#them to be as good as they are i guess it really shows how good these characters are man 😩

[inkdrinkerworld]

Courting

Synopsis: Bucky is a man from a different time. It shows when you start ‘going steady’ and honestly, you love it. Alternatively; Bucky uses 40’s dating etiquette to woo you, and surprises you with a modern turn of phrase.

cw: it’s set in a vague timeline where it’s just before cabnw but also during fatws so no thunderbolts spoilers! Bucky is a FLIRT, reader is a little shy, anxiety representation, lots of casual getting to know you, going on a date flirting, Bucky’s serious about reader tho!

word count: 4.4k

Bucky Barnes prides himself on being able to court a woman. He really does. He knows all the rules, knows all the things to say, and it doesn’t hurt that he can flirt his way through any conversation.

You and Bucky met at the Smithsonian when Bucky was missing Steve a little too much and popped in just to get a glimpse of his best friend again.

You were by the Isaiah Bradley display, reading through before murmuring under your breath, “Those poor men.”

Bucky hadn’t meant to eavesdrop like that, but there was so much concern in your voice and he had to say something lest you think they all suffered — looking back, maybe he wasn’t the best person to break that news to you.

“We didn’t all suffer so bad.”

You had gasped when you noticed him, hand to your chest. “You’re Bucky Barnes,” you weigh your words before adding, “Steve’s best friend.”

That alone had won him over. You didn’t bring up the Winter Soldier, or that Bucky was as traumatised as super soldiers went. Just that he was Steve’s best friend.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “This your first time at the Smithsonian?”

You shake your head, a little heat flushing up your cheeks. “I come every couple of weeks, to see if they have any new stuff to add to your plaques. It’s kinda messed up what they did to all of you.”

Bucky smiles, shaking his head. It is messed up, he knows that. All the super soldiers besides John Walker know how messed up it was. “We came out alright, made it to the 21st century after all.”

You tilt your head to the side, “I guess that’s true.”

Bucky’s eyes light up. “Made it this far to meet pretty girls too.”

Your cheeks flame and Bucky chuckles, you chat a bit more before he gives you his number.

It takes you two days to text him. You’d been overthinking it, if you should or shouldn’t. In the end, if he ignored you at least you’d have tried.

It turns out Bucky didn’t give you his number just to be polite, because he answered your text immediately.

The first time he had used his courting experience was when he’d made it a point to establish the fact that he wanted to take you out every second Friday of the month.

He had it in his head that the effort had to be shown and then followed through the entire time and after two days, he was determined to show you that he was serious.

‘I’m free every other Friday, if that’s good with you doll.’

You had responded four minutes later after looking at your phone in shock and a little bit of bewilderment, when was the last time a man was so forward but not in a pushy way?

‘It’s perfect as long as work doesn’t bleed into my weekends’

From there Bucky had planned three of the dates meticulously, going over places and ideas in his head until he’d settled on the best three according to himself.

The first date was at a new diner near his apartment, one that Sam said did really good milkshakes and Bucky hadn’t been able to let the idea go.

“It’s nothing too fancy, but Sam said it’s a good spot.”

You’d worn a pretty skirt and blouse, and Bucky had worn a grey henley and jeans.

“You look gorgeous,” Bucky was full of compliments as you’d learn as the afternoon went on. He dished them out easily and most of the time you pretended not to hear him because he had a sort of pleased look on his face every time you stammered to keep the conversation going, and that in itself had in your stomach in knots.

He even brought you a bouquet of red tulips which had sat beside you on the sticky diner table all day.

“Oh they have milkshakes!” You say excitedly when you catch a server walking past.

Bucky’s heart sores. God bless the forties for making that a thing.

“Wanna try one?”

You look up at him, eyes brimming with hopefulness, “Will we do the cheesy sharing from the same cup?”

Bucky leans back in the booth seat, blue eyes boring into you. “And the same straw if you really want to, doll.”

He’s so fucking smooth, because you can’t do anything but nod now that his gaze is fixed on you.

Deciding what milkshake had taken nearly five minutes, back and forth between what was a classic flavor and why strawberry was definitely not good (Bucky was very offended) and then settling on a Shamrock Shake even though St. Patrick’s day had long passed.

Sharing the milkshake sitting across from each other was more intimate than you had expected it to be, (you hadn’t ended up using one straw but just the eye contact was enough to fluster you). Bucky walked you to your car after paying for dinner, very offended that you tried to pay half of the bill, and opened the door for you. When you had gotten in, he leant a little into your space, “Did you have a good time, doll?”

Your heart pounds. You had a great time, Bucky was easy to be around, even with your shyness.

“I did, thank you Bucky. Did you?”

He smiled, “Don’t see how I couldn’t with you as company.” In your sputtering for an answer Bucky’s heart beat a little faster, you were the cutest thing ever.

“Any opposition to a gala for our next date?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the biggest fan of crowds but I don’t see why it couldn’t be fun. Is it for the new Captain America thing?”

Bucky smiles, “I’ll text you the details. Drive safe, doll.”

The gala was fun even if a little anxiety inducing when you note the number of people there.

Bucky’s good though, he doesn’t give you a moment alone to feel that anxiety or have anyone come up to you to ask you a million questions.

It’s a veteran gala and Bucky didn’t want to go through that alone because he was getting another medal post Thanos; not that he really wanted it.

That night, as you sat beside him at one of the tables, it was hard to ignore the feel of his hand grasping your ankle and stroking it.

His palm is warm against your skin but you can feel the twitch in his fingers.

“We can leave early if you really don’t want to get it, Bucky.”

He turns to you with a smile, his cheeks a little warm when you meet his eyes. “No, I can handle it, doll.”

You tut, shaking your head. “Yeah but you look like you’re gonna pass out waiting for them to call your name.”

He rolls his eyes, “I do not.” He can actually feel the acid churning in his stomach.

In the end, the ‘medal’ is Bucky partially funding a veteran support group in honor of his friend Sam Wilson, who’s the new Captain America, and Steve Rogers. He much prefers that sort of medal.

It was only after Bucky had gotten you home from the gala that you noticed the slip of paper in your clutch.

It had the name of the diner you and Bucky had gone to a week and a half ago, but on the backside of the paper was his semi messy scrawl.

You looked gorgeous tonight. Purple’s definitely your colour, doll. I know it’s only the second date, but you’re all I think about most days. I wanna see you again, but I know tonight was a lot with all those people. Sleep well, doll. Dream of me if you’d like.

Yours,

James.

That had made you smile so hard your cheeks ached. He signed it with his actual name, not the cute nickname he got so many years ago, his real, government name and that was not something that went unnoticed by you.

Immediately you changed his name in your phone to James with a little heart next to it.

You’re not really sure you’re sold on Bucky’s affections towards you, till the third date when Bucky pulls up to your apartment with another bouquet of flowers, peonies this time in pretty pinks and soft yellows.

“Bucky, these are gorgeous!” You had rushed back into your house to add them to the vase with the other flowers he had dropped off for you on your doorstep last week.

You can hear him chuckling in your doorway as you flit about.

“Was there any traffic?” you asked over the sound of your tap filling the vase.

“Not too much, but it is lunchtime on a Saturday.”

You had mentioned to Bucky a little bit ago that there was a perfect spot in the park near your house for a picnic now that New York had finally warmed up, and the next text you had received was Bucky asking if you had any nut allergies.

It wasn’t your usual date day, but Bucky had pleaded and begged just a little (although he really hadn’t had to), and had even sent you a photo of the most gorgeous picnic blanket and you were agreeing faster than anything.

“I’m ready to go now.” Seeing Bucky there leaning in the archway of your kitchen makes you feel so many things that you can’t help it when you lean up and kiss just under his jaw before walking towards your door after snagging your picnic basket from on the counter.

“Coming, Bucky?”

He only shakes his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes as he follows behind you. You swear you hear him mutter, “Not a shy thing at all,” but you don’t say anything because your nerve has worn off and you actually can’t believe you really kissed his cheek.

Bucky hadn’t spared an expense on your picnic. He had gotten peaches, plums, two different cheeses, apples, grapes (black ones; your favourite) and even a bottle of sparkling wine.

You had brought sandwiches and salt and vinegar potato chips (those became Bucky’s new favourites), a sketchbook and your camera.

“Were picnics something you did a lot?” you ask Bucky as he makes you a plate - crackers, cheese, some of the fruit and half the sandwich you packets.

Bucky squints at you as he slices a wedge of the plum free from the stone. “If it was, would you be jealous, doll?”

You shake your head, some of the peach juice dribbling down your wrist. Bucky’s quick but gentle as he thumbs it away and presses his thumb to his lips. You’re so grateful that his hands aren’t on you to feel how fast your pulse hammers.

“I’m just curious what the dating customs of the 40’s looked like.” It’s a miracle your voice remains even.

Bucky nods like he doesn’t really believe you. “I think I went on one, but there was never really a good time for more.”

You wince, you had forgotten that he’d gotten drafted.

Your reaction makes Bucky laugh, “I’m glad I get to find out if I really like them now though. There’s a lot more to enjoy about picnics now without all the smog.”

His teeth snap through the wedge of the plum before he continues, “I can see my date better, which feels like an incredible plus.”

Damn Bucky’s flirting.

You spend all evening at the park, and it’s so fun because Bucky poses for some of your pictures and then takes some of you and when you pose for a few together and Bucky stares at you there’s a sort of stillness that overcomes you.

His eyes bore into yours, the blue of them stopping you where your finger is poised over the button to snap the photo.

“Take the photo doll,” he whispers, his lips hovering near yours as he reaches up and presses your finger down just before leaning all the way in, pressing your lips together.

Bucky’s quick to take the camera from your hand after, setting it on the blanket and cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss.

It’s not too long, but it’s more than a peck and when he pulls away you can barely open your eyes.

“Was that okay?” Bucky whispers, the hand still cupping your face warm where it rests.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” his laugh rocks you as you press your forehead into his shoulder. “I don’t think you were really frozen in ice all that time, James Barnes.”

Bucky cups the back of your head as his laughs die down. “Whatever you want to believe, honey.”

Bucky gets to your house just after sunset, and you let him walk you to your front door. You don’t really want the date to end, but you’re tired and you have to imagine so is he.

“I had a really nice evening, Bucky.”

He smiles, a hand on your lower back as he stands in front of you. “So did I,” you turn to open the door but he stops you.

“I’ve gotta go out of town for a little bit, so we’re gonna have to rain check next Friday’s date.”

You hold onto the sleeve of his Henley before he can step back, “Is everything alright?”

Bucky nods, “Yeah just some stuff I have to deal with.”

“Winter soldier stuff?” You nearly whisper the words, not wanting to upset Bucky. He only nods with a soft smile. “Be careful okay?”

“You don’t want to be my nurse if I get hurt, doll? That’s harsh.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bucky’s chest aches at your care for him. It’s been a long while since he’s been given that kind of affection.

“I’ll be careful, doll.”

“Good.”

Bucky leans in and presses a kiss just at the corner of your mouth, “Goodnight doll, lock your doors.” He reminds you like you’re not a woman in New York City, but it still makes you smile and your chest goes a little gooey.

Bucky doesn’t move from your doorstep till he hears your locks click into place.

-

Bucky’s been gone for a week and a half already and you can’t help but miss him.

You’ve been chatting back and forth and you’ve even started sending him songs to listen to. He’s got a very limited list of favourites that you’ve made it your mission to resolve.

You find another note in your handbag when you decided against texting Bucky and cleaned your cupboards instead.

It was in your bag from the picnic date, and you smiled when you noticed his handwriting on another receipt from the grocery where he got the cheese.

I hope you find this when I’m gone and you’re missing me; I know you are, doll, it’s okay.

I miss you too and I haven’t left yet.

When I get back I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Maybe we’ll go somewhere quiet again? Or I saw they’re reopening one of those antique places with all those retro trinkets; I could show what I used to have at home. Show you what I prefer now.

Keep locking your doors, honey. I should send you new flowers, the old ones will be dead soon.

Yours,

James.

Bucky’s very good at these, these little notes that leave you smiling and giddy like a fool.

You pull out your phone, you have to text him now.

I got your note. What was your favourite ‘trinket’?

Bucky answers only three minutes later.

My sister used to have a silver jewellery box that I had the pleasure of filling every month.

You smile at that, he’s always been a provider it seems.

Another chime comes from your phone.

We also had a gramophone that played the clearest music I’ve ever heard.

You roll your eyes.

You’re such an old man.

I’m not offended, doll. A pretty girl I’m seeing told me recently I’m not old at all.

Even miles away he’s got you grinning like an idiot with a racing pulse.

You can’t say anything to that and your thoughts take you to what a perfect gentleman he’s been to you. Bucky opens your doors, drives you home and waits till you get into your house before driving off. You think you might be falling for him, and rapidly.

He’s still gone by Monday and you’re missing him hard, only for the girls you work with to giggle before coming to find you.

“These were dropped for you,” they hand you a huge bouquet of red and white tube roses and a card.

It’s not Bucky’s handwriting but it’s from him,

Sorry I’m still not back, doll. I should just be gone for another day. Don’t miss me too much, yeah? I need a few kisses when I get back to make up for all this time away. I listened to that song you recommended, it was good. How do I make a playlist?

Yours,

James.

The note had you blushing and extremely flustered. Your coworkers noticed it immediately.

“Are you two going steady?”

You regret telling them who you’d been going out with. When they leave, you’re stuck with the realisation of how different Bucky is to the men you’ve dated before.

It’s a small thing, but you hardly think any of them got you flowers as consistently as he does, and you don’t think you’ve ever received such thoughtful bouquets.

You called Bucky when you got home, happy to hear his voice.

“Thank you for the flowers, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome, doll.”

You have the bouquet from today on your bedside table and smile when you spot it after changing into your pajamas.

“You caused quite a scene when they got delivered.”

You can hear the amusement in his words. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, the girls I work with brought them to me. They were very impressed by the size of the bouquet, Barnes.”

“I’m just concerned about what you think of me.” Was his answer and after that you couldn’t get a full sentence out of you.

He’s so open with his feelings towards you it’s scary, it makes your heart race but you also know he’s not just saying it. He means it and that makes you fall just a little more for Bucky.

“You’re sweet.” Is all you can manage, your face heated with a blush.

“Sam and I are finishing this up tonight, so I should be able to see you when we get back.”

You don’t know if you’re reading into his words, but Bucky sounds relieved at the prospect of seeing you soon.

“Isn’t it going to be a day’s long flight?”

“And I can see you right after I land, honey. So long as it’s not midnight or while you’re gonna be sleeping.”

Bucky Barnes isn’t good for your heart with the way he just wholly shows you how much he wants to spend time with you.

“Do you still need help with your playlist?”

He huffs, “Sam showed me. He’s not a good teacher though, was snippy the whole time; you’d think he’d remember I was in ice.”

You laugh, “I’ll show you when you get back, babe.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything about the pet name, but for the rest of the phone call he doesn’t respond unless you use it.

It’s two days before he’s back and Bucky drives straight over to see you.

He’s at your door a few hours after you get home from work, and when you open the door to see him, he’s there with a single rose in his hand and a tired smile on his face.

“Is it possible you got prettier while I was gone?” He leans against your doorway.

“You look dead on your feet, Bucky. Come inside.” you lead him to your sofa, watching him move with heavy but careful steps all the way through your living room.

Bucky’s movements are measured, not a single action wasted as he takes off his boots and socks and detaches his metal arm.

“I really missed you,” he sighs as he lays on your sofa, eyes shut as he takes a long breath.

“I really missed you too,” you brush back some hair from his face. “You could’ve gone home to sleep first, you know?”

Bucky opens his eyes and it takes great effort to do so, the whites of his eyes shot through with streaks of intense red.

“I wanted to see you,” he yawns. “But you’ve trapped me into laying on your sofa.”

You laugh, your fingers still knotted in his hair. “You can take a nap Bucky, or you can sleep the night here. I’m not really excited by the idea of you driving back tired.”

“I won’t doll,” he shuts his eyes again, the feel of your fingers on his scalp lulling him into a peacefulness he’s missed. “Tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I know you weren’t just counting down the days till I got back.”

You roll your eyes as you recount the last two weeks of your life, Bucky’s not even awake to hear what you did on the second day of him being gone.

You cover him up with your throw blanket and dim the lights of your living room. You make the playlist for him while he sleeps, putting all the songs you’ve sent him on the memory stick so he can leave with it.

Bucky doesn’t spend the night, but as he’s leaving he holds your cheek, “I didn’t come with an ulterior motive, just to see you. If you want, we can go have dinner tomorrow. I have something I want to ask you, doll.”

“That’s ominous,” you’re a little nervous by that phrase. No one likes being told that someone has ‘something to ask them’ in a day. There’s anxiety crawling up your chest before Bucky kisses your lips.

“It’s a good question baby, don’t overthink it. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You grab the memory stick off the table before you could forget, “Here, I put all the songs I’ve sent on here.” Bucky kisses you again.

“You’re an angel,” you steal a kiss before he pulls away. “Lock your doors.”

“Sir yes sir.”

You hear him laugh all the way to his car.

Despite Bucky’s well meaning, ‘Don’t overthink it.’ That’s all you did when you woke up and started sifting through dresses to wear.

You’re ready at six and that makes you even more anxious. There’s too much time to do nothing but sit and overthink it.

You’re working yourself up to outright calling Bucky when there’s a knock at your door.

A quick peek at the clock on your stove let’s you know you’ve been overthinking it for forty five minutes.

When you open the door, Bucky’s standing in front of you in a pretty blue shirt that makes his eyes pop, and black dress pants.

He’s not got flowers this time, but he is holding a box of what you think are chocolates.

“Oh my god,” he breathes as he takes you in. You’re in a pretty pale purple dress, white heels and your hair is down in loose curls. You hadn’t gone for heavy makeup but just enough where there’s purple glitter on your eyelids and your lips are a deep red.

“You look handsome.” You say as you fight the blush creeping up your chest at the way Bucky’ stares at you.

“You look,” he trails off like he really can’t find the right words. “Breathtaking.”

You feel as though the blush explodes in your chest and heats your entire face.

Bucky hands you the box of chocolates, “They’re all dark chocolate.” You smile as you take it; that’s another thing Bucky’s remembered you like.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

You ask as you slip the chocolates into your purse and shut your door.

Bucky smiles as he watches you lock your door before turning to him. Immediately he links his hand with yours.

“We’re going for dinner somewhere nice,” the entire ride to the car Bucky has you talking. About the last book you read, work, if you think about him every night before bed (the last one was just to make you laugh, but the truth is you do.)

“What about you Bucky? Do you think about me before bed?”

You ask as he parks and he turns to you.

“Oh yeah,” that’s all he says before coming out of the car to open your door. “Think about you more than I think about anything else, doll.”

You manage to hold back your question just before dessert, “Can you please ask me? I’m freaking out and I think my heart might explode from the anxiety.”

There’s a laugh that bubbles from you and Bucky tuts.

“Honey,” you press a hand to your chest. Your anxiety really is at an all time high. You have so many questions rattling around your head that Bucky could want to ask you and you may throw up the lovely pasta you just had if he doesn’t ask you soon.

He leans across the table and holds onto your wrist, feeling the erratic beat of your pulse.

“I’ve been torturing you, haven’t I doll?”

You nod as you try to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky’s thumb strokes short lines across your wrist. “I had it all set up to come with dessert but I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“Thanks,” you mutter and he smiles.

“I know we’re only going steady,” that gets a smile out of you. He really is an old man, “but I wanted to ask you if I could be yours? Saying boyfriend makes me feel older so I won’t say it.”

You laugh, letting your head fall on his hand where it holds yours.

“Not the other way around?” You ask and Bucky huffs.

“You’re not property, honey.”

You look up with a smile and Bucky’s smile gets a little brighter. “Yeah you can be mine.”

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin a little higher and kisses you; slow and just long enough for it not to be a full make out. “You really missed out on the whole cheesecake with chocolate drizzle writing.”

He says as he pulls away and you laugh.

“Oh, are they not bringing it anymore?”

Bucky shakes his head, mischief in his eyes. “After you just latched onto me in the middle of their establishment? I don’t know, doll.”

“You’re ridiculous.” They still bring the cheesecake and Bucky feeds you the first bite, and like the flirt and menace he is, he gets a little just to the corner of your mouth.

“Let me get it for you,” and steals another kiss, ‘cleaning it off.’

Bucky Barnes really knows how to court a woman.

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[incorrectcalex]

i'm really bored rn, so i'm gonna answer those questions based on what i think abt how was their wedding. (don't mind my english, not my 1st language 😭)

Alex was the one that first brought it up while they were watching Wedding Factory, suddenly asking Casey, 'If we ever get married, would you choose a classical wedding cake or something like, I don't know, a HotWheels Speedway themed cake?' and Casey, being Casey, just stared at Alex with the biggest puppy eyes she'd ever seen, simply saying 'You'd like to marry me somewhere in the future?'.

And what it was just a silly doubt in between a show, became a heartwarming conversation about their expectations for their future.

After three years, when Casey cleared a space of her closet for Alex to move in, she decided it was time. They had been living together for a couple of months when she decided to celebrate Valentine's day differently. She planned a whole trip for them, so Alex, being the smartass she is, wouldn't guess what Casey was doing.

First, they shared breakfast in bed, eating fruits and pancakes before they started packing to spend the night out. Their first parade was in a flower shop, where Casey had bought her a pink dahlia and lily bouquet, Alex's favorites with a mug trinket for her bracelet, simbolizing their first date in a coffee shop.

They had two other parades after that. One so they could have lunch at a random restaurant so that Alex wouldn't suspect and the other at a grocery store, so Casey could buy marshmellows. Alex tried to take any information off of Casey so she could know where they were heading to, but she always avoided the question with another one, and honestly, Alex was getting anxious just like a little kid asking their parents if they arrived at their destiny.

Finally, when the sun was starting to set, they got to a camping area, where, without explaining much, Casey asked Alex for help to tidy up the tent and light the fire and a very confused, but excited Alex tried her best to fill up the air mattress while Casey finished the tent.

Casey gave Alex a match box for her to light the fire while she gathered their stuff to put inside the tent, taking advantage of Alex's distraction it as an excuse to get the ring box, stuffing it into her jacket pocket. When she went outside, She saw the fire lit and Alex had her back turned for her while and smiled, trying to focus about the repellent she was talking about.

'Yeah, of course I brought it. I couldn't have us going back to work tomorrow like we were rolling in a pool of stingers.', the redhead said jokingly, looking at the sun, that it was almost setting. Taking a deep breath, she knelt, taking the ring box out of the pocket, 'Good, because I really don't want us to be itching the whole wee-' Alex finally turned to face Casey, looking down to see her there, with a black velvet ring box opened there looking like she had just ate a whole bag of black pepper 'What are you doing?', the blonde asked silently, her face blank with shock.

'Lex, we have been together for almost five years and... God I'm terrible at this, but, do you remember when we had finally admitted that we actually liked each other and you said something like, "we're gays, Casey, if there's something that we can't do is pretend that being public about it isn't dangerous. But I'm willing to try if you also want to laugh in the face of danger with me", and I can't see a better way of doing it than marrying with you, so... Alexandra Cabot, would you like to marry me?', she finally proposed, seeing the blonde chuckle, crying a bit as she stared at Casey's gleamy eyes 'Have I ever said how much I love the Disney freak you are? Of course I do!'

And they hugged after Casey puts the engagement ring on her finger. It was a private and simple moment, but it was just perfect for them.

Their rings were just perfect for them. Nothing too flashy, but nothing too simple, either. 👇 ( pinterest pic ofc )

The wedding was planned by them. They wanted it to be perfect and to have a little touch of both. Like, the classic tradition of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a sixpence in your shoe was Alex's idea, but having a picture wall was totally Casey's ( they literally decided those things the morning after the proposal ).

They didn't tell a soul about it until they were back in town. They came at the precint with smiles bigger than the room, Olivia was surely the first to tease about it, 'It seems like someone had a good weekend', she said, looking at both of them and they giggled as they looked at each other just like high school sweethearts.

'Well, yeah, I guess it was good, what do you think, Lexie?', she stared at her now fiancée, that just smiled back, looking at Liv 'I think so, but now my hand kinda hurts, do yours too?'.

Fin and Munch had came near them, looking at them weirdly, 'What are these two up to?', the older man asked and Liv just shook her head. 'Mine does too, it must be the weight of being engaged, don't you think, love?', 'It surely is, what do you think, guys?"

And both showed their hands at them, their smiles were huge and the detectives just stared at them surprised, their smiles growing. 'Oh, my God, finally!, Liv was the first to say, hugging both of them individually, 'I'm so happy that you two weren't talking about your sex life' Munch said, listening to their laugh as he also hugged them, 'You two owe me 50 bucks, I told you it wouldn't pass this year.', Fin was the one who said it as John growled as he handed his partner the money, just like Olivia.

'Wait, you made a bet about it?', Alex was the one who asked, laughing. 'Of course, four years of taking you two being gays 24/7 and nothing about wedding?!', Liv said, 'Besides, who proposed?'

'I did. In a camping trip'. Casey smiled at the blonde, who just smiled back, looking at her soon-to-be-wife. 'Damn it, Alex! I bet on you!' Liv complained, giving twenty to Munch and Fin. 'What can I say? Casey was faster than me!'.

The planning endured for two very stressful years where they gathered money enough for the ceremony, reception and their honeymoon. It was hard, but they finally had, not only the money, but everything planned and set for their wedding to happen. And with the planning, they chose their bestmen and maids of honor.

Alex chose Huang and Olivia, her best friends since forever. Huang was the first gay man that was actually open about his sexuality and that made her have the courage to actually accept herself, meanwhile Olivia was the one that encouraged her to talk to Casey about her feelings and actually admit them to her. Without them, Alex probably would never give herself an opportunity to this relationship.

Meanwhile Casey chose Munch to be her bestman and Mary to be her maid of honor. They were the ones that made her realize that she was in love with Alex and that, even though Casey's religion said otherwise, she could love other woman romantically and that that wasn't a bad thing.

Munch trusted her and treated her nicely since day one and not only that, but they actually trusted her work and her intuition and that was something that she really valued on their friendship.

And Mary, the woman who guided her when she first started working as a prosecutor... she was the one that made all of that happen, even if they didn't knew that at the time they met. She was the one that didn't let her give up on being a prosecutor and that was what led Casey to be where she was today.

They didn't really know what to do, but they preferred to make a simple invitation in their own handwriting in a box with a bottle of wine to each one of them and invite them to a small dinner at their house. In the middle of the conversation, the couple gave the box with each one of their names to them, smiling when they accepted with a very pleasant smile on their faces.

It was simple, but seeing their reactions, it definetly couldn't have been better.

Both of them knew that it wouldn't be easy to make the guest list. Not because they were unsure of who they should invite, but because they knew exactly who they couldn't have there. Alex was her parent's only kid, so when they died, she didn't had anyone of her family to invite besides her uncle Bill, his wife and their kid. She surely wanted her parents to be there and the worst part is that this was something that she couldn't even change.

It was hard, of course, but she knew, or at least tried to believe, that they would be there somewhere, cheering for her.

Casey also was okay with every friend they invited to, the problem was that she also didn't had anyone of her family to be there for her. Her entire family is catholic, the kind of catholic that would scream at you if they saw a rainbow drawing on your notebook.

Both of them knew it would be difficult do handle their absense, but they were glad to have their chosen family by their side.

manip out of my manip acc on insta!! @/caseycabvt_

When the day finally arrived, they were surely a pile of nerves and happiness. It was like half of them were about to faint while the other was running around the house screaming "I'M GETTING MARRIED! I'M GETTING MARRIED", while their maids of honor tried to calm them down.

Alex's uncle decided to give his backyard so they could get married. It was a large place, and, as there weren't many guests, there was still plenty of space for them to dance and enjoy the ceremony and the after party.

The ceremony happened as the sun started to set. Fin was the one who held the ceremony, having obtained his license online the day before, pretending the whole time he didn't want to cry for being the chosen one to marry his best friends.

Huang was the one that got in charge to take care of their rings while Mary would hold their bouquets when they exchanged their vowels.

Liv and Munch were the ones who carried them to the aisle, where both of them met with huge smiles in their faces, wattery eyes and shaky hands. They couldn't stop looking at each other, both clearly too stunned to say something more than "I love you" before they walked together through the aisle.

'We're reunited this evening to not just celebrate love and the union of the brides, but also courage. We know how hard it is to actually have the strenght to admit and show everyone that you love someone who has the same gender as you. It was hard, all of us know how much you two tried to hide your feelings, not that they were successful, you were terrible, actually', he said, hearing both giggle, 'but the day finally came and we couldn't even say it wasn't true love. You two had a long history and we're here today to witness you guys take this very important step for your relationship. So, without further ado; Do you, Alexandra Cabot, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?', he read what he wrote from the site script, looking at her, who couldn't stop smiling at her soon-to-be-wife, 'Yes, I do', she said with a tender voice, 'Do you, Casey Novak, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?'.

'Yes, I do.', the redhead replied, her lower lip shaking as she held her tears back. Fin stared at them with a smile in the face, trying not to cry as much as them. 'Before you exchange the rings, did you guys have anything you might want to read?', both of them nodded and Alex was the first one to take out her paper.

'God, this is unlike me, but I might sob in between the words so I hope you can understand me', she joked nervously, seeing Casey chuckle 'Well, it has been a very long decade. I got shot, went to WitSec and when I came back because my shooter was about to be prosecuted, it wasn't me the one who was about to put him behind the bars and that's what pissed me off more about it. I mean, who was that nosy redhead who had took my job so easily? And not only that, but was also very good at it. I could say I wasn't very pleased with a younger A.D.A being so good at her job that she put the man that hurted me in jail having only a ballistics results as evidence. I was intrigued by her. So when I came back permanently from WitSec, we saw each other a few times in the DA's office when she needed something from the Homicides Department. And we started chatting, the chat became an implicit flirt here and there, but we always said it was nothing when some of our friends asked. But there was something in there. At the time I wanted to pretend it wasn't what everyone was talking about. There was no love, nor attraction or tension. It was just friendship. So what that I would always smile when she laughed? Or that I would always reach out to her hand when I was distracted or that i would be the first one to smudge the sause off of her mouth corner when she was eating... and getting really close to her face while doing it? I mean, that's what friends are for. Besides that, how could I fall in love with someone that rolls a baseball bat for fun? But I mean, when she does it... thank god I'm able to watch it. Well, it took me a lot of "or what?"s for me to realize that I had fall in love with her and this got me so freaked out that I had to take a moment to calm myself down and figure it out what to do with that information. And then, one day we went out to grab a few drinks with the squad, we drank a lot of cheap beer and when we realized, we were kissing in the back of my car after telling our friends we were heading home, even though in opposite ways from each other. No wonder nobody believed us. Well, the morning after we talked so much about our feelings that I think we learned more about each other in a day than we had in like, two years. That day was the day we swore to laugh in the face of danger together and I guess this day finally came. I love you, Casey. And I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives calling you my wife."

The redhead laughed and cried during the whole speech, trying her best to not smudge her makeup. 'God, can't I kiss this woman already?', she asked as she chuckled, 'Not until I say so. I'm your highness until the party begins', Fin said while puffing out his chest, as a sign of false superiority, 'I'm regretting the traditionalism now' she mumbled, trying to shake her anxiousness off.

'I suck when it comes to sharing my feelings, but I swear I really tried my best. Alexandra Cabot was like a myth when I first started at the DA's office, they talked about her appearance, her mannerisms and her talent to win a case with little to no evidence but at the same tome they admired her, it also came with the "beware of the Ice Queen" warning and, to be honest, the 25 year old me got scared like a puppy to even bump into her at the courthouse or even the DA's office and it never happened. But it happened a few years later and, to be fair, I never knew if it was the WitSec that changed it or the people who talked about her that exaggerated, but I could never see Alex as an Ice Queen. She was the most kind, loving and caring person I could ever met and, even when she had all her deffenses up, she had the most warming gleam in her eyes, like the ones we see in literature but I could never understand quite exactly what the authors meant until I looked into those blue eyes. And, being honest, you know when you promise yourself that you would never fall for that especific person and you're already there? Well, that's what happened. I swore to my life that I would never let myself fool for those perfect blue eyes, neither for that beautiful smile, but guys, I wasn't fooled by them, I drowned in those eyes and found safety in that smile but I still couldn't let myself admit it. I mean, come on, how could I ever admit that when I wasn't even sure about myself? I did tried my best to hide it and to shove it deep down my guts and it kinda helped, for like, five minutes and I was already drooling over how I loved to watch her talk about anything she was interested in, because, if you see Alex talking about Star Wars, you'll surely see how her eyes gleam and how her voice goes up and she starts to make those crazy teen fan faces that makes you giggle and just see how much of a child she can be behind those walls. And, I guess that wasn't only her looks and how smart and confident she is that made me fall in love with her, but also watching her eating her food after days of poorly feeding herself because of a case, or how caring she is with the victims she helps... and how she smiles with her eyes when she snuggles up with a kitten and also starts to sneeze and gets her nose all red because of the kitten's fur, the way she crying laughs at dad jokes and how she decides to paint her toe nails right before she fells asleep and wakes up with her nails smudgy and with the sheets marked all over the polish', Alex laughs, mumbling something confirming what Casey says 'I knew that way before we get involved because I actually saw her doing it, and she just brushed it off by saying it that nobody would actually look at her toes, so it was fine. Besides everything I struggled with while trying to accept I was in love with this amazing woman, I also fought with my faith. I cried everyday since I was a kid asking for God to take these feeling away from me, to make me happy with a man, not a woman. To make me feel the things for guys and not girls and for years I pretended it worked and I was fine just stealing looks and pretending it was just an admiration, until I had Alex sleeping in my shoulder, her breath hot against my cheek and I had to fight the urge to not just kiss her goodnight. It was the hardest moment for me and I kinda went on meltdown. And how was the odds of having a jewish old man helping me out in that moment,' she looked straight towards Munch, who had her eyes wattering, 'making me realize that God still loved me the same no matter who I'd chose to spend my life with... I know everything is kinda messy with this whole speech, but I think there's no way better to finish it then saying: "Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.", and I love you with all my heart, Alex. And I'm just glad I let it be rainbow with you.'

They shared a emotive smile across their faces as they held their hands, still looking at each other's eyes. Fin cleared his throat and stared at them, 'I've never seen them being this gay in my whole life.' he tried to pretend he was about to cry too, smiling clearly happy, 'Well, if anybody has anything to say against this communion, I hope you stay shut and complain at home, by yourselves. Someone? No one? Good.' they chuckled as he proceeded to read through his speech, 'Well, so you guys can know exchange your rings.

Huang came near with the small red velvet pillow in hands, which had both of their wedding rings, and as Alexandra got Casey's ring, she smiled at her soon-to-be wife, sliding it across her left ring finger, kissing on top of it, whispering 'I love you' to the redhead, who already had tear marks over her makeup. Now, Casey grabbed Alex's ring and did the exact same thing. They both stared at each other as Huang stepped aside, both of them smiling so much it almost hurted their cheeks.

'And now I pronounce you bride and bride, and you may... well, kiss!', he smiled, all of their guests standing up to applaud them as Alex held Casey's waist while the redhead cupped her wife's face and kissed her, hugging her tightly right after.

The party went great after that. They laughed, danced and, after a really long time, they remembered to threw Alex's bouquet — which landed on Munch's head and he asked proposed to a really drunk Fin, that fake cried and accepted, saying that Munch's third time getting married would be the lucky one.

They took their time after and finally flew together to their honeymoon, which they passed in Romania, learning their culture, language, and even risked to learn to dance like a professional belly dancer – no need to say they mostly had fun then actually learned anything.

Alex also recall once in a while to have someone reading what was called the gypsy oracle deck that was paint in hand by the reader's family, which talked about a very happy and long marriage and succesful carreers.

Fifteen years had passed, but Alex still hasn't forgotten about that, because that's what exactly happened. They're exactly where they wanted to be. Alex found herself helping victims of abuse and domestic violence to get through everything and even hide from their aggressors, everything backed up by law and Casey became a law teacher in HLS.

In their Fifteenth anniversary, they renewed their vows, having only the few people that lasted in their lives all those years at the ceremony and during the after party at their house.

When Alex was asked to describe their marriage in a sentence she'd say "everyday with her is a rainy day under a warm and comfortable blanket. i couldn't ask for anything better".

And when Casey was asked about it, she'd reply "being married with her it's like jogging the whole morning, just to get back at home and feel that delicious fresh coffee smell. a total rush of dopamine and endorphin".

I'd say that they make the whole marriage stuff seem easy. They have a connection that goes beyond the physical and, even with struggles, it's like they understand and can solve any problem by just sitting down and taking a deep breath. It's like a connection made by forces that goes beyond nature itself.

Wedding ask game for your newly (and not so newly) wed OTP

(made mainly with couples in mind, feel free to adapt to as many people as you want)

Who first brought up the option of marriage? Was it an easy topic?

Which one proposed? Was it grand and public? Discreet and private? Was it expected?

Show us their engagement and/or wedding rings!

Did they plan the wedding by themselves, with help, or with a professional planner?

Was the planning and time up til the wedding stressful?

Who were the first people to find out about the engagement? How did they react?

Who are the maids of honor and/or best men? Why and how were they chosen?

Was there any drama whatsoever regarding the guest list?

Show us a mood/stimboard of their wedding's general aesthetic.

Do they get married through court? Church? Third secret option?

When do they get married? Night or day? Any specific reason for either?

Do either of them play music while walking down the aisle (if they do at all)? If yes, show us their song.

Show us their outfits!

Do they follow any familiar, cultural, and/or religious traditions at any point of the wedding?

Who was the ringbearer?

Who married them?

Show us their vows. Did either of them tear up at them?

Did anyone oppose the marriage? Did they speak then, or did they just forever hold their peace?

What was the ceremony like? Any highlights?

Did anyone pass out from a food/alcohol coma?

Do they have a honeymoon? Where to? How soon after?

Do they renew their vows? Remarry, even?

If the couple could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would they?

If you could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would you?

[sparklingchim]

game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.7k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: jk is a huge flirt, mentions of jk's past fights in school, lots of hand holding, paparazzi!!!, mentions of jk's flings 🫢, they love to bicker <3

summary: your fake relationship goes public - cue the unexpected butterflies.

a/n: she's finally back !!!! n i rlly hope u like it 😋

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

So many nights spent wondering about the future, but you never imagined yourself in this scenario.

“I can see someone across the street.”

“That’s good – that's perfect.” Jungkook doesn’t even look back to catch a glimpse of what’s happening outside when he says, “Let them get their little shots. We’ll pretend we don’t notice.” He leans closer, elbows on the table. A grin lights his eyes. “Maybe we can even start the show right here.”

Jungkook begins to play with your fingers, gently tracing his fingertips along yours. Slowly, he lifts your hand, your elbow grazing the edge of the table, and links your fingers with his in the air.

You hesitantly mimic his smile. “Sure you don’t wanna switch paths and become an actor?”

“Hmm, maybe in my next life,” he ponders. “But only if you’re the co-star.”

“Can’t even leave me alone in our next life? I’d categorise that as obsessive behaviour, Jungkook.”

Kind of like the way most people in this café are obsessively watching you two.

The plan is simple: sit in a café with Jungkook, pretend you’re lost in your own little world, play the part of a love-struck couple – and wait. Wait until people become suspicious that this isn’t just another casual lunch between childhood friends, but that maybe there’s something more. Wait until a few more onlookers gather outside, cameras ready, eager to capture the moment your friendship seems to blur into something else.

“That’s just how a boyfriend would act, no? Be obsessed with his girl.”

“I guess? No one’s ever been obsessed with me.”

“Wasn’t Junwoo?”

You sigh deeply at the mention of your high-school ex-boyfriend. “Yeah, after I broke up with him.” If a two-month thing even qualifies as a relationship.

“Should’ve let me punch that fucker for treating you that way, seriously.” He says it with such contempt dripping from his voice, you’d think this happened recently and not nearly three years ago.

When Junwoo and you got official and had your first time, suddenly that’s all he was interested in. No more fun dates or random calls just to talk. Just a guy who liked the idea of you more than actually spending time with you. And once you called him out on it, he pretended it wasn’t true at all and tried to win you back with cute letters, random gifts or cringey apologies over voice notes.

“You got into trouble for that way too many times,” you remind him pointedly.

Whether it was for the sake of protecting you or losing his temper on the field – Jungkook had squared up to other guys more times than you could count. And still continues to do so on the field. Boys.

Jungkook’s sweet, charming, total golden retriever, until you piss him off.

“Ah, I really miss it,” Jungkook mumbles, wistfully brushing his thumb over your skin.

“Fighting?”

“No, just school in general. It was a silly time back then.”

“Don’t remind me. Life was so carefree.”

“Was it really for you, though?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head like he already knows the answer. “You were, and still are, a study maniac. Dragged me to the library so many times.” Jungkook rolls his eyes at the memory of the times you’ve spent in the library to study for exams and you nearly swat his arm for that.

You were stressed out and trying to survive under all the pressure of acing your exams. He was there for the vibes. You hunched over textbooks with color-coded tabs, he sprawled across the seat next to you, nearly falling asleep from boredom. Jungkook used to doodle on your notes while you crammed for midterms. At the time, it drove you up the wall. You’d flick his pen away, scold him for distracting you, threaten to ban him from ever coming again.

He always came anyway. And you always let him.

Now, whenever you’re studying – whether alone or with a study group – you catch yourself having memories popping up in your mind of Jungkook sitting next to you, twirling a pen, asking dumb questions like do you think mitochondria ever get tired of being the powerhouse?

You don’t miss the stress of high school. God, no. But you do miss that. Him in those moments. The silly distractions. The way he annoyed you so much it looped around into comfort.

“And you got us kicked out so many times,” you argue. “I get your hatred for studying, but you were doing too much.”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “I did the best I could, honestly.”

Right then, the waitress appears with your drinks. Two iced americanos, his with an extra shot, yours with oat milk. She places them on the table with a polite smile before vanishing again. Jungkook thanks her absently, stirring his coffee with the paper straw.

“Kinda wish we could go back for a day. Just one,” he says, eyes fixed on the swirling coffee. “Walk the halls, eat lunch together, annoy each other in class.”

“You just want to relive the time you sneaked off with Hyejin and made out behind the gym hall.” You sip on your drink, eyeing him.

Jungkook nearly chokes on his coffee. “You know what, I wouldn’t say no to that,” he replies, a sly smirk forming on his face. But then he recoils dramatically. “No, ___. How dare you say that when we’re on a date? I don’t wanna go back in time to kiss other girls.”

You quirk your eyebrow, but he doesn’t budge from that statement. "You just said you wouldn’t say no.”

“Slip of the tongue.” He waves it off. “I’m – we’re still new to this,” he adds, eyes wide with mock innocence. “But I’m fully reformed now. Monogamous. Loyal. Emotionally available.”

“Oh wow. All three?”

“All three.” He nods solemnly. “All for you.” Jungkook leans closer, conspiratorially. “Do you wanna sneak off and kiss behind the building?” he teases, voice dropping the tiniest bit. A soft, short chuckle escapes him like he’s proud of his flirty jab.

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You wish.”

He sips on his drink, sparkling eyes trained on you. “Should we really, though?” he asks more seriously. “Maybe not in the back of the café but my car or something?”

“I don’t know. Is hand holding enough? Did Taesung tell you something about a kiss?”

“Lemme just ask him.”

Jungkook lets go of your hand. He grabs his phone and types.

You squint suspiciously. “What did you text him?”

Without a hint of shame, he flips the screen around.

should we kiss?

You nearly laugh. What an unprofessional, unhinged text message to your manager. But then you catch sight of his grin behind his phone – that wide, dimpled, full-teeth kind of grin that makes him look way too pleased with himself – and annoyance melts away.

“You’re so lucky he puts up with your shit.”

“I just add a little fun to his job. He needs it.” His phone pings. He reads the message aloud. “He said it’s not necessary. Do what you’re comfortable with.”

Suddenly, worry tightens your chest. “Do you think they’ll follow us? To your car?” you ask, voice low as your eyes flick to the café window, though you force yourself not to actually look.

“They’ll keep their distance,” Jungkook says calmly.

Your worry turns out to be nothing more than a fleeting flicker. Here one second, gone the next. Especially when he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I told you not to stress over these things. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I can’t stop the worrying.” You tap a finger to your temple. “This thing won’t shut up.”

“It doesn’t have to work when I’m around.”

“I believe you when we survive the day.”

“Yah,” Jungkook breathes out affronted, his shoulders sagging dramatically like you just wounded him. “Do I not take care of you?” he pouts, the expression softening every line of his face.

“I’m just joking,” you giggle, nudging his foot under the table with yours. “Don’t be upset.”

Jungkook crosses his arms, lips still pursed in that exaggerated pout. “I’m not upset,” he says, clearly upset. Or pretending to be. His foot nudges yours back, a petty little kick that barely has any force behind it.

“Thank you for risking your life in public with me,” you try, waiting for his reaction.

“Risking my life is crazy, no?” he says, drinking his coffee. “We’re just having overpriced americanos.”

“So you do still know the value of money and have a concept of what’s normal. We haven’t completely lost you yet.”

“Yeah, what can I say. I’m still grounded.”

“You’re paying a monthly fee for a dog-walking app, and you don’t even have a dog. I don’t think that’s exactly grounded.”

“I just like to know what’s going on in the dog community. Sue me.”

“That’s called being rich,” you shoot back, lifting your drink. “Meanwhile, I was checking my bank app before I said yes to this fake date.”

“You wound me again.” A disappointed sigh slips past his mouth as he slouches back in his seat. “It’s those boys you hang out with at university, isn’t it?” he asks, shaking his head slowly, dramatically. “Feeding you cafeteria food and making you split Ubers.” He tuts, tongue clicking. “You’ve been through so much.”

Jungkook is ridiculous. But he also has a point.

“Maybe this fake dating situation won’t be only beneficial for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you how a man treats his girl properly.” He leans forward slightly.

“You don’t even date.” And yet, throughout your friendship, he still manages to do better than half the boys you’ve talked to.

“Exactly.” He shrugs like it proves something. “And I’m still ahead of the curve.” On a more serious note, he adds, “It’s not that hard to not be weird.”

“Low bar, huh.”

“Painfully low.” Jungkook winks at you. “But I’ll raise it for you. Temporarily.”

“Until you send me off to the college boys?”

“The finance bros you’ve been collecting?” At least Jungkook has the decency to try and hide the smile that threatens to break across his face, but it’s a miserable attempt.

“It was one date,” you groan, slumping back in your chair. “Will you ever stop annoying me about it?”

“I fear I can’t.” He reaches out, fingers brushing yours before he gently takes your hand. He gives a light tug, coaxing you to lean forward again, and you do. “How long did it take him to bring up crypto again?” Your fingers end up loosely threaded with his, resting on the table. The contact makes the teasing a little less annoying.

“I think he made it a whole five minutes before he went into a deep dive of explaining cryptocurrency to me.” You swirl your straw in slow, disappointed circles. Whoever started the myth of meeting the love of your life at university is a big, fat liar. Or maybe just works in admissions. And definitely deserves jail time.

“Wow.” Jungkook nods impressed. “Do you want a moment of silence for your brain cells?”

“I’m surrounded by idiots. I’m used to it.”

“You’re a med student. How does that work?”

“Men. Lots of emotionally unintelligent men.”

“But now you have me!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes big and sparkly. He squeezes your hand as he triumphantly holds them up a little. “Isn’t that fun?”

You laugh at his silly antics. “It’s an upgrade, for sure.”

Jungkook drinks up your words with a huge smile. “I’m so honoured. You’re, like, the smartest girl I’ve ever had.” he says. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“Do you even know anything about the girls you’ve been with?”

“They’re pretty?” he answers hesitantly. “And they have amazing taste.”

“Finish your drink before I throw up, please.”

“Wanna end our date already?”

“Didn’t you want to head to the gym after this?” You take a final sip of your coffee, pushing the empty glass away from you.

“I can cancel.”

“For me?”

“For us.”

“All it took for you to spend more time with me is fake date you?”

“Says you,” he shoots back. “The one who always bails on me because she has to study.” He mimics your voice when he says it and does a terrible job at that. It’s awful, but he still manages to pull a little laugh from you.

“Speaking of,” you say, glancing at the time. “I actually have a study date in an hour. So I don’t have time to hang that long.”

“This relationship’s doomed to fail,” he says flatly.

You gasp. “Excuse me?”

“Fully admitting to going on another date during our first date?”

“A study date,” you clarify, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “With my study buddy.”

“Side chick, you mean.”

“I should accuse you of that, not the other way around.”

“Doubting my loyalty already, I see.” Jungkook taps his fingers against his glass. “I told you, I’m a brand-new man. I’ve got the big three now.” He raises a finger for each one: “Loyal. Monogamous. Emotionally available.”

“I truly love that for you, Jungkook. Growth looks good on you. But I still need to study.”

Jungkook finishes his coffee, sighing when he places his glass on the table. “Lets go then.” But then suddenly he goes, “Hold on – what would you rate this date? One to ten.”

You ponder. “Like, maybe a seven?”

“Seven? Damn.” Jungkook exclaims. “What are you deducting three points for?” He tilts his head with a genuine confused pout.

“It was a cute date. Conversation was fun, good banter but...” You trail off, thinking. Jungkook raises his eyebrows expectantly. “The butterflies were missing.”

He scoffs. “I can give you lots of butterflies if you let me.”

“Don’t make me deduct more points,” you warn, unfazed.

“Ah, okay.” He bows his head in apology, muttering, “I’ll do better next time.”

You giggle, comforting him with small pats on his head. “Don’t feel too burdened. I really liked it.”

~

Leaving the cafe hand in hand, a shy smile playing on your lips, you walk beside Jungkook towards his car. Your shoulders are tense, awareness prickling at your skin as you feel the distant hums of cameras capturing every step.

You try to play it cool, telling yourself that this isn’t different from any other day, but the little waves of anxiety still roll through you.

Jungkook seems unfazed. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, the edge of his mouth curved upward. He pulls you closer, his body shifting ever so slightly to shield you from curious eyes.

Once you reach his black Bugatti tucked away in a quiet street, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing lightly against your back as you slide in.

He rounds the car and settles in beside you.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Are you?”

Concern flickers over his face. “Yeah, as long as you are okay.”

“No, I am. Really. Just worried that they would be more annoying about following us, but it’s all good.”

“They know better.”

“Think we did good?” You turn your body a little towards him as he starts the car.

“Of course we did,” he replies. “You looked like you were seconds away from falling in love with me. Got excited for a sec.”

“Delusional and confident.”

Jungkook checks the rearview mirror, his gaze flickering over the street behind you. “They’re probably still around.”

“You think?”

“Probably. But let them look. We are kinda adorable.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Jungkook’s fingers rest lazily on the steering wheel. He turns his head to you again, eyes twinkling like he’s had an idea.

“Maybe we could do a bit better?”

“Better how?”

He leans a little closer, his cologne wrapping around you. His voice drops slightly when he says, “Come here.”

Jungkook cups your cheek, gently guiding you towards him. You lean into it without a second thought. Your eyes fall close, and you wait, expecting him to kiss you just like you had practised it at your place, but you don’t feel the gentle touch of his lips against your mouth.

Instead, you feel him press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your chest stirs at his unexpected move.

There they are.

Butterflies.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

a little extra from me to u 😋:

[suuuupernovaaa]

surprise

summary: despite your mid-level efforts at preventing, you find yourself pregnant with Joel’s child - and you really don’t want to be.

tags: pregnancy, jackson joel, fluff, comfort, established relationship

Based on this request.

MASTERLIST

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

The words repeat over and over in your mind, day in and day out. How could you have been so careless? How could you have let this fucking happen?

You’re not an idiot. Not some dumb teenager. You know exactly how babies are made. You know what you and Joel have been doing, damn near constantly, leads to this - and you haven’t been as careful as you could have been.

The two pink little lines haunt you. It’s been four days since you saw them in the bathroom, since they stared at you with their taunting little pink eyes until you vomited, and you’ve avoided Joel since.

Which has been super fucking hard. You don’t live together, even though you’ve discussed making that happen in the near future, but you and Joel have a routine.

He brings you coffee, every morning, to enjoy together on your porch. That is, unless you’ve spent the night together before, and then he doesn’t have to make the long journey Nextdoor to deliver it.

You part ways for your daily duties, whatever they may be, and always meet up again in the late afternoon. You take walks, make dinner together, maybe have a drink at the saloon or watch a movie. Sometimes Joel has more work to do at night. Often you sleep at his house, but you sometimes end up back at your own home, and then it starts again the next day.

You’ve left a note every morning the last four days that you had to head out early, and you’ll see him later.

It’s harder in the evenings to come up with excuses. A headache, sour stomach, spending time with a friend… Joel is too smart to let it go on too long.

But you can’t face him. You feel like a failure. You never really wanted kids, maybe not even before the world ended. Even in the safe town of Jackson Hole, motherhood doesn’t appeal to you. Safety isn’t guaranteed, and it doesn’t feel right to bring a child into a world like this.

But you’ve missed two periods now. You don’t feel right; you’re extra tired, so hungry, and soon, you know you’ll start to show.

You can’t hide it forever.

That evening, day four of avoiding Joel, he pounds on your door at dusk.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

You take your time going to the door, and try to muster a smile when you pull it open.

“Hey there,” you say, and Joel scowls down at you.

“Don’t ’hey there’ me,” he replies in that gruff twang of his, and practically shoves you aside to enter your home.

You know there won’t be any avoiding it now. You can’t lie to Joel.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you? I don’t like you avoiding me.” He faces you, his hands on his hips like you’re a child he’s scolding. “I don’t buy it that you’re sick. Fess up.”

You rub your forehead with your fingertips and take in a deep breath that comes back out all shaky.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel’s hands fall from his hips. Clearly, that’s not what he was expecting.

“Pregnant?”

You wince. “Yeah. I guess maybe, two months along or so.”

Joel walks to your worn leather couch and sits down, rubbing his jaw.

“Pregnant.”

You stay where you are, near the door, in case you need to bolt.

“I… am scared. And sick. I’ve been freaking out.”

“All alone?” he asks, his voice sad, and you feel your heart soften - just a little.

You take one step towards him. “I never wanted to be a mom. I don’t think I’ll be good at it. And I didn’t figure you’d want to, uh, do it all over again.”

He stares at you for a long moment and finally, pats the couch next to him.

You hesitate.

“Come on, girl,” he says, like you’re a skittish horse, but it works. You sink into the couch next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

“I probably wouldn’t have chosen to have a baby, anymore than you would have. And we do have… options.”

You shake your head. “I know, but I don’t want that. I think I want it. But if you don’t…”

“I do,” he says, so quickly and so firmly, it makes your stomach flutter.

“You do?”

Joel nods, meeting your eyes. “I think you know that you’re the love of my life. If we’d met before, when I was younger, before all this, I’d have married you and had as many kids as we could’ve.” His expression is soft, nearly dreamy. “I’d have worked hard and bought a big house, with a big yard and some dogs. Maybe a farm or something. We’d have been happy.”

You sink into him, picturing it together. It doesn’t sound so bad. “But we met here, honey, and we’ve made the best of it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I want you to move into my house, I want to take care of both of you. Parenting ain’t easy, but we can do it together. Plus, Tommy and Maria will be around. And Ellie. We aren’t alone.”

Your throat feels thick and tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you sure I can do it?” you ask.

Joel holds you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[willthewiz]

Things ST Actors & Directors have said that make me believe in byler endgame

Noah Schnapp/Will Byers:

Someone asked: "What were your favorite moments with Finn on set?"

Noah: "Oh, um... well, I would probably say from this new season, so I guess I can't tell you but..."

"I think I spend the most time with Finn throughout—the course of— wait. Um... sorry, I gotta not—make sure not to say anything from season 5, but in other seasons... what was the question?"

"Lot's of good stuff coming. It's going to be a wild last season, so just, everyone get ready. There's some crazy stuff, some iconic scenes thrown in there."

Noah talking about Will:

"I think in season 5, it will have some... we'll just be like, "Yes! Something went right for him!""

"Mike was always super protective of Will and Will always leaned on him, and you could never really tell if it was something romantic or just a really special friendship."

"I can just tell you that I'm very, very excited for what's to come. I think they did a great job with Will's character this season, and beautifully addressed everything they needed to. The way they closed the show is just perfect – the story started with Will, and it’ll end with Will."

Someone asked: "Is there one scene in your whole career that stayed with you the most?"

Noah: "Yeah... but I can't talk about it."

Finn Wolfhard/Mike Wheeler:

Someone asked: "Finn, where do you think El and you are going to go?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't know, I'm really interested in like the end of the show in general. You know, it's hard to tell, obviously, with Eleven and his relationship... but I hope they find—you know—happiness."

"Mike is just trying to be a normal teenager as much as he can."

"I think Mike is trying to be as normal as possible and trying to keep on a normal path. He might be into some new things."

"How is he (Mike) this clueless right now? With the Will scene in the car, I remember asking the Duffers, why would he not know this? And they're like, "Don't worry, it'll pay off in the end.""

Caleb McLaughlin/Lucas Sinclair:

"I love Lucas and Max's relationship, it's not like Eleven and Mike's—you know— in that teenage relationship dynamic. Their love is very—you know— it's real."

Sadie Sink/Max Mayfield:

"We're (Lucas & Max) both very independent. We're not like Mike and El where they just kind of are obsessed with each other."

Gaten Matarazzo/Dustin Henderson:

"The Byers have moved to California and the season picks up with Mike going out there to visit his friend Will—and Eleven who lives out there with them."

Shawn Levy/Director:

"Our show is an anthem for the marginalized and imperfect, precisely because the Duffer brothers know from experience that the popular and easy road is rarely the most interesting one, and that character, grit, connection, and soul are bred in the same moments that challenge us the most."

"People talk about mythology and The Upside Down, and all that is huge, but the magic of S5 are the characters who find a sense of belonging with one another and through that connection, become heroes."

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 9

Paige X Azzi

warning: some homophobia, cam!, language, nods to adultish content sorta

A/N: if you thought you hated cam yesterday, just wait till you read this! lmao ok this story is winding down. but no worries. we've got more cooking. toxic WNBA fic loading. love yallll <3

Azzi’s POV

Azzi crossed, then uncrossed her legs beneath the booth. The one tucked into the far corner of the student center—the kind you only noticed if you were looking.

She’d picked it on purpose. Sent the text. And waited.

But now it was past time. Eleven minutes, exactly. Not that she was counting, except she was.

Her phone stayed face-up beside her, untouched and unbearably empty. The seconds dragged. Her knee bounced. Her irritation simmered, slow and low.

She had practice in a few hours and had been hoping to squeeze in a nap before getting her ass kicked. She scanned the room again. Still nothing.

With a sigh that felt more like surrender, Azzi opened the message thread and tapped her fingers against the screen sharply. 

are we still meeting?

A beat. A breath. A heartbeat too long.

yeah. walking up now.

She stared at the reply. No apology. No explanation. Just that.

Azzi clenched her jaw and flipped her phone face-down on the table. Too late now. She was already here. She blew out a breath and tried to calm herself down. 

Right then, the door swung open.

Her head snapped up. And her heart stumbled in her chest. But not in a good way. In an anxious, terrible way that always happened before she let someone down. 

Cam stopped in the doorway, eyes landing. She could physically feel the weight of his gaze. 

For a second, neither of them moved. He just stared, like maybe he didn’t expect her to actually show. Then he exhaled. Long. Measured. Almost bracing. And walked toward her.

He slid into the booth across from her, propping his elbows on the table. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, flat.

Azzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, already feeling the distance stretch between them. She knew where this conversation was going. She just didn’t know how to get there without drawing blood.

“How have you been?”

Cam shook his head, sharp and immediate. “How do you think, Azzi?”

She swallowed. Her knee started to bounce under the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know I haven’t really been around.”

He laughed. Bitter. Cold. Like he’d been saving it.

“Yeah. I bet you’re really fucking sorry,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Must be hard to remember I exists when you’re fucking Bueckers.”

Azzi physically flinched. Eyes blowing wide. She knew Cam was upset but didn’t expect such vitriol. It took her a few seconds to reorient herself. 

“Cam. I -”

“Does it make you feel special?” He pressed. “That Paige Bueckers picked you?”

She knew it wouldn’t go over smoothly. But this? This was nuclear. Cam leaned in, voice quieter now. Meaner.

“Can’t wait to see what happens when she gets bored,” he said.  “When the shine wears off and she realizes you were just something easy. Something temporary. She’s got the whole world, Azzi. And you think she’s gonna stay small for you?”

Azzi didn’t mean to let it get to her. Didn’t mean to show anything. But it was like Cam knew exactly where to hit—those soft, still-raw parts of her. The old insecurity. The part of her that still wasn’t sure she’d ever be enough.

She bit down on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. Two escaped anyway. Cam saw. Of course he did.

“How long?” he asked, voice flat. “How long have you been in love with her?”

Azzi stared at the table. Quiet. Honest.

“Since I was a kid,” she said.

Cam laughed. Low. Cruel. Like it amused him how easy it was to pull her apart.

“Of course you have,” he said. “I used to watch you watch her, you know. Thought it was harmless.”

He leaned back, stretching like the knife in his words wasn’t intentional.

“And then—guess how fucking stupid I felt when she opened your dorm door the day I came to talk?” he went on. “Wearing your shirt. With that smug little look like she knew. Like she was proud of it. Of having you. Just because I wanted you.”

“Paige isn’t like that,” Azzi muttered, swiping at another tear.

Cam rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard the shit people say on this campus. Because according to them? She’s exactly like that.”

Azzi shook her head, the first flicker of heat curling back into her chest. The tears didn’t dry, but the ache in her gut was quickly turning into something sharper.

It was one thing to talk down to her. But it was another thing entirely to talk about Paige like that. Her Paige—with the gentlest heart, the steadiest hands. The girl who tried so hard to carry everyone else’s weight that she forgot to ask for help with her own.

“You don’t know her,” Azzi said, louder now. “And neither does most of this school, though they love pretending they do.”

She paused, chest rising and falling. That familiar burn rising in her throat but this time, it wasn’t grief. It was rage. It was clarity.

Because Cam didn’t know. He’d never known.

He didn’t know what it meant to love someone like Paige Bueckers. To watch her carry a thousand expectations like they were stitched into her skin. To see her wake up early just to make sure everyone else had what they needed. To hear the way people talked about her when they thought she wasn’t listening—how fast they flipped between praise and poison.

He didn’t know what it was like to see someone that gentle get torn apart by a world that never stopped asking for more.

But Azzi did.

And she had always wanted to protect Paige. Even before she knew what the feeling was. She would’ve handed over her own breath if it meant making Paige’s life easier. Would’ve put herself between Paige and the entire world, if she thought it would matter.

But she couldn’t stop the noise. And she couldn’t make people like Cam disappear.

What she could do was stop pretending she didn’t know how to fight back.

“She’s a good person. A good person. Who just happens to be extraordinary at things. You don’t get to make her the villain because the world chose her,” Azzi Fudd wasn’t known for being cruel. She was the even one. The steady one. The peacekeeper. But when it came to Paige—when it came to this—maybe she didn’t have to be. So she mirrored Cam’s grin. Sharp. Icy. Unapologetic. “Because I chose her and not you.”

Azzi watched it land. Watched his face twist up. Bitter, bruised, small. And for once, she felt nothing. No guilt. No urge to soften it. No apology rising in her throat. Just a steady, quiet kind of rightness humming in her chest.

Cam scoffed, voice scraping the air between them.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said. “Paige’s dirty little secret.”

Azzi froze for a second. Nails digging into her thighs. She forced her jaw to unclench. To look Cam in the eyes. 

“Nothing’s a secret with Paige,” She muttered. “We’re just private.”

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Az." Cam rolled his eyes, “Funny thing about privacy though. In the blink of an eye, it can just go poof.”

He pushed up from the table, turning to look at Azzi one more time. 

“Would be a shame if someone did you wrong. Paige Bueckers really is a household name,” He said. “No telling how quickly things could get twisted.”

And then, he shrugged, leaving her at the table. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Azzi was on the edge—of a panic attack, of punching a street pole, of bursting into tears in the middle of campus.

She sat on the curb outside the student center, hood up, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded together like maybe if she held herself tight enough, she wouldn’t fly apart.

She wasn’t crying. Not yet. But her vision was swimming, and her breath was doing that stupid catch in her chest like it didn’t want to cooperate. Like even her body was mad at her.

The thing was, she’d just wanted to protect Paige. To say the thing Paige never got to say out loud. To stand in front of her, just once, and take the hit instead.

But she hadn’t taken the hit.  She’d invited it.

And now it wasn’t just about her anymore.

It was about Paige’s name. Her reputation. Her career. The thousand tiny ways the world chipped away at her already—and Azzi had handed them another blade.

She tugged on the sleeve of her hoodie until the fabric twisted in her palm.

She couldn’t tell Paige. Not yet. Not when Paige had been so happy just this morning. Not when she’d said: “It’s nice having something that’s just mine.”

Azzi felt sick.

She didn’t want to be the reason Paige lost the one piece of herself the world hadn’t gotten its hands on yet. So she sat there.

For ten minutes. Then twenty. Then long enough that her legs started to fall asleep.

She replayed the conversation with Cam over and over. She typed out a dozen different texts. Some sharp. Some desperate. Some that said please don’t and others that said try me.

But she deleted every single one.

She’d already made a mess. There was no use handing him proof. No screenshots, no words he could twist when someone eventually asked him to back it up.  Because they would. Of course they would.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d just circle, teeth bared, waiting for the next excuse to tear Paige apart.

But still, she wondered if he’d already saved something. Some old photo. A text. A time-stamped moment that looked just incriminating enough if you squinted hard and stripped it of all its context. The thought alone made her stomach lurch.

Because the fear wasn’t about being gay. It never was. It was about being Paige’s weak spot. And everyone knowing it..

Because once it was out there, they…The media, the fans, the ones who loved her when she won and turned on her when she didn’t would use it. They’d say Paige had lost focus. That she was distracted. That she was spending too much time tangled up in Azzi Fudd instead of locked in on the court.

They were teammates, and that would be the story.

Azzi had seen it before. Heard it whispered about other players. Love weaponized to the point of ruining things.

And then there’d be the others. The louder ones. The ones hiding behind burner accounts and comment sections.  Saying all the ugly things people say when they think they’re anonymous. When they think you’re not human.

Some people were just hateful.  And Paige Bueckers—who led with kindness, who carried her spotlight like a burden and still held her hands out anyway—was exactly the kind of target they loved.

Because the world didn’t know what to do with a girl like her. So it would try to break her. Softly at first. Then all at once.

She groaned. This was supposed to be her protecting Paige. Instead, she might’ve handed someone the exact weapon they’d been looking for.

And the worst part? She didn’t even know if the blade was coming. Just that it could. And somehow, waiting for it was more panic inducing than anything else.

Her phone buzzed at her side and she flinched, full-body. She fumbled it out of her bag, breath caught in her throat, then let it out hard when she saw the name.

Caroline: are you okay?

Azzi frowned. Had something already happened? Another text came through.

Caroline: do you often find yourself hanging out on curbs in front of the student center? or is that a new habit? 

And then:

Caroline: just gauging how worried i should be.

Azzi looked up and saw her.

Caroline, standing across the walkway with her arms crossed and her face pulled into something careful Concerned, as always, but softer this time. Like she knew to tread lightly.

She raised a hand in a slow wave. Waited. Azzi didn’t move. So Caroline approached like Azzi was a spooked animal. Cautious. Slow.

When she crouched in front of her, it only took one look—one real look—for her to nod.

“Come on.”

No questions. Just that.

Caroline pulled her up without fanfare and they walked, shoulder to shoulder, back to her dorm. Nothing loud. Nothing sharp. Just the sound of their footsteps on the pavement and the hush of a friendship built on showing up.

And when the door closed behind them, Azzi sat on the edge of Caroline’s bed and told her everything. When Azzi finished talking, she stared at her hands. Like maybe if she looked up, everything would be different. Less heavy.

Caroline was quiet for a moment. Then she exhaled through her nose, sat back against the wall, and said:

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Azzi nodded, still not looking at her.

“So I’m gonna say this with love. But also you need to listen to me.”

Azzi glanced up, bracing.

“You have to tell Paige.”

The words landed like a second heartbeat in the room.

Caroline didn’t stop. “You don’t get to be in this—really in this—and shut her out the second it gets hard. That’s not how it works.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Caroline lifted a hand.

“No. I know you’re scared. I know you’re trying to protect her. But trust is part of that too, Az. You don’t just get to pick the parts of her you want to carry.”

Azzi flinched, barely. But Caroline saw it.

“You’ve been best friends since you were kids,” she said, softer now. “You owe her more than this short-sighted, self-sacrificial spiral. Paige would burn the world down for you, and you’re out here deciding things for her like she doesn’t get a vote.”

Silence. Then, after a beat:

“If this is going to really work you have to let her be scared with you. Or it’s not real.”

Azzi bit down on her lip. Caroline’s voice gentled even more.

“Tell her, Az. She deserves that. You deserve that.”

Azzi knew she was right.  Knew that this was part of it…part of the hard they’d brushed past in whispers, in moments when things were still soft enough to ignore.

But this was it, wasn’t it?

This was the part where love didn’t just mean holding each other when it was easy. It meant choosing to stay in the mess. Letting yourself be seen in the panic. It meant letting Paige be in it with her, even if that meant watching her face fall. Even if it cracked something open that might be hard to close again.

She wasn’t protecting Paige by hiding. She was just…hiding. And maybe that had made sense before. But it didn’t anymore.

Azzi finally sighed and nodded. Caroline didn’t say told you so. She just reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Anyway,” she said, casually, like they hadn’t just talked through a complete emotional unraveling, “if there’s anyone who can handle this, it’s Paige. Friends in high places and such.”

That pulled the smallest smile from Azzi. Tired, but real.

“She does have a terrifyingly efficient team,” she mumbled.

Caroline smirked. “Exactly. By the time you tell her, she’ll probably have already handled it.”

Azzi squeezed her hand back before letting go and collapsing backward onto Caroline’s bed. The ceiling spun just a little. Or maybe that was just the leftover adrenaline finally burning off.

“Thanks, Caro,” she said, eyes closing.

“For what?”

“For… all of it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Please. It’s literally my job as your favorite best friend.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh. Thankful for people who were smarter than her. 

Paige’s POV

Paige was in the gym, chasing silence the only way she knew how.

Shot after shot. Around the horn. Reps until her shoulders burned and her vision blurred with sweat.

The more shots she took, the better she’d be. That was the deal, right? More work, more control. So she stayed in motion—kept the ball moving, the net snapping, the echo of each make loud enough to drown out everything else.

She was locked in. Right now, it was just her and the game. The rhythm. The feel. The fix.

Nothing was technically wrong. She just wanted to be better.

There’d been a few miscues in the last game. Sloppy reads, rushed decisions. Little things. Things people maybe wouldn’t even notice. But Paige did.

And if she worked hard enough, long enough, she figured she’d beat the bad habits out of herself one way or another.

“Don’t you ever want to just…take a nap?”

The voice echoed across the gym, loud enough to cut through the sound of the ball snapping through the net.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Sleep is for the offseason.”

She turned to see Nika standing at half court, hands on her hips, grinning.

“Can sleep when we win a national championship,” Paige added, snagging the rebound.

Nika chuckled, the sound warm, familiar. “Won’t hear me complain.”

She jogged over to the bench and started lacing up her shoes.

“Hey, P?”

“Mm?” Paige said, eyes still on the rim as she rose for another shot.

“How bad of a sign is it if Azzi’s texted you six times in the last hour?”

The ball hit the rim—clanged once, rolled, and dropped through. Paige froze. Just for a second. 

“She what?”

“Six texts. Azzi Fudd.” Nika flashed her phone. “Aw, do I also have emojis by my name? Or is that girlfriend only privilege?”

Paige half-sprinted over and snatched the phone from her, scanning the notifications like they might rearrange themselves into something less urgent.

Azzi wasn’t a frequent texter. And she definitely wasn’t a six-texts-while-you’re-at-the-gym kind of texter.

Something was wrong. Paige could feel it in her chest.

Azzi💎[1:41 PM]: hey. when you’re done, can we talk?

Azzi💎[1:45 PM]: no rush of course

Azzi💎[1:47 PM]: i’m fine. promise. just anxious

Azzi💎 [1:53 PM]: sorry. don’t mean to dump it on you

Azzi💎[1:57 PM]: i didn’t tell you earlier because i didn’t want to ruin your day. or your shootaround. idk i probably should’ve told you 

Azzi Fudd💎[2:01 PM]: it’s about cam.

Paige stared at the screen. For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then she grabbed her water bottle, her keys, and started toward the door.

Nika barely had time to ask, “Everything okay?”

Paige’s voice was tight, steady, already halfway gone:

“Gotta go.”

Paige barely remembered the walk over. Just the echo of her own footsteps and the way her heart felt like it was pacing ahead of her. When she reached Azzi’s dorm, she knocked once and the door swung open almost immediately.

Caroline.

Her eyes widened for a second, but she didn’t ask anything. Didn’t need to. She just stepped aside.

“She’s in her room,” Caroline said. “Hasn’t really moved.”

Paige gave her a small nod, barely a sound of thanks, and stepped past her without pausing. Her sneakers whispered against the floor as she moved down the hallway.

And then, Azzi’s door.

Paige didn’t knock this time. Just opened it slowly, quietly, like she was afraid of startling something fragile.

“Az?”

Azzi didn’t look up.

She was curled into herself on the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, legs tucked tight to her chest like she was trying to take up less space than usual. Her eyes were on the floor. Or maybe nowhere at all.

Paige crossed the room slowly, like if she moved too fast, Azzi might vanish. When she reached the bed, she didn’t say anything. Just sank down beside her and placed a hand on her back. Gentle. Solid. There.

Azzi didn’t move. So Paige leaned forward.

“Az… what’s going on?”

For a second, she thought she wouldn’t answer.

But then Azzi turned, slowly, and tucked her face into Paige’s hoodie like it was the only place left she trusted. Paige wrapped her arms around her without hesitation, without question, and pulled her in close.

Several seconds passed. The kind that stretch.

And then, finally, Azzi’s voice, so small Paige almost missed it:

“I fucked up.”

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen her grip. 

Just pressed her lips to Azzi’s temple and whispered, “I’m sure you didn’t.”

But Azzi nodded against her chest, breath hitching.

“I did.” A beat. “I met with Cam.”

And for a beat, Paige went still. Not from fear.  Not even from the threat that was coming next. But from jealousy. The kind that was immediate and instinctual. The kind she didn’t want to feel but did anyway.

It hit in the ribs—sharp and stupid.

You went to him. You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?

Still, when she looked at Azzi, it crumbled. Because it wasn’t about her.  Not right now. Not about her petty feelings or ancient insecurities or whatever awful, selfish thing had just risen to the surface.

It was about Azzi.

So Paige swallowed the jealousy. Buried it. Told it to wait its damn turn.And she reached for Azzi’s hand. Quiet. Steady. Honest.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. She stared at their fingers, like maybe they held the words she couldn’t find yet. Then she exhaled. Long and shaky.

“I thought I could handle it,” she said finally. “I just…I wanted to close the loop. End it clean. He kept texting and I didn’t want it hanging over us anymore, so I told him I’d meet.”

She paused, like she was bracing for impact. Paige didn’t flinch. Azzi kept going, the words picking up speed.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry-” she cut herself off, shook her head. “It wasn’t about him. It was about me. Us. And I was trying to prove that I could handle it. That I could be brave about something without needing you to fix it.”

Her throat tightened.

“But I said too much,” she whispered. “I let him get under my skin. I provoked him, and then he…”She swallowed hard. “He threatened to out us. Said some shit about how easily privacy can just… disappear. Like it’s nothing.”

Her voice cracked.

“I thought I was protecting you. But I think I made it worse. And I know you trust me to show up for you, and I—I didn’t. Not the way I should’ve.”

Paige was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that came from shock. Not disappointment, either. Just… processing. She stared at Azzi for a long moment. And Azzi, suddenly unsure, started to pull her hands back. But Paige didn’t let her. She held on.

“I don’t care about Cam,” she said softly. “I mean—I do, and I’m pissed, but—” She broke off. Exhaled. Tried again. “That’s not what I care about right now.”

Her thumb brushed across the back of Azzi’s hand.

“What I care about is this,” she said. “You. Me. Us.”

Azzi blinked. Her lips parted like she might speak, but nothing came out.

“I’m not mad at you,” Paige said, finally. “I hate that you felt like you had to do it alone. I hate that he made you feel small. But more than anything, I hate that you thought this—” she motioned between them, “—was something that could break.”

Azzi’s breath caught.

“This isn’t breakable, Az,” Paige said, softer now. “Not from this. Not from a moment of fear or a conversation gone wrong.”

She leaned in, forehead nearly brushing Azzi’s.

“You don’t gotta be perfect to be with me. You just have to be with me.”

She leaned forward. Forehead nearly touching Azzi’s.

“Do you understand that? I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Like hearing it hurt a little. Like maybe it was the first time she fully believed it. Paige stayed there, breath soft against her cheek, holding the space open between them. But her brain was turning over the conversation. The threat. 

The conversation. The threat. Cam’s voice, echoing secondhand in her head. Privacy doesn’t last forever.

She didn’t let herself tense. Not with Azzi this close. But beneath the calm, something sharp had begun to settle. Because now she wasn’t just thinking about what had happened. She was thinking about what came next.

What Cam might say. What others might run with. How fast the story could spread if it got in the wrong hands. But none of that was Azzi’s to carry, not anymore. Paige would make sure of it.

Later. She’d handle it all later.

Right now, Azzi was still in her arms. Still here. Still hers. So Paige kissed her temple. Light. Certain. And said nothing. Not yet.

Azzi fell asleep curled into her side, one arm slung across Paige’s waist, breath steady against her collarbone.

Paige didn’t move. Every instinct in her body wanted to stretch. To roll her neck. To pull out her phone and start fixing things. But she didn’t.

She stayed. Because this mattered more.

Because the way Azzi had melted into her felt like something sacred. Like trust, finally handed over. Like love curled in the shape of a girl’s sleep-heavy grip.

So, Paige just tugged her a bit closer, like she couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. She pressed a kiss to Azzi’s shoulder. Then another. Just because she could.

God, she was so in love with her.  It made everything else feel quieter. Smaller. Easier to breathe around.

Paige closed her eyes and smiled into the back of Azzi’s neck.

This—this was the part she’d never get over.  The sweetness of being next to her.  The miracle of being allowed to stay.

So she did just that. Stayed. Her body curled around Azzi’s, her thoughts somewhere half-alive. She stared at the ceiling and counted her breaths. Let time pass in slow, patient inches. Watched the light shift across the walls, just enough to remind her the world was still turning.

An hour passed before Azzi stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, brushing against Paige’s ribs. Then a soft hum, her forehead nudging instinctively closer. Paige looked down, smiling. 

“Hey.”

Azzi blinked slowly. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Hard,” Paige murmured, smiling. “You snored a little. Very flattering.”

Azzi groaned and buried her face in Paige’s side again. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Wrapped in warmth, in the illusion that the outside world hadn’t already begun knocking. But Paige could feel it. The peace cracking around the edges. 

Azzi shifted. Cleared her throat. And finally said, “So. What are we going to do?”

Paige had been expecting it. She’d been thinking about it the entire time Azzi had been asleep…spinning every possibility in her head like a half-court play. And she’d made her decision almost immediately.

She didn’t want this to be Azzi’s burden to carry. Not because she didn’t trust her. But because Paige knew how to take the hit. Knew how to balance pressure and privacy like it was part of the game. She was built for this.

So she smirked. Didn’t sit up. Didn’t change her tone. Just leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to Azzi’s cheek.

“Don’t stress about that, baby,” she said, casually.  “I’ll handle it.”

Azzi looked up, her eyes searching. “How?”

Paige just smiled. Brushed a thumb under her eye, gentle as ever. 

“I’ve got connections,” she said. “People who don’t ask questions. People who know how to keep things quiet.”

A pause. Then, even softer:

“Let me carry this one.” 

Azzi blinked, jaw tight like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t. She just nodded. And sank back into her side.

A few seconds passed before Paige asked the question that had been quietly gnawing at her.

“What did you even say to rile him up that much?”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed pink immediately. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. But eventually, she mumbled it out, face still hidden, voice muffled. And when she finished, Paige threw her head back laughing. The sound cracked through the air, bouncing off the walls around them.

“Damn,” she said, grinning wide. “Didn’t know I had a dog in my corner. Might start bringing you to interviews—let you handle the reporters who get too cute.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Quiet and slow, like it was just starting to feel safe again. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.  Just… honest.

Paige cleared her throat.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, by the way.”

Azzi glanced over, curious. “What wouldn’t?”

“If the world knew about us,” Paige muttered. Still not looking at her. “I mean—I’m not embarrassed. Of you. Of us.” A shrug. Too casual. Like maybe if she didn’t look at Azzi, it wouldn’t feel like a confession. “Just figured you should know.”

It wasn’t a big speech. It didn’t need to be. Azzi heard it. All of it.And Paige saw the shift. Saw how much it meant to her.  How badly she’d needed to hear it out loud.

Azzi bumped her shoulder against Paige’s.

“You’re such a loser,” she said, soft and smiling.

Paige just grinned. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

When she left Azzi’s, Paige shifted.

Because while she was gentle with Azzi, she wasn’t with anything else. Not in her nature. Especially not now.

The truth was, she didn’t really care if she got outed.

Would it be ideal? No. Not with the season about to start. But people already assumed. People had always assumed.

What mattered more was Azzi. Protecting her from the inevitable noise. The think pieces, the whispers, the careless reposts and comment sections that always managed to cut deeper than they should. And for that reason alone, Paige would tap every connection she had.

NIL reps. Media liaisons. PR friends in high places.

She’d pull every string. Press every silent button.

Because if Cam wanted to test her?

He was about to learn exactly what it meant to come for the one thing Paige Bueckers still considered hers.

She pulled out her phone. 

Group Chat: "Team P"

Paige: need a favor

Paige: someone’s threatening to leak something personal

Paige: want it handled quietly

Paige: preemptively, if possible

She tucked her phone away and kept walking. It didn’t take long to get a response. 

Team: Send a debrief. We’ll handle it. Team: UConn student?

Paige licked her lips, typed:

Paige: UConn athlete.

A typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Came back.

Team: Oh. Easier than I thought. Team: Send the brief. We’ll handle it.

Paige typed out everything they needed to know—quick, clean, no fluff.  No unnecessary details. No names. Except Cam’s. Because of course his dumbass name made the cut. And then she hit send. 

She trusted her team. Knew they’d handle it. So she tossed her phone in her bag and headed back to the gym.

Still, there was a buzz under her skin, restless and hot. Part of her wanted to get her own lick in. To find Cam and ruin him. With words. With facts. With that smile she reserved for her only her worst moments. 

But she knew better. Knew her temper was better held. Because sometimes, a well-timed email spoke louder than anything sharp she could sling across a table.

After practice, she checked her phone. No surprise. The email was waiting. CC’d, just like she’d asked. It hit at 4:42 p.m. Barely an hour after she’d rung the alarm.

She opened it without blinking.

Subject: Student Conduct Concern – Privacy Threat to Student-Athlete

Hey Sheryll,

Reaching out on behalf of Paige Bueckers regarding a private issue involving another student-athlete at UConn.

There’s been a verbal threat to disclose personal information related to her relationship with another athlete, made in a way that could violate student conduct and NIL compliance policies.

We’re not seeking a formal report at this time, but we would appreciate the university addressing it directly and quietly. Paige would prefer to avoid escalation, and we trust your office can handle this discreetly.

Have attached Paige’s brief. If you need further context or documentation, we’re happy to provide it.

Thank you,

Lindsay Kagawa Colas

Wasserman

PR/Representation for Paige Bueckers

Paige read the email once. Then closed the app. The devil might work fast. But a well-paid PR team team worked faster.

Beside her, Azzi watched carefully.

“You think I’m pretty or something?” Paige asked, without looking up.

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway.  “What’s going on?”

Paige shrugged, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “All’s handled.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, suspicious. “How so?”

Paige smirked, lips tugging sideways.  “Don’t worry about it.”

She’d tell her eventually. But God, she loved a moment to be cocky. Especially with Azzi. Especially when it was earned.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, bit down on her lip, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Show-off.”

Paige grinned. “Only for you,” she muttered. “Obviously.”

Azzi’s POV 

Azzi loved a post-win Ted’s trip.

Nothing but sweats, sneakers, and Paige’s hand tangled in hers as she tugged her toward the metal roof of the only place still open in Storrs.

The game had gone about as perfectly as a game could go. So perfect, in fact, that even Geno had barely found something to nitpick. A miracle. A high. The kind of night that made you feel like maybe the whole season would go like this.

Paige followed willingly, hood up, cheeks still a little pink from the win. Azzi didn’t let go of her hand once.

When they walked in, Paige tugged Azzi toward the back and said, “Go grab the booth. I’ve got this. Lead scorer of the night deserves VIP treatment.”

Then, before Azzi could argue, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her neck. Quick, casual, completely lethal.

Azzi let out a half-laugh, half-gasp, already unraveling.

 “Unfair,” she mumbled, grinning like an idiot.

But she did as she was told. Collapsed into the booth in the far corner, still flushed from the game and now very possibly more flushed from Paige.

She propped her chin on her hand, eyes already tracking her girl across the room. Messy bun, hoodie half-tucked, ordering like she owned the place.

She was still watching Paige—laughing with the bartender, her whole face lit up—when someone stepped between them, blocking her view.

Azzi looked up.

Cam. Drunk Cam. He swayed slightly as he tilted his head, eyes dragging over her like she was an exhibit he’d already seen too many times.

“Congrats on the win,” he said.

Azzi offered a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. Took a long sip of whatever was in his glass.

“Got an interesting email a few days ago,” he said. “Seems like Bueckers got the impression I was planning to muddy up her name.” A beat. “Wonder where she got that idea.”

Azzi dragged her eyes up, finally meeting his. They were glassy from the alcohol. And from something else. Something bitter and bruised and maybe always there.

“Probably from me,” she said evenly.  “Since you threatened me. In the student center. To do exactly that.”

Cam shook his head, laughing under his breath. The sound was bitter. Familiar.

“That was a conversation, Azzi. Not a threat,” he said, like she was the one being dramatic. “I was just pointing out how interesting it would be. If it happened.”

He took another sip. Looked over his shoulder—toward the bar. Azzi followed his gaze. Paige had noticed. She was still smiling, still talking, but her eyes were locked on them. Alert. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Cam turned back.

“Looks like you took it a little personal,” he said, smirk creeping back into his voice. “Makes you wonder though.” He nodded toward the bar. “All those strings pulled. All that heat. Just to keep you a secret.”

Something about that made Azzi laugh. Not bitter. Not wounded. Just...tired. And maybe a little stronger than she used to be.

Because once, that line might’ve split her clean through. But now she knew the difference. She wasn’t Paige’s secret. Not in the ways that ever made her doubt it.

So she laughed.

“Good try,” she said, tipping her head.

Cam arched a brow. “What? She sent a full legal team to make sure I didn’t so much as whisper your name in the same sentence as hers.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “My name’s in the same sentence as hers all the time, Cam. That’s not exactly new.”

Cam leaned in, eyes mean and glassy. “Yeah,” he said, low and cutting. “But usually it’s not about fucking you.”

Two cups hit the table with a thud. Cam jumped. And turned. To find Paige standing there.

“Cam,” she said with an unfriendly grin. “Always showing up where you’re uninvited. A real talent.”

He rolled his eyes, but Azzi saw it. The twitch in his jaw, the swallow he tried to hide.

“Bueckers,” he muttered. “Got real intimate with your legal team recently.”

Paige nodded once. “Yeah. So I heard.”

She took her seat beside Azzi, tugging her into her side. Arm slung around her shoulders. Not possessive really, just proud. So, Azzi leaned into her. Braided their fingers together with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Weird thing to sick your paid associates the second the word might get out that Azzi’s your girlfriend.”

Paige took a long sip, rolling her neck. 

“Well, I’m glad you at least know she’s mine,” Paige said, tilting her head.

That landed.

“Yeah, Bueckers. Sure,” he said, voice dropping, bitter in that familiar, jealous way. “Until she remembers what it’s like to be with someone who can actually give her what she wants. You know. In ways—” his eyes dragged over them, slow and smug—“you physically can’t.”

Azzi didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew. They both did. But before Paige could say a word, Azzi laughed, sharp and cold and completely unimpressed.

“She can’t, huh?” Azzi smiled, slow and tired. “News to me.”

Paige smirked at that, licking her lips like she was trying not to smile. Then, she looked past him.

“Oh,” she said lightly. “Cam, looks like we got an audience.”

He turned.

A small group of his teammates stood near the bar. Manny among them. Their faces were tight. Eyes narrowed. One of them crossed his arms.

“Yo,” Manny said, stepping forward. “The fuck are you doing, man?”

Cam blinked. “What?”

“We came over to say thanks,” another guy muttered. “Paige sent us shots. That was solid.”

“But then we hear you running your mouth? Harassing them?” Manny cut in. His jaw tightened. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You drunk?” someone else asked. “Or just showing your whole ass on purpose?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked cornered. Caught.

Paige didn’t say a word. Just rested her arm on the back of the booth like she was watching a show she’d already seen the ending to. And as Azzi studied her—cool, unbothered, lips twitching like this was exactly the outcome she’d hoped for—realization bloomed.

The drinks sent to his teammates. How long it took her to come back to the table. All of it.

Azzi snorted and immediately buried her face in Paige’s neck, trying to hide the laugh that nearly cracked her open. Paige tilted her head slightly, like she felt it too.

“Get the fuck away from them,” Manny said, finally. Voice low. Firm.  “Go home. Sober up. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

Cam turned, looking back like he wanted to plead, explain, twist the story into something else. But Paige, in all her quiet, relentless glory, gave him a two-finger salute.

“Have a good night, Cam,” she said. Almost sweet.

He stormed out.

The guys lingered, awkward, clearly thrown.

“Hey—um, we’re really sorry,” one of them said, eyes flicking between them. “I don’t know what he was trying to do, but…yeah. That wasn’t it.”

Paige nodded once. Easy. “You’re good,” she said. “No need to let one guy ruin a perfectly decent night. Enjoy the shots.”

“Thanks Bueckers,” They muttered before walking away. 

Paige blew out a breath. 

“Shit baby. What did you do to that guy to have him so damn obsessed?”

Azzi’s face flushed. “Honestly? Nothing.” Her voice was quieter now. She and Paige hadn’t really unpacked the whole Cam thing yet, but she wanted to. Not right now though. In public. “We hung out a few times… not even just us. Never one-on-one. I—”

Paige kissed her. Quick. Certain. Like she could read Azzi's mind. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for attention but might’ve gotten it anyway.

Azzi didn’t really care.

“I’m kidding,” Paige said. “I’d be that down bad too if I had a chance with you and lost it.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi muttered against her skin. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

Paige bit back a grin. “No? Should I remind you he’s wrong about what I can’t do? Just to be sure?”

Azzi flushed, her whole body catching fire as Paige’s hand gripped her thigh a little tighter.

“If it’ll help your ego.”

That earned her a low laugh. Paige leaned in, lips grazing warm skin.

“Bet.”

[astonmartinii]

bandwagon | esteban ocon social media au

pairing: esteban ocon x fem wife!reader

a certain haircut has people seeing what was already there, not to the amusement of a certain someone

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 108,983 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername: a cosy weekend with my love

view all comments

user3: i always thought he was massively batting… but turns out she was in for the long game

user4: she made an early investment

user5: see saw the bank account and then the face and thought, work can be done here

yourusername: are you ready to die?

user6: HUH????

yourusername: talk like that about my husband again and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer

yourusername: at my assault trial

user7: period.

estebanocon: nothing better in the world

yourusername: not even racing

estebanocon: not even racing

yourusername: omg he really is in love

estebanocon: i didn’t give you my last name for no reason

yourusername: right back at you handsome

user8: every time i remember that they both went double-barrelled a fairy GAINS their wings

user9: the way it doesn’t show on the timing tower but he insists that the media addresses him as such

estebanocon: i am incredibly proud of my wife, why wouldn’t i want to show off her name?

yourusername: SWOON

user10: okay … like now i get it

user11: no seriously he’s looking so good

user12: i guess that girlfriend/wife effect is real

yourusername: choke

estebanocon: cherie…

yourusername: you’re hot as fuck and i’m so annoyed that these cretins can talk on you like this

lancestroll: you might wanna let the haas PR team know that you’re stunting on hoes

yourusername: nothing some brownies won’t fix

estebanocon: i’m pretty sure they love her more than they love me

olliebearman: that’s my big sister for real

haasf1team: we’re prepared to look the other way… nothing to see here

olliebearman

liked by kimiantonelli, charles_leclerc and 308,934 others

tagged: yourusername & estebanocon

olliebearman: i guess a couples trip to france can make that country bearable

view all comments

user13: the haasbros are so dear to me

user14: este and y/n really are the big brother and sister ollie needed coming into the sport

user15: alicia always looks so uncomfortable in the paddock until y/n gets there, i love them all

user16: really the most underrated group in the paddock

yourusername: nice pun !!!

estebanocon: he’s trashing my country???

yourusername: baby he’s english, that’s like his god given right

estebanocon: you’re english ?

yourusername: but i love you

estebanocon: and the rest of france….

yourusername: fuck no - i love YOU

yourusername: i don’t have love to waste on the rest of them, it’s all reserved for you

estebanocon: awwwwwww thanks baby

pierregasly: ???

isackhadjar: ???

yourusername: wait isack, we love you don’t worry

isackhadjar: PHEW

pierregasly: and me???

yourusername: no comment.

user17: oh y/n really said brazil 24’ might have solved the tension for yall, but not for me

user18: so real of her

yourusername: woah one sec, i don’t hate pierre, this is just how our relationship is - the real villain here is and always will be alpine f1 team (i’ll avenge you jack)

charles_leclerc: am i being cheated on ???

yourusername: that sounds very incestuous

charles_leclerc: you know what i mean, give me back my child

yourusername: you can have him back, he lets us pay for everything

olliebearman: you’re the older ones :(

yourusername: you’re like 19 and a millionaire - what happened to looking out for your elders?

estebanocon: we gotta help him out while he still wants us

olliebearman: I’LL ALWAYS WANT YOU GUYS WTF

user19: esteban is looking… good?

yourusername: first of all, drop that question mark, he’s beautiful. second of all, delete that common and block him please

estebanocon: y/n???

yourusername: you’re mine and they can’t start thirsting now - you’ve always been fine

estebanocon

liked by olliebearman, jackdoohan and 458,340 others

tagged: yourusername & olliebearman

estebanocon: points points points and points for ollie! grazie suzuka, see you again next year!

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user22: omg the last photo

user23: dare i say top three threesome on the grid

yourusername: before i block you on both mine and esteban’s account, let me tell you this: GET THE FUCK OUT AND KEEP MY HUSBAND AND LITTLE BROTHER’S NAMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

user24: oh she is bare unprofessional

yourusername: i really don’t care, i accidentally became so important at work they won’t fire me and i know this lowkey turns este on

estebanocon: i will neither confirm nor deny

olliebearman: MY EYES

haasf1team: let’s gooooooooo esteban

estebanocon: thanks team! let’s keep building on this 💪

yourusername: woooooooooooooooooo !!! expect brownies in bahrain

haasf1team: perhaps the best news of the day

estebanocon: so my p5 means nothing?

haasf1team: of course!!!!! but y/n’s brownies are generational

estebanocon: yeah you do have a great point

user25: so is that why she gets away with being so rude to fans

haasf1team: y/n is the nicest person ever, so if she’s being ‘mean’ to you, it’s probably on you

user26: y/n got the streets so bad that the official haas team account out here defending her for telling fans to fuck off

user27: i can’t omg 😭

charles_leclerc: at least someone benefitted from my misfortune

estebanocon: thank you? idk what you really want me to say here… i’m sorry?

charles_leclerc: no i am genuinely happy for you

yourusername: are you fishing for some brownies?

charles_leclerc: no!

yourusername: you walked past haas hospitality three times loudly talking about brownies…

charles_leclerc: sue me, they are good enough that we can excuse you fighting people left, right and centre

yourusername: woah i am sorry i LOVE my husband

estebanocon: i love you too xxxx

charles_leclerc: can i have some brownies or not?

yourusername: fine.

user28: i love how her fighting fans is just a running joke in the paddock now

user29: i mean i get her, i can’t imagine having people openly thirsting over my husband

user30: i think it’s more how people are switching up now they find him attractive, a lot of these people would’ve been the same people to relentlessly hate on him before - i get her frustration

f1

liked by yourusername, olliebearman and 1,204,379 others

tagged: estebanocon

f1: let’s talk about esteban’s season so far! after a worrying start at testing and in australia - esteban now sits ninth in the standings with 14 points after imola!

view all comments

user31: woah

user32: has he always been this hot?

user33: maybe if he looked like this when he was fucking with checo, i might have sided with him

yourusername: you’re disgusting.

user33: excuse me?

yourusername: not used to people calling you on your bullshit?

yourusername: esteban was subject to some of the worst hate ever during that time and if something as superficial as his hair would’ve stopped you sending hate, then there’s something seriously wrong with you.

user34: eat them up.

user35: haas has a new fan in me - he single?

yourusername: no.

user36: oh LOL - don’t look in his DMs

yourusername: we’ve been married for years, i promise you, whatever you think you can give him - he already has

user37: oh babe now he’s learned to do his hair and pose properly, you won’t be around for long

estebanocon: please refrain from talking to my wife like that.

user38: omg you guys are both in these comments? do you not have a life?

yourusername: god forbid a married couple want to defend each other

user39: although this is particularly jobless activities from y/n and esteban, i fully support them

user40: i could not imagine supporting my man through endless hate campaigns and then having to deal with everyone switching up once they found him attractive

user41: real 20/20 vision havers have KNOWN that este is a beautiful looking man

yourusername: real

user41: omg queen i love you

yourusername: thank you for being respectful when calling my husband beautiful

user41: yall looking for a third?

estebanocon: i don’t share

yourusername: very aware i turned this comment section into a war zone but for real LOOK at my man he is tearing up this season

estebanocon: thank you cherie!!!

yourusername: i’m so so so proud of you

yourusername: we love you haas

olliebearman: and ollie

yourusername: and ollie

estebanocon: and ollie

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, pierregasly and 873,096 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername: my man, my man, my man. don’t jump on the bandwagon. you can’t like him now you find him attractive. he’s always been sexy and most importantly, he’s always been the best person in the world and in no way deserving of the shit you people have been giving him for years. don’t worry your little heads though, he’s well taken care of.

view all comments

user45: she gagged yall

user46: as she should

user47: i gotta find me a partner this ride or die omg

user48: they are the blueprint for real

user49: the only f1 relationship to never get those PR allegations !!!

estebanocon: i love you to the moon and back, it’s the biggest honour in the world being your husband. i don’t know what i did to deserve a wife like you

yourusername: and how did i deserve you? fate brought us together and i don’t intend on letting you go any time soon

estebanocon: i meant forever when i said forever

yourusername: i love you mr ocon-y/ln

estebanocon: i love you too mrs ocon-y/ln

user50: oh my god …. i need them so bad

user51: idk which one i want more?

user52: which one? bOTH!

user53: i am actually foaming at the mouth for a chance

user54: i am no better than a man

olliebearman: love you guys !!!

olliebearman: can you fight the people in my comment sections as well?

olliebearman: they’re saying i’m cheating on alicia with kimi ???

estebanocon: you aren’t?

olliebearman: HUH

estebanocon: he’s in the haas garage more than y/n is at this point

yourusername: we jest!

yourusername: that girl is my little sister so you best not be cheating with the italian

kimiantonelli: y/n can you fight someone in this comment section? his name is oliver bearman and he’s BETRAYING OUR FRIENDSHIP BY MAKING ME OUT TO BE A HOMEWRECKER

yourusername: okay let’s make it clear, i only ‘fight’ people who are either hating on my husband or thirsting over him… i don’t care about your weird tension

estebanocon: you also don’t have to fight random people for me

yourusername: i don’t care, my sweet prince deserves to be defended

estebanocon: awwwwww i love you

fin.

note: some love for my este bestie !!! and flavy tbf, i would also like to be a third... jokes !!! (not really)

[steviewashere]

It infuriates me so bad when people view a character like Eddie who lives in a trailer park with traits such as: unclean, rowdy, creepy, aggressive, etc.

Not everybody from a trailer park is like that. Yes, I can tell you with certainty, these people know how to fend for themselves. Yes, these people know how to cook. Yes, these people know how to take care of their hair and their bodies.

There's this, like, perpetual idea that Eddie uses only 3-in-1 because it's all that he can possibly afford. No, guys, I can tell you right now as somebody who came from an impoverished family, we could definitely afford shampoo, conditioner, and body soap all separately—these things are just not going to be top quality brands. I fucking hate the way people write Steve approaching him about it like all high and mighty about knowing how to properly take care of Eddie's hair, being thoroughly disgusted with the products Eddie uses, showing off that his products are 100% better than whatever Eddie's got in his shower. Like. Okay....if the 3-in-1 is really what Eddie is putting in his hair, then so be it? That's what works for him, that's what he can afford, that's all he has.

Or, like, when Eddie can't cook? That because he didn't have access to all these nice foods that Steve has: fresh fruits and vegetables, bigger containers of milk, non-canned goods, products in the freezer that aren't frozen meals; just based off of what he has, he seemingly can't cook. That he's not making real food just because it comes from a container and it's processed.

But like...my mom was on the WIC program when I was growing up. My favorite meals, which we called our struggle meals, were things like chili dogs on plain white bread because regular hot dog buns were too expensive. Or when packs of chicken were too expensive and pushed us over our limit, my mom would just pick up a pack of lil' smokies and fry them up and toss them in a box of generic store brand macaroni—just to make sure we had our protein. No, I'll tell you right now, we didn't get a ton of fresh produce; namely because that fresh produce was expensive by the pound. But I'd take home apples from the school cafeteria and use them for an after school snack with a bit of store brand peanut butter. And, like, sometimes the frozen meals were all we could get and so that's what we had—and we made fun with it, too, where we'd all pile up in the living room and we'd watch a movie from our local Blockbuster or Redbox machine and my mom would braid my hair while I had my Banquet's brownie. Kix was my favorite cereal growing up because it was, like, the only name brand cereal we could get with WIC.

Just because a food isn't fresh or name brand doesn't mean that it's not food. It's edible. And it tasted good. No, it wasn't always healthy, but we were trying our best. We were getting by. I loved when we'd go to the local food bank and find little containers of frozen peaches—or even better, when we'd find the holy grail within the last can of name brand Spaghetti-O's on the food bank's shelf. And we also had Meals on Wheels delivered to us, which cost us the tiniest bit, but we'd end up with house made salisbury steak with mashed potatoes or turkey with mashed potatoes and carrots—those were so easy to make after long days with extracurricular activities, or when we didn't have any other meal options.

Eddie can be appreciative of Steve's food, y'know. But having this constant idea that only Steve will know how to cook because he can use fresh ingredients or because the food Eddie had was gross and canned—I don't know, it rubs me the wrong way, I guess.

But like saying that Eddie smells just because he lives in a trailer is nuts. It's plainly crazy. If he doesn't have a washer/dryer unit, then maybe he knows how to do them manually or maybe he goes to a laundromat when he and Wayne find enough quarters in the couch. Or that he can't afford name brand hygiene products, so he just must stink. Or shaming him for using a cheap Axe cologne (because compared to something like Calvin Kleine, that's inexpensive) all because it's cheap.

I love a version of Eddie that knows how to fix things around the house because they couldn't afford plumbers or repairmen—my family was like that, too. You know how many times I've been able to fix something like a garbage disposal out of self-winging and spite? Or how many times I've unclogged a drain by using a handyman's guide or some YouTube tutorial? Yeah, Eddie probably does have these skills, and these skills are really useful.

Maybe he can't make top of the line meals, but he can make things. He can make hot food. That's important to him, hot food, I feel like. Programs like EBT/Food Stamps/TANF/WIC don't cover hot food items like the rotisserie chickens you may see at places like Costco—even though those would be so damn helpful for meal prep.

I think it's also just wrong and rude to make a pessimistic narrative about his clothing being older and used. Or hand me downs, god forbid. Those are well loved, well cherished things. He probably knows how to make a patch, how to stitch, he knows the best way to remove a stain from a beloved shirt. He probably is shopping at thrift stores for clothing pieces instead of constantly going to the mall for new things, and that's okay! You just have to get by like that sometimes! It's okay, too, if he has the same clothes as he did the year before in school—it's unreasonable to ask of a low poverty person to buy a whole new wardrobe just for the new year.

Parts of this fandom just completely dehumanize Eddie when it comes to him and Wayne being lower class people. They're trying their damn best to get by, that shouldn't be shameful. It shouldn't be shameful to live certain ways just because you can't afford the luxury of new and fresh and popular things. I think overconsumption in the modern age is bleeding into this fandom space and decimating the image of Eddie—this very real version of a person living in rural 1980s America—all because he isn't keeping up with things like Steve probably is; I often see the lifestyle Steve flaunts as praised and likable, while Eddie's lifestyle is mucky and disturbing and grotesque just because he's poor.

It's weird.

[juicebuck]

the thing about buck transferring out of the 118 is that they could have easily narratively made it make More Sense. or feel more cohesive. like, i don't think it was out of character at all. i think it was an impulsive decision made in response to losing bobby and also eddie (again). especially after having eddie back home for a few weeks. even if he wasn't At Work. he was still there. and then, having chris back too. but there was just, no lead into it. no conversation about it at all AFTER. and well, i mean. there's really been no real conversation about buck's grief at all. or about eddie's. or about eddie going back to texas. bar the kitchen scene. the last interaction they had was the family dinner. and sure, one could, i guess, assume that this decision was made on the back of eddie leaving again. from like, those shots of buck looking sadly at eddie at the leaving "party". like, he just lost two of the most important people to him, one of them for a second time. he's going to react in a very Buck Way to that. which is to say, in an extreme way. BUT there's just nothing narratively. on that front. just, btw i put in for a transfer. and actually, even having no lead in to it would be okay. on account of it being impulsive. but having zero conversation about it after. about WHY. about how buck FEELS. in the same way they just, glazed over how eddie feels about going back to texas. about how chris feels. it's the same problem again. where they're not showing us these extremely important emotional developments. which feels like such a disservice to the characters. and they did it not once, but twice. with buck transferring out. eddie going back to texas. and then, presumably buck choosing not to transfer. and eddie choosing not to go back to texas. i mean, chimney's speech was good. but that cannot be the resolution. it should be the catalyst for the conversation.

[missdaddycool]

Joel miller x young wife

Summary : you want start family but Joel doesn’t think he want do it or ready for it

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Jackson 📍

The cold in Jackson never truly left your bones. It sat deep, like a ghost in your blood. But it was a good kind of cold. Clean. Bracing. A reminder that you were still alive, still lucky.

Inside the house, a fire crackled in the hearth. The place smelled like old pine and woodsmoke—home. You stirred the stew on the stove and listened for Joel’s footsteps on the porch.

He’d been out with Tommy since morning, fixing up the perimeter again after last week’s storm. The man worked like he was trying to outrun time. Maybe he was.

You heard the door creak open, followed by boots thudding on the mat.

“Smells like heaven in here,” Joel’s voice came from the entry.

You didn’t turn. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” he muttered, shaking off the snow.

You ladled out two bowls and set them on the table. He slid into his chair with a quiet grunt. The lines on his face were deeper in the evening light, the gray in his beard catching the orange glow from the fire. Joel Miller, all grit and silence and sorrow. But here, with you, he’d softened. Bit by bit.

He dug in without a word. You watched him for a moment, then said it.

“I want a baby.”

The spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He blinked.

You kept your voice steady. “I’ve been thinking about it a long time. I want a family, Joel. Not just you and me. I want something to build.”

He set the spoon down. Carefully. “Y/N…”

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“You’ll say you’re too old. That this world doesn’t make sense for kids. That you’ve lost too much to risk it again.”

He exhaled hard. “You’re not wrong.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not asking you to fix the world, Joel. I’m asking you to believe in something.”

A long pause. The only sound was the fire and the wind scratching at the windows.

“I ain’t twenty anymore,” he said finally. “Hell, I ain’t thirty. My knees crack every damn morning. You really want a kid with someone who’s got one foot in the grave?”

You stood. Walked to him. Cupped his face.

“I want a kid with you.”

Joel looked up at you, and for a second, you saw him swallow that lump of grief he carried every day. Sarah. Tess. The world. All of it still clung to him like ash.

He covered your hand with his own.

“ I don’t know if I got it in me,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to decide tonight.”

He gave a slow nod.

But what neither of you knew—what was already written in the blood and time between your bones—was that the choice had been made weeks ago.

Three Weeks Later

You threw up behind the barn

You’d chalked it up to bad stew, nerves, maybe even the flu. But after the fourth morning, you walked into the small clinic in town and asked Maria to run the test.

She didn’t ask questions. She just handed you the answer in a small folded slip of paper an hour later.

You stared at it under the winter sun.

Positive

Your knees went weak. You sat down on the porch steps of the clinic and stared at the snow.

Joel was chopping wood behind the house when you found him. You didn’t wait. You didn’t try to soften it.

" i am pregnant "

He stopped mid-swing.

The axe thudded into the stump.

He turned, sweat steaming off him in the cold. His face was unreadable.

“How far along?”

“About six weeks.”

He nodded once. Then again. Then sat on the log like someone had kicked the legs out from under him.

You waited

“I thought we were still talking about it,” he said quietly.

“I guess the universe made the choice for us.”

Joel ran a hand over his face. “You sure?”

You pulled the slip of paper from your coat pocket. He didn’t take it. Just stared at your stomach like it might already be showing.

And then, something broke open in his face. Not fear. Not anger. Something older. Like awe with a crack in it.

“I didn’t think…” He shook his head. “I thought I’d already lived all the life I was gonna live.”

You stepped toward him. He didn’t flinch. You knelt in front of him, your hands on his knees.

“Maybe this is the part we were supposed to get to,” you said. “Not the fire. Not the pain. This.”

Joel leaned forward, rested his forehead against yours.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said.

“No one does,” you whispered. “But we get it anyway.”

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A/N : I Hope my Joel girly enjoy this little story !!

English is not my first language!!

-mimi_pascal

[cripplecharacters]

Regarding an ask where you say not to "ask permission".

Does it mean it's in poor taste to ask your opinion about character concepts in general?..

Hey, no not at all. It's more so about only sending an ask to get the character concept "approved" rather than actually wanting to get right.

"This is my burn victim oc and he's a violent murderer, is that ok??" is a "stamp approval" question. It's a yes/no question. From my experience, people who ask this question really dislike actually being told "no".

"I'm writing about characters who are involved in [violent activity], and I want one of them to be a burn survivor. What can I do to not make it into an ableist media trope?" is a "I have a character concept, and I need advice on how to go about it" question. It's a question that one can actually elaborate on or address properly. I can tell you what you can do to make something better or less-worse, but I can't make a bad concept magically good.

I guess the main difference is that one of these is just a person inadvertently admitting that they know that they're writing something ableist, but still want to write it without changing anything. Why, I don't know. The second one is a question that actually signals that you want to learn something, not just get a magic stamp that makes whatever you write suddenly ok. And generally we as mods are here to help people learn, not show thumbs up to a trope we constantly say we don't like.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[scary-grace]

still life, with hope (part 2) -- a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You're an art student with a crippling fear of birds and an assignment to create art from life, so when you're assigned to study swans, you're pretty much dead in the water. And there's something strange about the swans you find on a secluded lake, something all too human. As your artwork grows increasingly surreal and your suspicions about the swans continue to build, you can't help but ask yourself the question: Are you losing your mind, or have you walked into the middle of a fairytale gone wrong? Whatever it is, you'd better figure it out fast. Seven lives depend on the answer. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is for @shigarakislaughter, who requested this prompt from my winter prompt list: hear the fallen and lonely cry out / can you fix me up, can you show me hope. I apologize for how long this took, and the fact that it'll be in multiple chapters, but I really hope you like it! Swan Lake AU, modern setting/no quirks, art student!reader. dividers by @cafekitsune.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“Well, we’re toast.” Shoko slumps against the wall with a sigh. “He’s going to fail us.”

“He can’t fail us if we complete the exhibition,” Kai says, but even through his mask, you can tell he’s demoralized. “We’re simply out of the running for the actual prize.”

You remember when you thought winning the prize and getting your exhibition added to the museum’s permanent collection was attainable, instead of just something you have to watch Keigo or Mirio or one of the professor’s other favorites get. “I don’t understand why he’s mad at us. What did we even do?”

“You and Kai complained about your subjects,” Shoko points out. You grimace. “But there’s no way he’s this mad at me just for hanging out with the two of you.

As far as you can tell, you and Shoko and Kai have been following the instructions for the Capstone project to the letter, but in the eyes of your professor, the three of you can’t do anything right. His critiques run one way in a given week, then the opposite way in the next, and by the third week you’re in trouble for not including them both. He never picks on technique for any of you, which you guess is a good thing – but, to quote your professor, “It takes more than technique to be an artist.” You never leave the critique period feeling anything but dispirited.

This week’s criticism, leveled at all three of you simultaneously, was twofold: First, that you don’t have enough finished pieces, and second, that you don’t have enough variation in the mediums of the insufficient number of finished pieces you have. Kai is griping about it as you walk to the library. “Seven finished pieces is perfectly reasonable. It takes some artists half a year to complete one work they’re happy with. I should have asked him what he thought an appropriate number would be.”

“He’d have said Keigo’s number,” you say glumly.

“Keigo could sneeze on a canvas and the professor would like it,” Shoko says venomously. “Of course Keigo has a billion pieces. Keigo doesn’t have to work.”

“And he doesn’t have to hike to encounter his subject,” Kai says. “And he can afford all the materials he wants.”

The unfairness is starting to get to you as you climb the steps. “So we’re in trouble because we don’t have enough pieces and they aren’t different enough, but workshop hours are limited, and we can’t even use all of them because we’re supposed to go observe – and we’re supposed to do mixed media with equipment we can’t afford in all the time we don’t have?”

“That’s correct.” Shoko mimics the professor, and Kai snorts behind his mask. “We’re screwed. What are we doing in here, anyway?”

“I’m picking up something. I used that library chat thing and asked one of the assistant librarians if they could help me find a book about swans.”

That’s not quite accurate. You asked if they could find a book on fairytales involving swans. You look around for the librarians. “It should just be a second. They said they would –”

“I am here with the stories you requested,” a deep voice rings out, and you, Shoko, and Kai all jump as the head librarian emerges from somewhere in the shadows. “My apologies for startling you. I understand you spoke to one of my assistants, but he had to leave early. He left me to make the delivery.”

The librarian is smiling. You can tell he’s trying to be friendly. Unfortunately, his friendly is yours and everybody else’s terrifying, and Shoko and Kai both take noticeable steps back. You hold your ground and try to smile back. “There is no book pertaining specifically to swans, but my assistant and I collected all relevant stories and printed them here for you,” the librarian says, holding out a binder. “I heard the three of you discussing artworks. Are you participating in the Capstone exhibition?”

“In theory,” Kai says.

“Not if the professor has anything to say about it,” Shoko mutters. “He’s way more of a hard-ass than I thought. All his Rate My Professor reviews were great. Wasn’t there that one about how his smile looks like Buddha’s?”

“That one was really weird,” you say. You take the binder from the librarian, trying to ignore the way his eyes bore into you. He towers over you, scrawny like a scarecrow. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Might I offer a suggestion?” the librarian asks. “If you are unable to find workshop time during the day, why not find it overnight?”

“That’s not allowed,” Kai says. Then he frowns. “Is it?”

“Check the rules,” the librarian suggests. “The building remains open if anyone is in it, and I believe it’s possible to reserve a space in advance – and of course, while in a school workshop, the supplies and equipment are free to use.”

Kai whips out his phone to check. “It is possible,” he reports. “The only day available is next Thursday.”

“Critique is on Friday. That’ll work,” Shoko says. Her eyes brighten. “We could do it.”

“At least then if we get in trouble again, we’ll know we gave it a shot,” you say. “Book it.”

Kai books the studio, and you turn to thank the librarian for the tip. He’s already gone, faded back into the stacks, and Shoko pulls you out of the building in a hurry. “This could work,” she says to you. “If we have a really good idea of what we’re working on going in, and we make sure we have the materials we need –”

“We should bring food and stuff. So we can just keep working even when we’re hungry.”

“I can bring something to assist as well,” Kai says. He sighs. “As you said. When we’re eviscerated in front of the class next week, at least we’ll have tried.”

You and Shoko head home. You live close enough to campus that you can walk instead of bike, but the air is so bitterly cold that you wish you’d taken the three-second shuttle ride to the edge of campus instead. You’re shivering even after you’ve been inside for fifteen minutes and chugged half a cup of hot tea. “I wish we had a fireplace,” Shoko says. “You know, those giant ones they have in castles.”

“That would be bigger than our whole apartment,” you say. “Not disagreeing, though. I hate thinking about how cold it’s going to be up at the lake tomorrow.”

“You’re going up again?” Shoko gives you a weird look. “That’s not a workshop period. And I know you’ve got tons of sketches and small pieces already.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t good enough, I guess.” You were proud of some of this week’s stuff. Even knowing that the critique wasn’t of the quality of today’s finished pieces, it still stings. “Besides, I bought a bunch of stuff for the swans. They get hungry.”

“Wait, you’re feeding them now? They’re wild animals.”

“Not that wild. Somebody clipped their wings.” When you first saw Spooky’s mutilated wing, you were shocked, sad, horrified. Then you did some research, and had some nightmares about skeletal flight feathers and fingernails and toenails peeled off, and now you’re just really pissed. “They’d fly away if they could, but they can’t. They’re stuck and they’re hungry. I’m going to bring them food.”

“Okay, but theoretically they’ve been eating somehow without you,” Shoko says. “If they were at risk of starving, they’d have starved already with however many winters they’ve spent there. Don’t you think?”

You shake your head. “Clipping wings isn’t permanent. Somebody keeps doing it.”

“So let them feed the swans,” Shoko says, and you glare at her. “Okay! Sorry. Sorry. I just – since when do you like swans? I thought you were scared of them.”

“I am,” you say. “I can be scared of them and care about them at the same time.”

“Okay,” Shoko says again. Her expression takes on a thoughtful cast. “Sorry. I’ve known you since freshman year and I’ve never seen you get this committed to anything except art. Not even when you were dating people.”

You and Shoko have bad luck with dating. She keeps trying, but you’re not as good at getting dates as she is, and even when you do, there’s something missing. No matter who’s sitting across the table at the coffee shop from you or walking with you and reaching for your hand, you’ve never felt the kind of pull towards them you’re supposed to. You yearn, sure. You yearn so much that it’s kept you up nights before, or found you crying in the shower when you’ve gotten home from another date that should have worked but didn’t. You know that feeling must be out there somewhere, or people wouldn’t write so many songs about it. You’ve accepted that it’s not going to happen to you.

But that’s the weirdest thing Shoko’s ever said to you, and you can’t let it slide. “I don’t want to date the swans.”

“I’m not saying you want to date the swans,” Shoko says, laughing. “Just that I’ve never seen you get out of bed at six am to go hiking for anything else.”

You laugh, too, but the thought tugs at you for the rest of the day, until you’re getting ready for bed and it becomes crystal-clear. You change out of your day clothes and into your pajamas, and like you have been every day for the past two and a half weeks, you’re confronted with the question of whether to take off Spooky’s feather, which you’ve been wearing on a leather cord around your neck. It’s a harder question than you want it to be.

At first, you had plans for the feather – using it to make impressions on pottery, or turning it into a quill of some kind and using it to draw. But when you thought about doing anything to change it, it felt wrong. Then you decided just to keep it, to use as inspiration, and left it on your desk in your room. Then on your bedside table. And then, because you kept thinking about it while you were away, you secured it on a cord and started wearing it wherever you go.

Flight feathers are big. Even on a short cord, the feather rests along your sternum, close to your heart. You feel better knowing exactly where it is, but you feel worse for worrying about it so much at the same time. And you have a bad feeling that it’s got something to do with your increasingly weird dreams. They’re not quite nightmares, but they blur the lines. No matter where you are in the dream, you feel uneasy, unsafe. You’re always looking for the swans, but you can never find them. All you can find are shapes in the mist. Human shapes. They never turn to look at you but one of them, and you always wake up before you can see their face.

You can’t prove a connection between the two things. But when you sleep with Spooky’s feather on, you dream. When you leave it on your nightstand, you don’t. And when you sleep with it off, you find yourself awake in the middle of the night, checking to see if it’s still there.

You’ve never come up to the lake at night before, but you follow the path you’ve become familiar with, sit down on the rock you always sit, and you don’t flinch when someone settles in beside you. Some of the swans sit near you now – Spinner, usually, if you’re in the sun, and sometimes Needles – but Spooky’s never come closer to you than he did the day he gave you the feather. The feather that you don’t take off. The feather that seems to pulse with a second heartbeat, alongside your own.

You glance sideways at the swan next to you, not entirely surprised to find Spooky. He has one clipped wing unfolded and he’s yanking at his feathers again. This time, with none of the others here to stop you, you shoo him away. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself. Let me see.”

Spooky takes a halfhearted snap at you, but ultimately he lets you nudge his beak away and inspect his wing more directly. He was pulling at different spots, but your attention’s drawn to the missing flight feather, which you’re wearing. “You didn’t have to give me this. I didn’t want you to hurt your wing.”

Doesn’t matter. Spooky’s voice dry and raspy, rough in the same way his hissing is. You’ve never heard what his call sounds like, and you can’t tell whether you’re imagining it or not. I couldn’t fly even if I had it. It’s better with you.

You’re conscious, again, of the feather against your sternum, and questions flutter against your lips. What are you and the others? Why did you give me this? What do you want? None of them are the one you ask. “What happened?”

You already know. Spooky’s red eyes are locked on yours, refusing to let you off the hook when you shake your head, insist out loud that you don’t. You already know. What are you going to do?

You look hopelessly at him, and a cold wind whisks across the lake. It smells like old earth and dark stone, making you shiver and making your skin crawl, but what it does to Spooky is worse. He flinches, fluffing out his feathers. His body rattles, his neck curving at an odd angle – and then, before your eyes, something about him begins to change.

Before you can see what it is, before you can even come close to processing it, the sound of laughter snaps through the dream, and you come back to awareness all at once. You aren’t at the lake. You aren’t so crazy that you’re talking to a swan. You’re in the studio, at school, and the laughter belongs to your roommate. You and your roommate and your weird classmate reserved a studio, and you’ve been here all night. How long have you been sitting like this? The crick in your neck says it’s been a while, and the weird taste in your mouth says it’s been longer since you drank water or ate anything. You straighten up, get to your feet, and then go to check on Shoko and Kai. Maybe they’ve had better luck than you did.

They’re sitting together on the floor, much closer than you’d have expected to find them, and for a second, you’re not sure what you’re seeing. Once you figure it out, you still can’t believe it. “What are you doing?”

Kai swears and drops the palette he’s holding. Luckily it lands face-up. “Kai thought the textures might look better on a person than a canvas,” Shoko says brightly. “I’m helping.”

Unlike Shoko, who looks pretty comfortable with the fact that she’s sitting there in her bra with her arm and shoulder painted to look like the skin of a banana slug, Kai looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “How does it look?” he asks.

“I mean, it looks good –” You just can’t work out what happened. “Is this what you guys were doing while I was out? Paint me like one of your French slugs?”

Shoko laughs so hard she cries. Kai doesn’t get the joke. “It’s her turn to paint me next,” he says. You were talking to a swan in your dreams; your roommate was having some weird tripped-out body-painting fantasy. Just your luck. “What did you do?”

“I made some stuff early on, but I think I got off-track.” You spent some time at the pottery wheel, making seven swan-inspired nested vessels, and you know that adding them to your exhibition will give the professor one less thing to critique you on. You look down at your hands, expecting to still be clutching an unused paintbrush, and find your hands empty and covered in red. “Oh my God –”

“It’s paint,” Kai says. He glances back at the corner where you were working. “You must have made something.”

“Yeah, a mess.” You watch as Kai helps Shoko up, careful to leave her painted arm exposed, and the two of them head for your workspace. “Guys, don’t. There’s not going to be anything worth looking at.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more. “False modesty doesn’t suit anyone, least of all you,” Kai says – then makes an odd, winded sound as Shoko smacks him. “Come explain yourself.”

Your hands are so covered in drying paint that you can barely move your fingers. You draw up alongside Kai and Shoko and stare in shock. There’s not a mess on the floor. There’s a canvas, half-covered with a drop cloth, and it’s not even close to being the only piece crowded around your easel. There are at least half a dozen others, all finished. You blink the rest of the daydream out of your eyes and study all of them, feeling more hopeless with every passing second. “They’re all wrong.”

You painted the swans, sure. It’s clear where your inspiration came from. But every piece you’ve painted has something human about it, subtle enough that only you could catch it or so obvious that it can be seen from the moon. You might be able to lie about the portrait of Gorgeous on her favorite rock, but if the professor looks closer he’ll be able to see the suggestion of a woman, her curves outlined with careful shading and hidden beneath a swan’s feathers. The watercolor of Spinner’s wet footprints on the stone would be fine if the footprints weren’t obviously starting to morph into human ones. You’ve got no excuse for the close-up black-background oil painting of Needles’s beak, open to bite – and full of human teeth. That thing’s going to give people nightmares.

And it keeps getting worse. Everywhere you look, you see clipped wings, skeletal flight feathers, and in Sneaky’s portrait you haven’t even been subtle about the outline of a human hand within the wing. Sooty’s painting doesn’t have any creepy human elements, but you can feel fury leaking through it, so much that Kai, who’s been enthusiastically examining the tooth painting, recoils slightly when Shoko holds it up for him to examine. “Don’t use that one. It’s unsettling.”

“It’s about the only one I can use,” you say miserably. “It’s the only one that’s just a swan.”

“Hang on. What are these?” Shoko is sorting through yet another stack of canvases. Her eyes widen. “I don’t care if these look human. You have to use them.”

You know even before you look at the first one that it’ll be of Spooky, and it is – focused tightly on his head, his red eyes as the centerpiece. Except his eyes are human, with eyelids and lashes that fade into his feathers, and they’re boring right through the painting into your soul. It gets worse with every painting. No matter your medium, no matter the size of the canvas or the style you’re experimenting with, you’re seeing things that aren’t there.

Human hands caged inside ruined wings. A human body straining to run, caught within a swan’s awkward frame. A swan afloat on the lake, a human drowning beneath the surface – and then one that’s barely a swan at all. Nothing more than a man crouched at the water’s edge, wrapped in a cloak of white feathers, his hair so long and white that you can’t tell whether it ends and the feathers begin.

“This is surreal,” Kai remarks. “I didn’t know you were exploring that style.”

“I wasn’t exploring anything. I don’t remember making this.” You don’t remember making any of it, really. When you claw through your memories of the last few hours, you find yourself setting up canvases, squeezing paint onto palettes, switching out your brushes over and over again, but never sitting down and making a choice about what to paint. You look down at your hands and cringe again. “I don’t even know what I was doing with all this red.”

“Fingerpainting.”

“Says the guy who’s painting my roommate like one of his French slugs.” You ignore Shoko’s laughter and study the covered canvas. Unless you were sitting here drinking red paint with your hands, that’s the only place you could have used it. You steel yourself and pull down the drop cloth. “Oh.”

Your hands might be red, but the canvas is black. The scene hasn’t been painted on it – it’s been carved, and you can see red underneath it. You covered this whole canvas in red, painted black over it once it dried, and then etched into it like you were doing sgraffito on a piece of pottery. It would be a really cool effect if you’d drawn a swan. Instead you drew a man on his knees, his back to the viewer, his arms wrapped around himself. He’s clawing at his shoulders, and you can see his shoulder blades erupting through his skin, feathers already sprouting along their edges.

It’s the same man from the last painting you looked at, but while he’s the first thing the viewer’s eye goes to, he’s not the focal point of the piece. The focal point is the enormous, disembodied hand, emerging out of the darkness and poised to come down on him. “That looks like a nightmare,” Kai says after a long, horrible silence.

It is one. Yours. “Maybe don’t use that one,” Shoko says, and you nod. “Everybody awake?”

Awake enough to know you’re screwed. You nod again, and so does Kai. “I’m hungry,” Shoko says. “Let’s eat – and then I’m making you an anemone.”

She’s pointing at you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, but Kai’s idea looks like fun and I want to try it,” she says. You start to suggest that she should paint Kai instead and she cuts you off. “You’re going to paint Kai. Make him a swan.”

“Why not?” You’re already dead in the water. You might as well seal the deal. “Let’s do it.”

“This is an impressive achievement,” the professor is saying to Kai, and as much as you hate to admit it when you know a blistering critique’s headed your way, he’s right. “You’ve increased the diversity of your exhibition significantly. Focusing on texture rather than milieu seems to have inspired you.”

“Yes,” Kai says after a moment, “it has.”

You’re pretty sure that Kai was less inspired by the texture of slugs and more by the texture of your roommate’s skin, but you’re not going to argue that the stuff he made during last night’s sleep-deprived art spree isn’t good. Shoko got a standout review for her pieces, too, and both she and Kai got better critiques than the professor’s usual favorites. Keigo and Mirio still look a little shell-shocked. You’d feel bad for them if they hadn’t been so smug about it until now – and if you weren’t about to get your ass publicly kicked, too.

Kai sits down with full marks for the week, and then it’s your turn to present your work. You came up with a grand total of two usable pieces, plus your nesting vessels, and although the professor has positive things to say about the vessels, you know you’re in for it when it comes to the paintings. Ultimately, you could only really present the paintings of Sooty and Gorgeous. The others are too surreal, or too far off the subject. Seven vessels, two paintings. There’s no way you’re getting out of this in one piece.

The professor studies your paintings. “You’ve captured the spirits of your subjects quite effectively in these, and you’ve used the features of the setting to draw attention to your subjects, not to obscure them. That’s certainly an improvement from your first paintings.”

It is, but none of what he’s just said is a compliment, and you and he both know it. He’s quiet for a moment. “I rather expected more pieces, given the quantity of art supplies you apparently consumed during your overnight in the studio.”

He didn’t make Kai and Shoko justify their art supply usage. You grit your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh, professor?” Shoko raises her hand halfway, and the professor turns to look at her. “She’s got more pieces. A lot more. She made more stuff than me and Kai combined.”

“Is that so?” The professor turns back to you, and you stop trying to shush Shoko in a hurry. “Where are the other pieces?”

“In storage,” you say. “They weren’t appropriate for the exhibition.”

“Did they feature swans?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Kai says, ignoring you when you glare at him. “Swans were prominently featured in almost all of them.”

“Then I will be the judge of whether your pieces are appropriate,” the professor says. He gestures at you. “Bring them out.”

You have to make two trips, even with Kai’s help and Shoko’s – and Keigo’s, for some reason. With the too-human set of paintings added in, your output for the studio lock-in is truly absurd, and the professor goes through your canvases one at a time. He doesn’t ask you to explain anything. He doesn’t question why so many of the paintings have suggestions or outright sledgehammer blows of humanity embedded in them. His expression doesn’t start to change until you start lifting the series on Spooky into view. When you reveal the first painting, the one of Spooky’s head with human eyes, he nods. By the time you uncover the second-to-last canvas, the one where Spooky’s more human than swan, your professor is beaming.

“Marvelous,” he says. “Simply marvelous.”

“Sir?” you ask, bewildered. “I don’t understand. I made them too human –”

“Which proves to me that you’ve gained an understanding of them,” your professor says. “Do you remember when you were first assigned swans as your subject? You regarded them with fear and wished to keep them at a distance. These pieces suggest to me that you’ve found ways to connect to your subject on a deeper level, enough to imagine personhood within them.”

Enough to hallucinate personhood within them. You can imagine it perfectly fine on your own, but you would never have put it into an art piece if you hadn’t been in some kind of weird trance last night. “This new understanding of your subjects combined with your technique make this a very impressive body of work,” your professor concludes. “Congratulations, my dear. Consider yourself well in the running.”

He didn’t say that to Shoko or Kai. You’ve never heard him mention the prize to anybody else during a critique. You collect your pieces and sit down again, and when the professor turns the class loose to use the remainder of the workshop time on refining pieces or adjusting based on critiques, several of your classmates come up to you. Keigo’s one of them. “These are amazing,” he says to you earnestly, grinning. “I had no idea you could do stuff like this. I guess I should have been keeping a closer eye on you.”

“Maybe,” you say, and shrug. Spooky’s feather flutters against your breastbone beneath your shirt. “I had to catch a good critique at some point, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Keigo leans closer, close enough for you to smell smoke. “Either way, it’s definitely overdue.”

You’d feel more like that if you’d done this on purpose. Any of it. You know it’s your work. When you look at it, you can see your fingerprints on each piece, identify every place when conventional wisdom pointed in one direction and you went the other way. By now, your memory of making them came back completely, except for the most important part of it: Where you got the idea. All you have to go on is the vision or nightmare or whatever it was where you talked to Spooky at the lake. And whatever started to happen to him when the wind came through.

“Oh, come on,” you complain. Needles looks up at you, unrepentant. “Did you have to do that?”

Needles rustles her wings. You could swear she looks smug, but for the life of you, you can’t figure out why she’d be proud of knocking over your water bottle on purpose. And you have a rule about when you leave the lake, one you had to institute to make sure you’re not hiking through the forest in the dark. “I have to go home now. You know that, right?”

Needles honks at you. She looks towards the lake, then towards your water bottle, then back towards the lake. You’ve given up on pretending that the swans can’t communicate with you somehow. “I’m not drinking that. You guys use the lake as a bathroom.”

Needles honks again. This time she sounds offended, and when you try to pick up your water bottle, she takes a snap at your fingers. You don’t want to leave without your water bottle, and you don’t actually want to leave, period. You peer into your backpack, hoping for a spare water bottle. You don’t have one, but you’ve got a box of water purification tablets that Shoko gave you. Those would work, right? You nod and reach for your water bottle again. This time, Needles lets you have it.

While you wait for the tablets to dissolve in the water bottle, you go back to sketching. All the swans have been sticking close today, and you’ve had a chance to draw all of them, Spooky included. Spooky’s sitting still, almost close enough to touch, changing positions every so often, like he knows how long it takes for you to finish a preliminary sketch. As a trade-off for acknowledging that the swans aren’t normal, you’ve forced yourself to stop drawing them like people. There’s something about Spooky’s awkward grace that compels you, whether you’re imagining humanity in your sketches of him or not.

Lake water plus water purification tablets doesn’t taste that bad, as it turns out, and the sun is bright enough today that you’ve started feeling warm. You can feel yourself descending into a trance, sort of like the one you fell into during the studio lock-in, and you keep snapping yourself awake. You see enough weird stuff in your dreams as it is. You don’t want it translating into your sketchbook. Besides, you’d rather draw Spooky the way he is than get all fanciful with it. All of this is weird enough without believing that there might be –

A sudden wash of cold startles you. Startles you awake. You look down at your sketchbook in horror and realize that you’ve been drawing on the cardboard back panel of it for who knows how long. The panel is covered in what you can only describe as doodles – hands, eyes, feet, feathers, overlapping into an almost-incomprehensible mass. How much of your sketchbook did you ruin to get here?

You flip back through the pages, relieved to note that at least some of the drawings are potentially useful. But you’re having to squint to see them clearly. At first you wonder if it’s just residual sleepiness. Then you realize that it’s getting dark.

It’s not just getting dark. It is dark. The last shreds of light are disappearing behind the mountains, and even if you get up right now and run the whole way back to the road, you’ll still be biking home in the dark. Can you even make it through the woods before night actually falls? You grab for your backpack, try to get to your feet, but your hands hit feathers. The swans have you surrounded. There’s nowhere you can put your hands that you won’t be putting weight on somebody’s wings.

They’ve never gotten this close to you before. What are they doing? “Guys, please move,” you say. They stir, feathers rustling, but none of them move. “I have to get home. If I can’t get through the woods before the sun goes down –”

Then what? You don’t know, but the feeling of foreboding that settles over you makes your skin crawl. Rather than moving away, the swans pack themselves in even more tightly around you, Gorgeous and Silly pressed against your back, Sneaky and Spinner and Sooty hemming you in on either side, Needles in front of you to cut off your escape from that direction. And Spooky – Spooky was sitting in front of you, until you closed your sketchbook. Now he gets up, closes the distance between the two of you, and climbs up into your lap.

Your face turns bright red for reasons beyond your comprehension, and your efforts to get up fall apart as your desperation to get Spooky off of you takes precedence. You’ve been thinking a lot about swans – way more than you ever wanted to – but none of it’s ever extended to physically handling them. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you say. Spooky makes eye contact, like he can hear you, like he can understand – and then he settles in. “Hey. No. Come on –”

What are you going to do?

He hasn’t spoken. He can’t talk, because he’s a swan, and it’s only a memory echoing through your head. A memory of a hallucination or a dream, something not real, not real, not real. It can’t be real. You shouldn’t have drunk the lake water. Now you’re going out of your mind for good, and as you struggle to deal with Spooky, the last rays of light vanish, plunging the lake into darkness.

It’s silent for a moment, everything still. And then, just like in your dream, an icy wind stirs up, tearing across the lake. Old earth, dark stone, the kind of chill that settles into your bones and refuses to leave. It’s strong enough to sting your skin, more than strong enough to ruffle the swans’ feathers. But something’s happening to the swans as the wind whips around all of you, forming a vortex with the eight of you at its center. Something awful.

You hear huffs of breath as air leaves their lungs, dry-twig snaps as bones break and bodies deform, the hideous sound of living creatures being reshaped before your eyes. You’ve captured some of this in your sketches, you realize with a surge of horror – but seeing the whole process together, beginning to end, is nightmarish. You’ll never be able to un-see it. And because Spooky is in your lap, you can feel it, too.

As their mouths transform, you hear pained grunts, whimpers of agony as teeth sprout from gums and jaws re-hinge themselves. Feathers retreat back into the skin and feet slough their webbing before splitting and reforming, revealing ankles, insteps, toes. Spooky, somehow still sprawled across your lap, jerks and shudders like he’s having a seizure, his back arching as his spine elongates. The wind picks up even further, full of ice and dirt and grit, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to see any more. Hearing and feeling it is bad enough.

The wind dies away as suddenly as it appeared, and everything goes still around you. Still, and quiet, save for the ragged breathing of the seven people sprawled across the rocks with you, all of them naked. Including the one who’s still in your lap. You open your eyes and look down into Spooky’s face. Spooky, who’s human now, white-haired and red-eyed, terrifyingly familiar. You know his face. It’s the one you’ve been drawing, any time you sketch a swan with a little too much humanity.

You recoil as far as you can go, shoving him out of your lap and falling backwards onto Silly and Gorgeous. Gorgeous huffs as air leaves her lungs, but Silly starts protesting. “Be careful! My ribs just got back where they’re supposed to go. Don’t ruin them again!”

“Forget your ribs, what about my hand?” Sooty yanks his hand from beneath yours. You hadn’t noticed he was there. His hand is scarred. Burned. “I told you this was a bad idea. And you – we told you not to sit in her lap –”

Spooky scowls, struggling to pick himself up off the rock. “We told you,” Needles agrees. You were right about her – she looks younger than the rest of them, and she’s a girl. “Women don’t like naked men in their laps.”

“Not strange naked men, at least.” Sneaky’s keeping a respectful distance while he goes through your backpack. The only other one who’s reacting normally to being naked is Spinner, who’s hunched over and facing away from you. “That assault on your dignity is exactly what you deserved.”

Spooky’s scowl deepens. Even in the moonlight, you can see a flush coming up on his pale face, spreading down along the column of his throat to his chest. “We aren’t strangers.”

His voice is the same as the one you heard in your dream – dry, raspy, quiet. You must be losing your mind. “I’m never drinking lake water again.”

“We didn’t want to make you drink it,” Spinner says. “But you had to stay. You had to see. And it only happens at night.”

“I’m cold,” Silly whines. “Can we go inside yet?”

Inside where? “I need to go home.”

“You can’t,” Gorgeous says immediately. “The woods aren’t safe at night. The beast is out there.”

“The beast?” you repeat, incredulous. “What’s the beast?”

“You don’t have to worry about the beast if it’s daylight or you’re past the edge of the trees,” Spinner says. “You’re safe here.”

“But it is cold,” Sneaky agrees. “Perhaps we should move this party elsewhere. I believe you asked at one point where we spend the night?”

You did. You were mainly talking to yourself, because you thought they were swans, and swans don’t talk. “What are you guys?”

“We’ll explain inside,” Needles says. She hops up, and you avert your eyes in a hurry. She makes an impatient sound. “Take my hands and I’ll show you. You can leave your backpack here so it won’t get wet –”

“And you should take your clothes off,” Sooty suggests, getting to his feet. The burns aren’t restricted just to his hands. His hair is white, like most of his plumage as a swan, but you can see where his char markings must have come from. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Uh, no.” You get to your feet and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m not taking my clothes off. I don’t even know what you –”

“There’s a cave we stay in at night. It has hot springs, so it’s warm. We can only get to it by water.” Spooky’s also picking himself up. He keeps his back to you. “Keep your clothes on if you want.”

“Usually, we’re inside before the sun goes down,” Gorgeous explains. “Rest assured, we’ll be just as cold as you are.”

This is insane. Everything about this is insane. You’re surrounded by naked people who used to be swans, and now they want you to go skinny-dipping in a mostly-frozen lake with them on the promise that there’s somewhere warmer on the other side. Except – you don’t have the equipment to spend the night out here. You don’t know if there really is a beast in the woods, but you do know you don’t want to find out. If you’re stuck here overnight and the swans have somewhere warm to stay, you need to take them up on it. And you don’t want to spend all night in wet clothes.

You keep your bra and underwear on, just so you won’t lose your entire mind, and you follow Needles, Silly, and Sneaky as they lead the way into the water. The first few steps down into the water are painful, but by the time you’re submerged up to your chest, it’s impossible to hold your breath. Or even to move. The cold is that intense and paralyzing. If you have to submerge all the way, you’ll drown.

“Here!” Spinner’s teeth are chattering, but he’s moving through the water better than you are. He gets in front of you and holds out his hands for yours. “Follow me. I’ll help. It’s not far.”

You put your hands in Spinner’s and follow him, putting all your focus into putting one foot in front of the other as the muscles in your legs cramp and lock into place. “Get it together,” Sooty mumbles off to your right, and you glance at him. “Not you. You.”

You don’t know who he’s talking to, but a moment later, Spinner lets go of your hands, and Spooky takes his place. You were pretty bad at coping with Spooky as a swan. Coping with Spooky as a human is a lot harder. His hair is white, like Sooty’s, but his is long, so long that the ends are already trailing through the water. That doesn’t surprise you. That’s the way you drew him, after all. It occurs to you all at once that you didn’t leave his feather on shore with your backpack and your clothes and your shoes. It’s still around your neck on its cord, floating ahead of you in the water.

“Pay attention,” Spooky says, and you realize you’ve been looking everywhere but at his face. “You’ve been looking at us for months now. It should be easier now that you know who we really are.”

“I don’t know who you really are,” you say. Maintaining eye contact, looking into his crimson eyes, feels like a lot right now. You focus your gaze lower, somewhere between his nose and his chin. “I only know the nicknames I gave you.”

“We like those,” Gorgeous says from somewhere behind you. Her teeth are chattering, too. “Most of us do, anyway. You even got Spinner’s right.”

“Wait, really?” That thought is enough to temporarily distract you from the cold, and the brittle grip Spooky has on your hands. “You really go by Spinner?”

Spinner nods. Meanwhile, Spooky is leading you around an outcropping in the rocks, and the water’s almost up to your chin. You tip your head upwards to keep it out of your mouth. Needles’s voice issues from around the other side of the outcropping, echoing strangely. “We don’t pee in the lake,” she says. “We go up on the bank. We’re not gross.”

“Sorry.” You’re so cold you can barely think. “It’s not you. I don’t want to drink this stuff again if it hypnotizes me.”

“It only does what we want it to,” Sneaky says.

“What he wants it to,” Spinner corrects. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

You reach the other side of the outcropping, and see what’s behind it – a cave, tucked between the rocks. The last stretch of water you cross is the coldest, and the deepest, too. You have to swim, your limbs shot through with pins and needles, the lake’s frozen depths sucking at you from below. But then you’re through, passing through the dark maw of the cave underwater with your eyes shut and coming up at the edge of a small, pebbly shore. When you drag yourself out of the water, the air that puffs against your skin is warm.

The cave isn’t dark. There’s bioluminescent moss and fungi growing here and there, and while it’s still dim, you’re able to see well enough to make your way up from the shore to the hot springs. The swans are gathering by the largest of the pools, stepping in one by one, and you join them. All at once the weirdness of the entire situation overwhelms you. It’s seven naked people and you in your bra and underwear, all hanging out in a hot spring in a cave, and those people were swans half an hour ago. “So, um – are you swans who turn into humans, or humans who turn into swans?”

“Yes,” Silly says promptly. “No.”

“We were humans to start with,” Sooty says, annoyed. “Now we turn into swans every morning, and we go back to being human at night.”

“Okay,” you say. “Why?”

It’s quiet for a moment. The other swans are looking at Spooky, so you look at Spooky, too. He’s facing away from the others, head ducked, shoulders hunched. You’d thought the swans were all equal at first, that none of them was in charge, but in spite of the way they were picking on Spooky earlier, they’re all looking to him now. Spooky doesn’t stir. “We’re under a curse,” he says. “It’s my fault.”

Silly punches him in the arm. So does Needles. “You didn’t curse us, Spooky-kun.”

“I didn’t stop it. And don’t call me that. You know my name.” Spooky lifts his head to glare at her, then drops it back down again. His arms are folded on the shore, his head pillowed on them. “My teacher put a curse on them, and I couldn’t stop him. I can’t break it, either. It’s my fault.”

You try to decide if you believe in magic now. If you believe in curses. You’re not sure if you have a choice. There’s no scientific explanation for people turning into swans. “How long have you been like this?”

“A long time,” Spooky says, and your heart sinks. “Someone else explain. I don’t want to.”

“Me! I’ll do it!”

“No,” Sooty says. “I’ll do it. You all can’t explain worth shit.”

Silly scowls. Needles pouts. Spinner and Sneaky and Gorgeous just look tired, and something occurs to you. “How many times have you tried to explain?”

They don’t answer. You sort of knew they wouldn’t, but it was worth a try. Sooty leans back against the side of the pool, his arms crossed over his chest. “Magic exists,” he says. “No one believes in it anymore, but it existed then, and it exists now. Most of us studied under a traveling sorcerer, until he was imprisoned. With him gone, we went looking for a new teacher. Some of us can sense sources of magic. We went looking for a powerful source, and we wound up here with Shigaraki.”

“Shigaraki?” you repeat. Sooty points at Spooky, who doesn’t stir. “Okay. You came here and found Shigaraki. What happened next?”

You learn the swans’ real names slowly as Spooky tells the story. You already knew Spinner’s, but you match names to nicknames – Magne to Gorgeous, Atsuhiro to Sneaky, Jin to Silly and Himiko to Needles. Sooty doesn’t share his own name for a while, and when he does, it strikes you as just as much of a nickname as Sooty is. Not that it matters. Whatever his name is, the story he’s telling is unreal. Unbelievable. Or it would be, if you hadn’t seen the swans transform for yourselves.

When the others came to the old estate and met Shigaraki, they met his teacher, too. They knew his teacher was cruel, but he was kind to them, so they didn’t care. They learned from him, but they befriended Shigaraki, and Shigaraki told them that his teacher was worse than cruel – that he was stealing Shigaraki’s magic to bolster his own, and he’d do the same to them if they stayed. Shigaraki told them to run. They wouldn’t leave unless he agreed to run, too.

“We tried,” Spinner says. Sooty, or Dabi, got bored a while ago and demanded that somebody else finish the story. You didn’t see where he went after he left the hot springs. “He caught us. He said that if we’d left Shigaraki, he would have let us go, but since we tried to take him with us, he’d make sure we stayed together forever. And that was when he put us under the curse.”

“That was almost a hundred years ago,” Magne says, and your jaw drops. “He returns to clip our wings, so we can’t leave.”

“We can’t use magic in our swan forms, so we can’t stop him. He always comes during the day,” Atsuhiro says. “And if we were to try to leave at night –”

“The beast,” Jin says, and shivers in spite of the warm water. “It won’t let us go.”

“The only way we can get out is if the curse is broken,” Magne says. “He gave us a hundred years to try. After that –”

“We won’t turn into people at night anymore,” Spinner says. “We’ll be swans forever, and we’ll forget we were ever people to start with. We have to break the curse –”

“And you’re almost out of time,” you guess. “If it happened almost a hundred years ago –”

“We have until spring,” Dabi says as he walks by, headed for the water’s edge. “Then it’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Himiko says, speaking up for the first time in a while. She sits forward, her amber eyes bright. “We can break the curse. You can help us do it. You will, won’t you? You like us. You want to help us.”

You do. Ever since you saw Spooky’s – Shigaraki’s – clipped wing, you’ve worried about them, wanted to help them, wondered if there was something you could do. “I want to help,” you say, and Himiko beams at you. You remember your painting of her beak, full of human teeth, and shiver. “What do I have to do?”

“You can’t.” Shigaraki hasn’t spoken since he ordered someone else to tell the story. He still won’t look up. “We’ve tried before. People find their way here, and we get our hopes up, and it never works. It won’t work with you, either.”

“You don’t know that,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs. “You don’t. Why don’t you tell me what it is, and then I’ll tell you if I can do it or not.”

Shigaraki won’t answer, and Himiko fills in. Her smile has an anxious cast this time. “You just have to love one of us,” she says. “And you have to be true until spring.”

You sit there for a moment, nonplussed. “That’s it?” you ask, and the swans give you identical strange looks. “I don’t have to go on a quest or anything?”

“You don’t even have to love one of us,” Spinner says. “Just promise to be faithful.”

“And it’s not ‘one of us’,” Dabi says. He climbs down into the pool again, jostling Shigaraki on the way, and somehow you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “It’s him.”

<- Chapter 1

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @shikiblessed @handumb @f3r4lfr0gg3r @boogiemansbitch @warxhammer @agente707 @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii @atspiss @minniessskii @dance-with-me-in-hell @evilcookie5 @issaortiz @deadhands69 @baking-ghoul @xeveryxstarfallx @lvtuss @cheeseonatower @lacrimae-lotos @aslutforfictionalmen

[towasdandelion]

HIII HELLO IM HERE AGAIN I LOVE UR POSTS TOO MUCH WHDHSJDJJS EVEN THO I FEEL LIKE A MAN WITH TOO MUCH AUDACITY WHEN I SEND AN ASK 😭😭😭

may i request for sinostra and vagastrom/frostheim for the when you get injured during a mission without them 🙏🙏🙏 the first part was too good I NEEDD TO SEE IT WITH ROMEO AND SHO OR JIN HEHEHEHE

OFC TAKE UR TIME NO RUSH!!!! THANK YOU USER TOWASDANDELION ILY PLS DONT EXPLODE 🩷🩷🩷🎀🎀

Hi there (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) Thank you for reading my work!! The requests exist for a reason so it's all good hehe. Also don't worry I'm not planning to explode anytime soon! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡ I still have too many smaus to write after all hehehe. Well, I hope you like it!

Sinostra and Vagastrom when you get injured during a mission without them

Romeo got just a little bit angry. He threatened told the ghouls to keep you safe and this is what happens? And to top it off you were trying to hide it from him? Girl be ready for a long rant when he sees you. And it's better not to interrupt him. That's just his way of showing you how much he cares. He won't accept any excuses and will actually try to punish the ghouls who were with you unless you literally beg him not to. He swears he won't be this merciful next time though so... Good luck.

Taiga will literally laugh at you I'm sorry. I mean, he did care enough to at least ask if you're safe right? We can't expect too much from this guy. It's not that he's mocking you anyways, he just genuinely finds it funny how you always manage to come back from a mission with some kind of health issue. Won't make a huge deal out of it but won't leave you alone either. Expect to be carried around everywhere in every single position he can think of. If you try protest he might actually break your crutches so just let him have his fun for a while...

Ritsu is a bit confused until you clarify that his Intel wasn't faulty. But wait, that actually doesn't help clear things up. You're partners both in work and love so why hide something like that from him? He's not angry, just doesn't really understand since he always makes sure to emphasize that you can rely on him. Anyways. If you want to sue the ghouls for failing to protect you - just say a word and he'll have all the papers ready. No? Well at least let him sue the Chancellor for always putting your life on the line?

Leo is another one who will laugh, but this one does mean to mock you... Seriously just how reckless can you be? Through this behavior he's trying to communicate (very miserably) how upset he is with you. He would absolutely hate it if something really bad happened to you. He wishes you weren't so agreeable and easygoing and thinks everyone is just using you.. Once he's done laughing at you he will come over and laugh at you in person. Just kidding. He will bring you Sho's food! Surprise, I guess he still does have a soft spot for you.

Alan worries about your safety a lot on daily basis, he can't help it that he sees you as a very fragile being (even if you're not) so the news about your injury puts him on high alert. He hates seeing you in pain, but he also hates when you're hiding things from him. You don't need to act tough. He will always be there to help you. So what if he does the same? Ghouls are more durable he says. He will be extra gentle with taking care of you until your leg fully heals.

Sho won't hold back from scolding you but he will make sure not to be too harsh. Upsetting you is not his point after all. Somehow he's not entirely surprised you came back injured though. He knows your role comes with risks but wishes you wouldn't have to bear it. Well, at least you can count on him absolutely spoiling you with his cooking during your recovery! Will probably come live with you like it's the most natural thing in the world. Don't let Leo find out or the little shit will get jealous.

[white-hole-station]

😂 true

I know it's just a game limitations issue with most of the Hearthians not being coded to move and react to new things outside of dialogue, but I've always imagined Slate is too busy sitting there going

when the Hatchling wakes up and immediately does something concerning to stop them

Hatchling Concept. Going back to Timber Hearth mid-loop after a crash, because they were close by and it's just easier to repair the ship on the launchpad with Slate's tools so why not? Only for someone to find them and immediately bundle them into a cabin and a bed because... right. They got injured in the crash. And in a pre-loop world that normally means bedrest, and people freaking out, and bowls of soup, instead of just waiting a little bit longer to die and reset. Guess they're not getting anything else done this loop. ...Maybe it's alright. The soup is really nice. The reminder that in a normal world people would be worried about them and want them to heal if something went wrong is...really nice.

[karikarasuno]

part three | part four | wc: 3.4k

Even though your day had been busy and the kids were rowdier than usual, you decide to stay late at the studio to learn a random TikTok dance some of the girls were begging you to teach them. The lights are dimmed in the room you’re in and Nami is sitting cross-legged in the corner texting rapidly on her phone. 

Your phone is propped on the ballet bar as you play the video on a loop while you try to catch the dance moves from the original creator of it. You’re so focused that at first you don’t see the movement behind you in the reflection of the mirror. It isn’t until you look up that you see a very familiar figure staring at you through the mirror. You’re frozen for a second as you just stare back at him. Mostly out of confusion at first because what the hell is Ace doing at your job?

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe leading into your room. 

“Why are you here?” You ask as you slowly turn to face him. You notice the way Nami’s head snaps up in your peripheral vision.

“Robin’s power was out in her office,” he answers and his eyes quickly track over your body. You can feel it. And you have to suppress a shiver. You’ve been battling memories of your night together for the last two weeks and it’s been driving you insane. 

“And what does that have to do with you?” 

“I’m the electrician.” There’s a light chuckle that follows his words as he motions to his belt with all kinds of tools you assume are for his job. “She called me to fix it.”

“Right,” you nod, trying hard not to shift between your feet to give Nami any ammo about how nervous Ace actually makes you. And he makes you very nervous considering he’s the only reason you fall asleep at night. With the help of your fingers. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What’re you still doing here?” 

“Some of my students want me to teach them this viral dance so I figured I’d stay an extra hour to learn it.”

“Well isn’t that sweet?” He smiles. And you get the sense that he hasn’t realized you two aren’t alone because he takes a step towards you, breaching past the entry of the door and his boots thump against the vinyl flooring.The thickness is back again. The oxygen is starting to be snuffed out by flames you can’t even see but have the unfortunate pleasure of feeling. They lick at you. 

“Yeah, Nami was supposed to be helping,” you stop to glare at her and she’s hiding a grin that you have come to recognize as somewhat devious behind her hand, “but she decided her phone was a better use of her time.”

Ace’s gaze finally falls on her. You were right. He hadn’t seen her sitting in the corner before. And now you wonder what he would’ve done if the two of you were actually alone. He was walking towards you with intent. Purpose. Now you’re annoyed that Nami is here.

“Hey, Nami,” Ace greets her, smiling. Charming as ever. There’s only a brief flash of discontent in his eyes when he looks her way but he covers it up quickly. He has manners. 

“Hiii, Ace.” Her smile broadens like she’s privy to a secret you know for a fact you haven’t told her. “Nice of you to stop by to see us.”

“Wouldn’t be any good at my job if I didn’t show up for it.”

“You’re such a smartass.” Nami shakes her head with a laugh. “You think you can stop by the apartment and check out my AC unit next?”

“You gonna pay me this time?”

“You never heard of a favor?” She says, attitude and all. 

“You have a habit of not repaying those either,” he replies, quickly, playfully. And a part of you wishes you were comfortable enough to talk with him like this. So casually. Simply. But you made the silly mistake of fucking him before getting to know him, so now all of your interactions are riddled with a memory you can’t really speak about. Not when you’re consistently in the presence of others. 

“Oh, boohoo.” She rolls her eyes, and you’re not sure that’s really helping her case, but Ace chuckles regardless. “Summer's round the corner and it’s getting too hot in my place. Come on, please.”

She’s giving him the same face she gave you when she asked you to cover her shift at Whitebeard’s. But Ace isn’t really buying it. Which you appreciate. And probably need to learn how to do before she gives you more trouble than she’s worth. 

“I’m not Sabo, that won’t work on me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” She whines, throwing her hands up. Dramatic.

“Don’t think I don’t know.” They’re sparring. Gazes locked. Intense. You’re confused yet thoroughly entertained. 

“Oh,” she nods and claps her hands together. “And you don’t think I know that you and-”

“Ace.” Robin walks into the room. More like floats. A ballerina never really loses her grace. “Since you’re still here I wrote up that check for you.”

She hands him the slip of paper. Her neat cursive loops on the check as he takes it from her. “Thanks again for coming by so short notice.”

“Anything for you,” he says, tipping his head at her. A smile gorgeous enough to make your knees melt decorates his features. You refuse to be this down bad.

“Anything for you,” Nami mimics childishly, “but you can’t come over and see what’s wrong with my fuckin’ AC. I guess I’ll have a heat stroke and die since you don’t care.”

“Stop your whinin’.” His smile falls when he rolls his eyes. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. Early.”

“Not before 10,” she clarifies, standing from her spot on the floor. 

“I’ll be there at 9,” he corrects.

“You’re impossible,” she complains with her hands on her hips. 

“That’s rich comin’ from you, sweetheart,” he laughs. It’s deep and a little condescending. And oddly enough, it turns you on. But at this point anything he does would turn you on. It’s an unfortunate circumstance of already knowing what he feels like inside you. 

He waves everyone goodbye. Waltzing out of the room with smug satisfaction. You assume their bickering is a frequent occurrence. One that everyone seems to find mildly amusing. 

“Can’t believe you fucked that guy,” Nami says when Ace is out of the room. You nearly choke on your shock. Her bluntness alone is enough to stun you. 

“How…” You don’t even possess the wherewithal to finish your question as you look rapidly between Nami and Robin. And pray that Ace is far away enough not to have heard her. 

“You’ll learn soon enough that the rumor mill round here works fast,” Robin giggles. “Secrets are never hidden for long.”

***

Power outages seem to be a running theme right now. You’re lounging in your living room reading on your day off when suddenly everything in your home goes dark. The fan stops spinning. The oven clock is blank. You even check your phone to see that the wifi is out. 

An hour passes and nothing. The house is eerily quiet without the usual hums and whirs of technology. You were kinda hoping that this would resolve itself. That maybe there was a general outage that would be fixed soon. Unfortunately, you don’t have neighbors close enough to ask. And the heat is starting to seep into your home. Your shirt is beginning to stick to your back and you begrudgingly accept that this is an issue only one person can fix. 

Ace can’t possibly be the only electrician in town. 

“He is,” Nami says when you call her and ask. “Guess you have to call your lover to come save you.”

“Why do you have to be like this?” You groan, throwing yourself back onto your couch. 

“What? Beautiful and funny?” She laughs at her own joke. Nami really only lives to entertain herself. 

“It was only once and we’ve barely spoken since,” you say, the heat starting to give you a bit of a headache. 

“There isn’t much talkin’ needed for what you two were getting up to,” she laughs again, breathy and tickled. 

“How did you even find out about that?”

“Funny you ask,” she pauses, probably for dramatic effect knowing her. “Ace told Sabo. Sabo told Zoro when he went to pick up his pork order. And you would think Zoro isn’t much of a gossip considering he never really has anything useful to say. But he tells Sanji who cannot keep a secret especially if you bat your lashes at him. Who told me and Robin when we went in to grab some breakfast one mornin’.”

“Great,” you sigh, covering your eyes with your arm, “so the whole town knows.”

“Practically, but you don’t gotta worry. No one really cares.”

“That’s good to know I guess.” Slightly relieved that the looks from the old lady at the supermarket weren’t because she thought you were some loose woman. 

“Marco was kinda grossed out when he found out y’all fucked in the parking lot of Whitebeard’s though,” she cackles and you can just imagine the way she throws her head back from the force of her own laugh. 

“I’m never covering for you ever again,” you grumble, turning to bury your face in your couch cushion. This is just embarrassing. “Just give me Ace’s number so we can get this over with.”

“Oh yikes, I forgot his phone broke.” Fucking great. “But I can get you his address. He actually lives a few miles down the road from you.”

“Since when?” He’s everywhere yet nowhere at the same time. You should be running into him every second of every day with how interwoven your lives seem to be. 

“Since the Roger’s estate was built a million freakin’ years ago.”

“Ok whatever,” you groan, annoyed. “Text it to me.”

****

When Nami said estate she wasn’t exaggerating. The house is huge, almost like an overgrown cabin. And the driveway leading up to the home is endless. You can see the stables an acre or so away. There’s also a large pick up truck parked in front of the steps leading up to the door. You park behind it, sitting in your car for another minute after you’ve shut it off just to wrap your mind around what you’re about to do. 

Showing up at Ace’s doorstep isn’t something you ever expected you’d be doing. And for some odd reason, a restless anxiety sputters to life in your chest. He makes you nervous. Like ‘if you do something embarrassing you might flee town and never show your face again’ type of nervous. Which you shouldn’t be. He’s just a man. 

The doorbell is loud as it chimes through the house. So loud you swear you feel it vibrate the floor beneath your feet. You shuffle awkwardly while you wait. And you wait quite a long time. Maybe no one’s home which would suck for you since you can’t even text Ace about your issue. Also a waste of gas driving out here for no reason. But just as you’re about to descend the front steps and eat your losses, the door swings open. And the man standing before you is definitely not Ace. 

He’s the size of a giant. Tall and overbearing. His mustache is even harsh beneath his nose, bushy, white, and severe. And with an energy so intense and palpable you think the earth actually shakes when he says “who are you?”

You want to say no one. Because really who are you compared to this goliath of a man? 

“I was looking for Ace,” you say timidly. Like a child. “My power’s out and he’s an electrician, so…”

“He’s out,” he replies gruffly, his voice is rough with age. 

“That’s okay.” You take a step back, closer to the steps. “Can you let him know I stopped by? I live down on Jinbe’s ranch.”

He sizes you. It’s intimidating and now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. This man really is terrifying and you’re almost ready to run. 

“He’s just out back. Come in, I just put on a pot of coffee.” He turns around without another word. You’re stuck in place for a moment, unsure if to follow him inside or not. Your mother may not have been the greatest but stranger danger was something she instilled in you. That sentiment feels applicable to this situation. 

“Hurry up. You’re lettin’ the hot air in.” He scolds you over his shoulder and you follow without another thought. Still wary, but not feeling like you have much of a choice. 

He leads you to the kitchen where he’s grabbing two mugs from a cabinet. He motions for you to sit down at the small breakfast table by a window in the kitchen. It’s cute and quaint. And not at all the style you imagined Ace would go for when decorating the house. There’s a round jute rug under the table and cute multicolored cushions on each seat. Bohemian and totally surprising. 

“Milk and sugar?” He huffs out.

“Yes, please.” You don’t even want coffee, but you can’t refuse. He simply nods in acknowledgement before he heads towards you and places the mug in front of you, much more gentle than you would’ve expected him to be. You take a sip, pleasantly surprised by how good it actually is. Not bitter or acidic. It’s soft, maybe a light roast. Decaf perhaps. 

He shuffles back over with his own coffee and a platter with miscellaneous snacks. He struggles to sit down across from you. His sheer size gets in his own way, but you just noticed the oxygen tank he’s been rolling around. The clear tubes beneath his nose were easy to miss when you first saw him due to his mustache. 

“You like tinned fish?” He asks, opening a can with a pop. “It’s the fancy kind.”

You cock your head to the side and say “never had it.”

“It’s good for ya,” he replies, plucking a slice of toasted sourdough off the plate and scooping out a few sardines from the can. “I make Ace go into the city every now and again to grab me some. That place all the young folks like. Trader Jim’s, I think.”

“Joe’s,” you correct instinctually.

“Who?” He questions, but you just shake your head deciding that explaining is not worth it. 

“Here.” He holds out the toast for you to have. The sardines are smushed on the top and it looks like olive oil is soaking through the bread. It doesn’t look the most appetizing but you take it anyway. To be polite. 

“Thanks,” you say hesitantly. You aren’t even all that hungry, but you take a bite anyway. It’s not the first snack you would choose for yourself but it's edible, so you swallow it before you place it on the small plate he gave you. 

“You a friend of Ace?” He asks and you know it’s out of curiosity because he doesn’t seem like the type to be uncomfortable by awkward silence. You’re almost positive he could sit here silently with you until Ace shows up, but a part of you is grateful for the question. Maybe he senses your unease. 

“Something like that,” you answer, taking a sip of your coffee. “We met at Whitebeard’s a few weeks ago.”

He nods, chewing his toast thoughtfully. “You like the place?”

You furrow your eyebrows at the question, not really expecting his interest, but you say “sure. Under any other circumstance, I think I would’ve had a really good time.”

“Whaddya mean?” He’s staring at you intently and you try not to squirm in your seat. 

“Well, technically I was working. I was the line dance instructor that night since Nami couldn’t be there.”

“Ah, stage fright,” he nods in understanding. 

“It’s an intimidating crowd,” you breathe out through your nose, trying to laugh it off. 

“They’ve been unruly since I opened the place up,” he laughs hoarsely. It teeters into a wet cough. 

“You’re Whitebeard?” You remember Marco saying how he helps out at the bar because the owner was old. But now you can see the owner is also sick. 

“One and only,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal. But from what you’ve heard he’s a local legend. You honestly started to believe Whitebeard was part of the town folklore with the way everyone spoke about him and no one ever saw him. 

“Didn’t realize I was in the presence of town royalty,” you tease, and there’s a tense moment where nothing is said. And you begin to feel like you overstepped, like you made yourself too comfortable in his company. But suddenly and without warning, Whitebeard laughs. It’s booming and the table quakes a bit from the force of it. You pick up your mug so that the coffee doesn’t spill over, but you smile. A little proud of yourself for getting such a reaction from a man who seems so stern. 

“What’s so damn funny?” Ace’s voice cuts through Whitebeard’s laugh. He’s rounding the corner into the kitchen, taking off a dirty pair of gloves before he looks up and immediately makes eye contact with you. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”

“Where’re your manners, boy?” Whitebeard answers firmly. “That ain’t no way to speak to a lady.”

You feel your face heat up. Ace looks at Whitebeard and they seem to have a silent conversation. One that Ace very obviously loses. “Sorry about that. Welcome to my home. May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

It’s riddled in sarcasm. He even softens his accent in an attempt to sound more formal. Whitebeard huffs in annoyance and you try your hardest to keep from chuckling. Ace sees the way you hide your amusement and he grins. Clearly pleased with himself. 

“I didn’t mean to drop by unannounced,” you start explaining. “I would’ve called but Nami said your phone was broken so she gave me your address instead. Anyway,” you shake your head when you realize you’re rambling, “my power went out this afternoon and I was hoping you could come over and check it out. Whenever you have time, obviously.”

He looks over at Whitebeard, who is quietly eating his afternoon snack. “Yeah, just gimme an hour. I gotta take this guy to his doctor’s appointment first and then I should be free.”

“That works, thanks.” You stand from your place at the table, unsure of what to do next. Weirdly enough you feel your palms start to sweat. At this point, you think you should also see a doctor because Ace’s effect on you truly isn’t normal. “And thanks for the coffee and company, Whitebeard. I appreciate it.”

“You can call me Edward, darlin’,” he says. He raises his mug to you in goodbye and you smile despite having been so afraid of him not even twenty minutes ago. He’s not so bad.

“I’ll walk you out,” Ace says when you face him. He’s standing much closer than he was before. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking at you with the weirdest expression on his face. It’s an odd mixture of fondness and confusion. And you don’t know him well enough to determine whether that’s a good or bad thing just yet. 

“You don’t have to. I parked right out front.” 

“And where would my manners be if I let a lady walk out the house without an escort?” He smirks at Whitebeard when he says that. The words clearly intended for him. You don’t see Whitebeard’s reaction to his words, but by the look on Ace’s face and the obvious amusement shining in his eyes you assume it involved a middle finger and a scowl. 

“Let’s go,” Ace says with a laugh, putting his hand on your back to lead you out. It’s a nice gesture. A polite one. But his palm is so warm, even through your shirt. Heavy too and you know for a fact it’s not the full weight of his hand resting on you. You’re completely aware of the power in Ace’s grip. The light bruises on your hip the day after you slept with him were a good indication of how strong he is. 

Now you’re tense. So tense you may or may not have forgotten how to breathe. And dread, full and consuming, washes over you when you realize that in an hour the two of you will be alone. In your house. Alone.

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart