a robbery at a local convenience store. Reports indicate she shielded a child from gunfire, sustaining multiple gunshot wounds to her back and shoulder. She was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. Authorities have yet to release the victim’s name…”

Alexia stared at the screen, her stomach twisting. A woman in her late twenties. The timing. The unease that had been gnawing at her since morning suddenly sharpened into something much worse. No. No, it couldn’t be. Before she could fully process her thoughts, her name was called.

“Alexia.”

She turned sharply. Pere stood nearby, his expression grim, and a cold dread crawled up her spine.

“Ven conmigo,” Pere said softly. “Now.”

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she followed him, barely aware of her own movements. Her breath felt tight in her chest, her fingers cold despite the heat of the day.

The second they were alone, she forced out the words. “¿Qué pasó?”

Pere hesitated for half a second too long, and Alexia knew. She felt it deep in her bones, the kind of knowing that made her entire body numb before the words were even spoken.

“It’s her,” Pere said quietly. “She was the one who was shot.”

Alexia’s breath left her in a sharp, broken exhale. “No…”

“She’s in surgery now,” he continued. “Critical condition. The doctors-“ He hesitated. “It doesn’t look good, Alexia.”

The world around her blurred. The sounds of training, the laughter, the distant voices of her teammates -everything faded into nothing. She had spent the last week ignoring you, punishing you for something she hadn’t even given you the chance to explain. She had shut you out, made you feel alone, and now-

Now, she might never get the chance to fix it.

“I need to see her,” she choked out.

Pere nodded. “Vamos.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Alexia sat in the passenger seat, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. It took way longer than it should have for it to click that she should probably call your family, fingers shaking as she dialed the number, pressing the phone to her ear.

Your mother answered on the second ring, her voice groggy with sleep. “Hello?”

Alexia opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had no idea how she was supposed to say this.

“Alexia?” your mother asked, now fully awake, sensing something was wrong.

Alexia swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Lo siento,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “She’s hurt. She’s in the hospital. It’s bad.”

A sharp inhale. A muffled, broken sound.

“We’re coming,” your mother said, voice shaking. A single tear escaped Alexia’s eyes ay the sound, trickling slowly down her cheek leaving a tickle in its wake. With a nod, Alexia hung up, her fingers curling into her lap as she squeezed her eyes shut. Your parents lived close to the hospital, so they’d be there before she would. They’d be there, with you, and soon she would be too.

*

The hospital smelled sterile, like disinfectant and something far too clean to be comforting. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, artificial glow over everything, and the constant beeping of machines was an unrelenting reminder of just how fragile life was. Alexia had never hated a place more.

She barely remembered how she got here, honestly. One moment she was in Pere’s car, her fingers gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The next, she was standing in front of the ICU doors, her heart pounding so violently it hurt.

She was terrified to walk in, but knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t. And so, she forced her feet to move. Forwards. Just a few steps. When she saw you lying there -so still, so pale, tubes and wires attached to you, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor the only proof you were still alive- her knees almost buckled.

Your family was gathered around your bed, just like she suspected. Your mother sat beside you, gripping your hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Your father stood stiffly by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched. Your sister was the first to notice Alexia, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“You came,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Alexia couldn’t speak. She could barely nod.

Your mother glanced up, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, she just stared at Alexia before finally standing, giving her a short nod. “She’s in a coma,” she said quietly. “The doctors…they don’t know if she’ll wake up.”

Alexia’s stomach churned violently.

“We heard what you did,” your father said, his voice cold, but not angry. Just…exhausted. “The silent treatment. The way you shut her out.”

Alexia flinched, shame hitting her like a punch to the gut.

“She didn’t cheat on you, Alexia,” your sister said suddenly, and her voice was filled with something so raw it made Alexia’s chest tighten. Alexia’s head snapped up, her throat tight.

Your sister let out a short, humorless laugh. “She was going to propose to you.”

The world tilted.mAlexia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Your sister reached into her bag, pulling out a small velvet box. She walked over to Alexia and pressed it into her shaking hands. “She bought the ring weeks ago. What you heard that day? She was just practicing how to ask you. She just wanted it to be perfect.”

The weight of the box in Alexia’s palm was unbearable. She swallowed hard, her chest caving in on itself. Slowly, she opened the box, and inside, nestled in black velvet, was a ring. A beautiful, simple engagement ring. A ring meant for her. Tears welled in Alexia’s eyes, her vision blurring as she stared at it. She had been so stupid.

So unbelievably, heartbreakingly stupid.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on Alexia’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We’ll give you some time with her.”

And just like that, the room emptied, leaving Alexia alone with you. She couldn’t move for a moment. Couldn’t breathe. Then, with shaky steps, she walked over to your bedside, sinking into the chair where your mother had been sitting. Her fingers brushed against your hand, and she almost recoiled at how cold your skin was.

Tears spilled over, rolling down her cheeks. “Mi amor,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

You didn’t move. Didn’t react.

She let out a shaky breath, gripping your fingers between hers, bringing them up to press against her lips. “Lo siento,” she whispered. “Lo siento tanto. Dios, I was so wrong.”

She sniffled, squeezing her eyes shut. “I love you. Te amo. So much. I-“ Her breath hitched. “You were going to ask me to marry you, and I-I didn’t even give you a chance to explain.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, gripping your hand tighter. “I would have said yes,” she whispered brokenly. “I will say yes. Marry me, mi vida. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The heart monitor beeped. Then again. A pause. A long, terrible pause, and Alexia’s entire body stiffened. The machines let out a sharp, high-pitched wail. Your body convulsed slightly, and then-

Flatline.

Alexia froze.

No.

No, no, no.

The door burst open, doctors and nurses flooding the room. Alexia was shoved back as they surrounded you, moving with terrifying urgency.

“She’s coding!”

“Starting compressions -one, two, three-“

“Charge the defibrillator!”

Alexia’s entire body shook as she stumbled back against the wall, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Come back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, mi amor. Come back to me.”

The defibrillator whined as it charged.

“Clear!”

Your body jerked with the shock. Nothing.

“Again!”

Alexia gripped the ring box so tightly it left indents in her palm.

“Clear!”

Your body jolted again. Nothing.

Tears streamed down Alexia’s face as she watched, helpless, frozen in place.

“Come back,” she begged. “Please.”

The doctors kept going. Kept trying until…

“Time of death?”

And the words shattered through Alexia like a bullet.

“Wait,” she croaked, her vision swimming. “No. No, keep trying. Keep-“

Silence.:A long, deafening silence.

The doctor exhaled sharply, his shoulders heavy with defeat as he glanced up at the clock. “Time of death…11:42 AM.”

And Alexia felt the world collapse beneath her.

**

This isn’t normally the kind of thing I write, so I apologise if it’s not my best work. I hope you…enjoyed? Had fun reading? Idk. Either way, anon, I hope I did your idea justice <3

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 2

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 12.8k

A/N: Whewww. This was a little fun but also a little stressful to write. It’s a little different from what I’ve done. I feel like I wanna make this a few more parts lowkey🫣. Please let me know what you think and leave live reacts if you can ��🏼🫶🏼 Also I rushed a little so let me know if I made mistakes lol

—————————————————————————

3rd Person POV - Thursday

The energy in the gym was steady, the familiar rhythm of shootaround settling everyone into their pregame routines. UConn’s team moved through drills under CD’s watchful eye, the absence of Geno noted but not dwelled upon much. It wasn’t unusual for him to step away, and CD kept everything running just as smoothly in his place.

Azzi focused on her shots, the repetition grounding her as she moved from mid-range to three-point territory. The sound of sneakers squeaking and basketballs bouncing filled the air, teammates calling out to each other as they cycled through drills. It felt like any other game day prep. The energy was great, everyone was excited. Then Geno walked in.

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward the entrance automatically, expecting to see him stride in alone. Instead, he wasn’t alone.

Paige was with him.

Azzi paused mid-shot, the ball bouncing off the rim as her brows pulled together. Across the court, Geno and Paige spoke casually, their body language familiar. They weren’t just exchanging pleasantries—this was a conversation that carried a purpose.

Next to her, KK caught the shift in Azzi’s focus and followed her gaze.

"Why is Paige Bueckers here?" KK asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Azzi turned her head slightly. "You know her?"

KK gave her a look like the question was ridiculous. "You don't?"

Azzi’s expression remained blank.

KK scoffed. "Girl, boo. I forgot you don’t ever watch the sport we play.” She shook her head before continuing. “Paige was one of the top players in the country in high school. From Minnesota. She could’ve gone anywhere she wanted. UConn wanted her bad—but then she kinda just… disappeared. Didn’t commit anywhere on signing day.”

Azzi’s gaze was still locked on the other side of the court, where Geno and Paige had now settled onto the bench chairs, talking still. Paige was nodding at something Geno said as she stared ahead, seemingly just looking at the opposite wall.

Azzi shifted on her feet, arms crossing slightly. “And now she’s here. With Geno.”

"Right," KK echoed, before smirking. “Maybe she’s your competition.”

Azzi didn’t look away from Paige as she said, “If anything, she’s your competition.”

KK turned to her, eyebrows raising high at the comment. “What are you talking about?”

Azzi finally glanced at her. “She’s a point guard.”

KK gave her a look, silently asking how she knew that.

Azzi just shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips, as if she was saying, Don’t worry about it.

KK scoffed but didn’t press further, turning back to the drill as their turn approached. Azzi followed suit, refocusing on her shot, but the energy in the gym had shifted.

The rest of the team, while going through the motions, kept stealing glances toward the other side of the court. Even CD, usually unshakable in her focus, seemed slightly aware of the presence of Geno and Paige, though she didn’t acknowledge it outright.

Azzi stole one last glance toward the two of them. Paige was leaning forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, nodding along to whatever Geno was saying. There was something about her demeanor—poised but entirely at ease—that kept Azzi’s attention longer than she intended.

“Yo, Azzi pay attention,” Ice called, bouncing the ball toward her.

Azzi caught it smoothly, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah, yeah.”

Once shoot-around was over and CD finished speaking with the girls Geno walked toward them with his usual commanding presence, but this time, all eyes were drawn to the taller figure trailing just behind him. Paige moved with an easy confidence, hands tucked into the pockets of her sweats, her expression unreadable as she just stared ahead at nothing in particular.

Azzi barely registered the murmurs spreading through the team when her eyes locked onto Paige’s. And for the first time since their conversations, Paige didn’t wear that usual smirk. Instead, there was something quieter, more measured, in the way she held her gaze. Azzi could practically see the questions flying through her own mind reflected back at Paige—What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say anything?

The confusion hung in the air until Geno cut straight through it. “Paige is here unofficially on a visit,” he announced, his tone gruff, leaving little room for argument. “She’s just here watching the game today since we can’t do anything official with her during the season.”

A ripple of uncertainty moved through the team. Visits happened, sure—but not like this. Not during the middle of the season. And definitely not for someone with the kind of presence Paige had just walking into the gym.

The silence stretched before Nika finally spoke up, respectful but with a tinge of frustration. “Coach, we already have a point guard for next season.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered back to Paige just in time to see her take a deep breath, her shoulders squaring as if she had already braced herself for this exact reaction. She didn’t look surprised though. God Azzi hated how stoic she could be, she can never get a good read on her.

The tension in the gym thickened slightly as Nika’s words settled. Some of their glances jumping between Nika and KK. Paige stayed composed, her expression not changing much, but Azzi noticed the way her fingers twitched slightly in her pockets, as if resisting the urge to react or say something.

Geno didn’t miss a beat in his response. “Nika’s leaving after this season,” he stated plainly, his tone making it clear this wasn’t about to be a conversation up for debate. “We need an older guard to help guide KK next season because she isn’t where we need her to be just yet.

Azzi’s eyes immediately flickered to Nika, whose jaw tensed at the comment. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but the slight shift in her stance spoke volumes. She prided herself on being KK’s mentor, on leading the backcourt the best she could. The idea that Geno thought they needed someone else didn’t sit right with her.

But before anyone could voice anything further, Geno sighed, sensing the weight in the room. “Look, nothing is official,” he added, glancing around. “South Carolina, LSU, USC, Minnesota, and a few others all want her to visit, too. They all jumped at the chance once they heard she was transferring.”

That got a reaction. Some players exchanged looks, while others side-eyed Paige, as if reassessing her entirely. It wasn’t just UConn she was considering—it was powerhouse programs across the country.

Paige, for her part, remained unreadable, her expression neutral as she took the reaction in stride. Her not saying a word the entire time only fueled people’s confusion. But Azzi wasn’t confused. She actually found it kind of funny that Paige had this whole silent thing going on. There was something deliberate about the way Paige stood there, hands still in her pockets, gaze steady.

Geno had a small grin as he glanced at Paige before turning his attention back to the team and let out a clap. “We’ll talk more later,” he said simply. “For now, go do what you need to do.”

Despite the dismissal, the tension lingered. Eyes darted between Paige and Geno, and then toward Azzi, as if searching for some kind of answer from their leader.

Paige, still unreadable, finally exhaled through her nose before offering the team a small smile.

The team started dispersing, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Behind them, Nika scoffed under her breath. “We don’t even know if she’s as good as she used to be,” she muttered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

Azzi’s head snapped in her direction, her eyes sharp as she simply said, “Nika.”

It wasn’t loud, but the weight behind it was enough. A quiet warning. A reminder of how they were supposed to carry themselves.

Nika’s jaw tightened, and for a second, it looked like she might push back. But then, she exhaled through her nose, muttering a half-hearted, “Sorry,” before turning and heading toward the locker room.

Azzi watched her go before glancing toward Paige again. If she had heard, she didn’t show it. Her hands were still tucked in her pockets, her posture still easy, but there was something in her eyes—something flickering beneath the surface as she looked around the gym.

Azzi wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to say something. Instead, she just pressed her lips together and turned back toward the court.

Azzi felt Paige’s gaze linger on her, but she didn’t turn back. She could still feel the weight of it, like Paige was trying to piece something together—trying to figure her out the same way Azzi had been doing since the moment she sat next to her on the plane.

Paige didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. There was a moment, brief but charged as they made eye contact again before Geno clapped a hand on her back, breaking the silence. Without hesitation, Paige stuffed her hands back into her pockets and followed him, her steps unhurried as they made their way toward the tunnel.

Azzi finally let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She wasn’t sure what had just passed between them.

After shooting around a little more Azzi sat alone in the locker room, earbuds in, her mind wasn’t really on the upcoming game. The energy with the team had been a little off ever since Paige showed up, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting in a way she didn’t quite understand yet.

She barely noticed when the door to the locker room opened, only looking up when Geno took a seat in the empty locker next to hers.

Azzi hesitated for a moment before pulling out her earbuds. “What’s up, Coach?”

Geno didn’t waste time. “I need you to make her feel comfortable on this visit.”

Azzi blinked, sitting up a little straighter. She gave him a nod, but Geno could tell she wasn’t fully processing what he was saying.

So he continued. “Look, Azzi. You came here to win a championship right?…We’ve come up short, and I know injuries and everything else have played a part in that. But I think Paige is the piece we need.”

Azzi stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

“And Lord knows,” Geno added with a gruff sigh, “if one of those other schools gets her, it’s gonna be hell come March for us next season.”

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, finally breaking eye contact. She knew he was right. She’d seen how close they’d come before, only to fall short. And she wasn’t interested in going through that again.

Still, she wasn’t oblivious. She knew this wouldn’t go over smoothly with the whole team.

Geno, as if reading her mind, continued, “Some feelings are gonna be hurt. Someone will probably get pushed to the bench. That’s just how this works. But if you want to win.”

Azzi took a deep breath before nodding again, this time with more certainty. “I got it, don't worry about it.”

Geno studied her for a second, making sure the words actually sank in. She met his gaze, and there was something there—understanding, maybe even acceptance.

“I mean it,” he said, his tone softening to the best of his abilities. “She’s been through a lot, and this isn’t exactly an easy situation for her either.”

Azzi exhaled, rolling her shoulders before leaning back against the locker. “I got it, Coach.”

Geno gave a small nod and stood up, but before he left, he paused. “And Azzi?”

She looked up.

“You’re a leader on this team. People follow your lead more than you realize. If you’re welcoming, they’ll follow.”

Azzi let that sit for a second before nodding again.

Geno didn’t say anything else. He just patted her shoulder before walking out, leaving Azzi alone with her thoughts.

Some time later a few players were scattered around the court, lounging around and talking to one another as they passed the time before tip-off. Azzi sat near the baseline, stretching absentmindedly, when her eyes landed on Paige.

Paige had just settled behind the team’s bench, scrolling through her phone, seemingly completely unbothered by the noise around her. She looked comfortable, her posture relaxed, legs spread open as her fingers idly flicked at the screen.

Azzi watched for a moment before making a decision. Pushing herself up, she made her way toward Paige, hands tucked into the pockets of her warmups. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to talk to her again. Maybe it was because of what Geno had said earlier. Maybe it was simply because Paige intrigued her.

Whatever it was, Paige must have noticed her approaching because she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket before looking up. She smirked slightly.

“Paige Bueckers, huh?” Azzi said, settling into the seat next to her.

Paige’s smirk grew. “So you know my last name now.”

Azzi shrugged. “You could’ve just told me.”

Paige let out a small chuckle. “Your coach didn’t want me to. And where’s the fun in that?”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t push it. Instead, she leaned back, her tone turning casual. “So, Minnesota, huh?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re leading with?”

Azzi shrugged again. “Just putting the pieces together. KK told me you were one of the top players in the country.”

Paige hummed. “She say anything else?”

Azzi smiled a little. “She said you fell off the face of the earth.”

Paige chuckled, nodding slowly. “I guess that’s not entirely wrong in a sense.”

Azzi studied her for a moment before speaking again. “So, why now? Why transfer?”

Paige exhaled, glancing down at her hands before looking back at Azzi. “I just… needed a change. And your coach thinks UConn might be the right fit.”

Azzi didn’t push for more. Instead, she shifted slightly, her voice lighter. “You know, some of the girls aren’t too happy about it.”

Paige smirked. “Yeah, I picked up on that. He warned me though.”

Azzi gave her a look. “You don’t seem too worried.”

Paige leaned back, mirroring Azzi’s posture. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Azzi couldn’t help but grin at that. “Cocky.”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Confident.”

Azzi shook her head but didn’t argue. Instead, she glanced toward the court, watching some of teammates mess around before looking back at Paige. “You’re gonna have to prove yourself, you know.”

Paige met her gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Azzi held her stare for a moment longer before nodding in approval. “Good.”

Just as she was about to stand, something clicked in her mind. “Wait,” she said, tilting her head. “Didn’t you say you’ve always been a South Carolina fan?”

Paige chuckled, seemingly amused that Azzi remembered. “I did.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “So, are they in the lead?”

Paige hummed, leaning back in her seat. “I wouldn’t say so.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why not?”

Paige shrugged. “Probably won’t be the best fit for me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, intrigued. “But UConn is?”

Paige, still a woman of few words, simply smirked. “Guess we’ll see today.”

Azzi chuckled at that, shaking her head. “The pressure’s on now.”

Paige lifted an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “I didn’t know you needed to make a good impression.”

Azzi met her gaze, her smirk matching Paige’s. “I don’t.”

Paige held her stare for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

Azzi smirked, leaning back slightly in her seat. “So, what I’m basically hearing is… UConn has the lead?”

Paige exhaled a small laugh, tilting her head. “I never said that.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Didn’t deny it either.”

Paige shook her head, amusement filling her eyes. “I think you just like hearing what you want.”

Azzi grinned. “Maybe. But I’m just good at reading between the lines.”

Paige hummed, as if considering that before saying. “Or you just like making assumptions.”

Azzi gave a casual shrug. “Only when I think I’m right.”

Paige scoffed playfully, but before she could fire back, Aaliyah’s voice rang out from the court.

“Azzi! Come here for a sec!”

Azzi exhaled through her nose before standing, shooting Paige one last smile. “I’ll find you after the game.”

Paige met her gaze. “Don’t lose.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head as she started walking backward toward the court. “Not an option now apparently.”

Paige simply smiled, watching her go.

…

The game was everything UConn had hoped for. From the moment the ball tipped, Azzi was on fire, playing with a confidence that had been building all season. Notre Dame threw everything they could at her, doubling her, trying to trap her at every turn—but Azzi was always one step ahead. She made the right pass every time, finding the open player, setting up easy shots. The crowd at Gampel Pavilion was electric as they watched it unfold.

Azzi’s movement on the court was effortless, weaving between defenders with a fluidity that made it look like the game was moving in slow motion for her. She was every bit the player UConn had hoped she would be when they recruited her, and more. The more Notre Dame scrambled to contain her, the easier it seemed for UConn to build momentum.

Paige, perched behind the team’s bench, watched intently. Her expression remained calm, the competitive fire inside her barely visible. She was invested in every play, every pass, but she kept her reactions minimal, only letting a subtle smile flicker across her face when Azzi nailed yet another perfect assist or hit an impossible shot.

The contrast between the intensity of Azzi on the court and Paige's quiet focus off it. Azzi was in her element, dominating, and Paige was soaking it all in, her quiet appreciation almost as loud as the roars from the crowd. She wasn’t cheering, she wasn’t jumping out of her seat like everyone else, but her eyes—watching Azzi—told a different story. As she watched though, there was no doubt in her mind that UConn needed another leader. Needed a point guard. Bad. If Azzi wasn’t in the game the ball was stagnant, and the offense was choppy. Paige could tell Geno saw it too because within a minute or two he was always pushing Azzi back to the scorers table to check in.

When the buzzer sounded, securing UConn’s win, the crowd erupted into cheers. Azzi’s performance had stolen the show, and as she jogged off the court, a smile tugged at her lips.

After an on court interview Azzi walked over to Paige, her usual confidence still evident, but there was a slight hint of curiosity in her voice as she leaned in. “So?” she asked, arms casually crossed as she leaned against one of the chairs.

Paige glanced up at her, offering a playful chuckle. “You were good.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly looking for more than just a simple acknowledgment. “Good?”

Paige nodded, her smile never quite leaving her face. “Good.”

Azzi, sensing she wasn’t going to get much more than that, gave a small laugh. She leaned back a little, changing gears. “Alright then. You should come out with us tonight to celebrate.”

Paige hesitated. “That’s not really my scene,” she replied, shrugging slightly.

Azzi didn’t let up, her gaze soft but persistent. “You don’t want to get to know the team?”

Paige still wasn’t convinced, and Azzi could see the indecision on her face. She leaned in a little, her tone coaxing. “Come on. If you're genuinely considering coming here, they have to see that you aren’t as bad as they think.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, picking up on the subtle words at the end. “What’d they say?”

Azzi shook her head, brushing it off quickly. “It doesn’t matter, it isn’t true.”

Paige raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. “Is it?” she asked.

Azzi gave a slight, dismissive shake of her head. “No. Not at all. And they can find out if you come out with us tonight.”

Paige let out a soft exhale, thinking it over. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Azzi grinned widely at her success. “Perfect. You can meet us at our dorm when you’re ready.”

Paige chuckled, glancing away. “I’ll just meet you wherever we’re going after I stop by my hotel.”

Azzi squinted playfully, not fully trusting the plan but deciding to go along with it. “Fine, but give me your number so I can text you when we’re heading out.”

Paige gave her a bemused look. “You can just give me yours.”

Azzi shook her head firmly. “Nope.”

Paige laughed. “Why not?”

Azzi's grin widened. “That gives you too much control over the situation. If you’re going to be on my team, you need to learn to let that control go... just a little bit.”

Paige’s laugh was warm, a little more genuine this time. She grabbed a piece of paper off of the scorers table writing her number on it before handing it to Azzi. “There. Happy?”

Azzi took it, her smile broadening. “Very. See you later.”

Paige just chuckled as she watched Azzi walk away.

…

Azzi was sitting at her desk, applying a little mascara in front of her mirror, the quiet buzz of her room filling the space when Caroline’s voice broke through the stillness.

“So, how do you know Paige already?” Caroline asked.

Azzi didn't look up, focusing on her lashes, but her answer was casual. “I don’t... well, not really. She was on my flight from DC.”

Caroline’s gaze flickered a little with suspicion. “On your flight? You guys talked a lot today, though.”

Azzi shrugged nonchalantly. “Geno told me to make her feel comfortable. He wants her to come here.”

Caroline gave a knowing glance, her eyebrow arching. “That’s all?”

Azzi shot her a look, but still replied with a quiet, “Yeah, pretty much.”

Caroline didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. Sure, that’s all.”

Azzi chuckled lightly, shifting in her seat. “What do you mean Car?”

Caroline grinned, crossing her arms. “I mean, you were talking to her a lot today…and she’s your type.”

Azzi turned a gave her a pointed look, shaking her head. “I don’t have a type. I barely even talk to girls these days.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced. “That’s because you’re particular. Still, the few you do talk to...you like tall blondes Azzi. Especially ones with the kind of vibe Paige seems to give off.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, trying to brush it off, but didn’t offer a rebuttal. Caroline smirked as she pressed, “You aren’t denying it.”

Azzi took a deep breath, trying to hold back her smile. “She’s just... interesting. That’s all. I’m trying to figure her out.”

Caroline leaned in a little closer. “Yeah, because you want to sleep with her.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped, her face incredulous. “I do not.”

Caroline simply shrugged as her smile grew. “Yes, you do.”

Azzi sighed, exhaling slowly. She opened her mouth to say something but then stopped herself, unsure of what to say next. There was a moment of silence before Caroline spoke again, this time a little more matter-of-fact.

“Look, if you’re going to sleep with her, just do it before we officially maybe become teammates with the girl.”

Azzi was about to respond when the door to her room cracked open, and Aaliyah’s head popped in. “You guys ready?” she asked, clearly eager to get going.

Azzi immediately stood up, thankful for the interruption. “Yup, let’s go,” she said, flashing a grin at Caroline as she grabbed her jacket.

Azzi quickly shot a text to Paige, her fingers flying over the screen. As she sent the address and a simple We’re heading out. She hit send, not thinking much of it, but Caroline caught a glimpse of her phone screen.

"Do it before she's your teammate," Caroline simply said again.

Azzi immediately pushed her playfully, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Shut up,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

Caroline only laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s not like you’ll get another shot after this.” She wiggled her eyebrows, but Azzi rolled her eyes again, determined to ignore her teasing.

“Seriously, shut up,” Azzi repeated, trying to keep her composure, though there was a hint of color rising in her cheeks.

Caroline chuckled but said no more, knowing she was getting a rise out of Azzi. “Alright, alright. Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her keys and heading out of the suite.

Azzi followed behind her, her phone vibrating in her back pocket. She pulled it out seeing a simple bet from Paige.

…

Later that night when Paige walked into Ted’s, Azzi immediately noticed the change in her. The sweats and hoodie she’d worn earlier were gone. She wore bright yellow pants that caught the light and a slightly oversized black t-shirt. The simple glistening chain with a cross around her neck caught Azzi's eye, and the silver rings on her fingers and tennis bracelet on her wrist added to the look. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

Azzi swallowed a little too hard, her gaze lingering on Paige's figure as she took in the transformation. It was like the girl who had been sitting behind the bench earlier had completely disappeared. This version of Paige was undeniably captivating, and Azzi felt a tightening in her chest she couldn’t quite explain.

Caroline, standing next to Azzi, seemed to notice her moment of hesitation and leaned in with a whisper-sung tease. “Just get it over with.”

Azzi shot her a look, eyes narrowing, but Caroline only grinned, clearly entertained by her friend’s unease. Before Azzi could respond, Paige approached, and the air between them shifted instantly.

Azzi’s smile widened, trying to hide her discomfort. “You made it,” she said warmly.

Paige smiled slightly, that same quiet and mysterjous energy radiating off her. “I did.”

Caroline cleared her throat, catching Azzi’s attention and prompting her to step back into the moment. “Oh, sorry,” Azzi mumbled before gesturing to the two women. “Paige, this is Caroline. Caroline, Paige.”

Paige extended her hand to shake Caroline’s. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth.

Azzi suddenly became hyper-aware of the exchange, watching the way their hands met, the simple contact sending a jolt through her. Something about seeing them shake hands, so effortless, so casual, made her realize just how little physical contact she and Paige had shared. It wasn’t like it mattered—it wasn’t like she wanted to initiate anything—but the realization sent an odd feeling coursing through her veins. Something about the way their hands lingered for just a moment too long in the handshake.

Azzi quickly shook the feeling off, pushing it down, forcing herself to focus on the rest of the group gathered around the bar and away from the tension she felt creeping up between her and Paige. She was overthinking this, wasn’t she?

After the introduction with Caroline, Azzi led Paige around the room, introducing her to some of the team. It was a quick but necessary round of introductions, and the rest of the UConn players seemed to size Paige up in their own way, each offering their hand or a warm smile. Most were welcoming, eager to make her feel part of the group.

First, Azzi introduced her to Aubrey, who gave Paige a friendly nod. “Good to have you here,” she said, her voice upbeat, as she shook Paige’s hand.

“Thanks,” Paige replied, returning the handshake with ease. Her smile was soft but genuine, and Azzi was hoping this would make her a little less tense.

Next up was Nika, who eyed Paige cautiously but still offered a handshake. She didn’t say much, just a short, “Nice to meet you,” before looking away, clearly trying not to make the encounter too awkward. Paige caught the tension, but she didn’t let it faze her. Instead, she just gave Nika a polite smile, nodding.

Azzi caught the brief exchange and couldn’t help but notice the slight distance between the two.

As Azzi watched Paige interact with the rest of the team, she couldn’t help but notice something else—Paige smelled incredible. The subtle yet unmistakable scent of jasmine and vanilla mixed in the air every time Paige moved. It was the kind of fragrance that lingered just enough to be noticed but not so much that it was overwhelming to someone’s nose. Azzi took a deep breath, trying to focus on something else, but it was hard not to be aware of the way the scent seemed to wrap itself around her, settling into her senses in a way that made her feel just a little warmer.

After the introductions were done, Azzi led Paige over to the bar. She glanced at Paige, who was walking beside her with that effortless cool she always seemed to radiate.

As they approached the bar, Azzi’s thoughts were interrupted by Caroline who whispered, “Just get it over with” as she walked by. Azzi shot her a warning look.

“Shut the hell up,” Azzi muttered back, before turning her attention to Paige, who was already ordering a drink at the bar.

Azzi leaned against the bar, the dim lighting of the room casting soft shadows over her face as she watched Paige closely. There was something different about her tonight—something that Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Azzi leaned in just slightly, her voice carrying over the light music that was playing. “So, what’s been the most interesting thing you’ve seen here so far?” Azzi asked, trying to get Paige to open up, sensing that Paige didn’t volunteer information without being nudged.

Paige, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, shrugged just slightly. “Not sure. Everyone’s... a lot different than I expected.” Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear she wasn’t uncomfortable. She was just more observant, taking everything in around her.

Azzi smiled, her eyes narrowing playfully as she took in Paige’s response. “Different how?” she pressed, wanting to hear more.

Paige glanced over at her, her lips curling into the slightest smile. “They’re... more relaxed, I guess. You’d think they’d be more intense, you know? I mean, I know they’re all good, but...” Her words trailed off, her voice almost contemplative. She didn’t finish her thought, leaving it hanging between them as they settled into silence for a second.

Azzi took the opportunity to study Paige a little more closely, sensing that something was off. There was a quiet intensity in her, like she was letting everything wash over her without reacting.

Azzi couldn’t help but feel drawn to it, but there was still something about it that made her curious.

“So,” Azzi said after a beat, breaking the silence that had settled between them. “I feel like you’re a little more hesitant tonight. What’s that about?” Her tone was teasing, but it was laced with an underlying curiosity.

Paige, who had been lost in her thoughts, snapped back to the present moment and glanced at Azzi. There was a flicker of a smile on her lips, but it was subtle. “I’m just listening to what you’re saying,” she responded with a quiet chuckle, her gaze meeting Azzi’s for just a second before looking down at her drink.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by the response. She wasn’t used to Paige being so... still. There was always this confident energy about her, even when she was quiet. But tonight, it felt like Paige was holding back just a little bit. It wasn’t discomfort—it was something else.

Azzi chuckled softly. “Ah, so it’s all about me, huh?”

Paige smirked, but there was something in her eyes, something that Azzi couldn’t quite place. “I wouldn’t say that,” Paige replied, her tone barely audible, but there was an edge to it—something that felt almost playful, despite the calm exterior.

Azzi leaned back, still studying Paige. “Hmm... well, you’re still quieter than usual,” she said, her smile softening, though her eyes remained curious. “Which, considering you're already a woman of few words, says a lot.”

Paige smiled a little, a flicker of humor in her eyes. “I promise I’m just listening to what you’re saying,” she said again, as though it were a simple explanations

Azzi wasn’t buying it. She noticed how closed off Paige was tonight, at least compared to what she was used to. She leaned in a little, her voice turning more serious. “Can I ask you something?” Azzi’s tone was more purposeful and she watched Paige closely.

Paige glanced at her, a silent invitation to continue.

Azzi hesitated for a brief moment, then spoke, her voice quieter now. “It’s a little personal.”

Paige met her gaze and gave a small nod, giving Azzi the unspoken go-ahead. “Go ahead,” she said, her eyes steady on Azzi’s.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what happened during your senior year? You kind of…”fell off the face of the earth” in KK’s words.” Her tone wasn’t judgmental, just curious, like she was trying to understand a part of Paige that remained untold.

Paige chuckled lightly, her eyes shifting away as if she were weighing the decision to answer. For a moment, she studied Azzi, considering whether or not to open up. Then, with a quiet breath, she simply replied, “Car accident.”

Azzi’s eyes softened immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Paige gave a quick shake of her head, brushing it off. “It’s fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?” she said, her words light, almost like she was trying to ease the heaviness of the moment. She let out a soft chuckle, her eyes flicking to the side briefly.

After a pause, she continued, her voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It wasn’t bad for me. I just needed to stay close to home to help my family out.”

Azzi hummed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in admiration. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, her voice softening with a touch of warmth.

Paige picked up her drink, taking a slow sip as she looked over at Azzi with a faint smile trying to shift the conversation. “Is that what I am now? Sweet?” she asked, her tone teasing Azzi a little.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I don’t know... are you?” she replied, leaning back just slightly, her eyes locking with Paige’s.

Paige smirked, her lips curving slightly. “Maybe sometimes,” she replied, the words filled with a touch of intrigue, leaving just enough unsaid to keep Azzi on her toes.

The two of them stood in that quiet moment, the subtle tension between them hanging in the air. Neither of them looked away, letting the silence linger.

Just as the moment grew heavier, a burst of energy interrupted, as KK bounded over to Azzi, her arm instantly slinging around her.

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she looked away from Paige with a slight smile. “Hi, KK,” she said.

“You over here chatting up my replacement?” KK’s voice was full of playful accusation, but everyone could tell she was joking.

Azzi playfully rolls her eyes as she looks at KK. “She’s a little too quiet to be your replacement KK.”

KK raised an eyebrow and looked over at Paige, her gaze scanning her briefly before she leaned in with a grin. “You quiet Bueckers?” she asked.

Paige let out a soft laugh, glancing at Azzi before meeting KK’s eyes. “I can be. Depends on the person I guess” she said, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, as though suggesting there was more to her than met the eye.

KK smiled, satisfied with the response. “Well, looks like you two are chatting just fine so I’m gonna leave you to it,” she remarked, giving Azzi a wink before moving off to talk with the others.

Azzi turned back to Paige, the energy between them shifting again now that KK had left. Paige took a sip of her drink, her fingers absentmindedly spinning the glass against the bar top. Azzi watched her for a second before tilting her head.

“So, is this what you’re like on a night out?” Azzi asked, leaning against the bar with a grin. “Quiet, mysterious… just sitting there looking pretty in your own head?”

Paige huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she set her drink down. “Maybe,” she said, glancing at Azzi. “But I think you just called me pretty.”

Azzi smirked. “I did.”

Paige held her gaze for a moment before nodding slightly. “Good to know,” she said simply.

Azzi laughed, the sound warm. “You’re a little hard to read, you know that?” she said, studying Paige like she was trying to figure her out.

Paige shrugged, her expression still tinged with amusement. “Maybe you’re just bad at reading me Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Oh, I don’t think that’s it.” She let her eyes briefly flicker over Paige slowly before meeting her gaze again. “I think I’m figuring you out just fine. Slowly but surely.”

Paige held her stare, her own smirk forming. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Mhm.” She leaned in just slightly. “Like, I think you like the attention more than you let on.”

Paige’s lips pressed together like she was trying not to smile, but the amusement was evident in her eyes. “That so?”

Azzi’s gaze stayed steady. “Yeah. You pretend to be unbothered, but you’re not as unaffected as you want people to think.”

Paige chuckled at that, shaking her head slightly. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because,” she said, tapping her fingers against the bar. “You’re still sitting here talking to me.”

Paige exhaled a soft laugh, her eyes flickering down for a second before she looked back at Azzi. She leaned in slightly herself, her voice dropping just enough.

“And you’re still talking to me,” she pointed out.

Azzi felt a small rush at that, the way Paige’s words carried that same challenge had grown accustomed to before tonight. She grinned, tilting her head. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Paige hummed, taking another sip of her drink before looking back at Azzi, a glimmer of something playful—something interested—settling behind her gaze. “Good to know,” she said again, repeating her words from earlier, but this time, her voice was just the slightest bit lower.

As the night carried on, Azzi and Paige eventually drifted back toward the rest of the team. The atmosphere was lively—laughter, drinks clinking, the steady hum of conversation filling the space. Paige found herself next to Ice, who was mid-story about something that happened during practice earlier that week.

Paige listened, offering small nods and the occasional chuckle, but it was clear she wasn’t as engaged as she had been at the bar with Azzi. She was friendly, polite, but there was a noticeable shift—her responses shorter, her posture a little more reserved. She wasn’t standoffish, just… quieter.

Ice noticed. She squinted at Paige, tilting her head. “You always this quiet?” she asked.

Paige sipped her drink before shrugging. “Most times.”

Ice gave her a once-over, a look creeping onto her face before she glanced past Paige—right at Azzi, who was talking to Nika a few feet away. A slow smirk tugged at Ice’s lips as she looked back at Paige.

“Huh,” Ice mused, taking another sip of her drink. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Paige furrowed her brows slightly. “What do you mean?”

Ice smirked. “Nothing,” she said, but the way she dragged out the word made it obvious that it wasn’t nothing. She took another sip before nodding toward Azzi. “Just saying—you seem to talk a little more when you’re over there.”

Paige’s lips pressed together, her grip tightening around her glass just slightly. “Do I?” she asked, her voice neutral.

Ice grinned. “Mhm.” She leaned in just a little. “Don’t worry, though. I think she likes it.”

Paige exhaled a small laugh before shaking her head. “You’re reading into things.”

Ice just smirked wider. “I’m definitely not.”

After a while it had gotten pretty late. Paige exhaled softly, setting her drink down on the nearest surface before turning to Azzi. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Azzi, who had been mid-conversation with Caroline, instinctively paused, her head turning toward Paige. “How’re you getting back?” she asked, brows slightly furrowed.

Paige gave a small shrug. “I was just gonna Uber to my hotel.”

Before Azzi could respond, Caroline wordlessly grabbed her keys and pressed them firmly into Azzi’s hand. “Azzi can take you,” she said.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. She shot Caroline a look, but the girl just grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself.

Paige hesitated, her eyes flickering between them before shaking her head. “No, it’s cool, I don’t wanna—”

“I don’t mind,” Azzi finally cut in, her voice coming out a little too smooth, a little too sure. She adjusted the keys in her hand, turning toward Paige now.

Caroline, visibly enjoying every second of this, shoved Azzi’s jacket toward her. “Perfect. Drive safe.”

Azzi exhales, shaking her head slightly before turning her attention back to Paige. “Well,” she says, tilting her head toward the door, “guess you’re stuck with me.”

Paige huffs a small laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Guess so.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air between them charged. Then, without another word, Azzi gestures for Paige to follow her, leading the way toward the exit.

As soon as they got in the car, Azzi adjusted her seat and started the engine, but for the first time that night, she wasn’t sure what to say. Paige had already given her the address when they were walking towards the car. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—at least, not for Paige. She looked completely at ease, her body relaxed against the seat as she gazed out the window. The glow from the streetlights cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her jawline and the way her silver rings caught the light whenever she shifted her hand.

Azzi stole a quick glance at her before finally breaking the silence. “So, Ice thinks you only talk to me.”

Paige turned her head slightly, a small smirk playing at her lips. “That’s what she said.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, keeping her eyes on the road. “And what did you say?”

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh before looking back out the window. “Didn’t say anything.”

Azzi hummed at that, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “Interesting.”

Paige tilted her head slightly but didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch between them for another beat.

Azzi smirked, finally glancing over at her again. “That means you didn’t deny it.”

Paige smiled a little as she looked over at Azzi. “Didn’t feel the need to.”

Azzi grinned at that, her grip on the wheel loosening as the conversation found its rhythm again. “So you like talking to me too, then?”

Paige looked at Azzi, her eyes unreadable, but her lips curved just enough. “I didn’t say that.”

Azzi scoffed, shaking her head as she turned her focus back to the road. “You like being difficult, don’t you?”

Paige smirked again, settling further into her seat. “Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe sometimes,” she repeated, stealing another glance at Paige. “You know, for someone as quiet as you, you sure know how to keep me on my toes.”

Paige smirked, her fingers idly playing with the rings on her hand. “That a bad thing?”

Azzi scoffed. “Didn’t say that.”

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh, the air between them was light despite the weight of whatever was lingering beneath the surface.

Azzi tapped her fingers against the wheel, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “So, if you didn’t say you like talking to me… and you didn’t say you don’t… what am I supposed to do with that information?”

Paige glanced at her, the corners of her lips curling just slightly. “Figure it out.”

Azzi let out a low chuckle. “Oh, I see how it is. You like making things difficult for me.”

Paige tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi groaned dramatically. “Alright, you can’t keep using that answer. It’s a cop-out.”

Paige grinned this time, the most open she’d been all night. “Seems to be working just fine.”

Azzi shot her a look, playful and exasperated all at once. “What makes you say that?”

Paige shrugged. “Because you’re taking me back to my hotel.”

Azzi exhaled a laugh, shaking her head as she made a turn. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of the engine and the quiet city around them, the comfortable silence settling between them again.

Then Azzi glanced over, her voice dipping slightly, her tone laced with something else. “You sure you don’t like talking to me?”

Paige studied her for a beat. Then, with a small smirk, she turned back toward the window.

“Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped at this and Paige just chuckled at her reaction as she went back to looking out the window.

A bit later Azzi pulled into the hotel parking lot, shifting the car into park as the engine settled. The quiet between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but filled with something unspoken. The streetlights cast a soft glow over the car’s interior, highlighting the subtle tension that had been building all night.

Azzi was the first to break the silence. “When do you leave Connecticut?”

Paige kept her gaze forward for a moment, her fingers idly tapping against her knee before she answered. “Tomorrow night.”

Azzi hummed in acknowledgment, nodding slightly as she processed that.

The silence returned, heavier this time, until Paige exhaled quietly. She glanced over at Azzi, studying her for a moment before finally speaking again. “You wanna come upstairs?”

Azzi’s first instinct was to hesitate, to say it probably isn’t a good idea, but Caroline’s voice echoed in her head—do it before she’s your teammate—and before she could second-guess herself, she found herself nodding. “I do.”

Paige’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before she simply nodded back. “Cool.”

With that, she pushed open the car door, stepping out into the night without looking back, leaving Azzi gripping the steering wheel for half a second longer before finally following.

The two of them walked through the hotel lobby, the quiet padding of their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Azzi glanced around, taking in the sleek, modern design. “This is nice,” she commented, her eyes sweeping over the dimly lit lounge area.

Paige chuckled, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Courtesy of your coach.”

Azzi smirked at that, shaking her head as they stopped in front of the elevator. As they waited, she pulled out her phone, sending a quick text to Caroline telling her she was fine before tucking it back into her pocket.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and they stepped inside. The ride up was… a little awkward—not bad awkward, just thick. The tension from earlier hadn’t disappeared, just shifted into something more present, lingering in the small space between them. Azzi found herself hyper aware of Paige standing beside her, close enough that she could catch the subtle traces of her scent again.

Before she could think twice about it, she blurted out, “What kind of perfume do you use?”

Paige turned her head, smirking as she chuckled softly. “Dolce & Gabbana.”

Azzi hummed at that, but didn’t say anything back.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Azzi hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “No reason.”

The elevator doors slid open and the two of them walked down the hallway before Paige stopped at her door. She swiped her keycard against the lock, the green light flashing as the door clicked open. With a small glance back at Azzi, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

As Azzi fully stepped inside, she immediately took note of how clean the room was. Sure, the hotel staff had probably stopped by, but there was something about the way Paige’s things were neatly folded, her shoes lined up on the wall, her duffel bag zipped up in the corner, that made it clear she kept it that way herself. It didn’t smell like a hotel room either—it smelled like her. That same mix of jasmine and vanilla that had been lingering in Azzi’s head all night.

Paige walked over to the mini fridge, casually pulling it open. “You want a water?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Paige grabbed two bottles, tossing one to Azzi before twisting the cap off her own and leaning against the desk. The silence that settled between them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it carried a weight, like they were both aware of something neither of them wanted to address just yet. Azzi took a sip of her water, eyes flickering around the room before landing back on Paige.

Azzi rolled the bottle of water between her palms, glancing over at Paige, who was still leaning against the desk, watching her with that same unreadable expression she’d had in the car. The silence stretched for another beat before Azzi finally spoke.

“So…” she started, tilting her head slightly. “Why’d you invite me up?”

Paige smirked a little at that, as if she’d been expecting the question. She took a sip of her water before responding. “Did you not want to come?”

Azzi let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “That’s not what I asked.”

Paige hummed, setting her bottle down on the desk behind her. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice light. “Seemed like you weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Oh yeah? And what gave you that impression?”

Paige didn’t move, but her smirk deepened just slightly. “I got a vibe.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “You got a vibe?”

Paige hummed in response, her gaze steady as she just looked at Azzi, unreadable yet somehow still saying something.

Azzi tilted her head. “What goes on in your head all day?”

Paige took a sip of her water before simply replying, “Thoughts.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh. “Well, that’s a miracle.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “You got jokes, huh?”

Azzi smirked, repeating Paige’s own words from earlier. “Maybe sometimes.”

Paige let out a chuckle, shaking her head slightly as she played with her water bottle. “Alright, I’ll give you that one,” she admitted before taking another sip.

Azzi smirked, leaning against the wall now, mirroring Paige’s casual stance. “I’ll take it.”

A brief silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was charged—like they were both waiting to see who would say something next, who would push the moment just a little further.

Paige finally broke it as she looked at Azzi. “You never answered my question.”

Azzi lifted an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Paige gave her a pointed look. “Did you want to come up?”

Azzi let the question hang in the air for a second, her smirk fading into something softer—something just as teasing but a little more honest. “I think you already know the answer to that Paige.”

Paige held her gaze, her lips twitching slightly like she was fighting back another smirk. “Yeah,” she mumbled, voice just a little lower than before. “I think I do.”

Azzi shook her head as she took a sip of her water. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Paige smirked. “That a good thing?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Most of the time.”

Paige huffed a soft laugh. “And the rest of the time?”

Azzi shrugged. “Jury’s still out.”

Paige hummed at this, licking her lips as she looked at Azzi. The thoughts behind her eyes clear for the first time.

Azzi looked down for a second before meeting Paige’s gaze again. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige nodded and Azzi watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. “I’m going to be a little bold with this, so if I have the wrong idea, please tell me.”

Paige chuckled, a glint in her eyes as she motioned for Azzi to go ahead.

Azzi hesitated for only a second before asking, “How many people have you slept with?”

Paige didn’t flinch, didn’t seem caught off guard. Instead, she answered smoothly, “Six.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Recently?”

Paige shook her head. “No.”

Azzi hummed at this, nodding slowly, taking in the way Paige seemed completely unfazed, as if this kind of conversation didn’t rattle her in the slightest.

Then Paige moved. She pushed off the desk, stepping toward Azzi with an almost lazy confidence, the gap between them shrinking. Azzi could feel the shift immediately.

Paige stopped just in front of her, close enough that Azzi caught that familiar mix of jasmine and vanilla. She tilted her head slightly, her voice low, smooth.

“Why do you ask?”

Azzi let out a soft breath, lips twitching. “Just curious.”

Paige hummed, her gaze locked on Azzi. “You always this curious?”

Azzi smirked. “Depends on who I’m talking to.”

Paige’s lips quirked slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. She just held Azzi’s gaze, the space between them thinning ever so slightly, a silent conversation playing out between them.

Azzi swallowed, her voice quieter now. “And?” she asked. “Did I have the wrong idea?”

Paige exhaled softly, her eyes flickering down to Azzi’s lips again before meeting her gaze again.

“No.”

Azzi’s gaze flickered down to Paige’s lips for just a second before meeting her eyes again. “So… when’s the last time?”

Paige let out a quiet breath, something amused crossing her face. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Azzi smirked. “Only when I actually want to know the answers.”

Paige studied her for a moment, then tilted her head deciding to ease her mind. “It’s been a while.”

Azzi let that sit between them for a second before she asked, “Why’s that?”

Paige exhaled a soft chuckle, the corner of her mouth lifting like she found the conversation entertaining. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Azzi didn’t blink. “You could.”

Paige didn’t back down either. “Would you answer?”

Azzi took a small step closer, her voice dipping lower. “Maybe.”

Paige hummed at that, her fingers trailing idly against the rings on her finger. “Maybe I’m just waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “Waiting for what?”

Paige held Azzi’s gaze, her voice smooth as she said, “That depends on you.”

Azzi’s brow lifted slightly. “How so?”

Paige exhaled softly, tilting her head just a little. “We’re probably going to be teammates.”

Azzi tucked that knowledge away as Paige unknowingly let that slip. “We’re not teammates yet,” she countered, voice lower now. “And it’s just one night.”

Paige chuckled, the sound quiet, knowing. “It’ll be more than just one night.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “You seem confident.”

Paige leaned in just enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her breath. “You seem too interested for it to be just one night.” A pause, then a smirk. “And I think everything in life happens for a reason.”

Azzi hummed, considering that before simply saying, “You think too much.”

Paige chuckled again, softer this time. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi’s eyes darkened just slightly as she searched Paige’s face. “I want us to stop talking,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, only inches from Paige’s lips.

Paige held her gaze. Slowly, she gave a small nod, her voice just as quiet. “Then let’s stop talking.”

Azzi didn’t need any more convincing. The space between them disappeared in an instant as their lips finally met—slow at first, testing the waters, before deepening. Paige’s hands instinctively found Azzi’s waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt, while Azzi’s arms wrapped securely around Paige’s neck, pulling her in closer.

It wasn’t lost on Azzi that this was the first time they had ever really touched—no casual brushes of hands, no lingering grazes—just this, a full embrace, lips slotting together like they had been waiting for it. And maybe they had.

Paige’s grip on Azzi’s waist tightened, a subtle squeeze that sent a thrill down Azzi’s spine. In response, Azzi deepened the kiss, tilting her head slightly, allowing their lips to move in perfect sync. They breathed through their noses, neither of them willing to pull away just yet, as if letting go would break whatever spell had settled between them.

Azzi could feel the warmth of Paige’s skin beneath her fingertips, the firm muscle beneath her grip. The moment was thick, charged, and she was already losing herself completely in the way Paige kissed her

Azzi barely pulled back, her lips still ghosting over Paige’s as she murmured, “You’re not gonna ask me?”

Paige’s hands slid over Azzi’s waist, guiding them slowly toward the bed. “Ask what?”

Azzi smirked, her breath warm against Paige’s lips. “How many people I’ve slept with.”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “Doesn’t matter,” she said simply, her tone steady as she guided Azzi back until the bed hit the back of her legs.

Azzi let out a small, surprised breath as she lost her balance slightly, but Paige caught her with ease, steadying her before laying them down gently. The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, as Paige hovered over her, her fingers still resting lightly against Azzi’s waist.

Azzi met her gaze, her smirk forming into a soft smile. “No?”

Paige shook her head, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over Azzi’s hip. “No,” she murmured, eyes flickering between Azzi’s lips and her gaze.

Azzi didn’t let Paige linger too much. She reached up, fingers slipping into Paige’s bun, working it loose until blonde strands cascaded freely around her face. A satisfied smile ghosted Azzi’s lips as she pulled Paige back down, kissing her slowly.

After a while, Paige broke away, standing up as she reached for the hem of her shirt. Azzi pushed up onto her elbows, watching as Paige peeled it over her head. Her gaze naturally traced the lines of Paige’s toned stomach, but then her eyes caught something else—a scar along the side of her torso.

It wasn’t massive, but it definitely wasn’t small either.

Paige noticed where Azzi’s eyes had landed, so she spoke before Azzi could ask. “Car accident,” she said simply, her voice unreadable.

Azzi just nodded, not pressing.

Paige didn’t give her the chance to linger on it. She was back over Azzi in an instant, her hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Azzi’s waist. Their eyes met again, and whatever weight the moment held dissolved as Paige leaned back in, her lips capturing Azzi’s once more.

Azzi let out a slow breath, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair as Paige’s lips trailed down her jaw, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. Paige’s hands were steady, pushing Azzi’s shirt up inch by inch, her fingers grazing over smooth skin, mapping out the new territory.

Azzi tilted her head instinctively, offering more of herself, and Paige took her time, pressing kisses along the curve of her neck, her breath hot against Azzi’s skin. Azzi’s own breathing grew just a little heavier, her body reacting to each kiss.

Paige lingered there for a moment–kissing, nipping, sucking–reveling in the way Azzi’s body responded to her before murmuring against her skin, “You wanna take this off?” She punctuated the question with a gentle tug at Azzi’s shirt.

Azzi nodded, lifting her arms slightly to help Paige pull her shirt over her head. As the fabric was tossed aside, Paige’s eyes roamed over Azzi’s exposed torso and chest, a slow, almost dazed smile spreading across her lips. She shook her head slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping her.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Paige just licked her lips, her gaze dragging up to meet Azzi’s as she murmured, “You look good.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her stomach. The warmth of her lips mixed with the faint scrape of her teeth made Azzi’s breath hitch. Paige took her time, sucking lightly against her skin before trailing back up, her mouth exploring, savoring the taste of Azzi’s skin.

Azzi let her head fall back against the pillow, her fingers instinctively threading through Paige’s hair. She wasn’t sure if she meant to pull her closer or slow her down, but Paige didn’t give her a chance to decide.

By the time their lips met again, the kiss was deeper, slower, like neither of them were in a rush to let go.

Paige’s fingers played with the button of Azzi’s pants, her touch light but teasing. When she heard Azzi’s breath hitch, she pulled back just slightly. “You good?”

Azzi nodded quickly, voice a little breathless. “Yeah.”

Paige smirked. “You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, it sounded like I did something to you.”

Azzi scoffed, her grip tightening on Paige’s bare shoulders. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss just below Azzi’s jaw. “That’s not a denial.” Sucking slightly after she asked.

Azzi exhaled sharply, tipping her head back against the pillow. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?”

Paige hummed against her skin, the vibration making Azzi swallow. “No, I know I am.” She nipped at Azzi’s collarbone before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “And based on the way you’re looking at me right now… you know it too.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the effect was ruined by the way she was gripping Paige’s waist, pulling her back down. “This is probably the most you’ve talked.”

Paige chuckled, finally undoing the button. “Guess you just bring out the best in me.”

Paige started trailing her lips down Aziz’s body again, nipping at the skin and sucking here and there.

Once she reached Aziz’s waist she looked up at her expectedly as her fingers wrapped around the waistband of Azzi’s pants. Azzi lifted her hips making it easier for Paige to slide them and her underwear down Azzi’s legs smoothly. Taking her own pants off when she discards Azzi’s.

Paige settled between Azzi’s legs, her hands trailing slowly against Azzi’s thighs as she hovered over her center. The air between them was thick making it hard to think straight. Still Paige paused before she brushed her lips lower.

She lifted her head slightly, her gaze locking onto Azzi’s. “This okay?”

Azzi, already breathless, nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

Paige didn’t move, just studied her for a second longer, her fingers still tracing slow, aimless patterns along Azzi’s thighs. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

Azzi exhaled. “Of course.”

Paige held her gaze for a beat longer, studying her, then nodded, the corner of her mouth tugging into something softer than a smirk. “Good.”

Then Paige was dipping her head between Azzi’s legs and Azzi immediately sighed at the contact, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair.

Paige switched between licking and sucking as she paid close attention to Azzi’s reactions. Azzi wasn’t outwardly vocal yet. Her breath had grown uneven and her chest rose and fell a little quicker but she hadn’t let out any outward indication of her feelings as she bit down on her lip.

Paige used both of her hands to pull Aziz’s hips closer to her, pressing herself further into Azzi as she put Azzi’s legs over her shoulders.

Azzi’s fingers curled tighter in Paige’s hair, her breath hitching as she let out a quiet, unsteady sigh. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her voice coming out softer, more breathless than she intended.

Paige didn’t respond with words—she didn’t need to. Instead, she hummed against Azzi’s center, the low vibration sending a jolt through Azzi that pulled a quiet moan from her lips. Paige smirked at the sound, her hands gripping Azzi’s waist a little firmer, holding her steady.

Azzi swallowed, her breathing uneven. “You—” she started, but then Paige flicked her tongue making Azzi exhale sharply, her body reacting. Her head fell back against the pillow, her fingers tugging at Paige’s hair, needing something to hold on to. “God, Paige…” she sighed, her voice just above a whisper.

Paige still didn’t say anything, but the way she moved, the way she responded to every little sound Azzi made, was more than enough of an answer. Azzi bit her lip, trying to steady herself, but Paige was making it impossible. “You’re—” Azzi’s breath hitched again, her voice catching. “You’re too good at this.

Paige finally lifted her head just slightly, just enough for Azzi to catch the amused glint in her eyes and the wetness coating her lips before she murmured, “I know.” Then, just as Azzi was about to say something back, Paige was gone again, her actions cutting off whatever thought Azzi might’ve had, replacing it with another soft, shaky moan instead.

After a few minutes Paige pulled back slightly, replacing her mouth with her thumb as she traced deliberate circles against Azzi. She smirked as Azzi shivered beneath her, fingers still tangled in her hair.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Paige murmured, pressing a slow kiss just above Azzi’s hip. “That’s not like you.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath, her grip tightening. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, circling her thumb in a deliberate, lazy motion that made Azzi’s stomach tense. “That’s not very nice,” she teased. “I was just trying to have a conversation.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, her voice unsteady. “You—you’re making that really hard right now.”

Paige hummed, satisfied. “Yeah?” she mused, tilting her head. “You usually have a lot to say. What happened?”

Azzi groaned, her head falling back against the pillow as she tried to collect herself. “Paige.”

Paige smirked, lifting her gaze, her chin resting just barely above Azzi’s hip as she watched her struggle. “Yeah?”

Azzi forced herself to look down at her, her breaths uneven. “You know what you’re doing.”

Paige grinned, adding another finger to her circular motions. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice smooth, confident. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Azzi exhaled a shaky breath, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair as she tried to steady herself. Paige watched her eyes dark in a way that made Azzi’s stomach tighten as she had grown used to Paige’s usual light blue eyes.

“You’re…” Azzi started, but her breath hitched as Paige pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to her skin.

Paige hummed, barely glancing up. “I’m what?”

Azzi swallowed, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “You’re—”

Paige dragged her lips over the same spot, teasing as she pressed her fingers more firmly against Azzi. “Come on,” she coaxed. “You’re usually so good with words.”

Azzi let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though it quickly turned into another sigh as Paige traced her tongue along her skin again. “You feel good,” she admitted, her voice nearly a whisper.

Paige smirked. “Yeah?”

Azzi just nodded, her fingers flexing where they rested against Paige’s scalp.

Paige tilted her head slightly, pressing another slow, lazy kiss. “Good enough to make you forget how to talk?”

Azzi let out a shaky exhale. “Paige.”

Paige chuckled against her skin, taking her time. “That wasn’t a no.”

Azzi groaned, her head falling back against the pillow. “You want me to admit it?”

“I just wanna hear you.”

Azzi sucked in a breath as Paige found the perfect pace, her words getting caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second before forcing them open, looking down at Paige, her expression unreadable.

“Ask me in a few minutes,” Azzi finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige smirked against her skin. “Mmm, ok.”

Azzi barely had a moment to gather herself before Paige was moving back near her lips, a knowing smirk playing on her face.

Azzi huffed, her breath still uneven. “Suddenly, you’re Chatty Cathy.”

Paige chuckled, tilting her head as she watched Azzi’s every reaction. “I usually just don’t have much to say.”

Azzi gave her a look, her lips parting slightly as she caught her breath. “You do now, apparently.”

Paige didn’t answer with words this time. Instead, she leaned in, nipping at Azzi’s neck, her teeth grazing just enough to make Azzi feel it.

Azzi inhaled sharply, gripping Paige’s arm.

Paige smirked against her skin. “Seems like you do too.”

Azzi was about to roll her eyes, ready to fire back, but the second Paige eased her fingers inside of her, her breath caught. Her lashes fluttered closed, her body reacting before she could think, and Paige caught it immediately.

She pulled back just enough to watch Azzi’s face, her smirk deepening. “That’s what I thought.”

Paige worked her fingers in and out, her head resting in the crook of Azzi’s neck as Azzi fought to keep her composure. Paige hovered just inches from Azzi's ear, her lips brushed against the delicate skin, whispering words that sent a wave of heat across Azzi’s neck. "You feel so good," Paige murmured softly.

"Can you feel how much I want you?" She drew her words out, the vibrations of her voice making Azzi’s pulse race in time with her breaths.

Azzi’s body responded before her mind could catch up, pulling Paige closer as she tried to ground herself in the feeling of her. Paige’s lips brushed against her ear again, the gentle heat of her breath making Azzi shiver. “You don’t have to say anything, just feel it,” Paige whispered, the words hanging in the air between them.

The way Paige’s breath mixed with her words, combined with the pressure of her body and the way she was working her fingers at the perfect pace, kept Azzi on the edge.

When Paige easily added another finger, Azzi’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling faster. She couldn’t help but let her hand drift down, grazing over the soft skin of Paige’s side until her fingers brushed against the scar near her torso.

At the contact, Paige sucked in a small breath, and without a word, she gently took Azzi’s hand, guiding it back up to her shoulder. The subtle movement was almost instinctive, a silent message that carried no discomfort—just a quiet assurance.

Azzi, realizing what she’d done, let out a breathless apology. “I’m sorry.”

Paige didn’t say anything immediately. She simply shook her head, the slight smile on her lips reassuring and seemingly tender. “It’s fine, pretty.” Her voice was soothing, like a calm after the storm, and it melted any hesitation Azzi had.

The words made Azzi’s breath catch, her eyes barely open as they met Paige’s gaze—deep brown eyes locking with Paige’s steady blue ones. Azzi’s voice barely broke through her breath, whispering, “I’m close.”

Paige nodded, her heart quickening, her breath steady as she stayed close, hovering just above her. Her lips brushed against Azzi’s ear as she whispered back, “I got you.”

Azzi’s grip tightened around Paige, her nails curling into Paige’s skin, pulling her even closer. “Can you kiss me?” Azzi asked breathlessly, her voice nearly a plea.

Without hesitation, Paige leaned down, her lips capturing Azzi’s in a passionate kiss. As soon as their mouths met, the kiss deepened, and Paige’s senses swirled—Azzi’s breath, the taste of her lips, the way her body moved beneath hers.

As the kiss grew more intense, Paige found herself swallowing Azzi’s gasps. Azzi was shaking beneath her, the tension building in her stomach. Paige could feel it, her own body responding instinctively, but it was Azzi’s trembling that made her want to hold on tighter. She kissed Azzi even deeper, feeling her tremble and pull at Paige’s shoulders. With every second, the heat between them seemed to double, and Paige couldn’t get enough of Azzi’s lips—of her sounds—of the way she reacted to her touch.

Azzi’s body arched beneath her, and Paige felt the moment before Azzi released over her fingers, her hands tightening once more around Paige. She didn’t break the kiss, her lips staying connected, savoring the moment as Azzi shuddered underneath her, the sounds she made muffled by their kiss that neither of them seemed inclined to stop.

After a few minutes the kiss finally broke, they were both breathless, but Paige stayed hovering above Azzi, her heart still racing.

After giving her a moment Paige moved off of Azzi and settled beside her, she could feel the soft heat of the moment still lingering between them. Azzi, though clearly trying to regain her energy, looked at her with a slight grin as she took slow, steady breaths, still adjusting to the aftershocks of what she felt.

Paige smiled a little, her voice. "Don't worry about it. You can get me next time," she said, her eyes filled with the playful confidence that Azzi had come to expect from her.

Azzi, barely opening her eyes, let out a small laugh, the remnants of pleasure still evident in her expression. "Who said anything about next time?" she asked, her voice light but laced with a hint of challenge.

Paige raised an eyebrow, giving her a look—one that was knowing, confident, and just a touch teasing. Azzi saw the look and didn't bother arguing, instead rolling her eyes as she closed them, her body still trying to find its calm.

Paige got up and walked to the bathroom, the soft click of the door closing behind her was the only sound in the room. She stood in front of the sink, running the water to wash her hands. Her eyes caught the faint scar near her hairline in the mirror, a reminder of a past she usually kept tucked away. The scar wasn’t large, but it was there and she noticed it every time she looked at herself.

Paige sighed softly, her reflection in the mirror a quiet reminder of everything she carried with her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the moment pass, focusing on the present instead. The warm water running over her hands brought a sense of normalcy, something she could control in a world that often felt unpredictable.

After drying her hands, Paige stood still for a moment, giving herself a final glance in the mirror before turning to head back to the bed. The weight of everything was still there, but it was lighter these days, fading into the background as her mind shifted back to the room she was in—and the woman she had just met, someone who felt entirely familiar.

When Paige returned to the bed, Azzi was still lying there, her eyes closed, her breath steady but soft. The moment between them had settled into a comfortable quiet. Paige walked back to her side of the bed, her gaze lingering on Azzi for a moment longer before she sat down next to her.

Azzi opened her eyes, meeting Paige’s gaze, her lips curving into a small smile. Paige gave her a soft smile in return, one that said everything without words. The air between them felt oddly still.

Paige settled into the bed, pulling the covers up over both of them, her body still warm from their earlier closeness. She could sense Azzi hesitating, her body almost stalling before she moved toward her. Paige chuckled softly, the sound slightly affectionate as she spoke. “We just had sex, Azzi. I can hold you.”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, but Paige felt the shift in the mattress when Azzi finally moved closer. She rested her head against Paige’s chest, letting out a small sigh as she cuddled into her side. It was as if the world outside of the room didn’t exist anymore, the quiet intimacy settling between them. Azzi’s hand found its way across Paige’s stomach, her fingers gently brushing over her skin.

For a moment, Paige tensed as Azzi’s hand grazed over the scar on her torso, a small but noticeable part of her that she had learned to live with but never truly embraced. Paige’s breath hitched ever so slightly, but she didn’t pull away. She flicked her fingers lightly against her side, a small but intentional movement as she fought her body not to react too strongly.

She willed herself to stay still, to just let Azzi be without any hesitation. Paige took a steady breath, tightening her other arm around Azzi, pulling her in just a little closer. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of the night, of their connection, wash over her as she allowed herself to slowly relax into the comfort of the moment.

Azzi’s breath evened out against her chest, signaling that she was starting to drift off, and Paige willed herself to follow shortly after, the steady rhythm of their breathing a lullaby that eased her into sleep.

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

[littlemissshifter]

There is no 'imagination'.

Someone needs to tell you this but everyone is too busy struggling between the two so I'll do it. Reality is the only thing that exists. It just exists differently in different planes.

In the 4D we call it Imagination but honestly it's not really something we're 'imagining', it's reality somewhere out there. IT IS reality in your head as well even if you don't believe it.

When you 'imagine' something you're not making it up. Creation is already finished. You're choosing a particular reality. A particular thought. A particular outcome. Because everything has already happened. Think of your mind as a dress up game. There are cloth options (thoughts/realities) in different clothing sections (related to the thing you want). You are combining clothes from those sections to get your desired outfit (desire/outcome).

Imagination is what reality is called in the 4D plane. Imagination is a different name for reality. They are the same thing with different names. This is why we can also say that reality is just an imagination or 'everything is in the mind'. Everything was one all along.

This is very different than saying reality mirrors/reflects imagination. Yes imagination exists sure blah blah blah but it's just a different name for reality. It's something that you haven't physically experienced yet. It's not actually in your head in a way that it's not real. Everything in your head is a very real reality in the multiverse. A very real outcome. Just not yours right now in the present (unless you choose it).

I don't think you get it. Let me explain again. Imagination does not exist in a way you think. Your every single thought, the images in your head, your 'fake' scenarios, your 'fake' arguments, literally anything you can think of or feel inside your head is real. Maybe not here maybe not right now. But it is real in a reality 'out there' which is basically just inside your mind, because the mind is the multiverse.

You are choosing the scenario, the thought, the image from infinite realities out there (in the mind) with infinite possibilities. Like you choose a scenario to happen in your dr except here it has already happened. Everything has already happened. That is you connecting yourself to different realities in the multiverse. The mind is connected to every reality that is existing because it exists inside the mind. That's why it's said that you are the universe. Because YOU ARE. Continuosly shifting, changing, choosing from the mind. You are existence.

Before anyone says something dumb like imagination/4D plane is the true reality I'll explain that every plane is a true reality abiding by their own unique set of rules. There is no true reality to you in your perspective except what YOU decide to BE. You exist in every plane. Your existence in every plane abides by it's rules. Unless you decide to change the rules of your existence.

You can be a 1D object. A line.

You can be a 2D object. A map (if you wanna add spice to it then a talking map.)

You can be a 3D object. A ball. (You already are a 3D being.)

You can be a 4D object. A hypercube.

And so much more. Everything is energy. You're probably a rock in a different reality/universe. Maybe a line in a world of paper. Or a talking ball. Or just a ray of light. Come on don't loose focus now. You're the entire universe what else did you expect?

We strayed a little from the topic here but like I was saying the mind is like a place where every single reality has a tea party. What you don't experience physically doesn't mean it didn't happen. In the mind reality is faster. Because everything is happening right now. The physical plane has a slow moving energy so we can 'experience' our life. Like I said everything happens a little different in different planes.

Everything is a reality (or different universes). It's like reality (you) in a reality (physical plane) which you can mould to your will because you are the reason why it (reality) exists. You are existence itself. Pure awareness experiencing the experience that already exists in you. Your mind. The void.

There is no innerman or outerman you're literally both. One's literally a different name for the other and vice versa. Stop looking for the middle ground when you are the middle ground. You are reason they even exist. Why? because only you exist. Everything that exists is the same thing which came from you with different forms, different names, different energetic pattern, different rules for each of them. That's why everything is connected.

Different realities are creating a reality you're currently living. Your own reality is a mix of many combined together moment after moment so you can experience things in the physical plane.

The reason imagination was even popularised as something that creates reality is because people thought that to experience something we have to 'imagine' it first. But they're wrong. They were doing the right things but intercepting it wrong. We don't imagine anything. We live it the moment we even think about it. Everyone is understanding it now. Imagination is not reality. Nothing was ever imagination in the first place. Everything inside your head was always real.

Reality is fluid. Human beings are fluid. They are both free flowing energies. We pass through different realities the same way different realities pass through us at every moment. Remember folks, shifting is your nature.

Everything is and will always be a reality existing in the multiverse.

Let me decode some popular quotes for you to understand.

- The universe is mental.

Meaning: Everything exists is in the mind because every reality exists where it was created by pure awareness, hence the mind. Realities are expanded outwards through us, chosen from pure awareness experienced through the heart (the knowing/feelings) which exists in your physical body. Which further exists in the mind because it was also created by pure awareness.

Confusing? Well because pure awareness, the mind, realities and us are the same thing expressed in different ways. Like I said everything is connected.

- As within, so without.

Meaning: This one is quite obvious. What we see on the outside of us is also inside of us. I explained all that in this post and my reality is YOU post already.

There is no imagination. Reality has always been the only truth.

I've been working on this post for 2 days hope y'all understood atleast a little. I'm super tired can't wait to just pass out right now. Ignore any typos please and feel free to ask any questions!

[hrrtshape]

i am 34 years old (psychologically) and that is so chill of me.

seventeen years here, where the air smells like burnt espresso and a corporate merger. where the sun rises over a skyline of scaffolding and overpriced pilates classes. where my childhood is a stack of polaroids somewhere in my drawer, and my adolescence is something i’m allegedly still in.

seventeen years there, in my dr, where i was richer, sharper, better dressed, and seventeen. where the air smelled like old money and private school perfume, where my life moved in a different language, a different rhythm. a world where my name meant something.

seventeen plus seventeen is thirty-four. thirty-four years of memory. a number that doesn’t make sense because i am not thirty-four, and yet, i am. i have been alive for seventeen years, but my mind? my mind is double that, stretched across realities like a film reel with too many frames.

i was only there for fifteen days. but the brain is not a calendar. the brain is a hard drive, and when i shifted, it downloaded everything. seventeen years of memories compressed into two weeks. entire lifetimes absorbed like water into a sponge. when i woke up here, i didn’t just remember it. i had lived it.

i remember two lives with the same clarity, the same weight. i have twice the memories, twice the heartbreaks, twice the love stories, twice the moments of standing in a bathroom at a party, gripping the sink, thinking, this is it, this is the moment i will remember forever. i have lost twice as much, gained twice as much, made twice as many mistakes, laughed at twice as many jokes that weren’t even funny.

but it’s not just about the numbers. it’s about the feeling. it’s about living with a brain that is both young and ancient (sorry, old people). it’s knowing things i shouldn’t know, not in an oracle kind of way, but in a girl who has seen too much kind of way. it’s walking down the street and feeling like a ghost in my own life, because part of me still expects to turn a corner and see the other world waiting for me. it’s remembering places that no longer exist, inside jokes no one here would understand. it’s muscle memory trying to open doors that aren’t there.

and yet, i am still here. standing in this reality, holding a coffee, texting the same people, making the same plans, laughing at the same tweets. to anyone else, i am just a girl. but i am a girl with 34 years of lived experience. a girl who has already been seventeen, who has already been sixteen, fifteen, seventeen again. a girl who has been given time, taken time, stolen time, and still somehow has no idea what to do with it.

is this what shifting does? does everyone who shifts wake up feeling like they’ve lived twice? like they are something between a time traveler and an unreliable narrator? like they are a person split at the seams, two versions of themselves constantly overlapping? because i think that’s the part no one talks about. the part where you return and you are both more and less than before. you are wiser but more confused, fulfilled but aching, young but so old.

thirty-four years of memory should make me twice as wise, twice as tragic, twice as fabulous. instead, i’m just sitting here, waiting for my mom to get me a quiche.

[reiding-writing]

Maybe a fic where Cold! Reader has been letting her softer side show around Spencer, and one day when she lets a smile slip he tries to tell her that he likes her smile??

THE SMILE THAT SLIPPED — SPENCER REID!

you don’t feel things like this. you don’t. ever. except maybe you actually do.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— this came out to exactly 2400 words and it’s so satisfying

The bullpen is quieter than usual.

The exhaustion of a closed case hangs in the air, making the usual rustling of paperwork and distant hum of conversation feel almost comforting. You sit at your desk, the last few reports in front of you, fingers idly toying with your pen as you force yourself to focus.

It’s late, but no one’s rushing to leave. The team lingers, unwinding in the way they always do after a case—half-finished conversations, shared glances, a collective sense of relief.

Across from you, Spencer is flipping through a file at an alarming speed, his knee bouncing beneath the desk. It’s a familiar sight, one you’ve grown used to. You don’t realize you’re watching until his voice breaks through the background noise.

*"*You know, statistically speaking, people who work late tend to make more errors in their reports. Fatigue impairs cognitive function—kind of like being drunk, actually. So, technically…” He looks up, eyes bright with something innocently fascinating. “We’re all just sleep-deprived, paper-pushing drunks right now,”

It’s not the words themselves. It’s the way he says it—earnest and slightly amused, like he didn’t mean for it to sound like a joke but realised it as he was saying it.

Before you can stop it, a small smile tugs at your lips. It’s brief, barely there, but it happens.

And Spencer sees it.

He stills mid-page turn, hazel eyes widening just slightly. His lips part, like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. But after a beat, his voice comes, softer this time.

“I like your smile,”

The words hit like a misfired shot, straight to the chest. Your breath catches.

You freeze.

For a moment, the bullpen fades—the low murmur of voices, the shuffle of papers, the distant ringing of a phone. All of it disappears beneath the weight of his words.

People have complimented you before. You know how to brush them off, how to let them roll off your back like they mean nothing. But this? This is different.

Because Spencer isn’t saying it in passing. He isn’t trying to flatter you or win you over. He’s just saying it, like a quiet observation. Like a fact.

And that unsettles you more than anything.

Your expression shutters in an instant. The walls go up before you can think, instinctual and sharp-edged. You look away, shaking your head slightly, as if dismissing the moment entirely.

“Get back to your report, Reid.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t want to see it. Instead, you focus on the papers in front of you, grip tightening around your pen.

But even as you force your attention elsewhere, his words linger. Nestle into the corners of your mind.

And that brief, impossible warmth in your chest?

You don’t want to think about what it means.

You don’t look at him again.

Not when he shifts slightly in his seat, the rustle of paper between his fingers halting for a fraction of a second. Not when he exhales softly, as if debating whether to say something more.

You just keep your eyes fixed on your report, willing the moment to disappear.

Your voice had been even, detached—just the way you intended. But there had been something else underneath. Too quiet for him to catch, you hope.

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare. A hesitation. A question he doesn’t voice. Then, slowly, the sound of him turning a page resumes, though less fluid than before.

Still, you don’t look up.

You can’t.

—

For the rest of the day, you keep your distance.

It’s not unusual for you to be reserved—stoic, even. No one questions it when you opt out of lingering conversations, when you choose solitude over small talk. But today, you’re avoiding Spencer in a way that’s painfully deliberate.

Every time he moves near, you find a reason to move elsewhere.

When he passes your desk to grab a file, you suddenly decide you need something from the break room.

When he glances your way during a briefing, you keep your gaze firmly on the case notes in front of you.

When he lingers near the coffee pot, shifting as if working up the nerve to speak, you bypass him entirely, opting for a bottle of water instead.

And Spencer notices.

At first, he thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you’re just having an off day. Maybe you’re distracted.

But by the fifth time it happens, the crease between his brows deepens.

Did he overstep?

He replays the moment in his mind, trying to pinpoint where he went wrong. He hadn’t meant anything by it—at least, not in a way that should’ve pushed you away.

He had just… liked your smile.

And maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud, but it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could remind himself that you don’t do things like this.

That you don’t let people in.

So why had you smiled in the first place?

And why does it bother him so much that you won’t even look at him now?

—

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That the tension in your chest is nothing. That his words had been just that—words.

But as much as you try to shake them, they follow you.

“I like your smile,”

It had been soft. Unassuming. No expectation, no ulterior motive. Just an observation, spoken like a truth he hadn’t realised he was sharing.

And that’s what unsettles you the most.

You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one sees too much, knows too much. And yet, for one fleeting second, he’d seen something.

A crack in the armour.

And he hadn’t ridiculed it. Hadn’t pointed it out with some smug remark.

He had simply liked it.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

—

The injury isn’t bad.

It’s inconvenient, sure—annoying—but it’s nothing you can’t handle. A twisted ankle, a sharp jolt of pain when you put too much weight on it, but nothing that warrants the level of concern the team is throwing your way.

"You should ice that," Emily had said after the case wrapped, nodding toward your ankle as you leaned against the SUV.

“You should get it checked out,” Morgan added when you limped your way back into the precinct after your foiled foot chase.

“You should at least sit down,” JJ had pointed out, exasperated, when you waved off Morgan’s concern and started organising the paperwork.

And Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything.

He had looked—of course, he had. You could feel his eyes on you in the way that made your skin prickle, in the way that made you want to disappear under the scrutiny. But he never commented, never pushed.

It should’ve been a relief.

So why does it bother you?

—

You avoid going to the coffee shop down the street for obvious reasons. The last thing you need is for someone to make a fuss over you limping back to the office, and you refuse to ask anyone to go for you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the shitty break room coffee machine is fine. That it doesn’t bother you.

But when you come back from a meeting and sit at your desk, a familiar cup is waiting for you.

The logo. The exact order. The slight hint of caramel in the air.

You blink, staring at it like it might disappear.

You glance around the bullpen instinctively, but no one is paying you any mind. No one except Spencer, who doesn’t look away fast enough when your eyes find him.

The second you make eye contact, he drops his gaze back to his book, fingers twitching like he hadn’t meant to get caught.

You should ignore it. Pretend you didn’t notice. Pretend the warmth curling in your chest doesn’t exist.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the cup, a quiet acknowledgment only for yourself.

Then, you notice the note.

A small yellow sticky note, left beside your keyboard.

—Caffeine may slow the healing process, but I figured you’d rather risk it. Your ankle should improve in stages: swelling will peak in 48 hours, and mobility should return within a week. Try not to push it. :)

It’s simple. Factual. Exactly what you’d expect from him.

And yet, you feel something catch in your throat.

Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they mean.

Because despite the fact that you’ve been avoiding him for days, despite the fact that you shut down the last time he got too close, Spencer still noticed.

And he didn’t push. Didn’t demand a thank you. Didn’t hover or ask if you were okay.

He just… did this.

And you don’t realize how much it means until you’re alone.

—

You stare at the coffee.

It’s lukewarm now, condensation beading against the cup, but you haven’t taken a sip. You just keep staring, fingers curled around the cardboard sleeve, chest tight with something you don’t want to name.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just coffee. A stupid, simple gesture.

And yet.

The fact that you have it at all. The note. The way Spencer had looked away when you caught him watching—like he looking at you just because he wanted to.

You swallow hard.

This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Not really. You replay the moments in your head—the subtle ways he’s always noticed things about you before you even noticed them yourself.

The way he hands you a pen without you asking, just as yours runs out of ink.

The way he subtly shifts so you have an easier exit from a crowded room.

The way he remembers your order at every coffee shop, even when you don’t go to the same one twice.

The way he never pushes, never demands, never asks for more than you’re willing to give.

The way he just… sees you.

And that terrifies you.

Because you’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, building walls high enough that no one could ever slip through. You don’t let people close. You can’t.

But Spencer?

He’s already there.

And somehow, you hadn’t even noticed until now.

Your pulse stutters, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in your stomach.

Oh no.

—

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency you don’t understand.

You can’t stop thinking about him—about Spencer. About everything. About how he’s seen you. And how that thought makes you want to hide.

You have half the mind to bury yourself in the earth and never look at him again. To pack up and leave the BAU and disappear into the anonymity of a new job, new city, new life. Somewhere no one could care enough to notice if you smiled or if you were limping or if you were secretly falling apart inside.

But you don’t.

You don’t run. Not this time.

Instead, you get to work early, before the team trickles in, before Spencer arrives and fills the room with that quietly intense energy he always carries with him.

You don’t know why you’re doing this. But the thought of avoiding him again, of pretending like nothing matters, feels too heavy to bear.

—

You don’t say anything.

You just do it.

You make his coffee—exactly the way he likes it. Not too much sugar, swirled black, in that old worn out starfish mug he should’ve thrown out years ago.

You’re silent in the break room, the hum of the coffee machine filling the space between you and the mug you slide carefully onto the counter. It feels like the most normal thing in the world to do, and yet, your heart is pounding like you’re stepping into a completely foreign territory.

You can already hear the steady click of footsteps approaching, but you don’t look up. Not until the moment is right.

He’s here.

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flick to the coffee on the counter, then to you, and then back to the coffee as if trying to make sense of it. It’s the same as always, and yet it’s different.

He looks up at you, caught off guard, blinking a few times.

You turn away quickly, suddenly aware of the heat in your face, as if somehow your actions were a betrayal of everything you’d been trying to keep locked away.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

But then, before you can retreat into the familiar coldness, he smiles.

It’s soft. Quiet. Like he’s known all along what this was.

There’s no teasing in his eyes, no attempt to make light of the situation. Just understanding. And something else—something gentler than you’ve ever seen from him before.

His smile is everything you didn’t realize you needed.

And for once, you don’t run.

You let the moment sit.

You let the warmth settle between you.

You breathe in deeply, not pushing him away, not hiding behind your walls. Just standing in the same space with him, finally acknowledging what’s been there for far too long.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

[jtownraindancer]

Full text below the cut, just in case:

Is Somebody Doing Something?!

Yes. Let me break it down for you.

Jay Kuo Feb 03, 2025

This weekend’s head-spinning headlines were enough to spike blood pressure nationwide. Mass purges of prosecutors and agents at the FBI. A shutdown of an entire agency at USAID. Even a tech bro putsch at Treasury and the Office of Personnel Management, giving an unelected billionaire access and possible control over our entire federal workforce HR and some $6 trillion paid annually by our federal payment system.

The most common question I saw across social media and in the comments was understandable: Is somebody doing something about this?

The short and important answer is yes. And we need to understand a few things to help bring things into focus.

First, the timing of all of this was intentional. It all went down on a Friday night, when there would be less ability among affected employees to communicate and resist; decreased national press attention; and closed congressional offices, courthouses and law offices. They wanted us to panic for several days and make us feel like we were rudderless and without clear options.

But today is the first business day after last Friday’s bombshells, and I can report confidently that the anti-Trump/Musk response is well underway.

It’s helpful to think of the response as falling into four distinct yet sometimes overlapping categories, each with increasing urgency. These responses include the personal, the political, the legal and the popular.

Once we place a response into one of these categories, it’s far easier to assess whether it is serving its intended purpose. This level of disciplined reasoning will also help us all prevent the common error of expecting, for example, personal responses to create legal results, or political responses to generate popular ones. These are all very different beasts, each important in its own right, but usually led by very different actors.

The personal responses

The front line defenders of our democracy at this moment are the civil servants whose roles and responsibilities are being upended or whose jobs are on the chopping block under the new administration. How they respond matters a great deal for a number of reasons, both moral and practical.

From a moral standpoint, standing up to authoritarianism, while risking persecution or even violence from the MAGA mob, takes courage. One person’s courage is sometimes all it takes for many to find their own.

From a practical standpoint, stopping an illegal move initially buys valuable time for the press to be alerted, for union leaders and politicians to organize and respond, and for lawyers to be called in. Personal resistance is the first fistful of sand thrown into the gears of a takeover machine. In the past three days alone, we have witnessed some heroic personal responses.

James Dennehy at the FBI

Nine high-ranking career FBI officials had already been forced out, spreading fear and uncertainty in the ranks of the Bureau. Then on Friday the Justice Department, through its acting AG Emil Bove, who was once also Trump’s personal attorney, ordered the FBI to collect names of anyone who even so much as helped investigate the January 6 attack on the Capitol, a sign of a purge that would include some 6,000 rank-and-file agents.

A top ranking FBI official, James Dennehy, who heads up the largest FBI office in the country based in New York, refused to remain silent. He vowed in a defiant email to his staff to “dig in” while praising the interim leadership of the Bureau. Dennehy wrote, “Today, we find ourselves in the middle of a battle of our own, as good people are being walked out of the F.B.I. and others are being targeted because they did their jobs in accordance with the law and F.B.I. policy.” Dennehy compared the current situation to when he had to dig a small foxhole five feet deep as a Marine in the 1990s and hunker down for safety.

“It sucked,” he wrote. “But it worked.”

David Lebryk at Treasury

The first person to refuse Elon Musk’s team’s outrageous and illegal requests at Treasury was David Lebryk. He was the acting Treasury Secretary until Trump’s selection, Scott Bessent, was recently appointed and confirmed.

As a career civil servant, Lebryk oversaw the Fiscal Service, a little-known but mission critical office that handles more than one billion payments from the federal government every year, disbursing over $5.4 trillion. After Lebryk’s refusal to grant Musk’s team access, he was placed on administrative leave. Only then did Lebryk announce his retirement after 35 years of service.

Lebryk did not comply, meaning those 35 years’ of knowledge about how to read, sort and control payments was not immediately available to Musk’s team. More sand in the gears.

“The fiscal service performs some of the most vital functions in government,” Lebryk wrote to his colleagues in his farewell email. “Our work may be unknown to most of the public, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t exceptionally important.”

Director and Dep. Director for Security, John Vorhees and Brian McGill at USAID

When Elon Musk’s so-called “Department of Government Efficiency” (DOGE) demanded access to classified materials in restricted areas from the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), two officials said, “Not on my watch.”

Director of Security John Vorhees and Deputy Director for Security Brian McGill at USAID understood that granting such access could expose classified information to individuals lacking the security clearances to view them. In refusing DOGE access, both officials acted to protect our nation’s secrets. For that they were both placed on leave Saturday night, joining a growing list of suspensions and layoffs at that agency.

The Trump White House’s official response to press inquiries came from DOGE spokesperson Katie Miller (the wife of Stephen Miller…) who reposted an AP article on Twitter with the comment, “No classified material was accessed without proper security clearances.” For starters, that of course misses the point. Merely granting access to classified materials would have been a serious breach of security. Further, we shouldn’t take this administration’s word on anything, especially given Trump’s own mishandling and theft of classified documents.

The political responses

Before I get into some of the responses of Democratic politicians to the many nightmares that unfolded over the weekend, I’d like to reset some common incorrect assumptions and expectations.

A party that is out of power in a democracy typically doesn’t have the power to do very much. In the Senate, for example, Democrats alone can’t prevent a quorum and can’t stop most legislation from passing. They can’t block nominees without help from less extreme GOP senators. And the number of procedural blocks they can put up are limited. At best these can stall, but ultimately not stop, things like cabinet confirmations.

The job of politicians from the party that is out of power is to make the political argument for why their party should be returned to power. That means highlighting the misdeeds, mistakes and malfeasance of the other party. It means providing clear statements about the rules, norms and processes that were violated so that the press can report on them from experts whose job it is to understand legislation and limits on power.

Note also that politicians normally do not themselves file lawsuits unless they were personally injured in some way. And even then there are many reasons why lawsuits are best left to other litigants, such as unions, state attorneys general or nonprofits, who have the resources and time to bring complex suits with seasoned lawyers.

Some political responses may help lead to other types of responses, but that is not their primary end. The primary goal of a political response is to make the political case. And that’s it.

So it will help us and our cause to stop rolling our eyes when, say, a politician writes a stern letter to a Trump official demanding that the administration cease its illegal activity. That is actually what our senators and representatives are supposed to do. That is how they set the record and inform the press and through them the larger public. As discussed above, politicians don’t bring lawsuits. They usually don’t lead street protests. And the more experienced among them don’t waste political capital on performative stunts that don’t actually fix anything.

That said, those letters and statements, which help establish the public record, are a vital resource. They are cited in lawsuits, often as evidence that the administration was on notice of its illegal actions. They point investigative journalists toward more reporting. And they are an important expenditure of political capital, signaling the priorities of our representatives.

With that in mind, let’s look at some examples out of the many political responses we have already seen. And as a bonus, I’ll include some ratcheted up action by two U.S. senators addressing the travesty of the USAID office.

Sen. Wyden on the Treasury takeover

Shortly after news broke that private teams of software engineers had forcefully commandeered access to the federal payment system at the Treasury Department, Sen. Ron Wyden (D-OR) wrote to newly confirmed Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent. In that letter, Wyden blasted the move as “politically motivated meddling” that “risks severe damage to our country and the economy."

Wyden was alarmed that “officials associated with Musk may have intended to access these payment systems to illegally withhold payments to any number of programs.” Wyden also raised the alarm over the current financial strain on the federal government, which is now relying on some accounting maneuvers to meet its obligations after reaching the debt limit.

He also noted Musk’s business dealings in China, which has a history of cyberattacks on U.S. government systems. Wyden warned that Musk’s Chinese business ties could create conflicts of interest and present a national security risk, particularly if Musk were granted access to these sensitive systems.

When a staffer or a lawyer reads such a demand letter, a few things jump out. Bessent is now on notice that the system could be severely injured by Musk’s access; that it would be illegal to withhold any payments; that the debt limit and the need for the GOP to raise it is on Wyden’s mind; and that there’s a huge security risk because of China. Those are things the public should understand, too. And they should know these things were communicated directly to the Trump White House, especially if they wind up coming true.

Sens. Coons and Murphy on USAID

Over the weekend, Musk and the White House went to war with USAID, the agency that provides billions in aid to stricken parts of the world. It’s the only thing keeping hundreds of thousands from starving in places like Somalia. And it’s keeping the promise of democracy alive in nations like Hungary—which is probably why Musk hates it so much.

Sen. Chris Coons (D-DE) used his position to give interviews and to raise the alarm over what the administration was up to. “All the signals of how the senior staff have been put on administrative leave, many of the field staff and headquarters staff have been put on a gag order,” said Coons on Saturday. Coons is a member of both the foreign relations and appropriations Senate committees. “It seems more like the early stages of shutting down than it does of reviewing it or merely retitling it,” Coons added.

Also going to bat for USAID was Sen. Chris Murphy (D-CT), who warned over social media,

Trump isn’t satisfied just to close programs and fire staff. He is now planning to ELIMINATE THE ENTIRE AGENCY. Maybe this weekend. That would be illegal. He cannot unilaterally close a federal agency. Another assault on the Constitution.

Trump may indeed have been planning to issue an Executive Order as early as today purporting to disband USAID. Indeed, Musk claimed in a Twitter Spaces talk late Sunday night that Trump had agreed that USAID should be shut down and that the two had gone over in great detail how that would be accomplished.

But as Sen. Murphy indicated, such a unilateral move would be illegal. As of this morning, employees at USAID headquarters have been told not to report to work. But that doesn’t mean USAID is dissolved. In fact, as a legal analysis in Just Security out on Saturday noted, Congress established USAID as its own agency, and therefore under current law only Congress can abolish it.

The enabling Act for USAID in fact is unequivocal:

Unless abolished pursuant to the reorganization plan submitted under section 6601 of this title, and except as provided in section 6562 of this title, there is within the Executive branch of Government the United States Agency for International Development as an entity described in section 104 of title 5. (emphasis added)

As Trump/Musk move to dissolve the agency, expect legal challenges from the nonprofits and organizations directly affected by the loss in funding and operational support.

Sen. Blumenthal and the FBI purges

Senior Democratic leaders have not remained silent as a purge of top FBI officials has unfolded. Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D-CT), who sits on the Judiciary Committee and directly questioned FBI Director Kash Patel, released an official statement about the firings:

“This reported mass purging of professional law enforcement is surreal and sickening. Less than twenty-four hours after President Trump’s nominee to run the Federal Bureau of Investigation testified to me that there would be no political retribution against agents, apparently dozens – maybe even hundreds – of federal law enforcement officials may be fired. I am appalled by this vile retaliation against agents who sought to hold accountable people who stabbed cops with flagpoles and crushed officers until they broke bones. The silence from my Republican colleagues is disgusting and deafening.”

Again, using a lawyer’s ear on this, the words “mass purging,” “professional,” “political retribution,” “retaliation” and “hold accountable” jump out. That is not only the political case that Blumenthal intends to make to the electorate (and wants others to echo and amplify), but also a signal that the firings as he understands them violate rules protecting civil servants from this kind of politicized firing.

He also took to social media with a stark warning about firing any agents who even happened to work on January 6 cases:

FBI agents working on the Trump criminal cases were almost all ASSIGNED—they weren’t volunteers. This political retribution is deeply destructive, telling agents they can be punished for following proper directives. It’s fatal to discipline, morale, & recruiting.

Sens. Kim and Schatz

As I was editing this, I saw two interesting developments with other U.S. Senators. Andy Kim (D-NJ) went to USAID office—his very first government job—and stood outside its doors, drawing press attention while indicating that employees had been blocked from entering the building. “This is a blatant, illegal action by the Trump administration that is trying to overturn something that is codified in federal law,” Sen. Kim said.

And Brian Schatz (D-HI) has announced he is putting a blanket hold on all of Trump’s State Department nominees until USAID is back up and running. At a press conference, Schatz blasted the administration, saying, “If you want to change an agency, introduce a bill and pass a law. You cannot wave away an agency that you don't like or that you disagree with by executive order, or by literally storming into the building and taking over the servers. That is not how the American system of government works.”

As former GOP strategist Rick Wilson of the Lincoln Project remarked, “This is the way.”

UPDATE: Over the course of the week, many members of Congress attended rallies held in front of government buildings including the Treasury Department and USAID demanding that DOGE members have their access to sensitive and private information be terminated.

Here come the lawsuits

We already have seen several legal actions against DOGE, with four cases alleging that the entity has violated transparency, conflict of interest and other relevant federal laws. These suits are seeking to kneecap DOGE from even being allowed to operate.

We have also seen lawsuits brought by blue state attorneys general (led by Leticia James of New York) and by nonprofits seeking an injunction against the federal government-wide pause on financing and grants. That entire effort by the Trump White House to freeze funds met with such pushback that the original memo implementing the freeze was rescinded, and a federal judge, who reviewed Press Secretary Karoline’s Leavitt’s misleading post on social media claiming that the freeze was still in effect, expanded the injunction beyond the memo to include the entire administration.

That is important, because Musk is currently threatening to halt payments that Congress has already authorized through his control of the federal payment system, deciding on his own that something is “fraud” or “waste.” But Musk doesn’t have that power, and he certainly doesn’t have it in light of the judge’s injunction. If he defies it, as he has shown a willingness to do in the past, he could be held in contempt of court.

On Sunday, the New York Times reported that the FBI agents affected by the purge and the inquiries into whether they even participated in any investigations of January 6 defendants have retained legal counsel to protect their rights as government employees. Their lawyers sent a letter to Acting Director Bove, warning, “If you proceed with terminations and/or public exposure of terminated employees’ identities, we stand ready to vindicate their rights through all available legal means.”

Musk’s team’s takeover of the OPM, USAID and Treasury has also triggered numerous apparent violations of law including the illegal exposure of personal private information and illegal access to classified documents by persons unauthorized to view them. Employees whose privacy rights were violated would have standing to sue, and it seems highly likely that such cases are coming quite soon. One lawsuit, filed by whistleblowers against Musk’s team for failure to conduct a privacy impact assessment before a new server mass emailed federal workers, already landed in the federal courts last week.

I’ll have more to say on the actual suits once they are filed. Again, because the attacks on our system and the violations of law occurred late on a Friday, we wouldn’t expect lawsuits to be ready to move forward until, at the earliest, the following business day—which is today.

UPDATES: Lawsuits filed this week by labor unions and other parties against the Treasury and its Secretary, the Office of Personnel Management, and the Department of Labor have all seen some form of judicial intervention. In the case of the Treasury, a federal court that had indicated it was leaning toward granting a temporary restraining order issued an order, agreed to by the parties, limiting access of DOGE members who were now working as Treasury employees to “read only” access and preventing the unauthorized distribution of sensitive material outside of the Department. This is an ongoing matter.

The popular response

Grassroots organizing groups are swinging into action. I want to highlight just a few examples from the groups Indivisible and MoveOn, which held an online collective action call late Sunday night with over 50,000 people registered to attend.

These groups are organizing direct pressure campaigns upon the Senate as well as protests outside of the federal buildings taken over by Musk and his engineers, who as Wired reported include several young men barely out of high school who have worked at Musk’s other companies or for his billionaire pal, Peter Thiel.

Specifically, Indivisible and MoveOn have called for daily protests outside of OPM each morning. They have also organized a protest set for Tuesday evening at Treasury demanding Musk and his team be ejected.

As a side note, the first organized protests against ICE and its policies, involving thousands of people in Los Angeles, Dallas, and many other cities across the country took place over the weekend.

It’s too early to tell whether protests against the Trump administration will continue to grow in strength or what effect they may have on the situation on the ground. There is some concern that Trump will use any sign of civil unrest as an excuse to invoke the Insurrection Act and turn U.S. military forces against peaceful protestors. But the threat of possible overreach by Trump should not and likely will not deter protestors, and if Trump chooses to escalate in this fashion he may lose further public support.

But one thing is already clear: Resistance to Trump and Musk will take many forms, all of which can involve some level of participation from the public. We can amplify stories of the personal heroes who stood up to the illegal orders. We can support our Democratic leaders even as we urge them to take stronger stances. We can donate to the nonprofits who are litigating constitutional rights on our behalf. And we can take direct, peaceful action through organized groups like Indivisible and MoveOn.

As the saying goes, we can all be the someone who is doing something.

Quietly losing my mind over the fact that Elon Musk has straight up orchestrated a coup of our executive branch and like....I don't even know what, if any, system we have in place to fix this. Like... He's just taken control of the money and locked out the actual appointed officials. What the fuck.

[revvethasmythh]

listen, now that everything is said and done i'm going to say something i've been thinking but not outright saying for the past nearly four years. frankly, imogen and laudna's relationship is a pale shadow of caleb and veth's and if you really sit and think about it, it's outright embarrassing for the former party. it's like if you saw a beautiful piece of art and tried to emulate it and then the only thing you managed to jot down that was the same was the basic shape and you never added any color when the color was the most important part. imogen and laudna's relationship is formed out of almost the exact same origins (troubled mage who needs to keep a distance from regular society joins up with monstrous misfit with a traumatic backstory and become each other's most important person while traveling place-to-place because they keep getting into trouble in cities). the difference is, genuinely, how much more colorful and lived in caleb and veth's story feels. they met in a podunk county jail and worked together to break out of the place, stayed together for practical reasons (straight-up survival) and then out of genuine friendship. they were hobos in the woods together. they cuddled on the side of the roads on cold nights together. they were genuinely each other's sole lifeline because they were the type of people no one in the world cared about in a very real, visceral way. they were also con artists, and sam and liam worked together to come up with an entire booklet of different cons they used to survive, which come into play surprisingly often during the campaign (Modern Literature, famously, but also Mother's Love and Money Pot featured).

comparatively, we know next to nothing about what imogen and laudna's lives looked like after leaving gelvaan, and the Incident™️ that sent them running in the first place remains amorphous and random no matter how many times the story is told or whatever extra details get added. the people of gelvaan found laudna to be a generically threatening presence (because of her fun-scary appearance and/or kooky-fun-scary behavior) and picked up their torches and pitchforks to run her out of town. imogen heard her thoughts and found them so beautiful she nearly killed two of the townspeople she grew up with the defend her and then they fled into the night together. and that's it. what did they do for two entire years after that? i don't know! neither do you. they don't appear to have struggled for money like caleb and veth did, there's no reference to hard-living, no real reference to what jobs they took to stay afloat, no mention of the practical realities of living as homeless nomads, no mention of towns and cities they'd visited and how those places impacted them. nothing. empty. no color. how did their relationship develop? also don't know! they seem to have slotted together perfectly as friends with no conflict for years before slotting together perfectly as lovers while batting aside all attempts at conflict later. done and dusted, that's the relationship, and people have the gall to call caleb and veth's successor relationship 'soulmatism' when it doesn't hold a candle to what the original offered.

which was, to be clear, endless complexity. i can't tell you how to define it, and i don't think the character's themselves could define it if they tried. sam went into the campaign intending to lean into a familial relationship and quickly realized that wasn't the vibe, course-corrected into veth having a crush on caleb--something sam has said developed fairly early in the campaign.* liam went into the relationship not intending to care about her nearly as much as he ended up doing, then spent the early campaign eps grappling with just how suddenly important she was to him, to the point that, in the face of her potentially dying in episode 20, liam says to sam, "do you want to make my character turn evil already?"** both were surprised at how tightly their characters clung to each other, and developed a deeply caring, highly insular dynamic where they were suspicious of outsiders and desperately guarded each other. with full retrospect, both went into the relationship intending to use each other (caleb for general usefulness/protection and veth, obviously, hoping caleb could change her back one day), then found such deep and tender care that they became each other's worlds. for a time. until nott became veth and veth had a husband and it sent their relationship into a tailspin because no matter how you frame the relationship, caleb clearly felt his feelings for her and the way they behaved together stepped over the line of how one should act with a married woman. after that, he is terrified of the idea that he might not have a place in her life and works so hard to create opportunities to insinuate himself into her present and future (teleportation spells so she can travel home quickly and still return to the group, making room for her family in the tower so she can stay with him, offering to tutor luc in magic to stay in her life, etc). veth gets her body and her life back but fears returning home will be lackluster compared to what she's experienced with the group, starts falling out of love with her husband, and has intense extra-martial feelings for caleb that are canonical. their relationship morphs and changes constantly throughout the campaign, and the one thing about their dynamic that never changes is how deeply and truly they love each other. you want to talk about soulmatism? them being the two party members with fake names who's real names share aspects of each other ("Bren" and "Brenatto") both from small-town dwendalian empire who's lives have been deeply impacted by meddling of the cerberus assembly (veth's in adulthood, caleb's in childhood) and who's deepest traumas are respectively fire and water does the trick for me.

so why is one so popular and the other, particularly as a romantic ship, very much is not? it would be obtuse of me not to immediately point to the fact that imogen and laudna are two pretty, skinny white women who claim to have deliciously little agency in their own stories and provide a blank enough canvas that the relationship can be whatever you want it to be. there's a reason there's so many AU fics for them, after all. caleb and veth on the other hand would center first a relationship between the handsome white fandom-popular sadboi and *checks notes* a self-described ugly, unfeminine goblin with deep neuroses and later a short, fat brown woman who also happens to be a young mother from a small country town. popular fandom, tragically, will almost always turn away from dealing with complexity of the latter for the empty calories of the former regardless of the quality gap between the two. if anything, watching the popularity of imogen and laudna's relationship has cemented my opinion that if veth had been different (either a man or a generically attractive white woman or someone more conventionally pretty just in general), widobrave would have been a massively popular ship, and i think it would have been regardless of veth's marriage. people can forgive a lot to write about their two generically attractive favorites getting together. they're a lot less forgiving for an ugly goblin or a fat, brown young mother, though.

tldr: reject modernity, embrace tradition. ship widobrave

*Talks Machina for C2E88, VOD no longer available, but a paraphrase of the quote can be found here **(2:09:30 on the YouTube VOD).

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “FUCKIN’ TAKE IT. . .” ⟢ BF.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

CONTENTS: smut heavy-plot ・unprotected p n v・part two to THIS ・ this was requested!

His words replay in your mind, looping, sinking deep.

M’gonna make you the prettiest momma ever, ‘kay?

It’s filthy. It’s possessive. It’s exactly what you didn’t know you needed to hear.

A quiet whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. You try to suppress it, biting down on the inside of your cheek, but Matt catches it—of course he does. His smirk is slow, knowing, dripping with amusement as he dips his head to press a kiss just below your ear.

“Didn’t answer me, sweetheart.” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something rougher, something hungry. His fingers press into your thighs, urging you forward, making you grind against him just a little harder. “Y’gotta tell me if that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters. “Matt—”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t let you shy away from the heat between you. His lips ghost over your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath it, where he knows you always melt for him. “Use your words, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliated by how quickly you unraveled, by how easily he turned your ache into something entirely different. But Matt doesn’t let you drift too far into your own head—he never does. His hands are patient, coaxing, always knowing exactly what you need before you even realize it yourself.

One of them slides up your back, threading into your hair as he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. His gaze is heavy, burning into you, his pupils wide, dark, consuming.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing against yours, teasing but not giving. “can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth can. Your hips shift instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His hold tightens in response, and the sharp inhale he takes tells you everything you need to know—he’s feeling it, too.

You swallow hard, embarrassment burning beneath the want. “I just—” Your voice is unsteady, barely a whisper. “I just need you.”

Matt hums in approval, his fingers flexing, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” His lips finally, finally press against yours, a slow, deep kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. “let me take care of you.”

His hands move with purpose, trailing lower, dipping beneath the hem of his shirt that swallows your frame, slipping past the last barrier between you.

His fingers push your panties to the side, barely brushing over your soaked cunt before pressing in deep, curling just right, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight through your core. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you still as he works you open, taking his time, watching the way you fall apart in his lap.

“Already so fuckin’ wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Barely touched you.”

You whimper, your hips rolling against his hand, desperate for more. But before you can even reach for him, before you can beg, he groans low, frustrated.

His cock is straining against his sweats, the fabric damp where he’s leaking against it, and he exhales sharply before yanking them down just enough to free himself. The thick head of him presses against your entrance, rubbing against your clit for a moment before he lines up and sinks inside in one slow, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch has you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a moment to process it before—

“Matt! Where the fuck are you kid?”

His teammate’s voice from the headset he threw onto the desk startles you, breaking through the haze.

Your breath catches, your body tensing, but Matt barely reacts. He exhales through his nose, visibly annoyed, then reaches over, picking up the headset. His other hand remains firm on your waist, keeping you completely still with his cock buried deep inside you.

He un-mutes.

“Right here,” he says, completely level, voice smooth, steady, like he’s not currently splitting you open. “What’re you yellin’ for, told you my girl was sleeping”

Your nails dig deeper into his skin, your hips shifting instinctively, desperate for movement, for relief, but he doesn’t budge.

You whimper softly, barely able to think past the need clawing through you, but Matt—cruel, infuriatingly hot Matt—just picks up his controller and returns to his game.

You try again, grinding against him, but all it earns you is a sharp squeeze to your thigh—a silent warning.

His mic mutes.

“What?” His voice is lazy, rough, thick with something darker. “You wanted it, didn’t you? So fuckin’ take it.”

Your breath stutters.

You have no choice—he’s not going to move, not going to help you.

So you do as you’re told.

You start slow, rolling your hips, testing, adjusting to the thick stretch of him. The burn in your thighs is immediate, but it’s nothing compared to the ache between your legs, the desperate need for friction, for more.

You whimper, pressing closer, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Matt,” you plead, voice shaking. “Please—please move—”

His mic unmutes.

“Matt, cover me dipshit—fuck—”

“That’s on you dude, I’m hitting my shots” he mutters, completely indifferent, but his fingers flex on your hips, betraying his composure.

It’s unbearable—the slow build of pleasure, the strain in your legs, the torture of knowing he could so easily take control but won’t.

Eventually, your body gives out.

Your thighs tremble violently, burning with exertion, and you falter, collapsing against him with a frustrated whimper.

His mic mutes.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is soft now, teasing, taunting.

You shake your head, fingers clutching at his shirt. “Can’t,” you whisper. “Need you—please.”

His hand slides up your back, pressing you close, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Yeah?” His breath is warm, thick with amusement. “You given up already?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for embarrassment. “Please, Matt—need you so bad.”

Matt groans, the sound low and wrecked, and that’s all it takes—his own patience snaps.

His hand flies to his headset, tearing it off. “Nate—I’m getting off.”

“What? We’re in the middle of—”

Matt doesn’t even wait for a full response before exiting the game entirely.

The screen goes dark for a moment before his PC background illuminates the room—a picture of you curled against his chest, tangled in his sheets, the soft glow casting light across his sharp features.

And then he moves.

The first thrust is brutal, knocking the breath from your lungs, and then he’s pounding into you, gripping your waist, pulling you down to meet each deep, punishing stroke.

“This what you need?” he growls against your ear, voice rough, breath ragged. 

You nod frantically, moaning his name, nails dragging down his back.

His grip on your waist is tight, almost bruising, holding you in place as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of it fill the dimly lit room, mixing with the soft whimpers spilling from your lips, with the ragged, uneven breaths against your ear.

He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t slow down—just takes you, hips snapping up into yours with a brutal rhythm, pulling you down every time you start to lift yourself off of him, making sure you feel every single inch.

You sob against his shoulder, overwhelmed, body shaking, thighs trembling from the sheer force of it. Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

And maybe he is.

“You feel that?” His voice is a low growl against your ear, rough, breath ragged, laced with something dark, something possessive. “Gonna let me put my baby in you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Your nails drag down his back, digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt, and he groans, sharp and guttural, his pace stuttering for just a second before he recovers.

“Fuck—” His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you down harder, making you take him deeper. “Wish I knew—knew you wanted this sooner.”

You whimper, pressing your forehead against his, nodding weakly. “Wanna have your baby,” you breathe, barely coherent, voice small and wrecked. “Want you, Matt—please.”

His jaw clenches, his breath hitching slightly. His hips slow for a fraction of a second, like he’s processing it—your desperation, your need for him—before he lets out a sharp exhale and picks up the pace again, fucking into you with a newfound urgency.

And at this point, you don’t even care how loud you are, how utterly wrecked you sound. You just hold onto him, sobbing his name, letting him take exactly what he wants—letting him give you exactly what you need.

Matt’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising force, guiding you, controlling every desperate shift of your body. The force of his thrusts sends you bouncing in his lap, each deep stroke shoving you further into the mattress of his chair, forcing you to take him exactly how he wants.

Your legs are trembling, thighs burning from the earlier effort, but it doesn’t matter—not when he’s finally giving you what you begged for, not when every sharp snap of his hips has you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Shiiiittt,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, teeth scraping against your skin. “So fuckin’ tight—gripping me—”

You whimper in response, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as you cling to him.

Matt grunts, a sharp exhale against your skin, before he shifts slightly, planting his feet firmly against the floor.

Then he really starts to fuck you.

The rhythm turns relentless, deep and rough, his hips lifting off the chair to meet every downward roll of yours. The chair creaks beneath you, the obscene slap of skin-on-skin filling the space between your ragged breaths, between the filthy, low groans Matt presses into your throat.

“You takin’ it, sweet girl?” His voice is rough, nearly wrecked, but still teasing, still cruel. “This what you were cryin’ for?”

Your only response is a choked sob, your head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as heat builds low in your stomach, tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

Matt’s mouth is on you immediately—lips dragging down the column of your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before he bites, sucking a mark into the dip of your shoulder, his own way of branding you, of making sure you feel him even after this.

The pressure is unbearable now, your body trembling, overstimulated and desperate, but you still want more.

“Matt,” you gasp, voice barely a whisper. “Close—gonna—”

He exhales sharply, his grip on you turning brutal. His hands move down, sliding to the backs of your thighs, spreading you open even more as he pounds into you, pushing you right to the edge, forcing you into it.

“Then come for me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice pure sin, pure need. “C’mon, baby—let me feel it.”

Your body locks up, the pressure finally snapping, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it nearly knocks you unconscious. You sob against his shoulder, every muscle in your body going taut as you clench around him, shaking, unraveling completely.

Matt curses beneath his breath, the sensation sending him straight into his own undoing. His thrusts turn frantic, messy, his breath hot against your skin.

Then you clarify it—

“Inside—please, Matt—inside,” you gasp, barely coherent, but completely, utterly serious.

His entire body tenses. He didn’t really think you’d actually let him, but he wasn’t complaining either.

His jaw clenches, his grip on you tightening to the point of pain, and then he slams deep one final time, burying himself inside you completely, holding you still as he fills you, groaning deep in his chest.

The only sound left is your heavy, uneven breaths, the soft hum of his PC still glowing behind him, the slight creak of the chair as he slumps forward, wrapping his arms around you.

His lips find your temple, soft, warm, pressing against your damp skin as he exhales, still catching his breath.

His voice is lower now, hoarse, rough, but serious.

“Y’know I mean it, right?” he murmurs against your skin. “Not just sayin’ shit, I will give you all the babies you want, sweetheart.”

authors note: spectacular gimme 14 of ‘em!

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[heliosunny]

Hello, I really like your work with yandere characters! Your fanfic with the Crown Prince!Phainon holds a special place for me. But hey, listen! What about reader x self-aware!Phainon? Like, at some point he realized that he was in the game and decided to drag reader to him, because he has more power and influence in the game than outside it. It would be interesting, I think.

Entwined Realities

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The Astral Express charted a course for its next destination: Amphoreus. You leaned forward, staring at the planet. "Woah, it's in the shape of an '8'". you mused, watching as the endless loops of landmasses interwove like an infinity symbol suspended in space.

Before long, events unfolded that led you to land on its surface with Dan Heng. The Eternal Land, as it was called, had a mysterious aura about it, a strange balance between old traditions and futuristic advancements.

You then met: Phainon, a strikingly tall and well-built warrior with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes, carried himself with an easy confidence. Alongside him was Tribbie, a young girl with elf ears, fair skin, and red, fluffy hair.

Just as you began to explore Amphoreus further, an unmistakable growl escaped from your stomach. With a sigh, you reached for your controller, pausing the game before ultimately deciding to turn it off. The screen faded to black, and you stretched, rubbing your eyes after hours of playing. You needed food before diving back in.

------

As you turned away, a flicker of amusement in his expression as he folded his arms. "Huh. Strange."

Tribbie tilted her head. "What is?"

"That one. They left so abruptly. Like... they just stopped being here." Phainon’s fingers tapped absently against his bicep, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you had stood moments ago.

Tribbie let out a chuckle. "I didn't feel a thing. You overthink again."

Phainon had met many warriors, countless travelers—but something about you lingered. It was subtle, like an itch at the edge of his perception. The way your movements never faltered, the way events seemed to bend slightly in your favor. It was as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate you.

A faint sensation prickled at his skin, almost like the world had momentarily held its breath.

Then—nothing. The streets bustled as usual, the city carried on. But Phainon felt it. A small void, an absence of presence that shouldn’t have been possible. He turned his head slightly, scanning his surroundings, yet everything remained as it should be.

"They’re gone" he murmured, uncertainty crossing his face.

Tribbie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Phainon hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. "No...nothing."

And yet, something inside him whispered otherwise. It wasn’t just departure, it was severance, like a thread cut from the loom of existence. He had never felt that before. A warrior’s instinct was to trust his senses, but this? This was something else entirely.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled.

"I’ll figure out what makes them different."

Phainon frowned slightly, shifting his weight. A flicker of something unfamiliar coursed through him—a stray thought, an intrusive notion that he should not have been able to form.

Moments ago, everything had followed its usual rhythm: scripted interactions, predetermined movements, and a world that operated within set boundaries. Yet, the moment you vanished, something inside him had... fractured.

He had been left standing there, conscious yet purposeless, aware of the passage of time in a way he had never been before. The NPCs around him continued their routines, oblivious, unchanging. But he had stood there—waiting.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tested it, moving a hand before his eyes, clenching his fingers experimentally. He had never thought to do something like this before unless it was dictated by his programming.

Phainon took a slow step forward, the weight of his body feeling more real than it ever had. He wasn’t just responding to a command. He was moving because he chose to.

And then it hit him—

This world wasn’t real.

------

After satisfying your hunger, you returned to your seat, powering the game console back on. The familiar start-up screen flickered to life, and soon, you were back on Amphoreus. NPCs and traders greeted you once more. Everything seemed as you left it.

Yet, something felt... off.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first. As you navigated through the streets, looking for Phainon and Tribbie, an uneasy sensation settled in your chest.

Phainon stood where you had last left him, but his posture had changed. Before, he had been at ease, arms crossed with a confident smirk. Now, he was staring—directly at you. Not in the way other characters typically would, waiting for a scripted interaction, but as if he knew something. As if he had been waiting for you.

His blue eyes, once filled with warmth and bravado, now carried something else. Awareness.

"You're back" Phainon said.

The usual text box didn't immediately appear. The game hadn’t prompted you with dialogue choices yet, and that alone sent a chill down your spine.

Something had changed.

A glitch rippled across the screen. The colors warped, pixels distorting into a fractured mess before stabilizing. Your hands tensed around the controller as the screen darkened for a brief second.

And then Phainon moved.

Not in the way the game intended. Not within the smooth animations you'd seen before. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the screen. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"You're not supposed to leave" he murmured, his voice reaching beyond the game, beyond the barrier of the screen.

Your fingers hovered over the buttons, your heart pounding. This wasn’t a scripted event.

Phainon lifted his hand—toward you.

The screen flickered again. Your vision swam. A sharp pull yanked at your chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around you, dragging you forward. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an abyss of light and static.

The last thing you heard before everything turned black was Phainon's voice, quiet yet victorious.

"Now… let’s fix this together."

A dull ache settled in your head as you slowly regained consciousness. The air was still, almost too quiet, and a faint glow illuminated the space around you. Blinking away the haze, you pushed yourself upright, your fingers brushing against smooth fabric. It took a moment for you to process that you were no longer sitting in your usual gaming chair but instead sprawled across a bed in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through you as your hands instinctively patted your body. Your clothes—these were the same ones you had been wearing at home. Not some in-game avatar outfit, not armor or robes, but your regular, comfortable attire. A lump formed in your throat.

Where were you?

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood cautiously. The floor was solid beneath your feet, the air carried a faint, artificial warmth, and there was an unsettling sense of sterility. The room itself was furnished simply—stone walls, a sturdy desk in the corner, and a single window covered by thick curtains. No personal belongings, no obvious signs of anyone else nearby.

You took a cautious step toward the door, pressing your ear against it. Nothing. Not a single sound outside. It was eerily silent, as if the entire world had been muted. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned got outside. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching in either direction like an empty, endless corridor.

With careful, measured steps, you crept forward. The walls bore unfamiliar insignias, ones you had seen before but couldn’t quite place. Each step only heightened the gnawing sense of wrongness, a creeping realization tickling at the back of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

This place, the architecture, the symbols, the very atmosphere surrounding you—wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It was from the game.

This had to be a dream, some kind of delusion. But everything felt too real—the texture of the wood beneath your fingers, the faint hum of distant energy pulsing through the walls.

You weren’t just playing game anymore.

You were inside it.

Phainon rushed into the room, his usually confident expression faltering as he found the space empty. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you, before he quickly turned on his heel and made his way outside.

He found you not far from the building, standing frozen in the street, your wide eyes taking in the impossible surroundings. Without hesitation, he strode toward you, his grip firm yet careful as he took your wrist. "You shouldn’t be wandering around like this" he said, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Come with me."

Before you could protest, he guided you toward a nearby marketplace, bustling with figures in elaborate outfits that contrasted starkly against your ordinary attire. Phainon barely slowed as he led you toward a tailor’s shop, his grip loosening only when he stood before the merchant. "They need something more suitable" he stated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated, glancing down at your familiar clothes before finally voicing the thought that had been gnawing at you. "Phainon… how do I get back home?"

The weight of Phainon’s stare bore down on you.

"You’re not going home" he said.

"What?"

"I brought you here for a reason." He took a step closer, and instinctively, you stepped back. "You don’t belong in that world anymore. This is where you are now. With me."

"No. This isn’t real. This is just some glitch, right? I’ll find a way back." You clenched your fists. "I’m leaving."

Phainon exhaled, almost amused, almost pitying. "You think you have control?"

Your fingers curled tighter as panic surged through you. Desperation overruled fear as you focused, feeling the familiar weight of the baseball bat materializing in your grip. You didn’t question how—instinct took over.

Without hesitation, you swung at him with all your might.

But the impact never came.

His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with terrifying ease. The force should have knocked him back, should have made him flinch—but he stood there, unmoved, fingers wrapped around the weapon like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then, before your eyes, the bat shimmered, flickering with static before dissolving into cascading lines of glowing code.

"Wha—?" Your voice caught in your throat. You stumbled back, staring at your now-empty hands.

Phainon’s grip tightened slightly before letting the last of the data slip away into the air. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" He tilted his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. "This world bends to my will. Here, I am more than just a warrior. I am its ruler. And you—" He reached for you, but you jerked away.

"You have nothing."

Your mind raced. If Phainon controlled this world, then you needed an ally. Dan Heng. If anyone could help you, it was him. Without another word, you turned on your heel and sprinted in the direction you last saw him.

Phainon moved faster.

Before you could even react, he was in front of you. A sharp pain struck your temple as everything blurred. The world tilted violently, your vision fading to black before you could even cry out.

When you awoke, you were somewhere else. The air was heavy, unfamiliar, and the silence pressed against you like a suffocating weight.

Each time you tried, you discovered something new.

At first, it was small—a fleeting moment where the world around you responded to your thoughts. Like that one door that should have been locked clicking open. Each time you tapped into this power, you felt something unravel within you.

And each time, Phainon was there.

He found you the first time when you forced open a gate leading to the outskirts. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk before pulling you back before you could get far.

The second time, when you manipulated the gravity beneath you to leap across a rooftop, he appeared at the other end, effortlessly catching you mid-air and setting you back on solid ground.

The third time, you managed to shroud yourself in the crowd, blending in so well you thought you had finally shaken him. But as you turned a corner, there he stood, leaning against the alley’s entrance with an almost lazy amusement.

Each time, he grew more intrigued.

And each time, he stayed longer.

Phainon visited more than before, finding you no matter where you wandered. Sometimes, he merely watched. Other times, he engaged—teasing you, challenging you, indulging in casual conversation as if you were anything but his captive.

It made you wonder—did his friends ever question him?

One evening, while the sky burned a dusky orange, you finally asked, "If I agree to be with you, will you let me live more freely?"

Phainon studied you, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed softly, stepping closer until the space between you nearly disappeared. His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite holding but enough to remind you of his presence.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he murmured. "And one I might just consider."

The days stretched on. You wandered as much as you could within the confines of his reach, testing the limits of your newfound abilities. Sometimes, you found joy in the smallest acts of defiance. Other times, you felt the crushing weight of his attention.

One day, you encountered his friend. The moment you saw him, something about him caught you off guard. He carried himself with effortless grace, his beauty nearly mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, you forgot everything else. The encounter was fleeting, but it left an impression on you.

When you returned, you hesitated before asking, "Who was that? The one with golden eyes?"

Phainon stilled. His usual playful demeanor faltered for just a second before his smile returned. "Mydei" he said simply.

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. You didn’t think much of it at first—until the next day, when he suddenly forbade you from leaving.

"You’re staying here today" he announced casually over breakfast. "No wandering off."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

His smile didn’t waver, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze. "Do I need a reason?"

You didn’t let him off so easily. Rising to your feet, you grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Is this about Mydei?"

For the first time, something dark flickered behind his charming facade. He let out a slow breath, turning fully to face you. His fingers lifted, tracing the side of your face in a deceptively gentle motion.

"You have such a way of testing me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if you even realize it."

His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting it just slightly as his blue eyes bore into yours. "Tell me," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with something possessive, "did he captivate you that much? Enough to make you forget who keeps you safe?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "This isn’t about safety, is it?" you challenged. "You’re jealous."

Phainon chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. "Jealous?" He repeated the word as if testing its weight on his tongue. Then, he leaned in. "If that’s what you want to call it."

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "So don't mention his name with that mouth of yours again."

This is going out of hand, and you must do something. A way to return to your own world, to get away from him.

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. You've been trying to find your way back home so you messed with the system's rules, leading to whatever is happening in front of your very eyes.

Sitting before you was a system menu—one that shouldn’t have existed. It flickered, its edges distorted, as if the game itself was resisting your interference. Your heart pounded as you scrolled through the options, desperately searching for a way to force the game to release you.

Your fingers hovered over the last remaining command:

[Modify Event Flags]

A risk. A mistake. But you took it anyway.

A sharp chime rang in your ears, the screen flashing as the world around you trembled. The coding beneath your feet warped like rippling water, a sickening pull dragging you downward as the game executed whatever change you had triggered. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you intended. You had tried to bypass Phainon’s control, to force an event where he would let you go.

Instead, the world went dark.

When you woke, your surroundings were unrecognizable.

Gold and ivory silk draped over every surface, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows along the grand walls. Ornate decorations stretched from the ceiling to the floor, the unmistakable scent of fresh roses filling the air. You blinked, your pulse quickening as you sat up, your fingers brushing against the embroidered fabric of an unfamiliar garment.

No. No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice.

You turned to see him.

Phainon stood at the edge of the room, adorned in a ceremonial ensemble far more elaborate than his usual attire. Silver-white hair, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped closer, his presence consuming the space between you.

“What… is this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You should already know, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who triggered the event.”

“The event?”

His expression softened, but there was something in his gaze—something terrifyingly certain. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our wedding.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into your mind. “That’s not possible—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle. “The game has already set everything in motion.”

You scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold marble floor as you backed away from him. “No, I refuse this. There has to be a way to undo it.”

Phainon’s smile didn’t waver. “There isn’t.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. The game had overwritten its own path. It had forced you into this event—one where every outcome led to you standing at an altar beside him.

His hand found your wrist before you could run.

“You’ve fought me at every turn,” he mused “And yet, here we are. Together. Just as fate—just as the game itself—has decided.”

You struggled against his grip, but it was firm, unyielding. “This isn’t fate. This is manipulation.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Then tell me… do you really think you have a choice?”

The doors behind him creaked open, revealing an expanse of guests waiting beyond them—characters you had met, NPCs whose scripts had adapted to fit this sudden turn of events. They were all here for one reason.

For your wedding.

Your breath came fast and shallow as you looked back at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you waste such a perfect opportunity. We're finally able to be together forever.”

You knew then—you were trapped. The game had sealed your fate. You only hoped to get away from him with an error, an event, anything. The system gave you this. You had your choice, but this event involved Phainon, how tragic. And Phainon… Phainon had never looked more satisfied. If it's something he can manipulate, surely he won't let you have your way.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Shall we begin?”

[florawrites-blog]

Boyfriend!jungwon whom lets you almost crawl into his skin....

It had been too long since you last saw Jungwon. And by too long, you meant an absolutely unbearable amount of time that made you feel like a hollow shell of a person. FaceTime and texts were not enough. You needed him. Needed to see him, touch him, breathe him in, or you were about to start doing backflips and rolling on the floor like a child who had their favorite toy stolen.

So, when you stepped into your apartment, exhausted and ready to wallow in your deprivation, something changed.

A scent—his scent. Familiar, warm, and so distinctly Jungwon that your entire body shut down for a second. The air suddenly felt different, thicker with something real. Your heart stopped. Then started again—twice as fast.

There was no way you were hallucinating. No way.

You bolted.

Practically tearing through your own home, you searched desperately, heart pounding, and then—there he was.

Sprawled lazily on the couch, back resting against the cushions, a Nintendo Switch in his hands, completely oblivious to the storm that was you.

He barely had time to react before—

Boom.

Your full weight came crashing down on him, knocking the air out of his lungs as you buried yourself into his neck, inhaling deeply like a woman starved.

Jungwon immediately broke into laughter, his entire body shaking beneath you. "Y/N, please—" his words barely came out through the giggles, his hands instinctively grabbing onto you.

You didn’t care. You couldn’t care. You just nuzzled in deeper, mumbling into his skin, "I’m not fcking Jeremy Fragrance, but I can tell you—you smell like mine."

His laughter doubled. "What does that even mean?!"

You didn’t explain. Instead, you gripped onto him tighter, as if trying to absorb him, hoping that somehow, someway, you could just fuse together and never part again.

Realizing you weren’t about to let go anytime soon, Jungwon sighed—happily. Adjusting his position, he stood up effortlessly, but you? You stayed latched on like a koala, your limbs locked around him.

He didn’t even question it. He didn’t even try to make you let go.

Because, truth be told, he had missed this just as much as you had. Maybe even more.

You were home to him in ways you would never fully understand.

[cherie-doll]

COD men’s reaction to their daughter having a boyfriend?

heh

༢ུ· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

۶ৎ Price...

It wouldn't ONLY be Price worrying over who this new boy in his daughter's life was, it's the entire task force that is there against Price's wishes, and that's only because he HAPPENED to open his big mouth and spill the beans on his daughter dating

Simply shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as the backup team of Ghost, Gaz and Soap walk in, heck even Laswell is on the line calling Price giving him "advice"

I can imagine Price telling his daughter to leave the room once you're all settled in, and you just raise an eyebrow and give him a look like asking "what's going on?", he tells you to leave too and the boyfriend is sitting there, confused, palms sweaty as Price readjusts in his seat clearing his throat and saying "let's get one thing straight"

He really just wanted to set some things straight, but poor boy thought he was about to get kicked out or beaten because this is a man who's been in the military for years, not to mention the big buff guys who keep peeking over the corner with a menacing look every once in a while

Afterwards, you come around to Price asking what he told the boy, surely he didn't scare him away, right? He didn't, only told him to treat his daughter well and there wouldn't be any problems

۶ৎ Ghost...

Would be super protective, well what parent wouldn't? but he's on a different level, and both you and your daughter knew this, so your daughter tried finding a good moment to introduce the boyfriend

She let him know ahead of time so the initial shock response happened before he was able to get his hands on the poor young man dating your daughter, when the moment came Simon couldn't even sit still

He was standing, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room when his daughter walked in with her boyfriend, staring daggers into the back of his head

Simon would never tell his daughter to break up or leave a boy she was into, but he would definitely warn her to be cautious, he just doesn't want her to be hurt, and God forbid THAT happen

He would go to whatever lengths necessary to keep that from happening, a heavy hand on the boyfriend's shoulder every time he comes to pick her up for a date, a subtle way of reminding him who's he dealing with

Surely, he wouldn't make a careless mistake while dating Simon's daughter

۶ৎ Soap...

He shares the same excitement as his daughter when she announces she's been asked out, he's happy for his girl, he's always seeking what's best for her and hopes she's happy, but when that initial enthusiasm wears off... he realizes he knows nothing about who asked his daughter out

Then, you have to hold him back from bombarding your daughter with questions, he'd annoy her real fast and that would only make her clam up and not reveal any information

He's worried about the type of guy who attracted his daughter, what if it was a criminal? Someone who could ruin her, do more harm than good? What if it didn't work out? What if it ended in heartbreak-

You have to knock some sense into him before he gets ahead of himself, if you were patient and kept your cool, your daughter would reveal all the details necessary herself without having to pry much and make it feel like an interrogation

He actually gets along quite well with his daughter's boyfriend once they get to know each other, they are obnoxious together and it annoys the hell out of not only you but your daughter too when they both end up spending more time together on Sundays

۶ৎ Gaz...

He was cooking breakfast when his daughter waltzed in, spinning and holding her phone close to her chest, Kyle smiled as he flipped a pancake, "And what's got you smiling like that?", he expected it to be something a teen her age would be giddy about, a band she liked coming to town? New episode of her favorite show released?

None of that turns out she's seeing a guy and he just asked her to be his girlfriend, when I tell you this man's jaw DROPPED and you had to call his name multiple times to bring him back to earth, "Honey...Kyle? The pancakes are burning"

You hugged your daughter and he did the same but as soon as she went back to her room he turned to you, whisper-yelling "Did I hear that right?", and you have to remind him it's normal for teens to start having an interest in dating

He truly is happy for his daughter, he just can't help but be a little worried, he'd hate for someone to break her vulnerable heart, but you bet he'd be very attentive and patient when his daughter wants to rant or has her first breakup

I don't think he'd be overly jealous, he'd only go on full dad mode if someone is selfish and hurts his daughter or tries forcing her to do something she doesn't want to, which is why he constantly sets an example with how he treats you so his daughter won't stand any bullshit her boyfriend tries to pull

۶ৎ Roach...

He'd probably just be shocked, not understanding entirely what his daughter just announced to the both of you, a boyfriend?! but wasn't it just yesterday that he was taking her elementary school? Roach hasn't realized how fast time flies, surely his daughter meant a boy FRIEND

He's quickly proven wrong when she calls out a name he hasn't heard before, and walking in is a young man the same age as his daughter, who comes to place an arm around her and introduce himself

oh, Roach couldn't mistake that look he just saw on his daughter's face, her eyes gleaming and bright as she looked up at her boyfriend

He greets the boyfriend but will then sit quietly and observe the entire time he's there, analyzing every move and sentence that comes out of that boy's mouth, he has a real knack for deciphering people's underlying intentions that you trust his instincts if he says either there is no malice detected from his daughter's boyfriend or if he senses something wrong

He mostly lets you handle this one because he doesn't know much about how kids date nowadays and lets you give advice instead

۶ৎ Alejandro...

He used to sometimes tense up whenever his relatives or someone would joke about his daughter growing up and having a partner, whenever it was brought up at a function he'd simply say nothing and continue to drink his beer quietly

Well his little girl did grow up and she kept the relationship somewhat of a secret for a while, afraid of what her dad's reaction would be, you had to be the one to sit him down and tell him while your daughter nervously waited in her room only for his reaction to be much better than you anticipated, hugged his daughter saying how happy he was to hear that

Still, sometimes he seemed to forget that the guy his daughter frequently brought around was her boyfriend because he kept referring to him as "ese amiguito tuyo" ("that little friend of yours")

Would make him do manual labor whenever your daughter brought her boyfriend around, Alejandro would ask him to help mow the lawn, or clean out the gutters with him, maybe help him finish building something and meanwhile they would have casual conversation

Overall, the boyfriend grew on Alejandro more and more that at this point he was considered a son and part of the family

۶ৎ Rudy...

He is very close with his daughter and has constantly been there for her in moments when she was a vulnerable teen, and he showered her with love and praise when she achieved her goals and accomplishments, he never had a reason to show hostility when she came home from college announcing that she had been in a relationship for a few months and wanted to introduce her boyfriend

Rudy couldn't help but feel just a little worried but he tried his best to keep those doubts hidden as to not come off as unwelcoming or controlling when he shook the hand of the man who had swept his daughter off her feet

I think Rudy was more worried about how he was acting in front of them that he even asked if he was balanced in his thoughts, you had to remind him that it was normal to worry about who your children chose to date, you had spent years raising and protecting them after all, but the fact that he was conscious of this proved how even now he put his daughter's wishes ahead of his own worries

He treated his daughter's boyfriend like a second son and always reminded his daughter how proud he was of her, he wished her all the happiness in the world in this new chapter of her life, it reminded him of when you and him started dating <3

۶ৎ Phillip Graves...

Who could be worthy of dating his daughter? The daughter of a commander? He had given her everything she wished for and more, was his daughter so sure she wanted to date so soon? Not that he was against it, he just sort of had high expectations

Phillip would have preferred if it had been someone he already knew, maybe one of his Shadow's children who were around the same age as his daughter, because then he already knew their family, etc...

But this introduction of someone new had him alert, he was ready to do anything in favor of his daughter if they made her upset, turns out he had nothing to worry about because his daughter was dating a nerd, what her boyfriend lacked in social skills he excelled in academics and personality, not to say he treated her like Phillip had always accustomed his daughter to being treated

The same delicate attention and sincerity, Phillip liked that right away and was always asking his daughter when she'd invite her boyfriend over again

Next thing you knew, Phillip would gladly tell anyone willing to listen how his daughter was not only the best daughter he had but he now also had a great future son-in-law

۶ৎ Makarov...

Uhmm, he would be VERY well informed of any guy that would show interest in his daughter, probably senses it before the daughter even develops strong feelings for the interested guy

He has his ways of finding out everything on the guy, his background, family, financial status, his connections... everything, and imagine the reaction of his daughter when she finds out what her dad's been up to in his free time, she would freak out and demand for him to stop

They argue nonstop for hours, going back and forth until finally they make a deal, he stops "stalking" her boyfriend if she agrees to introduce the boyfriend to Makarov soon, they both agree and a date and time is set

You're with Makarov at the restaurant they agreed to meet up, and you're reminding Makarov to be reasonable while you wait for your daughter and her boyfriend to arrive

Makarov is looking down, fiddling with the eating utensils on the table as he breathes through his nose, you think he's too mad to respond to you but he gives in and nods, you smile and press a tender kiss to his cheek which seems to lighten his face up, a smile appearing on his lips

But that smile quickly disappears when he looks up to meet his daughter's boyfriend, this will be a long evening for him...

۶ৎ Keegan...

Keegan thinks that the young man who's knocking on your front door is a salesman or someone coming to offer their services, he's dressed sort of nice so Keegan is kind in turning him away, "Sorry, Kid. I'm not buying anything you've come to sell" and he's about to close the door when his daughter comes quickly, "Dad! That's my boyfriend"

Boyfriend? "Since when-" And he's left standing there, dumbfounded as you come to the rescue and welcome the boy in, you have to nudge Keegan with your elbow to remind him to be polite

He used to always say he'd come out with a gun to run off any guy who tried to bother his daughter but this caught him completely off guard, Keegan ends up not being able to find anything offensive or rude about his daughter's boyfriend to use against him so he has to come to terms with the fact that he's fine with it and lets them be

Your daughter secretly knew this which is why she wasn't as worried when inviting her boyfriend over, didn't tell Keegan and only let you know because she knew he'd take it better if he wasn't expecting anyone

۶ৎ König...

"Is it not too young-" You stop him there before he can say anything more, your daughter had just interrupted you reading and König just so happened to be around to hear when your daughter mentioned a guy

He doesn't understand that some start dating in their teens or as young adults because he never really gave it much thought when he was that age, he assumed everyone else was like that

He doesn't know how to react when there's a guy just there, suddenly and shaking his hand, König is too immersed in his thoughts to notice how nervous the guy is as he looks up at the intimidating height of König, he could easily be snapped in half, and he thought he was tall...

Your daughter's boyfriend also isn't used to how silent König gets sometimes, so he's sitting there worried and shaking thinking he said or did something wrong for his girlfriend's father to just be dead silent, not directing a word to him but instead muttering under his breath

König is just trying to think of what to ask, because in situations like these he needs to find out stuff about his daughter's boyfriend, right?

۶ৎ Horangi...

This man is not taking it seriously, at all, now is not the time to bring up an old video he had taken when his daughter was five years old saying how she wasn't ever going to marry or like a boy

He's clowning her with his video he somehow still had saved while your daughter just sits there like -_-, you have to try and convince him to put the phone away before the waiter at the restaurant you're at comes over to ask him to leave for disrupting the other customers

He unintentionally interrupts their dates or when they're having a moment by calling his daughter on her phone or if they're at your house he comes around to the living room to watch tv even though they were trying to have a conversation in that room

So you have to constantly keep him distracted and occupied or else he'll want to go join his daughter and her boyfriend because he thinks whatever they're doing is a lot more fun and he thinks it's back like when his daughter was a little girl and was always inviting him to play games together

۶ৎ Nikto...

While he couldn't ever be bothered to pay attention at the dinner table when his daughter mentioned having a new crush at school, Nikto became a lot more serious when your daughter brought over a guy for dinner, who is this boy and what's he doing sitting and eating in his house?

He's confused to see the that who his daughter spent evenings talking to on the phone is this ordinary guy eating beside him, Nikto looks over to you and notices how attentive you are to everything the boy is saying, you smile and nod endlessly and he wonders if he should be doing the same

But with the scar on his lip it's hard to make it seem as pleasant as yours, he focuses on just listening and eating in silence, once the boy leaves he asks who that was, a partner his daughter brought to work on something school related? "No, Nikto. That's her boyfriend" HER WHAT-

Suddenly, he wishes he would have tuned in a little sooner when he had noticed the boy, Nikto simply turns to your daughter, "Does he treat you well?" She meekly answers yes and Nikto shrugs, "No problems, we're good" and he leaves for his nap